As the final note fades, a sharp metallic rumble. Ceremonial drums begin — grand, cold, synchronized. The EXILES scatter to the edges in fear. THE KING'S MEN enter in high livery, led by a pompous HERALD, separating the crowd with terrifying precision. HERALD. By the word of Belshazzar, King of Babylon, light of the east and master of the sun! It has reached the palace that the most magnificent instrument among the rivers is not a harp — (a thin smile) — but a voice. A voice in this very camp. The king collects beautiful things. The singer is summoned to the throne. He breaks the clay seal on a heavy scroll and unrolls it. HERALD. The girl called Aviva. The whole camp turns to her as one. MIRYAM reappears at the edge, sees, and lunges — SABA ELAN catches her arm and holds her back, his face gray. AVIVA stands frozen. The soldiers step toward her, spears lowering. HERALD. (with a cold, amused courtesy) It is not an invitation. The soldiers close in. AVIVA looks back at her mother's terror, at her grandfather's grief, and finally up at the silent harps in the trees. And something flickers in her — not only fear. A spark of the very thing Saba warned about. A terrible curiosity. To be wanted. To matter. To see the city she's only mocked songs about. She lifts her chin, steps past the spears before a hand can touch her, and walks toward the king's men of her own will. MIRYAM. (breaking free, a cry) Aviva — the songs! Keep the songs! AVIVA half-turns, the words landing somewhere deep, then is swallowed by the guards. ♫ REPRISE: "BRING US HOME" (sting) — Company (The ensemble erupts into a desperate, panicked fragment of the opening cry — Hashiveinu — now an agonizingly intimate plea for one girl's survival. As the guards close around her and push her upstage into the dark, the lights snap to black on a piercing, unresolved chord.) END OF ACT ONE.
