The Quiet Magic of Holloway

Chapter 6

0600 came too early.

Lyra woke to the sound of wind battering the stone walls of the North Tower. Her new room was luxurious compared to the dorms, she had a private hearth, a four-poster bed with heavy wool blankets, and a window that overlooked the frozen Black Lake. But she hadn't slept well.

The silence here was different. In the dorms, the silence was lonely. Here, it felt expectant. Like the stone itself was holding its breath.

She dressed quickly in the standard academy training gear, black leggings and a fitted grey thermal shirt, and braided her hair back tightly. She grabbed an apple from the bowl on her desk, skipped coffee, and headed down the spiral stairs to the private practice hall Malakai had designated.

She expected a gym. Mats, weights, maybe some enchanted training dummies.

Instead, she walked into a room filled with glass.

The room was circular, lit only by the pale blue light of dawn filtering through the high windows. In the center of the room stood a long wooden table. And on that table were fifty crystal wine glasses, arranged in perfect rows.

Malakai was standing at the far end of the table. He wasn't wearing his heavy tactical jacket. He was in a black t-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, his arms crossed, watching her descend the stairs.

"You're on time," he noted, his voice echoing slightly in the glass-filled room. "Good. Discipline is the first step."

Lyra walked to the table, eyeing the glasses warily. "Are we having a dinner party?" she projected, leaning a hip against the wood.

"We are practicing resonance," Malakai said. He walked over to the first glass. He wetted the tip of his finger and ran it along the rim.

A high, clear note rang out. Hmmmmmmmmmm.

He moved to the next one. And the next.

Within seconds, the room was filled with a discordant, ringing hum. It was annoying at first, then painful. The sound bounced off the stone walls, layering over itself until Lyra felt it vibrating in her teeth.

"This," Malakai said, raising his voice over the hum, "is a Level One Resonance Field. It’s annoying, but harmless."

He looked at her.

"The artifacts we are going to find will be emitting a Level Ten field. That kind of noise liquefies your internal organs."

Lyra swallowed hard. "Okay. Message received."

"Your job," Malakai commanded, "is to stop the sound. But you cannot break the glass."

Lyra frowned. "If I break it, the sound stops."

"If you break the vessel, the containment fails," Malakai snapped. "If we are holding a Cursed Sphere of Babylon and you shatter it, we both die. You have to smother the sound inside the glass without cracking the shell."

He stepped back, gesturing to the singing table. "Go."

Lyra took a breath. She looked at the nearest glass. The sound was a high-pitched whine.

She focused on it. She imagined a heavy blanket dropping over it. She pushed her will at the glass. Quiet.

CRACK.

The bowl of the wine glass shattered, sending shards skittering across the table. The sound stopped.

Malakai didn't flinch. "Too hard. You used a hammer. I need a velvet glove."

Lyra gritted her teeth. She moved to the next glass. She tried to be gentler. She imagined a soft hand closing over the sound.

PING. The stem snapped.

"Again," Malakai said relentlessly.

For an hour, it went like this. Lyra would focus, push, and break something. The floor was littered with glittering shards. Her head was pounding from the constant ringing of the surviving glasses.

"I can't," she projected finally, leaning her hands on the table, frustrated tears pricking her eyes. "It’s too fragile. My mind is… blunt. I only know how to shove."

"You are blunt because you are projecting from your forehead," Malakai said. He walked around the table, coming up behind her.

He was close. His chest was inches from her back. She could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Magic isn't just thought, Lyra. It’s physical. It lives in the body."

He reached out. His large, warm hands landed on her waist.

Lyra flinched, her breath catching.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice right by her ear. "I’m grounding you."

He slid one hand up her stomach, resting it flat over her diaphragm, just below her ribs. His other hand moved to the nape of her neck, his thumb resting against her pulse point.

"The silence doesn't come from your head," he whispered. "It comes from your core. From the place where your voice should be."

His hand on her stomach pressed in slightly.

"Breathe into my hand."

Lyra tried to breathe. It was hard with him touching her like this. It felt intimate. Possessive. But his grip was firm, professional. He was treating her like an instrument he was tuning.

"Close your eyes," Malakai commanded. "Listen to the glass."

Lyra closed her eyes. The ringing was awful. A screeching wail.

"Don't fight it," he murmured. "Absorb it. Pull the sound into yourself, down into your chest..."

Lyra focused on his hand on her stomach. She imagined the sound flowing into her lungs like smoke.

"Now," Malakai whispered, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her neck. "Exhale the silence. Push it out through your skin. Coat the glass."

Lyra exhaled. She didn't push. She just... let go. She let the heavy, velvet weight of her own silent world expand. She let it roll down her arms, off her fingertips, and wrap around the glass.

The ringing didn't stop abruptly. It faded. It was like a radio volume being turned down smoothly. Hummm... hum... hu... Silence.

Lyra opened her eyes.

The glass was intact. It was sitting there, vibrating slightly, but making no sound. She had stolen the noise without breaking the vessel.

"Good," Malakai breathed. He sounded wrecked.

Lyra turned in his arms, exhilarated. "I did it! Did you see—"

She stopped.

Malakai was looking down at her, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the gold. His hands were still on her, one on her waist, one on her neck.

And the room was silent. Truly silent.

Lyra realized with a jolt that she hadn't just silenced the glass. She had silenced the wind outside. She had silenced the hum of the ventilation. She had silenced him.

She couldn't hear his breathing. She couldn't hear the rustle of his clothes. Even when he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out.

Panic flared in his eyes for a split second. He was shouting, but the air was dead.

Lyra gasped, breaking her concentration.

WHOOSH.

Sound rushed back into the room like a vacuum seal breaking. The wind howled. The glasses rang. Malakai’s breath came out in a ragged gasp.

He stumbled back, releasing her, his hand going to his throat.

"Hell," he coughed, looking at her with a mix of horror and admiration. "You silenced my heartbeat, Lyra."

Lyra stared at her hands, trembling. "I… I didn't mean to. I just expanded it."

Malakai straightened up, regaining his composure. He looked at the single, intact glass on the table. Then he looked at her.

"You have raw power, Cadet," he said, his voice rough. "Too much of it. If you do that in the field, you won't just unlock the artifact. You’ll stop the hearts of everyone in a five-mile radius."

He walked over to the towel rack, wiping the sweat from his face.

"We have work to do," he muttered. "But... well done."

Lyra leaned against the table, her legs shaking. She felt drained, but alive.

She had scared an Executor. And looking at the way he was watching her from across the room, wary, but hungry, she realized that maybe, just maybe, he liked being scared.