"Leo…"
A voice floated through the void. Soft. Warm. Like sunlight pressing through morning fog. Not a command. Not a cry for help. Just… a call. Gentle and inviting.
"Leo."
The voice again, closer this time. Feminine. Familiar. As though she were standing right beside him, brushing strands of hair from her face with a shy smile.
"My mom used to play it to me when I was young," she whispered.
And then came the sound delicate at first, like a feather falling through morning air.
A flute.
It didn't just play, it breathed. Each note floated like a soft sigh through the space around him, carrying a gentle, wistful melody that curled around his chest and stitched itself into the edges of his soul. The tones were neither joyful nor mournful, but something in between—the kind of sound that made the world slow down, that made time forget how to tick.
