The night deepened, but the celebration showed no sign of slowing. Lanterns floated above the rooftops of Gulmund, drifting like pale stars. Fireworks painted the sky in arcs of blue and gold, illuminating the city's grand structures with fleeting bursts of wonder. Every alley buzzed with life. Every window flickered with light. And through it all, the music continued—an endless melody flowing from the Plaza of Kings, woven through brass instruments, flutes, and deep drums.
Toji stood at the edge of a second-story balcony overlooking the plaza, his eyes narrowed, hands folded behind his back. He wasn't watching the dancers this time. He was listening.
The sound was beautiful—too beautiful. And there was something wrong with that.
Frankie joined him, sipping from a glass of chilled fruit wine. "They really know how to keep a tune going, huh?"
Toji didn't answer. His brows furrowed.
Frankie turned to him, noticing the tension. "You good?"
"Something's wrong," Toji said, voice low.
Frankie paused. "Wrong how?"
Toji closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The music rolled through him like a wave. Not just a melody—it was structured. Precise. Too precise.
"This isn't just music," Toji said. "It's code."
Frankie blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There's a type of magic that is like a code Nano-code—command structures hidden in light, air, sound. You could program entire cities with a simple melody if you understood the framework."
Frankie's glass lowered. "You think they're doing that here?"
"I don't think," Toji said, stepping back from the edge. "I know."
Across the plaza, the Governor sat beneath a golden arch, smiling serenely as performers danced before him. He raised his goblet as another chorus began, signaling the musicians to swell.
Toji stepped into the plaza slowly, his senses sharpened. The music now seemed louder, sharper. Each note sliced through the air with surgical precision. The crowd didn't notice, but he could feel it—the slow, crawling web being cast over the square.
He focused.
Lines of glowing Nano-threads appeared in his vision, as though drawn by light itself. They coiled outward from the musicians' instruments, dancing invisibly through the air. The rhythm was subtle, embedded deep in the percussion. Every third beat pulsed with a subharmonic wave that struck the spine.
"This isn't just music," Toji whispered to himself. "It's a binding spell."
Elian appeared beside him, chewing on a skewer of grilled meat. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I've seen worse," Toji replied, his tone grim.
He looked around.
Children laughed. Elders clapped. Soldiers stood at ease. All of them unaware. But their movements were synchronized—too clean, too in tune with the music.
Frankie joined them again. "Okay. I ran some comparisons. I've heard this rhythm before."
Toji raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"In ancient war songs," Frankie said, handing Toji a folded parchment. "They used to chant these patterns before major rituals. Sacrifices. It was believed to 'cleanse the soul.' But these runes—these exact symbols—were only ever found on bindings."
Toji opened the parchment. The runes were precise. Layered.
He turned his gaze back toward the musicians. There, at the heart of their ensemble, was a mage disguised as a flutist. But his flute wasn't made of wood—it was an alloy. In his other hand, concealed within his robes, was a sigil stone that pulsed faintly with each crescendo.
"Frankie," Toji said, "we need to cut the music."
"You can't!" Elian said. "It's the center of the festival. You'd be arrested for causing a disruption!"
"Let them try," Toji muttered.
The music continued. Toji stepped onto the main stage, raising a hand slowly. His energy flared subtly—just enough to shatter the harmony of the spell.
The crowd hushed.
The musicians faltered, unsure whether this was part of the act.
The governor rose from his seat slowly, the smile still plastered across his face.
"Toji," he said. "Is something wrong?"
Toji pointed to the center mage. "That man. Step away from the instrument."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The mage didn't move.
"I won't ask twice," Toji said.
The mage tried to play again.
Toji snapped his fingers. In an instant, the air bent. A column of force knocked the flute from the mage's hands and cracked the sigil stone in his grasp. A wave of dark energy burst forth, momentarily revealing black veins running up the mage's arms.
Now the crowd screamed.
Guards surged forward, but the governor raised a hand.
"Stand down," Helmund said.
He stepped onto the stage, walking slowly toward Toji.
"You see what you wish to see, Lightbringer," he said. "You see binding spells. I see celebration. You see control—I see unity."
"Unity through what?" Toji asked. "Control? Indoctrination? Spells disguised as music?"
Helmund tilted his head. "The world is full of chaos. Some of us simply wish to bring peace."
"To bind people's minds is not peace. It's slavery."
The governor's golden eyes gleamed. "Then you will have to decide—are you the liberator you claim to be? Or just another hammer breaking what you don't understand?"
Toji turned to the crowd. He amplified his voice, letting it ring through the plaza.
"This music was not just celebration. It was layered with ancient commands. Runes designed to open your minds, not to truth—but to submission."
He waved a hand. A series of glowing glyphs appeared in the air—projected from his memory. He translated them with holographic symbols, showing the audience how each note coincided with magical influence.
"I don't ask you to trust me," Toji said. "I ask you to think."
A long silence followed.
Then a voice spoke from the crowd.
"My brother disappeared last year during this festival," said a woman. "No one ever found him."
Another voice. "My son changed after the last Feast. He stopped speaking. He only followed."
Whispers grew louder.
The governor's smile faded.
Toji looked back at him. "You've hidden behind silk and ceremony for too long. I will uncover all of it."
Helmund said nothing. He turned and walked off the stage, his robes trailing behind like a cloud of shadow.
Toji looked once more at the instruments, the runes, the musicians who now stood frozen in fear.
And he understood.
This wasn't a celebration.
It was a ritual.
A ritual that had just been broken.
Suddenly, the governor raised his hand—and a pulse of energy swept through the plaza like a wave of silence. It was instantaneous. One moment, the crowd murmured in confusion and fear; the next, laughter returned, music resumed, and the celebration sparked back to life as if nothing had happened.
It was as though someone had flipped a switch in their minds.
Toji blinked in disbelief. "What—?" he began, but before the words could fully form, the space around him twisted. Light warped. Sound vanished. And then—he was gone.
He reappeared in a cold, dimly lit chamber somewhere deep within the castle. The marble beneath his feet was unfamiliar, and the air felt wrong.
Back at the plaza, Frankie turned in panic. "Where's Toji?!"
Elian scanned the crowd frantically. "He was just here!"
Without hesitation, they pushed through the celebrating masses, urgency gripping their every step.
"We have to find him," Frankie muttered, already calculating the most likely path into the castle. "Now."