The salt air was heavy as Elias stood on the edge of the jagged cliffs, the Pacific churning violently below. In his hands, he gripped an old acoustic guitar, its wood weathered by years of sea spray. He wasn’t there to perform; he was there to survive a silence that had grown too loud.

He began to play. The opening notes of "Oceans" didn't ring out—they drifted, soft and tentative, like a breath held too long.