Elias sat on the worn leather bench, his fingers hovering over the keys of the aging Steinway. His hands, mapped with the deep rivers of eighty-five years of life, trembled slightly in the cold air of the empty auditorium.
were the heavy thunder of his youth. Guttural, booming, and full of raw, untamed power. He pressed the keys hard, feeling the thick bass strings vibrate straight through the floorboards and into the soles of his shoes.
The note was sharp, pure, and piercing. It cut through the fading rumble of the bass notes like a single star appearing in a dark night sky. It did not linger; it lacked the heavy copper windings of the lower strings to sustain a long vibration. It rang out brilliantly and then vanished into the silence of the hall.