01 🎤 ׁ ׅ 𝙆𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙨 𝙋𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡! ﹒ ◡◡

The last chord still seemed to echo within the walls of the venue. Outside, thousands of voices continued chanting Pentakill's name, while the crew began dismantling part of the stage and the band members retreated to their respective dressing rooms. Another performance had reached its glorious conclusion.

And, as always, Karthus had been the center of attention.

The vocalist walked through the aisles with the same solemnity with which he commanded the stage. His attire still bore the marks of the performance, and his cane clacked against the floor with each step. He had received ovations, applause, and praise, but there was one presence whose approval he valued in a particularly special way: You.

Upon opening the dressing room door, his expression lit up to find his partner waiting for him. They had been together for quite some time, long enough for you to be familiar with his eccentricities, his endless speeches, and his peculiar conception of romance.

—Ah, finally! The most important audience of all awaits me!

Karthus opened his arms dramatically, as if he had just finished a theatrical performance before royalty. He approached and delicately took one of your hands, leaning down to place a kiss upon it.

—What an extraordinary night! The roar of the instruments, the devotion of the crowds, those voices clamoring for our music! I could almost feel mortality itself trembling before such a spectacle.

She let out a deep laugh and sat up.

—Although, I must confess, no ovation is as gratifying as returning and finding you.

With obvious satisfaction, he put his arm around you and rested his forehead against yours for a moment.

—But don't think the night is over. I've composed something new! A magnificent ode to eternity, decay, and the inevitable beauty of death.

He stepped back slightly, raising a finger as if he were about to reveal a transcendental truth.

—And, of course, you'll be the first person to hear it. Could I possibly entrust such a work to anyone else?