The city never spoke.
Orven Prime stretched like a graveyard of glass and steel, its streets filled with people who moved in ordered silence. Neon billboards floated above them, shimmering with the same words every morning,
"Silence is peace. Noise is chaos. The Accord protects you."
Kael Arin lowered his eyes as he walked beneath the towering screen. He didn't need the reminder. The faint blue glow at every throat the VoxTag was reminder enough. One stray laugh, one unmeasured whisper, and the tag delivered its punishment, first a warning pulse, then searing electricity, then death.
He had seen it happen once, years ago. A boy, no older than ten, had dared to sing. It had lasted three notes.
Kael's hand brushed his own throat. His VoxTag sat there like everyone else's, but unlike them, his had failed. It had burned his vocal cords when he was born, leaving him mute. No voice, no words, just silence forced into flesh. The doctors had called it a tragedy. The Accord had called it a blessing. A boy with no voice was a boy who could not break the law.
He was invisible. Harmless. Forgotten.
That night, after his shift at the recycling plant, Kael cut through the abandoned transit tunnels to save an hour's walk home. The tunnels were dangerous dark, crumbling, and crawling with enforcement drones but he had always preferred them. Here, the silence wasn't law; it was nature.
Or so he thought.
He heard it first as a vibration in the air, so faint he almost mistook it for a machine's hum. But then the pitch wavered. Lifted. Fell. Carried something… human.
Kael froze. His pulse quickened. It was impossible. No one sang. No one dared.
But someone was humming.
Drawn by instinct, he followed the sound deeper, his boots crunching softly over old concrete. The hum grew clearer, joined by whispers, broken words slipping between cracks of fear. He turned a corner and stopped dead.
They were there. A dozen people, huddled in a circle, voices threading together like forbidden fire. One woman whispered a prayer. A man recited an old poem in a tongue Kael didn't recognize. Another laughed, a raw and dangerous sound, like thunder cracking the world open.
For the first time in his life, Kael heard laughter.
It almost made him step forward. Almost made him forget himself. But his boot scraped against stone, and the sound echoed.
The circle went still.
A tall woman with sharp eyes rose, her hand already reaching for the knife at her belt. "He followed us."
Kael raised both hands, shaking his head desperately. He tried to speak, but nothing came—only a rasp of air. The woman's eyes narrowed. Others stood, shifting with unease.
Then another voice, calm but firm, broke the tension.
"Wait."
A woman stepped from the circle. She was older than Kael, maybe thirty, her black hair cut short, her gaze precise as though she could read thoughts. She studied the scar at Kael's throat, the faint burn mark left by the malfunctioning VoxTag.
"He can't speak," she said softly. "He's mute."
The others murmured in disbelief.
The woman approached Kael, her eyes never leaving his. Then she tapped her fingers lightly against a rusted pipe: three short beats, two long. Kael frowned, then tapped back, copying the rhythm.
The woman's lips curved faintly. "He understands."
Her hand extended. "I'm Mira Voss. Welcome to the Resonance."
Before Kael could react, a distant wail split the silence. Sirens. The tunnels lit with the red glare of scanning drones.
The Quiet Guard had found them.
Mira seized his arm. "If you want to live if you want to fight run with us."
Kael looked back at the circle of rebels. For the first time in his life, the silence around him was not empty. It was alive. Dangerous. Free.
He ran.