I should probably finish my other stories first, but eh.

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He really wasn't sure how he had first discovered the ability. The cries in The Tower of Heaven were always loud; the screams of anguish and despair were not new to him. But, he knew that he shouldn't've been able to hear that well.

He could hear the guards approaching before they even left their headquarters. He could hear children and infants cry before they even let out a sound. Eventually, he was able to hear others.

He could hear their souls.

He could hear the muscles in their back tense and the whip being brought down on it. He could hear the snap of individual bones; the screams that didn't make it pass the lips. He could hear their thoughts, separate them individually and see how they constructed a single whimper.

He could hear the song that each individual had; in The Tower of Heaven they were deep playing violins, a beautiful and tragic and painful melody.

The guards were a different story though. Their songs were far too sinister; they stood out like a lake in a desert. They were a fast beat, and high pitched, similar to that of a selfish whine.

So when he felt the tugging, he ignored it.

It was strange and unknown and made him gasp at the uncomfortable feeling. He felt as if someone was calling him; he could almost hear it, but it was too distant; it scared him.

He was used to hearing things, knowing what was coming; it comforted him; now that had been ripped away.

Their song was a soft lullaby; it was calm and reassuring and seemed warm.

And with the coolness of the tower, he felt obliged to go after it.

When he first made contact – so to speak – there was a pull that sent him flying. It dragged him through souls, each of their individual songs were loud and cut off abruptly; only to be replaced by another. His journey stopped and he frowned.

He was warm and breathless, but he felt relieved, for what? He didn't know.

The humming came from a girl; it was delicate and strong. She seemed to be at peace, but her song had an underlying deep melody, as if sadness was looming, waiting under the surface for the right time to attack.

He could see her, blonde hair, a pink dress, and two dolls in her hands. He knew she was smiling, although he couldn't see her.

"Can you hear me?" He knew it was a fluke; he half expected her soul to disappear, but it didn't.

She tilted her head. "Yes, I can," her voice was soft and happy. "Why, though?"

"I don't know."

She continued humming, her voice slowly fading out; her body disappearing from his sight.

Before long, he was hurtling back through people's souls, their songs fast and ajar; leaving him with a slight headache. He stared around his cell; everyone else was asleep. He could hear the guard's malicious laughter and a woman screaming. He was envious that the others could so easily block it out.

"You there?" He felt like an idiot, but he was in desperate need of a distraction.

"Why would I have left?" he could sense her grinning, and he forced down his twitching lips. "I'm Lucy, by the way."

"Erik,"

"Where are you, Erik?" she whispered, "Why is it so cold?"

"I don't know where I am." He stared at his cellmates, all fast asleep, their heads cradled between their knees.

"What does it look like?" Erik frowned, staring around the cell,

"It's dirty," It was the most innocent answer he could give her, but he felt obliged to tell her more. "And everyone is always sad, I can hear it."

"So I'm not the only one you can hear?"

"No," He paused, " I'd be happy if you were though."

He could sense her frowning, "Why's that?"

"Because you're happy."

"How do you know that?" He watched warily as a guard passed him, his thoughts promising pain to someone. He grimaced, if only he were strong enough to help them.

"I can hear it." She frowned once more, and Erik decided it didn't suit her, "Your song. . . it's different; it's happy."

"I have a song?" He nodded slightly, even though she couldn't see it.

"Everyone does."

There was a hefty silence, and Erik – for a brief moment – thought he had lost her.

"What does yours sound like?" she was whispering, but her voice was well and truly loud enough for him to hear. But the question felt like a blow to the gut.

He had spent the last months of his life listening to everyone else. Hearing their every thought, the creaking in their muscles as the swung pickaxes, the tearing of their skin. He could hear the build up before a sneeze; how their muscles tensed, and then – for a beautiful, cherished second – how their body would relax. Erik had heard countless people dying, how their songs would fade out until their soul contained nothing but eerie silence.

But he had never heard his own soul.

And the thought of such a thing was rather terrifying.

He had grown accustomed to knowing peoples every move; hearing it; their thoughts, their body, he could hear what they felt, and by some miracle he could feel it too. And it was beautiful in a sense, because Erik would never forget the people that died, that were tortured; he would make sure they were never forgotten.

But, would he be remembered?

"I don't know what my song sounds like," he rested his head against the stone wall behind him; closing his eyes for barely a second, "I've never heard it."

"I wish I could hear it." Erik agreed with her. There was a pause; not a silence, but a general pause in conversation. "I have to go, Erik." Another pause, "Do you get taught anything there – wherever you are, I mean?"

How to be quiet? Yes. How to follow orders? Yes. How to cut your wrists pulling on shackles to hard? Yes, especially that one.

"No, not really. . .Why?" he felt her grinning,

"No reason." She giggled, a bubbly sound that made him relax even more than a sneeze. "Goodbye for now."

"Bye,"

And then Erik was surrounded by the same loud obnoxious noise as before. There was a scream that jolted him out of his thoughts; one that was so horrendous it hurtled him back in to the reality he was used to.

Another scream and he covered his ears; trying to block it out. One of his cellmates whimpered, and Erik made eye contact with him; black eyes stared back at him, fear laced into every ring of colour.

Then as quietly as he could, he shuffled closer to him. He moved his scarred hands from his own ears and put them over the boys. His eyes screwed shut as he hugged his knees and Erik tried something potentially risky.

It was a memory from before he had been captured. The only one he had. It was only sounds, but Erik replayed it whenever he couldn't sleep. Soon enough he was pushing the sound onto the boy. It was simply waves coming in and out, but it was soothing enough; especially in this place.

When the boys eyes popped open in surprise, Erik smiled softly, watching him drift into a calm sleep.

If Lucy could help him from some faraway place, then imagine what he could do.

He could be strong. He would help the people around him, it was the least he could do.

He heard from the cell across from him a baby about to cry. He knew the lashing the woman would get if the baby made to much sound.

"Your babies about cry, there's a guard above us. Be quick."

The woman's eyes were wide and she quickly rocked the child, relief flooding her eyes as the baby remained quiet.

"She needs more sleep." The woman nodded in thanks, too fearful to even question him.

And with effort that had him sweating he concentrated on the boy whose ears he was holding and the baby; replaying the waves over and over again, shushing them both into a sleep.

In his own way, he could help.

He would help.

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~MyFictionalFantasy