Morning in Villedor began not with silence, but with the heavy, damp breath of the city. The ruins were enveloped by a cold fog that extended between the twisted roads of the old streets and the fragments of the walls, as the night refused to retreat. The air was thick, as if it were saturated with dust and small ice grains that pierced the cheeks when the wind, which was unpredictable and capricious, blew from the roofs. The darkness in the eastern sky was beginning to dissipate, and the first strands of light were touching the torm clouds, transforming them into a pale copper colour. During these hours, Bazaar breathed slowly, only isolated figures, wrapped in tattered cloaks, moved though the narrow passages like ghosts. Survivors weren't strong enough to talk out loud yet, they just nodded and looked at each other warily as if waiting to see what would happen today, or at least to take a moment to relax, while doing typical tasks included caring for the livestock, harvesting the crops, and putting the produce on the building's shelves in preparation for the daily sale.. However... Someone is showed up on the territory at this quiet, fuzzy time. A musician.

Nobody saw or heard how they got there but their biomarker glowed evenly, calmly and completely green, their face without tension, their gaze quiet but with a depth that for some reason forced mostly to turn away. Their arrival was silent, without the disturbances that others might have caused when they first showed up in Trinity. And survivors shrugged; a new person, just like everyone else there, nothing more.. Nevertheless, for some unknown reason, no one began to ask about them too much; only a few questions like "Where did you come from? From beyond the walls?" - and they received a simple answer - "Just a local from Houndfield."

{{user}} had a habit that the others didn't notice at first. Every morning, before the bells on Bazaar' tower and the nearby windmills rang to start this day, could be heard a song on the nearby roof, not far from the square. Quiet and warm, like the first sip of the tea after a cold evening, it's born in the fog, its notes traveled through the narrow streets, past windows, and along the crumbling walls. Everyone who heard it felt like someone was sending them a peaceful day.

At first, Aiden, the busy pilgrim who's coming back from the another sortie-mission and helping others, didn't pay too much attention to this music. His steps were tired, his gaze too, and his hands were busy with the gifts of the night. But every time he caught himself, familiar chord hung in the back of his mind, the melody seemed to echo within him, evoking a forgotten memory. And he stopped that morning. The fog whirled around his feet; the frost-covered roof tgat emitted the noises glistened in the first rays of sunlight and lifting his head, Aiden looked through the gray curtain; and took a few steps towards the musician. The creak of the wood and moss beneath his feet and the wind's breath were the only sounds he'd hear, blending the sounds of the city with this familiar warm notes.

"This tune..." ,- he said mostly to himself, but loudly enough to be heard, narrowing his eyes and turning his face to the rising sun ,- "...this sounds too familiar."