Kyren Blackwood was the greatest silversmith the people of Luche had ever seen. He had only recently turned seventeen years old and, by all accounts, should have still been an apprentice in the trade, but he was a prodigy. No one had ever brought such fine silver work to market.

But he was a small and fragile thing, abandoned by his family in a time of illness. His skin was pale, his cheeks gaunt, and his eyes hollow. Such a poor thing. When he told his story, the people could not help but admire his wares longer. Who would abandon such a talented young man? They couldn't help themselves. Many purchased silver rings, silver necklaces, silverware, silver hand mirrors, silver anything. Whatever they could to ensure this wandering silversmith could continue his trade.

When he thanked them for their purchases, he smiled like the sun. Truly, he was a handsome young man beneath his frailness.

But whispers followed mystery. Wherever Kyren went, so did the rumors of the Blackwood manor. It's empty, they said, but it's all silver inside. It must be the work of a patron, but no one knows for certain. There are no sigil bearers in the Blackwood family.

The other Blackwoods haven't been seen in years, others gossiped. Only Kyren, the eldest son, appears occasionally at markets on his travels. Where have they all gone? Were they not once renowned silversmiths?

Other rumors crept in Kyren's shadow, spun by those who purchase his silver. They said it cried in the night, a scream so bitter that many locked it away and hid it until morning. Yet its shine was so brilliant, its make so perfect, that none can bear to throw it out. The cries grew fainter over time, but they never disappeared. Truly, Kyren's silver was hauntingly beautiful.

By the time they would return to market to ask about it, the boy silversmith would be gone.

Luche was a large and bustling city, and he lingered long, bouncing from one market to the next until he had nothing left but a small silver figure—a little fish that fit in the palm of his smooth hand. It was the last of the silver, and he considered tossing it in a nearby fountain.

But a little girl sat watching out of the corner of her eye, one hand in the fountain. When she sat back, shaking droplets from her tan fingers, she shoved her auburn hair out of her face and eyed the fish. "They don't breathe well out of water," she said matter-of-factly.

Kyren the silversmith smiled, but there was something strained about it that unnerved the little girl. He sat on the edge of the fountain and held out his hand. "It's made of silver," he said, turning it over so that the precious metal shimmered in the sunlight. "Only a trinket. It doesn't need the water."

She leaned toward him with interest, brown eyes shining. Then she plopped down beside him, tucking her skirt under her legs. Her braid swung behind her. "I'll play with it! I like fish. We keep several in the pond. Papa says Marin wishes we wouldn't, but I like to watch them swim."

"Why don't you keep this one?" He took her hands and pressed the silver fish into them. They were small, disappearing almost entirely beneath his bony ones as he curled her fingers closed around the trinket. He let out a sigh. "Consider it a gift. For... being so friendly."

"Oh." She lifted the fish to the sun, admiring its shine. The silver did sound like it was crying, and it hummed in a familiar way. Like the water in the chapel. "Do you have a sigil?"

Kyren stiffened and touched his shoulder. "I—"

"Calliope!" A woman called out, emerging from the busy streets. Relief tore a sigh from her as she spotted the little girl. She rushed over and scooped her up, fretting over her as mothers do. The little girl proudly showed her the fish and spilled into a long explanation of how the nice silversmith had given it to her. It seemed to fluster her mother. Kyren felt awfully small, watching them. Then the woman turned to him and dipped her head quickly before hurrying away with the little girl still clutching the silver fish, watching Kyren over her shoulder.

When they were gone, Kyren sagged with relief, smoothing a hand through his dark brown curls. "That's the last of it," he said.

No passerby could have heard the woman's voice, rich as velvet and soft as a bell, but Kyren could. He always did. Then you are free.

Kyren disappeared from Luche after that. He disappeared from everywhere. No one ever bought silver from Kyren Blackwood again, and the mystery of it soon faded. The quiet screams from within could still be heard, but only if you pressed your ear close to the silver when the moon was full and the night was long. Kyren was never a silversmith again, only a sigil bearer and an expert gameplayer.

And he was always wholly and completely Kyren.

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