On my ninth spiral my parents led me to the mirror. They called me a vessel, and handed over a sizable bag of coins to my father. We said our 'goodbye's. I was to never see them again. I was then a hearer-in-training, and wasn't allowed to be exposed to the slightest bit of emotional turmoil.

For the first spirals as a hearer trainee, my mentors engraved the melodies and lyrics of songs I must able to recall from heart. Countless hours of singing and humming until my throat gave out. As my voice began to distort and husk with puberty, they poured yellow thick liquid down my throat. They said with enough dosages the physical limitations of a fleshy throat would no longer be a problem. The ooze would harden inside on its way downward. I would suffocate, the congealed chunk of slime blocking my air passage. Begging to make it stop or gasping desperately to no avail doesn't help, they repeat "Two more minutes". Every moment is torture. The throat feels solid and stiff.
After the promised two-minutes, an eternity while breathless, they strike my throat. The gel shatters within my esophagus. I soon cough and vomit up the residue harden serum. This process continued until even the most relentless and vigorous strains I could bring to my vocal chords couldn't damage my throat.

Once I mastered every song and hymn required, they sat me down and announced the 'numbing' will start. My eyes are sewn shut. They coat my ears with wax. An odd mask is put over my nose, preventing any scent from passing through. Strange creams dull my skin's sense of touch. A hose is inserted in my mouth, which is then also sealed shut. The hose pours tasteless liquid down my throat every now and then.

Some time passes. To this day I cannot recall how long I had spent surrounded by absolute nothingness and void. Darkness, tranquility, and silence. A second passes like forever, and forever passes like a second whilst you are disconnected from the world of sensations. The number of times the hose pours liquid is the only strings I had attached to the rest of the world to make sense of any humane concepts like time and sense.

After the hose released its fluid a 234 times, a small ringing is heard echoing in my mind. With each moment it grows louder and louder. I involuntarily avert every inch of my mind and energy onto fixating on that shimmering whisper. A great amount of sensory deprivation had left my senses excessively voracious for any stimuli it could find. My entire soul focused on the voice, the only entity at the time capable of sated my ever increasing hunger for some sort of a sensory stimulation.  

Finally the senses were reborn; my eyes were unsown, the mask and the hose came off, and they shaved away a layer of skin that the cream had hardened and numbed out. For a short period every sensation was amplified beyond my imagination. The dimmest lights were blinding,  the faintest noises were roaring, and the softest touch set my skin ablaze. Yet I didn't mind. The  pain, the pleasure, or both. It came and went, without leaving as much as a dent on me. As they explained I would notice once the 'numbing' had successfully completed.

They asked me if I heard anything during the 'numbing'. I replied I heard a ringing voice, which continued to shout louder to this very moment. They said to focus on that sound.

I was brought to a different room. They told me to sing here; whatever song I wanted. The only rule was that I had to concentrate on the sounds in my head, and not anything else. I sang the Sun's Sorrow. My mentor watched over me as I did.

The reports finalized my classification as a hearer; a very potent one at that. I was to work at the central, biggest mirror. The Zenith.

After a while I could slowly regain my control over my sensations. However, focusing on the voice allowed me to revert back to the state I was in during the 'numbing', where I could indulge myself in a mental condition of extreme serenity. In, and only in that stillness and calmness, I could sing as a hearer.

Work at the Zenith was mundane at best. Periodically a child would visit to be checked if they were a vessel, but other than that no specialties ever came around.

Then I was assigned with a curious task.

With Evis.

I was to visit the mansion of Lusk, a wealthy man providing a large amount of donations for the Zenith.