---
The guitar case sat open beside his bed like a wound he hadn't looked at in days.
Aiden paced the floor in a shirt too thin for the evening chill. Vireya's soft rain clung to the outside windowpane like whispers against glass. It should have been peaceful. The kind of weather people meditated to.
But Aiden was restless.
The kind of restless that couldn't be diffused by tea or warm lighting. The kind that lived behind your ribs when you knew something inside you was unfinished.
The kind of restless that meant: tonight, you sing.
---
He stared at the song title on the screen:
> Nothing Else Matters – Metallica
It wasn't just a song.
It was a relic. A memory. A flare launched from a timeline this world never experienced.
In this version of Earth, rock music hadn't vanished.
It had never existed.
The instruments were here. The gear, the wires, even the shape of the chords. But the fire behind them — the rebellion, the rawness, the refusal to be background noise — was missing.
But Aiden remembered.
And for the first time in his life, he was ready to make the silence remember too.
---
He lit one dim desk lamp. Moved the microphone into position.
His makeshift amp gave a gentle pop as it turned on.
The copper-wound string buzzed faintly, tensioned by trial and hope.
He pressed record.
Sat down.
Closed his eyes.
And let it begin.
---
> So close, no matter how far...
His voice cracked on the first line. Not because he sang it wrong — but because he sang it real.
Not smooth. Not soft. Not like the vocal therapists in Vireya's music centers. His voice came raw from the belly. Scraped against memory. Wounded. Honest.
> Couldn't be much more from the heart...
He thought of the park.
Of that riff slicing through stillness.
He thought of Nova_Signal's message. Of the comments. The hungry ones. The ones that didn't just ask for more — they ached for it.
> Forever trusting who we are...
Aiden poured himself into it.
Into the spaces between the words. The soft slide of his finger on the string. The slight rattle from the broken pickguard.
This wasn't a performance.
It was a confession.
---
> And nothing else matters...
The final chord rang out like a sigh. Heavy. Holy.
He let it linger.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
When he finally opened his eyes, the room looked the same.
But he didn't feel the same.
The silence no longer pressed on his chest. It waited.
Like it knew something had been released into it.
And couldn't be taken back.
---
He saved the file.
Named it carefully.
> Unknown Sound IV – The First Song
And without a second thought — clicked Upload.
---
It went live at 2:47 AM.
No hashtags. No filters. No algorithm boosts. No cover art.
Just truth.
---
He didn't expect anything.
He turned off the tablet. Set the guitar aside.
Lay in bed with the city's quiet rhythms still thrumming in the background — the low hum of skycars, the hiss of neural vents, the occasional buzz of ambient therapy music from a neighbor's wall-mounted speaker.
He slept.
And in his dreams, the city listened.
---
☀️ Morning
The chime of his cracked tablet buzzed against the nightstand.
Aiden groaned, dragged it toward him, and blinked into the screen's cold light. His vision was still hazy, and for a moment, he thought the numbers were a glitch.
> Views: 3,147
Likes: 914
Shares: 408
Subscribers: 2,989
He sat up so fast the blanket tangled around his legs.
> "No way…"
He refreshed.
> Views: 3,511
His mouth went dry.
Not viral. Not explosive. But this wasn't a ripple anymore.
It was a wave.
---
> 📥 New Comments: 98
📥 Private Messages: 21
📥 Sub Count: 3,112
Aiden sat motionless. Then scrolled. Then scrolled faster.
And for the first time, the comments weren't quiet or careful.
They were electric.
> 🗨️ "Who are you? And why am I crying?"
> 🗨️ "I've never heard anyone mean something when they sing. Is that what this is?"
> 🗨️ "This broke me. Thank you."
> 🗨️ "I played this on loop while walking to my job in a silence pod. I couldn't go in. I just... couldn't drown this out yet."
> 🗨️ "This isn't just sound. It's weight. It changes the gravity in the room."
> 🗨️ "This is illegal, right? Please tell me this is illegal."
Aiden laughed. Choked a little. Laughed again.
It wasn't illegal.
But maybe it should have been.
Because it was dangerous. Not to society. Not to order.
But to emptiness.
---
Then came the message from Nova_Signal.
> 📩 "Welcome. You finally stepped through the door."
He didn't know who they were.
Not yet.
But the way they wrote — it felt like someone who'd been waiting.
Someone who remembered.
---
By noon, the video had 12,000 views.
Aiden refreshed the screen again.
> 12,431.
He felt it in his chest — the rising, burning warmth of contact.
Like calling into a cave and finally hearing an echo come back.
---
That night, more messages poured in.
But one stood out.
It was simple.
Just a short sentence.
No name attached. No profile picture.
> 🗨️ "I didn't know my soul had gone numb… until you sang."
---
He sat by the window, watching the neon lights pulse silently across the skyline.
And he knew:
This wasn't about nostalgia.
This wasn't about fame.
This was about waking something up.
---
He picked up the guitar again.
This time, his hands didn't shake.
He didn't need to be loud. Or perfect. Or heroic.
He just had to be honest.
And keep going.
---