Beyond the fractures of time, when the cold freezes not only the air but the thoughts themselves, the gate opens once more.
It’s not a loud call – more like a deep, muted resonance, heard only by those who already know that music isn’t meant to entertain, but to summon.
RAW CCXXIV is not an evening, but an event within the mind: a dark ritual where the drum beats in place of the heart.
Through the mist, Antique is the first to stir – his sounds carry the dust of forgotten memories, cracking the fabric of reality. Through that crack, Captain Knuckles emerges – mechanical precision and metallic sharpness reshaping the space with every strike. Then Vayna’s voice begins to weave through the corners, soft yet inevitable; it doesn’t attack, it consumes, until movement and rhythm become one. And when all boundaries finally dissolve, Mirmur closes the circle – not as an ending, but as an echo, a reminder that silence is only another face of noise.
There will be no light, only motion.
No words, only sound.
And when you step outside at dawn, you might realize: what you heard wasn’t just a party – it was a memory from a world that still listens.