The day dawned gray, with a soft mist spilling through the streets of Marais.The silence of the room was broken only by the sound of the clock on the wall a ticking that seemed louder than it should have been.
Arion sat on the edge of the bed, Seraya's notebook open on the sheets, the page with the phrase "When the sound stops, follow the gold" standing out, its firm line of ink almost luminous.Lior paced back and forth, the coffee cooling in his hands.
"I've read this about twenty times," he muttered, frowning. "But the more I look at it, the less sense it makes."
Arion didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the golden line that crossed the page, following the stroke as if he expected it to move.
"It could be symbolic," Lior continued. "'When the sound stops' maybe it means when you stop playing, or when there's total silence… I don't know. And 'follow the gold'? What's that supposed to be? Light? Gold? A path?"
"Gold…" Arion repeated softly, his thoughts spinning. "It reminds me of the mural."
Lior looked at him."The mural you saw on the first day?"
Arion nodded, finally lifting his eyes."There was something there. The paint seemed to breathe. And there was gold in every line the same shade as the notebook. Maybe she's trying to lead me back there."
Lior crossed his arms, thoughtful."So… 'when the sound stops' could be literal. When there's no more noise, when everything falls silent… that's where we need to be."
Arion stood, carefully tucking the notebook inside the guitar case."The sound has stopped, Lior. The show is over. Now comes the silence.""And the gold is the path.""It's the starting point."
They left the hotel shortly after, the cold morning wind cutting their faces. The neighborhood was just waking up bakeries opening, shop windows lighting up slowly, and the faint murmur of an accordion somewhere around the corner. The sky was heavy, yet something vibrated in the air a sense that the atmosphere itself was watching them.
They walked side by side until they reached the square where the mural stood.
The place felt different not in structure, but in sensation. The walls seemed to breathe. The colors, once merely painted, now had depth, as if entire worlds existed within each stroke.
Arion stopped in front of the artwork, his heart pounding.The gold was more vivid than he remembered, pulsing faintly under the soft daylight. He stepped closer, reached out his hand, but hesitated before touching the wall.
"It looks alive," he whispered."Don't say that," Lior replied, adjusting his glasses. "I already have enough chills."
Arion gave a brief, humorless laugh."Don't you feel it?""I feel like I'm starting to believe in things I would've denied a week ago."
Lior took a few steps around the mural, examining the details.There were human figures half-erased faces, lines that merged with organic shapes: leaves, wings, shadows. In the center, a woman seen from behind, long golden hair flowing as she faced the horizon. The detail made her look almost alive.
"That's her, isn't it?" Lior asked.Arion simply nodded.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant crunch of footsteps on gravel. When they turned, they saw the old man.
It was the same one Arion had met days earlier the old man in the gray coat, worn hat, with eyes that seemed lost yet saw more than anyone else. He walked slowly, leaning on a cane, and stopped before them as if he had known they would be there.
"I thought you would come back," the man murmured, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
A chill ran down Arion's spine."Do you… remember me?"
The old man smiled faintly."Some echoes don't fade."
Lior watched him cautiously."What do you mean by that?"
"That there are colors that insist on breathing, even in the dark," the old man said without looking at him. "And long ago, a heart was left trapped inside colors that never dried."
Arion stepped forward."Are you talking about Seraya?"
The man turned his gaze to the mural, as if he could hear it breathe."There are names that shouldn't be spoken aloud, boy. Sometimes, when you call someone, the call answers. And not everything that returns is what left."
Lior exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Arion."Do you know what happened to her?"
The old man didn't answer. He only pointed a trembling finger at the mural, the yellowed nail hovering before the golden paint."Listen to the silence. When the sound stops, the image shows what was forgotten."
And with that, he began to walk away.
Lior took a step forward."Wait! What's your name?"
The man turned slightly, his cloudy eyes fixed on them."I've had many. Today, they call me Aeeth."
The name sounded strange, heavy, as if the air around them folded upon itself. Before Lior could say anything else, the old man was already disappearing around the corner.
They stood there for a while, watching him vanish.
When Lior finally turned, he noticed Arion was pale, his breathing uneven."What is it?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
Arion took a while to answer. He was staring at the path where the old man had gone, eyes wide, as if still processing what he'd seen."I…" he began, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't notice the first time… How didn't I see it?"
Lior frowned."See what?""I know that face," Arion said, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Not from real life… from a painting."
Lior stared at him, puzzled."A painting by Seraya?"
Arion nodded slowly."Yes. One of the last she made before she disappeared. It was a portrait a man, elderly, same eyes, same hat, even the same coat. She called it The Guardian of Twilight."
The wind swept between them, cold and silent, stirring dust at their feet near the mural.Lior said nothing, just stared back at the spot where the old man had stood, as if expecting him to return.
"You're saying that a man from a painting our friend made years ago is now walking through the streets of Paris?"
Arion swallowed hard."I don't know what I'm saying. I just know he shouldn't exist outside the canvas."
The air seemed to shift again. The mural's colors flickered, the gold shimmering for a second like a flame in the wind. Lior instinctively stepped back, but Arion stayed still, his gaze locked on the central figure of the painting.
For a brief moment, he thought the gold in the woman's eyes moved, as if a breeze passed through the image. The light pulsed once, then again in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Do you see that?" he murmured."See what?" Lior asked, turning.
But when he looked, the glow was gone. The mural was still again, ordinary, just another wall.
"Nothing," Arion said, though his voice trembled. "Must be the light."
Lior watched him for a moment, noticing the subtle tremor in his hands."Let's go back to the hotel," he suggested. "We need to figure this out but not here, not now."
Arion agreed, though he was reluctant to leave. As they walked away, he looked back one last time at the mural. The gold seemed stronger, more alive as if it were watching.
On the way back, neither of them spoke. Their footsteps echoed through the empty sidewalks, and the silence between them felt almost tangible.
When they finally entered the room, Lior dropped into a chair, rubbing his eyes."'When the sound stops, follow the gold,'" he repeated. "We followed the gold, met a man who shouldn't exist, and he gave us another riddle."
Arion placed the notebook in his bag, sat on the floor, and leaned the guitar beside him."It's not a riddle," he said, staring into the void. "It's a trail.""And where does it lead?"
Arion looked toward the window. The sun was setting, dyeing the city in shades of copper and gold."I don't know yet. But I think Seraya is starting to guide us."
The clock ticked somewhere in the room, the sound echoing through the silence. Lior got up to close the curtains but froze mid-motion.
Outside, reflected in the window glass, the mural seemed to shimmer even from miles away, even in the twilight.And for a moment, they both heard what sounded like distant brushstrokes soft, rhythmic, as if someone were painting the air.
Arion looked toward the horizon.The sound had stopped.