The market square was alive.
Vendors shouting over one another. Pots clanging. The smell of fried onions and river fish in the air. Children laughing and chasing each other through the crowd. And under all of it, the steady hum of power.
Resonance.
Everywhere Kael looked, it was there. A baker snapping his fingers to spark the flames of his oven. A water-carrier humming softly while her barrels filled themselves. Even the guards at the gates radiated it, their armor shimmering with faint stone-like ripples.
Everybody had it. Everybody except him.
Kael strummed his battered old lute on top of a crate in the middle of the square. His fingers picked out a tune, rough but lively, and he sang loud enough to compete with the market noise. His voice wasn't bad. A little rough, a little too sharp in places, but not bad.
The problem was it was ordinary.
When others sang, fire coiled like serpents in the air. Water shaped itself into ribbons. Wind whistled through flutes, carrying notes so sweet they could make people cry. Kael? If he sang about fire, he might get a flicker just a candle flame on his fingertips that went out before anyone could blink. Water? A drop, maybe two. Stone? Pebbles rattling uselessly on the ground.
That was his "gift." Echoes. Faint shadows of what real Resonants could do.
"Useless Kael!" someone shouted from the crowd. A fishmonger, loud and red-faced. "Give us an avalanche! Shake the whole square with your mighty pebbles!"
Laughter broke out. Children pointed and laughed too.
Kael forced a grin. He'd gotten good at that part smiling like it didn't hurt. "Careful what you wish for," he called back, strumming harder. "I'll bury your fish stand, then you'll be the one crying!"
That got a bigger laugh. This time, a few coins clinked into his tin. Not everyone was laughing at him. A few were laughing with him.
He bowed low, keeping the smile fixed even though his stomach twisted.
And then snap.
One of the lute strings broke, the sharp sound cutting through the square like a whipcrack.
The laughter quieted. A butcher near the front shook his head. "That's enough, boy. Go sweep a floor somewhere. Leave music to the ones who matter."
Kael's throat tightened. He bowed again, hiding the sting. "As the good butcher commands." He hopped down, pocketed the coins, and slung the lute across his back.
The crowd moved on, forgetting him in seconds.
He slipped into a side alley, away from the smell of fish and sweat, and leaned against the wall. For a moment, he just stood there, forcing himself to breathe. Then the smile cracked, and the tears came.
"Pathetic," he muttered, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "Crying again. What's wrong with you?"
The lute slipped off his shoulder and clattered to the ground. He crouched down, burying his face in his arms. His chest shook, the words choking out between sobs.
"You're useless, Kael. Completely useless."
And then…
The world went silent.
Not quieter. Not muffled. Silent.
No dripping water from the rooftops. No hammers in the distance. No merchants shouting. Not even the sound of his own breath.
Kael's eyes went wide. He pressed his palms against his ears, but nothing changed.
And in that silence, something stirred. It wasn't fire or water or stone. It wasn't even an echo.
It was his.
A note without sound.
The cobblestones trembled under him. The air pressed in heavy, like the whole world had stopped to listen. And then just as suddenly it was gone. The noise of the market crashed back in, almost deafening.
Kael gasped, stumbling backwards. His chest hurt like he'd been holding his breath for too long.
"What… was that?"
Footsteps scraped against stone.
He turned. At the mouth of the alley stood a girl in a deep-blue cloak, hood pulled low over silver hair. Her eyes glowed faintly green, sharp and unblinking, fixed entirely on him.
"I heard it," she said. Her voice was calm, too calm, like she already knew what she'd find. "That wasn't Echo."
Kael blinked, still wiping at his eyes. "You, you didn't hear anything. That's the point. Nothing happened."
Her gaze didn't waver. "No. It was Silence."
The word hit him like a weight.
She stepped closer, pulling back her hood. A pendant in the shape of a harp glimmered against her chest, its strings glowing faintly. A noble's crest.
"I am Lyra Veyne," she said, her tone carrying the kind of authority you couldn't ignore. "And you street boy are not useless. You are dangerous."
Kael almost laughed. Dangerous? Him? The boy of candle flames and pebbles?
But she wasn't joking. She looked at him like she saw something he couldn't.
He bent to pick up his lute, his hands still trembling. "Dangerous," he muttered. "Tell that to the fishmongers."
Lyra tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle. "I'll tell it to the world. Because whether you like it or not" Her eyes narrowed. "what you carry is forbidden."
Before Kael could ask what she meant, the air shifted. Heavy. Wrong.
The sound of boots on stone echoed down the alley. A man in black armor appeared, every step sending a faint ripple across the cobblestones. His helm was etched with runes, glowing faintly like dying embers.
He stopped, towering over them. Kael couldn't see his face, but he felt the weight of his gaze all the same.
"The Discord," the man said, his voice deep and broken, vibrating like two tones clashing together. "So… it begins again."
Kael's mouth went dry. He clutched the lute tight against his chest.
Lyra stepped in front of him, her hand glowing faintly as she called up her Resonance.
And for the first time in his life, Kael understood
He wasn't weak. He wasn't useless.
He was cursed.