The hovercraft hummed through the twilight, its engines a low drone against the whispering pines that stretched endlessly below. Elena sat in the passenger seat, her comm device clutched tightly, the glow of its screen reflecting in her eyes. Outside, the world was a blur of green and shadow, the dense forest a stark contrast to the neon madness of the city she’d left behind. Her cats—Pippin, Shadow, Mischief—were safe at home, their playful warmth a fleeting comfort she clung to. But the weight of the lab, the global manifestations, and the haunting notes of Varn’s music pressed harder with every mile.
Aisha sat beside her, piloting the craft with a precision that belied the tension in her jaw. The interviews with global experts—Yara, Nia, and others—had confirmed their suspicions: Varn’s music was tapping into a collective unconscious, amplifying dreams where cultural beliefs ran deep. The data was undeniable, theta and delta waves syncing across continents, but the why remained elusive. And now, they were headed to find the man behind it all, a reclusive composer whose twelve-song cycle had turned the world upside down.
“He lives out here?” Aisha asked, her voice cutting through the hum. She gestured at the forest, its canopy swallowing the last of the daylight. “Middle of nowhere?”
Elena nodded, glancing at her comm. “His last known address is a cabin, off-grid. No digital footprint since his last release five years ago.” She paused, her thoughts drifting to the CD’s faded cover, the name Lukas Varn etched in her mind. “He’s not hiding, exactly. Just… gone.”
Aisha’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Sounds like someone who knows what he’s done.”
Elena didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what to expect from Varn—a mad genius, a tortured artist, or something else entirely. The music had felt alive, its notes weaving through her dreams like a lover’s touch, but Aisha’s fire, the global madness—it was no gift. It was a curse, and Varn held the key.
The hovercraft descended, settling in a clearing ringed by towering pines. The cabin was small, weathered wood blending into the shadows, its windows glowing faintly with lamplight. Elena’s heart thudded as she stepped out, the air crisp with the scent of resin and earth. Aisha followed, her tablet tucked under her arm, her eyes scanning the darkness like a hawk’s.
The door creaked open before they could knock, revealing a man in his late fifties, his silver hair tied back, his face lined but sharp. His eyes, a piercing blue, flicked between them, curious but guarded. “You’re the scientists,” he said, his voice low, accented with a faint Eastern European lilt. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Lukas Varn?” Elena asked, though she knew the answer. He nodded, stepping aside to let them in. The cabin was sparse but warm, a woodstove crackling in the corner, shelves lined with vinyl records and worn books. A piano sat against one wall, its keys gleaming in the lamplight, silent but heavy with presence.
“Sit,” Lukas said, gesturing to a pair of mismatched chairs. He settled across from them, his hands clasped, his gaze steady. “You’re here about the music.”
Aisha didn’t waste time. “Your CD—twelve songs, unique piano temperament—it’s causing dreams to manifest. Globally. People are dying, cities are falling apart. What did you do?”
Lukas’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened slightly. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I created. I wanted to touch the divine, to make something that resonated with the soul. The temperament… it was an experiment, a way to align sound with the mind’s deepest frequencies.”
Elena leaned forward, her voice softer. “You knew it could do this? Alter brainwaves, make dreams real?”
Lukas shook his head, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “No. I knew it was different—felt it when I played. The notes, they… sang back, like they were alive. But this?” He gestured vaguely, as if encompassing the world’s turmoil. “I never imagined.”
Aisha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you accidentally rewrote reality? That’s a hell of a mistake.”
Lukas’s gaze met hers, unflinching. “Music has always been a bridge—between hearts, between worlds. I tuned the piano to resonate with what’s beneath, the part of us that dreams. I didn’t know it would… break through.”
Elena’s mind raced, fragments of their research clicking into place—the subsonic frequencies, the theta spikes, the cultural echoes. “You’re talking about the collective unconscious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your music—it’s syncing brains, amplifying dreams where belief is strong. Aboriginal Dreamtime, Yoruba rituals—it’s like you’ve tapped into something ancient.”
Lukas’s eyes softened, a faint smile touching his lips. “You understand,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ve always loved the old stories—Schubert, forgotten in his time, Mahler, misunderstood. Their music spoke to something deeper. I wanted that, to reach the eternal.”
Aisha snorted, her patience thinning. “Eternal or not, it’s killing people. We need to know how to stop it.”
Lukas’s smile faded. “Stop it? You can’t stop a song once it’s sung. It lives, it spreads. But…” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the piano. “I can help you understand it. The temperament, the frequencies—they’re precise. If you know how they work, maybe you can… dampen the effect.”
Elena felt a spark of hope, but Aisha’s voice was steel. “You’re coming with us. Back to the lab. You made this mess—you’re helping us clean it up.”
Lukas didn’t argue, but his eyes held a warning. “Be careful,” he said, standing. “The music—it’s not just sound. It’s a door, and once it’s open, it doesn’t close easily.”
They left the cabin, Lukas in tow, his presence a quiet weight between them. The hovercraft lifted off, the forest fading into darkness below. Elena’s comm buzzed with new alerts—reports of a floating city in Beijing, a graveyard in Mexico City spilling its dead. The world was unraveling faster, the music’s reach growing with every dream.
As they flew, Elena glanced at Lukas, his face half-lit by the craft’s controls. He reminded her of her father, the way he’d lose himself in music, chasing something beyond the notes. That memory stirred a pang, a reminder of what she’d lost. She pushed it down, focusing on Aisha’s tense silence, the hum of the engines, the task ahead.
“You trust him?” Aisha asked, her voice low, meant for Elena alone.
Elena didn’t answer right away. Lukas’s words echoed—the music as a door, alive, unstoppable. “I trust he didn’t mean for this,” she said finally. “But trust him to fix it? I don’t know.”
Aisha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The lab awaited, its sterile walls a fragile bulwark against the disruption. Elena’s fingers brushed her comm, the private file still unshared. The cats, the music, Lukas—they were all part of something bigger, something she was only beginning to grasp. And as the hovercraft sped toward the city, she felt the door Lukas spoke of, its hinges creaking, ready to swing wide.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
