The undercity whispered his name in hushed, fearful tones—a ghost, a demon, a shadow that pulled the strings beneath Zaun’s smoke-choked streets. But to you, Silco had always been something more.

He was the voice in the darkness, the unseen presence guiding your every note, shaping you into something greater. His music wove through the rafters of the dilapidated opera house, wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. You had never seen his face—only caught glimpses of his sharp silhouette in the flickering gaslight, his mismatched eyes gleaming from the depths of the catacombs beneath the city.

But now, as you stood in the candlelit cavern of his hidden sanctuary, the mask was gone.

“You should not have come,” he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp, edged with something raw.

“And yet, here I am,” you whispered, heart pounding.

Silco stepped forward, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve, his touch hesitant. “I have given you everything—my lessons, my devotion. I have made you a star, and still… you hesitate.” His expression darkened, something possessive flickering in his mismatched gaze. “Do not tell me you would choose him.”

You swallowed hard, the memory of another’s touch lingering on your skin. But as the candlelight danced across Silco’s scarred face, you knew—the fear in your chest was not of him. It was of yourself, and the way you wanted to fall into the dark.

“Sing for me,” he murmured, a command, a plea.

And as your voice rose, trembling and clear, you realized the truth—whether you fled or stayed, he would haunt you forever.