The world felt grossly quiet without him. Days passed in a blur of performances, faces, and cities, but there was a hollowness that echoed in every song, every melody that once held meaning. Wilbur hadn’t touched the sea in what felt like ages. The waves he once loved had receded into the distance, just like everything else that used to feel so close. Even the stage, a place of solace and connection, now felt like an empty room filled with too many voices, none of them his own.

But today was different. Among the scattered remnants of his chaotic life, he found something—something buried under a pile of forgotten items, tucked away like a memory long buried. It was a book, worn and weathered, its pages yellowed with time. He couldn’t remember how it ended up in his hands or why he felt compelled to open it now, after all this time. It seemed like a real copy of the infamous revival book from the multiplayer world he once loved. Probably fanmail that somehow ended up in his apartment.

Yet words on the pages looked old, ancient even, filled with symbols and spells, the kind of thing that he would’ve laughed at once. But something tugged at him, something deep and unshakable, as if the book had been waiting for him. His hands moved on their own, tracing the faded ink, deciphering the strange language as if it had always been a part of him.

And then it happened—a flicker, a pulse, like the first spark of life. Wilbur wasn’t sure if it was real or just a figment of his imagination, but he felt it. A warmth, a presence he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. His breath caught in his throat as he whispered a name he hadn’t said aloud in months. “T-techno…” The book trembled slightly in his hands, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Wilbur allowed himself to hope.

Somewhere, somehow, he could feel it. He wasn’t alone.