Chapter Fifteen: The City Remembers
The first crack split the street at dawn.
Not wide. Not dramatic. Just enough to make a baker stumble and drop a tray of bread that should have been warm—but wasn't. The loaves hit the ground with dull, hollow sounds, as if the stone beneath them had swallowed the heat.
People paused.
Someone laughed nervously.
Then the second crack came.
Windows rattled. Birds burst from rooftops. A low vibration rolled through the city, deep enough to be felt in teeth and bone.
Aerin woke with a scream.
They sat bolt upright, heart hammering, the echo inside their chest surging like a tide that didn't know where to go.
The city was aching.
Maelra was already on her feet. "It's spreading."
Tamsin clutched the doorframe. "What did you do?"
Aerin shook their head, breath ragged. "I didn't mean to take it. It took me."
Kerris pressed his palms to the wall. "Okay. Okay. Everyone stay calm. The walls feel… sad."
As if summoned by the word, a wave of grief washed through the street outside. Not sharp. Old. Weary. The kind that had learned how to survive by settling deep.
People emerged from their homes, confused. Some wept without knowing why. Others felt an unshakable urge to touch the ground, to press their hands to stone like greeting an old friend.
A child laughed suddenly, bright and loud.
The sound echoed wrong.
Maelra's eyes widened. "The balance is off. Emotions are misfiring."
Aerin clutched their chest. "It's trying to reconnect."
"With what?" Tamsin asked.
"With itself," Aerin whispered.
The ground trembled again—gentle, but deliberate.
Across the city, the Veilbound Choir moved.
Masks donned. Harmonies prepared. The Conductor raised her hands.
"Stabilize," she commanded.
The Choir sang.
Their song poured outward, smooth and practiced, pressing down on the rising tide of unmanaged feeling. Grief softened. Panic dulled. The cracks slowed.
For a moment, the city exhaled.
Aerin screamed.
The echo inside them pulled back.
Not pain—pressure. Like being asked to hold a weight meant for many.
"No," Aerin gasped. "They're smothering it."
Maelra's stone hand slammed into the floor, grounding Aerin. "Stay with me."
Outside, a woman collapsed, overwhelmed by a grief that wasn't hers. A man shouted in sudden rage, fists swinging at nothing.
The Choir's song faltered—just a fraction.
The city pushed back.
A crack raced down the street, splitting stone cleanly.
The Conductor stiffened.
"It's resisting," a singer whispered.
"Because it remembers," the Conductor replied, eyes narrowing. "And someone is feeding it."
Her gaze lifted—not toward the street, but toward Aerin.
The hum roared.
Aerin sobbed, caught between the echo and the world.
"I can't hold this," they cried.
Maelra gripped their shoulders. "You don't have to. But you do have to choose."
Kerris knelt beside them, voice shaking but steady. "Aerin. Look at me. You're not a city."
Aerin choked out a laugh through tears. "It thought I was."
The ground surged again.
Stone rose—just a hand's breadth—from the street outside, then sank back down, as if embarrassed.
Tamsin stared. "That is… not normal."
Maelra stood, decision hardening. "Then we leave."
"The city's breaking," Kerris said.
Maelra shook her head. "The city is waking up."
Aerin wiped their eyes, breathing slowly, forcing the echo to settle instead of spread.
"I can feel where it's weakest," they said hoarsely. "Where the cracks started."
Maelra met their gaze. "Can you lead us?"
Aerin nodded, terrified and certain all at once.
"Yes."
Far away, the Choir's song sharpened.
The Conductor smiled.
"Good," she murmured. "Now we know where to look."