*Urzsala’s voice* starts quiet, like someone used to doors closing before she could speak. At six, it was the soft “Will you come back before dark?”—small, hopeful, already learning that questions could be dangerous. For years it stayed low, a survival language: careful, measured, edges sanded down so Selene wouldn’t hear the shake underneath. But underneath the silence was steel. When it finally rose in the debate hall, it wasn’t loud for the sake of noise. It was clear. Steady. Each word landed like truth invoicing a lie—no shouting, no tremor, just the weight of a girl who’d watched, waited, and remembered every detail. “Money is loud… but it cannot buy peace.” That’s Urzsala’s voice: bruised but unbroken, soft at the edges, sharp at the core. The kind of voice that doesn’t beg to be heard anymore. It commands silence instead.It’s the voice of someone who learned that whispering your own name in a house built by others is the first act of rebellion.