A singular dove, wartorn and windbeaten, struggled over the blackened lands to her scrappy nest in the rocky cliffs. The once-green land that lived under the mountain's visage had lost all life and love. Blackened by fires red, the forests, plains, and villages were silent, inhabited only by ashen corpses.
Nico's scarf tossed and turned, battered by the strong winds. He beheld the world below - a world which he once loved and knew. A world now burnt to a crisp. He looked to the skies above, skies once blue and deep with shining sun admist softest clouds, skies now dark and grey. The little left remaining below only served as source for the smoke, burning lightest hopes and dreams into darkest smogs.
Nico's feet now stood on the failed guardian of this husk of a land. After reaching the crown of the mountain, he knew he was almost done. Every step that Nico had taken to get here, every trial, every tempest, it was all for this. It was all for his home.
On his back rested a bassoon as old as time. It had taken him many seasons in search of this wonderful instrument. Made of ebony and gold, it had waited for him, waited for one skilled enough to wield such power. And now? Now Nico, wielding the bassoon, would redeem all sorrows gained and joys lost.
He carefully raised the bassoon to his lips, remembering the melody taught to him by the old man in the woods, and began to blow.
The melody was short, but rich and deep. Every melancholy note was felt throughout the kingdom, thawing cold hearts and cooling hot anger. Nico put the bassoon down. All was still. The sound, clear and calm, echoed back at him.
But suddenly the land quaked with a thousand shudders. The dark skies were rolled back, and the sun illuminated the world. The forests rose again, wounded trees healing, green leaves growing. The fires ran away, fearful. The grassy plains were grey no more, grass broke through the ashen earth. The villages were restored, wood and stone rising to build yet again.
A great wind rushed through, carrying away all dust and despair. Nico held firm to his bassoon and braced against the ground. The world was healing, returning to life again.