You come across the frame and torn skin of a drum lying on the Moor. Have you heard music before? Do you like it? And who would play music in a place like this?

The lanterned staff in Camellia’s grasp cast a warm glow over the strange sight before her: the frame of a drum, its skin torn and flapping slightly in the cold wind of the Moor. The damp air carried the faint scent of rot and earth, and somewhere far off, the low, mournful cry of the wind swept across the battlefield.

Camellia tilted her head, ears swiveling as she studied the artifact. The drum looked ancient, its wooden frame weathered and cracked, but the way it rested here—almost deliberately placed—sent a shiver down her spine.

Tyffyn stepped up beside her, her usual energy momentarily subdued by the eerie atmosphere. She peered at the drum and then glanced at Camellia, her bright eyes glinting in the lantern light.

“Well, that’s a cheery find,” Tyffyn said with a grin, though her voice was quieter than usual. “I don’t suppose it was left here by a traveling minstrel looking to liven up the spirits?”

Camellia gave her a sidelong look, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ve heard music before,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her chest. “There were songs, I think. Stories passed down after the kingdom fell. But not...here. Not in a place like this.”

Tyffyn crouched down, poking at the torn drum skin with a hoof. “Music, huh? Bet you liked it. You’ve got that look about you—like you’d hum along if you thought no one was listening.”

Camellia snorted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t hum,” she said firmly. “But I do like it."

“Comforting,” Tyffyn repeated, her tone teasing. “Sure. I can see that. Though this drum doesn’t look like it was used for lullabies.”

She was right. The drum’s size and craftsmanship suggested it was meant for something grander—perhaps a call to arms, its deep, resonant beat echoing across the battlefield. Camellia stepped closer, her lantern casting shadows over the ground, and noticed faint scratches along the frame. Marks of use, or something else?

“Who would play music here?” she murmured, half to herself.

Tyffyn straightened, her usual grin replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Who knows? Maybe someone who thought they could drown out the screams with a good rhythm.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortably vivid. Camellia glanced around the silent Moor, the mist swirling like restless spirits. The thought of music here felt wrong—out of place. And yet, the drum was here, a piece of the past refusing to be forgotten.

“I think..." Camellia said slowly, “whoever played this drum wasn’t just making noise. They were trying to be heard. Desperately. Maybe by their comrades, maybe by the enemy, or maybe by something else entirely.”

Tyffyn raised an eyebrow. “Something else? Like what? Ghosts? Demons? The wind?”

Camellia didn’t answer right away. Instead, she lowered her staff, letting the lantern’s light illuminate the drum fully. The scratches along its frame seemed almost deliberate now, like runes or symbols worn down by time.

“Maybe by the land itself,” she said finally. “Or whatever still lingers here.”

Tyffyn shivered, though she quickly masked it with a laugh. “Well, if that’s the case, I hope they didn’t play anything too catchy. Don’t want to get a ghostly earworm stuck in my head.”

Camellia chuckled despite herself, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

Still, the drum’s presence unsettled her. It felt like a fragment of a story she didn’t yet understand—a story of war, loss, and perhaps something more profound. She stepped back, the light from her staff retreating, and glanced at Tyffyn.

“We should move on,” she said. “There’s nothing more we can learn from this.”

Tyffyn nodded, but as they turned to leave, she paused and looked back at the drum. “Hey, Camellia,” she said, her voice unusually soft.

“Yes?”

“If you ever feel like humming… I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

The words caught Camellia off guard, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. But then she smiled—a small, private smile—and nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind."