The lights dimmed to a soft amber glow, as if sunset itself had descended upon the stage. A deep, resonant hum filled the air — not from instruments, not from speakers, but from somewhere unseen, something ancient. The audience fell silent, leaning forward instinctively, caught between fear and wonder.
Then, without a word, the man reached into his coat and pulled out a small, weathered book. Its cover was torn, its pages yellowed, edges singed by time. He placed it gently on the floor and touched it with both hands.
