Seven
1044 Words
Kaelen's POV
Every corner of the gala screams Dravenhart dominance, and every set of eyes is on me, the heir to the Dravenhart Pack.
I smile, shake hands, nod at the compliments. Your father must be proud. What a promising future. The words repeat from table to table, voices blending until they feel rehearsed. I’ve learned to answer the same way each time, never showing how heavy it feels to be the one they’re watching.
Celestine sits at my side, her hand resting on mine. When she leans in, her perfume drifts toward me, sweet and familiar. “We’ve outdone ourselves,” she murmurs, lips close to my ear. "Maybe, I'll give you a reward for all your hard work later when we get home."
I ignore her teasing and nod. “The pack will remember this.”
And they will. That’s the point. This gala isn’t about charity; it’s about power. We don’t just rule, we display it. We remind them all who sits at the top.
More guests pass by. My glass is raised more times than I can count. Outwardly, I am everything they expect: the future Alpha, the man born for this. Inwardly, I’m counting the hours until the hall empties, until I can breathe without someone measuring me against my father.
The orchestra fades. A voice from the stage calls for intermission. I sink back into my chair, letting my shoulders drop for the first time all night. Celestine curls her fingers tighter around mine, her smile never breaking.
I glance at her, at the way her eyes gleam as she surveys the hall.
A hush passes through the tables as the host announces the evening’s entertainment.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our guest performer, Black Serenity!"
My grip on the glass loosens. I tell myself it’s nothing. Another performer, another attempt to impress. I lean back, ready to endure it the way I endure everything else.
Not expecting much.
She enters the hall with the host’s announcement, walking toward the piano in silence. A mask hides her face, but it’s not the mask that holds me. It’s the way she moves, as if she doesn’t need to command the room but already owns it.
Celestine shifts beside me. “Ugh. Another pianist,” she says lightly, taking her glass. “They always pick the dramatic ones. I bet she can't play better than I can.”
I barely hear her. My focus stays on the woman crossing the stage. She sits, hands resting over the keys like she’s been waiting her whole life for this one moment.
The first notes fall, and the room stills. Conversations die mid-breath, every face turning toward her. Even the servers stop moving.
I lean forward, the sound pressing against something deep inside me. At first, I can’t place why it unsettles me.
Why does it feel like it’s mine as much as it is hers?
The longer I listen, the stronger the pull grows. It isn’t just beautiful; it’s familiar.
The tempo rises. Her hands blur against the keys, but not a single note falters. Power threads through every sound, tightening around me like a net. I forget the hall, the crowd, even Celestine’s presence beside me.
There’s only the music.
Then the chorus strikes, loud and aching, and it hits me.
This song. I know this song...
The memory shoves its way forward, clear as if no years had passed. A younger me, frozen outside a school hall, hearing this very melody for the first time. Watching slim fingers move over the keys with that same fire, that same soul.
That is when I remember.
Could it be?
I turn sharply toward Celestine. My pulse kicks hard in my throat. The ring sits on her hand, the same one I gave to the girl who played this same song. I wait for a flicker of recognition, some sign she hears what I hear.
I lean closer to Celestine, keeping my voice low. “Don't you remember this piece?”
She follows my gaze toward the stage, then back to me, her smile untouched. “I’ve played thousands of songs, my love. I could not possibly remember them all.”
I nod, slowly. “Of course.”
"Is there something wrong, my love?"
I shake my head. "This piece just feels very familiar."
Celestine shrugs again. "It's just probably some random infamous sheet music you heard somewhere."
"Yeah, maybe," I say. Inwardly, the ground shifts. Something doesn’t align. This song isn’t background noise. It’s not one of a thousand. It’s the song. The song that defined a moment I’ve carried for years. How can Celestine not know it? How can she not feel what I feel now?
I turn back to the pianist, my eyes locking on her as if the rest of the room doesn’t exist. Her mask hides half her face, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to see her expression. I feel it in the music, in the way her body moves with every note, every strike of her fingers.
The melody swells, crashes, and then falls away into silence.
For a long moment, the room doesn’t breathe.
My hands come together first, loud in the stillness. I rise to my feet, applauding. The sound feels detached from me, like I’m watching someone else stand, someone else clap. Around me, the crowd follows, polite cheers and murmurs of admiration. But I barely hear them.
Celestine touches my arm. “It seems you enjoyed that more than most.”
I don’t answer. My eyes don’t leave the woman at the piano. She rises, then slips back into the shadows of the stage.
The applause dies, and the gala moves on as though nothing changed. But I remain caught in that moment, the echo of those notes still lodged under my skin.
"If you'll excuse me, Celestine," I murmur before I can realize I am already walking away.
"Where are you going, my love?" she asks after me. "Hey, Kaelen!"
I don't bother answering her as I continue walking.
I know what I heard. I know what it meant.
And I know one thing with absolute certainty:
I have to know how Black Serenity, whoever she is, knew this song.
- Writer
