Morning light spilled through the cracked windows of the East Bell Tower casting long golden shadows across the broken tiles. The city below was waking up but in this forgotten part of the capital time moved slower as if every sound had to pass through memory first before it could echo
Inside the tower a boy knelt before a stone pedestal placing a mask atop it carefully. It was the mirror mask the one he used with the cello now chipped along the jawline from a fall the night before. He did not speak. He simply ran his fingers along its edge and stood
Beside him the old luthier stood silent watching like a priest at a burial
You're not coming back for this one are you he said
Nocturne didn't answer but his hands tightened slightly around the strap of the case on his back
They'll know you're choosing Seraphina warned. They'll start hunting for you in places no song can reach
Nocturne turned his head slightly the golden light catching on his new mask a pure white one shaped like a moth's face its eye holes narrow and unreadable
Let them he said softly
That evening Seraphina sat in the Royal Archives tracing an old ink drawing with her fingertip. It depicted a masked figure standing at the center of a battlefield surrounded by sleeping soldiers and shattered instruments. The caption beneath it read The Night the Music Silenced War
Her tutor approached but she didn't look up
The old tales say that musician never aged he said quietly. That each time he appeared in history he wore a new face and vanished before anyone could ask why
She finally looked up
Then I'll ask through song not words
And if he doesn't answer
Then I'll make him
Later that night on the rooftop of an abandoned theatre Nocturne sat tuning a rare instrument the dulcimer. Its strings shimmered in the starlight as if alive. He tested a note and the sound rang out like a drop of silver falling into a still lake
A raven landed beside him cawed once and dropped a scroll tied with red thread
He unrolled it eyes scanning the elegant writing
A challenge
An invitation
A piece of music titled simply To the One Who Hides
He did not need to read the name at the bottom
He could feel it
Seraphina was close now
Closer than ever
And this time the next song might not be played in secret but on a stage too bright to ever wear a mask again