The staircase spiraled endlessly downward lit only by the faint blue glow pulsing from the ancient runes carved along the walls. With each step the air grew colder heavier as if pressing against their lungs. Seraphina kept close to Nocturne her fingers grazing the wall tracing the musical notations etched deep into the stone
They weren't just lyrics
They were warnings
Do not play the last note
Do not wake the conductor
Do not name the silence
After what felt like hours they reached a chamber buried beneath time itself. At the center stood a dais with a single object resting atop it
A broken conductor's baton
Wrapped in red string
Bound with seven wax seals
Nocturne stepped forward cautiously
This isn't part of the vision
Seraphina nodded eyes fixed on the baton
This is real
She could feel it in her bones. Music older than their world slept here. It called not through sound but through presence. Her heart trembled as the walls pulsed with a rhythm too ancient to be remembered by mortals
Nocturne knelt by the dais his hand hovering above the baton
My mentor once told me that all masked musicians are echoes of the first conductor
The one who played for gods and died before his song could end
And what happens if someone finishes it Seraphina asked
The world listens
The chamber trembled
Suddenly a wind howled through the passage they'd come from blowing out the blue light. Only the runes around the dais remained glowing faintly
A deep voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere
Who dares tune the silence
Nocturne and Seraphina spun around but no figure stood there only a swirl of red dust rising from the cracks in the stone. From it a figure began to form masked and draped in tattered robes holding no instrument yet commanding the air with pure presence
The first conductor
The mask on its face was blank but weeping dark ink from its eyes
Your music is not yet earned it said
Seraphina stepped forward voice steady
Then test us
The figure raised its hand and seven strings of crimson light shot from the baton wrapping around their arms pulling them toward a second chamber. Inside seven ancient instruments sat in a circle
Each one broken
Each one waiting
Nocturne's eyes narrowed as his hand reached toward the first
If we must finish the song
Then we'll begin by mending the instruments of silence
The doors closed behind them sealing the chamber
And above ground the wind carried a single melody across the capital
One no one remembered
But everyone felt