Chapter 4: Echoes Back
Kael woke to the gray light of early morning, the city outside his window muted under a drizzle that streaked the glass. His room was a mess—notebooks splayed open, a half-empty mug of cold tea on the desk, his guitar propped against a chair like a tired sentinel. The air smelled of rain and stale clothes, a reminder of days spent lost in music. His phone, wedged between pillows, glowed with notifications. Ghost Notes had climbed to a hundred listens overnight, and the comments were piling up.
He rubbed his eyes, the ache in his fingers a dull pulse. Sitting up, he opened SoundSphere, scrolling through the feedback. Most were encouraging—"This is so raw, love it," "Keep dropping these"—but one stung: "Trying too hard to be Veyl. Find your own sound." Kael's stomach twisted. He didn't want to copy Veyl, but the comparison hurt, like a mirror held too close. Still, the final comment, "Like you're bleeding through the mic," lingered, warming the cold edges of his doubt.
He stood, stretching, and caught his reflection in the rain-streaked window—pale, disheveled, but his eyes were sharp, alive. The city stirred below: a woman with a red umbrella hurried across the street, a busker strummed a faint melody under an awning, his voice swallowed by the rain. Kael watched, feeling a pull to be out there, not just watching but making something the world could hear.
His mother's voice broke the moment, muffled through the door: "Kael, breakfast. You can't live on air." Her tone was gentle but worn, like she was bracing for his usual brush-off. He hesitated, the weight of last night's silence between them pressing harder. She'd always been patient, but Kael knew she worried—about his aimlessness, his "phases." He remembered her face when he'd quit drawing, the quiet disappointment she'd tried to hide. Music felt different, but what if it wasn't?
"Coming," he called, his voice rough. He grabbed a hoodie, pulling it over his head, and stepped into the kitchen. His mom stood at the counter, slicing apples, her hair tied back in a loose bun. The radio played softly, some old jazz tune, and the smell of toast filled the air. She glanced up, her eyes searching his face.
"You look tired," she said, not accusingly but with a flicker of concern. "Everything okay?"
Kael shrugged, sitting at the table. "Just… up late." He wanted to tell her about the music, the comments, the strange fire in his chest, but the words felt too big, too fragile. Instead, he grabbed a piece of toast, avoiding her gaze.
She set a plate in front of him, her movements slow, deliberate. "You've been in your room a lot lately. Reminds me of when you used to draw all night." Her voice was soft, but there was an edge—a question she wasn't asking.
Kael's chest tightened. He could hear the unspoken: Is this another thing you'll abandon? He swallowed, the toast dry in his mouth. "It's not like that," he said, quieter than he meant. "This is… different."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Okay," she said simply, turning back to the counter. The silence that followed wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. Kael finished his breakfast quickly, the jazz on the radio now grating against his thoughts.
Back in his room, he picked up the guitar, the wood warm under his hands. His fingers, still sore, moved with more confidence now, tracing the chords of Ghost Notes. He didn't record, didn't write—just played, letting the sound fill the space. The rain tapped the window, a soft rhythm that wove into his melody. For a moment, he wasn't thinking about Veyl or comments or his mom's worry. It was just him and the music.
His phone buzzed, pulling him back. A new message from Mira: "Dude, check SoundSphere. Someone BIG noticed you." Kael's heart skipped. He opened the app, scrolling frantically. There, among the comments on Ghost Notes, was a verified account—a producer named LexRhythm, known for scouting indie artists. The comment was short: "Rough but real. DM me if you're serious."
Kael stared, his pulse racing. His hands shook, the guitar slipping in his lap. LexRhythm wasn't Veyl, but he was real, someone whose tracks Kael had streamed countless times. The idea of DMing him felt like standing on a cliff's edge—terrifying, exhilarating. What would he even say? Hi, I'm a nobody who's been playing for a week?
He set the guitar down, pacing, his bare feet cold against the floor. The busker's faint melody drifted up from the street again, stubborn through the rain. Kael stopped by the window, watching the man strum, his hat speckled with water, a small crowd gathered despite the weather. The sight stirred something in Kael—a hunger to be heard, not just online but in the world.
He grabbed his phone, opened LexRhythm's profile, and typed a message before he could overthink it: "Hey, I'm Kael. Thanks for the comment. I'm serious. What's next?" He hit send, his breath catching. The rain fell harder now, blurring the city into a watercolor haze, but Kael felt sharper, more alive than ever. Whatever came next, he was ready to face it.
To be continued…
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