Roselia placed a hand on his shoulder. "She burned it?"
Leon nodded slowly. "The fifth movement. The final section of the Prime Composition."
"Why?"
"…She couldn't finish it."
Milim crossed her arms. "Or she chose not to."
Roman added, "Either way… whatever's waiting at the end of this path—Echoia didn't want anyone to reach it."
They moved on.
The gallery narrowed until they reached a final platform—a circular room surrounded by angled mirrors, each humming with faint light.
In the center, a pedestal.
And on it, a single crystalline shard:
[Memory Fragment: "Sovereign Echoia – Last Composition Attempt"]
[Playback? Y/N]
Leon didn't hesitate.
[Y]
The room faded.
They stood on a floating battlefield—silent, unreal, covered in broken music sheets and shattered rhythms.
Echoia stood in the center, eyes wide with despair.
She held her instrument—a blade fused with sound, much like Temporfang.
Before her, the Prime Composition.
But it was wrong.
Unstable.
