I should leave but I remain until the hammer falls silent.
Night spreads across the lake like spilled ink. Lanterns drift on the water, rehearsal for the festival days ahead. I sit beside the open window once more, resisting the urge to unpack the bells again.
The town never quiets. Music drifts from taverns. Laughter bounces along the docks. Small bells chime whenever doors open. Sound presses against every surface.
Then a single tone rises above the rest.
Clear, warm and perfectly balanced causes my breath to pause.
The note travels across the lake, carried by night air. No distortion. No harsh edges. Only resonance shaped into calm.
She tests a bell at the forge.
Relief spreads through my skull like cool rain after drought. The relentless pressure recedes. Thoughts settle. The world grows distant, manageable, survivable.
I close my eyes and after the longest time, I experience total silence.
A soothing calmness.
3
ROSETH
The bell sings wrong.
Not the tone. The tone is perfect. The mistake is mine.
I lift the hammer too soon. The metal still holds heat. The strike slips. The bell jerks sideways on its hook. My elbow bumps the hanging rack behind me.
Three finished bells collide.
The note explodes across the forge.
Clear. Bright. Too strong for the small space. The sound ricochets between brick walls, spills through the open doors, skims the lake beyond. My hands fly up on instinct, palms out, as if I could push the sound back into the metal.
Silence follows.
I stand still, listening for cracks. Listening for the dull tremor of damage. Nothing answers. The bells sway gently, embarrassed by their own outburst.
My breath slips out in a long slow stream.
“Careless,” I mutter.
I turn to unhook the newest bell, ready to inspect the lip for warping.
Movement catches my eye across the street.
Khaivor stands frozen. Atleast that is the name the children call him.
Not watching the forge. Not watching me. His eyes are shut, face tilted slightly upward as if he stands in sunlight instead of late afternoon haze. Shoulders relaxed. Hands loose at his sides. Stillness settles around him like glass.
He looks peaceful.
The realization unsettles me more than the mistake with the bell.
People do not look peaceful near the forge. They are usually hot, irritated, and impatient.
The bell beside me gives a final soft sway. The fading tone dissolves into ordinary town noise.
