"I stop when I sleep." she replies.
"That seems unlikely."
Her laugh arrives softly, warm enough to quiet the sharpest edges of the square's growing noise.
We continue working in companionable quiet until curiosity presses forward again.
"You asked about Kantor last night," she says without looking up.
"You never answered."
I adjust the rim of the bell in my hand, letting the faint vibration steady my thoughts.
"What do you know about dark elf nobility?" I ask.
"Only stories," she says. "None of them are kind."
I inhale sharply"They rarely are."
She sets a bell down gently. "Were you raised there?"
"Yes."
"Was it terrible?" She asks.
The question carries no accusation, only honest curiosity. That alone makes the answer harder.
"It was structured," I say, "Children with magic were trained early. Precision mattered more than comfort."
"What kind of training?"
"Control. Endurance. Obedience." I answer with a brief pause.
Her hammer pauses midair. "That sounds like soldier training," she observes, not unkindly.
"In many ways, it was."
"Resonance magic," she mutters, half to herself.
"Yes." I nod
"What did they use it for?"
"At first, demonstrations. Ceremonies meant to impress visitors." The words come out even, practiced, stripped of everything that once lived inside them.
"That does not sound terrible."
"It did not remain that way," I say, and leave the rest where it belongs — in the silence after.
"Sound influences emotion," I continue. "A single tone can calm a crowd. Another can agitate it. Layer enough frequencies together and people begin to feel what you want them to feel."
Understanding forms slowly in her expression.
"You were used to control people," she figures.
"Yes."
"How old were you?" The question comes quietly, like she already suspects the answer and is bracing for it.
