ECHOES OF THE SINGING FLUTE: Chapter 6

 Chapter Six – The Hidden Book.

A week after the competition, I slipped into the school library during lunch break. The library was quiet, carrying that faint smell of old paper and polished wood. I wandered through the shelves, letting my fingers trail over the spines of books I had seen a hundred times before.

But then… something strange caught my eye.

Down at the lowest corner of the last shelf, behind a pile of dusty history textbooks, I noticed a thin leather-bound book. Its cover was deep blue, with golden swirls that shimmered faintly under the light. My heart skipped as I brushed away the dust, and the letters on the cover seemed to glow:

“The Echoes of the Singing Flute.”

I froze. Those same words had often danced in my mind whenever I played.

With trembling hands, I opened it. The pages were filled with drawings of flutes, strange symbols, and stories about musicians who could heal wounds, calm storms, or even give people courage — all through the power of sound. The deeper I read, the faster my heart raced. Could my flute really carry something more than just music?

One passage spoke about an ancient melody — “The Song of Light” — said to awaken hidden gifts in the one chosen to play it.

My hands shook as I traced the notes drawn on the page. I wanted to try them right away. But before I could, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

It was Annie.

“Lyra? Are you in here?”

I panicked. Quickly, I tucked the book into my bag before she came in.

“I was just… looking for a storybook,” I said with a nervous smile.

She shrugged. “Come on, the bell will ring soon.”

We walked out together, but my mind wasn’t with her. I barely heard her chatter. My thoughts kept circling back to the golden letters and the strange melody waiting inside the book.

That night, when I was alone in my room, I opened it again. My hands were sweating as I lifted my flute and whispered, “Let’s see if the echoes are real.”

The first note shimmered strangely, as if the air itself had begun to glow. Suddenly, faint voices brushed past my ears — soft whispers, distant, like echoes from another world.

“Follow the sound…

Find the stream…

The forest waits…”

I gasped and lowered the flute. My heart pounded. The whole room felt alive, trembling with something unseen. When I played again, the whispers returned, overlapping like a strange harmony.

My eyelids grew heavy, as if the music itself was pulling me into sleep. The flute slipped from my fingers, and I sank into my pillow.

And then I dreamed.

I was standing by the familiar stream in my village — the one that winds past the farmlands. But this time, the water glowed, silver like liquid moonlight. Across the stream, a dark forest rose, tall and mysterious.

To my surprise, Annie was there too, standing barefoot on the stones by the water. Her wide eyes found mine.

“Lyra… what are we doing here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” I said, just as lost. “I was playing the flute… and now—”

A deep hum echoed from the forest. The trees swayed though there was no wind. The sound was ancient, like the earth itself was singing.

Before I could move, the ground rippled beneath us like water — and I woke up, gasping.

The flute lay beside me, the strange book still open on my lap. But the whispers were still ringing in my ears:

“Follow the sound… Find the stream…”

I clutched the flute tightly. I knew then — this was no ordinary book. It was calling me.