The moonlight spilled over the ancient marble tiles of Serenhall Theater. Its velvet curtains were drawn shut and the gilded chandeliers dimmed but every noble heart in the royal capital gathered inside held its breath. This was not a night of court speeches nor noble duels. It was a night no one could explain. An anonymous performance had appeared in the city with no signature no sponsor no name. Only a simple poster written in golden ink that read One Night Only.
Whispers filled the rows of crimson seats. Rumors said the masked performer had no past no face and no voice. Others claimed he was a fallen prince who once played before kings. Most believed it was a hoax. Until the strings were touched.
The curtain opened with no announcement. From the shadows stepped a figure clothed in a black coat embroidered with threads of starlight. A white full mask covered his face. The mask had no emotion only two eye holes and the subtle curve of a classical smile. In his hand he held a violin carved from darkwood that gleamed like obsidian under the spotlight.
He did not bow. He did not speak.
He raised the violin.
And the moment the first note rang out every soul in the theater forgot to breathe.
It was not just a melody. It was memory. The sound did not feel played it felt remembered. Like a lullaby once heard in a mother's arms or a funeral song once cried by a broken heart. The audience was silent but their hearts trembled. Some wept. Others clutched their chests. Even nobles who had not shed tears in decades felt warmth in places they thought were long dead.
In the third row sat a silver haired girl dressed in a noble gown that shimmered like winter moonlight. Her eyes widened not from surprise but recognition. She had heard that melody before. Somewhere. Long ago.
The masked violinist played on as if possessed. His bow danced like wind over snow and the notes soared through the air like phoenixes reborn. Then as suddenly as he had started he stopped.
Silence.
And then thunderous applause. But he was already gone.
No one saw him leave. No name was spoken. No trace remained.
Only the music lingered in the soul.
And a question remained in her heart
Who is the boy behind the mask