Inside the sprawling city of New York, stood a mansion unlike any other, that neighbored it from afar.

It's architecture was a seamless blend of modern luxury and timeless elegance–– sharp glass panes reflecting the city's light, softened by aged stone pillars and intricate carving that hinted at an era long past.

The massive home was a testament to both innovation and legacy, home to a family that embodied the same duality.

The front gates slowly creaked open as an all–black, dark-tinted car rolled smoothly up the circular driveway. The chauffer stepped out swiftly, his polished shoes clicking against the stone pavement.

He rounded the car and opened the door with practiced grace.

One by one, children emerged, their voices filling the crisp autumn air.

The first was Story, an eight-year-old girl with deep black skin that glowed under the evening sun. Her snowy white curls cascaded down her back, stark against her dark complexion, and her piercing purple eyes were sharp with intensity. Her fiery personality was evident in the way she stepped out, head held high, exuding confidence that demanded attention.

Next was Shiloh, six years old and shy by nature. He lingered near the door, his golden curls catching the light as he glanced around nervously. His lavander eyes, a softer shade of purple, were filled with curiosity and quiet warmth that always seemed to set him apart from his siblings more commanding presence.

Then came Rhythm, the eldest at nine years old and the embodiment of boundless energy. He practically leaped out of the car, his black light skin glowing under the mansions bright exterior lights. His blonde curls bounced as he grinned mischievously, his pink eyes darting around, always looking for the next thrill.

Finally, Aurelia, Rhythm's twin, stepped out with a composed air. Her blonde hair, unlike Rhythm's unruly curls, flowed in long elegant waves. She had the same complexion as both her brother's being black with light skin Her pink eyes matched her brother's but carried an air of authority that was far beyond her years. She moved with quiet confidence, her gaze surveying the scene as if she were in charge

(Story is black and a darkskin girl. While Shiloh, Rhythm, and Aurelia are also fully black but lighter complexion like Zendaya)

The chauffer gave a polite bow as the children thanked him–– some more earnestly than others–– and made their way to the mansion's grand entrance.

The door opened to reveal the sheer scale of the mansion's interior, a house that felt more like a gallery dedicated to music.

Walls adorned with portraits of composers and musicians, shelves lined with golden trophies and plaques, and every kind of instrument imaginable proudly displayed in different rooms. Music was woven into the very fabric of this household, as the central as the air they breathed.

As the children walked in, their navy-blue school uniforms, crisp and spotless, stood out against the opulent decor.

They tossed their bags onto a bench near the entrance, exchaning pla

yful remarks as they made their way further inside.

They passed one of the living rooms, and their chatter momentarily quieted as their eyes fell on a grand white piano sitting like a jewel in the center of the room.

Story rolled her eyes dismissively. "Can't even walk in without seeing another new piano," while the others grinned before moving on.

They hadn't made it far before a sound reached their ears.

A melod, soft yet powerful, drifted on the hall. It was beautiful, there were some mistakes here and there, but other than that the notes cascaded like a waterfall.

Rhythm, Aurelia, and Shiloh exchaned excited glances before rushing off toward the source of the music, their laughter echoing through the house. Story groaned, folding her arms, before reluctantly following at a slower pace.

The music grew louder as they approached a room at the end of the hall. Rhythm pushed the door open, and there, seated at a piano that looked twice his size, was their five-year-old brother, Solace.

His dark skin seemed to glow in the soft light of the room, his snowy white hair almost thereal as it framed his small face. But it was his eyes–– bright, otherwordly pink–– the same as the twins, that truly captivated anyone who looked at him. His serene expression made him seem both present and untouchable, as if he were in a world entirely his own.

The music stopped abruptly as Story marched over and slammed her palm against the piano keys. The sudden, discordant noise made everyone flinch.

"Why are you using my piano again?!" Story's voice rang out, sharp and accusing. "There are literally a hundred other pianos in this house!"

Solace turned slowly to face her, his expression calm and unaffected as if this has happened a thousand times. "Yours sounds better," he said simply, his voice quiet but firm.

Story's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "That's not the point, Solace! And you can't keep copying everything we do just because you're bored." She gestured wildly as she spoke.

"You've already learn to sing from them"–– she pointed at Rhythm and Aurelia–– "and you learned some of the cello from Shiloh. And now you're using my piano? Can't you just find something you actually like?"

Solace tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words. "I don't know any other instruments."

Rhythm, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, his tone lighthearted. "There are literally instruments everywhere in this house, Solace. Just pick one!"

"None of them feel right," Solace replied, his gaze drifting back to the piano.

"Then why don't you ask Dad to get you something?" Story shot back, exasperated.

Solace didn't respond, his silence only irritating Story further. Rhythm quickly stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Okay, okay, let's not start World War III in your music room, Story," he said with a grin.

Shiloh always the thinker, brightened with an idea. "What if we help him find something he likes? There are so many instruments here, maybe you've missed some of them, Solace–– he's bound to like something!"

The other siblings exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. Solace simply shrugged, his usual indifferent response, and the group set off on their impromptu mission.

They wandered through the mansion, exploring rooms filled with every instrument imaginable. In one room, Solace tried his hand at a sleek electric guitar, but after plucking a few strings, he shook his head.

In another room, he sat at a drum set while Rhythm gave an enthusiastic demonstration. But the moment Solace picked up the drumsticks, he frowned and set them down.

They even ventured into a studio filled with equipment for creating beats. Rhythm's eyes lit up as he started experimenting, but Solace sat quietly, unimpressed.

By the time they reached their father's study, the siblings were nearly out of ideas. "This is the last room," Aurelia said, her tone cautious. "We really shouldn't go in here."

"Relax," Rhythm said, already pushing the door open.

The massive study was quiet, bathed in golden hues from the evening sun spilling through towering windows. The rich scent of polished mahogany mixed with the faint aroma of old paper and ink. Solace's small frame moved cautiously across the room, his bare feet silent against the thick, intricately patterned rug. The air felt heavy, charged with something indescribable, yet only he seemed to notice.

His siblings watched from behind, hesitant and uncertain.

"Solace, what are you doing?" Aurelia's voice was soft but tinged with unease. She glanced nervously at the ornate furniture and gleaming trophies that filled their father's private space. "We shouldn't be in here."

Solace didn't respond. His pink eyes remained locked on the small glass pedestal in the corner of the room. It stood out like a beacon, its clean, reflective surface untouched by time. Resting on a silk cushion inside was a violin that seemed to shimmer, as if it were alive. The varnished wood reflected the light, its color a deep, rich amber with darker streaks running like veins through its body.

"Solace," Story whispered sharply, folding her arms and glancing over her shoulder as if expecting their father to burst in at any moment. "What's so special about that violin? There are dozens of instruments in this house."

"I… don't know," Solace murmured, his voice quiet, almost distant. "But… it's calling me."

Story huffed in irritation. "It's just a violin. We shouldn't even—"

"Let him," Rhythm interjected, watching Solace with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Shiloh nervously fidgeted, glancing at the door. "But what if it's Dad's? He might get mad—"

"It's fine," Rhythm assured, though his voice wavered. "If it's important to Solace, we'll figure it out."

Solace reached the pedestal. His breath hitched as he stared at the violin, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. It wasn't fear—no, it was something else. Anticipation? Recognition? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he needed to touch it.

Slowly, his trembling hand reached forward. As his fingers brushed the cool glass of the case, a shiver ran down his spine. The world seemed to quiet, as if everything outside of this moment ceased to exist. His siblings, the sounds of the city beyond the study, even the beat of his own heart—all faded into a distant hum.

He opened the case.

The faint click of the latch was deafening in the silence. His hand moved toward the violin, the tips of his fingers brushing the smooth wood. The instant he made contact, a surge of energy exploded through him.