A distant colony world stands on the brink of annihilation. One man plays not to survive, but to be remembered.
Daniel Harmon has no delusions. The end is coming. Looming in the sky above New Haven is the anomaly a massive rip in the fabric of space and time, unlike anything humanity has ever encountered. When it arrives, it won’t just consume his world it will erase the entire system from existence.
As the quiet, pastoral world of New Haven braces for extinction, all that remains is time, that bends and distorts, unraveling perception as the anomaly draws near. In the face of the inevitable, Daniel chooses to compose one final piece of music, a requiem for his dying world. But when an unexpected visitor from the past finds him, Daniel realizes he is no longer playing just for himself.
The Last Violinist is a haunting, meditative science fiction tale of grief, memory, and the enduring power of art at the end of all things.
They call it a celestial phenomenon, that upturned sliver of iridescent light in the night sky is an ever-present harbinger of our doom. It appeared suddenly, like a rip across the fabric of space and time. Each day it draws closer to our world, pulling us in, distorting our perceptions of time while consuming everything in its path. As a result, no starships dare approach, and no outbound signals can escape its grasp. Scientists say we are within its gravity well, cut off from the rest of humanity, alone in the vastness of the outer dark. It is a predator that stalks us, and our world is its prey. There is no stopping it, and there is no escape. This strange phenomenon is now brighter than our northernmost star, so pronounced that they even gave it a name: “Ragnar,” derived from the ancient mythology of old Earth. The people that founded our settlement, Edenbrook, did so to escape the relentless pace of life in the modern worlds. That was the appeal of New Haven, it was one of the few places in the outer dark where you could still hear yourself think.
My name is Daniel Harmon; I am a musician, one of the last on my world. My grandfather taught me to be grateful for the good things we have in this life. I have two great loves; classical music, and the violin. I studied it from a young age, mastering the basics, honing my technique while developing actual skills without the help of artificial skillsets. You can’t pre-package passion, nor can you upload artistic expression, such things require time, discipline, and dedication to develop. Music has always been my second language, expressing emotions in a way words never could. It holds within it, incredible power, the power to touch people, to inspire them, to evoke distant forgotten memories, and cause listeners to weep when they do.
As Ragnar approaches, I want my final moments to have meant something. I wish to honor the memory of our world, even if there is no one left to recognize or appreciate my efforts. My final act will be to compose a violin concerto, perhaps the last one that will ever be written or played on New Haven. It will be my finest work, one last piece, a requiem for a dying world. Every morning, I hike to the top of the highest peak in our settlement, to a place we call the Overlook Rotunda, an old war memorial situated on the northern border of Edenbrook. It now serves as my personal conservatory where I can work in relative privacy without interruption. As evening draws near, Ragnar’s outline becomes increasingly pronounced. I see it up there every night, looking down at us with its strange, disquieting grin, as if it somehow knows something, a secret, that we don’t. What are you really? I ask. A soulless monster? Is that all you are, a thing that destroys? A ravenous, open-mouthed celestial beast that consumes stars and entire worlds without mercy, or are you something more? It never answers back, strangely, I wonder why I can’t bring myself to ask the real question that haunts me, when the time comes, how will it all end? How will I finally die?
The first movement must reflect the anomalies appearance, swift, and forceful, this is the allegro. I lifted my violin and began to play as sound erupted into the surrounding space. I closed my eyes, imagining the anomaly’s gravitational pull. The music teetered on a knife’s edge between bliss and oblivion. The thought of losing that balance makes my heart race rising with the tempo. One wrong note, one misstep, and the structure would collapse. Only five minutes in, and it already feels like an eternity. That’s Ragnar’s influence no doubt, a peculiar annoyance for a musician, where time and timing is everything. It’s not just about playing the notes; it’s about the space between them. When my perception of time is perturbed by the anomaly’s influence, I lose that space. What should be a simple phrase can often change into something nearly unrecognizable. Nevertheless, I continue to play compensating for the distortion caused by Ragnar.
As I finish the last note, I lower my violin, allowing the last remnants of sound to reverberate throughout the walls of the rotunda. Often, what I play and what I hear seem slightly out of sync, as if the physical and perceptual aspects of my performance are set in different temporal moments. When I listen back to case recordings of my sessions, the music sounds slightly different from what I intended. There are moments when seconds can seem to stretch into minutes, and mere minutes extend into hours. On New Haven a single nine-hour day can drag on for what feels like forever. Passing moments and memories often blur as relative time becomes increasingly skewed. Even the accuracy of my timepiece is cast into doubt despite its ability to adjust for spacetime distortions. On our world, the felt experience of time’s passage never quite matches with what is reflected in the surrounding environment. It is only when physical exhaustion or hunger arises that one realizes how much time has truly passed. It can be disorienting; the overall effect makes life here feel more like a dream.
I lifted my instrument and began to play again, practicing different parts of the piece while my violin case logged my sessions. This is my creative process fueled by a bottle of aged honey mead and an abundance of uninterrupted time. I can spend hours making changes, and additions along the way as the piece evolves. Even before the anomaly appeared, it was a common experience for the perception of time’s passage to vary depending on one’s activity. When I am focused and working, time seems to pass quickly. When I am doing just about anything else, time seems to drag on forever. Each of these effects are amplified by the anomaly. We’ve all tried to adapt, but since Ragnar showed up, life on New Haven hasn’t been easy for anyone. As I complete the last note of the day, I open my eyes, only to realize that the afternoon has nearly slipped away. The temperature drops as I pack up my violin, placing the case across my back. I end my days with a long trek back down the hill towards the settlement. An hour and a half later, I reach the end of the trail that merges with the main road leading to Edenbrook. Just up the road I see Doctor Yang and his bot assistant approaching in a ground transport. I smile and wave as he slows, hovering toward the edge of the roadway to greet me.
“Good evening, Doctor Yang.”
“Young Daniel! How’s the piece coming along?”
“Still a work in progress,” I replied. “And you?”
“Given that I am the last Physician in this settlement as they say, I am grateful to have the opportunity to utilize my skills around here. I delivered two babies this week,” Yang said with a satisfied smile. “And three last week, or was that the week before? It is hard to remember with all this damned time dilation. However, despite it all, life continues on.”
I tried to smile in agreement, but the disapproval in my eyes must have shown through. Doctor Yang looked at me oddly, sensing my apprehension.
“What’s wrong hmm?” Yang asked. “You don’t seem pleased about the arrival of our newest citizens?”
“Why bother having children when they will never live long enough to experience all that life has to offer?”
“Just because the future is uncertain doesn’t mean we have to stop living.” Yang said. “Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one; this was true even before Ragnar appeared in our skies.”
“Maybe we should have always lived each day as if it were our last,” I said.
“Oh, come now young man.” Yang interjected, with a hint of concern in his voice. “You speak as if our demise is a foregone conclusion?”
“What do you think will happen Doctor?” I asked, leaning in. “When Ragnar’s event horizon finally reaches New Haven.”
Doctor Yang glanced up at the anomaly, his expression pensive.
“Honestly, Daniel, I don’t know. Some think we will simply vanish out of existence. Others believe we will be torn apart at the subatomic level. The truth is, no one can say for sure. All the more reason to carpe diem! And live your life!”
“Seize the day,” I echoed, nodding. “Well Doctor, I can think of no better way to spend the time I have left than working to compose this piece.”
Yang smiled and adjusted the collar of his coat.
“I hear it’s going to get cold tonight.” Yang said. “There is a storm coming this week, they say it will be the storm of the century.”
“I can assure you, doctor.” I said. “I have no intention of being out here when it arrives.”
“Well, young Daniel, I wish you all the best. Take care now!”
“You too, Doctor. Have a good evening.”
I watched as Doctor Yang’s transport departed; its silhouette swallowed by drifts of falling snow. For many, the notion of the end of all things is nothing more than a distant fear, far removed from the realm of possibility. For others, it is merely a metaphor for the inevitable conclusion of a way of life they hold dear. For the people of New Haven however, the end of the world is a very real and tangible reality. All we need to do is look up; the reminder of our approaching demise is always there. People like Doctor Yang still served our community, but most folks on New Haven lost hope in the notion of a future and stopped working years ago.
Confronted with the reality of their last days, many chose to cast aside their responsibilities as well as their inhibitions. “Nothing matters anyway,” they say. “Why not eat and drink away our misery?” It’s been five long years since Ragnar first appeared, and in that time no one has been producing much of anything anymore. Locally finished goods are increasingly hard to come by. There are still a few vendors in town that provide the basics, mostly preserves, dried fruit and vegetables. Hunting, fishing, and gardening have now become the primary means of survival for most, consuming time that might otherwise be spent on other pursuits. Many saw no point in continuing on and instead chose to wait for the inevitable. Ragnar took all the vitality out of Edenbrook, and since then, nothing has ever been the same.
The council of elders decided to allow bots to take over the tasks our people no longer wanted to do. It went against our traditions, but it was necessary to maintain the settlement’s stability and survival. Sometimes I think the bots work harder than our settlement folk ever did. My father was right, artificial laborers made folks lazy. Mother always said, “Idle hands made the devil’s workshop,” or something like that. She was full of those old Earth proverbs, though I’m not sure any of us ever got them quite right. Looking at those bots, work makes me wonder if this is how things are on the more modern worlds. Fortunately for my twin sister Alara and me, we don’t have to hunt or fish. She purchased a bioreactor from an off-world trader just before the more severe gravitational anomalies started to take hold in our home system. Together, we’ve been secretly growing chicken, beef, and lamb for food from locally harvested cell cultures for years now. It’s not exactly illegal, but it is frowned upon given that we acquired the technology without approval. We wouldn’t be the first in the settlement to possess and use forbidden off-world tech, in fact many in our settlement often found ways to bend the rules. “Almost home now” I thought, as I closed the top clasp of my winter coat against the cold. The first thing I am going to do when I get inside is build a nice warm fire and make a fresh pot of Blackforest tea. The doctor was right; tonight was going to be a cold one. I saw Alara on her hoverbike, kicking up snow as she rode in. She didn’t see me, but I could easily see her. I picked up the pace eager to greet her hoping she brought the rosin I asked her for. I stepped in the door shaking off the snow as I placed my violin case in the corner. I removed my winter coat and joined Alara to help organize and store our new provisions.
“How was your day?” she asked as she unpacked her purchases.
“Good, I made a lot of progress.” I said, changing into a warm house sweater.
“The weather is changing; you can work in the guest house if you want.” Alara said. “I doubt we’ll be renting it out anymore.”
“For now, the Overlook is perfect for my needs.” I said. “I like the acoustics there. Were you able to find rosin?”
“Sure did, a whole box of it.” Alara said tossing it over. “Traded it for a jar of our honey. Now you have a lifetime supply.”
“Thanks” I said taking note of the scent as I started building the evening’s fire placing Ravenswood logs on the hearth.
“There were a lot of folks in town today.” She paused, meeting my eyes. “Cassandra was there. She asked about you again.”
“Cassandra?” My old flame, the name caught me off guard.
We went to University together, we were close, I cared for her, but at the time she wanted what I could not give, I wasn’t ready.
“So, what did she want?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Alara said with a raised eyebrow.
I sighed as I turned over the logs.
“I don’t have time for all that,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the fire, hoping she’d let the subject drop. But I could feel Alara’s eyes on me, waiting, always waiting for something more.
“So, do you have some other pressing task to attend to?” Alara asked.
“I’ve already chosen how I want to spend my last days. Why complicate it?”
“I thought you liked her. You should at least try to talk to her again.”
I hesitated, the memory of simpler days flickering in my mind.
“I liked her, back in school, but things change, everything changed.” I shook my head, trying to dispel the old memories. “Besides, even if I did, it would just be a waste of time.”
“Well, I don’t know about you but…” Alara said as she pulled out a new dress and held it against her for me to see. “I’ve got a life to live.”
“You planning a night out?” I asked.
“Winter festival is coming, and I am going.” Alara said. “The whole settlement will be there. Will you?”
“I have work.” I murmured.
“It’s in the evening.” Alara said. “Besides, by next week it will be too cold to work up at the Overlook anyway, and I am pretty sure Cassandra will be there.”
Alara stopped what she was doing, her eyes narrowing in frustration as I stoked the fire. She waited for me to respond while I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the growing flames.
“Well,” Alara said. “I’m just glad Mom and Dad aren’t here to see you like this.”
“Like what Alara?” I asked, irritation creeping into my voice.
“Spending all your time composing a piece of music that no one will ever know existed. Instead of getting some enjoyment out of this life while you still can.”
I looked away; her words now stirring in my mind.
“We’re different people Alara,” I said, staring into the growing flames. “Not everything in life is about temporary enjoyment. This piece is about far more than that to me.”
There was a time when my sister and I were close. Back before our parents passed away and before Ragnar hung over us all. We had an almost symbiotic relationship, when I was in trouble or sad somehow she always knew. I remember when our parents would argue, we would climb out onto the roof together to look at the sky and wait for the yelling between them to end.
“So why do you do it?” she pressed. “Why bother putting all this work into something for nothing?”
As the silence stretched between us, my mind wandered back to the music in the Overlook. Beneath the sound of my sister’s voice, I could still hear the unfinished concerto. I started to drift, distracted from our conversation as I began to replay the piece in my mind. In that moment, I became lost in the music, caught up in the memory of that warm sound resonating all around me in a moment of absolute bliss. Moments such as these are rare and deeply…
“Daniel!” Alara yelled, her voice slashing through the music. “Did you even hear what I just said?”
“What?, I am sorry.” I said. “What did you say?”
Alara took a deep breath clearly disappointed in our interaction. She thinks I take her for granted, and perhaps sometimes I do.
“We used to talk about everything.” Alara said. “Ever since that thing appeared in the sky it’s like we are strangers to one another. Where is my brother? Where is Danny?”
“I need to get some air,” I said, putting on my winter coat. I stepped back out into the cold. I braced myself close to the porch as I looked out over the homestead. The wind bit my skin as if to remind me of winter’s approach. I looked up at the stars as my eyes settled on Ragnar. Alara posed an interesting question: why do I do it? Why all this work for something no one will ever appreciate? The truth is, I play because I know this music will be the only thing left, my only legacy. I’ll never marry or hear the sound of a child’s voice calling out to me. Or know the joy of growing old with someone. Ragnar stole the possibility of that kind of future from an entire generation. If only our fates had been different, if only we had more time. As I gazed up at the night sky once more, this time I thought about Mother. We buried her right over there, under that Ravenswood, tree just like she wanted. “Take care of each other” she said. Those were our mother’s last words. She was the hub of our family; she kept us together. Once she was gone, everything changed.
There was no longer any reason for relatives to visit. The family dinners and holiday celebrations that once brought us together just slipped away. The old grievances resurfaced dividing us all, and we quickly grew apart. That is when my father started drinking, he was a good man but losing our mother was too much for him to bear. He became a different man once mother was gone. I helped him make spirits, but instead of selling them in town I discovered he was consuming most of what we produced. We argued a lot, and I always felt like I was a disappointment to him. He tried to drink away his pain, not long afterward, we lost him too, now it is just Alara and me. For a while I thought my sister would start a family of her own. Her former husband was an off-worlder, a modernist who came to Edenbrook on holiday. He rented our guest house; they quickly fell in love and were married. Unfortunately, like so many off-worlders who come here, the novelty of our simple way of living eventually wore off. He grew bored and restless with our low-tech world and wanted to take Alara back to his planet, Neoterra. She didn’t want to leave her family or community. He went back to the Union for a contract job and never returned. It’s a common story here on New Haven, which is why most folks avoid getting involved with off-worlders. I suppose it all goes back to our Plain Folk heritage. They say the founders were Plain Folk, people whose beliefs were rooted in the ancient simple living traditions from Old Earth. They were believers in The Breath Of God faith, popular among the early founders and modern day Pilgrims. The tenets of the faith are part of our values and traditions. Centuries ago, during the Great Stellar Expansion, colonists brought the faiths of the old empire worlds with them. Once evidence of non-human life was discovered on other worlds, many lost their faith. Others however, saw commonalities between the philosophical teachings of the ancient Progenitor race and the traditional faiths of Earth and Mars. These disparate spiritual teachings were combined to form a new faith, “The Breath of God.” It is the similarities, not the differences, that serve as the foundation of our core beliefs.
We believe that the Universal Creator formed all life, both human and non-human. We believe that consciousness is fundamental, sacred, and immortal, persisting even after bodily death. We believe that time and history moves in cycles, guided by the hand of the divine. We believe the universe itself is a living and ever evolving expression of an omnipresent and all-powerful creator. Above all, we believe that death is not the end, and that our souls transition into a higher dimension of existence far beyond the physical world. To this day, we still practice the old ways to honor our ancestors and to provide us with a center with which to hold. Unlike others, we don’t shun technology, instead we choose to use what’s necessary for collective survival, to make a living, and for self-defense, nothing more, nothing less. We do not allow technology to dominate every aspect of our lives the way it does on the modern worlds. Despite our traditions, we are not ignorant back worlders as many choose to believe. Our homesteads use compact fusion reactors, geothermal and solar power. A repurposed vintage reactor harvested from an old colony ship, still powers our settlement. Since its founding, our people have been instructed by the finest educational avatars currency can buy.
Before Ragnar appeared, many off-worlders would come to New Haven seeking trade and supplies on their way back to Union worlds from the more distant unincorporated territories. Some were honest and came to conduct legitimate business; others came because they thought that the people of New Haven could be easily cheated, used, and exploited. They were wrong, we’ve had to bury many an off-worlder that came to our settlement looking for trouble. We have an entire graveyard just outside Edenbrook specifically for that purpose, filled with the unmarked graves of those who underestimated our resolve. We are peaceful, but we are not pacifists. Our people have known for generations that peace, independence, and self-reliance rest on a foundation of strength, commitment, and sacrifice. Which is why from a young age we are all taught to shoot, hunt and fight. In the event of conflict, all regional militias combine their strength to defend, protect, and survive. We don’t tolerate hostility from off-worlders or anyone else that seeks to threaten our way of life.
I took a deep breath as I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my winter coat and once again gazed up at the stars. With Ragnar distorting our sense of time, who’s to say how long we really have left? By some estimates, we should have already been consumed by the anomalies deadly event horizon, yet here we are five years after it first appeared. As the night air grew colder, I went back inside to sit beside the fire. Alara made tea and left my favorite cup out for me to use. I covered up with a blanket to stave off the cold as my thoughts drifted to Cassandra. Memories surfaced of decisions made, too numerous to count and with too many regrets. I sipped my tea and stared into the flames until before I knew it I fell fast asleep.