you mint a player - an original artwork, a 1/1, seated somewhere in the orchestra. the deal decides which chair. never us.
every player carries a score: six words in the room's language, written beneath the art. the score names exactly one song - one place, one key, certain channels left open.
the score is written into your token and into your artwork, and it does not change. not when you play. not ever. what changes is how you play it.
bring your player to the oracle. the oracle reads the score and stands its song up - alive under your hands. hold and drag to perform. be still and the room blooms. play hard and it strobes.
the score is engineered so you cannot play a wrong note. whatever you raise was always going to fit. same score, every visit - a different performance, every time.
when a performance deserves keeping, seal it. you leave with the witness: a film of your thirteen seconds, and its sheet music - the notation of exactly what you did. both are yours to download.
the score is the song. the creation is the one time you played it.
every creation you seal lands in your index, bound to your wallet - every film, every sheet, the whole history of your performances, kept.
and when a creation deserves forever: choose it from your index and record it into your player's token. the token holds an array of creations - your player carrying its score and every performance you chose to make permanent.
the score never changes. the array is yours to grow.
the finale shows in a real room - at lume studios, new york - november 7, 2026, a volume of full-surround projection and sound where the room is, for once, an actual room. your motion paints the walls. a crowd plays the piece with you. the whole orchestra performs around you.
and what you made can leave with you: collect a physical of your work - your player, or a creation you sealed - printed and numbered. the file, made object, in your hands.