In the present day, the quiet streets of Ardlemoor echoed with the faint sound of a distant melody. Crest, the ghostly knight, walked through the deserted town, his armor clanking softly with each step. He wasn’t tethered to this place but had chosen to wander here, a place forgotten by time. His once bright and noble armor now held a dull sheen, reflecting the ghost of a life long past.
As he passed an old music shop, he heard something unusual—strange but beautiful notes. Crest stopped and turned toward the sound.
Around the corner, a young girl sat on the edge of a stone bench, a small enchanted flute in her hands. She expertly played with the flute, and with each breath, ribbons of light shimmered in the air. She played not for an audience but for herself, trying to find something lost. Her name was Lyra, and she was guided by music which led her to Ardlemoor. Her music had led her to Crest, be it a coincidence or not.
Crest approached cautiously, unsure if this girl was like him, a wandering soul. “You there,” his voice was a low rasp, hollow from years of silence, “what are you doing here, in a place like this?”
Lyra looked up, her fingers relaxing and putting down the flute she carried. “I’m looking for my home,” she said simply, her voice tinged with a sadness she couldn’t place. “I don’t remember where it is, but I think my music will help me find it.”
Crest tilted his head. He had wandered these streets for years, and the idea of home had long since faded from his own memory. "This place is not home to anyone now," he said. "Why do you stay?"
Lyra stood and put the flute in her purse. "It’s not about this place," she said, stepping toward him. "It’s about what’s lost. My music... it's all I have."
Crest studied her, sensing an unusual power within her. "Your music... it's more than just sound, isn’t it?"
Lyra gave a small smile. “You could say that.” With a flick of her wrist, she played a quick, sharp note, and a shimmering blade of light formed in her hand. "It’s a weapon. But I don’t know why... or how I learned to do this."
Crest’s eyes flickered with recognition. He knew similar burdens. "Then perhaps," he said, his voice more thoughtful, "we are not so different, you and I."
For the first time, Lyra looked truly at him—past the armor, past the ghostly presence, to the soul that wandered just as she did.
