The silent bell the diss.., p.1
The Silent Bell (The Dissonance Chronicles Book 2), page 1
THE SILENT BELL
THE DISSONANCE CHRONICLES BOOK 2
D.K. HOLMBERG
Copyright © 2026 by ASH Publishing
Cover art by Damonza.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Series by D.K. Holmberg
PROLOGUE
Two weeks.
Fourteen days since I’d watched the Maestro fall to his knees, his power unraveling like frayed thread. And then Leo had vanished into the dissonance, leaving me with nothing but cryptic instructions and the ghost of a melody I still couldn’t fully understand. Fourteen nights of restless sleep, haunted by the memory of what I’d done—what I’d become—in that square in Ibanar.
And still, the Guild was tearing itself apart.
I stood in the shadow of the eastern colonnade, watching the chaos unfold across the Grand Hall. The space had been designed to inspire awe—soaring arches, intricate stonework, banners bearing the Guild’s ancient symbols. Now it felt like a battlefield where the weapons were words and the casualties were loyalties.
“The Maestro was right!”
The words cut through the ambient murmur, sharp and certain. I recognized the speaker as Daven Correll, a senior operative who’d been with the Guild longer than I’d been alive. He stood near the central fountain, surrounded by a cluster of like-minded members, their faces hard with conviction.
“Leo was the threat,” Daven continued, his voice carrying that particular resonance that came from years of chording practice. “He was working with the Celebrants, undermining everything we’ve built. The Maestro was protecting us. Protecting the realm. And what did we do? We let a group of traitors drive him out.”
The dissonance around him felt rigid. Controlled. Like music played by someone who valued technical perfection over emotional truth. I’d felt that signature before, in burned villages, in executed civilians, in the Maestro’s own techniques. These people had learned to shape the world the same way their leader had. With force. With certainty. Without question.
“Protecting us?” The voice was younger, angrier. Mira Thorne, one of Nyban’s supporters. “The Maestro was using us. Using our power to open gates to things we don’t understand. How many villages burned because of his protection? How many innocent people?”
“Lies spread by Leo and his Celebrant allies—”
“I saw the bodies myself!” Mira’s hands were clenched at her sides. “I walked through the ash. I felt the Maestro’s signature in the dead. Don’t tell me what I witnessed was a lie.”
The dissonance shifted around them, growing turbulent as emotions ran higher. The Song beneath—that fundamental harmony Leo had taught me to hear—was fragmenting into discordant notes. Two melodies trying to occupy the same space, neither willing to yield.
This was what civil war sounded like before the first blow was struck.
I started to move away, to find somewhere quieter where I could think. But I’d barely taken three steps when a hand caught my shoulder, spinning me around.
“You.”
Daven Correll stood before me, his face twisted with barely contained fury. Up close, I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of conviction that had become indistinguishable from desperation. Behind him, his supporters had formed a loose semicircle, cutting off my retreat.
“Silas, isn’t it?” He said my name like it was an accusation. “The Hunter who turned traitor. Who sided with Leo against his own Guild.”
I kept my voice calm. “I sided with the truth.”
“The truth?” Daven laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The truth is you destroyed everything the Maestro built. Everything that kept us safe, kept the realm stable. And for what? For Leo? For Nyban’s fantasy of reformation?”
“The Maestro was corrupt.” The words came out flat, tired. I’d had this argument before—in whispered conversations, in tense council sessions, in the silence of my own thoughts. “He burned villages. Killed innocents. Tried to open a gate to power he couldn’t control. I didn’t destroy what he built. I exposed what it always was.”
Daven’s hand moved to his instrument, a small citole hanging at his hip. “You’re a traitor to everything the Guild stands for.”
The dissonance tightened around us as his supporters began reaching for their own instruments. The hall had gone quiet. Everyone watched. Waited.
“Stand down, Daven.”
Nyban’s voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. He emerged from the far doorway, moving with that precise economy of motion I remembered from my training. His presence in the dissonance was calm and controlled, but underneath I could feel the iron will that had allowed him to face the Maestro himself.
“This isn’t the time or place,” Nyban continued, stopping a few feet away. “We have enough enemies outside these walls without making more within them.”
Daven’s hand didn’t move from his citole. “You can’t protect him forever. The Maestro’s people haven’t forgotten. Haven’t forgiven.”
“And Nyban’s people haven’t forgotten the villages,” Mira called from across the hall. “Haven’t forgiven the murders.”
For a moment, everything balanced on a knife’s edge. I could feel both factions tensing, could hear the Song fragmenting further into chaos. One wrong word, one sudden movement, and the Grand Hall would become a battlefield.
Then Daven stepped back, releasing his instrument with visible reluctance. “This isn’t over,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “The Guild will remember who its true enemies are.”
He turned and walked away, his supporters following in tight formation. But I could feel their attention lingering, could hear the dissonant chord their anger left vibrating in the air.
Nyban waited until they were gone before speaking. “Walk with me.”
We moved through the Guild’s back corridors, passages I’d rarely used during my training. Nyban walked in silence for several minutes, and I matched his pace, waiting for him to speak. The dissonance here was quieter, the stone walls muffling the chaos of the Grand Hall. But I could still feel it—that underlying wrongness, that fundamental discord that had infected everything since the Maestro’s fall.
“Half our people still think the Maestro was protecting us,” Nyban said finally. He sounded tired in a way I’d never heard before. “They don’t know what he really was. Or maybe they know and don’t care. The corruption ran deep, Silas. Deeper than I realized.”
“Will they follow you?”
“Some will. Others are already working against me—quietly, for now. Spreading rumors. Questioning my decisions. Waiting for me to make a mistake they can exploit.” He stopped at a window overlooking the training grounds, where young operatives practiced their chording under watchful eyes. “I’m orchestrating the transition carefully. We can’t afford civil war.”
I thought about the tension in the Grand Hall. About Daven’s hand on his citole. About how close we’d come to violence. “Can we afford to avoid it?”
Nyban turned to face me. In the dim light, I could see how much the past two weeks had cost him. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. “I have to believe we can. The alternative is too costly.”
He started walking again, leading me deeper into the Guild’s inner sanctum. We passed locked doors and guarded chambers, places I’d never been allowed during my time as a Hunter. Finally, he stopped before an unmarked door, produced a key, and ushered me inside.
The room was small and functional, with a desk, two chairs, and maps spread across every surface. But what caught my attention was what covered the maps—notes, diagrams, lines connecting names and locations in patterns I couldn’t immediately parse.
“The Maestro survived,” Nyban said, closing the door behind us. “Badly weakened, but alive. He fled during the chaos, while we were still recovering from the battle.”
I’d suspected as much. Hoped otherwise, but suspected. “Where?”
“North, as far as we can tell. He has allies there—people who believe as Daven does, who see him as the Guild’s rightful leader. He’s rebuilding, Silas. Gathering strength. And when he returns…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Some Guild members are actively working against the reformation,” Nyban continued. “Passin g information, sabotaging our efforts. There’s a faction within these walls that would welcome the Maestro back and help him reclaim power if they could.”
“Then root them out.”
“I’m trying. But I can’t move too fast, can’t be too aggressive, or I become exactly what they claim—a tyrant replacing a tyrant.” He moved to the desk, shuffling through papers until he found what he was looking for. “Which brings me to you.”
He handed me a document. A travel authorization, signed and sealed. “I have an assignment for you.”
“I’m a Hunter. We hunt threats to the Guild.”
“And right now, the greatest threat to the Guild is the Maestro’s return.” Nyban’s eyes met mine. “Leo trusted you for a reason. So do I.”
The words hit harder than I expected. Leo had manipulated me, tested me, but ultimately trusted me to make the right choices. And I’d proven him right. But that trust felt like a weight now, a responsibility I wasn’t sure I was ready to carry.
“There’s a healer named Larale,” Nyban continued. “You know her.”
I did. She’d been with us during the final confrontation, had helped tend Leo’s wounds and volunteered to fight despite having no combat training. “What about her?”
“She was formerly in the Maestro’s employ. Before she found her way to us, she served in one of his medical outposts. She has information about Guild corruption—names, locations, evidence of the Maestro’s crimes that we need to build our case.”
“If she has evidence, why not bring her here? Let her testify before the Council?”
“Because the Maestro’s people know what she knows. She’s been targeted twice already in assassination attempts disguised as accidents. She’s not safe in Ibanar, and she’s not safe traveling alone.” Nyban handed me a map with a route marked in red ink. “I need you to escort her to Yur. There’s a faction there sympathetic to our cause, people who can protect her while we prepare for the Maestro’s next move.”
I studied the map. Yur was a considerable journey—weeks of travel through territory that might or might not be hostile. “Why me?”
“Because you’re one of the few people I trust absolutely. And because Larale specifically requested you.”
That surprised me. I’d barely spoken to her during our time together. She’d been focused on Leo and the rest of the wounded. On survival. “Why?”
“You’d have to ask her. But I suspect it has something to do with what you did in that square. What you became.” Nyban’s voice softened slightly. “She saw you reshape the dissonance and unmake the Maestro’s power with nothing but will and understanding. That kind of ability… It inspires trust. Or fear.”
I thought about that moment. About reaching into the Song beneath all structure and simply changing it. About the power that had flowed through me, terrible and beautiful and utterly beyond anything the Guild had taught. I still didn’t fully understand what I’d done. Wasn’t sure I could do it again.
“She betrayed her previous employer,” I said slowly. “The Maestro. To help the reformation.”
“Yes.”
“Not to help me specifically.”
“No. She made her choice before she knew what you could do. She saw what the Maestro was building, what he’d become, and couldn’t stomach being part of it anymore.” Nyban paused. “She’s not doing this for you, Silas. She’s doing it because it’s right. Just as you did.”
I looked at the map again. At the long road stretching north toward Yur. At the uncertainty waiting at every turn.
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow. Dawn. Larale will meet you at the eastern gate.”
I found Asarina in the quarters Leo had once used, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her eyes closed. The room was sparse—a narrow bed, a writing desk, shelves lined with books and strange instruments I’d never learned the names of. Leo’s presence lingered here like perfume, a faint resonance in the dissonance that I could feel but couldn’t quite grasp.
She didn’t open her eyes when I entered. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Nyban told you.”
“Nyban tells me everything now.” A slight smile curved her lips. “He thinks I’m useful. Someone who trained with Leo but isn’t Guild. Someone the reformation faction trusts and the loyalists can’t openly condemn.”
I sat down across from her, close enough that our knees almost touched. In the candlelight, her features seemed softer than I remembered. Less guarded. The past two weeks had changed her too, though in different ways than they’d changed me.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked. “Being useful?”
Her eyes opened, dark and thoughtful. “I feel like I’m finally doing something that matters. All those years training with Leo, learning techniques I didn’t understand, preparing for a confrontation I couldn’t imagine—it felt abstract. Theoretical. Now it’s real. The Guild is fractured, the Maestro is rebuilding, and someone needs to hold the center together while people like you go out and do the dangerous work.”
“The dangerous work.” I shook my head. “I’m escorting a healer to Yur. It’s not exactly facing down the Maestro in a public square.”
“It’s exactly that dangerous, and you know it.” She leaned forward, her expression sharpening. “The Maestro’s people are everywhere. They’ve already tried to kill Larale. And you’ll be traveling through territory where the Guild’s authority is… uncertain. Where the old loyalties still hold.”
“I can handle it,” I said.
“I know you can. That’s not what worries me.”
Something in her voice made me pause. “What does worry you?”
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to her hands folded in her lap. I could feel her presence in the dissonance shifting—that controlled stillness she maintained wavering slightly, revealing something underneath. Something vulnerable.
“I worry that you’ll forget to come back.”
The words hung between us. I reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cool against mine, her grip tight. Things had changed between us in the last two weeks in a way that neither of us had planned.
“Asarina—”
“I know how you are, Silas. How you get focused on a mission, on a goal, until nothing else exists. I saw it when you were hunting Leo. It consumed you. And now you have a new purpose, a new enemy, and I’m afraid…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m being foolish.”
“You’re not.” I shifted closer, our hands still intertwined. “I came back before. I’ll come back again.”
“You came back because Leo brought you back. Because he arranged everything—our meeting, our journey together, that final confrontation. He orchestrated your return.” Her eyes met mine, and I saw tears threatening at the edges. “But Leo’s gone now. Diffused into the Song, or whatever he did. And I don’t know how to bring you back if you lose yourself again.”
I thought about Leo’s final lesson, his voice resonating from everywhere and nowhere as he slipped into the spaces between worlds: Trust the Song, Silas. It’ll guide you where you need to go.
“He taught us both to hear the Song,” I said softly. “To find each other through the noise and chaos. That doesn’t change because of distance.”
“Maybe.” She wiped her eyes with her free hand, a gesture that seemed to embarrass her. “Or maybe I’m just afraid because I’ve never had something I was scared to lose before.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. The confession felt too large, too significant for the small room and the guttering candles. So instead I pulled her closer, wrapped my arms around her, and held her while the dissonance swirled around us—uncertain, turbulent, but somehow still forming patterns I could almost understand.
“Tell me what you’ll do while I’m gone,” I said into her hair.
She pulled back slightly, composing herself. “Nyban wants me to attend the Council sessions. To be a visible reminder that Leo’s students support the reformation. Half the Guild thinks we were all traitors, and the other half thinks we’re the only hope for meaningful change. I’m supposed to bridge that gap.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. And dangerous in its own way.” She smiled ruefully. “Daven Correll cornered me yesterday. Wanted to know what Leo really taught me. What secrets I might be hiding. He didn’t threaten me directly, but the implication was clear: If I’m not with them, eventually I’ll be against them.”
