Nox’s mouth opened wide to recite answer forty-seven in the floating library. The word that came out was not a number, but a question: "But WHY does the tower float?" The examiner's silver quill hovered, unmarked, while other hatchlings droned the correct answer in chorus.
Nox scrubbed his claws across his clay slate trying to carve the *why* out, but it bubbled back up like a second layer of dark ink. He felt the weight of the wrongness pressing against his throat. The other hatchlings did not notice his struggle.
The night before the Great Recital, Nox recited the answers three times beneath the ticking of the silver clock. Each time a *what if* popped up like a thread snagged on a claw. He shook his head harder until the third try his slate cracked.
The other hatchlings were asleep; their slates lay still and silent in the lamplight every word filled in. Nox stared at the broken pieces of his own slate. The silence of the room felt louder than any roar could ever be.
Nox stepped onto the high stage of the Great Recital and the silver-robed court went quiet. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Above him the floating libraries creaked and tilted on their invisible moorings. The hundreds of answers etched into the hall walls glared down at him.
The silence stretched so long that a candle in the back row guttered out. Nox felt the heat of a thousand staring eyes. He wanted to scream the truth but only air came out. The pressure in the room was suffocating.
Nox set the slate on the stage floor with a soft clatter and said loud and plain: "I don't know why the towers float. What if the answers were only true for today?" The floating libraries shuddered and leaned sideways.
The smooth silver walls of the hall cracked open like a flower blooming in reverse revealing thousands of tiny carved questions buried underneath every answer. The Queen rose from her high seat placing both palms flat on her throne.
She said in three hundred years no one has made the towers remember their questions. She named Nox to the new Council of Questioners. The other hatchlings gasped in shock as the ancient magic of inquiry awakened in the stone.
Nox settled into a low wooden chair in a round chamber whose walls were blank unmarked silver smooth and waiting. He pressed his flat palm against the metal and whispered what if tomorrow? The surface rippled once faintly.
