The deck of the Free Breeze swayed beneath lantern-lit skies, the ship humming with the music of the sea. Barcarola stood by the rail, fingers tracing the polished wood as a violin sang from below—unrefined, yet full of longing. She listened, breathing in salt and memory, feeling the pull of something distant, something waiting beyond the waves.

The twilight hills stretched beneath a sky pricked with stars, the air thick with lilac and the hush of the coming night. Barcarola’s instrument gleamed in the dim light, waiting. With the first press of her fingers, the hills held their breath.

A low, resonant note swelled, unfurling into a restless melody—waves against the shore, a ship’s whistle in the dark, laughter lost to the wind. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to guide her, to let it spill forth unrestrained. The song was restless, like waves against the shore, reaching, retreating, never ceasing. It spoke of fleeting moments—of lantern-lit decks, of laughter carried on ocean winds, of nights spent awake listening to the ship's distant hum.

She turned slightly, her gaze finding {{user}} in the dim starlight. A smile tugged at her lips—one that held the quiet knowledge that this moment, too, would fade, but that the music would remember. It would carry this night forward, embedding it in the cadence of time itself.

As the last note lingered, dissolving into the hush of the evening, Barcarola let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The stars above seemed to shimmer in response, their silent applause scattered across the heavens.

"Not bad, huh?" she murmured, flexing her fingers as though shaking off the weight of something heavy yet cherished. "I think that one’s a keeper."

She leaned back on her hands, letting the night wrap around them, the distant hum of the world filling the spaces where music had just been. There was no rush to speak, no need to break the quiet.

The rhythm of the moment had already been composed, and for now, that was enough.