“He sings only when no one listens—and never the same song twice.”
Child-Singer Orrin is the youngest known member of the Silent Choir—a haunting assembly of children who only sing when unobserved. But even among the Choir, Orrin is different. His voice has power. His songs have consequences.
No one knows where Orrin came from. Some say he was stolen from Earth during a school nativity performance, mid-hymn. Others believe he was born from the echo of a lullaby forgotten too many times. Regardless of origin, Orrin now walks the Pale Courts in bare feet, trailing a pale ribbon and humming melodies that no adult dares record.
He does not speak, but understands all language. He cannot write, but his songs can inscribe runes into light itself. When unobserved—truly unobserved—Orrin sings. Walls ripple. Time slows. Forgotten moments return. Some nights, he is heard by no one, and those nights, the world changes slightly.
Queen Elidore keeps him close, though never touches him. Her throne room always has a hidden corner where a child might sit unseen. On certain days, Orrin’s hums influence the entire court, directing moods, lighting, and even the tempo of time. When he stops singing, things unravel. Courtiers panic. The sky flickers.
He is not cruel. But he is curious. And lonely.
Unlike the other Silent Choir children—who have glass eyes and barely move—Orrin explores. He mimics visitors. He hides in curtains. He once stole the Hollow Queen’s reflection for a full day, replacing it with a dancing child’s silhouette. She did not punish him. She wept.
The Thorne Institute has tried to locate his Earthly origins but failed. One researcher suggested that he does not have a fixed timeline—that he may be born in the future, and his current presence is an echo moving backward.
In 2008, a choirboy in Gloucestershire vanished during Evensong. He was found the next morning, unharmed, asleep in the church bell tower, holding a ribbon tied in a knot that could not be untied. He could not remember how he got there. When asked what he last sang, he whispered: “It was for someone who forgot how to be real.”
Orrin may one day grow. And if he does, he will no longer be part of the Choir.
What then?
Will he sing a name that was never meant to be heard?
Or will the Pale Courts fall silent forever?
Faylinn Defence Group 