Malan City slept beneath three moons.
The first moon was pale and thin, like a blade worn down by years of sharpening.
The second was full and heavy, its light washing rooftops in cold silver.
The third was faint, almost hidden—only visible when clouds thinned and the sky breathed.
Vale stood on the wooden balcony outside his room, hands resting on the railing. The night wind passed through the hanging chimes along the eaves, stirring a low, uneven sound.
Not music.
Not noise.
Something between.
The Sound Clan believed that the three moons reflected three stages of resonance: Hearing, Listening, and Understanding. Children were taught this before they were taught how to breathe properly.
Vale had reached only the first.
He closed his eyes.
The city was never silent. Even at this hour, Malan whispered—footsteps on stone, the distant bark of a watch hound, water flowing through the canal gates. Vale tried to gather the sounds as he had been taught, letting them pass through him instead of clinging to them.
Nothing answered.
His dantian remained still, like a dry well.
"Still awake?"
The voice came from below. Vale opened his eyes to see Elder Rin leaning against the courtyard pillar, arms folded into his sleeves.
"Yes, Elder."
"You're watching the moons again," Rin said. "That habit won't help you."
Vale hesitated. "The manuals say the third moon appears only to those with refined listening."
Rin snorted softly. "Manuals say many things. Most of them were written by people trying to sound wise after they failed."
He stepped closer, his gaze lifting toward the sky. "Do you hear anything unusual tonight?"
Vale listened harder, straining. "No."
"Good," Rin replied. "Then you're listening wrong."
Vale frowned, but Rin had already turned away.
"The third moon doesn't appear because you listen harder," the elder said as he walked. "It appears when you stop trying to hear."
The wind shifted. For the briefest moment, one of the chimes rang alone—clear, sharp, and isolated.
Vale turned.
But the sound was already gone.