I stand motionless in the shadows of my fortress's main hall, watching as candlelight dances across the polished obsidian table before me. My fingers trace the intricate carvings etched into its surface—ancient runes that pulse with forbidden knowledge. The darkness here is a living thing, wrapping around my shoulders like a second cloak, whispering secrets only I can hear. A tremor—subtle but unmistakable—ripples through the stone beneath my feet, and I smile. Harmonious grows restless in its ignorance.

  My dark hair falls across my face as I bend closer to the table's surface, studying the patterns that shift beneath the crystal embedded at its center. The black stone pulses with an inner light—not the warm glow of hearth fires, but something colder, older. Something that feels like power distilled into physical form.

  "The signs grow stronger," I murmur, more to myself than to the man who leans against a column at the edge of my vision. "Can you feel it, Thane? The way the world trembles at the threshold of change?"

  Thane Darkthorn straightens from his casual stance against the weathered stone column. His lean frame casts a long shadow across the floor, and his eyes—those calculating instruments that miss nothing—are fixed upon the crystal. The scar at the corner of his mouth twists his smile into something that might be mistaken for pleasure by those who don't know better. I know better.

  "I feel it, Lord Zephyr," he says, his voice smooth as silk drawn over steel. "Harmonious shivers like a deer sensing the hunter's approach."

  I don't correct his presumption. Let him believe he understands the magnitude of what we pursue. His usefulness depends on the illusion of partnership, though we both know the truth of his station. My fingers continue their rhythmic tapping against the table's edge, each touch precisely timed to match the pulse emanating from the crystal.

  "Tell me of our agents," I command, allowing my voice to drop to that register that makes lesser men straighten their spines in unconscious deference. "What news from the village?"

  Thane approaches with measured steps, his boots making no sound on the stone floor—a skill he prides himself on, though it impresses me no more than a child's first stumbling attempts at walking might impress its mother. He carries himself with the affected grace of a predator, unaware that in this chamber, he is merely prey with delusions.

  "The village remains oblivious," he reports, stopping a respectful distance from the table. Not close enough to suggest equality, but not so far as to acknowledge subservience. A careful dance we've performed countless times. "They continue their quaint rituals, singing to gods that abandoned them centuries ago."

  The crystal pulses brighter at his words, a flash of midnight blue that illuminates the hollows of his face for just a moment. I notice how his eyes widen slightly—fear or fascination, perhaps both. The crystal recognizes falsehood, and Thane's report, while not untrue, lacks completeness.

  "And what of the disturbances?" I press, circling the table slowly, my high-collared cloak brushing against the stone floor. "The reports speak of tremors growing stronger. Harmonious may be oblivious, but they are not deaf or blind."

  Another tremor passes through the fortress, this one strong enough to make the candles flicker in their sconces. Dust drifts down from the vaulted ceiling, catching the light like stars falling into darkness. The vibration continues longer than the previous ones, a sustained note of discord that makes the air itself feel wrong.

  Thane's expression shifts, the mask of casual confidence slipping for just an instant. "The girl," he admits, his tone soured with reluctance. "She grows stronger. The ice witch's descendant. Her music..." He pauses, searching for words adequate to describe a power he barely comprehends. "It resonates with something in the village. Something old."

  I stop my pacing, fixing him with a stare that has made generals quake. "And you didn't think this worthy of immediate mention?"

  "I was gathering more information before troubling you with incomplete reports," he counters, recovering his composure quickly. Too quickly. He believes himself indispensable—a dangerous delusion I've cultivated for precisely this moment.

  "Bring me everything," I command, placing both hands flat on the obsidian surface. Beneath my palms, the stone thrums with energy that seeps into my flesh, cold fire that scorches and freezes simultaneously. "Every fragment of song, every whisper of ice magic, every tremor and its aftermath. Harmonious sits atop the greatest secret of the ancient world, and I will not have our work undone by some village girl fumbling with powers she cannot possibly understand."

  Thane bows his head, but not before I catch the flash of something in his eyes—resentment, perhaps, or envy. "Of course, my lord. I've already dispatched observers to monitor her movements more closely."

  "Observers?" I repeat, letting displeasure cool my tone to winter. "We are beyond observation, Thane. The time approaches when we must act."

  The crystal's pulse quickens, matching the accelerating rhythm of my tapping fingers. Its surface clouds, then clears to reveal fleeting images: a village square, a slender figure with a flute, snowflakes spiraling in impossible patterns around her music. Then darkness again, swift as a blink.

  "The ancient songs are stirring," I murmur, watching the crystal return to its dormant state. "One thousand years of silence, broken by a girl who doesn't even know what she awakens."

  Thane steps closer to the table, his curiosity overcoming caution. "The prophecy speaks of a duet—the Rhythm Knight and the Songstress. But our sources confirm she plays alone."

  "For now." I straighten, drawing my cloak tighter around my shoulders. The cold here is not physical—it emanates from the knowledge this fortress contains, the secrets buried in its foundations. "But music calls to music, Thane. Songs seek harmony. It is their nature."

  "Then we should eliminate her before she finds her partner," he suggests, his hand drifting to the dagger at his belt—an unconscious gesture that betrays his preference for direct solutions.

  I shake my head, feeling the weight of my dark hair shifting against my neck. "No. Death would only scatter her power, perhaps to someone more dangerous. We need control, not chaos."

  The tremor returns, stronger than before. This time, the entire chamber shudders, and somewhere in the distance, stone grinds against stone. The sound travels through the corridors like the groan of some massive beast awakening from hibernation.

  "Bring me the latest reports on Harmonious," I command, my voice low and measured despite the fortress's protest. My fingers tap rhythmically on the table, a counterpoint to the discordant rumbling. "Their tremors grow stronger."

  Thane straightens from his casual stance, his demeanor shifting to something more alert, more predatory. "The messages are clear, my lord," he responds, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carries through the chamber with unnatural clarity. "The Songstress grows stronger with each passing day. Soon, she may discover what lies beneath the village."

  The crystal flares at his words, casting our shadows in stark relief against the ancient stone walls. For a moment, my shadow seems to stretch and twist into something not entirely human—a glimpse of what patience and power will soon achieve.

  "Then we must accelerate our plans," I decide, my fingers ceasing their rhythm. The crystal dims in response, as though disappointed. "The solstice approaches. We will move before then."

  Thane inclines his head, a gesture that appears respectful but contains a hint of calculation I don't miss. "I'll make the necessary arrangements. The Silent Circle stands ready."

  "Good." I turn away from the table, toward the arched doorway that leads deeper into the fortress. "Walk with me. There is more you need to see."

  The echo of our steps fills the corridor as we leave the chamber, our whispered conversation seeming to linger in the air behind us. Another tremor passes through the foundation, causing the very stones to shudder. This time, I hear what Thane cannot—the faint, distant notes of a melody carried on the vibration itself. A song from a thousand years ago, struggling to be remembered.

  I feel the corners of my mouth lift in what might be mistaken for a smile, though there is no warmth in it. The melody is incomplete, fragmented. Just as I've ensured it would remain for centuries.

  Until now. Until I need it whole again.

  The shadows deepen around us as we walk, the candles' light failing to penetrate the darkness that has made this place its home. It clings to us, seeps into our clothing, our skin, our thoughts. I welcome it. Darkness is simply knowledge others fear to embrace.

  And I have embraced it all.

  I lead Thane into the narrow, arched side chamber where history sleeps beneath layers of dust and shadow. Here, ancient murals climb the walls like vines of memory, their colors faded but not forgotten. The torches I've ordered lit cast a trembling light across the carvings, bringing momentary life to faces a thousand years dead. I breathe in the scent of time itself—stone worn smooth by centuries, the metallic tang of old magic, and beneath it all, the faint whisper of songs no living throat remembers how to sing.

  "Few have seen this chamber," I tell Thane, watching his expression as he takes in the sprawling bas-relief that dominates the far wall. His eyes widen slightly—a rare glimpse of genuine emotion from a man who traffics in calculated reactions. "Fewer still understand what they're seeing."

  The carving before us depicts the Rhythm Knights in their glory and their fall. The leftmost panels show them as they once were: magnificent figures wielding instruments instead of weapons, their stone faces caught in expressions of serene power. Their carved robes seem to flow with frozen music, each fold and ripple suggesting motion despite the stillness of stone. Above them, cities float on clouds of melody, sustained by songs so complex they could bend reality itself.

  I approach the wall slowly, my gauntleted hand hovering just above the surface. The metal fingertips catch the torchlight, reflecting tiny stars against the ancient scenes.

  "They were revered once," I murmur, "as guardians of harmony, architects of wonder." My finger traces the outline of a knight whose instrument resembles a lyre wrought from light. "They built cities in the sky with nothing but the correct sequence of notes."

  Thane steps closer, craning his neck to examine the detailed reliefs. "And now those cities lie in ruins, or buried beneath the earth," he observes, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone. "Great power, poorly wielded."

  I smile thinly at his simplistic assessment. "Is that what you see here, Thane? Failure?"

  He doesn't answer immediately, his attention caught by the central panel of the relief. Here, the carving depicts a council of knights, their stone expressions grave as they surround a single figure. This knight stands apart, his instrument held not in reverence but as a weapon, its strings visibly snapped, its frame cracked.

  "What happened to him?" Thane asks, his finger hovering near but not touching the isolated knight.

  I place my hand directly on the carved figure, feeling the cool stone beneath my palm. The moment my skin makes contact, the low hum from the dark crystal resting on the nearby pedestal intensifies, a single note that seems to penetrate bone and memory alike.

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  "Betrayal," I answer, the word hanging in the air like frost. "He discovered what the others sought to hide—that music is not merely creation. That for every harmony, there exists a countersong. For every note that builds, there is one that destroys."

  The stone beneath my palm grows warmer, responding to either my touch or my words. The vibration increases, subtle but unmistakable, as though the carving itself remembers the truth of what I speak.

  "Their legacy is a warning and a key," I murmur, withdrawing my hand slowly. The stone cools immediately, but the hum from the crystal persists, a patient, waiting sound.

  Thane's gaze moves to the right side of the relief, where the carving style changes noticeably. Here, the scenes become chaotic, fragmented. Knights fall from shattered cities. Instruments lie broken beside their owners. The meticulous detail of the earlier panels gives way to rougher cuts, as though the artist's hand had grown desperate or afraid.

  "The Fall," Thane says, recognition dawning in his eyes. "This depicts The Fall itself."

  I nod, moving down the wall to where the carving shows a final scene: a single knight standing amid devastation, his face turned away from the viewer, his instrument clutched to his chest. Above him, the last floating city descends, not crashing but settling deliberately to earth, becoming the mountain upon which The Holy Capital now stands.

  "Not quite," I correct him. "This shows the aftermath. When song magic began to fade from the world, when the complex melodies that sustained wonders became impossible to remember or perform." I trace the outline of the descending city. "When the last and greatest of the Rhythm Knights made a choice that changed the course of history."

  The vibration from the walls increases, the stone seeming to pulse in time with some unheard rhythm. Dust sifts down from hidden crevices, dancing in the torchlight like microscopic performers.

  "And what choice was that?" Thane asks, his voice hushed despite himself.

  I turn to face him fully, studying the lines of ambition etched into his face. He is useful in his hunger for power, his willingness to follow where I lead while believing he walks his own path. But there are truths he is not ready to hear, secrets that would burn through his mind like acid.

  "That is a conversation for another time," I tell him, gesturing instead to a different section of the relief. "Look here instead."

  This part of the carving shows ritual scenes: figures gathered around altars, offering what appear to be scrolls or perhaps musical scores to shadowy entities that loom above them. The entities' forms are deliberately obscured, the stone carved to suggest presence rather than define shape.

  Thane studies the scene with narrowed eyes. "Dark rituals?" he guesses. "The knights communing with forbidden powers?"

  "In a manner of speaking," I answer, amused by his predictable interpretation. "Though not as you imagine. These are records of the knights' attempts to preserve their knowledge as it began to slip away." I point to specific figures in the carving. "They created repositories—places where the most powerful songs could be stored safely, beyond the reach of those who would misuse them."

  The dark crystal on its pedestal pulses suddenly, its inner light flaring bright enough to cast sharp shadows across the chamber. The hum emanating from it shifts pitch, becoming something more complex, almost melodic in its resonance.

  Thane's attention snaps to the crystal, his eyes reflecting its unnatural glow. "And you've found one of these repositories," he says, not a question but a realization.

  "Not yet," I admit, the words tasting bitter. "But soon. Harmonious sits atop the greatest of them all—a vault containing the master melodies that once shaped reality itself."

  I move to the final section of the bas-relief, where the carving depicts a village built upon concentric circles, like ripples frozen in stone. At the center stands a single figure, their features worn away by time or deliberate defacement.

  "The nameless knight," I explain, placing my gauntleted hand on the featureless face. "The last of them all, who chose to live out his days in obscurity, guarding the repository with his very presence."

  The stone walls vibrate more intensely now, the pulse matching the rhythm that the crystal emits. It's not a pleasant sound—it sets teeth on edge and makes thoughts skitter like frightened insects. Yet I find comfort in it, this discord that promises power.

  "And now that knight is gone," Thane observes, "and the village remains, ignorant of what lies beneath their feet."

  "Not entirely ignorant," I correct him, thinking of the girl with the flute, the ice witch's descendant. "Some bloodlines remember, even when the mind forgets. Music calls to music, Thane. Song seeks song."

  I turn from the relief to the crystal, watching as its surface clouds then clears, showing fleeting images: a snow-covered village square, a young woman with frost-pale hair, a flute that glimmers with inner light when she plays. The images dissolve like snowflakes on warm skin, too brief to study but clear enough to confirm what I already know.

  "She's found something," I murmur, more to myself than to Thane. "Some fragment of the old songs. She plays notes that haven't been heard in a thousand years."

  Thane steps closer to the crystal, his face eerily lit by its glow. "Then we should move quickly, before she discovers more."

  I wave him back from the crystal, unwilling to let him witness what else it might reveal. "Patience, Thane. The repository has remained sealed for a millennium. It won't yield its secrets to an untrained girl who happens to play a few correct notes by accident."

  "And if she's not playing by accident?" he challenges, careful to keep his tone respectful despite the question.

  I consider him for a long moment, weighing how much to reveal. "Then she's more dangerous than even she realizes," I finally respond. "And we will need to accelerate our plans."

  The sound of distant chanting reaches us, filtering through the ancient stone like water through soil. It's a practiced sound, the voices of the Silent Circle engaged in their daily rituals, struggling to mimic the power of true Song Magic with their crude chants and simplified verses. Useful tools, but pale imitations of what once was—what will be again, when my work is complete.

  Beneath the chanting, I hear something else: the faint, rhythmic scratching of metal on stone. In the adjacent chamber, skilled artificers labor to recreate instruments based on the carvings here, each attempt bringing us closer to unlocking the repository's secrets.

  "Come," I tell Thane, moving toward the chamber's exit. "There is more you need to see before you return to Harmonious."

  He follows a step behind, pausing to cast one last look at the bas-relief. "The betrayed knight," he says suddenly, nodding toward the isolated figure in the central panel. "What was his crime, exactly?"

  I stop at the threshold, considering my answer carefully. The torchlight catches the edges of my face, leaving my expression half in shadow. "He refused to accept the limits placed upon their power," I finally say. "He believed that music should serve ambition, not merely harmony. That the world could be reshaped according to will, not consensus."

  "And for that, they cast him out?" Thane asks, a note of indignation creeping into his voice.

  I smile thinly, knowing he sees himself in the outcast figure—another delusion I've carefully cultivated. "They feared him," I correct. "And rightly so. For he understood what they did not: that true power lies not in creation, but in control."

  The crystal's hum rises to a crescendo then fades, leaving the chamber in sudden, ringing silence. In that silence, I hear what Thane cannot—the faintest echo of a melody that hasn't been played in a thousand years. A song of ending, of unmaking.

  My song.

  "The Rhythm Knights are gone," I tell him, stepping through the doorway, "but their legacy remains, waiting for one who understands its true purpose. Their cautionary tale is, for us, a blueprint."

  As we leave the chamber, I feel the weight of carved eyes upon my back—the stone witnesses to history who have watched this scene play out before, in endless variation. I wonder, briefly, if they recognize me, if stone can remember what flesh has forgotten.

  Then the door closes behind us, and we are back in the torchlit corridor, moving toward the next revelation in our carefully orchestrated descent into power.

  I pause at the threshold of my private study's antechamber, a space where shadows collect like old debts waiting to be paid. Something feels different—the air carries a charge that makes the fine hairs on my neck rise in silent warning. My senses, honed through centuries of vigilance, detect a presence that shouldn't be here, something ancient and familiar at once. I step forward cautiously, my boots making no sound on the stone floor, my breath held not from fear but anticipation. She's early. I wasn't expecting her until the new moon.

  The antechamber itself is a testament to secrecy—no windows pierce its thick stone walls, no decorations distract from its purpose as a buffer between the outside world and my innermost sanctum. Heavy tapestries hang from iron rods, absorbing sound and light in equal measure. The only illumination comes from a trio of floating mage-lights that hover near the ceiling, casting more shadows than clarity.

  Thane follows behind me, oblivious to the disturbance in the air. His senses are dull, human, incapable of detecting the subtle shifts in magical resonance that now make the room feel like the surface of a pond moments before a stone breaks its tension.

  "The artifacts from the northern expedition should be cataloged by morning," he's saying, his voice an unwelcome intrusion on my awareness. "I've assigned our most discreet scholars to—"

  I stop mid-step, raising a hand to silence him. There—a flicker of movement behind the heavy pillar that supports the chamber's arched ceiling. Not a physical shifting, but a disturbance in the very fabric of shadow itself, as though darkness had briefly gained consciousness and found itself amused.

  "We are not alone," I murmur, my words barely disturbing the air.

  Thane's hand goes to his dagger immediately, his eyes narrowing as he scans the chamber. "I see nothing, my lord."

  Of course he doesn't. She doesn't wish to be seen by him.

  I turn slowly toward the pillar, the dark crystal from the previous chamber now clutched in my left hand. Its surface is cool against my skin, but it pulses with a subtle heat that seems to respond to the presence lurking just beyond ordinary perception.

  "Show yourself," I command, but there's no power behind the words. She cannot be commanded, only negotiated with. "You're early."

  For a moment, nothing changes. Then, like ink bleeding through parchment, she appears—a tall, hooded figure emerging from behind the pillar though there isn't space enough for a child to hide there, let alone her imposing form. Her raven-black hair spills from beneath the hood, seeming to absorb the mage-light rather than reflect it. And those wings—massive shadows that aren't quite physical, that bend and fold in ways that defy the limitations of flesh and bone.

  She tilts her head, studying me with eyes I cannot see but feel upon my skin like winter frost. A soft, mocking laugh escapes her lips—the sound of ice cracking on a lake that isn't quite frozen through.

  "Early?" she says, her voice resonating on multiple tones simultaneously, as though multiple voices speak in imperfect unison. "Or perhaps you are late, Zephyr Nightbreeze. Time means little to me, as you well know."

  Thane takes an involuntary step backward, his composure cracking for the first time since I've known him. "What—" he begins, but falls silent as the figure turns her hooded gaze toward him.

  "Your pet is afraid," she observes, amusement threading through her multi-layered voice. "As he should be."

  "He serves his purpose," I reply evenly, stepping between her and Thane. Not out of protection—Thane's life means nothing to me beyond his utility—but because I won't have her disrupting my carefully laid plans with her ancient capriciousness. "Why have you come?"

  She laughs again, and this time the sound sends a tremor through the fortress itself, stone grinding against stone somewhere deep below. "To observe. To witness. Isn't that what you once promised me? A spectacle worth waking for?"

  Before I can respond, she melts—there's no other word for it—into the darkness. Her form dissolves like smoke in wind, the shadows of her wings expanding to fill the chamber momentarily before withdrawing into nothing. But she hasn't gone far. A solitary raven with eyes that burn like banked coals flutters down to perch on a ledge above the doorway, its head cocked at an angle that no natural bird could achieve.

  The raven opens its beak, and her voice emerges from it, condensed but no less unsettling. "The girl grows stronger each day, Nightbreeze. Her ice magic awakens memories in the very stones of Harmonious. Will you act, or merely continue to... prepare?"

  I lift the dark crystal high, its surface catching the mage-light and splintering it into fragments of midnight blue and deep purple. Within its depths, I can see the faint outline of Harmonious—the village unsuspecting, the repository beneath it stirring after centuries of dormancy.

  "Prepare the assault on Harmonious," I declare, my voice ringing with sudden authority. The crystal flares in response, brightening until its glow illuminates the entire chamber. "Our time is at hand."

  Thane recovers his composure quickly—a trait that has kept him alive in my service far longer than those before him. He moves to secure the chamber, checking the heavy door that leads to the outer corridors and ensuring the entrance to my private study remains sealed.

  "The Silent Circle awaits your command," he says, his voice steadier than his still-pale face would suggest. "We can mobilize within the day."

  The raven caws, a harsh sound that somehow conveys skepticism. "The Circle," it says, in her multi-toned voice. "Your collection of pale imitators who chant but do not sing. Do you truly believe they are adequate to the task?"

  "They need not understand the music to play their parts," I counter, gripping the crystal tighter. Its light pulses in time with my heartbeat now, our energies synchronized through long familiarity. "The repository responds to specific resonances. The Circle will provide the base harmonies while I supply the melody."

  "And the counterpoint?" the raven asks, preening one glossy wing with its beak. "The girl with the flute? The one who carries ice in her veins and ancient songs in her memory without knowing it?"

  I feel a smile stretch across my face—not a display of humor but a baring of teeth. "She is the key, though she doesn't know it. Her playing awakens the repository, makes it receptive. Each note she strikes weakens the seals placed by the nameless knight."

  "And when those seals break?" the raven presses, fixing me with one glowing eye. "When what lies beneath Harmonious rises to the surface? Are you prepared for that consequence, Nightbreeze?"

  The sound of metallic armor clinking echoes through the corridor beyond the chamber—the guards responding to some silent summons from Thane. Their disciplined movements create a rhythm, an unconscious echo of the military precision that once characterized the Rhythm Knights in their prime.

  "I've prepared for a thousand years," I reply, turning the crystal so that its light falls directly on the raven. The bird doesn't flinch, merely blinks slowly as though unimpressed. "While others forgot, I remembered. While they built a society on the ruins of greatness, I preserved the knowledge they discarded as dangerous. The repository contains the original songs—the ones that shaped reality before The Fall."

  The raven tilts its head, considering me with an intelligence no bird should possess. "And you believe yourself worthy to wield such power? You, who were cast out by your own kind?"

  My hand clenches around the crystal, my knuckles whitening with the force of my grip. The light within it pulses erratically, responding to the surge of emotion her words provoke. "I wasn't cast out," I correct her, my voice low and controlled despite the rage simmering beneath. "I was the only one who saw clearly. The only one who understood that power exists to be used, not merely preserved."

  The raven makes a sound that might be laughter, might be dismissal. "A fine distinction. Yet here you stand, the last of your kind, surrounded by pale imitations and forgotten glory. A thousand years of planning, and still you hesitate on the threshold of action."

  "No more," I declare, raising the crystal higher. "The assault begins at dawn. The girl will play her part whether she intends to or not. The ice magic in her blood calls to the ancient melodies; each note she plays is another key turning in a lock she cannot see."

  Thane returns to my side, his expression carefully composed though sweat beads at his temples. "The preparations are underway, my lord. Our agents in Harmonious await your signal."

  The raven caws once more, the sound somehow conveying both approval and warning, before spreading its wings—wings that momentarily appear far larger than any bird's should be, stretching to touch both walls of the chamber—and launching itself into the air. It doesn't fly toward any exit; instead, it simply vanishes, melting into the shadows as its mistress did before.

  Her voice lingers after the bird is gone, a whisper that seems to come from the stone itself: "I will be watching, Nightbreeze. Don't disappoint me this time."

  The chamber feels suddenly empty, though Thane and I still occupy it. The absence of her presence is as palpable as its arrival was, a negative space that the world rushes to fill. The mage-lights brighten, as though released from some dampening influence.

  I lower the crystal, but maintain my grip on it. Within its depths, I can see the outline of Harmonious shifting, changing—showing not what is, but what will be once my plans reach fruition. The village transformed, the repository opened, the ancient songs once more filling the air with their reality-altering power.

  "Return to your preparations," I tell Thane, not looking at him. "Ensure the Silent Circle understands their role. They are to create discord, not destruction—we need the village intact until the repository is fully accessible."

  He bows and withdraws, leaving me alone with the crystal and my thoughts. My clenched fist tightens further around the dark stone, its edges pressing into my palm hard enough to nearly draw blood. The pain is clarifying, a small price for the power that will soon be mine.

  The tremors that have been shaking the fortress grow stronger, more rhythmic. Not random seismic activity but something deliberate—the pulse of ancient magic stirring beneath Harmonious, responding to the girl's unwitting call. Each vibration carries a fragment of melody, a note in a song that hasn't been heard complete in a millennium.

  Soon, I will conduct that song. Soon, I will wield the power that the Rhythm Knights feared to use, that they locked away rather than employ to its full potential. Soon, the world will remember what it means to be shaped by true Song Magic—not the pale, simplified verses of modern practitioners, but the complex symphonies that once raised cities into the sky.

  And this time, I will be the composer.

  The crystal pulses one final time in my hand, a sharp, unresolved note in the cavernous hall. A promise of what's to come.

  The raven may watch. The girl may play her notes of ice and memory. Thane may believe himself essential to my plans. But in the end, when the repository yields its secrets, they will all understand what I have known for centuries:

  Every song needs a master.

  And I have waited long enough to claim that role.