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The tower calendar says the First Beat is 112 years away, and Tam's count says it is three and a bit. Nobody in the square believes him. Then a wave of silence rolls across the market, the heartbeats around him go out one by one, and the Wardens march in behind the woman who brought the quiet: Harrow.
The main square from the tower steps. Crowds again, as if yesterday never happened. The faceless Striker statue in the centre. On the bell tower's face, high up, a huge black calendar board with white painted letters, and a BELL-KEEPER on a tall ladder chalking in the day.
Caption (narration): "Every bell tower on the Dawn Edge keeps the calendar. Every calendar says the same thing."
Tam stalking through the crowd, hood up, jaw set. Vela hurrying behind him.
Vela says: "You climbed out of a window."
Tam says: "The door had Pell in front of it."
Vela.
Vela says: "You can't stand in the square. The Wardens were here yesterday."
Tam.
Tam says: "Exactly. Nobody would be stupid enough to come back."
Vela, flatly.
Vela says: "You keep saying that like it's a plan."
Tam stops dead below the tower, looking up.
Tam says: "I want to see it. Properly."
The calendar board, the letters clean and official:
Caption (narration): "YEAR OF STILLNESS 104 · DAY 146 · FIRST BEAT: YS 216"
Tam reading it, lips moving.
Tam, pointing.
Tam says: "I've walked past that every day of my life. Never read the bottom line."
Vela, beside him, goggles tilted up at the board.
Vela says: "Year two hundred and sixteen. Take away one hundred and four."
Vela.
Vela says: "One hundred and twelve years."
Tam.
Tam says: "We said three and a bit."
Vela, the notebook out, pencil going.
Vela says: "One thousand, two hundred and ninety-five days. Three years and two hundred and fifteen days. I've checked it a thousand times."
Tam.
Tam says: "And I've heard it every day since I was born."
Vela, looking up from the page.
Vela says: "So either we're both wrong in exactly the same way..."
Tam, finishing it.
Tam says: "...or the board is."
The two of them small at the foot of the tower, the huge board above them like a gravestone.
Tam, frowning up at the ladder.
Tam says: "Hey! Up there!"
The BELL-KEEPER, an elderly man with chalk on his sleeves, peering down.
Tam, cupping his hands.
Tam says: "You've got a mistake on your board!"
The bell-keeper looks at the board. Looks back.
Tam says: "The bottom line. It's about a hundred and eight years too long."
The bell-keeper, cheerfully.
Tam.
Tam says: "Has anyone ever checked it?"
The bell-keeper laughing, going back to his chalk.
Vela pulling Tam back by the sleeve.
Vela says: "Stop shouting at the calendar."
Tam, quietly furious.
Tam says: "They're lying. To everyone. On a board."
Vela, under her breath.
Vela says: "Think. Who keeps the days?"
Tam.
Tam says: "The towers. The Wardens."
Vela.
Vela says: "Whoever keeps the days keeps the count. If nobody thinks the First Beat is coming, nobody gets ready for it."
Tam.
Tam says: "Nobody except them."
Tam takes a sharp breath. He suddenly sways, as though the ground tipped.
Tam's hand going to his ear.
Tam says: "...Huh."
Vela, noticing.
Vela says: "What?"
Tam's ear. The drawn heart-rings of the crowd around him, the little pulses from chapter 4. At the far edge of the panel, one by one, the rings are going out like lamps.
Tam turning slowly toward the far side of the square.
Tam says: "Something's wrong with the noise."
The far end of the square. Nothing visibly happening. People buying, selling. But their mouths move and their speech balloons are getting smaller.
Tam, pressing a hand to his chest.
Tam says: "It's like... cotton. Somebody's stuffing cotton in the world."
The silence moving across the square like a shadow on water: a ring of white space spreading out from the arch. Inside it, people's balloons are empty. Outside it, the market noise is still lettered.
Sound: "(outside the ring) chatter chatter clink"
A dog barking at the edge of the ring. Its bark is cut off clean as it crosses.
Sound: "WOR-"
Stallholders inside the ring looking at each other, rubbing their ears, mouthing words that make no sound.
Vela, staring at the ring.
Vela says: "What is that?"
The ring passes over Tam. The panel goes almost white: no border noise, no lettering, no heart-rings. Tam alone at the centre, mouth open, hands over his ears.
Tam thinks: "It's gone. All of it."
Tam's eye, pupil tiny.
Tam thinks: "Her heart. My heart. The crowd."
Tam's fingers on his own throat, feeling for a pulse.
Tam thinks: "I can feel it. I can't hear it."
A cutaway beneath the square, where the great slow ring of the world's beat should be rolling through the stone. Nothing. Just stone.
Tam, terrified for the first time in the chapter.
Tam thinks: "Even the world. I can't hear the world."
Vela grabs his shoulder and shakes him. Her mouth shapes words. The balloon is empty.
Tam, reading her lips.
Tam thinks: "She's saying my name. I can't hear her say my name."
Everyone in the square has stopped. Nobody moves. Nobody tries to speak any more.
The bell-keeper on his ladder, chalk frozen against the board, staring down at the arch.
Through the far arch: Wardens marching in two lines. Their hem-bells swing. No sound.
A hem-bell swinging hard, clapper hitting metal. No SFX at all.
The crowd parting, people pressing back against the stalls, heads down.
Between the two lines, one figure walks alone. Tall, armoured in plain grey plate, cropped hair, no helmet. Her face is in the arch's shadow.
Her steps fall on the stones in perfect silence. Around her the silence is thickest; the air itself seems still.
Tam, white-faced, unable to look away.
Tam thinks: "Her. It's coming from her."
Vela, close to Tam's ear. Her lips shape the words, and for once we letter them as a caption, because neither of them can hear.
Caption (narration): "A Hush. The Sixth Bell."
High above: the whole square stopped and soundless, a thousand people frozen around one walking woman, the calendar board looming over them all. FIRST BEAT: YS 216.
Caption (narration): "Harrow had come to Halfsun."
Art made with AI tools, lettered and laid out by hand.
