Later that day, Vale slipped away from the main compound.
Behind the clan grounds lay an old quarry, long abandoned. Stone walls curved inward, creating a natural bowl. Once, it had been used for testing techniques. Now, only moss and silence remained.
Vale sat cross-legged at the center.
He clapped his hands once.
The sound struck the stone walls and returned—broken, delayed, imperfect.
Echo.
The Sound Clan prized echoes. They were proof of influence.
Vale hated them.
He clapped again, softer.
This time, the echo was weaker, almost shy.
"Why do you return?" he whispered.
No answer—only stone repeating stone.
He closed his eyes and breathed.
Instead of projecting sound outward, he tried something different. He let the surrounding noises enter him: the scrape of wind along rock, the distant drip of water, the subtle hum of insects hiding in cracks.
He did not shape them.
He did not guide them.
He simply let them exist.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A sensation, faint but unmistakable. Not vibration, not sound—but pressure, like something settling into place.
Vale's breath caught.
The quarry did not echo.
The sounds did not return.
They disappeared.
Vale opened his eyes, heart pounding.
The silence felt… heavy.
Then it shattered as footsteps approached.
"Interesting place to meditate," Elder Rin said, standing at the quarry's edge.
Vale rose quickly. "Elder, I—"
"You made the stone swallow sound," Rin said calmly. "That's rare."
Vale stared. "I didn't do anything."
Rin smiled thinly. "Exactly."