The voices came with the twilight—though twilight was a poor word for what happened in a place where time followed no sun's path and light obeyed no natural law. Perhaps it was better to say they came with the shift, that subtle change in the void's atmosphere that suggested transition, transformation, the boundary between one state and another.
Selena heard them first as harmonics beneath the rustling of the Silence Tree's flame-leaves. A whisper of sound that might have been wind, might have been memory, might have been something else entirely. She lifted her head from where she'd been resting against Dante's shoulder, both of them seated at the tree's base, and listened more carefully.
"Do you hear that?" she asked.
Dante's eyes opened, his storm-grey irises flickering with attention. "Voices," he said after a moment. "Multiple voices. But they're not speaking—they're..."
"Singing," Selena finished, wonder flooding through her.
