The vision faded slowly like fog lifting from a field of graves. Seraphina found herself lying on cold marble beneath a stained-glass ceiling painted in blood-red hues. The sound of her heartbeat filled the air louder than any drum. Across from her Nocturne knelt motionless his gray ash mask cracked down the side
They were inside the Crimson Chapel
A place that no longer existed in their time
A memory sealed in music and buried beneath centuries
Seraphina sat up slowly her fingers brushing the old hymn book beside her. Its pages flipped on their own revealing verses too ancient to translate but their meanings pressed into her mind like a second heartbeat
Nocturne looked up
You're still here
I'm not leaving she said
He said nothing
Instead he stood walked to the center of the chapel and touched the altar. The room responded with a hum that grew into a low chant echoing from the walls themselves. The stained glass trembled and the names of forgotten composers etched across every panel began to glow
They all wore masks in the carvings
And beneath each one a single word
SILENCED
This is where it started Nocturne said
Where what started
The first performance that changed the world. The first masked musician. The one who made the world believe music was divine because it was dangerous
He turned to her eyes heavy
It wasn't art
It was a weapon
Seraphina stepped forward ignoring the chill in her bones
Then why do you still play
Because I can't stop he whispered
Even if every note reminds me of what I've lost
She reached out placing her hand over his
Then let it remind you of what you've kept too
A soft tone rang out from the far wall and a hidden door opened revealing a dark staircase descending into shadow. Without a word they walked together into the unknown each step echoing louder than the last
Far above them the stained-glass image of a masked figure shattered quietly
And the chapel began to hum again as if remembering the song of its first betrayal