He was tall, masked, and draped in a coat that shimmered like frost in moonlight. In his hands — a violin carved from pure ice.
When he drew the bow across the strings, the sound was so sharp it seemed to cut the air itself. Shards of frozen notes hung suspended before falling like glass.
"Lyra," he said, voice muffled by the mask. "Still playing the same lie?"
Her grip on her violin tightened. "Zephyr… Don't."
He ignored her, turning his masked face toward Silas. "And this must be him. The Conductor's prodigal composer."
Silas frowned. "I'm no one's—"
"You were," Zephyr interrupted, bow tip aimed at him. "You shattered the multiverse for a song. Don't pretend you don't hear the echoes."
Something in Silas's chest twisted — like a note played too deep. He didn't remember, but the accusation felt… true.
Zephyr stepped forward, ice creeping across the floor with every note he played. "I'll save her from you, even if it means ending your song here."
Before Silas could react, Lyra was yanked back against the wall by a bowstring of frozen light, her violin clattering to the ground.
"Silas!" she cried.
Zephyr raised his bow, ice glinting like a blade."Time to cut the final verse."