Chapter Three: The Music Between Worlds

The evening air was crisp as Seojun sat by the lake, the gentle lapping of water against the shore filling the silence between his thoughts. His fingers itched to play again, but fear held him back. What if he played and was suddenly transported somewhere else? What if he couldn't return at all?

Elias watched him from a short distance, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. "You don't have to force yourself," he said gently. "You've been through a lot."

Seojun exhaled slowly. "I just... I don't understand it." He glanced at Elias. "What if I play again, and something happens? What if I disappear?"

Elias took a step closer, crouching beside him. "Then we'll find a way to bring you back." His voice was steady, reassuring. "But we won't know unless we try."

Seojun hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Not tonight. But soon."

Elias accepted this without argument and instead turned his gaze to the horizon. "I used to sit here a lot," he mused. "Before I built the mansion. Before all of this."

Seojun turned to him, curiosity piqued. "Why here?"

Elias smiled, his expression distant as if recalling a long-buried memory. "Because this place felt like home, even before it was mine."

Seojun studied him, noting the quiet loneliness hidden beneath his composed demeanor. For a moment, they simply sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

The next morning, Seojun found himself drawn to the piano once more. Elias had left early for a meeting, leaving a note on the counter with breakfast prepared. The grand piano near the window gleamed in the morning light, its presence almost calling to him.

Taking a deep breath, Seojun sat down and let his fingers rest on the keys. He wasn't sure what he expected, but after a few moments of hesitation, he began to play.

The melody was different this time. It wasn't the same haunting piece from the night before, but something softer, something filled with longing. As he played, the air seemed to hum around him, faint but noticeable. His heartbeat quickened, and for a split second, he thought he felt it—the same pull, the same shift in the air.

But just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Seojun's fingers faltered, and he let out a shaky breath.

Nothing had happened. Not completely, anyway.

Frustration bubbled within him. What was he missing?

"Perhaps it's tied to your emotions." Elias's words echoed in his mind.

Emotions.

Last time, he had been overwhelmed, desperate, lost in the music. What was he feeling now?

A deep longing, yes, but not the same intensity.

Seojun clenched his fists, willing himself to stay patient. If he wanted to understand this—if he wanted to control it—he needed to stop fearing it.

He needed to embrace it.

By the time Elias returned, Seojun was in the music room, staring at his keyboard with determination.

"You look deep in thought," Elias remarked, setting his coat on a nearby chair.

"I think I need to push myself," Seojun admitted. "I need to feel what I felt that night. I need to understand it."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Seojun met his gaze. "By playing until I figure it out."

A small smirk played on Elias's lips. "That's quite the challenge."

Seojun nodded. "Will you stay?"

Elias tilted his head slightly, then sat down in his usual chair. "Of course."

Seojun inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and placed his hands on the keys. This time, he wouldn't hold back. He would let the music take him, wherever it may lead.

And as the first notes filled the room, the air around him began to shift once more.