Chapter 3
Five years later, outside the Aurelian Hall in Wiesville, Ostoburg, a massive poster dominated the main square.
It showed only a figure from behind, dressed in a black tailcoat with a baton in hand, commanding and fierce.
Beneath the image, gold letters spelled out: [The Silent Conductor—Nyx.]
Nyx had become the biggest sensation in classical music over the past year, a true legend in the making.
Rumors said her right hand had been so badly injured that she couldn't even shake hands.
But the moment she stepped onto the podium and raised her baton, even the most unruly orchestras fell into line and produced music that could move souls.
At the entrance of the hall, Emily clung to Charles's arm and made a point of stopping where the crowd was thickest.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear, "Charles, I have to admit I was surprised too. I never expected the mysterious Nyx to be keeping up with news from back home.
"My agent told me she's apparently a fan of mine."
A few feet away, a bearded man stopped in his tracks.
It was Victor Hayes, the sharpest music critic in Middenlan and the editor of The Classical Review. His words could launch careers or destroy them.
Victor watched Charles and Emily with amusement and quietly hit record on his device.
This kind of desperate attention-seeking from across the ocean was comedy gold for any journalist.
Charles played along smoothly. "Oh? She's a fan?"
"Yes." Emily put on a modest expression. "She hasn't said it directly, but she chose the exact style I'm known for in her program tonight.
"I think the conductor might be trying to pay tribute to me, or maybe she's extending an olive branch, hoping for an opportunity to perform together someday."
The crowd murmured with interest, and Emily soaked it all in like she was the star of the evening.
Irene, standing next to Emily, lifted her chin, her expression dripping with arrogance. "At least she knows her place. A conductor might have some fame overseas, but if she wants to break into our market, she'll need approval from the Sterling and Goodman families."
She turned to Emily with a smug smile. "After the show, I'll take you backstage. Since she's your fan, she's probably been hoping to meet you.
"You can give her a little help. Even letting her accompany you on stage would be a huge honor for someone like her."
Emily tried to look modest. "Mom, keep your voice down. A conductor has their pride." But the satisfaction on her face was impossible to hide.
"Still, if she's genuinely sincere," she added, "I might consider mentoring a newcomer. My tour guest spots are limited, but I could probably save one for her."
Victor shook his head from across the lobby, marked the recording as "Joke of the Year," and hit send.
The Sterlings and Goodmans had enjoyed five years of smooth sailing.
Emily had built her career on the "child prodigy" image. While she never won any real international competitions, clever marketing and Charles's money had turned her into a top pianist back home.
Nina's name had become forbidden in the Sterling household. No one spoke of her, and no one remembered her.
They all assumed the girl with the ruined hand and the dark disposition had simply disappeared somewhere, forgotten and alone.
"Let's go. The concert's about to start," Charles said, guiding Irene and Emily into the hall.
They settled into the most expensive VIP seats, front row center with a perfect view of the stage.
The lights dimmed, and the entire hall fell into complete silence. Then the timpani began, urgent and powerful, each beat landing like a hammer.
The side lights came up, revealing a figure in a black tailcoat walking toward the podium.
She carried no sheet music. With her back to the audience, she stood tall and motionless, commanding attention without a single gesture.
When she raised her hand, Charles froze.
Even though that right hand was hidden inside a black leather glove, the way she held the baton with that slight stiffness and the familiar shape of her silhouette made recognition and dread crawl up his spine.
"Charles, what is it?" Emily whispered, sensing his tension.
Charles kept his eyes fixed on the stage. "That silhouette... Doesn't it remind you of Nina?"
Irene let out a sharp laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. Her hand was destroyed. She's probably digging through trash somewhere right now. Standing in the Aurelian Hall in Wiesville as a conductor? Impossible.
"You're just tired and seeing things. A world-class conductor like this could never be that curse on our family."
Just as Irene finished, the conductor brought her baton down.
The orchestra exploded into sound, the opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth filling the hall with overwhelming force.
Passion, fury, defiance, and unbreakable will poured from every instrument. Every note felt like a cry, a fierce determination to shatter the darkness and rise again from the flames.
It wasn't just music; it was a statement, a battle cry against fate itself, and a declaration that nothing could keep her down.
Charles's face drained of color, and then flushed with agitation.
Only Nina could play with that kind of style, with that raw power that seemed to rise straight from despair.
When the piece ended, the applause thundered on and refused to stop.
The conductor slowly turned to face the audience, and the spotlight illuminated her cold, elegant face.
Her hair was shorter now and her entire presence had shifted from timid to cold and untouchable.
Still, there was no mistaking her face. It was Nina, the same girl who had disappeared five years ago.
"How could it be?" Emily's lace fan slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor. She sat frozen in her seat, barely able to form words. "It's Nina. That's actually Nina."
Irene shot up from her chair, her voice rising to a shriek. "Nina!"