Passing through the swirling crimson door, Rover stepped into a bizarre yet extraordinarily peaceful world.
The sky was painted in the eternal hues of twilight—a gradient of warm orange, deep purple, and dusty pink clouds—yet there was no sun.
The air was permeated with the rich fragrance of spider lilies and a faint, rustling background noise, much like the static of an old vinyl record playing.
Beneath his feet were the familiar streets of the small town. The buildings, the shops, the benches—they were identical to the memories he had explored earlier within the Shores. Yet, everything was far too tidy and quiet, lacking the genuine breath of life, exactly like a meticulously constructed, giant model.
The "residents" of the town—Eskles, Lia, Tris, Runo, Melissa—were like pre-programmed phantoms, still carrying out their eternally unchanging routines: walking, chatting, rehearsing.
When they saw Rover, they would reveal formulaic, gentle smiles and nod in greeting, as if he were merely an ordinary visitor.
Their eyes were vacant, and their smiles remained entirely on the surface—they were like insects trapped in the amber of time.
An immense, suffocating sorrow enveloped Rover.
This wasn't a so-called heaven; this was an incredibly exquisite, yet incredibly cruel tomb.
His arrival seemed to have disturbed the equilibrium of this space.
In an empty clearing in front of a two-story house at the edge of the town, right beside the most profusely blooming sea of flowers, the space warped slightly, and a silhouette slowly materialized.
It was Phrolova.
She was still wearing that red-and-white dress. The fatal wound on her chest had already vanished, but her complexion was an almost transparent pale. Her form was even more illusory than before, as if she would blend into the background at any given moment.
She stood there quietly, staring blankly at a somewhat aged grand piano in the clearing.
Rover walked toward her step by step. His footsteps sounded exceptionally clear in the overly quiet space.
Phrolova didn't turn around. She simply spoke softly, her voice as ethereal as a whisper: "You came after all... To look at the joke of my failure, or to end this completely?"
Her tone held no resentment and no anticipation—only a bone-deep exhaustion and a sense of resignation.
"I came... to fulfill my promise," Rover stopped a few paces behind her, his voice low.
Phrolova's shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly.
She slowly turned around. That exposed eye looked at him, brimming with complex emotions: there was a faint, nearly invisible flutter of the heart, a profound sorrow, a lingering resentment, and a heavy dose of self-mockery.
"Fulfill your promise? Heh..." she chuckled softly, the laugh sounding dry. "A promise from hundreds of years ago, and you're only fulfilling it now? And in this manner... You really... haven't changed a bit."
It was classic Phrolova-style bickering, but the scent of gunpowder had faded significantly, leaving only helpless sighs.
"I'm sorry," Rover said. These two words were as heavy as a mountain.
He apologized for breaking his promise, for the misunderstandings, and for that final sword strike.
Phrolova seemingly hadn't expected to hear this. She froze for a moment before turning her head away to look at the piano: "...What's the point of saying this now?" But the tense lines of her side profile seemed to soften slightly.
A brief silence followed.
Rover said no more. Instead, he walked straight over to the aged grand piano and sat down.
He closed his eyes, as if recalling something, and gently brushed his fingers across the cool keys.
From that chaotic collection of memory fragments as a "Player," aside from the current and future situations, he keenly captured a melody that perfectly fit his current state of mind—a piece called Canon in D Major.
Then, he pressed the first note.
The steady, solemn, and deeply nostalgic piano sound flowed out like a clear spring, shattering the deathly twilight of the Shores.
This was not a piece of music from this world. The melody was simple, yet possessed a mathematically exquisite rigor and harmony, with various parts looping back and forth, building layer by layer.
At first, Phrolova was only slightly stunned, listening to this unfamiliar melody with some surprise.
But soon, her instincts as a musician were thoroughly ignited. Her previously vacant eye gathered a focused brilliance. Her sharp ears captured the direction of every single note, the texture of the harmony, and the... profound, sorrowful metaphor hidden within.
She didn't interrupt. She simply listened quietly, with unparalleled devotion, as if dissecting its very soul.
When the main theme of the piano piece was presented in its entirety for the first time, an indescribable resonance struck her heart.
She slowly raised her hand. An exquisite violin, accompanied by red specks of spider lily light, coalesced into form in her grasp.
She didn't ask questions, nor did she hesitate. She naturally raised the violin and set the bow to the strings.
The melodious, sorrowful, yet subtly resilient and unyielding sound of the violin joined in.
She wasn't simply echoing the piano's melody. With her genius musical intuition, she instantly grasped the contrapuntal essence of this piece.
Her violin sound intertwined with the piano's melody, precisely chasing it, imitating it, yet maintaining its own independent line.
The two parts wove together, conversed, and competed like a destined entanglement—infinitely close, their melodies blending, yet forever bound by their respective rules of counterpoint, entirely unable to truly fuse into one.
The sounds of the piano and violin blended flawlessly within this silent town of the Shores, performing a silent dialogue.
Those illusory residents halted their mechanical movements. Standing quietly in place, their vacant eyes seemed to be drawn in by this music brimming with a sense of destiny.
As the piece reached its finale, the melody slowly dissipated in inevitable tranquility.
The final note fell. The lingering reverberations echoed, unable to wash away the immense sorrow and release permeating the air.
Silence descended once again.
Phrolova slowly lowered the violin. Her silhouette seemed to have grown a bit more solid. She stared at Rover for a long time, her eye shimmering with an incredibly complex light. There was shock, understanding, and sorrow, ultimately transforming into an almost agonizing clarity.
"...Infinitely close, yet never fusing... Chasing endlessly, ultimately returning to silence..." she murmured softly. Her hoarse voice accurately laid bare the core of this Canon, and simultaneously exposed the very essence of their relationship. "The finale you chose... is truly... cruel, yet fitting."
She understood.
He didn't need to say another word. With the soul of a musician, she completely understood everything he was saying through this song.
Rover stood up from the piano bench. Meeting her gaze, he nodded gently: "This time, I heard it to the end, and you heard it too."
On Phrolova's pale face, an incredibly complex, tear-filled, yet incomparably genuine smile finally bloomed.
"Mm... I heard it..." she replied softly. "This time... I'll consider you to have fulfilled your promise."
The music had ended, and everything that needed to be said had been expressed completely through the notes.
But in the air, the immense emptiness and indescribable, bizarre sense of intimacy left behind after that ultimate emotional resonance pressed down on both their hearts like a tangible weight.
The moment of parting was fast approaching, and those final, complex emotions were desperately seeking an outlet to burst forth.
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