He opened his mouth and sang.
“What materials?”
“Try,” Elara said. “Or we all fall.” togamato
Togamato stepped closer. The crystal’s light washed over him, and for a moment, he wasn’t a mechanic. He was a memory. He saw himself, younger, standing before a similar crystal in a different city—his birth city, long fallen. He had been part of a team of Harmonic Monks, keepers of acoustic stability. But during a crisis, he had hesitated. His hesitation had caused a cascade failure. Everyone died. Everyone except him. He opened his mouth and sang