That night, Harold stood on the palace balcony, the spot where Anne had once leaped to save the world. He felt a warm breeze smelling of oil and ozone.
Suddenly, the streetlights across the city dimmed for a moment, then pulsed in a rhythmic pattern—like a heartbeat. Harold offered a small smile, placing his hand on the vibrating iron railing.
"You're still here, aren't you?" he asked the illuminated darkness.
There was no vocal answer, but from the steam-powered speakers on the street corner, the melody of an old music box began to play—the one Anne used to play back in Isfellan. A song about wheat growing among steel, and about a promise that transcends death.
The Silent Choir of Shadows: FIN