Overture

A cold, dimly lit room sat in near silence, broken only by the low hum of a monitor. The screen flickered, casting erratic light across the featureless gray walls.
    On the grainy CCTV footage, chaos unfolded—a battle tearing through the road. Amid the crumbling remains and overturned debris, a towering dark entity moved with inhuman grace, its form wreathed in shifting shadows. Opposing it were four figures, barely discernible through the static interference, yet their movements were impossibly fast, too precise to be normal.
    Then—from thin air—weapons materialized in their hands. A sword, sleek and radiant. A bow, its drawn arrow shimmering with ethereal energy. A massive axe, its edge gleaming like liquid light. Twin nunchucks, spinning in a blur of motion. Each weapon pulsed with an otherworldly glow.
    The figures moved as if unbound by human limitations—dodging, striking, leaping with uncanny speed and strength. The battle raged on, the footage distorting under the weight of what it captured. Something beyond comprehension. Something beyond this world.
    A tall man stood beside the monitor, his posture rigid, exuding authority. He wore a dark, well-pressed suit, the kind that blended seamlessly into the shadows. A long, heavy coat draped over his shoulders, giving him an imposing presence. His black shades concealed his eyes, making it impossible to read his expression.
    With a measured movement, he paused the footage, freezing the frame where the dark entity loomed against the four figures locked in battle. Then, without a word, he turned and walked to the metal chair opposite a young man, lowering himself into the seat with deliberate calm.
    “You’re telling me that this black entity here in the footage came from another dimension?” The man’s voice was deep, even, yet laced with skepticism.
    “Yes,” the young man replied, his tone steady.
    The agent slowly removed his shades, folding them carefully before setting them on the table. He leaned forward, his sharp gaze now visible. “And what dimension is it?”
    “The Eternal Resonance,” the young man answered.
    The agent leaned back, crossing his arms. His expression remained unreadable, but the silence between them carried weight. “You’re one of those four fighting the entity,” he stated. “Are you also from that dimension?”
    The young man shook his head. “No. I am human. We are human.”
    A flicker of something crossed the agent’s face—doubt, curiosity, or perhaps both. He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the table.
    “I’ve worked in this facility for most of my life,” he said. "I’ve seen things the public wouldn’t believe. But I’ve never seen a human with those abilities. Not until now. How are you able to do this?”
    The young man met his gaze without hesitation
    “Music,” he answered.
    The agent’s brow furrowed. “What?”
    “These abilities are gifted to musicians,” the young man explained.
    The agent narrowed his eyes. “How?”
    The young man took a slow breath, as if deciding how much to say. Then, with quiet certainty, he answered:
    “Through our ability. Our perfect pitch.”