In a quiet hall, Liora found an instrument suspended in the air. It had no keys, no strings, no mouthpiece.
A musician tried to master it, then another. Each demanded it respond to intention. It remained silent.
When the hall emptied, a draft moved through the room. The instrument sounded — not a melody, but a structure of tones shaped by the air itself.
Liora realised it had never been waiting for a player. It had been waiting for conditions.
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