But for the lake and the crackling of the torch, the silence reigned for long minutes. Erik stared out into the darkness, his unnatural eyes catching more detail than most other eyes could. There was nothing to see that he hadn't already seen a hundred times before -- but this.... This request was new. And dangerous. Already, it threatened to immolate him from the inside out.
Yet, the music was already there - just there, under the surface, like his siren's current, pulling at him. It had been there all along, he realized now, just waiting for him, waiting for just the right time.
At last, Erik took one long, slow breath.
"Yes," he agreed at last. "But not a sonata - and not because I owe you: because you asked, and because I have never written such a thing before." Still, there was hesitation in him. For all of what had passed today, Erik still cared for this remarkable young man. And so, after a tense internal debate, he finally said, "It may not be wise for you to play it, Hannibal. Some music burns."