The man in front caught my attention the mont we were seated.
Our table had been placed in the middle of the hall, close to the stage where the musicians perford.
The man had a gentle, yet striking physical appearance. A broad sash of deep blue was slung across his chest, leaving the rest of his upper body bare, the sculpted planes of muscle catching the dim light.
Loose dark trousers clung to his narrow hips and fell in flowing folds to his ankles, silver embroidery glinting along the seams like moonlight tracing every step. His long dark blond hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, thick and slightly tousled, with strands falling carelessly across his forehead as though they refused to obey order.
He stood on a tall chair built high enough to accommodate his height, placing him directly before a harp unlike any I had ever seen. Its fra glead with golden polish, each curve smooth like the tal had been poured from sunlight itself.
"He’s the one I was talking about," Raye said, raising her glass delicately, her eyes gleaming with excitent. "The best musician in all of Undercity."
I arched a brow, tilting my head as I studied him.
"I bet he’s not only famous for his music."
Raye smirked knowingly, her eyes flicking toward . "I get it. He’s really handso. Ares doesn’t like him because of that." She chuckled, the sound sweet as honey. "His pride won’t allow his beauty to be compared to Jeron’s."
The lights in the hall dimd further. The lanterns above softened into shadow, and suddenly all focus was forced toward the stage.
Silence washed over the room like a tide, conversations falling away one by one until only the sound of anticipation remained.
Then his fingers moved.
The first strum was so soft it was nearly a whisper. It lingered, quivering, then deepened as more notes followed, weaving together into sothing rich and hauntingly alive.
The harp sang with a voice unlike anything I had ever heard before—silvery, yet warm, carrying a resonance that filled the hall without ever overwhelming it. The lody unfurled like silk across the floor, draping over every listener, seeping into every breath.
The people around us sat srized. So leaned forward, eyes wide, others closed their eyes completely, surrendering themselves to the music’s pull.
The vibration of every note seed to strike sothing deep inside , as if the music itself had found my soul and wrapped around it, coaxing emotions I didn’t have nas for. It wasn’t just beautiful, it was invasive, consuming.
My throat ached, my breath catching, though I couldn’t have explained why.
Leika stirred inside , restless, her voice a faint murmur I couldn’t quite catch. She felt it too.
The rhythm rose and fell, strings thrumming like heartbeats.
And then, as swiftly as it had begun, the song drew to its close. His hands slowed, hovering over the strings until only a single note remained, trembling, fading into silence. The hall stilled, the final tone reverberating in the marrow of my bones before dissolving into the hush.
I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My chest still humd with the mory of his song.
He descended from his high chair and walked towards a certain direction.
When he reached our table, he bowed his head politely toward Raye, his long hair sliding forward with the motion.
"Nice to see you again, Raye," he said, his voice a soft baritone, smooth as the music he had just played.
"Always a delight, Jeron," Raye replied warmly, lifting her glass in salute. "You outdid yourself again."
Then his gaze shifted to .
"I see you are new here," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of respect. "I am Jeron."
"Vivien," I said. I hesitated only a breath before curiosity slipped past my guard. "Did you compose that piece? Or did you learn it sowhere?"
"It was composed by my master many years ago. I am the only one who plays it now."
The lody still lingered in my chest. There had been sothing about it... relaxing, yes, but threaded with sothing strange. A pull I couldn’t na. Ominous and comforting at once.
I almost asked more, but the question would sound strange. So I held my tongue.
"It’s been a while since you last visited," Jeron said, his voice shifting toward Raye.
"Just got busy," she replied easily, sipping from her glass.
"I’ve been working on a new piece," he said, leaning slightly forward. "It’s not ready to be perford yet, but when it is... I think you’ll want to hear it."
Raye’s eyes lit up instantly. "You’re creating again? Oh, Jeron, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. The last one you finished nearly set the whole hall on fire with praise." She clapped her hands together in excitent, her smile glowing. "I’ll be your first audience, I don’t care if it’s not yet complete."
Their laughter blended softly with the llow music drifting from another corner of the hall.
But I found my focus wandering, drawn not to them but to the harp waiting on the stage. My eyes glued themselves to its gilded fra. I couldn’t look away. I could almost hear the echoes of the song replaying, curling in my mind.
"Excuse ," I said quietly, rising before either of them could ask. My throat was dry, and the air here felt too heavy. "I’ll be back in a mont."
Neither questioned , Raye too caught up in Jeron’s talk of music and inspiration.
I slipped away, heading down the corridor to where the bathrooms were tucked away.
The hall there was quieter, the air less perfud. I lingered only a mont before stepping out again, the murmur of voices drawing back toward the crowd.
As I re-entered the hall, a servant passed by carrying a tray of glasses, each brimming with jeweled liquid.
Feeling parched, I absentmindedly reached out for one. I plucked a glass from the tray and brought it to my lips. The drink was sweet and heady, sliding down my throat with alarming ease.
When I lowered the glass, the servant was staring at , alarm widening his eyes.
His lips parted as though to protest.
But I spoke before he could find the words. "I’m from the Alpha’s residence. Add it to his tab."
I didn’t wait for his response. My steps carried away, the taste of the strange drink still clinging to my tongue.
Behind , the servant’s expression was still there—alard, unsettled, almost as though I had drunk sothing I shouldn’t have.
User Comments
0 comments from readers