In the beginning there was music — and every song was a world.
Long before cities or stars, there was only the Composer, who wrote creation in music: every song a world, every world a song, all of it held in perfect tune.
Then the Composer's finest voice turned proud, fell out of the harmony, and became the Dissonance — a rising static that rewrites realms one track at a time, chaining their music into control and fusing their people into an endless machine-choir.
You were nobody special: a booth, a crowd, a song that hit too hard. But your ear can't be captured — and that makes you a weapon. A messenger found you, and named you an Agent of the Harmony.
Now you fly the corrupted songs themselves — weaving through the beat, breaking the signal, freeing the souls trapped in the swarm, before you face the conductor waiting in the drop. One life. One shot per world.
Let creation sing.