The master paced nervously around our small workshop, searching for the right words. Agadon was a small man with short legs, so his gait was more like a child's frolicking. If I didn't know how important a person he once was, I might have giggled under the voal. But I did. It was not a small man but a giant who was marching in front of me. In my eyes, he was a giant whose "once upon a time" included the free Amarian days. Master Agadon had experienced years of respect, just as he was now experiencing humiliation.

"Duvals are related to the blue stripes on your mantles," his own voice chimed in as I pondered the master's greatness and longevity. "A blue sclenite was once found..."

Our loud ”oh” once again filled the room and the bodies beneath the robes shifted in unease. However, the master did not notice any of it. He was completely immersed in the story.

“The people of the lowlands tell us it's a legend. But I know it’s not. Although I have never seen this sclenite, I am sure of its existence. However, it was found in small quantities. Its properties were said to be miraculous. But how much, I have no idea. Scientists were afraid to put such a precious stone to the test and used it to produce the only thing they could agree on. Thus came to be the five pairs of Duval swords.” The master's palm, until then clenched into a fist, rose and opened, fingers spread apart. "Five pairs symbolizing the five sclenite-making cities that had been built up to that time. After all, it was not possible to produce more from such a small amount of sclenite. By that time, the Duval Mountains had already been completed. Each of the cities reportedly received one pair. A weapon so powerful that nothing could match it. The energy within it was strong and almost uncontrollable. That's why duvals for the Twenty-Five were created to symbolize..."

"What did they do?" Kastor and I shouted in unison, waving our hands at each other to silence the other.

“Well…” Master thought for a moment and touched his chin with his index finger. “They said they controlled the energy in every sclenite. A trained listener could, for example, use them to disrupt the energy of people in the lowlands. Or he might even cancel the fereastra between the turnuls.”

We started fidgeting nervously again. This morning was full of horror. First, we learnt about terrible creatures that can penetrate the shield, and then about a rare type of sclenite that, in the wrong hands, could wipe out humanity. My whole body was covered in sweat under my mantle and I could hardly breathe.

Master suddenly noticed us cowering in fear behind our desks and a smile flashed across his face for the first time since morning.

"These are just guesses," he quickly reassured our frightened minds. “The power of the blue sclenite has never been truly tested. These are just guesses, my boys. Blue duvals have disappeared somewhere, and maybe it's for the better. Perhaps the fayas hid them from the lowlanders. Maybe they were destroyed. It's not good to leave something so powerful in the world. The people of lowland don’t symbolize us by the clear sclenite, as you might expect. But the blue one. That's why you have blue stripes sewn onto your mantles so everyone knows who you are. Maybe the fayas were trying to shame the glaziers. But in the end, they couldn't choose a rarer color for us."

At that moment, it occurred to me that this might be the reason why I had never noticed the hatred towards the lowlanders from the master. Even though they enslaved us, the master knew they would never get to us. No matter what they do, they will never get what we own. They will never reach the greatest sclenite treasures. Even in these times, the master was able to find bright moments and remind us that we have something to be proud of. As one of the few. And from the amused glint in his eyes at that last sentence, I could tell he knew more about the blue sclenite duvals than he was willing to let on.

When the master finished his narration that day and we were alone in the workshop, we stood tensely, breathing heavily. My head was buzzing with a swarm of thoughts and I didn't know which one to focus on first.

“Why haven't we heard of the nastereas? How come we don't know about those creatures?" Davor was finally the first to blurt out, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Where have you lived for the last eleven years, Davor?" Bazil sputtered. “Nothing really gets into the ghetto! They're keeping us out!'

“Then why did the master tell us this? Why us?" Davor did not give up and spoke out loud the questions that troubled each of us. "You think we're the only ones he told?"

Kastor swung onto his desk, sat down, and let his legs dangle in the air. He rocked them for a while, hands folded in his lap.

"I think the whole workshop knows. But they didn't spread it for the same reason I won't.” He lifted his head and watched us intently with his eyes hidden in the dark holes of the voal. "I don't know about you, but I won't tell at home. I won't scare anyone more than necessary. If mother found out that there…” he nodded in the direction where the retea was looming above the mountain range, “… was something running around in that cloud and it was attacking us, she would probably never sleep again.”

Bazil and Davor nodded in understanding. Only I sat stiffly at my desk.

"And you, Ilan?" Bazil interrupted me.

I breathed in protest, but immediately exhaled again. Would persuading them be worth it? Everyone was actually right. We were not protected outside the ghetto walls. Even though the lowlands created the Twenty-Five, I knew for sure that it was to protect the sclenite and the people living in the cities. But no one protected us. If the nastereas attacked, the glaziers would be sacrificed. So why scare our loved ones? Still, I knew that when I got home today, I would tell my mother and Gedeon everything. I wouldn't be able to hide anything from them.

But I shook my head to keep the master's study calm. "I'll keep my mouth shut."

I couldn't let go of one thing that day. I saw the master's gloomy face several more times. I longed to know the reason for his concern. I waited until the guards had collected the lapidaries and the workshop was empty so as not to embarrass the master. Then I gently pulled him by the stema's sleeve.

"You were sad today," I began quietly. "Why? Is something wrong?"

The master watched silently as the last lapidaries left the workshop, then to my surprise told the guards from my ghetto to come back for me later.

“I need to talk to you, Ilan,” he informed me shortly.

When we were alone, he knelt down next to me so that our eyes were on the same level. As if talking to an equal.

"You don't miss a thing, do you, Ilan?"

His warm hands rubbed my shoulders, his thumbs circling the protruding bones as he tried to feel the outline of the body hidden under the mantle.

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"You are terribly thin," muttered the master to himself. “I should get you a bigger ration of food. Mainly meat. You'll never get stronger like this, and you'll need strength to work as a listener."

"Master?" I yelped in astonishment. Did Agadon really believe that I could one day be a listener? I hoped so. I spent so many nights dreaming of my future position in the city and imagining myself walking freely within the walls. How the stone walls of the ghetto disappear behind me. But the master never talked to me about it. Ever since gura Elmar brought me here, he hasn't mentioned my gift. Until now.

"Come on, Ilan.” He slapped me lightly on the back. "You see for yourself that you are far ahead of others at work, even though you are younger."

He stood up and began to push me into his study ahead of him.

When we sat down and I was given a bowl of apa, the master looked at me seriously. "Rezils were attacked by nastereas three days ago," he began grimly. “No one understands why this happened, but two of the three city listeners who tended the shield were killed. The last one, who was only an apprentice, is injured. But it is not known if he will survive. Rezils request that we send one of our listeners. And I'm afraid such a request cannot be refused.”

Thoughts swirled in my head and a cold sweat broke out on my body again. Won't the horror end today?

“And why Amaria? And how many listeners do we actually have?” I wondered as the first wave of panic subsided. I stared into the bowl, wondering why the master was giving me, an eight-year-old boy, such a secret message.

Agadon's deep sigh echoed through the room.

"Why Amaria?" he asked incredulously, as if he expected me to know the answer. “Amarian listeners are the best. And how many are there? There are ten of us who make turnuls. But only three can detect impending danger in time and have access to curpulas. Then one apprentice in case one of the listeners dies.”

Guards also wore curpulas. It was a kind of imitation whistle, about as long as a grown man's middle finger, with a small bulb at the end. It was made of gray sclenite, just like the city curpulas on the walls. These were, of course, considerably larger. One at the south end and one at the north end. Their sound carried far beyond the city. The last time Amaria experienced an alarm was less than a year ago.

"But all the listeners can hear the retea, right?" I continued to ask, because I was missing something.

"Yes," the master understood what I was getting at. "Some better, some worse. But time plays a big role. All listeners hear the retea, you're right. But only the best can tell which of the many turnuls is damaged and where the sound is coming from. These are the qualities that I lack at my age and that you, on the contrary, are approaching."

There was a moment of silence as the master pondered his aging gift, after which I again forced him to continue.

“And how did they kill them? Did they break into Rezil? And where was the Twenty-Five?” How could such a thing even happen? I thought. From what I heard from the master, Rezil was not a small city. It must have been well protected. Each city had its own army. How did the creatures get to the listeners?

“Nastereas have never killed a glazier yet. "Their victims tend to be soldiers or people from the lowlands who travel to the sclenite-making cities for trade," the master began to explain. As was his habit, he took everything from the beginning so that I could understand the connections. “This is the first time they have attacked those who hold in their hands the lives of us all. There are very few listeners in the world who can really perceive the retea. This also requires long-term training, which can begin so late as in adulthood. Only you perceive it since childhood. Listeners are also one of the few who can freely move around the city, even leaving it when they need to go to the mines. Someone had to lure them out. No one knows why they came out of the city, or how they passed through the small western gate at night, when it was closed, and went out on their own. But those creatures know where our weak spot is. If there are no listeners, one of the turnuls will one day burst and the adjacent fereastra will disappear. Then we're done. And the Twenty-Five?” Master smoothed the stem on his feet and then answered. “The army didn't fight. It didn't intervene at all, because before anyone knew what was happening, it was all over. They didn't attack the city like usual. They had a plan, which scares me. They are smart and maybe even smarter than us. They know us, while we know nothing about them at all.”

Agadon took a long drink from the bowl, then wiped the remnants of apa from his lips with the back of his hand. “Ilan, now tell me something. Do you remember how long it took for the curpulas to sound the last time?”

It got me thinking. Year by year my hearing becomes more sensitive. I didn't hear the retea all the time like adult listeners did. So far, I only noticed when it was disturbed and spoke louder. But it took quite a long time last year. I remember rolling over in bed waiting for the sharp sound of the curpulas. But nothing happened for a long time. Finally, I couldn't stand it, got up and went to wake up my mother. I was worried that something had happened or that my hearing wasn't as good as I thought. In a shaky voice, I explained to her what I was afraid of. But before I had even finished speaking, the whistling of the curpulas pierced the night silence.

"You see," my mother told me then. “Everything is fine again. Go to sleep, Ilan.” And I did.

"A long time, I think," I replied hesitantly.

The master nodded his head in understanding. "I thought so. Your hearing is sharpening. You are way ahead…”

“But I can't hear the shield all the time! Only sometimes. For example, during a storm," I discouraged him from premature praise.

"It will be even. You will see."

The master hesitated again until I had to sigh to remind him why he was telling me all this.

Agadon leaned in slightly towards me and blinked a few times. "Now listen to me carefully. Of course we have an apprentice, but he's not sure yet. It will take a while for him to listen properly. For now, there will be only two listeners in the city. It's a huge responsibility. Amaria takes care of the largest section of the retea. You never know what can happen. Every good ear will be useful. The next time you hear the shield, you'll come to tell me immediately, and when you're in the ghetto, you'll quickly run to Elmar. Immediately! Every second can be fatal."

I swallowed hard. "I will be a listener?"

The master smiled slightly and shook his head. “I've already spoken to Elmar. We won't tell anyone about your gift. If the faya found out what a gifted glazier he has in the city, you could become a toy in his hands. I don't know how much he would use you. And you're still a kid, Ilan. I don't want him to take you away from your mother. We'll do it this way for now, okay?"

I nodded hesitantly. Now the responsibility will fall on me too? What if my hearing is not that good? What if everyone is wrong about me? But I didn't get a chance to express my doubts. The guard who was supposed to take me back to the ghetto was banging on our door.

"But you still haven't told me why you were so sad today," I reminded the master somewhat rudely.

The Master furrowed his brow and gripped the handle but did not open the door. "If I tell you, will you keep it to yourself?"

I was taken aback by his request, but I nodded.

"I think war is coming. And I think it's going to be bad. The people of the lowlands may have taken our freedom, enslaved us, and made us miserable, but I fear that there is something much worse on the other side of the Duval Mountains. And even the people of the lowlands won’t be able to defend themselves. Maybe what we have now is good. There are still times when we can laugh. But what comes next? Nastereas were created by the people of the lowlands. And what do they get back? What evil lurks beneath that cloud, Ilan?'

I definitely didn't have an answer to that question. I just shook my head.

“And how did those listeners die?” I wondered.

“That's the thing, Ilan. Their bodies were found outside the walls. They were burned, yet none of the guards on the walls saw the fire that night. They would have definitely noticed it.”

Master opened the door, put on an impenetrable expression, and pushed me outside where a guard was waiting for me.

I returned home that day with a heavy head. I longed to see my mother and Gedeon. I wanted to tell them everything afresh. I knew they would be as excited about the news as I was. The glaziers in the ghetto received so little from the outside. We were grateful for any news from the outside world. I just hoped I wouldn't pass on to them the terror that nestled in my every muscle.

"I was starting to get worried about you!" my mother ran to meet me. "What happened? The others returned long ago! It's night! Was the master mad at you? Did you get punished?'

After the master's last words, I felt miserable. I wrapped my arms around my mother's waist and squeezed her as if the master's prediction of war would come true tonight.

"No, Mom," I assured her as I walked. "We just needed to finish something and didn't want to be interrupted."

Fortunately, my mother believed me and I tried to focus on more pleasant things than war. I've never experienced one and never wanted to.

The Twenty-Five. I latched onto those words and pushed our secret conversation with the master out of my head.

There was a lot to tell that evening. I jumped from story to story until my mother had to admonish me. I flooded their heads with new words, but could no longer explain them like the master. Then my brother also started asking questions so it was his turn to be reprimanded. Gedeon's eyes shone with excitement in the darkness. He was kneeling down on the dirt floor, his breath caressing my cheek pleasantly. I didn't remember him like that. I always saw him tired, exhausted, full of disgust for life and his lot. But that night I gave him an excuse to laugh, ask questions, and show interest. That night, Gedeon changed before my eyes. Especially when I was explaining the origin of the blue stripes. I felt that for a brief moment at least he forgot about the hard work and hardship and was proud of who he was.

Late at night, lying on my bed in the dark and listening to my brother's breathing, I drifted off into a dream. I longed to see duvals. I wanted to become a listener and be able to touch them. Seeing twenty-five warriors draw their weapons against the enemy and hearing their sound. Be intoxicated by the energy flowing between the sclenite and the warrior. To forget the dangerous fight and only perceive that beautiful voice. To have that opportunity at least once in a lifetime. At that moment, I fully realized that without us, glaziers, the world would not be the way it is. That there would be nothing without us. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and the hope that my life had meaning. And that all is not lost.