The wind moved strangely that evening.
Not violently. Not loudly.
Just enough to make the lanterns outside the Hall of Voices tremble on their hooks.
Akos noticed it immediately.
She always noticed strange things.
While the other students hurried through the stone corridors laughing and shoving one another after evening lessons, Akos lingered beneath the archway, her fingers tightening around the small silver flute hidden beneath her cloak.
The air felt wrong.
As though the school itself were listening.
Far above her, the towers of Eldergate rose into the darkening sky, their pointed roofs cutting through clouds the color of ash. Candles flickered behind tall windows. Somewhere deep within the castle, bells echoed through ancient halls.
One.
Two.
Three.
The final bell.
Night lessons had begun.
“Akos!”
She turned sharply as her friend Sena came running toward her, nearly slipping on the wet stones.
“You’re late again,” Sena whispered. “Master Orlan is furious.”
Akos managed a faint smile, though her eyes drifted toward the northern wing of the castle—the abandoned wing no student was allowed to enter.
The wind came again.
This time carrying music.
Soft.
Beautiful.
Impossible.
Akos froze.
Sena frowned. “What?”
“You don’t hear that?”
“Hear what?”
But Akos was no longer listening.
The melody floated through the darkness like silver smoke, wrapping itself around her thoughts. It was unlike anything she had ever heard — not played by strings or pipes or drums, but something older. Something alive.
And somehow…
It sounded like it knew her.
Without thinking, Akos stepped toward the northern path.
Sena grabbed her arm immediately. “Are you mad? No one goes there.”
But the music continued.
Calling.
Inviting.
Promising.
Akos felt her heartbeat quicken. Every lesson she had ever been taught warned against the northern wing. Stories whispered among students spoke of people entering and returning changed — quieter, stranger, hollow-eyed.
Yet the melody felt warm.
Familiar.
Like home.
“It’s beautiful,” Akos whispered.
“That’s exactly how dangerous things sound,” Sena replied.
For a moment, silence passed between them.
Then, slowly, Akos remembered something her grandmother once told her long ago beside a dying fire:
“Be careful of the things you love most. Sometimes they become the doors through which darkness enters.”
At the time, Akos had not understood.
But standing there now, with the strange music pulling at her soul like invisible hands, she finally began to.
Because temptation did not always arrive looking frightening.
Sometimes it arrived as a song.
And sometimes the most dangerous thing in the world was the thing that understood your heart perfectly.
Far away, deep inside the forbidden wing, the melody rose once more.
Waiting for her.
And though Akos did not yet know it, the choice she made that night would begin the unraveling of everything.
For even the strongest hearts must guard what they love most…
Lest we fall.—not
