ã€ŠHarmonyã€‹


 1. My Light

    For the past month, Octavia had encountered the same dream, repeatedly, every night and without fail. It was miserable.

    Regardless of how much she¡¯d hoped and prayed to dream about absolutely anything else, her wishes were fruitless. She struggled to make sense of how the same exact scene, verbatim, could sneak its way into her head every time she surrendered to sleep. She¡¯d tried warm milk, excessive exercise, and reading until she couldn¡¯t keep her eyes open any longer--all to no avail, as unfortunately expected. She¡¯d taken to preemptively rolling her eyes each time she woke up, naturally assuming that yet the same dream again would¡¯ve plagued her the night prior. Still, it was almost a reflex to assume that the very next night would bring with it more of the same. For four straight weeks, she was never wrong.

    The dream itself was nothing grandiose--at its core, a simple box took center stage, eternally burnt into her eyes by now. It was a forest she didn¡¯t recognize, darkened and blighted by ample greenery. She was being somewhat crass with the term ¡°box¡±, given the way by which she outright recognized it to be a chest. The mahogany was resplendent, strangled by ivy and cursed by moss. Octavia had seen that exact chest so many times in her dreams that she could picture it with her eyes shut, even in her waking hours. There was nothing remarkable about the chest itself, plain and weathered as it was.

    The dream was static, an image practically frozen in time. She lamented, on every occurrence, her inability to so much as reach out and brush her fingertips against the wooden chest that saw fit to torment her. For what seemed like an eternity, she would drink in this strange scene, cursed to look on in what was effectively utter helplessness. It was the mercy of warm sunshine on her face that would set her free for the sixteen hours that followed. The box would be back. She wouldn¡¯t be lonely for long.

    As always, she opened her eyes and groaned. Ultimately, she shouldn¡¯t have been surprised to spend another eight straight hours staring at the same box.

    With an aggravated stretch, Octavia propped herself up on her elbows just enough to reach the curtains at her bedside, a half-hearted tug battling the lingering darkness that tempted her to sleep more. The daylight kissing her skin in full was a welcome distraction. She stretched once more for good measure, rising in full and willing whatever annoyances she had to cling to the pillow in her wake. Even on the cusp of consciousness, it would¡¯ve been lovely to leave the residual thoughts of the chest in her dreams where they belonged. Still, they followed.

    Absentmindedly walking herself through the motions of changing her clothes and checking her boots for scorpions, she recounted every facet of the mahogany, the hinges, and the moss that had undoubtedly germinated for ages. She eyed the storage chest at the foot of her bed with mild irritation. There was no resemblance of which to speak. She still hadn¡¯t even figured out where she¡¯d drawn the mental image.

    She dragged her feet down the stairs, still fighting the last remnants of sleepiness and generalized annoyance. Pancake day was a relief. It was somewhere between joy and a zest for further distraction that she indulged willingly in setting the table, every motion tinted with a bit more energy than was necessary so early. She was well aware she was making ungodly amounts of noise with every clatter of utensils gracelessly slamming onto the tablecloth. It was still better than the box.

    ¡°Slow down, Octavia, the pancakes aren¡¯t going anywhere,¡± her mother chided with a smile, one fully-grown pancake sliding from the skillet onto a similar fluffy stack.

    It was only half of her concern, ultimately. It was still a solid motivator. ¡°Yes, but I would like them to be going into my stomach as soon as possible,¡± Octavia called back, arranging the plates with a slightly more gentle touch.

    ¡°I¡¯m almost done, anyway. Go call your father inside when you¡¯re done. He¡¯s out in the garden.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Octavia answered, generally satisfied with her early-morning handiwork.

    She did as she was told, embracing the breeze that came with the outside world. She was comfortable with the bare sunshine of a summer¡¯s morning, by comparison to what her windows could offer. She had half a mind, in actuality, to leave the windows open this morning. For the fear that it would siphon the scent of pancakes out of the kitchen entirely, she ultimately decided against it. The shimmering sunshine did wonders for the azaleas, at least, and that, too, did wonders for her spirit. Her father wasn¡¯t particularly difficult to find. Flowers were still better than moss.

    ¡°Dad, mom says breakfast is ready. It¡¯s pancake day,¡± she called with mild excitement.

    ¡°Pancake day? Wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world,¡± her father called back, grunting as he rose to his feet in full. ¡°How are you this morning?¡±

    ¡°I had that dream again, like always,¡± Octavia whined. ¡°Every single night. I¡¯d kill to have a normal dream for once. Literally anything else would be nice.¡±

    Her father held the door open for her, gesturing for her entry. ¡°Maybe the next one could be about pancakes?¡± he joked.

    She appreciated the effort, given exactly how often she complained about her unconscious dilemma. ¡°I wish. Anything would be better than the box again.¡±

    On the threshold of the kitchen, she stilled. Where she¡¯d expected the same joyous atmosphere, her mother¡¯s face had instead clouded with discomfort. The way by which her eyes flickered back and forth between Octavia¡¯s own and the table was not subtle. Octavia followed her gaze with equal discomfort, tensing in tandem. It was a chronic mistake. She¡¯d tried to curb it, for the most part. Her father, several paces behind her, was not immune to the same realization. He sighed heavily as she felt one hand settle upon her shoulder.

    ¡°You set four places again,¡± her mother murmured, hands half-extended as she hesitated to grab the extra dishes.

    ¡°I-It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ve got it. Sorry,¡± Octavia muttered in mild embarrassment. She nearly tripped in the process of resolving her error alone.

    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine, really,¡± her mother reassured, tearing her eyes away from the vacant space with notable effort. The false grin on her face as she formally placed the pancakes on the table was surely more obvious than intended. Octavia stifled another apology. ¡°Just¡­eat. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    Octavia feared for the same expression on her father¡¯s face, largely, shutting the cupboard with the same lingering discomfort weighing on her shoulders. Still, he, too, was smiling, already commentating on the quality of the lovingly-crafted meal instead. She worried his smile was crafted much the same--for her benefit, more than likely. Her eyes, too, were not immune from lingering on the same empty chair for longer than was controllable. She slid into her own seat with a knot in her stomach that couldn¡¯t be untangled. Ideally, the pancakes would bury it instead.

    Her zeal was impeded. It showed, apparently. She tried to ignore the fleeting glances her parents exchanged with one another, silent and loaded as they were. Of the box, instead, she was not free.

    ¡°So,¡± her mother offered, ¡°did you have that dream again? The one with the box?¡±

    Octavia groaned loudly. The topic was endless, and her answer was the same. ¡°Of course I did. Every single night, it¡¯s the same stupid box, over and over. I¡¯m going to lose my mind!¡± With a forkful of pancake, she stuffed her mouth and chewed in aggravation. ¡°Ah noh eben sure wha ih mean¡±, she muttered with her mouth full.

    Her father chuckled. ¡°Finish chewing first, sweetheart.¡±

    Octavia gulped, exasperated. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m just annoyed. I want a normal night¡¯s sleep without weird boxes for once.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s on your agenda today, dear?¡± her mother tried.

    ¡°Well,¡± Octavia began, ¡°there was another book I picked up at the library awhile back that I wanted to start working on. Something to do with mushrooms, I think. Fungi and stuff.¡±

    Really, she could¡¯ve done anything she wanted to, summer sun be damned. The next semester wouldn¡¯t be starting for several months, and any excuse she had to avoid assisting in the workshop was a good excuse. It wasn¡¯t that she hated the actual work so much as that washing varnish out of her dress was becoming aggravating. Mushrooms would suffice instead.

    ¡°Gotta say, didn¡¯t peg you for the mushroom type,¡± her father added.

    ¡°Well, I dunno, it just seemed interesting. Thought about doing more foraging lately.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to read outside? It¡¯s a nice day,¡± her mother continued, already beginning the process of clearing the table.

    Octavia finished at roughly the ideal time, rising from the table. ¡°Thought about it, but the library books are always fragile. I¡¯m scared the sun is going to damage the pages, so I¡¯ll probably just curl up in my room.¡±

    ¡°A good citizen, worried about the library. I¡¯ve got to head out to the shop in a bit, but thank you lovely ladies for the company of a good meal,¡± her father spoke with a grin.

    ¡°Do you want help with the dishes, mom?¡± Octavia asked, already moving to her mother¡¯s side preemptively.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay, sweetheart, really,¡± her mother replied almost defensively. Her soft smile spoke to more than it should have. ¡°Go relax and have fun with your books.¡±

    Octavia trailed in her father¡¯s footsteps as she made for the staircase, stealing one last glance at her mother¡¯s back. She took the steps more slowly than was necessary. Thinking about the box was far more preferable than thinking about the empty chair at the table. For that reason alone, she¡¯d give it a pass.

    Her ascent came with a battle to not cast her eyes to the right. She lost, ultimately, as was the case each and every morning. This time, the settling dust on the doorknob was a new observation. The knot in her stomach she¡¯d sought to bury beneath warm fluff was still prominent, much to her distress. No amount of physically clutching at her torso was alleviating it in any capacity. Ultimately, what lay beyond was solely an empty room full of dust and devoid of life. Empty as it was, it felt full all the same.

    She mouthed softly and silently, crafting her own false smile in the wake of those gifted by her parents in turn. ¡°Good morning, sis.¡±

    <hr>

    As could be expected of a summer¡¯s day spent largely indoors, her leisure time was uneventful. The incident at the table faded from Octavia¡¯s mind gradually, edged out by significantly more images of mushrooms and general fungi than were necessary. As it turned out, moss and lichens were not to be confused--a plant versus a fungi, apparently. It took multiple pictures to illustrate a lichen. Moss was a readily-available mental image, by comparison. She¡¯d seen it dozens of times. Hundreds, possibly, over the course of the past several weeks. Typically, she¡¯d find it crowning a certain chest beneath a certain tree. She closed the book with a groan. A moss dream would¡¯ve been more pleasant.

    It wasn¡¯t necessarily a wasted day. It was still better than coating her hands in wood shavings.

    She curled up in bed with hopeful anticipation, resisting the urge to slam her curtains shut. Octavia closed her eyes gently, praying to whatever god would listen that the moss dream would bless her unconscious mind instead. She took a deep breath, carrying the mental image of moss down with her instead into the depths of sleep. For how much she¡¯d struggled to fill her head with other subjects, another dream was sure to come.

    Of course it didn¡¯t.

    Still, something felt off this time around. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what--not immediately, at least. The chest was there, as could be unfortunately expected. The moonlight was relentless, the greenery was all encompassing, and the general scene itself was similar. The vines, split and severed, were new. The moss, discarded and sloughing to the sod below, was new. The hinges, flipped and shimmering beneath the gleaming moonlight, were new. She¡¯d never seen it open before.

    The scene remained a still image, granted. An observer as she continued to be, peeking inside was impossible. No amount of straining or pushing her unconscious self was leading Octavia to anywhere productive. There was a twinge of nostalgia that bit her as she scanned the altered dreamscape to the best of her ability. She¡¯d never actually observed the brook in the distance, nor the clustering mushrooms slightly out of view--the latter, by which, she supposed she¡¯d deserved in her dreams, for all of her desperate prayers. Familiar landmarks peppered the scene she¡¯d thought she¡¯d memorized every facet of, stinging her with a clarity she hadn¡¯t felt in the four weeks since her chronic issue had begun.

    There was a realization that settled upon her with muffled urgency. For once, she lost her dream in the worst way, blurring and fading as her dreambound eyes surrendered the scene to darkness at last. She found nothing, a full month later. It was the first time she lamented such a loss.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes popped open, tiny beads of sweat dotting her brow as she found herself splayed out against the mattress. The urgency that slammed into her was untraceable and baffling. Still, it led her to consciousness in full, and she rose quickly enough to make her head spin. She tore open the curtains swiftly enough to sting her pupils, the harsh moonlight blighting her remorselessly. Silver Ridge was draped in starlight and silence. The natural glow of the evening was enough. Her darting eyes connected puzzle pieces she¡¯d never bothered to touch, sailing past the fence on the far edge of town and drifting deep into the forest upon the outskirts. She was strongly familiar with it.

    There was no outright indicator of anything awaiting within, and it was only the treetops rustling in the breeze of a summer¡¯s eve that stood out in any capacity. Still, her heart pounded. It was an urge. If there was any possibility of curbing the cycle of box dreams, it was a chance Octavia was willing to take.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    It was with curiosity burning a hole through her heart that she leapt to her feet, hurriedly running through the motions of dressing. She tied her braids up as quickly as was possible, given her self-made urgency. A solitary glance back at the window was all she left in the wake of her silent escape, pulling the door closed behind her quietly. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what motivated her eyes to flicker to her sister¡¯s room once more, but tearing them away once they¡¯d settled was difficult. She endeavored. She was successful, with only parting words to spare.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be long, sis,¡± she murmured under her breath, descending the stairs as quickly and quietly as was possible.

    The soft breeze tickled her skin in earnest the moment she embraced the night, ironically trailing in the direction she¡¯d intended to follow. There was a wistful part of her that vaguely entertained the idea of the wind itself guiding her path, and she rolled her eyes at the fanciful assumption. With equal urgency and delicacy so as not to wake a sleeping village, she dashed as quickly and lightly as was possible. She left only dirt and sod kicked up in her wake as her gentle footsteps pounded against the earth, fixated on an instinct she couldn¡¯t shake. The breeze she¡¯d enjoyed trailed at her back instead, and the cool rush that now streamed against her skin was pleasant in its own way. It was an odd situation for her speed to serve her well. She didn¡¯t mind it one bit.

    The entrance to the forest brought with it hesitation. Still, it took only a moment for her feet to move on their own once more, and again she was running. It was more of a sprint, possibly, fueled largely by pure curiosity that burned brighter by the minute. The dense underbrush feebly snagged at her dress with every step, and her braids tickled her cheeks with every rapid movement. Beads of sweat rolled down her skin, and bushes swatted at her shins. She was undeterred all the same, carried forward by a raw instinct she couldn¡¯t erase.

    Octavia was almost positive she was in the right place--although explaining how, exactly, she was certain would¡¯ve been impossible. Regardless, even as she pushed deeper and deeper into the forest itself, all she was rewarded with was an even split between sharp nostalgia and nothing to show for it. She recognized walking paths. She recognized foraging spots. She recognized favorite patches of shade to recline beneath under hotter days. They were fixtures. She needed the extraordinary.

    It took twenty minutes to find it, her blurring vision giving way to a vast clearing she¡¯d never identified before. Octavia doubled over, the full weight of her run slamming into her as she rested her palms on her knees. She gasped for air, panting in earnest as she struggled to raise her head. Her heart skipped a beat, and not from lack of oxygen alone.

    She recognized the tree, granted. She recognized the branches, the oak, the abundance of leaves and the shade against the oppressive moon. As suspected, she found the brook. Similarly, so, too, did she find the mushrooms. Of most notable importance was the split vines and scattered branches, discarded gracelessly at the base of the tree in question. The moss was more strikingly viridian in person. The mahogany was, in the same way, more gorgeous than she¡¯d expected. It was unlocked, it was open, and it was hers to observe with eyes not steeped in sleep.

    It was there.

    Elation and a pounding heart aside, Octavia approached with caution regardless. As to exactly what left her apprehensive this late into her forest foray, she had no idea. On the tail end of a deep breath, she summoned the courage to peer inside. The ivy that had rudely snuck between the crevices had tangled its way down into the depths of the chest. Gnarled and clumped as they were, she had her work cut out for her. It was with less hesitation, by comparison, that she thrust her hands inside. She pushed, pulled, and tore with urgency, grunting as each vine scraped her hands and dirt burrowed deep beneath her fingernails. It took far longer than she would¡¯ve hoped to clear enough of a path downwards towards the bottom.

    From above, she could vaguely make out a mass beneath a swatch of lovely purple velvet, indiscernibly shaped as it was. Dirt beneath her nails be damned, she withdrew it with a far gentler touch. Octavia was careful not to snag the fabric against the last vestiges of the mangled vines, to the best of her ability. It took another deep breath, steeped in resolution, to unravel the velvet with her trembling hands. The fabric falling gracefully to the dirt below was the least of her concerns.

    Where once had been swaddled velvet now rested a violin of mahogany, splendorous in every way. The moonbeams that splattered against the inlays and golden accents from on high only compounded its beauty, and the silky bow that rolled out from beneath was equally gorgeous in Octavia¡¯s hand. It shimmered and sparkled. It was baffling, partially, if not overwhelmingly more fascinating. Octavia came to settle upon her knees, ignoring the way by which the dirt scraped against her bare skin. Resting the bow delicately upon the velvet sheath once more, she ran her fingers along the length of the instrument experimentally. The smooth feel of the wood against her dirtied fingertips was as calming as it was nostalgic, and she immediately lamented the manner in which she was sullying its purity.

    She flipped the violin over carefully, resting her eyes on the odd crest burnt deep into the wood itself. The strange shape comprised of winding lines and curves was nearly indescribable, if not somewhat captivating. It held her tears well, for how one rolled clean through the inlay as she traced her finger upon it. She hadn¡¯t even noticed she was crying, frankly, and she reached up to brush her stray tears away with the back of her hand. The nostalgia that had stung her again and again now washed over her in a gentler tide, and she hugged the violin tightly against her chest. She hadn¡¯t heard it sing in five years. Of everywhere she¡¯d thought it could¡¯ve ended up, this was possibly the strangest place--and under the strangest circumstances. It was as confusing as it was wonderful.

    Shakily, Octavia rose to her feet, both halves of the instrument embraced in her delicate touch. It was an urge that she couldn¡¯t pinpoint that brought the violin to her shoulder, and she didn¡¯t particularly resist. The nostalgia flowed freely, and she settled into it with warmth and love. Her face nestled gently into the mahogany, the bow claimed the strings softly, and she pulled once. A singular, soft note resonated into the open air, perfectly tuned and beautifully vibrant. So, too, did the vibrations shake her heart in a way words could never do justice to. Her fingers moved of their own accord, weaving together a song she¡¯d long missed--a song she wasn¡¯t aware she¡¯d known the notes to, in truth. She could feel her smile, melancholic as it stung her lips.

    It wasn¡¯t exactly the same without the fingers that helped curl her own into the right positions--little as they¡¯d been. It wasn¡¯t the same without the patient hands that had assisted her in holding the violin at all, still somewhat large versus her small body. It wasn¡¯t the same without the love that had guided the bow back and forth across the strings beneath the touch of another. Octavia had mostly come to associate every note with laughter, praise, and joy. Her sister was a prodigy. She wasn¡¯t. Beneath the gentle moonlight, this was the best she could do. It was enough.

    Octavia was never a spectacular violinist. Truthfully, she couldn¡¯t even remember being a good violinist, only able to recall a handful of finger positions and songs long since burnt into her muscle memory from playful practice. Still, in the cool air of a summer¡¯s evening, she crafted a perfect melody to an audience of only mushrooms, fireflies, and the breeze that played along. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling, her heart resonating and her soul overwhelmed with indescribable sensations.

    There was comfort and complacency that came with her own song. She nurtured it without resistance, foreign as it was. She relished every twinge of the copper strings beneath her fingertips. She relished each vibration of the bow against her wrists. She relished the song she¡¯d not thought possible to weave by her own hands, still beautiful in its own right. It was disorienting. It was wonderful. This was a dream of its own.

    The screeching that pierced her eardrums was relentless, sudden, and horrific.

    Given the fierce recoil that followed, she nearly dropped the violin outright. Initially, she¡¯d had half a mind to believe she¡¯d somehow scraped a string in the worst fashion imaginable. What began as a single sound, jarring and viciously frightening, grew to something continuous and penetrating. It was a scream that wouldn¡¯t stop, perhaps, plunging deep into her ears and stinging her head from the inside out. It was a pain unlike any she¡¯d ever experienced, and all wonder that came with the tender moment evaporated in an instant. Her world spun. Her eyes watered. Nausea crashed into her with ferocity.

    Octavia pulled the violin close to her chest, clinging tightly as she staggered. Staying upright was a task, baffling as it was. No amount of frantically scanning for the source of the horrific wailing was productive. With her free hand, she clutched her head feebly, scratching at her scalp in desperation. It was awful, inescapable, agonizing in every way. Beads of sweat rolled down her face in droves, her eyes watering fiercely as the ground rose to meet her face-first. She was vaguely conscious of the way by which she curled inwards defensively, cradling the violin tightly behind her knees even now. Octavia slammed her palms over her ears in tandem. Still, it was a futile attempt, and the screeching blighted her endlessly.

    Octavia panted heavily, more or less hyperventilating. Bile rose dangerously from her stomach into her throat as the ungodly noise grew ever louder, undeterred by her best attempts to shift her body or block her ears. Sharp, intense waves of pain were rolling through her head in earnest, sending her brain pounding against her skull and her heart throbbing painfully against her ribcage. She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts stolen and drowned in sounds she couldn¡¯t escape. Even with her mouth opened wide to scream, she found nothing. She was lightheaded. She was borderline unconscious. She was helpless, curled up in the dirt, wrapped around a violin steeped in the splendor of joyous reunion just moments before.

    If this was how she died, it was not at all how she¡¯d expected to go. Her tears, this time around, were born of pain alone, rolling down her face freely and irresistibly. For how blurred her thoughts had become, there was no making sense of the sensation. There was only suffering. She hated it. She prayed for relief, however it would come.

    It was a louder sound, then, that answered her prayers. Above the screeching, in a contrast so stark she thought herself to be hallucinating, Octavia found instead a shrill and sharp interruption. It was melodic, if not mysterious in its own right. She couldn¡¯t trace it, not for how she was still bound to the earth and blighted by dizziness. The sudden decrease in sound only worsened the sensation, and her ears were ringing long after the eternal screaming had ceased. She collapsed onto her back, still clinging tightly to the violin and bow alike. It was with great effort that she fought to raise her head, struggling to catch her breath. So, too, did she fight to blink the blur out of her eyes, given how disorienting the scene she found was regardless.

    As to what another girl was doing this deep into the forest, in the dead of night, Octavia had absolutely no idea. She knew most of the girls in Silver Ridge. She didn¡¯t recognize this one, whether secondary to her pristine clothing or otherwise. The flute was confusing in its own way, raised aloft to unwavering lips as it glistened beneath the brilliant moonbeams. The sharp, tender melody breathed into the air was beautiful, and Octavia lamented the way her eye contact had done it injustice.

    As the flute fell from the girl¡¯s lips, so, too, did her eyes fall to Octavia¡¯s own. She blinked with great confusion, shakily pushing herself to her feet as she held the girl¡¯s gaze all along. It was all she could do to cling ever more tightly to the precious violin in her arms, her heart racing and her stomach churning. For every question she had, not a single one escaped her lips. No sound at all did, despite her best efforts.

    Whatever reprieve she had was dashed in an instant. The earth practically rumbled beneath her, and she staggered once more, nearly losing her balance in full this time. The smoke was new, wispy and delicate as it rose from the height of her boots to well above her head. It pulsed, it swirled, and it coagulated, billowing vividly in a distressing display of writhing violet Octavia had never witnessed before. Born of the dirt as it was, its origin was inexplicable. Still, it ambled, it expanded, and she could¡¯ve sworn the cloud was screaming at her. She recognized it, actually. It took until it was well upon her for the same screeching to send her reeling, and she cried out at the sight of the murky smog that practically bore down on her.

    It never got the chance. The girl whose eyes she¡¯d clung to so desperately reclaimed them without hesitation, raising the shimmering flute to her lips once more as she glared down the writhing violet itself. Octavia watched with absolute awe as the most gentle of notes brought with it the most resplendent crystal she¡¯d ever seen in her life.

    Every shrill sound was as chilling and frosted as the ice it birthed from nothing, spearing shards of sharpened crystal coagulating upon the open air. The girl breathed deeply, found her footing, and offered them up into the hazy violet before her with a song yet more shrill to show for it. Octavia¡¯s eyes followed the flight path of every last spiked shard as they sailed onwards, hurtling into the writhing fog remorselessly. The ear-piercing screech elicited in return was vile. The disbelief that came with the sight was far more striking. Octavia blinked several times over.

    ¡°How are you doing that?¡± she breathed, slightly startled at the sound of her own voice finally emerging from her throat.

    If the girl had heard her question, she didn¡¯t show it. She caught her breath, briefly, and the cycle began anew. Every sharp melody was frosted, jagged ice born of nothing coalescing above and bearing down. Glistening beneath the moonlight as they were, they were almost wasted on such repulsive, screaming smoke. Each crystalline assault saw the same razor-edged shards passing clean through the fog and smashing like glass against the earth.

    The screeches that erupted into the air again and again were horrific to withstand, and the pain had returned in full. Octavia¡¯s eyes watered once more, her eyes flickering back and forth between the relentless violet and the girl with the flute. Of the latter, the way by which she was panting heavily immediately made Octavia¡¯s stomach lurch. Her reddened cheeks and absent breath paired terrifyingly well with the fear in her eyes. Her free hand rising to cover her own ear, reflexive as it appeared to be, was enough for Octavia¡¯s eyes to widen. It was a connection she hadn¡¯t thought to make.

    ¡°Is that what¡¯s making that noise? That¡­smoke thing?¡± she called out to the girl.

    She got no response. Instead, where the girl had initially turned her head towards Octavia, her attention had shot downwards to the violin cradled in her arms. Her own eyes went wide in turn. When her gaze did finally meet Octavia¡¯s own, it was as pleading as it was desperate.

    ¡°Play,¡± she murmured, just barely loud enough for Octavia to hear.

    Octavia flinched. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    Their reprieve was short. The smoke was unbending, pulsating and rising before them even now. It was the girl at her side, instead, that had fallen in the path of its ire, nearly sentient to a degree that terrified Octavia. Breathless as she was, the flute was at her lips once more. She struggled, and what frail notes she could muster brought with them only pitiful icicles that crashed to the earth shortly after birth. The girl coughed heavily, clutching at her throat in pain. When her pleading gaze met Octavia¡¯s eyes once more, it burned.

    ¡°Play something! Anything!¡± she cried. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what!¡±

    ¡°But I barely know how!¡± Octavia shouted back, casting her frantic eyes down to the violin in her hands. Her fingers curled tightly around the bow as she trembled, and she hesitated to raise the instrument to her shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do!¡±

    ¡°Just play! It doesn¡¯t matter, please! If you don¡¯t, we¡¯re both going to die!¡± the girl pleaded.

    She stumbled backwards as the vicious violet fog drew ever nearer, well past the point at which Octavia could outrun it. Writhing as it was, the way by which it stretched towards the girl was achingly malicious. It was with a wispy tendril, almost, that her face grew ever closer to direct contact with the screeching mass before her eyes. The girl collapsed to the ground--whether from exhaustion or fear, Octavia couldn¡¯t tell. She didn¡¯t get the chance to ask, for how the girl once again begged and pleaded with her eyes alone. Octavia found her answer in that same gaze, for the most part. Her blood ran cold.

    ¡°Play!¡± the girl screamed in desperation. It was enough.

    It wasn¡¯t of her own volition--at least, it didn¡¯t feel that way. The violin was upon her shoulder before she¡¯d even realized it, and the bow was clutched in her opposite hand much the same. It was warm. It was hot. It was too hot, scorching relentlessly. Octavia slashed it across the strings without hesitation, submitting to an urge she couldn¡¯t identify. It pulsed. It surged. It burned somewhere deep in her heart, untraceable and indescribable. Her fingertips ached and seared in a way that didn¡¯t quite hurt. What that left her with was a blast of light that rushed to meet her eyes.

    She indulged it, savoring the scathing warmth in her heart that bubbled into her blood and out through her fingertips. It was brilliant, a glorious splendor born of every note and erupting from beneath her ministrations. She couldn¡¯t quite control it, and the arching radiance burst outwards of its own accord. It came with recoil, almost, for how every desperate strike of the bow against the strings had practically launched the surging light outwards. She struggled to maintain her balance, watching with awe as it cleaved deep into the screeching violet before the two girls. It missed her mysterious companion by inches, and for that, she was grateful.

    The horrific noises that pierced the air once more were quickly hushed, blighted by such brilliance as they¡¯d been. So, too, had the smoke succumbed to the same, thinning to pitiful wisps that rose uselessly into the evening air. Only the natural sounds of the night were left in their wake, devoid of a violin or a flute as accompaniment. Octavia watched for far too long as each and every last tendril of violet evaporated into the night sky, gasping for breath she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d lost.

    She¡¯d lost the scorching heat that had tinted her palm, the adrenaline rushing through her veins slowing to a stop along with it. It was mostly a reflex, spurned on by the renewed sight of the girl crumpled on the ground, that led her to drop the violin to the ground with a thud. As quickly as was possible, she fell to her knees instead. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    The girl raised her head weakly. She¡¯d fared poorly, splattered with dirt as she was and coated in sweat. The brilliant reds that came with exertion splattered her cheeks freely. She coughed. ¡°I-I¡¯m fine. What about you?¡±

    Octavia nodded, struggling to slow her racing heart. ¡°I¡¯m...okay. I¡¯m confused, a-and I don¡¯t know what just happened.¡±

    ¡°What just happened,¡± the girl panted, aiming one trembling finger at the dirt-plagued violin, ¡°was you.¡±

 2. Viola

    The hour was irrelevant, the distance less so. The walk back was painful, granted, exaggerated by exhaustion and her own throbbing head. Her arms ached. The violin was heavy, and yet she cradled it all the same. She¡¯d brought more along with her. She still hadn¡¯t figured out the flute.

    ¡°Upstairs,¡± Octavia whispered.

    The girl at her back obliged without question, ascending just as softly as herself. Her compliance was almost fascinating, somewhat, given her utter trust in a stranger. Octavia was no better, granted, dragging her icy savior straight into her bedroom with only moonlight as her witness. This wasn¡¯t the time for her eyes to flicker to her sister¡¯s room. It happened anyway.

    A simple ¡°thank you¡± whispered in return was all that pulled Octavia out of her thoughts. She stood beyond the doorway awkwardly, just as Octavia laid the violin to rest accordingly upon her desk. She sighed. She resolved not to stare, and she failed miserably. Replacement clothing was the least she could do.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re the same size,¡± she muttered, rummaging through her closet carefully. It hardly mattered, given how plain any nightgown she could¡¯ve offered was by comparison. The royal blues and delicate satins that draped the girl spoke to something far beyond what she could¡¯ve afforded, cloaked in upturned earth and sod as they were. That had been her own fault, somewhat. She winced at the thought. ¡°I know it¡¯s probably not¡­what you¡¯re used to.¡±

    The girl waved her hands frantically. ¡°N-No, it¡¯s fine, really! I¡¯m grateful that you¡¯re letting me stay here at all! If anything, I feel bad taking your clothes.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Octavia reassured, placing a humble nightgown in the girl¡¯s arms. ¡°I don¡¯t mind at all.¡±

    ¡°If¡­you insist,¡± the girl responded hesitantly. Octavia hadn¡¯t particularly expected her to undress immediately. She turned her back quickly, well aware of the way her cheeks grew hot against her will.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t know your name,¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Viola,¡± the girl replied simply. ¡°Also, this fits perfectly, so thank you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome,¡± Octavia offered. She, too, was well-relieved of grime and dirt in her own way, comfortable once more in much the same attire as her companion. She settled down onto the bed herself, cross-legged and comfortable. ¡°There¡¯s¡­room here, if you want.¡±

    Her new stranger obliged, curling up beside her slowly. It was Octavia¡¯s first chance to drink her in, pale and petite as she was. She didn¡¯t match, her refined appearance and general demeanor out of place in such a rural environment. She was cut out of a story and splashed upon the wrong page--although the plain fabrics Octavia had offered her muted that dichotomy, somewhat. Still, her aura was different. She was different.

    ¡°Are you...from around here?¡± she asked tentatively.

    Viola shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest. ¡°I¡¯m from Coda, actually.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What are you doing all the way out in Silver Ridge? In the¡­middle of the night?¡±

    Viola raised her head, the deep sea in her eyes meeting Octavia¡¯s own. ¡°I was hoping that¡¯s what we could talk about.¡±

    ¡°About¡­what happened?¡± she asked.

    That was one way of phrasing it. Even now, every not-so-distant memory was overwhelming. The urge to pelt her newest stranger with questions was aflame once more. The smoke, the screeching, and the violin were all of urgency. The latter, in particular, was burning clear through her heart and out the other side. She flexed her fingers absentmindedly, half-expecting to find a tint of that scathing heat painting her skin once more.

    ¡°Yeah. I...don¡¯t really know where to start,¡± Viola replied with a similar hesitation.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted to the violin at rest upon her desk. The flute nestled to the left of her own instrument made her wince. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry if I made you get your flute dirty,¡± she apologized.

    Where Octavia would¡¯ve expected to find an answer--chastising or otherwise--Viola instead met her with action. For a brief moment, the girl left the bed entirely, making for the desk and cradling both instruments in her arms in tandem. It was with surprise that Octavia found the violin in her lap once more, the girl opposite her crawling back onto the covers once more with the same flute in tow. Up close, she had the chance to stare. If it was at a flute, of all things, she didn¡¯t necessarily feel as self-conscious. The engraving at the base was achingly familiar, if nothing else. She flinched.

    Octavia flipped the violin over with such speed that she nearly fumbled it entirely. So, too, did she almost slam the wood against the flute. She pointed with urgency accordingly. ¡°They match,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°Yeah, I know. I expected them to,¡± Viola replied nonchalantly. ¡°That¡¯s the Harmonial Crest.¡±

    Octavia ran her fingertips over the burnt engraving repeatedly, savoring the shifting textures between the smooth mahogany and the curving indents. ¡°What does that¡­mean, exactly?¡±

    Viola, too, ran her own fingertips along the crest emblazoned upon the flute. ¡°It¡¯s a Harmonial Instrument. It¡¯s¡­like mine.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°A Harmonial...Instrument?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re¡­instruments with special powers. For special people,¡± she added, her eyes flickering to Octavia¡¯s own once more. ¡°Maestros.¡±

    ¡°Maestros,¡± Octavia repeated experimentally. ¡°And Maestros are...what, exactly?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re the¡­ones who can play Harmonial Instruments. They¡¯re the only ones who can. That violin is yours and yours alone.¡±

    Octavia shook her head with a sad smile. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t mine. This was my sister¡¯s violin.¡±

    ¡°Where is your sister?¡± Viola asked softly.

    The lump in her throat was dangerous. ¡°Gone.¡±

    Viola¡¯s cheeks flushed. She reclaimed her gaze instantly, casting it into her lap. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay. This was her violin. She disappeared a few years ago. I didn¡¯t expect to find it out there. I¡¯ve been having a dream about a chest out there every night. Tonight, it was a different dream, sort of. It was open, for once. Went out there to check on it, and this violin was just¡­in there. I never thought I¡¯d see it again.¡±

    Viola stroked the length of the flute absentmindedly. ¡°Harmonial Instruments have strange ways of finding their Maestros.¡±

    ¡°So you think I¡¯m a¡­Maestro, then. For whatever that¡¯s worth.¡±

    ¡°Maestra, technically. Same with me. And I don¡¯t just think it. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to the bow in her lap. The memory of the scorching warmth in her palm wasn¡¯t fading. ¡°Does being a Maestro make you do...whatever that was?¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°Maestros can use their Harmonial Instruments to do amazing things.¡±

    ¡°Amazing things,¡± Octavia repeated once more. ¡°Like what you were doing earlier?¡±

    Once more, her answer came in the form of action. Viola lifted the flute to her lips with far less urgency than Octavia had witnessed thus far, calm and composed in the quiet of her little room. She didn¡¯t get the chance to protest about the sound so late in the evening. It was too lovely to argue with.

    Where Octavia had found spearing crystal and lethal ice, every gentle note now carried with it the delicate touch of snow. Flickering snowflakes, born one after another of the quiet melody, were once more brought from nothing into something right before her eyes. They were as beautiful as they were puzzling, drifting aimlessly and gracefully as they came to settle softly onto her bedsheets. She didn¡¯t mind the localized flurries. They were too precious to argue with, even as they melted into the fabric. Octavia couldn¡¯t look away, nor did she want to. Every note was a blessing of yet more, and she could¡¯ve indulged the icy song forever.

    ¡°Just like before,¡± Octavia breathed, mesmerized. ¡°With the ice.¡±

    When Viola lowered the flute once more, her frosted melody stilling at last, it was a tragedy. ¡°And just like the light that you made.¡±

    Octavia raised the hand that had once clasped the bow so tightly, curling and uncurling her fingers experimentally. ¡°I made that?¡± she asked in quiet disbelief.

    ¡°Like a true Maestra,¡± Viola replied with a gentle smile. ¡°And I¡¯m sure you can do much more than that.¡±

    Once more, her fingers came to settle over the bow itself in her lap. ¡°But¡­why me? I don¡¯t even know how to play the violin that well. That was my sister. She was the violin prodigy, not me.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to know how to play,¡± Viola countered quietly. ¡°We can feel it in our hearts. We can play like we¡¯ve known our Harmonial Instruments for our entire lives.¡±

    ¡°¡®Known them¡¯? Are they...alive?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly. The question was almost embarrassing.

    ¡°In a¡­manner of speaking. This,¡± Viola responded, raising her flute slightly aloft, ¡°is Silver Brevada. It¡¯s my partner, technically. We¡¯re connected, although I¡­can¡¯t really describe how.¡±

    Octavia lifted her violin from her lap. ¡°And¡­mine? What is mine called?¡±

    Viola smiled. ¡°You tell me. What is your Harmonial Instrument¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria.¡±

    It came out naturally and unwaveringly. Octavia blinked. Viola did the same, albeit with a grin that was just a bit too knowing. Octavia blinked again.

    ¡°Stradi¡­varia?¡± she repeated hesitantly, testing the familiarity of the syllables on her tongue.

    Viola stifled a giggle. ¡°Maestros know their Harmonial Instruments in ways that they can¡¯t really explain. That means you¡¯ve already made a connection with...Stradivaria, was it?¡±

    Octavia stared down the violin intensely, as silly as the motion felt. ¡°It just...it feels right. I can¡¯t explain it. I know that¡¯s its name, somehow.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice to meet you and Stradivaria,¡± Viola offered, beaming. ¡°And I want to thank you for saving my life.¡±

    Truthfully, she¡¯d been so caught up in the splendor of snowflakes and familiar names that the screeching had slipped her mind. ¡°That¡¯s the¡­other thing I wanted to talk about. What in the world was that...thing? That weird smoke stuff?¡±

    Viola¡¯s smile disappeared. ¡°It¡¯s called Dissonance. It¡¯s humanity¡¯s agony given form--that¡¯s how my grandmother phrased it, at least.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t...understand. Agony?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°The pain in people¡¯s hearts. The horrible feelings that come with hatred and suffering. Dissonance is a reflection of that, and it manifests where bad memories are born.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. She didn¡¯t particularly want to dissect the idea in context. ¡°Then, at the chest¡­does that mean there were bad memories there? Were they my bad memories?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°No, not at all. They were someone else¡¯s bad memories, I¡¯m sure. They¡¯d been there for a long time, and the Dissonance that manifested there probably only got stronger as time went on.¡±

    ¡°Were they...my sister¡¯s?¡± she murmured hesitantly.

    Once more, Viola shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You said that violin used to belong to your sister?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it was doing out there. Like I said, I never saw it again after she disappeared.¡±

    Viola inhaled deeply. ¡°I think your sister was a Maestra.¡±

    Octavia stared her down uncomfortably. ¡°But I thought you said Maestros were the only ones that could use their special instruments. Why can I suddenly play her violin? Why can I¡­do all that crazy stuff from before?¡±

    Viola shifted in her seat. ¡°The thing is, Harmonial Instruments can change Maestros if something happens to the one they were bonded to. You said she disappeared, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded once more. ¡°Without a trace, five years ago. Left to play a concert in another city and never came back.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure it was to play a concert?¡± Viola asked, choosing her words carefully.

    ¡°I mean...no, but that¡¯s what she said she--¡±

    ¡°Harmonial Instruments find their Maestros in weird ways,¡± Viola repeated. ¡°Why would she play a concert without her violin?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You think...you think she put it there?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it was in that chest for a reason,¡± Viola offered quietly. ¡°It waited for you for a reason.¡±

    ¡°Do you think...she¡¯s still alive?¡± Octavia murmured.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but something doesn¡¯t add up about that. If your sister was a Maestra, and Stradivaria bonded to you after you found it, then something happened to your sister. I know that part. Still, there has to be a reason it chose you.¡±

    Octavia glanced down at Viola¡¯s lap, her eyes coming to rest gently upon the shimmering flute. ¡°Why did...Silver Brevada, right? Why did Silver Brevada choose you?¡±

    Viola sighed heavily, still not devoid of a subtle smile. ¡°Silver Brevada belonged to my grandmother. She taught me all I know about being a Maestra. That¡¯s¡­why I¡¯m here. She told me I could probably find more Maestros and Maestras outside of the capital.¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°Is that why you were out so late? In the woods?¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°I got lost trying to get to Silver Ridge. I was stumbling around in the dark, and then I found you--and the Dissonance. Still, I¡¯m lucky I found you.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Viola paused. ¡°I want...I want you to come back with me to the capital.¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°To Coda? Why all the way out there?¡±

    Viola averted her eyes. ¡°I need to find more Maestros. I need as many as I can. I¡­want to defeat the Dissonance. All of it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Is that even possible? You just said it was born from people, right?¡±

    ¡°There has to be a way!¡± Viola cried abruptly, her volume outright startling. She reined it in quickly enough, pained eyes pairing well with her soft tone. ¡°There...has to be a way. It¡¯s too dangerous to let it exist. If we go, we can talk to my grandmother. She¡¯ll tell us what we need to do.¡±

    Octavia hesitated, indulging the silence that had settled onto their shoulders. ¡°If we go to the capital, do you think your grandmother could tell me what happened to my sister?¡±

    Viola raised her head, meeting Octavia¡¯s eyes with startling resolve. ¡°We can find out together.¡±

    Octavia was quiet once more as she rose to her feet. ¡°I¡­I want to know. I need to know. I¡¯ll talk to my parents tomorrow. If I tell them it¡¯s about my sister, they might listen.¡±

    The violin and the flute side by side upon her desk felt natural, in a way. She somewhat enjoyed the sight. Viola¡¯s hand on Octavia¡¯s shoulder, too, was welcome--somewhat startling as it was. ¡°Then we should get some sleep, somehow. It¡¯s a long way to the capital.¡±

    Octavia exhaled deeply. ¡°I know, I know. You can sleep in my bed. It¡¯s pretty big. I-I mean, I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s weird or not.¡±

    Viola smiled. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s like a sleepover.¡±

    It was a comfortable enough excuse, and she met it with a smile. She curled up alongside Viola in bed, content to settle into the true silence of night. Viola¡¯s warmth paled in comparison to that which had stung her palm so prominently before. She tried not to dwell on it, failing somewhat in the process. Exhaustion was a helpful counter to racing thoughts.

    It had been four weeks since she¡¯d been freed of the chest in her dreams. It was a welcome reprieve.

    <hr>

    ¡°This,¡± Octavia announced with false confidence, ¡°is Viola.¡±

    On cue, Viola leaned out from behind Octavia¡¯s back, waving hesitantly. Her wavering voice betrayed her false composure almost instantly. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Viola.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, Miss Viola,¡± Octavia¡¯s father replied with genuine kindness. ¡°Guess you two had a sleepover late last night, huh? Didn¡¯t hear you come in when the lights went out.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the first time,¡± her mother added playfully. ¡°When Octavia was younger, she¡¯d have friends over in the summer all the time. She¡¯d sneak them in through the windows in the dead of night, if she could. It always threw me off guard. I had to make everyone more food the next morning.¡±

    Octavia chuckled nervously. ¡°Sorry about that. Viola is a...new friend. I just met her yesterday, and she needed a place to stay. I hope that was alright.¡±

    ¡°But of course,¡± Octavia¡¯s father answered with a smile, motioning to a chair at the table. ¡°Come have a seat with us. You¡¯re more than welcome to stay for breakfast.¡±

    Viola anxiously obliged. It was the first time Octavia had seen four places at the table occupied simultaneously in years. It was as comforting as it was deeply unsettling.

    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you, Mr...Ellis, right?¡±

    He beamed. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Where are you from, exactly? I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve ever seen you around Silver Ridge.¡±

    Viola took a deep breath, exchanging a fleeting glance with Octavia. ¡°I¡¯m from...Coda.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s parents exchanged glances of their own, then. ¡°The capital? What are you doing so far from home?¡±

    Viola tensed. ¡°Well, that¡¯s what I was hoping to talk to you and Mrs. Ellis about. I wanted to know if...I could...¡±

    Fidgeting was doing absolutely nothing to alleviate waiting for the girl¡¯s full inquiry. The way by which Viola trailed off repeatedly was painful. Eventually, it was intolerable. Octavia¡¯s mouth was open before she¡¯d even fully realized.

    ¡°I need to go with Viola to Coda because I think she can help me find out what happened to sis,¡± she blurted out with one breath alone.

    The ensuing silence was crushing, although not quite so severe that Octavia regretted her words. It left only the soft sizzle of skillets upon the stovetop to fill the void, for how she assumed her racing heartbeat was inaudible. She liked to imagine, at least. Octavia¡¯s father cleared his throat uncomfortably, his eyes flickering to her mother¡¯s with an equal discomfort to match.

    ¡°You, uh...you want Octavia to go with you? I mean, it¡¯s summer, and her studies don¡¯t start up again for another few months, granted, but that¡¯s a long journey, you know, and maybe a bit dangerous for two young ladies such as yourselves to make alone, and--¡±

    ¡°Priscilla is dead,¡± Octavia¡¯s mother murmured. It was enough for every eye to fall upon her instead, willing or otherwise.

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. ¡°But what if she¡¯s not?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s dead, and she¡¯s gone, and she¡¯s not coming back, Octavia!¡± her mother snapped, her eyes erupting with bitter tears as she sent a spatula hurtling to the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but it¡¯s the truth! Please, just let her rest! Please!¡±

    The guilt that bit into her heart instantly wasn¡¯t enough to keep Octavia from turning to her father instead. Silent as he was, he didn¡¯t verbally dissent. It was all the agreement Octavia needed to find. It ached horrifically. It was the sight of Viola alone, then, the girl¡¯s own face still flooded with resolve, that kept her going.

    ¡°Please,¡± Octavia pleaded, her voice trembling somewhat. ¡°I need to know. If there¡¯s even the slightest chance that she isn¡¯t, a one in a million possibility, I need to take that. I need to. I won¡¯t be alone.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just let this go?¡± Octavia¡¯s mother sobbed, her shoulders shaking viciously. ¡°I don¡¯t understand!¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t even know what happened!¡± Octavia snapped, her voice cracking. ¡°None of us do! We don¡¯t even know if she¡¯s actually dead! You guys don¡¯t talk about her, you don¡¯t acknowledge her, and you don¡¯t even let me say anything about her!¡±

    What tears she¡¯d battled to suppress betrayed her in full, hot and burning her cheeks as they flowed freely. ¡°I loved her more than anything, and I know you loved her, too! Both of you! If there¡¯s even the slightest chance that she might be out there somewhere, if there¡¯s even the tiniest chance I might be able to bring her home again, then I¡¯ll go to hell and back to take that chance with everything I¡¯ve got!¡±

    She didn¡¯t care that she was breaking down in front of Viola. It wasn¡¯t of her own volition. ¡°At least let me have that closure,¡± she sobbed. ¡°At least let me find out. It hurts so, so badly not to know.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s own sobbing had long since outdone her mother¡¯s, continuous as it was. She didn¡¯t fight the embrace that ensnared her on either side, two sets of arms cradling her close in tandem. It didn¡¯t dull the pain any further. It wasn¡¯t entirely unwelcome. For at least a moment, she was content to cry.

    ¡°I can¡¯t lose another daughter,¡± Octavia¡¯s mother sobbed. ¡°You¡¯re all I have left, now.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t¡­lose me. I¡¯ll be safe. I won¡¯t be alone,¡± Octavia murmured through hiccups.

    It took effort to squeeze a glance through the embrace, casting her tearful gaze at Viola instead. Her sorrow was contagious, and Viola¡¯s own eyes swam dangerously with unshed tears of her own. She was offered a smile, soft and sweet. Octavia did what she could to return it, wobbling and compromised as she knew her own to be.

    When Octavia was freed at last, it was two gentle hands that she found draped over her shoulders instead. Her mother, too, took a moment to hunt for composure. ¡°Even if I told you no, you¡¯d still find a way to go.¡±

    Octavia laughed, dotting at stray tears with her sleeve. ¡°You raised me like this, you know.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s father ruffled her hair playfully. ¡°I raised some fine young girls,¡± he murmured, his own voice wavering. ¡°I¡¯m proud of what you two have become.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t escape them, tender moment or otherwise. ¡°And I trust that you¡¯ll take care of my girl, right?¡± her father asked with a gentle grin.

    Viola stiffened. Still, she found the drive to nod her head fervently. ¡°Y-Yes sir, of course. I-I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll take care of me, too.¡±

    ¡°Then I have no worries,¡± he continued. ¡°Don¡¯t get into too much trouble, either of you.¡±

    ¡°And be home before your studies start again,¡± her mother chided. ¡°Make sure you two are together at all times. You know I¡¯d never let you make this trip alone. If I find out you went off on your own, you¡¯re going to be in quite a bit of trouble when you get back. Take your time and stay somewhere safe at night. Don¡¯t go sleeping in the woods. Let me make sure you have enough food and money to--¡±

    ¡°Mom, it¡¯s okay, really!¡± Octavia interrupted with a laugh. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be good. Just¡­give me a little while to get ready. There¡¯s something I need to go get really quick.¡±

    Her mother¡¯s hurried preparations were irrelevant, excessive and unnecessary as they were. There was only so much she could fit into a singular backpack. It was her mother¡¯s issue to tackle, ultimately. Hers, then, rested above, and she saw fit to bring Viola along. It was with urgency that she made for the stairs instead, perhaps faster than she should¡¯ve. She hoped the girl wouldn¡¯t trip.

    ¡°Are you going to get Stradivaria?¡± Viola asked breathlessly. ¡°Do you have a bag or something you can carry it in for now?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Something better.¡±

    She¡¯d never actually bothered to show it to Viola, nor had she found the courage to enter herself in far too long. For how often she¡¯d stared, she somewhat wondered if she was subtle in any capacity. She hesitated out of habit, at least briefly. It was the first time in a while that the door alone hadn¡¯t left her riddled with guilt.

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened slightly as Octavia reached for the doorknob. ¡°Is¡­this--¡±

    ¡°My sister¡¯s room,¡± Octavia finished on her behalf. ¡°Haven¡¯t been in there since...you know.¡±

    It was identical. It was nostalgic and beautiful in every way, frozen in a way she couldn¡¯t quite justify desecrating. Every last memento was where it was needed most. Every speck of dust had rightfully made a home. She didn¡¯t hate it. Whatever pain she¡¯d expected to find, for how she¡¯d come to expect a gorgeous soul and wonderful voice awaiting her within, was strikingly dormant. The case was not, still ajar and awaiting the girl as it had been. It, too, had not been spared of dust, debris of the ages nestling deeply into the rugged material. It didn¡¯t matter. Octavia beamed.

    ¡°This is Stradivaria¡¯s,¡± she clarified gently, cradling the dusty case in her arms accordingly. ¡°As long as I have this, nothing will ever happen to it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s casual brushing of the excess dust was enough to leave Viola coughing. Still, the girl found her praise in the wake of the debris coating the air. ¡°Your sister took great care of Stradivaria. I¡¯m sure she was a wonderful Maestra.¡±

    Octavia pulled the violin case close to her heart, clinging tightly. ¡°I hope I can live up to her.¡±

    It was with effort that Viola managed to clasp one of Octavia¡¯s hands in her own regardless. ¡°You will. You¡¯ll be a fantastic Maestra, and we¡¯ll figure all of this out together. I promise.¡±

    Where once had been dust--and still continued to be, somewhat--the thick material now met with one stray tear. It was beyond Octavia¡¯s control as she nodded, rolling down her cheek and plopping softly onto the case. She nodded regardless, never releasing Viola¡¯s hand. It was the last time she cast her eyes back at the same room, her heart aflutter for a different reason entirely. It didn¡¯t hurt. It was a first.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, sis,¡± Octavia whispered softly. ¡°I love you.¡±

 3. Dissonant, Part I

    The sun was promising, a blessing she couldn¡¯t help but take as a positive accompaniment to her first fearless steps beyond the boundary of Silver Ridge. Neither too hot nor too lenient, the warmth she found was threefold--above, beside, and behind, for the girl who matched her stride and the violin nestled firmly against her back. Octavia had the urge to run. Taming it was a far greater trial than she was willing to admit to. She had the urge to pelt Viola with every question that could possibly cross her thoughts. She was less resistant to that problem, and yet at least tempered them into a steady trickle.

    ¡°So, uh,¡± she began shyly, ¡°we¡¯re going straight to Coda?¡±

    Viola shook her head, her bow bouncing slightly with every little movement. ¡°Not quite. Coda is a two days¡¯ walk from here, and I don¡¯t want to take the chance of getting stuck out in the dark again like last time. We¡¯re going to stop at Minuevera for the night before we head back out again in the morning. It¡¯s still another few hours of walking until we get there, though.¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯m used to walking for a long time. I forage sometimes, so I¡¯m out for hours at a time when I do.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°Foraging?¡±

    ¡°You know, like¡­finding edible stuff on the ground. Mushrooms and whatnot.¡±

    The slight recoil that hit the girl wasn¡¯t quite enough to shake Octavia. It took her a moment to find an example, given how close they still were to Silver Ridge overall. Outside of its boundaries or not, she knew the environment well enough. Her eyes trailed the grass for a moment, both distant and far. It was at the base of a tree several paces away she at least spotted something vaguely familiar, for what little she remembered of the color and shape. It was harmless, and of that, she was certain. Should she accidentally poison Viola within the first forty-eight hours of knowing her, she wasn¡¯t sure what kind of punishment she would need to inflict on herself.

    Octavia pointed accordingly. ¡°That one¡¯s edible, if you want to try it.¡±

    Viola shook her head vigorously, cringing. ¡°I-I¡¯m alright, thanks. I¡¯m not¡­sure how I feel about eating things off the ground.¡±

    It was more of a reflex than a demonstration. She strayed, briefly, and claimed the treeside puffball herself. Firm and textured, the little white mushroom was most definitely innocent up close. It tasted fine. It was at least one thing she¡¯d miss about Silver Ridge, given that she assumed she¡¯d be surrendering the bounty of nature in Coda. ¡°Guess they don¡¯t do much foraging in the capital, huh?¡±

    Viola blushed, averting her eyes. ¡°I-I mean, no, but there¡¯s nothing wrong with it! I figure it¡¯s just¡­you know, something you¡¯d do in a place that¡¯s more rural, I guess? That¡¯s not a bad thing, I mean! I¡¯m not trying to say that you¡¯d have to be--¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s fine, really!¡± Octavia cut her off. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean anything by it. We were raised differently, and that¡¯s okay.¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m some...spoiled rich girl or something.¡±

    ¡°Of course not!¡± Octavia cried just a bit too loudly. ¡°Never! Your background doesn¡¯t matter at all. I like just being with you already.¡±

    Viola¡¯s tiny smile was welcome. Octavia did what she could to offer a brighter one in return.

    ¡°What were you saying about Minuevera, again?¡± she prompted.

    Viola cleared her throat. ¡°It¡¯s a little town on the way to the capital. It¡¯s more of a trade town than anything. Have you ever been there?¡±

    She¡¯d never been anywhere, truthfully. Octavia shook her head. ¡°No, but my dad has. He goes there sometimes to get more materials for the shop.¡±

    ¡°The¡­shop?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He¡¯s a woodworker. Every now and then he goes out that way to pick up more varnish and sanding supplies and whatnot. He¡¯s really skilled. He can make just about anything. It¡¯s honestly really impressive. He even made some of the furniture in our house, actually.¡±

    Viola smiled softly. ¡°Your father sounds very talented.¡±

    ¡°What about your family?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola fell silent, her eyes scraping the dirt. Octavia tensed. ¡°Y-You don¡¯t have to talk about it if you don¡¯t want to,¡± she added quickly.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay, really,¡± Viola responded quietly. ¡°My father...did some bad stuff, even though he didn¡¯t mean to. He¡¯s serving life in prison. My mother didn¡¯t take it well. She left.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart sank. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯ve been meaning to talk about it at some point, anyway. Maybe I¡¯ll explain later.¡±

    ¡°I mean, we¡¯ve got a lot of time before we hit Minuevera. If you want to talk, I mean. It¡­doesn¡¯t have to be about that,¡± Octavia offered.

    ¡°If we¡¯ve got so much time,¡± Viola added with a playful roll of her eyes, ¡°maybe we should get you some more Maestra training before we get there.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Octavia nearly shouted, outright startling Viola before recapturing her volume. ¡°I-I mean, if it¡¯s okay with you! I¡¯ve been meaning to ask all sorts of stuff about Maestras, and more about Harmonial Instruments, and things about Coda, and--¡±

    ¡°Hey, one thing at a time!¡± Viola shushed with a smile. ¡°Give me one of those sandwiches your mother made and I¡¯ll see what I can do in return.¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡±

    She nearly fumbled the case entirely, given the speed at which she ripped it from her shoulders. Viola took her time sifting through Octavia¡¯s backpack. Octavia, by comparison, did not take her time in any capacity withdrawing the violin. That, too, she almost dropped in the process, and that transgression would¡¯ve fallen at least second to the shame of giving Viola accidental food poisoning.

    The Maestra hardly seemed to care, given the way she was already more than engrossed in her little sandwich slice. ¡°Your mother is a great cook, did I tell you that already?¡±

    ¡°Violaaa,¡± she whined, ¡°Teach me things!¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay! Just make sure you keep walking while you play, or we¡¯re never gonna get to Minuevera before nightfall.¡±

    Octavia nestled the violin against her shoulder, leveling the bow with the strings gently. ¡°Not a problem! Okay, what do I do first?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Viola began, indulging in slightly more sandwich, ¡°you should practice playing a bit. We already talked about this a tiny bit, but you don¡¯t need to know how to play to actually do it. That¡¯s the nice thing about being a Maestra--you can just let your Harmonial Instrument do the work.¡±

    Octavia experimentally drew her bow over a single string, savoring the one delicate note she earned in return. ¡°So just kinda...feel it? Improvise?¡±

    ¡°Let your hands do their own thing. Feel the will to play in your heart, and go for it.¡±

    It made enough sense in theory. It was difficult to resist the urge to consciously try, for what playing without focus consisted of. She¡¯d done it once, surreal as the experience had been at the time. It was dangerous to close her eyes while walking, and surely more so with her hands full. Still, it helped, and her fingers moved along the bridge with less strain than she¡¯d expected. Every motion of the bow was instinctive in a way she couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint, just as experimental as it was intentional. Surrendering to muscle memory she didn¡¯t exactly have was jarring. Given the soft song she was slowly weaving into the open air, unfamiliar and born somewhere in the midst of her confusion, she traded her very mild concern for elation.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Viola affirmed with a smile. ¡°Now put some power behind it. Mix in the will to fight. Think back to whatever you were feeling that night.¡±

    ¡°At the same time? How am I supposed to--¡±

    ¡°Feel it, like always,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°Right in your heart. Harmonial Instruments work with their Maestro¡¯s will and emotions. If you work to make it happen, it¡¯ll happen.¡±

    That, by comparison, was far more difficult of a concept. She could more or less fumble her way through playing a simple song. To recapture that scorching sensation beneath her skin of her own volition would be a trial. As to what she was supposed to be praying for, she had no idea. She flexed her fingers at least twice over against the handle of the bow, hunting for the slightest flicker of heat. She had half a mind to ask if it would always be the bow. Searching for the same scalding warmth stinging her along any other inch of the violin was distracting. Octavia was vaguely aware of the way by which her song had picked up speed, involuntary as the pace had become. If it was a spark waiting to catch, this was perhaps what it took to ignite.

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself, though.¡±

    The only heat she was finding came in the form of her burning muscles. Where she hoped for her blood to bubble and burn yet again, she was blessed only with cramps. It was sheer desperation that kept her trying, and she had half a mind to fear she¡¯d snap one of the strings beneath the pressure of her song. She prayed, pushed, pulled, and played as quickly as her fingers would allow, straining to such a degree that her head hurt instead.

    Something stung, and she yelped. For a second time over, she nearly dropped the violin entirely as her melody screeched to a halt. It was her palm, flush with the bridge, that had succumbed to the slightest jolt beneath her skin. For a fraction of a second, it was a familiar sensation--devoid of the bow as it was. Objectively, she could¡¯ve tried to do it again. Once was enough to slam her with a victorious high, and her proud grin was explosive.

    ¡°I felt it!¡± she cried with glee. ¡°I felt it! I felt a spark!¡±

    Viola shrugged, rolling her eyes with a smile once more. ¡°Practice makes perfect. A spark is a good start.¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°Do you want to play with me? Maybe something else will happen if we do it together.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± Viola answered pointedly. ¡°Just ate. You¡¯re not supposed to play a flute right after you eat, you know.¡±

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°Well¡­what if you try Stradivaria?¡± Octavia offered, thrusting the violin and bow before her.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Stradivaria is your Harmonial Instrument. It wouldn¡¯t do a whole lot for me. It¡¯d be like playing a normal violin, which I am, unfortunately, completely unskilled in.¡±

    Octavia shrugged with a soft smile. ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    Returning the violin to the safety of her shoulder felt natural. Absentminded movements grew easier with time, and she embraced the instinctive sensation of her hands moving happily without conscious input. If the delicate and satisfied song she strung together with every step was anything to go by, it was fruitful practice. Viola seemed to enjoy it just as much, and it only left Octavia beaming ever brighter. It was a different kind of warmth beneath her touch entirely.

    She enjoyed the walk, if not largely for the company it came with. For what little Octavia still knew of her icy savior that night, getting acquainted under the splendor of the summer sky was wonderful. It was somewhat difficult to temper the volume of her song versus the onslaught of queries she showered the Maestra with, both relevant and irrelevant to the task at hand alike. To share herself with another felt phenomenal, and she soaked up every bit of Viola¡¯s personality she could steal.

    She¡¯d teased as to the girl¡¯s mismatched name and instrument, enjoying the eye roll she¡¯d earned in return. She¡¯d learned of Viola¡¯s lighter personal life, by which she apparently owned a cat. She¡¯d offered up her own passions and interests in return, as steadily paced as she could will herself to disperse them. Logically, it was a long walk, for how the sun dipped gradually lower with each happy sentence and sentiment. It felt like nothing. She wouldn¡¯t have minded doing it again.

    Their timing in surrendering the sunshine had been more or less flawless, and the parting greenery left them with civilization on the near horizon. It took Octavia¡¯s eyes more than a moment to catch up with her hands, her song stilling in exchange for the sights beyond.

    It was no Silver Ridge, the homely architecture stylized differently in a manner she still relished. It was sweet in its own right, blessed with both the fruits of conversation and the literal fruits that were strikingly abundant outside. Most were boxed. Some were lovingly-displayed, if not occasionally slipping into safer housing as the earliest stars flickered to life high above. Even from afar, the town was as lively as it was colorful, the climbing moon only augmenting its comforting atmosphere as it settled into the evening. It was slowing, she presumed. It was still at least ten times more vibrant than the town she¡¯d left behind.

    ¡°Not much of a traveler, I see,¡± Viola teased, playfully elbowing her side.

    Octavia stammered defensively as she resheathed the violin with trembling hands. ¡°I-I¡¯ve never left Silver Ridge, okay? This is my first time seeing a whole different town, and especially a different...well, everything!¡±

    ¡°Take it in as we walk, at least,¡± Viola somewhat ordered, reduced to physically tugging a starstruck Octavia along. ¡°There¡¯s an inn here that had great food on my way through. I¡¯ve been sorta looking forward to it most of the day.¡±

    ¡°An inn?¡±

    ¡°That one.¡±

    It was a brick-blessed building just as cute and just as quaint, if not every bit as enticing from beyond. Octavia didn¡¯t resist Viola¡¯s touch one bit as her boots scraped the cobblestone below, stumbling slightly in the process. The softly-weathered, paint-kissed sign nestled high with care was as simple as it was confusing, for whatever she was intended to glean from ¡°Talludo¡± alone. Even from outside, every scent was phenomenal. That was absolutely more than enough to satisfy her.

    Viola held the door with her free hand, still guiding a disoriented Octavia with the other. ¡°You can stare as much as you want once we¡¯ve actually had something to eat. The whole town will still be there, I promise.¡±

    She didn¡¯t get to protest, nor did she make it more than five steps without immediate hospitality. The girl who practically leapt in front of them barred their path, somewhat, armed with a brilliant smile and a questionable volume. Octavia flinched.

    ¡°Hello! Welcome to--wait, haven¡¯t I seen you before?¡± she hesitated with a tilt of her head.

    Viola nodded, freeing Octavia from her grasp. ¡°I stayed here a few nights ago. I¡¯m going the other direction now. How much is it for two beds this time?¡±

    The girl shook her head vigorously, her curls bouncing almost aggressively against her shoulders. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it! It¡¯s on the house. We don¡¯t usually get girls around my age. This is so exciting!¡±

    Her volume was still more than was necessary by a wide margin. Octavia side-eyed Viola discreetly, earning only a half-hearted shrug for her efforts.

    ¡°She was like this last time, too,¡± Viola whispered. ¡°I have no idea.¡±

    Octavia forced a smile, somewhat overstimulated. ¡°I¡¯m¡­guessing you already met Viola, but we haven¡¯t met yet. My name is Octavia. It¡¯s nice to meet you, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± the girl practically shouted, bouncing on her heels with an energy nearly intimidating. ¡°I¡¯m Madrigal Talludo, and I¡¯d like to formally welcome you to the Talludo Inn! We¡¯ve got the finest hospitality in the town, and we even make all our own dishes with fresh fruit and vegetables from our garden out back. You guys should consider staying the night!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re¡­already staying the night. I just said that,¡± Viola spoke slowly.

    ¡°Right! You did say that! Here, I¡¯ll get you guys set up with something to eat. There¡¯s some room right here if you want. Is there anything in particular you want to drink? Do you have any preferences with--¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m good with just water,¡± Octavia stammered, struggling to balance following the girl¡¯s words and following her hurried movements simultaneously. For how her wrist had been reclaimed by another girl entirely, her new guide was not even slightly as gentle. The energy was even more concerning when it threatened her orientation, and she nearly fell out of the chair she was more or less shoved into. Her waitress was still talking, apparently. There was a menu in her hands, now. She¡¯d hardly had the time to blink. Three minutes inside was all it had taken to maximize her overstimulation.

    ¡°--and the tomato soup is really good, if you want to try it! It¡¯s one of my personal recommendations. We make it with the vegetables we grow in-house, right in our garden out back. Can you believe that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, because you said it already,¡± Viola reminded, her tone strained somewhat. ¡°We¡¯ll just take whatever you¡¯d recommend.¡±

    ¡°Got it! I¡¯ll be back with the whole course! That way, you can try everything we¡¯ve got to offer!¡±

    Viola winced. ¡°No, you really don¡¯t need to bring every--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back!¡± their waitress reassured, bowing deeply enough to nearly slam her head against the table.

    She quite literally ran. Her navigation between the throngs of guests was skillful, if not apparently startling. The moment she was out of sight, the Maestras breathed a deep sigh of relief in tandem.

    ¡°She¡¯s definitely a very...hard worker,¡± Octavia offered.

    ¡°I¡¯m seriously concerned about how much food she¡¯s about to bring out.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°You did say you were looking forward to eating here again.¡±

    Viola returned a smile of her own, trailing her fingertips along the tabletop absentmindedly. ¡°I¡¯m not used to walking for as long as we did. The trip to Silver Ridge and back is the furthest I¡¯ve ever gone on my own, to say nothing of actually walking there. We¡¯ve earned our rest, I think. I know the environment is a little¡­chaotic, though.¡±

    ¡°Your grandmother let you make that trip all by yourself? Wasn¡¯t she worried?¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell in the slightest. ¡°She...wasn¡¯t overly bothered by it. I¡¯d say your family put up more of a fight,¡± she answered softly.

    Her tone was just barely unsettling enough that Octavia hesitated to push. She didn¡¯t. ¡°Will we be able to get to Coda by tomorrow?¡± she tried instead.

    Viola raised her head, the indiscernible tension in her voice thinning quickly. ¡°I mean, from a travel standpoint, Coda is surprisingly close to Minuevera. On foot, the walk should be just a tiny bit shorter than today¡¯s was. Still, we¡¯re gonna have to wake up early.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°I always do. As soon as the sun comes up, I¡¯m ready to go. No problems there.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°Good. On my last trip through, there was no Dissonance between here and Coda, so it should be peaceful. The only Dissonance I saw was--¡±

    ¡°In Silver Ridge, right?¡± Octavia finished hesitantly. ¡°The Dissonance that we...both saw.¡±

    Viola nodded once more, slow as the motion was. ¡°Don¡¯t get too used to it.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted uncomfortably. It wasn¡¯t a particularly joyous topic. Still, she¡¯d been biting her tongue on it for long enough. ¡°So, uh...about Dissonance. Is it common?¡±

    Viola lowered her voice, leaning in slightly. ¡°More common than it should be. We¡¯ve been getting lucky so far. Don¡¯t¡­forget that normal people don¡¯t know about any of this. Keep it close to your heart, okay?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°When you say they come from things like bad memories or¡­feelings, or whatever, how far does that go? Is it gonna show up if I get angry or think about something sad?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Not quite. The memories that turn into Dissonance have to be strong and vivid enough to prompt a physical form. They¡¯d have to be agonizing--things that are unbearably painful to remember. Because of that, certain places are more prone to Dissonance showing up.¡±

    ¡°Is there a lot of it in Coda?¡±

    ¡°Not in the city, but it shows up sometimes on the outskirts. It¡¯s also pretty common where people...y¡¯know.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°Know what?¡±

    Viola¡¯s volume dipped lower. ¡°Where people...die. People who pass away with regrets and hurt in their hearts, especially. Usually, that¡¯s where the strongest Dissonance comes from.¡±

    ¡°Have you ever seen that kind?¡±

    Viola shook her head once more, quicker by comparison. ¡°No, of course not. I¡¯ve never seen anyone die, and I certainly don¡¯t plan to. It¡¯s just something my grandmother taught me.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°Your grandmother sounds like she knows a lot about Maestro stuff. I¡¯m almost kinda nervous to meet her.¡±

    Viola¡¯s fingers settled atop Octavia¡¯s own comfortably. Her soft smile in return was a gift. ¡°My grandmother is going to love you.¡±

    ¡°What are you guys whispering about?¡±

    The Maestras parted with such force that Octavia, for a second time over, nearly traded her steady seating for the hardwood below. She almost screamed, startled as she was. Granted, their waitress had at least attempted to stifle her volume this time. The moment she had their attention, those efforts ceased instantly.

    ¡°Sorry about the wait!¡± the girl offered, her absurdly-full arms precariously loaded with outrageous quantities of food. Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to imagine what would happen if she tripped. ¡°Dinner is officially served!¡±

    Given the sheer amount of neatly-sorted dishes that quickly crowded their little table, Octavia was left to eye the girl with equal parts awe and substantial concern. It was perhaps more concerning that she hadn¡¯t even necessarily taken that long to prepare such a storm of entrees. ¡°Is¡­all of this for us?¡± Octavia asked timidly.

    Her energetic waitress winked, beaming. ¡°Of course! I made all of it with love! If there¡¯s anything else you guys need, let me know! I¡¯ll be over right away!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t have a doubt in her mind, at this point.

    The moment the cycle repeated, by which their questionable attendant had already darted well across the dining room once more, whatever unrecognizable dialect was leaving her mouth still carried yet the same enthusiasm. Really, she wasn¡¯t alone--distracted as Octavia had been by the achingly abundant hospitality, there were yet a number more of tones and tongues she¡¯d never captured slowly gracing her ears. Few were similar, and most were speckled.

    She¡¯d never seen much of the attire in the room, dripping in hues and patterns far from that with which she was familiar. She was careful in her staring, at least, for how her eyes most definitely passed from stranger to stranger in turn. No one called her on it. She doubted they would, given the steady volume of healthy conversation. It hardly mattered that she understood so little of it.

    ¡°Your food is going to get cold.¡±

    Viola¡¯s knowing grin was enough to make her blush. Octavia winced, throwing her eyes into one of her many soups.

    ¡°R-Right, sorry. I¡¯m just a little¡­overwhelmed with being in a new place,¡± she apologized weakly.

    ¡°It shows,¡± Viola teased.

    She blushed harder. She took it out on whatever salad was unfortunate enough to draw the stiff ire of her fork first. There was absolutely no way she was making it through the ridiculous sea of food the inn had blessed her with, beautiful and sizzling as every dish was regardless. She still did her best, appreciating the foreign flavors every step of the way.

    She couldn¡¯t quite tell if it was the delight that came with culinary experimentation or the tableside company that enriched her dining experience the most. Drowning in enough spice to alter her palate for life, Octavia¡¯s first impressions of Minuevera were as delicious as they were overstimulating.

 4. Dissonant, Part II

    The evening sky above the still town was twice as resplendent so far from home. Objectively, it was an identical moon to that which she could see from her own window. Still, beyond a balcony far from Silver Ridge, the sight was infinitely more splendid. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn the stars twinkled brighter in Minuevera, although she wouldn¡¯t have been shocked to be told it was wishful thinking alone. The moonbeams spilling into the river so far below were precious, and she would¡¯ve been more than content to embrace the night¡¯s delicate breeze for hours.

    It was as exhilaratingly foreign as it was beautifully familiar. What homesickness the tiniest part of her heart had feared was strikingly absent. Even if Coda still lay at the end of her voyage, she wouldn¡¯t have minded halting in Minuevera entirely.

    ¡°We should probably go to bed soon,¡± she heard softly. "We¡¯re going to have to get up at sunrise, most likely. We¡¯ll need our strength.¡±

    ¡°If their breakfast is half as good as their dinner, I¡¯m not really that worried about strength,¡± Octavia joked.

    Viola settled against the railing at her side with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s a really nice town. I kind of wish we could stay longer.¡±

    ¡°So, let¡¯s come back soon,¡± Octavia offered, beaming. ¡°After we go to Coda, I mean.¡±

    Viola sighed, not devoid of a smirk. ¡°We¡¯ve still got a fair amount to do ahead of us. Be ready for that.¡±

    Octavia rested her head against the railing, content to cast her eyes high to the stars. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m gonna be able to sleep. I¡¯m so excited to see Coda, you have no idea.¡±

    Viola winced. ¡°Just...keep an open mind. It might not be exactly what you expect.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a huge city, sure, but there¡¯s a lot of¡­inequality going on,¡± Viola clarified, tipping her hand back and forth with a slight wince. ¡°There¡¯s violence, there¡¯s more than enough disputes, and there¡¯s people who don¡¯t exactly have places to sleep at night. That¡¯s to say nothing of the more unsavory kinds of people you¡¯ll find there. It¡¯s not a perfect place by any means.¡±

    Octavia still smiled all the same, raising her head. ¡°Whatever it is, I¡¯ll be ready. As long as I¡¯m with you, I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m really excited to meet your family, too.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She¡¯d forgotten. It was more than a touchy subject, and the sadness that plagued Viola¡¯s voice spoke to the same. She kicked herself hard.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­gonna go to sleep. Come in soon before it starts getting cold, okay?¡± Octavia tried tentatively.

    Viola nodded wordlessly, throwing her own eyes to the night sky alone. Leaving her behind stung, somewhat.

    Octavia slid the balcony door shut gently, not immune to the softest pang of guilt that bit her soul in the process. An apology would do little. She opted to sleep it off, doing what she could to expel her distress with one deep sigh alone. That, too, did little. Already, she missed the delicate cries of insects singing into the summer night, and it was with a heavy heart that she opted to lock the main door rather than return to the open air.

    Where she¡¯d found their soft, chirping song outside, it was for the shortest second alone that she caught the faintest screech within.

    It wasn¡¯t particularly near, nor was it loud. Initially, she could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d hallucinated it entirely, fatigued as the day had surely left her. Still, it was a nagging discomfort that she replayed in her mind at least twice. Her hand hovered uselessly above the doorknob, fingers twitching in turn. She held her breath. If she strained and strained, she could convince herself she¡¯d caught it a second time--just as fleeting, just as distant, and certainly beyond the comfort of her room.

    Hesitantly, she inched the door open, peering down the length of the hallway. Her steps outward were tentative, and she found not an unnatural noise more. Every heavy thud upon wood came from afar, growing ever further with each passing second. Octavia tensed.

    The third time, it was no longer a coincidence. It was no longer in her head alone. What faint, brief screeching she¡¯d heard was more than enough to land her in her boots yet again. As to why Stradivaria had taken up refuge in her arms, she wasn¡¯t quite as sure where the urge had come from. She didn¡¯t question it much.

    The inn was far from quiet, and the manner by which her efforts to recapture the same elusive sound once more were impeded. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what felt incorrect about the atmosphere, lively and vibrant as it was at such an hour. In truth, she wondered if anyone actually bothered to use the beds they paid for. With her arms wrapped tightly around the violin, she descended every stair slowly and carefully.

    There was reassurance in the form of the company of others, and the idea of surrendering it was perhaps even more unsettling. It was only at the foot of the steps that she, too, recognized the way by which she¡¯d be abandoning Viola without explanation. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to ascend. Once more, she couldn¡¯t pinpoint why.

    The front door slammed shut with just a bit too much force. For as energetic as the atmosphere downstairs was, what stray enthusiasm could¡¯ve left an abundance of noise in its wake wasn¡¯t necessarily unexpected. Still, it drew her attention immediately. Her eyes found nothing. Her ears, by comparison, caught the sharp, shrill screech for the fourth time over. It was louder, although not by a wide margin. It was enough to quicken her steps, somewhat nostalgic in an indescribable manner.

    With one arm still tightly tethered to the violin and bow alike, she turned the doorknob and embraced the cool breeze of the night. There was little of merit in the immediate vicinity of the inn, aside from departing companions and mildly-inebriated stragglers. Octavia sighed in exasperation. She allotted herself several experimental seconds of quiet, interrupted sporadically by the din of infrequent and speckled conversation.

    Try as she might, there was little more unnatural sound to observe, her senses once more flooded only by the expected. She should be sleeping. Viola was, more than likely, looking for her. If she were so keenly interested in spending the night watching the notably intoxicated, she could¡¯ve stayed in Silver Ridge. There were a few she knew by name, unfortunately.

    There was one her eyes lingered upon longer than they should¡¯ve, for how he headed anywhere but home. His staggering wasn¡¯t excessive, and yet his disoriented motions were more than obvious from afar. Why he would choose the river in the dead of night over the warmth of a bed was beyond her, although it was more than possible he was simply too drunk to tell. It was almost pathetic, and she rolled her eyes out of habit.

    The smoke spoke to nothing of the sort.

    Octavia had been confident enough in her auditory observations--in the moment, at least, before she¡¯d lost them once more. Now, staring with immense confusion at the departing man, she was left outright rubbing her eyes. The thin, wispy streams of mist that crawled from his shoulders into the open air were inexplicable, bafflingly violet and just barely less than subtle. Stars be damned, she could convince herself it was an illusion of the darkened night. Regardless, the longer she stared, the longer the narrow tendrils of smoke continued to climb. She blinked. She blinked again. They were still there.

    The man was more than ignorant to her aggressive confusion, ambling into the night with only a shadowed path and a river to show for his intentions. Octavia made the swiftest approach she could, struggling to stifle the noisy ruffling of her boots against the plush grass. If she truly was seeing things, this conversation was going to be incredibly awkward.

    ¡°Sir?¡± she asked hesitantly, her voice wavering. ¡°Are you¡­okay?¡±

    He offered her no words in return. He at least did her the favor of returning her gaze, abysmal as his own was. Tossed haphazardly over his shoulder at the Maestra, the man gave her nothing of reassurance. Where she¡¯d found violet upon his shoulders, spindly and questionable as it was, the same hesitant guesses could not be given to his eyes.

    Buried in yet the same bubbling violet as they were, his very vision was clouded and veiled in excess. She found no pupils, let alone any whites of which to speak. He may as well have not seen her at all. The thick, murky splotches of smoke that spilled over his eyelids rolled down his cheeks quietly, simmering indigo trails left staining innocent skin in their wake. Octavia outright yelped at the sight, recoiling sharply. When he reclaimed his poisoned gaze, his focus was once more on the river yet beyond. His staggering movements were still equally as unsettling, if not somewhat quicker along the darkened path.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Octavia cried, frantically trailing his footsteps ever deeper into the shadows.

    Ignoring the twisting knot in her stomach was a trial. The roar of rushing water was, by comparison, impossible to ignore, far from the gentle trickle the balcony view had led her to expect. The ample moonlight did a spectacular job illustrating its tumultuous streaming, by which the turbulent river did not hesitate to crash brutally upon every sharpened rock it harbored. For what light she possessed above, it did little to pierce the waters below.

    She feared growing closer, lest she slip and be swept away. He forewent the same dread, unflinching as every step led him closer to the unforgiving current. Octavia¡¯s heart threatened to burst from her chest as she sprinted desperately.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go in the river!¡± she cried breathlessly. ¡°You¡¯ll drown! Stop!¡±

    She got his attention in the worst way. He stopped in his tracks, granted. There was a fleeting moment of relief, by which Octavia counted her blessings that he¡¯d been spared of the river¡¯s violent wrath. In contrast, the violence that instead came in the form of sickening violet was perhaps one thousand times more repulsive. His eyes on her were still just as empty, just as obscured, and just as blighted by a fog unpierced by the moon high above. His bitter, smoky tears were abundant even now, if not somewhat more so. She couldn¡¯t stand to look at him, and yet he looked at her all the same.

    For how she¡¯d been repulsed by his gaze and perplexed by his shoulders, the rest of him was just as grotesque. If he¡¯d once softly emitted, he now poured to a grand degree. The billowing smoke that erupted mercilessly from his trembling body was explosive, bursting well into the open air with an agonizing screech that bit into her eardrums instantly. Every ounce of violet that spilled from his pores writhed and screamed, thick to a nauseating level. His breaths were quick, his motions largely useless. No amount of clawing at his own arms was helping. No amount of clutching his own shoulders desperately was helping. He was tainted, touched by the most repulsively violet toxin Octavia had ever seen blanket human skin.

    Octavia, too, was more than poisoned, if not by the surging adrenaline throbbing painfully in her veins. She shivered violently, the response more than uncontrollable. The swirling streams of murky fog were far from stationary, and the way by which they were not isolated to his vicinity alone left her heart settled permanently into her stomach. Blighted as he was by absolutely nothing but all-encompassing violet, toxic in every way, he was ambulatory.

    He hardly hesitated, substantially faster than she¡¯d expected him to be. Even in the midst of his distress, visible as it was, it was Octavia who stole his focus. He lunged, his hands on a collision course with her throat. She screamed, stumbling backwards with such tension that her wrists could¡¯ve snapped in half.

    It was taut fingers, curled so tightly she may have lost circulation entirely, that left one finger slicing sharply along a string. The rugged copper digging into her skin was as painful as it was jarring. She¡¯d forgotten Stradivaria was in her grip in the first place. The spark that stung her terrified touch left her eyes wide and her hands trembling all the more.

    She flexed her fingers over the bridge and bow respectively, struggling to curb what fervent shaking plagued her in excess. Her eyes darted back and forth between the violin and the smoke-shrouded stranger, the feeble gap between them closing further with each passing second. Her tingling fingertips were not to be ignored, given the way she¡¯d battled to recall the sensation so fiercely. In just the slightest, they throbbed, and the feeling was desperately welcome. It was a reflex to throw the violin against her shoulder, leveling the bow with the strings hurriedly.

    ¡°S-Stay back!¡± she shouted, fumbling a warning she knew was futile all the same. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer!¡±

    He advanced. She recoiled, her best efforts to put distance between herself and the writhing fog mostly for naught. The surging smoke was as undaunted by her threats as the man himself, and finding her footing in the face of the billowing violet was horrifying. The screeching didn¡¯t help, strangling her with dizziness that left her battling to stay upright. The nausea was no concern, and she¡¯d already succumbed to it long ago.

    Octavia exhaled heavily, bracing against the dirt as she wove together the most pleading melody she¡¯d ever concocted in her life. It was as involuntary as it was haphazard, her fingers flying of their own accord as screaming notes rose well above the awful noise. She strained, her muscles burning with the effort of hunting for that fearsome burn once more. It didn¡¯t need to be perfect. It didn¡¯t need to be enveloping. It didn¡¯t need to set her blood ablaze and curse her with warmth that spilled from her veins. It simply needed to spare her.

    And yet, as the distance grew to be less, less, less still, the only heat she found was that plastered to her face and rising from her panicked skin. The bow crying out against the strings was in tandem with the cries that bubbled in wait at the back of her throat. Her heart pounded violently, dread gripping her in ways she¡¯d never conceived of. Every screech was closer, the deafening ringing in her ears surely etched into her soul forever. A Harmonial Instrument in hand meant nothing, for how death lay inches from her body and inched ever more near. Genuinely screaming would do little to help. Viola wouldn¡¯t rush to her rescue a second time.

    She froze. Viola didn¡¯t even know she was out here.

    Viola was in their room, possibly panicked and alone. So, too, would she be forced to awaken alone the next morning, abandoned and cursed to return to Coda in isolation. Her own goal would be distantly out of reach, and she would start from zero with nothing to show for all she¡¯d given. Maybe she¡¯d feel responsible. Maybe she¡¯d feel guilty. The fault wouldn¡¯t lie with her in the slightest. Her tears would¡¯ve been born of another Maestra entirely.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    And the thought of Viola in tears at all made Octavia¡¯s blood boil.

    What bubbling heat she found deep beneath her veins, then, surged forth in something more than self-preservation. Her hands burned, the scalding sensation below her skin setting her muscles aflame and her heart pounding with a different emotion entirely. The white-hot sting that erupted from her pores brought with it scorching radiance, pouring in earnest along every string and bursting cleanly from beyond her frantic slashing. Every hasty swish of the bow, slicing with such force across the bridge that she risked cleaving it in half, battled to send her newfound brilliance sailing. It was unrefined, vague, and shockingly shapeless. It hardly mattered, for how it challenged the darkened depths of cloudy violet without remorse.

    Her song was fierce, her movements reflexively more so. The luminosity was not to be ignored, and it was a struggle to keep her eyes open in the face of the blinding flash. The sun born in her bloodstream was as precious as it was unnerving, and she was a solar flare of her own accord. Her explosive radiance rippled well into the night, spearing deep into the murky fog as it screamed and writhed. As to when it had pressed in on her from either side, she had no idea. She didn¡¯t want to think about it. She didn¡¯t have to, for the shimmering star she was slowly becoming. She didn¡¯t dare halt her song, the searing recoil along her wrists be damned.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes fell to the man once more the moment her light waned. He¡¯d been far from immune to her bursting brilliance, his every breath ragged and each frantic grasp at himself all the more desperate. He couldn¡¯t have been anything but pained, if the way by which he clutched his head and doubled over was worth anything. It didn¡¯t alleviate the rolling clouds of smoke that were far from content to surrender.

    What damage she¡¯d done, substantial as it had been, was temporary at best. Where she¡¯d blasted clean through the swirling mist, she watched in terror as it began to coagulate once more. The way by which her newly-bestowed gaping wound was clotted by violet was sickening, and her efforts were erased in a moment¡¯s time.

    Her eyes darted downwards to her tingling palm, and she flexed her fingers around the handle of the bow twice over. It didn¡¯t quite hurt so much as it felt unfamiliar. She didn¡¯t particularly dislike it. Instead, she was content to stomach the screeching, tighten her grip, catch her breath, and stare him down with what false resolve she could scrape together.

    The fear that had plagued Octavia moments ago had waned in time with her light. The lingering, throbbing warmth in her hand was a comfort in its place, and she focused on it with all she had. The man¡¯s veiled gaze, poisoned by violet and still bubbling over with the same as it was, no longer ran her through. The disgusting smoke born of his being, whether voluntary or otherwise, spilled carelessly into the open air from every pore even now. It was as endless as it was slow, a steady stream that left Octavia studying his distressed movements within the depths of the cloud he brought to life.

    Her gaze fell everywhere all at once--the violin, the mist, and his posture as his foot slid the slightest bit forward. If he was going to lunge once more, she¡¯d be ready this time. She braced, adjusting the violin on her shoulder accordingly. With a deep breath, she held onto the heat in her palm for all it was worth.

    She¡¯d been sickeningly correct. He lunged, his outstretched hands once more aimed at her alone. She didn¡¯t bother following his trajectory, throwing herself into her song instead. She made to slash and slice, pressing the bow hard against the strings as she embraced the tell-tale pulsing beneath her fingertips. She never had the chance to let it burst once more.

    Instead, where she¡¯d sought to besiege him with light, it was ice instead that rained from high above. Blunted shards showered the man in excess, bare skin and otherwise more than vulnerable to the quick and crushing impact of crashing crystal. Their descending speed was mildly horrifying, and he recoiled with a sharp cry of pain beneath the successive blows. The scream of a flute well above the agonizing screeches left a wave of relief washing over Octavia¡¯s soul. Her heart pounded for a different reason entirely.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± she heard above the noise. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m fine,¡± she stammered, fighting the urge to fall to her knees. Only in her moment of reprieve did she finally feel the sting of adrenaline, excessive as it had been. ¡°How did you know I was--¡±

    ¡°I saw the light,¡± Viola explained quickly. ¡°I saw your light. I came back inside and you were gone. When I went outside to look for you instead, I saw it. It was¡­so bright.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t help the degree to which words tumbled breathlessly from her lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have left you! I just¡­I kept hearing these little noises, and I left the room, and I ended up following this guy. He came out here, and there was Dissonance again, but it, like¡­it came out of him? I don¡¯t¡­understand.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t answer. Her eyes fell to the man in turn, flickering up and down the length of the noxious violet that clung to his skin. He¡¯d taken her assault well, still well on his feet in the wake of blows that sought to bruise and blemish. So, too, did he still ooze the same awful smoke in excess, writhing and screaming in its own right. How he hadn¡¯t suffocated by now was beyond Octavia, given the way every labored breath left the billowing substance scraping his throat dangerously.

    ¡°He¡¯s Dissonant,¡± Viola spoke at last, her eyes narrow. ¡°He¡¯s possessed by Dissonance.¡±

    Octavia recoiled. ¡°That can happen?¡±

    ¡°More than you¡¯d think, and it needs to end right now,¡± Viola answered, already raising Silver Brevada to her lips once more. ¡°This can¡¯t go any further. He¡¯s way too close to other people, and he¡¯s literally spewing Dissonance. We can¡¯t risk anyone at the inn getting hurt.¡±

    Octavia was trembling again. She couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°How do we...stop him, exactly?¡±

    The pained glance Viola stung her with threatened to split her heart in two. ¡°How do you think?¡±

    She lost her breath. ¡°Viola, we can¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice!¡± she cried. ¡°He¡¯s too far gone, and I don¡¯t know how to fix it! If he keeps going like this, people could die. It¡¯s either him or them.¡±

    Octavia raised Stradivaria into position yet again, settling her fingers against the strings as her panicked eyes trailed the man¡¯s every movement. Even from afar, his suffering was almost contagious. ¡°But¡­both of us together, we could do something! What about my light?¡±

    Viola faltered, never peeling her own eyes from the man as she spoke. ¡°You would have to get it inside. Dissonance comes from the soul. Do you think you¡¯d be able to somehow get your light inside a person entirely? You could burn him alive from the inside out if you mess up!¡±

    Octavia shook her head fiercely. ¡°But if there¡¯s even a chance--¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t even been a Maestra for a full twenty-four hours! You would have to be absolutely perfect to pull that off, and you just learned how to make your light! Do you want him to suffer?¡± she argued. ¡°We don¡¯t have any time! We have to take him out as fast and humanely as we can!¡±

    ¡°But you could--¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± Viola shouted, her voice wavering. ¡°I wish I could, but I can¡¯t! I don¡¯t know how to help him, and we don¡¯t have the luxury of arguing about it! We just have to do it, now!¡±

    She wanted to protest. The lump in her throat and the hot tears pricking dangerously at the corners of her eyes were frustrating. The knot in her stomach was permanent, and what nausea she harbored was born of far more than simple fear or Dissonance alone. The man¡¯s attention had shifted to Viola, if his adjusted posture was anything to go by. If he¡¯d been privy to their grotesque planning, he didn¡¯t show it. She liked to imagine he would stay that unaware all the way through.

    ¡°Viola, get ready,¡± she spoke, her own voice shaking fiercely.

    ¡°Got it.¡±

    Several careful breaths and shrill notes at Octavia¡¯s side left fluttering snowflakes tumbling into something larger. The crunch of thick, shining hail born beneath the moonlight left frozen lumps aloft and in wait. They were abundant enough, and they were substantially more rounded than that which she¡¯d seen Viola curse the man with moments before. She feared asking, given how visibly weighted and solidly sized they appeared. The strain on Viola¡¯s face was in contrast to her focus, her best efforts to dig her flats firmly into the grassy sod almost admirable.

    ¡°Octavia, listen to me,¡± she called. ¡°Focus on hitting the Dissonance around him. I¡¯ll take him out from there.¡±

    The moment she saw Viola¡¯s eyes drawing neat lines between every glittering ball of frost and the man¡¯s head, the silent measurements were enough to stop Octavia¡¯s heart. She understood the concept. She wanted to vomit. She couldn¡¯t do this. At the very least, she couldn¡¯t stand to be a part of it at all. The alternative was placing Viola in danger, and her hesitation was a hazard. The bow settling softly against the strings once more was her one comfort. She doubted she¡¯d ever be truly comfortable again, for what she was about to do.

    He did, in fact, go for Viola. She tensed, and not in preparation alone.

    ¡°Now!¡± Viola cried.

    There was a solid chance her sorrow was seeping into her song. She couldn¡¯t help it. It wasn¡¯t as though she could control her melody in the first place, instinctive and radiant as it was under her absentminded guidance. The sparks that ignited brightly along the bridge burst with every violent slash of the bow, sharpened and stretched into brilliant rays that somewhat challenged the sun. They were new, and she didn¡¯t resist the way each one crackled and glowed excessively. It was the familiar pulsing and throbbing just below her fingertips that accompanied the burst, her frantic notes sending every last beam sailing quickly into the writhing darkness. She didn¡¯t have the time to be surprised. She burned the sensation into her brain.

    The blinding flash that accompanied her radiant assault was enough to draw forth screeching and repel the smoke in turn, punching deep holes into the thick fog. It wasn¡¯t perfect. It was enough, and he was clear to see. The window she had before it coagulated once more was not as sizable as she would¡¯ve preferred, and she feared the inevitable. It was somewhat of a struggle to offer up the same shapely brilliance, stretching and spilling along the strings like the most luminescent of arrows. They were less sturdy, more shapeless. She couldn¡¯t keep their form for long. Still, she used what she had, unleashing the surging light upon the violet clouds once more. It took effort to keep him visible, and she was at war with that which fought to veil him again and again.

    Octavia handed Viola a chance of her own as best as was possible, just barely afforded the chance to bear witness to the girl¡¯s resolve. One long, sustained note was all it took to level the frozen volley with the man¡¯s eyes, encircling him in a manner that immediately sent Octavia¡¯s heart into her stomach. The man still staggered and rebelled even now, undaunted by the relentless radiance that exploded at his sides. One shrill series of notes was all it took to curse him with rigid, unforgiving hail, surging clean towards his skull with sickening precision. With his hazy, absent gaze offered to Viola alone, he, too, surged forward.

    The fact that he could still move at all stole the breath from Octavia¡¯s lungs.

    And she could only watch in abject horror as he lowered his head, every last glistening chunk of ice sailing clear above him harmlessly. Where his head had been moments ago was now only splintering frost, every useless clump of hail colliding and bursting into helpless fragments. Time was slow as they peppered the earth with thud after thud. He wasn¡¯t.

    The light her song had birthed had fizzled and faded. With their disappearance into the darkened night, so, too, did her faith follow suit. No amount of quick reflexes would be enough to bring forth more. He was simply too fast, one hand well on the path to Viola¡¯s throat. Octavia thought to doff Stradivaria entirely, to send the instrument crashing to the earth and throw herself in front of the girl instead. She was fast, surely. Still, she hardly had the time to blink. The screeching was vile. Her vision was blurring. Her balance was feeble. If she were to drop the violin, it would match with Silver Brevada, slowly slipping from Viola¡¯s fingers and collapsing uselessly to the earth below.

    For how near to the Maestra he truly was, it would be seconds before the Dissonance he brought to being plagued her in turn. Octavia screamed, both carrying Viola¡¯s name and not. Never once did Viola close her eyes, her wide and terrified gaze meeting the man¡¯s own until the very end.

    The gale that blasted the girl, then, streamed past Octavia with such fervor that her braids were thoroughly rattled. The roar of the gust, sudden as it was, swept Viola clean off her feet. She fell to the soft grass below with a thud of her own, rolling once over with a yelp of surprise. Octavia was not immune to the same, rooted in place as she was.

    So, too, had the man succumbed to the same imperceptible gale, albeit far more violently. He tumbled backwards several times, his violet-plagued body practically leaving a smoky afterimage in his wake. He hit the ground with far more force, falling still. The breeze that rippled the grass around Octavia¡¯s ankles tickled her skin, and her eyes trailed its origin--sudden as it had been. The most gentle song she¡¯d ever heard was of solid assistance.

    It was crystalline, sensitive, every note prickling softly against the night in a way that reverberated in her soul. She caught it in the wake of the screeching, shockingly absent at last. The girl who replaced the horrific sounds of agony with a melody of such beauty was perhaps equally beautiful herself. The gleam of moonlight high above the river did her justice, ethereal and angelic all at once. The breeze that ruffled her curls and toyed with her dress left her ever more resplendent. It still made, without question, absolutely zero sense. No amount of blinking was convincing Octavia the Dissonance hadn¡¯t left her hallucinating.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay for a heroine to be a little late sometimes, right?¡± she heard playfully. ¡°I¡¯m here now, though, so everything¡¯s okay!¡±

    If someone told her she wasn¡¯t hallucinating, she wouldn¡¯t believe them, frankly.

    ¡°You, who''ve been swallowed by darkness incarnate,¡± the girl cried, spearing one finger squarely at the man crumpled upon the ground, ¡°I am your liberator!¡±

    Octavia chanced a slow glance at Viola. The unrestrained awe splattered on her face was a mutual comfort. She was thankful she wasn¡¯t the only one.

    The swift flick of her wrist brought deft fingers surging across the strings, every tender note equally as gorgeous as before. The gales woven with grace from nothing were as impossible to view as they were to miss, for how the roaring wind and the rustling grass served as clear indicators of such rapid gusts. They were for the man alone, still bound to the earth as he was.

    The breeze that had delicately graced Octavia¡¯s braids moments ago had forgone its gentle demeanor, rushing forth with such force that scattered sod was sent aloft in its wake. For a moment, Octavia believed he¡¯d be repelled once more, cursed to be tossed and to tumble endlessly against the cold ground. The moment the tempest slipped clear down his throat, instead, it was her own breath that was stolen.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be easier if you don¡¯t fight it,¡± the girl offered calmly above her song.

    Were it Octavia, she absolutely would not have taken such advice. He didn¡¯t, and she couldn¡¯t blame him. The man was practically pinned to the ground, a weight unseen binding him to the chilled earth. Given the way he scratched desperately at his throat and writhed much the same as the smoke he¡¯d once emitted, Octavia could hazard a guess as to what it was.

    Every choke and cough was feeble, useless to expel the wind burrowing deep into his body. He couldn¡¯t scream. There was a moment in which Octavia felt faint, and she swore she forgot how to breathe entirely. She thought to beg on his behalf. This was, perhaps, a far more brutal death than what they¡¯d planned to offer.

    The moment she found violet, carried upon the unforgiving gales, her eyes widened. It came not from without, but from within. Where his coughing and choking had been unproductive moments before, every spasm and jerk left yet more blackened fog swirling and surging into the stormy stream. Up it rose, climbing well into the night sky with a force that surely threatened to rupture his lungs. If suffocating didn¡¯t kill him, Octavia feared the unimaginable strain on his airway would.

    She thought to raise Stradivaria to her shoulder, the sight of the rising smoke alone enough to send her heart racing yet again. When it never quite coagulated, her occupied hands were still at her sides. It clicked. She froze.

    ¡°Almost done!¡± the girl announced happily.

    Every soft note was deceiving, as was the grace and finesse that came with her song. As quickly as it had besieged him, the gust that had claimed the man¡¯s insides was stolen once more. The force with which it erupted from his lips was nearly explosive, tearing with it an extraordinary quantity of grotesque, clouded smoke belonging anywhere except within.

    No longer was it his feeble coughing alone that expelled the foggy violet, his head snapping backwards so violently that Octavia worried he may have broken his neck. The erupting fog that burst well into the sky above did so for a minimum of thirty seconds, if she was counting correctly. It was a guiding gust that left it spiraling ever higher, careening towards the stars above.

    When it left him in full, with not a wisp to spare, he gasped fervently for air. The tears that rolled down his cheeks in excess were fresh and true, devoid of the murky mist that had poisoned the pained liquid. Well above him, the breeze and the clouds had departed in tandem, whisked away into nothingness in the still of the evening. It was only the showering moonbeams above that replaced toxic violet, natural and endearing in its place. In place of screeching, there still remained only the lightest sounds of crystal tinting the air. Every pluck was a blessing in place of endless agony.

    Where she¡¯d found one type of reprieve, she immediately found complete and utter disorientation of a different flavor altogether. She was definitely staring.

    ¡°I...excuse me?¡±

    Viola was just as baffled. ¡°The¡­you just--¡±

    The girl posed with excessive dramatic flair, casting two fingers over one eye in a valiant V. ¡°And that should do it!¡±

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Octavia mumbled.

    Viola blinked several times over. Octavia didn¡¯t blame her in the slightest. There was no mistaking the buns, let alone the volume. The latter was ever-present.

    ¡°Oh, wow, you guys have magic, too? This is amazing!¡± the girl cried, quite literally darting to Viola¡¯s side. ¡°Oh, this is so exciting! Is this really happening? I can¡¯t believe this is happening!¡±

    Viola rose to her feet with clinging dirt and plastered confusion in tow, reclaiming Silver Brevada from the grass with eyes still just as wide. ¡°I-I¡­what?¡±

    The girl bounced on her heels happily. ¡°By the way,¡± she continued, cradling the shimmering harp in her arms, ¡°you never did tell me how you liked dinner.¡±

 5. Liberator

    Viola was most definitely the stronger orator between the two of them, articulate and composed in a way that left every question succinct. She would¡¯ve been the better person to entrust with unraveling the situation via carefully-crafted queries versus the rapid, to-the-point questions Octavia could just barely muster. When the Maestra faltered spectacularly, practically staring with eyes so wide that the moon above could outright damage her pupils, Octavia didn¡¯t have a choice. Their savior took it well enough.

    ¡°You saved him,¡± Octavia stated plainly, somewhere between amazement and absolute confusion.

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°You saved us.¡±

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re...did I seriously hear you call it ¡®magic¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the waitress.¡±

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re...what was that thing about liberating?¡±

    The girl beamed. ¡°Just something that heroines say when they¡¯re saving the day.¡±

    ¡°A...heroine,¡± Viola repeated hesitantly, her voice returning at last. ¡°And that means...what, exactly?¡±

    The girl didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Her overly-dramatic pose had returned for a second round, split fingers rushing to one eye in a victorious V. Her brilliant smile battled the moon above fiercely. ¡°Lyra and I are a team that fights the forces of darkness together, wherever they might strike! We¡¯re keeping Minuevera safe!¡±

    Octavia stifled a giggle. ¡°Forces of...darkness?¡±

    Her radiant smile was unwavering. ¡°The foggy stuff, silly!¡±

    ¡°Dissonance,¡± Viola corrected bluntly. ¡°Not ¡®foggy stuff¡¯. Who¡¯s Lyra, anyway?¡±

    The girl thrust the harp immediately before her with such speed and force that Viola jumped slightly. ¡°Tada! Meet Lyra¡¯s Repose, my partner in crime-fighting. We¡¯re inseparable!¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to smile, softer as it was by comparison. ¡°Your Harmonial Instrument, right? What did you say your name was, again?¡±

    She was practically sparkling as she bowed dramatically. ¡°The Magical Madrigal Talludo, at your service! The greatest hospitality in Minuevera by day, and the silent protector of the town by night!¡±

    Viola had ended up with one hand clasped over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stem her own giggles. ¡°I do vaguely remember the inn being called Talludo, or something along those lines,¡± she offered.

    Octavia¡¯s efforts to suppress her own laughter were rapidly faltering, just the same. ¡°M-Madrigal, right, now I remember.¡±

    The girl¡¯s endless smile persisted, ignorant to the Maestras¡¯ struggle. ¡°I really didn¡¯t expect to see other soldiers of the light around here! I saw your battle from the hill--you guys were amazing! I think we¡¯d make a spectacular team!¡±

    ¡°Amazing¡± was debatable, and more than enough to leave Octavia wincing. She¡¯d hardly managed to push through at all. Had Viola not intervened when she did, she retrospectively feared the worst. It was more than enough for her heart to sink into her stomach, and she flexed her once-burning fingers absentmindedly. It was still a sensation she hadn¡¯t fully grown used to, already long since faded.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re quite as good as you think we are,¡± Octavia confessed. ¡°You clearly know your way around your Harmonial Instrument more than we do.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯re called Maestras,¡± Viola corrected yet again, raising her flute for emphasis. ¡°Harmonial Instruments. Dissonance. Maestras. Maestros. No one ever taught you any of this stuff, and you¡¯re still that skilled?¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°I mean, I never knew any of it until you taught me, to be fair.¡±

    Viola faltered, clearing her throat. ¡°A-Anyway, we¡¯d like to formally thank you for saving us, and for saving that man. We were in a bit of a...difficult situation, and the help was definitely welcome. You have our gratitude.¡±

    Madrigal hardly seemed to process her words. Instead, her eyes positively sparkled the moment they met the flute. ¡°Wow, it¡¯s so shiny! That¡¯s your partner, right? It¡¯s nice to meet you, Viola¡¯s partner! I hope you and Lyra get along wonderfully!¡±

    Her smile was infectious, and Viola reciprocated the same with or without intent. ¡°This is Silver Brevada. We¡¯ve been through a lot together.¡±

    Octavia offered up her violin in turn. ¡°This is Stradivaria. We¡¯ve¡­sorta just met, but I think we¡¯re getting along pretty well.¡±

    The girl was more or less vibrating, her limitless energy almost radiating into the open air. She bounced on the tips of her toes excitedly, the stars clinging to her eyes somehow twinkling ever brighter. ¡°Silver Brevada, Stradivaria, it¡¯s so nice to meet you both! I can¡¯t wait to get to know the two of you better--and both of your masters, too!¡±

    ¡°Maestras,¡± Viola corrected once more.

    The bag the harp called home was splendidly woven, hugging the girl¡¯s side lovingly. Every little string was gorgeously colored and every knot was carefully crafted. For as secure as Stradivaria surely was in its own case, the girl had more than spoiled her instrument. Octavia stared at the glistening harp as it slid snugly into its depths and out of view.

    Madrigal caught her eyes with pride. ¡°I made it myself,¡± she offered happily. ¡°I hope Lyra likes it in there.¡±

    ¡°And¡­what are we supposed to do about him?¡±

    Octavia had somewhat forgotten about the man they¡¯d so viciously dealt with moments before, borderline conscious in the grass with only the slightest of groans to show for it. Her stomach lurched. ¡°We can¡¯t exactly just¡­leave him here,¡± Viola went on.

    Madrigal didn¡¯t miss a beat, nor did her smile bend. ¡°That¡¯s easy.¡±

    It was a spacious enough bag, given that she¡¯d managed to somehow fit an entire bottle of alcohol in there. It took an extra moment of inspection to at least verify its vacancy, although it hardly would¡¯ve mattered. As to why the girl was carrying around the pungent glass, Octavia didn¡¯t want to know.

    The moment it was launched aloft in her direction, she nearly stumbled to receive it. With the bottle cradled in both palms, she eyed Madrigal with incredible confusion. It took another several seconds for it to click, her eyes flickering back and forth between the splayed-out man and the glass.

    ¡°You seriously think he¡¯s gonna fall for that?¡± Octavia muttered, somewhere on the border of skeptical astonishment and genuine curiosity.

    ¡°It¡¯s never not worked before,¡± Madrigal responded nonchalantly. ¡°Set it down next to him, and we¡¯re all good! He¡¯ll be fine in a little while. He might just be a bit confused.¡±

    Octavia obliged hesitantly, settling the empty bottle beside the man carefully. It didn¡¯t feel like a particularly ethical solution. Leaving him there was worse. To be fair, killing him wouldn¡¯t have been a spectacular solution, either.

    She¡¯d forgotten about that part. Her stomach lurched.

    Viola was at her side before the thought could swallow her whole, one hand upon her shoulder more than enough to startle her. Wordlessly, Viola shook her head. It was another hand that slipped into her own, squeezing gently. Her eyes were soft. Octavia feared the sentiment was mutual. Still, she said nothing.

    Madrigal¡¯s bliss left her ignorant to their silent and solemn exchange. Already, the girl¡¯s hurried steps trailed towards the inn once more, her own vibrance and midnight sunshine contrasting starkly with the near-tragedy left in their wake.

    ¡°Come on! I¡¯ll make you guys something to eat when we get back!¡± she called happily over her shoulder.

    ¡°We¡¯ll pass, but thank you,¡± Viola called back. ¡°We should probably go to bed soon!¡±

    ¡°Okaaay! Let me know if you change your mind!¡± Octavia heard somewhat distantly. She could¡¯ve sworn Madrigal was descending the hill backwards. Part of her feared for the girl¡¯s safety.

    Most of her was preoccupied with the man still resting in the grass. She struggled to tear her eyes away from him. Each time she tried, they fell to him once more, and her heart skipped far too many beats in a row. She was aware of Viola¡¯s firm grip still upon her twice over. It didn¡¯t eradicate every ounce of dread that stung her soul.

    ¡°We almost killed him,¡± she whispered. ¡°We almost killed a man, and we could¡¯ve saved him.¡±

    ¡°She knows something we don¡¯t,¡± Viola comforted, squeezing Octavia¡¯s hand ever tighter. ¡°She¡¯s clearly more skilled than us, and her Harmonial Instrument is¡­different. We were doing what we could.¡±

    ¡°What we could do almost put blood on our hands, Viola,¡± she argued, her voice cracking. ¡°We were almost murderers.¡±

    ¡°We weren¡¯t almost murderers!¡± Viola cried, confiscating her hand from Octavia¡¯s own. When it crashed down onto Octavia¡¯s other shoulder, the girl nearly shook her. ¡°Look at me! We didn¡¯t do it because we wanted to, we did it because it was what we had to do! That man would¡¯ve suffered in the most awful way, and he could¡¯ve gone on to hurt other people if we hadn¡¯t tried to do what we did!¡±

    ¡°How can you know that?¡± Octavia cried in return, hot tears spilling down her cheeks at last. ¡°How can you be so sure there was no other option? How can we be positive it wouldn¡¯t have passed, and he wouldn¡¯t have been fine, and it wouldn¡¯t have gone away on its own? How can you possibly know that killing a man was the right thing to do?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve seen it happen before!¡±

    Viola¡¯s shout was more than enough to make Octavia jump. Through her blurred vision, veiled by tears as it was, she found Viola¡¯s eyes glistening just as severely. Viola was silent. Octavia was, too. It took time for the former to shatter the stillness, soft as her words were.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it happen before,¡± she repeated slowly. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to see it happen again.¡±

    Octavia had battled not to pry up until now. Even where she stood, with the moonlight as her sole witness, she still resisted the singular question that had continued to bubble in her throat time after time. She inhaled. She exhaled. She liked to imagine Viola could trust her.

    ¡°What¡­happened?¡± she asked hesitantly.

    Viola, too, took one deep breath, relaxing her fervent grip on Octavia¡¯s shoulders. ¡°When I was young, my father...this happened. He hurt people. I wasn¡¯t a Maestra yet. I didn¡¯t understand until my grandmother told me years later. At the time, I thought he just...did bad things because he wanted to.¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Viola averted her eyes as she swiped her own tears away, smearing her sorrow across her palm. ¡°My grandmother was late. By the time she found him, he¡¯d already done too much damage. He¡¯d already hurt too many people. He¡¯s serving a life sentence, and he doesn¡¯t even remember what happened.¡±

    She shuddered with the effort of choking back a sob. ¡°If it was me, I¡­wonder if I could¡¯ve saved him. Even so, I also spend every day wondering if I would¡¯ve had to kill him. I¡¯m just as grateful every day that my grandmother knew¡­how to fix it.¡±

    She stepped away from Octavia, hugging herself tightly. ¡°I want to be a Maestra who can protect other people, but I also¡­want to be a Maestra who can protect people from themselves. I don¡¯t want anyone to ever go through that again--not the Dissonant person, not their families, and not the people they would¡¯ve hurt. I want to protect everyone.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to offer comfort, her own hand gently settling upon Viola¡¯s shoulder in turn. ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you. I didn¡¯t mean to pry so hard. I just¡­needed to know we were doing the right thing.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s hard to figure out what the right thing is,¡± Viola murmured, laying her fingers to rest over Octavia¡¯s own. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can tell anymore. I would¡¯ve told you, eventually. I just didn¡¯t know how.¡±

    Octavia did her best to smile, difficult as it was. ¡°Let¡¯s go back to the inn. Are you still up to going to Coda tomorrow?¡±

    Viola sniffled, tossing her eyes to the man in the grass one last time. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m up to it. Maybe a little sleep first.¡±

    ¡°And maybe something to eat?¡± Octavia offered.

    Viola¡¯s half-hearted smile was much appreciated. ¡°Yeah. If she¡¯d still have us.¡±

    In the wake of the chill just barely stinging Octavia¡¯s blood, Madrigal¡¯s vibrant warmth would be more than welcome. They would owe her twice over tonight.

    <hr>

    Given the events of the prior evening, they¡¯d opted to sleep slightly later than planned. It was to their detriment, somewhat, for how the high-rising summer sun had stolen precious hours of a more muted blaze. They¡¯d traded sunrise in favor of rest, although the splendid hospitality of the Talludo Inn left nothing to be desired at breakfast. It was a worthwhile compromise. Traversing on foot in the sweltering heat once more wasn¡¯t an enjoyable thought, regardless.

    ¡°You sure you¡¯ll be okay walking for that long?¡± Octavia fretted, lacing up one boot carefully. ¡°We¡¯ll take as many breaks as you need.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± Viola answered with a soft smile.

    Her feeble reassurance didn¡¯t conceal her reddening skin, nor the trace peeling that had begun to manifest on her neck. It was enough to make Octavia wince, her fair complexion growing more compromised by the hour. The coming days would surely not be kind to her.

    ¡°How long are we walking?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola slipped on her own shoes as she spoke, brushing away what dirt had grown packed tightly beneath. ¡°Same thing I said yesterday. Minuevera and Coda are pretty close, and the walk should be just a little bit shorter than yesterday¡¯s. Maybe about an hour or two less. Minuevera mostly exports agricultural stuff, and the trade route with the capital is well-traveled for obvious reasons.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°Trust me, I figured out that they grow their own food pretty quick.¡±

    ¡°You mean from me?¡±

    The Maestras jumped practically in unison, given the chipper voice that had interrupted from far too close. Viola nearly screamed. Octavia did.

    ¡°God, Madrigal! Don¡¯t scare me like that,¡± she scolded, one hand darting to her racing heart involuntarily.

    Madrigal had more or less squeezed her way between the two, bouncing on her heels happily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m just really excited to be traveling.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re¡­coming with us?¡±

    Octavia noticed the way she¡¯d left off the ¡°we didn¡¯t exactly invite you¡± portion. She at least wondered if the sentiment was mutual.

    Madrigal smiled as brightly as ever. ¡°I have to go that way anyway. I have some stuff I need to deliver to a shop in the capital.¡±

    She patted the same little bag at her side for emphasis, the preciously-woven fibers that cradled her instrument once again making room for yet more accompanying items with a soft clink. If Octavia squinted, there were at least solidly-sized pockets. The harp had privacy, it seemed. It was a mild relief. For how dearly treasured the little instrument seemed to be, she chided herself for expecting any less out of Madrigal.

    ¡°Your parents let you go by yourself?¡± Viola asked, surprised.

    Madrigal beamed proudly, her hands settling onto her hips. ¡°I¡¯ve made the trip a thousand times alone! I know my way back and forth to Coda like the back of my hand. You know, we actually make stuff with our own fruits that--¡±

    ¡°You grow in house, out back,¡± Octavia and Viola finished, more or less simultaneously.

    ¡°It could be handy having another person around,¡± Viola continued. ¡°Safety in numbers.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Dissonance?¡±

    ¡°Thieves, actually,¡± Viola clarified, adjusting Silver Brevada¡¯s case on her shoulder. ¡°Any sizable trade routes between smaller towns and the capital are usually a lot more likely to see bandits ambushing anyone carrying stuff back and forth. It¡¯s not a guarantee, but it¡¯s always a risk.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Are we in any danger going that way?¡±

    ¡°Not at all!¡± Madrigal assured. ¡°We¡¯re just three cute little girls making our way to the capital. We¡¯ve got nothing worth stealing. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re actually merchants or anything!¡±

    Octavia smirked. Magical violins and flutes weren¡¯t exactly ¡°nothing.¡±

    ¡°Did you say ¡®cute little girls¡¯?¡± Viola scoffed.

    ¡°Besides, we make a pretty powerful magical team! No one can stop us if we all fight together!¡± Madrigal continued, slipping into yet another dramatically-concocted pose. It was becoming routine.

    ¡°Dissonance and people are two completely different things,¡± Octavia spoke. ¡°If someone came at us with weapons, we¡¯d be in a lot more trouble. Wait, do Harmonial Instruments even work against normal people? Like...regularly?¡±

    Her eyes flickered to Viola for confirmation. The Maestra shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. They¡¯re more so meant to deal with Dissonance. If you really wanted to mess someone up, though, you could do quite a bit of damage.¡±

    Octavia winced. She¡¯d gotten fairly close to such last night. ¡°Fair enough. At least that¡¯s one more layer of protection we¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°Do you guys need anything before we go?¡± Madrigal asked, already more than halfway over the threshold. ¡°Do you want me to get you anything? I can make something really quick if you--¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re good, I promise,¡± Viola sighed. Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle another smirk. This trip would possibly be longer than was geographically necessary.

    The blasting sunshine was about as ruthless as she could¡¯ve expected, and it barrelled down upon her the moment she¡¯d stepped clear beneath the open sky in full. It was the least of her concerns, even if the cool reprieve of sunrise had escaped her. In surrendering dawn, she, too, had surrendered the awakening town. Minuevera in its lively glory was a far cry from the calm warmth she¡¯d discovered at dusk.

    She hadn¡¯t exactly suspected she was being lied to about the town¡¯s agricultural specialties. Still, the sheer amount of greenery displayed, transported, and prepared in abundance put every market she¡¯d ever been to to shame. She hardly recognized a single word leaving a single stranger¡¯s lips, dialects in dozens of flavors as varied as the fruits they handled with care. Minuevera, when awake, was a different world.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°R-Right, right, sorry!¡± she called back, fighting the blush that came with Viola¡¯s teasing tone.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna lose your mind when you see the capital, at this rate,¡± Viola asserted with a smirk. ¡°Imagine this times a hundred.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s that big?¡± Octavia asked with disbelief.

    ¡°Octaviaaaaa, Violaaaaa,¡± she heard instead, Madrigal¡¯s voice painted in a far more enthusiastic tone--distant as it was. The girl was practically abandoning them, spurned forward by energy Octavia couldn¡¯t hope to match this early in the day. The girl waved her arms above her head from afar. ¡°Come ooooon!¡±

    Octavia grinned at the Maestra to her right. ¡°Race ya.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    The sun, in truth, wasn¡¯t as terrible as she¡¯d expected it to be--at least personally. She spent at least thirty minutes side-eyeing Viola repeatedly, scanning for whatever additional hints of sunburn might come to splatter the girl with splotchy souvenirs of midsummer travels. To her credit, Viola took the scalding weather well, the lack of interloping clouds be damned. Octavia more than respected the way by which the Maestra bit her tongue in the face of what was surely discomfort, regretful as it was. Even shortly after their departure, she¡¯d offered rest. Viola had declined. Had she accepted, they likely would¡¯ve lost their third Maestra companion almost immediately. With absolute certainty, they would not have forsaken her voice.

    There was exactly one thing more eternal than Madrigal¡¯s smile.

    ¡°So this guy tells me he doesn¡¯t like strawberries, but he was talking about the ones from Coda, and he didn¡¯t specify where he got them from, so I couldn¡¯t tell what town they were actually imported from. I told him he¡¯s never tried the ones from Minuevera, probably, and he says that they¡¯re all the same and it doesn¡¯t matter. They¡¯re not all the same. I told him that, too. And you know what? I gave him some of ours, and I told him that if he hates them, I¡¯ll never bother him again, and guess what? He actually loved them!¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think people realize where their food comes from, sometimes. Everywhere is different. Plus, you can¡¯t grow anything in the capital. There¡¯s nowhere to plant stuff. I mean, maybe you could grow something really tiny inside, but that¡¯s about it. It wouldn¡¯t be enough to actually cook anything with.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not like they don¡¯t have food at all there. Otherwise, no one would be able to live there. They still have to import a bunch of fruits and vegetables and stuff, and you need food to make food, anyway. You know what I mean?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, definitely,¡± Viola muttered.

    Her subsequent glance to Octavia spoke of desperation. Octavia stifled a giggle and failed to suppress a smirk.

    ¡°So¡­how did you find your Harmonial Instrument?¡± Octavia redirected to the best of her ability.

    If Madrigal took issue with the sudden change of topic, she didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Lyra? Well, Lyra and I met on the riverbed! I was washing vegetables by the river, and I found it washed up there. I felt a connection with it right away, and I learned Lyra¡¯s name really fast! We¡¯ve been inseparable ever since! How did you guys meet your partners?¡±

    Viola smiled tenderly. ¡°Family heirloom, I guess. Passed down from my grandmother.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°Box.¡±

    Madrigal cocked her head. ¡°Box?¡±

    ¡°Box,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°She dreamt about a chest in the woods for a month and got so stressed she actually went to go look for it,¡± Viola clarified.

    Somehow, scathingly blunt or not, it was a satisfactory answer for Madrigal. ¡°Oh, I see. Box.¡±

    ¡°And¡­using your Harmonial Instrument? How did you learn how to do that?¡± Octavia asked. She bit her tongue regarding the Dissonant man specifically. She wasn¡¯t entirely certain she wanted to dwell on that experience further, for now.

    Madrigal clasped her hands behind her back happily, beaming as she ambled in reverse. ¡°Lyra and I, our hearts have always been connected. I feel what Lyra feels, and the other way around, too. It all came so naturally! We have a perfect relationship. And so the first time I saw the forces of darkness--¡±

    ¡°Dissonance,¡± Viola corrected, exasperated.

    ¡°--it was like I already knew exactly what to do! Lyra and I fought side by side, and we won!¡± she spoke with glee, throwing her arms to the sky.

    Octavia chuckled. ¡°You two sound like a great team. Does Dissonance show up in Minuevera often?¡±

    Madrigal tipped her hand back and forth. ¡°Mmm, every now and then. Not super often. Still, sometimes people visiting from Coda bring yucky stuff with them. Not sure why.¡±

    ¡°Dissonant people,¡± Viola began, ¡°are burdened with the weight of memories and emotions they can¡¯t handle. It¡¯s hard not to lose yourself in that when it happens. Not that they¡­remember.¡±

    The sharp tint in her voice wasn¡¯t lost on Octavia. It was lost on Madrigal, and that was perhaps not a bad thing.

    ¡°That explains it,¡± Madrigal accepted with a smile. ¡°I know life in Coda can be a little rough sometimes.¡±

    Viola scoffed. ¡°Definitely an understatement.¡±

    ¡°You know a lot about this stuff, Viola,¡± Madrigal continued happily. ¡°You¡¯re so smart!¡±

    Viola glowed with just enough pride that it drew a smile from Octavia. ¡°I¡¯ve got an excellent teacher who taught me all I need to know.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes absolutely sparkled. ¡°Teach me everything you know! I want to become an expert on magic!¡±

    ¡°Not magic, Maestros,¡± Viola chided. ¡°There¡¯s a world of difference between them.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a little bit magic,¡± Octavia whispered playfully. The eye roll she earned was probably deserved.

    Where Octavia would¡¯ve somewhat expected Viola to grow weary beneath the burden of explaining the Maestro world once more, the Maestra took the task in stride. Rather than wilting beneath the scorching sun, she once more blossomed into the knowledgeable guide Octavia knew her to be on Madrigal¡¯s behalf. It wasn¡¯t necessarily that her voice was more welcome than Madrigal¡¯s--more or less seared into her brain as the latter had become by this point.

    Still, the sight of Madrigal utterly starstruck and clinging to the girl¡¯s every last word was endearing in its own way. It wasn¡¯t as severely arduous of a journey as she¡¯d truly feared, with only the violent temperatures and the mildly-ominous distance to bar her path. Every step could¡¯ve been worse.

    For how one overwhelming boom rippled through her blood and stole those very steps clean out from beneath her, she found a third obstacle entirely.

 6. Cherry

    The explosive boom that had rattled the ground beneath Octavia¡¯s feet left leaves raining, birds screaming, and dirt peppering her at every angle. It was as unpleasant as it was sudden, and she¡¯d initially feared she¡¯d outright hit her head. It took effort to prop herself up onto her elbows, and yet more so to warily will herself back to her feet in full. Madrigal and Viola had fared no better, just as startled and perhaps twice as disoriented. Still, they took it in stride with notable concern.

    ¡°What on earth was that?¡± Madrigal asked calmly, assisting Viola in rising from the dirt with one swift tug of her hand.

    ¡°Bandits?¡± Octavia guessed half-heartedly. It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d ever actually encountered the issue before, given the relative safety of Silver Ridge.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Bandits definitely don¡¯t sound like that.¡±

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Where did it come from?¡±

    ¡°Left, I think?¡± Viola tried, brushing flecks of abundantly-blessed dirt off of her dress skirt. ¡°From the woods? I don¡¯t know, I-I¡¯m a bit disoriented. It was sudden.¡±

    Boom.

    The second time was equally sudden and equally jarring, with nature suffering much the same collateral damage. The hailing leaves and crying birds came in the wake of Octavia¡¯s best efforts to stay on her feet, forced to brace against Viola as the ground practically quaked beneath her yet again. She winced. It was most definitely from the left, and most definitely from the woods.

    Reaching for Stradivaria was a reflex. Still, Viola shook her head just as Octavia¡¯s fingers had brushed against the case¡¯s rugged material. ¡°Don¡¯t. Not unless it¡¯s an emergency. Pulling out a Harmonial Instrument in front of a normal person is a terrible idea, especially with this being a pretty bad place for thefts recently.¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°What if someone¡¯s in trouble, though?¡±

    ¡°Assess the situation first, then react,¡± Viola answered sharply.

    It wasn¡¯t the most pleasant course of action. Inevitably, Octavia¡¯s feet were moving before her thoughts could catch up, and it was somewhat ironic that she found herself running towards the earth-shattering sounds that had blighted her balance. She tossed one look over her shoulder at the Maestras in her wake, slowing slightly as their visages rapidly faded.

    ¡°Keep going!¡± Viola shouted. ¡°If someone¡¯s in trouble, you need to go first! We¡¯ll catch up, I promise!¡±

    Octavia nodded. She hadn¡¯t exactly stopped to consider the discrepancies in their athleticism. Still, abandoning them felt bad. She pressed on regardless.

    It was no Silver Ridge, let alone any forest she¡¯d ever been familiar with. It came with the territory of departing the woods she¡¯d long since grown accustomed to sprinting through regularly, although that did little to impede her flight. She pushed deep, dodging low-hanging shrubbery and side-stepping unfortunately-placed bushes as was necessary.

    There was a pang of anxiety that came with the onset of disorientation. If she were to turn back, she would surely be lost. She could only hope, largely, that Viola and Madrigal could find her position instead. It was a reflex to hunt for familiar landmarks regardless, lost as she knew herself to be. That, too, came with dread, given how she quickly found none.

    The field was sudden, at least. The dense greenery gave way with such a startling contrast that Octavia nearly tripped. It was a battlefield, practically, annihilated in every way. Toppled trees, splintered branches, scattered sticks, and every curse upon flora she could conceive of littered the earth. One tripping hazard in the form of the sight alone hadn¡¯t been nearly enough, for how each and every upturned root thrusting into the open air threatened to steal her balance yet again. There was no room to run, and this was as miserable as it was confusing. It was a storm localized to one clearing alone, artificial as she¡¯d slowly come to classify it.

    Boom.

    It was thunderous, infinitely louder as it rattled the ground beneath her feet yet again. She lost her balance in full once more, staggering backwards before meeting the hard embrace of a downed oak with her skull. Her head throbbed fiercely, and she groaned. Tripping was no longer her sole hazard, although she kicked herself for being as surprised as she was. It took effort to find her balance in the wake of pain, struggling to step, crawl, and press her way ever further into the absolute extensive mess of ruined nature.

    The sheer amount of trees that could possibly be felled in one clearing, flourishing as they¡¯d once been, was inconceivable. Those that still stood, clinging to their vibrant foliage and innocently soaking in sunshine, were ignorant to what had befallen those in their wake. As to the boy tilting his head at the base of one yet left intact, he was out of place. Again and again did he angle his fingers as was necessary, although the nature of his presumed measurements was untraceable. He backpedaled. Octavia did the same, preemptively. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure why. It didn¡¯t stop her from staring intently.

    His grin was relentless. With several quick steps forwards, it took one harsh downward swing of his wrists for the world before Octavia¡¯s eyes to explode.

    Thunder itself practically erupted in her ears. The outright shockwave that followed the deafening boom had her tumbling, blasted clean off her feet by a notable margin and thudding painfully against the earth below. It was with more than a slight mouthful of dirt that she sputtered, and it took more than a moment to will her eyes open. She was grateful she hadn¡¯t hit her head this time, at least.

    She felt bad for the tree, mangled much the same as its dead brethren not so far behind. The leaves so viciously stolen still swirled gracefully in the air, settling gently to a forest floor trashed with splintered wood and spearing remnants of birch. She was lucky the debris hadn¡¯t been launched in her direction, frankly.

    Rising to her feet with ringing ears was a challenge, and she staggered all the way there. No amount of fiercely shaking her head was eradicating the lingering sound, and she groaned in aggravation. It was with mild horror that the floral assailant was not unfazed, and yet more so that he was far from satisfied. His target had shifted to yet more thriving greenery, already indulging in yet the same careful sequence of reversing steps. The moment his hands rose high aloft once more, Octavia practically lunged in desperation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± she cried.

    The boy halted abruptly, his hands still raised high over his head as he cast his gaze over his shoulder. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said don¡¯t,¡± Octavia called, quieter this time. ¡°Please, don¡¯t.¡±

    He lowered his arms. It was a relief.

    She didn¡¯t see cherry oak very often.

    Either palm cradled one slice, elongated as they were and gripped so specifically. ¡°Can I help you?¡± the boy asked, his voice tinted with something playful.

    Octavia hesitated--that wasn¡¯t exactly the reaction she expected. ¡°Are you...knocking all these over?¡±

    He shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°And if I am?¡± he teased.

    Octavia faltered. ¡°Well...why, exactly?¡±

    The boy grinned again, bearing a shining and devious smile that was almost unnerving. ¡°Practicing.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°For...what?¡±

    ¡°Just training. You ask a lot of questions of a total stranger, don¡¯t you, braids?¡±

    Octavia frowned, reaching up to her hair absentmindedly. ¡°¡®Braids¡¯?¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°Well, you didn¡¯t exactly give me a name. You got one?¡±

    ¡°O-Octavia¡±, she stammered. He was unnerving, actually.

    He grinned that same immaculate grin. ¡°Tavi, then.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°Ta¡­vi?¡±

    For as baffling as the situation was overall, her primary fears came in the form of the boy¡¯s dismissal. With how his eyes were already flickering to yet more living foliage, she found the time to lunge before he could raise his hands in full once more. It took effort not to scream.

    ¡°Seriously, please don¡¯t!¡± she pleaded, half-tempted to outright grab his wrists. ¡°You¡¯re going to destroy this entire forest.¡±

    He lowered his arms, shrugging in mock defeat. ¡°Alright, alright, I give up. Guess I did enough for one day, huh? Enough that you had to come and cut me off, right?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands curled into fists, largely out of annoyance alone. ¡°People can hear you doing...whatever it is you¡¯re doing, all the way from the main road. You¡¯re gonna give someone a heart attack. You practically almost gave me one. Several times,¡± she added quickly.

    ¡°I gotcha, I gotcha. Let me extend my most humble apologies,¡± he jeered, faking a bow.

    He was becoming irritating, slightly. Octavia did her best not to let it show, although she feared she was failing already. Still, his overly-exaggerated gesture left one little length of gorgeous cherry oak exposed enough to catch her eye. The pattern nestled deep into the wood at the base was burningly nostalgic. It was a different flavor of irritating. She raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    Her full name was more welcome, by comparison. The sound of footsteps trodding upon broken twigs and scattered leaves accompanied breathlessness. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    She turned sharply on one heel, desperate to meet Viola and Madrigal halfway. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine! Are you okay?¡±

    Viola screeched to a halt, doubling over with hands on her knees as she gasped deeply for air. She panted heavily, every word laborious and breathless. ¡°Went¡­as fast as I could. What¡¯s¡­going on? Did you¡­find out¡­what was happening?¡±

    Octavia tossed a glance back over her shoulder. He was undeterred, largely. His arms were crossed, his weight had shifted comfortably onto one foot, and the same mischievous grin was practically permanent. If possible, it may have actually grown more severe. He cocked his head.

    ¡°You brought company, Tavi?¡± he called, offering a wave that was nearly condescending.

    ¡°Please stop calling me that,¡± she deadpanned.

    Viola scowled. Her mouth was already halfway open, and yet whatever venom she was sure to concoct was cut short by another Maestra altogether. Madrigal was unflinching, every step somewhere between enthusiastic and resolute as she approached the boy without hesitation. This was new. Octavia held her breath, given the way by which Madrigal didn¡¯t seem the confrontational type.

    She was polite about it, surprisingly, and equally as calm. ¡°Please stop messing up the trees. You¡¯re scaring the birds.¡±

    He blinked.

    ¡°My name is Madrigal,¡± she continued, resting one hand gently upon her heart, ¡°and as a protector of all that is fair and just, I cannot let you continue this heinous behavior any longer.¡±

    And only then did he grin once more, chaotic in a way that made Octavia flinch on sight. He came to rest gently on one knee in the dirt, both halves of cherry oak settling into one hand alone. It was with his freed grasp that he cradled her fingers, raising them delicately to his lips. For how his smile was endless, it was a miracle he could lay his playful kiss upon her skin at all.

    ¡°My bad, princess,¡± he murmured, his teasing eyes flickering up to hers with a wink. ¡°Won¡¯t happen again, just for you.¡±

    The silence that ensued was unfathomably loaded. Octavia couldn¡¯t decide exactly when to breathe, if ever. It was a bubble she feared popping, for the aftermath she knew would surely follow. Madrigal, at least, was content enough. It was an understatement, possibly, given the way by which her eyes absolutely sparkled and her cheeks burst into a brilliant scarlet. She was aglow, unmoving and utterly captivated as she watched him with awe. His grin was unshaken. That was expected. It was Viola alone who objected, apparently, and not with grace.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°You absolute freak!¡±

    Silver Brevada¡¯s case falling to the dirt with a thud startled Octavia. The way by which the instrument was unsheathed in such a violent manner was equally as startling. Within seconds, the flute was readied at Viola¡¯s lips threateningly. ¡°Get away from her right now!¡±

    The boy raised his arms in mock surrender, releasing Madrigal¡¯s hand at last. ¡°Jealous much?¡± he teased.

    ¡°Viola, what are you doing?¡± Octavia cried. ¡°Are you out of your mind?¡±

    Never once did her fingers move from the keys, steadied as they were. Her eyes flashed with abject rage. ¡°He¡¯s a scoundrel who preys on innocent girls! You¡¯re okay with that?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°You can¡¯t fight another person with that! You¡¯re the one that told me only to use our instruments for emergencies!¡±

    ¡°This qualifies,¡± Viola spat. ¡°I don¡¯t take kindly to...low-lifes who would put their hands on a girl they¡¯ve never met.¡±

    He was unfazed by her ire, hands on his hips with the same wide grin. ¡°Isn¡¯t ¡®low-life¡¯ a little harsh?¡±

    ¡°Shut your mouth!¡±

    The snowflakes were a threat, not at all hollow by any means. Every flurry born of each shrill note rose high, swirling aimlessly above the girl¡¯s head. Each breath brought yet more, and a blizzard laid in wait behind only patient lips. They were in stark contrast with the enraged fire in her eyes, leveled squarely at the boy who drank in her icy melody with wide eyes and surprise.

    His grin faltered for precisely a fraction of a second. Octavia counted. When it returned, it was downright explosive. ¡°Oh. That changes things a bit, I think.¡±

    ¡°Viola, knock it off!¡± Octavia scolded, battling her rising panic. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, I think he¡¯s--¡±

    She was stubborn, and her song was more so. Where once had been dangerous flurries now came the crystalline wrath Octavia knew, spiked and jagged with harmful intent. The degree to which her assault was remorseless was terrifying, every swift movement of her fingers and unhesitant breath sending her spearing ice hurtling forth. The collision course they¡¯d set with the boy, too, was no empty threat, and her aim was horrifically accurate. Octavia had half a mind to warn him, although her cries would¡¯ve surely come too late. At least one sailing icicle was streaming far, far too precisely on a clear path to his head.

    Octavia had hardly needed to worry for his safety. There was a different flavor of horror that came with his own familiar motions. With his wrists high and his grin eternal, another downward swing landed her flat on her back yet again.

    Viola was not at all immune to the resounding boom that followed, blown clean off her feet with a scream. She tumbled gracelessly in reverse, hitting the ground hard with a thud that saw her rolling to a stop in the dirt. The trickling leaves only served to add insult to injury, raining upon the Maestra gently from above as she groaned. Octavia was once more cursed with a mouthful of dirt, coughing heavily as she staggered to her feet. The ice had fared poorly, either annihilated like helpless glass or spearing deep into the soft earth. Not one sliver of shimmering crystal had grazed the boy¡¯s skin. He seemed proud enough of himself about it.

    His devilish smirk was becoming a catalyst for disaster, given the way Viola only bristled further beneath it. In the time it took her to scramble out of the dirt with a growl, he had the leisure to playfully spin each little stick between his deft fingers. Madrigal was taking it well down upon the ground, her eyes glimmering as they were.

    ¡°Wow,¡± she breathed. ¡°You¡¯re amazing.¡±

    The boy winked at her. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely compliment from a princess for a guy like me.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± Octavia scolded. ¡°Intervene! Do something!¡±

    ¡°And you can start by getting far away from this lunatic!¡± Viola shouted, practically screaming into the flute. Her first failed attempt be damned, the same chilling harmony was enough to bring forth yet more piercing icicles aloft in wait.

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°Viola, he¡¯s a Maestro! This is ridiculous! You honestly think we should be fighting other Maestros?¡±

    If Viola had heard her, she made no indication of such. Every note was violent, and every spearing sliver of crystal slashed through the air relentlessly. It took only a simple sidestep for the boy to evade, not even gracing her with the effort of an explosive counter. The close call was perhaps more insulting, and one singular icicle sailed clean past his face. It just barely rustled his curls, piercing the innocent trunk of the tree at his back with a thunk. Octavia could audibly hear her growling.

    ¡°Good shot,¡± he teased. ¡°Could use a little work on your aim, though.¡±

    She was practically radiating bloodlust. Shard after shard of crystalline fury bore down on the boy again and again. Each shot was in vain, for how he dodged with equal parts skill and surprising coolness. Given how effortless he made every action seem, Octavia was almost offended on Viola¡¯s behalf. She was sincerely beginning to think his grin was permanent. It absolutely was not easing the Maestra¡¯s ire.

    ¡°You¡¯re disgusting!¡± she shouted. ¡°You complete freak! You¡¯re revolting! You¡¯re sick! You are absolutely vile! What the hell is wrong with you?¡±

    Octavia chanced a glance at Madrigal instead. She was of no more assistance, truthfully, a starstruck audience of one as she was. Her smile, at least, was far more innocent. By comparison to Viola, who was actively rattling off an extremely specific string of insults Octavia was not aware she knew, they were opposites to a disorienting degree. Viola refused to let up, despite the futility of her efforts. The outright arsenal of enraged ice ambling above the girl spoke to her endless fury, spearing onwards time after time with every frustrated scream into Silver Brevada. It got her nowhere.

    He absolutely wasn¡¯t helping. If anything, he was making it worse, indulging her efforts with his own explosive prowess--low effort as it was, with only lazy flicks of his wrists to show for it. They were smaller, localized, and significantly more tolerable. Each little boom was not nearly enough to decimate foliage or knock Octavia off her feet. The miniature shockwaves were still more than enough to return each and every icicle to its rightful owner--much to their Maestra¡¯s extreme dismay. The chunks of unfortunate ice that splintered and cracked from each crystal fell helplessly to the dirt with thud after thud.

    Try as she might, it was a trial for Octavia to wrap her head around his Harmonial Instrument--Instruments, perhaps. It had to end eventually, lest he have yet more surprises to share. The possibility of further collateral damage was chilling and aggravating all at once. It was to say nothing of their collective volume.

    She fidgeted uncomfortably. ¡°Listen, mister...uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Renato,¡± the boy called, never once stilling his half-hearted defense.

    ¡°Renato,¡± Octavia echoed. ¡°We don¡¯t need to be fighting right now!¡±

    ¡°Speak for yourself!¡± Viola cried. Her assault was eternal, every frosted shard utterly unable to accept defeat as they sailed forth consistently.

    ¡°Viola, shut up,¡± Octavia growled harshly. ¡°We need to get to Coda, we¡¯re losing precious time, he said he wouldn¡¯t damage the forest anymore, and two Maestros should not be fighting one another!¡±

    ¡°She started it,¡± Renato replied with a calm shrug.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m ending it! Besides, we need all the Maestro help we can get, right?¡± Octavia pressed, fixing Viola with a violent glare.

    ¡°Not from him,¡± Viola shot back with venom. ¡°We don¡¯t need anything to do with a selfish freak who thinks it¡¯s okay to destroy his surroundings and put his filthy hands on any girl he sees!¡±

    She thought to highlight Madrigal¡¯s not-so-repulsed reaction. Ultimately, she bit her tongue. ¡°Then at the absolute least, we shouldn¡¯t be wasting our time and energy picking a fight when we¡¯re not even in Coda yet! Do you still want to make it there by nightfall or not?¡±

    Viola hesitated, stilling before lowering the flute from her lips. Gradually, what threatening ice remained above her head surrendered in turn, melting and fizzling into soft flakes swept up by the breeze alone. The sheer quantity that had been left over was mildly distressing to observe, and Octavia had half a mind to believe she¡¯d resume the same losing battle seconds later. The Maestra never once tore her eyes from Renato as she snatched Silver Brevada¡¯s case from the dirt, brushing stray debris from the shell with the back of her hand.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t over,¡± she growled harshly.

    Renato¡¯s grin never faltered. It was with unnecessary flair that he twirled each drumstick skillfully between his fingers before slipping both within the inner confines of his vest. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you girls won¡¯t be wanting my company, then.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare give Viola the chance to open her mouth, cutting her off instantly. It took physical steps between the two Maestros to ensure their continued ceasefire. ¡°This is over, this didn¡¯t happen, we¡¯re going to Coda, have a nice life,¡± she barked. ¡°Madrigal, get up, we¡¯re going.¡±

    Madrigal blinked, dazed as she was. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re going? Okay, we¡¯re going.¡±

    Renato extended one hand to Madrigal with yet another playful wink. ¡°Need a little help?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes sparkled with something differently dangerous as he swiftly pulled her from the ground, landing the Maestra too closely into his open arms for comfort as he did so. The scarlet dusting her cheeks was softer the second time around, to be fair. It was still more than enough for Octavia to read her like a book. Handling one Maestra was enough. Octavia didn¡¯t have the energy left.

    As quickly as was possible, she clamped her hand around Madrigal¡¯s wrist, dragging accordingly opposite Renato. It left one Maestra in either hand, emotional opposites of one another flanking Octavia against her will. Madrigal was resistant in her own way, one needy hand half-extended in the boy¡¯s direction for a final swipe at his charisma. Octavia wasn¡¯t having it.

    ¡°We¡¯re going,¡± she snapped, tugging harder on either wrist in her grasp. She didn¡¯t care that they stumbled. It was necessary.

    Watching her step with her hands full was a challenge in and of itself. She tossed a passing glance over her shoulder, somewhat grateful he wasn¡¯t following. He was waving, regardless. She rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Viola,¡± she started, her voice laced with aggravation, ¡°what on earth were you thinking? Do you want us to get in trouble?¡±

    ¡°He destroyed the forest!¡± she cried defensively, wriggling her way out of Octavia¡¯s grip. ¡°He put his hands on Madrigal! How was I supposed to react?¡±

    ¡°Not by attacking him! He already told me he¡¯d stop destroying the trees!¡± Octavia argued.

    ¡°And you believed him? You¡¯re being naive!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being impulsive!¡± Octavia growled. ¡°You¡¯re the one that wanted to gather as many Maestros as we could! Hell, that was the first boy we¡¯ve even seen with a Harmonial Instrument!¡±

    Viola found room for ire in between her best attempts to watch her step. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if he¡¯s a Maestro or not if he acts like that! Unrefined, undignified--¡±

    ¡°Viola, you watched me eat mushrooms off the ground!¡±

    ¡°Not that kind of unrefined! Someone who has no regard for others, and...and does whatever he wants!¡± she exclaimed breathlessly, making wide and exaggerated motions with her hands. ¡°Is it wrong not to want the company of some random freak who puts his hands on your friends?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Madrigal breathed, surrendering to Octavia¡¯s tugging in full. ¡°He was...lovely.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal, seriously? You¡¯re fine with some guy just...grabbing you? Kissing you?¡± Viola cried with astonishment.

    ¡°It was romantic,¡± she murmured, her eyes already sparkling once more. ¡°He even called me his princess.¡±

    Octavia released Madrigal¡¯s hand to rub her temples. Admittedly, the idea of Madrigal as a hopeless romantic was not at all a stretch. She chided herself for not seeing it coming.

    ¡°Just...don¡¯t do it again,¡± Octavia added. ¡°It¡¯s over, it¡¯s done with, it didn¡¯t happen.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it happened,¡± Viola muttered indignantly.

    Somewhere in the midst of her frustrations came sunshine, devoid of oppressive greenery and beating upon her in full. Octavia sighed heavily, brushing away what stray bits of dirt and earth had come to cling to her dress. They¡¯d salvaged daylight, at least. It was an awkward silence, three pools of emotion stirred by two little sticks of cherry oak. She almost had the urge to go back and start a problem solely by proxy of the ones he¡¯d left her with. She kept her mouth shut and her feet forward. The silence wasn¡¯t awful, on further thought.

    He¡¯d left a terrible first impression of Maestros, if her prior and more gentle experiences of Maestras had been a framework to go by. It was to say nothing of the fact that several short days had already afforded her three Maestros in total, for how she¡¯d not so much as known of their existence earlier in the week. To be fair, even Viola had been equally stunned to discover Madrigal¡¯s questionably-glorious prowess, steadfast in the face of Dissonance. For as aggravating as the smug boy in the forest had been, she now kicked herself repeatedly for not peppering him with more questions while she¡¯d had the chance. Had Viola exercised a shred of restraint, she may have found something of merit. Again, she sighed.

    If it was Viola rather than Madrigal, the degree to which she would¡¯ve been level-headed was debatable. The idea of a stranger, Maestro or not, casually placing their hands on Viola instead was enough to make her stomach churn. Retrospectively, it was an uncomfortable thought.

    She chanced a peek at Viola, resigned more to apparent embarrassment as she guarded her gaze. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly feel unjustified. Still, she couldn¡¯t quite find the words to make amends regardless. She intended to try. Madrigal didn¡¯t give her the chance.

    ¡°I can see it!¡± Madrigal cried, literally jumping for joy with an energy Octavia deeply envied. She followed the path of one excited finger, aimed squarely at the horizon. ¡°Look!¡±

    And when she followed the gesture, her own eyes widened in turn. It wasn¡¯t with the exact same gasp of exuberant joy that she relished the sight, but it was with wonder all the same. Silver Ridge was shameful, suddenly, for its size by comparison. Even from a distance, the walls were as ornate as they were towering. The populace beyond the arching entrance was as abundant as it was intimidating. Her mental imagery hadn¡¯t done it justice, and she feared her heart would burst the moment she set foot into the city.

    She was aware Viola was staring. She hardly cared. There was a satisfaction that came with catching Viola¡¯s genuine smile in her peripheral, for what aggravation had preceded it. The view was more important.

    ¡°Viola?¡± Octavia squeaked out, her voice almost cracking.

    Viola nodded, stifling a giggle. She gestured with one proud hand towards the horizon accordingly.

    ¡°Ladies, I present to you the capital city of Coda.¡±

 7. The Flower Boy, Part I

    The view from a distance had already nearly crushed her. Up close, it threatened to swallow her whole and shatter her to pieces, overstimulating in every way.

    The aura of the city stole the air from her throat and refused to return it, for how engulfed she was by its atmosphere nearly immediately. What liveliness had been thrust upon her in Minuevera paled in comparison to that of the capital, given the sheer volume of conversation and the absurd quantity of passersby that were visible in every direction. The roadside stalls were beautiful, the storefronts colorful and captivating, the denizens exuberant, and the general energy of a world so unlike Silver Ridge utterly mesmerizing. She could¡¯ve watched it all day in passing. She nearly did, frozen in place as she was. She didn¡¯t dare move, lest the scene crack like glass and she awaken from another eight hours staring at a box instead.

    Something soft and warm squeezed her mildly-trembling hand, and she jumped slightly. Viola tugged onwards gently, navigating with a skillful calm through the bustling environment. Octavia held onto her for all she was worth, her eyes desperately clinging to the little blue bow bouncing above the chaos.

    ¡°I told you that you hadn¡¯t seen anything yet, didn¡¯t I?¡± Viola teased.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­incredible,¡± Octavia breathed.

    Every step was something new. It was a risk to lift her gaze aloft, and yet she couldn¡¯t help it. The buildings that crested well over her head gifted the streets with shade from the summer sun. Every shadow she passed beneath brought with it a chill that matched wonderfully with those besieging her spine already. One after another, they passed her by, balcony after balcony towering above in place of clouds. She could hardly see the sky, present as she knew it to be.

    She nearly stumbled in the wake of children sprinting past, indifferent to her wondrous musing as they laughed and played carelessly. It was a miracle that Viola grasped her in full when she did, and she surrendered to the girl¡¯s brisk embrace with a grateful heart--pounding or otherwise.

    ¡°Be careful. It can get crowded here,¡± Viola warned quickly.

    Octavia nodded, still more than dazed as she pulled away. ¡°Uh, yeah. I can tell.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s glow wasn¡¯t quite as vivid as Octavia¡¯s own, and yet she was still elated all the same. Octavia had briefly forgotten she existed, for how swept up she¡¯d been in the city¡¯s splendor. The Maestra clasped her hands behind her back happily, beaming. ¡°No matter how many times I come here, there¡¯s always something new! Listen, listen, I hate to leave, but I have stuff to trade before the end of the day on the south side of the shopping district. Where should I meet you guys once I¡¯m done?¡±

    Viola hesitated briefly. ¡°Vacanti Manor. North end, residential district. Try to get there before it gets dark. You can stay with us for the night.¡±

    Madrigal beamed, already backpedaling into the crowd with one overly-dramatic salute in her wake. ¡°Will do! See you in a bit!¡± she cried.

    Viola let out a sigh the moment the girl had merged seamlessly with the sea of strangers, practically evaporating from view in an instant. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure whether to be honest or not. Still, if she¡¯s a Maestra, it¡¯d be good to let her meet my grandmother too.¡±

    Octavia chuckled. ¡°You still think she only came with us by coincidence?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I highly, highly doubt it. Not that having another Maestra along for the ride is necessarily a bad thing.¡±

    Octavia smiled, her steps somewhat lighter as she slowly adjusted to the atmosphere. ¡°And now we¡¯re headed to your grandmother¡¯s place, right?¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s my house too,¡± she scoffed playfully. ¡°Just...keep an open mind.¡±

    ¡°Also, did I hear you say ¡®manor¡¯ earlier? Like, the¡­mansion kind?¡±

    Viola averted her eyes, a tint of red splashing her cheeks. ¡°I mean, you already knew I was...well-off.¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°I just didn¡¯t know by how much. I bet it¡¯ll feel good to be home again, huh?¡±

    Viola¡¯s face darkened for a split second. ¡°I don¡¯t mind being away from home much.¡±

    Octavia kicked herself almost instantly. For the admission she¡¯d just been entrusted with last night, it was a fatal question. Viola¡¯s father had outright slipped her mind. She battled to change the subject as quickly as was possible.

    ¡°So¡­once we talk to your grandmother, what¡¯s the plan again?¡±

    Viola crossed her arms as she walked, carefully freeing Octavia¡¯s hand at last. ¡°You and Madrigal get acquainted with her. My grandmother fills you in on everything she¡¯s ever taught me about being a Maestra. We tell her what we¡¯ve seen, and we tell her about your sister. Even if she doesn¡¯t know something directly, odds are she can point us in the right direction.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a really big city, from the looks of it. Someone¡¯s bound to have seen her if she ever came this way, right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s one hell of a place for information, that¡¯s for sure. You¡¯ll find just about anything and everything you¡¯ll ever need in Coda.¡±

    Octavia nodded once more. Given how relatively close the city was on foot from Silver Ridge, it was somewhat surprising that an entirely different world had thrived only several dozen miles away from home. Her mother¡¯s scolding be damned, she could¡¯ve made the voyage alone, had she known far longer ago. It was almost regretful. Still, she was here now, and that counted for something. Managing any of this without Viola was impossible to imagine, regardless.

    ¡°Do you want anything while we¡¯re out here? I know I said we need to focus, but I also know you...haven¡¯t really had the chance to look around yet,¡± Viola offered.

    Octavia smiled. ¡°I¡¯m happy just to take in the sights a bit. Still a little overwhelmed.¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind.¡±

    Her eyes wandered accordingly, and the sights truly were enough of a souvenir. For everything she¡¯d believed she¡¯d already seen, yet more lay behind. Some were relatively familiar, for the specific storefronts and vendors with artisanal wares she could recognize even from home. Some were far more foreign, by which she¡¯d never seen such textured fabrics or delicacies in her life. She committed every splash of color to memory, abundant or isolated. The faces and hands coupled with each and every aspect of daily life were largely forgettable, for as almost rude as it felt to say. She couldn¡¯t help it. Coda itself was simply more enthralling.

    Flowers were familiar, at least. Azaleas, in particular, she was fond of. It was one of several familiarities she could count up in the city thus far. The beautiful petals spilling over the side of the basket were handled with care and a gentle touch that, too, reminded her of home. He was smaller than the other merchants by a substantial margin, to say nothing of his age. She could hardly consider him one at all, try as she might. He was successful enough, and the rosy blooms gathered in bunches spoke for themselves where his confident voice didn¡¯t quite reach. It was an effective combination. She respected it, young as he was.

    Their eyes met. He had a lovely smile.

    Octavia did all she could to give one back. So, too, did she slip her backpack off her shoulders, dropping to one knee in the street as she rummaged gently through her belongings.

    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Viola asked, slowing to a stop beside her in turn.

    ¡°There¡¯s a boy over there selling flowers. I wanted to buy one,¡± she answered, continuing her rummaging. For the angle she was at, still crouched awkwardly, Stradivaria¡¯s case slid uncomfortably down her shoulders. No amount of strange adjustments was accommodating the instrument, and she struggled to bear with the discomfort of its displaced weight for a moment.

    ¡°Do you want me to see if I have anything on me?¡± Viola offered.

    The moment Octavia opened her mouth to decline, she found only the taste of crumbling stone on her tongue. She hit the ground face-first, falling forward forcefully as something collided with her from behind. Her cheeks scraped the road painfully, and she groaned, splayed out without a shred of grace upon the ground.

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going!¡± she heard Viola cry.

    It took her a moment to raise her head, throbbing as it was. Viola¡¯s arms around her shoulders led her to her feet, and she staggered slightly. She had enough time to witness her presumed careless assailant speed off into the crowd, small and indifferent to her suffering. Viola rolled her eyes on Octavia¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°God, that¡¯s ridiculous! I¡¯m so sorry, people don¡¯t watch where they¡¯re going here,¡± she apologized profusely.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, really,¡± Octavia reassured her, brushing flakes of stray stone off her skin as she straightened up. ¡°No harm done.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± Viola fretted, reaching for the backpack resting patiently on the ground. With mild effort, she raised it aloft, brushing away excess debris and returning it to its rightful owner.

    Octavia nodded once in appreciation, slipping the bag over her shoulders once more. She stretched uncomfortably, for how her body still ached in the wake of the collision. Her shoulders felt light, at least, and she rubbed them accordingly. They were too light, perhaps. She patted the unfamiliarly-empty space on her skin once more, strangely unoccupied. She did it twice. The moment her eyes fell to the ground and found nothing, her heart dropped into her stomach instantly.

    ¡°Viola,¡± she forced out, her voice shaking, ¡°where¡¯s Stradivaria?¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened in horror. ¡°You don¡¯t have it?¡±

    ¡°I-I didn¡¯t even put it on the ground, it was just on my shoulder!¡± she cried. ¡°I put my backpack down, but then I--¡±

    ¡°Fell,¡± Viola finished quietly.

    Viola¡¯s eyes and hers moved nearly in tandem. If Octavia squinted, the little figure who¡¯d so speedily passed her by trailed the far fringes of the crowd. They were fading rapidly.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Viola shouted.

    It hardly mattered. Octavia had long since come to the same conclusion, dashing as quickly as was possible in the figure¡¯s general direction. For how fast she ran, pushing through the ambling crowd was a challenge. Every ¡°excuse me¡± and ¡°sorry¡± that flew involuntarily from her lips cost her yet more precious time and breath. Weaving between stall after merchant after bystander was arduous and somewhat terrifying. If she squinted hard at the bend in the road, she could just barely catch a distant figure outright sprinting. She battled to move faster, difficult as it was in such an environment.

    The sweat that beaded on her brow threatened to trail down her cheeks in turn. The more she ran, the more the city blurred. Every turn was disorienting, and tracking the same dot from afar with her panicked gaze alone was a trial. She failed at it more every second, her heart pounding from more than effort alone.

    She had no landmarks, unfamiliar as the city was. The forest was one thing. A crowded city packed with every person in the world was another crisis entirely. Every step left her more lost than the last, and she could¡¯ve sworn her vision was unfocusing in time with her panic. She was losing them. Her stomach hurt. She ran anyway, her dash growing more desperate by the second.

    Her footsteps echoed, frantic as they were. They doubled. They were distant, closer, and then too near to ignore--certainly not her own. They were at her back, and the wind was then suddenly at her side. Someone sprinted past, faster than even she¡¯d strained herself to go. She knew herself to be significantly fast. They were faster. Her eyes widened.

    ¡°This way!¡±

    The hand thrown around Octavia¡¯s wrist jerked her forward with such force that she could¡¯ve stumbled, had her pace not already been so rapid. The stranger who led her onwards was unyielding, every hurried step possibly even faster than the last. They were skilled, weaving in and out of the crowd with a talent she couldn¡¯t dare hope to match. By comparison, she still continued to jostle nearly everyone in her wake. The wind stung her eyes as she battled to meet their speed, pushing her body to her limits. It was a faster rush than she was used to, and she feared as to whether or not she could maintain it for long. It took extreme effort to move close enough to steal their eyes.

    ¡°E-Excuse me?¡± she tried in the process. ¡°Where are we--¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he offered softly, his breath surprisingly steady at such a speed.

    He¡¯d surrendered his lovely smile and his bountiful blossoms in favor of her hand. His sharp gaze softened only to meet hers, falling narrow once more the moment his eyes snapped forward. Octavia didn¡¯t fight him, confused as she was. It was all she could do to match his speed.

    Octavia had no idea where she was, and she didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off him for more reasons than one. The crowd was thinning, and yet it left her deep into territory she knew she¡¯d be permanently and hopelessly lost in alone. Viola had long since been abandoned behind her. The stone walls rising high on every side threatened to suffocate her. The alleyways and winding paths meeting her every frantic footstep threatened to trip her up at every opportunity. She wanted to hold her breath. She didn¡¯t have the luxury in the slightest. She ran, and ran, and ran.

    In the time it took her to fear for her stamina, she was rewarded with the sight of a case she¡¯d grown to love. It was tethered to shoulders not her own, small as they were and young as the stranger was. How someone could sprint so swiftly on bare feet was beyond her, and it was almost impressive. Her eyes widened, her heart skipping several beats it couldn¡¯t afford to miss.

    ¡°That¡¯s my violin!¡± she cried, her eyes darting to her sprinting savior pleadingly.

    He gritted his teeth, surrendering her wrist. ¡°I know.¡±

    Without her added weight, he was somehow even faster. It was almost unbelievable. His body was low to the ground as he surged forward, and she honestly felt slow by comparison. The gap between the two boys narrowed rapidly. Several seconds later, his sharp eyes were challenged only by his swift movements. He outright lunged, his feet leaving the ground as he threw himself forwards.

    He was more than successful, his arms thrown quickly and efficiently around the waist of the fleeing stranger. So, too, did he go down in turn, crashing to the gravel below gracelessly. The fall did neither of them justice, and they rolled at least four times over beneath the momentum of such speed. Octavia winced at the sight, Stradivaria¡¯s case caught somewhere in the midst of their rough tumbling again and again.

    ¡°Domino!¡± she heard him growl, a tone far less soft than he¡¯d offered her. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±

    Octavia skidded to a stop herself, nearly slipping on the gravel in the process. She panted heavily, doubling over as her hands fell to her knees desperately. It took more energy than she had to spare to raise her head, refusing to peel her eyes away from the interaction. It still left Stradivaria¡¯s case scraping the ground. It was distressing.

    The smaller of the two boys was practically growling, battling to wriggle out of her floral savior¡¯s iron grip. He was pinned more than effectively, and that, too, was impressive. No amount of scratching at the flower boy¡¯s arms was doing him any favors. The latter doubled down with both words and physical pressure alike, undaunted.

    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing?¡± he repeated angrily.

    The smaller boy only flailed harder. ¡°What do you think I¡¯m doing, idiot?¡±

    ¡°We just talked about this!¡±

    ¡°It changes nothing!¡±

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got your ways, I¡¯ve got my ways! Get over it!¡±

    ¡°Get over what?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one trying to help!¡±

    The flower boy threw his head back, exasperated. ¡°How the hell is stealing from people supposed to help?¡±

    The smaller boy¡¯s eyes betrayed his age, for how they could¡¯ve sliced his assailant to shreds. ¡°Great way to not starve, so we can start there!¡±

    The flower boy¡¯s aggravation was almost radiant, his voice rising steadily with every word. ¡°Stop that, you know I¡¯d never let you starve! I wouldn¡¯t let anyone starve! There¡¯s literally no reason to be acting like this! We¡¯re fine! I¡¯ve got it! What the hell would you even do with a violin?¡±

    ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I know you know not to go near them! What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever I want, thank you!¡±

    The flower boy quite literally thrust his fingers deep into the mess of curls scraping the gravel, forcibly turning the smaller boy¡¯s head in Octavia¡¯s direction. ¡°Apologize to her,¡± he demanded.

    Octavia blinked. She¡¯d caught her breath. It didn¡¯t make her any less confused.

    ¡°Why should I?¡± the younger boy snarled, still somewhat resistant to the flower boy¡¯s touch as his eyes flickered to the left.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s her violin, you idiot,¡± he hissed, his voice low and his eyes dangerously sharp. ¡°I said apologize.¡±

    Something in his gaze was just sharp enough. The prolonged eye contact left the smaller boy backing down, averting his eyes first. So, too, did he dodge Octavia¡¯s eyes in turn. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered half-heartedly.

    ¡°Give it back,¡± the flower boy ordered, his voice significantly softer by comparison.

    With his hair freed of interloping fingers, the young boy pushed himself to his feet with an irritated groan. Stradivaria¡¯s case slid from his shoulders at last, and Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched at the sight of the instrument briefly sent airborne. She stumbled to make the catch, sudden as it was, and hugged the case close to her chest desperately.

    The flower boy nodded in satisfaction, rising from the ground as well. ¡°Don¡¯t do it again. I¡¯m serious.¡±

    The young boy rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous,¡± he murmured under his breath.

    His attention fell to Octavia once more, and his gentle smile was finally familiar. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry about this one. He¡¯s a little misguided, but he had no intention of hurting you.¡±

    ¡°Misguided? Seriously?¡± the small boy spat.

    ¡°Be quiet.¡±

    Again, he rolled his eyes.

    The flower boy extended one hand calmly, his eyes long since softened. ¡°Harper.¡±

    Baffled as she was, Octavia returned his touch regardless. ¡°O-Octavia.¡±

    ¡°And this is Domino,¡± he continued, gesturing towards the irritated boy accordingly.

    Octavia waved feebly. ¡°Nice to meet you, Domino.¡±

    The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. The sentiment didn¡¯t feel particularly mutual.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry we had to meet like this,¡± Harper continued. ¡°Probably not the¡­best first impression we could¡¯ve made.¡±

    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s okay! I...think? I don¡¯t know. I was just gonna buy a flower,¡± Octavia reassured, shaking her head fervently.

    His eyes lit up. ¡°You liked the flowers?¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°Azaleas, right? My dad grows some of them in his garden. I love flowers.¡±

    He beamed right back. ¡°I would¡¯ve just given you one, if you asked.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, I mean, I would¡¯ve insisted on buying it anyway. It¡¯s only right.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure no one would¡¯ve noticed one little flower missing.¡±

    For an unfamiliar city, a familiar conversation was more than welcome. ¡°Did you grow them yourself?¡±

    He tipped his hand back and forth. ¡°Sort of? I work for the florist. I¡¯m still trying to pick up the trade. Those flowers weren¡¯t specifically mine, but I did help them grow a bit. Admittedly, my flower-tending skills might be debatable.¡±

    ¡°Keep at it,¡± Octavia assured. ¡°My dad says that flowers are fickle, but once you get to know them, they¡¯ll open up to you, too.¡±

    Harper smiled. ¡°I like that idea. Your dad sounds like a smart man.¡±

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s a bit of a handful sometimes,¡± she corrected playfully. ¡°Still, he did teach me quite a bit about flowers.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? What else do you know about flowers, exactly?¡± Harper teased.

    ¡°I-I mean, I¡¯m not an expert or anything!¡± Octavia stammered. ¡°Just basic stuff. Checking soil quality, using the right kinds of fertilizer, the usual. Nothing the florist didn¡¯t teach you already, probably.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s always important to get a second opinion. Not everyone grows flowers the same way, especially in the city. Not that you¡¯re from the city, are you?¡± he asked with a knowing grin.

    Octavia blushed. ¡°Is it that obvious?¡±

    ¡°Painfully,¡± Domino muttered. It was enough to earn a swift kick to his ankle, and he winced.

    ¡°You seemed lost in the whole environment of the city,¡± Harper clarified, indifferent to the boy¡¯s pain. ¡°Plus you¡­definitely don¡¯t dress like you¡¯re from around here. I like the braids, though.¡±

    She touched them anyway, suddenly self-conscious. ¡°You¡­definitely seem to know your way around the city much better than I ever would.¡±

    Harper smiled proudly. ¡°Born and raised. All of us are, actually.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°All of you?¡±

    He draped his arm casually around Domino¡¯s shoulders, ignoring the manner by which the younger boy once more rolled his eyes dramatically. ¡°If it¡¯s okay with you, I¡¯d be happy to introduce you to everyone. If you want, I mean. I dragged you all the way out here. Might as well make it up to you somehow.¡±

    Octavia nodded with a soft smile. It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d be able to make it back on her own, regardless. She was already lost, albeit in pleasant company. She embraced it--whatever ¡°it¡± consisted of. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to.¡±

    One more spontaneous decision wouldn¡¯t kill her. The entire city was already pushing it.

 8. The Flower Boy, Part II

    The winding alleyway he¡¯d led her to was practically a maze. It took her a moment to recognize the way by which she¡¯d already traversed part of it, involuntary and unknowing as her passage had been with her wrist ensnared. If she¡¯d been left idle in such a place, she¡¯d surely die before anyone came to her rescue. The sheer amount of twists and turns in such an extensive pathway was dizzying, and her respect for his navigational skills grew with every footstep.

    Had Harper not intervened, and had she attempted such a pursuit alone through the entanglement of open-air passageways, she would no longer own a violin. He¡¯d been honest about his understanding of places less traveled, well out of both the public eye and her own. Octavia struggled not to dwell on the ¡°what-ifs¡±, for how they only threatened her stomach with knots she¡¯d never be able to untangle. He¡¯d found her. He¡¯d helped her. She wasn¡¯t permanently lost, ideally. Stradivaria was on her shoulders once more. That was enough.

    Octavia would never be able to replicate the exact series of turns he took if she tried, and she¡¯d already more than forgotten those that he did. At a pace she could enjoy with steady breaths, it took time for her to meet unhindered sunlight once more. It was almost jarring, given the way by which it flooded her with so little obstruction. Gone were the buildings that had showered her with shade, and she was graced once more with the full weight of sunshine in the heart of a strange city. It was welcome, if not confusing.

    The gravel at her feet was significantly more excessive than had been the case before, shifting slightly beneath every step. If she squinted, she could see the forest on the horizon. The greenery was welcome, stolen as it had been by the burden of architecture and civilization. Whether or not it was the one she¡¯d sprinted through previously was debatable, for how her orientation still couldn¡¯t be counted on in full. She couldn¡¯t see Renato¡¯s devastating handiwork from here. It would¡¯ve been a helpful indicator.

    ¡°It used to be a construction site, but they abandoned it for some reason. No one really comes here anymore, and no one ever tried to retake the land. It¡¯s home now,¡± Harper said with a shrug.

    She¡¯d been so caught up with the returned blessings of nature that she¡¯d largely missed the tents. They were speckled, yet notable in number all the same. They didn¡¯t exactly match, their colors varied and their materials just as such. Some succumbed to patchwork and careful stitching. There were, true to his words, signs of life--clotheslines and long-deceased fires were scattered, to a degree. It was disorganized and yet orderly all at once. The accommodations were far more than was necessary for two people, and her eyes flickered back and forth between the two boys accordingly.

    ¡°Did, uh, did you say ¡®home¡¯?¡± she asked tentatively.

    Harper nodded with a smile. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s what we¡¯ve got, and we make the most of it.¡±

    Domino cupped his hands around his mouth. ¡°Harper¡¯s back,¡± he called.

    What confusing silence she¡¯d found was shattered sweetly.

    The atmosphere was in stark contrast to that of the somewhat-cold city, for how dozens upon dozens of strangers had passed her by with mostly self-centered concern alone--not that Octavia could blame them. The rustling canvas flaps gave way to at least a handful of children, one collectively-hesitant glance at Harper more than enough to leave them sparkling. He incurred their warmth immediately and in the best way, and it warmed Octavia¡¯s heart in turn. Some ended up around his legs. Some at least made it halfway to his torso. All of them were elated.

    Harper laughed, beaming as he wrapped his arms around them carefully. ¡°Hey! Did you guys miss me much?¡±

    ¡°Of course we missed you much!¡± one of them cried, beaming as he ruffled her hair.

    ¡°Are these your siblings?¡± Octavia asked with a smile.

    Harper shrugged slightly, preoccupied with arms full of children vying for his attention. ¡°I guess you could call them that.¡±

    He tilted his head pointedly in the direction of the tents overall. Octavia followed his eyes. Steadily, one by one, yet more little flaps of textured canvas gave way to yet more little people. On sight, their ages were varied, and yet they all offered Harper the same elated waves or exuberant smiles. Their quantity was surprising, if not expected relative to the amount of tents she¡¯d counted previously. Even excessively distracted as he was, Harper waved and smiled in return as needed. Octavia raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°You all live here together?¡± she tried. ¡°This is¡­¡±

    ¡°Underwhelming?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Impressive, actually. It¡¯s like a small community.¡±

    Harper flinched in the absolute slightest. Octavia didn¡¯t miss it, even as he set about the arduous process of peeling clinging children off himself one at a time. ¡°You mean it?¡±

    Octavia smiled warmly. ¡°I wish I¡¯d had this many siblings growing up.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not actually related,¡± Domino scoffed, a hint of malice to his voice. ¡°If you couldn¡¯t tell.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have mommies or daddies here,¡± a shy, tiny voice offered from behind Harper¡¯s leg. Peeling had done nothing, and little hands had returned just as quickly.

    ¡°But we have Harper,¡± another child finished, beaming proudly. They, at least, had given him space.

    ¡°He takes care of us,¡± yet another added calmly. ¡°Harper¡¯s kind of like our guardian.¡±

    It clicked. It was still a slight guess, and it was still enough to sting Octavia¡¯s heart somewhat. ¡°You¡¯re¡­orphans. You all live here together?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all kind of¡­lost and found in different ways,¡± Harper spoke with a smile, ¡°but they¡¯re my everything.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Louise. It¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± the girl with the glasses offered firmly, bowing to Octavia with a bit too much dramatic flair.

    ¡°And I¡¯m David,¡± the small boy at his side added excitedly.

    ¡°And this little one is Suzanna,¡± Harper finished, gesturing to the small child clinging to his leg. ¡°She¡¯s a little shy.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet all of you,¡± Octavia replied with a smile. ¡°How many of you are there?¡±

    Domino shrugged. ¡°Thirty-ish. Lost count.¡±

    ¡°We all do what we have to around here,¡± Louise clarified. ¡°Some of us cook, some of us clean, and we help each other out where we can. Harper even teaches us stuff on the weekends.¡±

    Octavia met his eyes. ¡°You teach them all yourself?¡±

    He grinned. ¡°Work-life balance, you could say.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s the closest we have to an adult, but I¡¯ll be replacing him someday,¡± Louise continued confidently. ¡°I¡¯m almost eleven, you know.¡±

    Octavia chuckled. ¡°Definitely getting there. Guess he must be doing something right to have a successor, right?¡±

    Harper ruffled her hair, her resolute demeanor collapsing into giggles almost immediately. ¡°Getting a little ahead of yourself. You¡¯ve still got some growing to do, you know.¡±

    Domino rolled his eyes. He was excellent at that, apparently. ¡°I¡¯m almost twelve. She¡¯s not exactly the next in line when Harper¡¯s gone. We can handle ourselves.¡±

    ¡°You all talk about me like I¡¯m going to die or something. And what kind of ¡®successor¡¯ steals from strangers, anyway?¡± Harper asked sharply.

    ¡°One that¡¯s just trying to help. You have your ways of providing, and I have mine. You wanna play with your little flowers, go ahead. Not my problem.¡±

    Harper urged away the children swarming him as best as was possible. He was successful, breathing the slightest sigh of relief as they made for the others at large. His gaze fell to Domino alone, somewhere between sharp and soft all at once.

    ¡°I know you have good intentions,¡± he began, ¡°but you¡¯re gonna get yourself into serious trouble at some point. What kind of guardian would you be if the kids can¡¯t count on you when they need you? What¡¯ll they do if you¡¯re not here? What are they supposed to do if you¡¯re stuck in prison?¡±

    Domino threw his eyes into the gravel with a wordless shrug.

    One hand fell to the boy¡¯s shoulder gently. Harper¡¯s eyes were most definitely soft, now. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to make you feel bad. I just¡­don¡¯t want you to get hurt. I don¡¯t want the kids to get hurt, either.¡±

    Domino shrugged once more, refusing to return eye contact. ¡°I know. I was just trying to help.¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°Besides, you know I don¡¯t want you anywhere near Holly and Ivy. There¡¯s¡­plenty of other ways to provide through way more reasonable means.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Octavia interrupted hesitantly. ¡°Who are¡­Holly and Ivy?¡±

    Harper exchanged an indecipherable look with Domino. For how long he took to respond, Octavia wondered if she was prying too far. Harper¡¯s words, when she finally received them, were slow and careful. ¡°Sisters. Questionable people, at best. They¡­rotate their interests sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Interests?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Domino offered casually, ¡°they¡¯re pretty into musical stuff right now. It¡¯s easy enough to flip to some of the vendors in town lately. People¡¯ll pay good money for instruments and whatnot. You¡¯ve got that violin on you, so that¡¯s where that was going.¡±

    He motioned to Stradivaria¡¯s case, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he continued. ¡°It was for a good cause, at least. Figured if I slipped it to them, they could give us something that would keep us on our feet for a while. It¡¯d take some of the pressure off Harper.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not like we¡¯re hurting for support,¡± Harper reassured. ¡°I make a living working for the florist. He¡¯s a nice man. He pays me well, and he knows my...situation. The kids are well fed and cared for.¡±

    Still, Domino¡¯s prior statement was irking her, somewhat. ¡°Why do those two girls want musical instruments specifically?¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s this music-related event that¡¯s going on tonight on the far side of the city. I¡¯m almost positive it¡¯s related to that. Regardless, they¡¯re shady, they¡¯re liars, and, frankly, I don¡¯t want them anywhere near my family--and definitely not near this one,¡± he punctuated, cocking his head towards Domino.

    Domino growled harshly, practically clawing at his own curls. ¡°Oh my God, I get it! I get the point, Harper! I¡¯m a screw-up! Get over it! Go mess around with your new girlfriend if it bothers you that much! Damn!¡±

    He gave up on the conversation, storming off with such ferocity that he left sizable indents in the gravel. For how Harper chuckled in his wake, Octavia had mostly concluded the exchange to be routine. The boy was leaving a trail of obscenities behind him, muttered beneath his breath as they were. She hoped they didn¡¯t reach the children.

    ¡°He¡¯s a real piece of work,¡± Harper offered. ¡°Love him to pieces, though. I just want him to stay safe.¡±

    Octavia adjusted Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders. She made a mental note to do so far more effectively from now on, given the events of the past hour. ¡°I never got to thank you. I would¡¯ve been out of luck if you hadn¡¯t been around to help.¡±

    Harper rubbed the back of his neck shyly. ¡°It¡¯s nothing, really. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. It was one of my own that started this whole mess. I¡¯m sorry he made off with something so important.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Important?¡±

    ¡°That violin means a lot to you, right?¡± Harper asked with a soft smile.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°It does, but...how did you know that?¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes drifted around himself quickly--for stray little stragglers, presumably. ¡°Can I show you something?¡±

    Octavia nodded once more, mildly confused. ¡°Sure?¡±

    When he took her hand again, it was with far less urgency. She enjoyed it, by comparison, and didn¡¯t resist when he led her onwards. Octavia was somewhat impressed with the way by which he¡¯d managed to move cleanly through the camp without once more becoming a magnet for little hands and happy faces. In a way, she feared she was acting as a deterrent.

    She wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell the tents apart of her own accord, given how only their vague differences in hue and shading left every little canvas home unique. She found soft oranges, pale whites, and neutral grays most often. It was the latter to which he guided her, largely indistinguishable from the others. Harper stilled before it, parting the flaps of the humble canvas on her behalf.

    ¡°This one. Inside,¡± he offered gently.

    ¡°Inside¡± was, somehow, larger than she¡¯d expected it to be. It was warm and notably more comfortable than she¡¯d imagined from the exterior alone, enclosed by insulated material as it was. She briefly contemplated removing her boots--for all intents and purposes, she suspected this was his home, after all.

    Where she¡¯d expected to find a blank interior, pared down to essentials, the warmth that greeted her eyes was of another variety entirely. The carefully-pinned strings dangling from the canvased ¡°walls¡± with care were weighed down by drawing after drawing, undoubtedly sketched with colors between little fingers. For exactly how many styles of artwork lay lovingly speckled around the interior, he was surely loved, and loved right back in return.

    He had a sizable cot rather than a bed, although she felt somewhat ignorant for assuming he would¡¯ve slept on the floor. The chest beneath it reminded her of the one in her own room, although perhaps not quite as weathered by comparison. The lock fared poorly, rusted and flaking just enough that every touch sent corroded snowflakes scattering below. Octavia took her time drinking in his home, humble as it was. He, too, took his time, comfortably on his knees as he rifled through the worn-down chest accordingly. She had questions, although she suspected they¡¯d be largely drowned out by clinking and shuffling. She waited her turn.

    Of the ones she¡¯d concocted, all had pertained to his living environment and general lifestyle. The moment he withdrew his hands, occupied as they were, every last one fled as her thoughts screeched to a complete and utter halt. A thousand new questions of a different nature entirely took their place, and she could hardly blink.

    The towel that fluttered to the floor in a careless heap gave way to lustrous golds, shimmering beneath what brilliant sunshine still managed to pierce the thick canvas and sneak its way through the cracks. The trumpet was as resplendent as it was immaculate, pristinely cared for in a manner that contrasted starkly with what Octavia had expected of such a storage unit. Every gentle movement of the instrument in his hands left it glistening further, and he pressed each key in turn once over experimentally. He smiled.

    ¡°It¡¯s crazy, but I¡¯ve never had to oil the valves the entire time I¡¯ve had this thing. It¡¯s always been perfectly fine,¡± Harper clarified.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    The engraving that kissed one of the slides was of far, far more importance. The little silver marking, elegantly curving and twisting as it was, contrasted beautifully with the golds it lay pressed so gently into. It was small. It was unmistakable, for how used to it she was slowly becoming. Her luck was unfathomable, and her eyes widened so quickly that the spilling sunlight nearly burnt her pupils in turn.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± Octavia asked breathlessly.

    Harper¡¯s smile slipped from his lips for a moment as he ran his fingertips over the bell. ¡°I¡­just found it at some point. It was in a place I hadn¡¯t really expected it to be. I didn¡¯t want to leave it there, so I brought it back with me. Still, I¡¯m amazed at how well this thing held up. It works great, believe it or not.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the chance to object to his spontaneous demonstration, soft as it was relative to the instrument he carried. His volume was carefully tailored, and he offered her a brief melody that left her smiling. Even in the midst of his song, he grinned in return, his lips still pressed to the instrument as he tapped upon every key delicately. It was startlingly normal. Octavia was simultaneously relieved and perplexed.

    ¡°I mean, it sounds great! You¡¯re pretty good at playing,¡± she offered anyway.

    Harper beamed at the praise. ¡°I never formally learned how to play it, to be honest. It wasn¡¯t that hard to pick it up. Just kinda came to me one day, weird as that probably sounds. I have to be quiet about it, though. No one knows I have this thing, and I really don¡¯t want to know what happens if anyone finds out. I don¡¯t know how many concerts I¡¯m willing to give, for how often I¡¯d have to hear about it.¡±

    ¡°Do you think Domino would try to take it from you if he knew?¡± she asked. ¡°For Holly and Ivy?¡±

    Harper rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest with you, I think I¡¯d kill him if he tried. He knows better than to touch my stuff. If it was for that reason in particular, I¡¯d kill him twice.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s best attempts to smile were blighted by her larger concerns. She chose her words extremely carefully. ¡°Harper, does anything¡­weird, I guess, ever happen when you play?¡±

    Harper cocked his head, forgoing the cot entirely in favor of the floor. ¡°Weird how?¡±

    Octavia followed along, crossing her legs opposite him. She slipped Stradivaria¡¯s case into her lap, grappling with the warring suggestions in her head. She could demonstrate. She could keep her mouth shut and be safe. She could be horrifically wrong. She could be splendidly correct. It was a risk she feared taking alone. Still, if she didn¡¯t try, she¡¯d never know. It was motivation enough, lest she regret it fiercely for the rest of her Maestra life.

    ¡°It¡¯s my turn to show you something,¡± she said, unzipping the case with slow and steady fingers. Stradivaria settling into her lap was the point of no return, and she took a deep breath in preparation of what was to come.

    Harper smiled gently. ¡°It¡¯s lovely.¡±

    Octavia shook her head, turning the violin over carefully. ¡°Thank you, but that¡¯s¡­not what I meant.¡±

    She gestured to the Harmonial Crest pressed deep into the mahogany, trailing one fingertip over the mark delicately. ¡°Does this look familiar to you?¡±

    Slowly but surely, Harper¡¯s smile faded the longer he stared. He fumbled with the trumpet for a moment, his gaze falling to the identical little contrast of silver upon gold. He raised it nearly level with his eyes before casting them back at Stradivaria. He did it twice. At one point, the brass came to a careful side by side stop against the mahogany with a soft clack. She watched his eyes dart back and forth at least once more. Then and only then did she finally see it click, for how they widened at last.

    ¡°They¡¯re the same?¡± he murmured incredulously. ¡°But...how?¡±

    ¡°Harper, please be¡­honest with me,¡± Octavia pressed softly. ¡°Has anything strange ever happened with your trumpet?¡±

    He hesitated, tensing. It took time for him to sigh deeply, his expression strained as he raised the trumpet to his lips once more. The soft notes he offered to her were still just as pleasant. For a moment, she suspected he¡¯d gift her with another harmless melody, still appreciated in its own way. Instead, it was the third type of warmth she¡¯d found in their canvas enclosure, fleeting as it was and unnatural in origin.

    The delicate sparks that trickled from the bell flickered with just a hint of vibrance, gorgeously orange and radiant beneath the streaming sunshine. They were sweet and elusive, raining onto the floor with little impediment beneath the guidance of every resonant note. Some crackled longer than others, precious embers sparkling like stardust in a way that left her wanting to reach out and touch them. She didn¡¯t, for fear of being burnt. Even now, she feared for their safety in such a possibly flammable environment. It wasn¡¯t a prominent concern. The display was beautiful, and she was much too enthralled to care.

    The moment he caught her staring, captivated or otherwise, he confiscated his warm melody. Harper doffed the trumpet from his lips quickly, stammering. ¡°S-Sorry, sorry! I don¡¯t know why it does that! I swear I don¡¯t do it inside, I know it¡¯s dangerous. I always thought I was just seeing things. I promise I don¡¯t do anything with it. Sometimes, when I get too into playing, it just happens, and I don¡¯t know why, and it¡¯s--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay!¡± Octavia reassured, settling her hands over his own quickly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with it. When did this start?¡±

    Harper set the trumpet down in his lap, shifting uncomfortably. ¡°It¡¯s¡­always been a problem, ever since I found it. It kinda makes me scared of playing sometimes. It¡¯s messed up, honestly. I lost my parents in a fire, and now this thing just does¡­well, this. It¡¯s ironic. I¡¯m not exactly the biggest fan of what it could possibly do if I screw up.¡±

    ¡°Does anyone else know?¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°To tell you the truth, that¡¯s the¡­other reason I don¡¯t want anyone to know I have it.¡±

    Octavia breathed a sigh of relief. That was one saving grace.

    She took an equally deep breath to compensate, settling Stradivaria onto her shoulder. With the bow resting gently upon the strings, she caught his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not alone.¡±

    If there was ever a time for it to work, it needed to be now. She pleaded with Stradivaria. She only needed one chance.

    Her fingers moved of their own accord, and she strung together a slow melody that kissed the air gracefully. The moment she felt her fingertips tingling, she silently celebrated one small victory. It wasn¡¯t a burn, nor the scathing warmth that her blood and pores couldn¡¯t contain. She didn¡¯t spill radiance onto the strings in excess, and she didn¡¯t send it surging forth with such unrestrained fury. Instead, her gentle harmony birthed an equally-gentle flavor of light, luminescent little stars flickering to life before her eyes. They claimed the open air peacefully, neither scorching nor lethal as they crackled and fizzled preciously.

    Every small golden glow left starry afterimages in Harper¡¯s eyes, her fascination with his lovely embers now traded for that which her light granted him instead. She blessed him in excess, the warm aura radiating from every little orb more than enough to caress her skin. For what sunshine continued to slip through the heavy fabrics overhead, Octavia offered him the tiniest of night skies. His smile was the only thing that could put the brilliance of her newborn stars to shame.

    When she stopped, each tiny orb flickered and died in turn, softly fizzling into nothing once more. It took more than a moment for the interior of the tent to settle into the natural glow of peeking sunshine once more. It took much longer than that for Harper to come back to her, blinking heavily several times over.

    ¡°Wow,¡± he breathed, still visibly more than dazed.

    She beamed.

    ¡°Harmonial Instruments,¡± Octavia began, gently resheathing the violin as she spoke. ¡°Maestros. Maestras. I don¡¯t know too much about all of this stuff myself, but there are others like you. There are others like us. You¡¯re not alone.¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes were absolutely sparkling. ¡°How did you¡­¡±

    ¡°Say its name.¡±

    He blinked once more, confused. ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°Your instrument. Say its name.¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°The¡­trumpet? I don¡¯t...why would I give it a--¡±

    ¡°Say it,¡± Octavia commanded.

    ¡°Royal Orleans.¡±

    It was sudden enough that he flinched beneath his own words, his expression more than strained. His eyes flickered to the instrument accordingly, and it took him several seconds to speak once more--puzzled as his voice was. ¡°Why did I¡­¡±

    ¡°You have a connection, just like Stradivaria and I. I don¡¯t know all the details of how that works yet, like I said, but there¡¯s something between you two. You¡¯re partners.¡±

    ¡°Partners,¡± he echoed with mild disbelief. ¡°With the...trumpet.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°With the trumpet.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re...with the violin?¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°And you called it¡­¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria.¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria. Got it,¡± he said with a nod. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly believe that he got anything, necessarily. She appreciated his attempts to follow along regardless.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t understand any of it myself, either. I had someone to teach me. There¡¯s a girl named Viola--¡±

    Oh, God, she forgot about Viola.

    ¡°Oh my God, I left her there,¡± she sputtered under her breath, quickly scrambling to her feet with her belongings in tow.

    Harper rose alongside her, albeit with far less panic. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I left someone behind when I was chasing after Domino. She¡¯s probably still there, way back in the market area! I completely forgot about her! Oh, God, I don¡¯t even know how to get back--¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s alright! I¡¯ll take you back to her, no worries,¡± Harper reassured, laying one hand upon her shoulder gently.

    Octavia breathed a sigh of relief. There was a hint of guilt over how severely she¡¯d been leaning on his navigational skills in the brief time they¡¯d known one another. Still, they were desperately needed. She apologized with a silent smile.

    She had another way to apologize, if she thought long enough about it. The words were out of her mouth before she¡¯d processed them.

    ¡°Come with me,¡± she offered.

    He blinked. ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°My friend, her grandmother knows all about Maestro stuff. She¡¯s going to tell us everything she knows. You should¡­come with us. You can hear the same things she¡¯ll tell me. She can explain everything.¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Everything? About...what¡¯s been happening with me?¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°We can go together. We can learn about everything together, too.¡±

    Harper grinned, sparkles igniting in his eyes once more. ¡°That¡¯s one hell of a repayment.¡±

    The sunlight slamming into her in full once more was enough to leave her wincing. He took it well enough by comparison. The dichotomy between the privacy of the tent and the vibrant atmosphere of dozens of children engaged in daily activities was mildly jarring. Still, Octavia preferred it to the idea of returning to swelling crowds of strangers once more. Whether with a capable guide at her side or not, the idea was still unsettling even now. She clung to Stradivaria¡¯s straps on her shoulders anxiously.

    ¡°Domino, take over for me tonight,¡± Harper called from behind her.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± she heard lazily, the boy¡¯s voice biting from a place unseen. Octavia tried and failed to suppress a laugh.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­gonna have to lead me back to the market. I have no idea where we¡¯re going,¡± she muttered with embarrassment.

    Harper flashed her a confident grin, adjusting his cap. ¡°Then you¡¯re lucky you¡¯ve got me around, huh?¡±

    He claimed her hand, and she didn¡¯t resist as he led her into the winding alleyway once more. ¡°Lucky¡± was an understatement.

    <hr>

    For the effort it had taken her to retrace her steps--assisted or otherwise--she¡¯d expected somewhat more alarm and concern to glaze Viola¡¯s face in some capacity. Instead, her presence came second to the apparent indulgence of a fizzy beverage she couldn¡¯t place. It was only a half-hearted wave she found for her troubles, and that was almost enough to make her roll her eyes.

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly have much room to complain, given that she¡¯d left the girl for such a long time with little attempt to reunite once more. She¡¯d hardly left the comfort of the flower shop, her elbows nonchalantly propped against the table and her head tilted with a gaze more so curious than fearful. Octavia stumbled over what apologies she could cobble together, whether or not Viola seemed poised to accept them--let alone expect them in the first place.

    ¡°Viola, I¡¯m so sorry, we ended up across the city, and I didn¡¯t even think about how you were still here, and--¡±

    Viola raised one hand in a plea for peace, sipping delicately at her drink before proceeding. ¡°At this point, I¡¯ve sorta just started assuming you¡¯re gonna end up in trouble somehow. Might as well take my time waiting on you to get back.

    Octavia exhaled in relief, somewhere between mildly offended and grateful for her understanding. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. Gave me time to get something to drink. You missed out.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to Harper anxiously, idling behind her calmly by comparison. ¡°Okay, so there¡¯s, uh, kinda something you missed out on, too.¡±

    Viola leaned forward in her chair slightly, peering over Octavia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The flower boy?¡±

    ¡°Okay, yeah, the flower boy, yes,¡± Octavia stammered, choosing her words carefully. ¡°But he¡¯s kinda...not just a flower boy? He¡¯s, uh, he¡¯s also a...Maestro.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes went wide. Harper waved nervously.

    ¡°God, Octavia, another one? Are you a Maestro magnet or something?¡± Viola whispered harshly.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good thing, right? He¡¯s not that other guy! That¡¯s all that matters!¡± Octavia whispered back, just as harsh.

    ¡°How the hell did you even find another one? We¡¯ve been in the city for what, two hours?¡±

    ¡°Listen, he¡¯s nice, he¡¯s respectable, and he helped me get Stradivaria back! Can we take him with us?¡±

    ¡°You want him to come with us? You just met him!¡± she whispered louder, her muted volume gradually increasing.

    ¡°We just met Madrigal yesterday, and we¡¯re taking her with us! You¡¯re the one that wanted to find more Maestros, and now you¡¯ve got three! Me, Madrigal, and him! That¡¯s a good number, right?¡±

    ¡°How did you even find out he was a Maestro?¡±

    ¡°He showed me!¡±

    Viola recoiled. ¡°What do you mean he showed you?¡±

    ¡°He has a trumpet, I forgot what he called it. He took it out and showed me, and it made these cute little embers--he¡¯s got fire or something, I think--and so I showed him Stradivaria back.¡±

    ¡°You showed him Stradivaria? Are you insane?¡± Viola snapped in the same harsh whisper, having nearly escalated to true shouting.

    Octavia was hardly immune to the same. ¡°He showed me first! I already knew he was a Maestro! No harm done!¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just go around showing random people Stradivaria! Do you know how dangerous that is? You just met this guy!¡±

    ¡°You just met me the other day, and you showed me right away!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s different! I saw you fight! We fought the Dissonance together!¡±

    ¡°Listen, you wanted Maestros, I got you Maestros!¡±

    ¡°Uh, excuse me.¡±

    Harper clearing his throat was enough for both girls to part from one another instantly. Octavia tensed. In truth, she¡¯d nearly forgotten he was there.

    ¡°Do you guys mind if I go talk to the florist really quickly? I¡¯ll be right back,¡± he asked calmly.

    Octavia blushed slightly. In further truth, she¡¯d also forgotten she¡¯d outright stolen him from his work previously. ¡°Y-Yeah, no problem. I¡­kinda forgot you were on the job earlier.¡±

    Harper smiled gently. ¡°Give me one second.¡±

    Octavia waved to him on his way in, somewhat holding her breath until he was out of earshot. Viola raised an eyebrow at her, sipping aggressively at her drink.

    ¡°You don¡¯t like him, do you?¡± Octavia muttered.

    Viola sighed. ¡°He¡¯s better than the other guy, that¡¯s for sure. He seems like he¡¯s got himself together, too. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t like him, it¡¯s just that I don¡¯t want you getting yourself into trouble.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes with a slight groan. ¡°I promise I¡¯m being careful. I wasn¡¯t just showing Stradivaria to people for no reason. I¡¯m not that careless.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re careless,¡± Viola offered softly. ¡°I just want you to be safe.¡±

    The smile she returned was just as soft. ¡°I appreciate it. Can we, uh¡­take him with us to your grandmother¡¯s place, then?¡±

    Viola scoffed. ¡°Should¡¯ve seen that coming.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Is that a no?¡±

    Viola stretched in her chair. ¡°It¡¯s not a no. At this point, there¡¯s no real point in arguing about it, because I know you¡¯re just gonna argue back until I say yes. Besides, you¡¯re right. I did ask for Maestros.¡±

    She finished with a smirk. Octavia grinned. ¡°When are we actually going to your grandmother¡¯s house, anyway?¡±

    ¡°I was literally just waiting on you. You and your little mysterious Maestro friend over there,¡± she clarified, gesturing lazily towards the door.

    Harper left a smile and a wave in his wake as he departed the shop, and it was Viola¡¯s pointed gaze that greeted him in full the moment the sunshine did the same. He flushed beneath the weight of her staring, tensing somewhat. The one hesitant hand that rose to offer a peaceful wave was a respectable attempt at mediation, strained or otherwise.

    ¡°Hello, I, uh, don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met,¡± he offered awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m Harper. And you are¡­¡±

    Viola rested her cheek in her palm half-heartedly, offering him a casual smirk. ¡°Viola. Viola Vacanti. Friend of Octavia¡¯s, just like you.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s one of us,¡± Octavia assured with a smile. Harper¡¯s barely-audible sigh of relief was not lost on her.

    ¡°If you¡¯re a Maestro, you should hear what my grandmother has to say, too. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any harm in you coming along for the lecture. Just be ready to take in a lot of information really quickly. Keep an open mind,¡± Viola continued.

    Harper nodded with a genuine grin in return. ¡°I won¡¯t let you two down.¡±

    He¡¯d have three Maestras to contend with, actually. Octavia didn¡¯t have the energy to tell him directly. He¡¯d figure it out soon enough.

 9. Disclosure

    ¡°Soon enough¡± came almost exactly on time.

    ¡°I missed you guys so much! I gave the merchants our stuff, and they said it tasted so good that they even paid me extra! There were like, what, six or seven bottles? And they said next time they want to double their order! I was so flattered! I¡¯ve been waiting here for maybe an hour? But it¡¯s okay, because the sunset is gorgeous in Coda! I mean, I know it¡¯s the same sunset everywhere. It¡¯s pretty in Minuevera in its own way. Minuevera has this one hill you can stand on by the river--you know which one, we were there together--and the sunset is beautiful! Maybe it¡¯s just the atmosphere of the city that makes it better? Maybe it¡¯s just getting to be with friends who--¡±

    ¡°And this,¡± Viola interrupted loudly, ¡°is Vacanti Manor. And Madrigal.¡±

    Harper waved. Madrigal sparkled.

    ¡°Wow, is he a soldier of the light too? Where did you guys get him from? It¡¯s so nice to meet you! My name is Madrigal--the one and only Magical Madrigal--and it¡¯s so nice to meet you! I think I already said that, though. Where¡¯s your Harmonial Instrument? Do you wanna see mine? Oh, did Viola and Octavia already show you theirs? Where did you come from? What do you--¡±

    ¡°Madrigal, you have to let him breathe a bit,¡± Octavia interjected, waving her hands in a desperate plea for peace. ¡°This is Harper. He saved me from a...bit of a situation earlier.¡±

    Harper cocked his head. ¡°Soldier of the¡­light?¡±

    ¡°You get used to it,¡± Viola whispered quickly.

    Madrigal beamed, curtseying dramatically. ¡°It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    Harper chuckled, bowing hesitantly in return. For the fleeting glance Octavia could afford him, she was somewhat surprised at how well he was taking the Maestra¡¯s personality.

    Most of her attention ended up on the towering display of utter wealth before her, for what mental image the word ¡°manor¡± had afforded her. The size was enough to make her dizzy, splendidly gated and crowned with pristine greenery. She¡¯d half-expected a fountain and maids, given the connotations of the phrase. She almost thought to ask, jokingly or otherwise. This was disorienting enough. She was fairly certain her entire house could fit inside of this one, frankly. She was almost afraid to approach it, for how mildly intimidating it was by stature alone.

    Something was around her wrist, and a giggle was in her ears. She lurched forward, stumbling somewhat as Viola tugged her onwards. ¡°Your inner tourist is showing. Wait until you see the inside.¡±

    The creak of the gates as the girl dragged her through was only the second-greatest contributor to Octavia¡¯s steadily increasing heart rate. For how long it had taken to actually reach the front steps several days later, there was an anxiety that came with arrival. When she faltered, Viola caught her eyes. She smiled warmly, never slowing her own steps.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be nervous. My grandmother will love you, just like I said,¡± Viola offered.

    ¡°I know, but I can¡¯t help it,¡± Octavia admitted weakly. ¡°I mean, this is someone who taught you everything you know. Meeting a master Maestra in person is a bit...intimidating, to say the least.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly alone,¡± Viola reassured. ¡°I think there¡¯s a lot she¡¯s been keeping from me, too.¡±

    Octavia never got the chance to ask exactly what that meant. The inside was substantially more brilliant than the outside, to the point that the opened doors left her practically flooded with radiance. It was still most definitely a manor in every sense of the word. It was elegant, pristine, plush, and enough to make her second-guess every last footstep for a different reason entirely. If she scuffed so much as one tile with her boots, she¡¯d be obligated to scream at herself all the way back to Silver Ridge. The art was gorgeous, for how it speckled each and every wall with color juxtaposing beautifully against crisp whites. There was a lot of it. It was almost abnormal, in truth.

    ¡°What¡¯s with all the paintings?¡± she asked, fumbling for an ounce of focus.

    It was somewhat of a relief that Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one in borderline awe. At least Harper wasn¡¯t practically vibrating, nor sparkling. He was the easier of the two remaining Maestros for Viola to usher inside, and she smirked as she pulled the doors shut. ¡°My grandfather was an art curator and collector,¡± Viola clarified. ¡°He was an artist in his own right, but his collection was--is--amazing. It¡¯s his legacy. Our whole family specializes in the business of art trading. I like to imagine we¡¯re good at it.¡±

    Harper raised one hand weakly, averting his eyes. ¡°Hey, uh, is it¡­really okay if I¡¯m here?¡±

    Octavia cocked her head. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be?¡±

    He was quiet for a moment. ¡°I, uh...don¡¯t know if I¡¯m up to standard to be here, in a place like this. If you know what I mean.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart cracked, just a bit. Viola inhaled sharply.

    ¡°Everyone is welcome here,¡± Viola spoke, every word slow and strained. ¡°Backgrounds mean nothing. You don¡¯t¡­have to ask that. Of course you¡¯re welcome here.¡±

    Harper¡¯s soft smile was weighted, subtle as it was. It didn¡¯t mend the cracks in Octavia¡¯s heart in any capacity. For what little she knew about him, she didn¡¯t dare pry. The sentiment spoke for itself enough. It still hurt.

    By comparison, Madrigal had either read the room poorly or spectacularly. ¡°Wow, you live like this? This place is huge! Look at all the artwork! These paintings are so pretty! Your family owns all of these? Can I explore? Is it okay if I look around? Where do the stairs go? Do you have a--¡±

    ¡°Madrigal,¡± Viola interrupted firmly, still not immune to a smile. ¡°One thing at a time.¡±

    ¡°We did come here for a certain reason,¡± Octavia continued. ¡°We should deal with that first, and then we can do everything else second.¡±

    Semi-unsurprisingly, Madrigal¡¯s smile was still permanent regardless. She beamed. ¡°Whatever you say!¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t dwell on it--for the best, more than likely. There was zero predictability in where she was to lead them, given how many hallways and doors were visible even at a distance. They gave up on the stairs immediately, and it was hardly beside the grand staircase itself that she found what she was looking for. It was substantially less intimidating than the front doors, at least, guarded by a little doorknob in comparison. Viola led accordingly.

    The inside was a stark contrast to the pristine environment that had blinded Octavia moments ago, and it was more than welcome. She still feared scuffing the carpet just as much. For how sharply the shift in flooring materials had occurred just beyond the threshold, she nearly tripped. The warmth was a solid compensation.

    ¡°Different atmosphere,¡± Octavia murmured aloud.

    Viola nodded. ¡°Less overwhelming, hopefully.¡±

    Octavia followed in her footsteps cautiously, still somewhat self-conscious in regards to her presence inside such an elaborate abode overall. Her wandering eyes caught photographs nestled between yet more works of art, sporadic by comparison. She recognized the sweet blue bow at every opportunity, crowning such a little head as it was.

    The girl was more than happy, and the man who embraced her time and time again smothered her with affection seeping through every frame. Octavia couldn¡¯t decide whether to smile along with him or battle to keep her heart from sinking out of reach. She tried not to stare. She failed.

    Viola¡¯s voice outright startled her, given how long she¡¯d been fixated. ¡°Grandmother, are you in here?¡±

    She got her answer quickly enough, soft or otherwise. ¡°Viola, is that you? I¡­hadn¡¯t expected you back so soon. Is everything alright?¡±

    Viola nodded to no one. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Did you find anyone?¡±

    ¡°I did, actually,¡± Viola answered, her voice tinted with just a hint of pride.

    For how long it took Octavia to find the woman in the first place, unhurried as her presentation was from afar, their eyes met just as slowly. Octavia blinked first. The smile she found was as reassuring as it was, still, unfortunately intimidating. It shouldn¡¯t have been, logically. It was involuntary.

    ¡°And who might you be?¡± the woman asked calmly, her voice every bit as soft as that smile.

    ¡°O-Octavia, ma¡¯am,¡± she stammered.

    Still, the woman was satisfied. ¡°What a lovely name.¡±

    The fireplace did her justice, for how her age had afforded her elegance all the same. In a way, she was lovely, albeit somewhat blighted by the natural passage of time. She didn¡¯t resemble Viola quite as much as Octavia had expected. It hardly mattered, given that what they did share had led her to this very room. In the presence of a former Maestra, steeped in expertise as she was, Octavia gulped nervously. She second-guessed her introduction. She third-guessed it. The cat was distracting.

    She¡¯d forgotten Viola had a cat in the first place, fleetingly mentioned as it had been. The fluff brushing against her legs made her jump, and she stifled a yelp. It was enough to get a soft giggle out of Viola, and somewhat enough to ease her nerves.

    ¡°Oh my Goood, there¡¯s a kitty!¡±

    It was more than enough for Madrigal, unsurprisingly.

    The Maestra practically dove onto the floor accordingly, quite literally splaying out onto the rug and reaching for the mewing ball of fluff with desperately-opened arms. She got what she wanted quickly, purring and all. Her delighted giggling was almost contagious, and she nuzzled the animal again and again. They were absolutely here for a reason. Octavia was not going to be the one to remind her, elated as she was. She smiled.

    Viola seemed more embarrassed, by comparison. ¡°I brought more than one, actually,¡± she clarified regardless.

    The woman laughed. ¡°Not at all a bad thing, my love. You¡¯ve made some quite lively friends.¡±

    The woman turned to Octavia once more, settling one hand over her heart. ¡°I¡¯m Viola¡¯s grandmother. You can call me Eleanor, if you¡¯d like, dear.¡±

    Octavia nodded quickly, battling the slightest resurgence of nerves. ¡°U-Uh, right. Thank you, miss, uh, Eleanor, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°And who is this handsome young man?¡± she continued, her eyes drifting slightly to the left.

    Harper extended one hand without hesitation. ¡°I¡¯m Harper. It¡¯s nice to meet you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Her bright smile coupled well with the tender touch she offered him. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, then, Harper.¡±

    The woman¡¯s eyes fell to the floor last--ironic, given the sheer amount of energy that rested at her feet. Madrigal was literally on her back, her arms more than occupied.

    ¡°She¡¯s purring,¡± the Maestra declared, beaming.

    ¡°Little Peony certainly seems fond of you, my dear. What might your name be?¡± the woman asked softly.

    Madrigal took the cat with her all the way up, staggering and wobbling in the process as she battled for her balance. It was almost impressive. With the content ball of fluff still nestled snugly in her arms, her brilliant smile was endless. ¡°My name is Madrigal, ma¡¯am! I¡¯m Madrigal Talludo, from the Talludo Inn in Minuevera.¡±

    It was a shorter introduction than usual. Octavia almost felt bad for being thankful.

    ¡°Minuevera? That¡¯s a bit of a walk from here, isn¡¯t it?¡± Eleanor mused.

    ¡°Harper is from here in the capital, but Octavia is all the way from Silver Ridge,¡± Viola clarified.

    At the mention of the town, her eyes widened in the absolute slightest. ¡°Is that so? You went all the way to Silver Ridge, my love?¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°I had a¡­feeling. It turns out I was right. The other two just happened to be at the right place and at the right time.¡±

    ¡°Sit, everyone, please. I have so many questions for you all,¡± Eleanor urged, gesturing to the sofa accordingly.

    For how Madrigal continued to attend to the comfortable animal in her lap, Octavia finally heard the purring. She stifled a smirk. ¡°We, uh, we have a lot we wanted to ask you, too, ma¡¯am,¡± Octavia admitted.

    ¡°We can trade, then, I¡¯m sure,¡± Eleanor offered with the same soft smile Octavia was growing to appreciate. ¡°Actually, before you get settled, there¡¯s¡­one thing I¡¯d like to do first, if it¡¯s alright with all of you.¡±

    Octavia blinked. When the woman extended one hand to Harper, he did the same. It took him a moment to return her touch, rising to his feet and submitting to her urging without protest. She drew him close, and he found himself not too far from her own seat.

    She didn¡¯t exactly stare him down, and yet her soft eyes pinned him all the same. So near to the boy, his discomfort was radiant, and Octavia watched him stiffen beneath her untraceable scrutiny. It was enough even for her to tense in turn. She observed him for just long enough that the silent interaction grew uncomfortable. Just as she¡¯d found the urge to inquire as to the woman¡¯s behavior, she earned reprieve.

    Her warm smile was far more welcome, and she freed him from her gaze and grip at last. ¡°You¡¯ve got the will of fire in you, my boy.¡±

    For how Octavia¡¯s own eyes widened greatly, Harper¡¯s reaction was identical. ¡°Did¡­you say fire?¡± he asked incredulously.

    ¡°A strong fire that burns brightly for others, determined and resilient,¡± she answered, beaming. ¡°I imagine you¡¯re a blessing to those who need you most.¡±

    The look of absolute shock he shot at Octavia was useless, given that she was mired in the exact same. Her eyes darted between the two in utter confusion. ¡°H-How did you--¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re next, miss,¡± Eleanor continued nonchalantly, offering her hand once more.

    Madrigal¡¯s only hesitation came in the form of losing the cat, the little animal calmly dropping from her lap down onto the plush carpet instead. She took the woman¡¯s hand unflinchingly in both of her own with a brilliant smile. So, too, did she stomach the same extensive inspection with silent grace, not an ounce of anxiety or insecurity dripping from the Maestra in the process. Even if the smile the woman could return paled next to such luminosity, they were still lovely side by side.

    ¡°You possess a spirit of wind, my dear,¡± Madrigal was offered at last. ¡°You are unbound and free, never to be tied down to the earth. Do you follow where life leads you, then, unfamiliar as it may be?¡±

    Madrigal was practically sparkling beneath her words. ¡°I try!¡±

    The moment the exuberant Maestra had resettled onto the couch beside her, the gentle touch that beckoned was for Octavia alone. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be shy, dear,¡± Eleanor reassured.

    Octavia rose to her feet somewhat shakily, surrendering her hand where it was requested. She tried not to tremble beneath the same inquisitive gaze, soft and piercing all at once. She could¡¯ve sworn it was taking longer than the others. It made the wait far worse, and the urge to retract eye contact was overpowering. She nearly did. When the eyes that held her in place widened themselves, she flinched. Still, they were once again delicate just as quickly, accompanied by a soft smile in the wake of unbearable silence.

    ¡°A heart of light,¡± Eleanor spoke quietly. ¡°A rare one.¡±

    Octavia nearly stumbled the moment she was released from the woman¡¯s grasp. ¡°A heart of¡­light?¡±

    The woman nodded, her tangled fingers coming to rest calmly in her lap. ¡°A heart of light, filled with love meant to shine upon others. A ray of hope, courageous and radiant. You will surely be a gift to those you cherish.¡±

    Her hand fell to her heart before she¡¯d noticed, absentminded as the gesture was.

    Eleanor beamed. ¡°You will surely be a wonderful Maestra, too.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, ma¡¯am,¡± Harper asked, raising one hand hesitantly. ¡°How do you know about our...uh, about us?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve learned a few things in my time. Even so, there¡¯s a few secrets I still hope to keep these days,¡± she answered playfully.

    Octavia settled into her seat once more, releasing a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding at all. ¡°You were a Maestra, right? Before Viola was?¡±

    Eleanor nodded. ¡°I was, many years ago. Still, my time has since passed, and a new Maestra has taken my place.¡±

    Viola, settled across the room as she was, glowed with pride to rival the fireplace. Octavia gave her a smile and received one right back.

    ¡°And now a new generation of Maestros and Maestras sits here before me,¡± she continued. ¡°How lucky I am to witness them, even now.¡±

    ¡°W-We would be honored if you¡¯d teach us what you know, Miss Eleanor,¡± Octavia half-pleaded, quite literally sitting on the edge of her seat.

    Eleanor laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sure Viola has taught you much already. You¡¯ll not soon find a better teacher.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t teach me everything,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°I know you¡¯re holding out on me.¡±

    Eleanor paused for a moment. ¡°Then how about this? Miss Octavia, why don¡¯t you tell me everything that you¡¯ve learned thus far? I¡¯ll fill in the gaps as you go.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Me?¡±

    The woman nodded. ¡°Yes, you, dear. Tell me what you¡¯ve gathered about Maestros and Maestras from your travels with my beloved Viola.¡±

    She stiffened. The four sets of eyes that fell to her brought an entirely new flavor of anxiety along with them, and she winced. At least the cat wasn¡¯t staring at her. She shut her eyes, running down a mental list that started with snowflakes on her bedsheets.

    ¡°Maestros and Maestras,¡± she began nervously, ¡°are special people with special instruments. Harmonial Instruments, with markings on the back of them--¡±

    ¡°Harmonial Crests,¡± Viola whispered harshly.

    ¡°Harmonial Crests,¡± she added, rolling her eyes behind their lids. ¡°Harmonial Instruments are tied to their specific Maestro or Maestra, and can¡¯t be used by anyone else. All of them have a special connection to their Harmonial Instrument, and they know its name, and...stuff.¡±

    ¡°And stuff?¡± Harper asked beside her.

    Octavia blushed. This was his first time hearing the details of the Maestro world in full, and she was already doing a phenomenal job of ruining it. ¡°Listen, I never quite understood that part.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± Eleanor reassured softly. ¡°Harmonial Instruments have a special connection to their owners that can¡¯t be severed. For as long as you can play, your Harmonial Instrument will respond to your soul and your soul alone. Your instrument is alive, in a way, with a soul of its own.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°As long as you can play?¡± Madrigal asked in Octavia¡¯s stead.

    Eleanor nodded sadly. ¡°I can¡¯t quite play a flute like I used to, at this age. When the time came, my partner went silent. Imagine my surprise when my partner told me that none other than my sweet granddaughter would be the one.¡±

    Viola nodded in agreement, beaming with pride. ¡°On my twelfth birthday, grandmother gave me her Harmonial Instrument. That day, she told me everything about what it meant to be a Maestra--almost everything, I mean. Silver Brevada didn¡¯t actually talk to me, necessarily, but I still felt a connection with it in my heart.¡±

    ¡°So Harmonial Instruments have had other owners before,¡± Harper murmured.

    Eleanor nodded once more. ¡°Harmonial Instruments are as mysterious as they are powerful. No one knows their origins for sure. Still, they¡¯ll appear before their chosen Maestro when they feel the time is right, in the way they feel is best.¡±

    ¡°I found mine washed up on the riverbed!¡± Madrigal exclaimed excitedly.

    ¡°And I found mine in the¡­I found it somewhere it probably wasn¡¯t supposed to be,¡± Harper added, trailing off quickly.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes fell to the hands resting in her lap. ¡°For weeks, I had dreams every night about a chest in the woods. When I followed the path I saw, it was there. I know who its last Maestra was, though, and that¡¯s¡­why I¡¯m here.¡±

    The woman¡¯s smile faltered, somewhat. Octavia took as deep a breath as was possible.

    ¡°My sister, Priscilla, went missing. She was an amazing musician, and she was an incredible violinist. I never understood how she played so perfectly. Five years ago, she told us she was leaving for a concert. She didn¡¯t say where, and she didn¡¯t say how long she¡¯d be gone, but she never came back after. We don¡¯t know what happened to her. Now, suddenly, I find that chest out in the woods. Her violin is in there, safe and sound, but she¡¯s nowhere to be seen. I don¡¯t know why me, and I don¡¯t know why now.¡±

    Octavia raised her head, her eyes touching upon Eleanor¡¯s own. ¡°Please, I need to know what happened to her. Her name is Priscilla Ellis. Do you know her?¡±

    For how brief the nonverbal exchange truly was, it felt far longer. When the woman finally shook her head slowly, Octavia¡¯s heart sank and her stomach lurched. It wasn¡¯t at all that voyaging so far was useless, given all she¡¯d found in the process. It still burned fiercely, and part of her wanted to cry.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know your sister. For that, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Eleanor spoke. ¡°Still, you¡¯re in the company of someone who does.¡±

    Octavia blinked, battling the tears that threatened to swell behind her pupils. ¡°Who?¡±

    When one raised finger fell to Stradivaria¡¯s case, snugly settled onto her shoulders even now, it came with a smile. ¡°Your partner, of course.¡±

    Octavia followed the woman¡¯s gaze over her own shoulder, touching the rugged material with two absentminded fingertips. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand.¡±

    Eleanor was unwavering. ¡°Your sister¡¯s partner is right here beside you, and it has perhaps seen all that she has. There¡¯s a reason it chose you now, and it knows more than I ever will. You¡¯ve made a powerful ally in your quest, and you will surely find her if you two are together.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s breath snagged in her throat. For what overwhelming sensations and consequences had accompanied every moment since the violin had graced her hands, she¡¯d never properly considered the weight of its presence at all. Priscilla had hardly ever parted from the instrument in her waking moments, if memory served. It was to say nothing of Stradivaria¡¯s soul, if the assertion was more than whimsical.

    She chanced a look over her shoulder at least twice more, somewhere between disbelief and heart-pounding contemplation. She clung to the idea. She burned it into her heart, right where it was needed most.

    ¡°That violin is the key that connects you and your sister,¡± Eleanor continued. ¡°Use it well.¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly and silently. It was Madrigal who shattered the quiet, albeit with a calm that was somewhat jarring.

    ¡°I have a question,¡± she asked with surprising coolness, raising one hand politely. ¡°The blackish-purple stuff. The forces of darkness. Can you tell us a little bit more about it?¡±

    Eleanor nodded in understanding--although her perplexed expression in the face of Madrigal¡¯s phrasing was not lost on Octavia. ¡°The Dissonance, then. Even now, I hesitate to think about it. If you children have ever been cursed to witness it, I sincerely apologize.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the...Dissonance?¡± Harper asked tentatively. In truth, Octavia wished he¡¯d never need to find out.

    The solemn look that settled onto Eleanor¡¯s face was in stark contrast to the warmth of moments before. ¡°As I¡¯ve told Viola, Dissonance is humanity¡¯s agony given form. It is a horrific amalgamation of anguish and despair, too volatile to take shape. Unseen by normal eyes, it is a natural consequence of this world, forever lingering among us all.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s blood froze over. Viola hadn¡¯t told her that part. ¡°It¡¯s been here this whole time?¡±

    Viola looked away, dodging Octavia¡¯s attempts to meet her gaze. Her avoidance spoke more than words probably could.

    ¡°Indeed, Dissonance is ever-present,¡± Eleanor went on. ¡°It cannot be stopped by mortal means, and it cannot be reasoned with. It is as intangible as love or anger.¡±

    ¡°But we can see it,¡± Octavia said. ¡°It¡¯s like smoke, or¡­fog. We can even hear it.¡±

    ¡°Only those blessed with the company of a Harmonial Instrument can witness it in a physical form, shapeless as it may be. Of course, that would mean only those with the aid of a Harmonial Instrument can strike it down,¡± she finished.

    ¡°There are ways to sense the presence of Dissonance,¡± Viola continued in the woman¡¯s stead, counting on her fingers one by one. ¡°First, there¡¯s the screeching noise. Even if a normal person can¡¯t see Dissonance, they can still hear it. Their ears start ringing and they start hearing screeching sounds they can¡¯t describe.¡±

    Octavia nodded. It was an experience she wished she couldn¡¯t empathize with.

    The Maestra counted further. ¡°Second, there are¡­physical symptoms, kind of like a disease. Exposure to Dissonance causes fatigue, nausea, and dizziness, among other things. Third, people exposed to Dissonance often develop thoughts of hurting or killing themselves--provided the Dissonance itself doesn¡¯t take care of that first.¡±

    The moment she remembered the riverbed in Minuevera, Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. Everything clicked, the man¡¯s suspected intentions most of all. She felt sick. She struggled to focus.

    ¡°Finally,¡± Viola went on, ¡°there¡¯s the...opposite. If a person is particularly susceptible to Dissonance, they can even lose themselves in its presence. We call these people ¡®Dissonant¡¯. To be Dissonant is to be¡­infected with Dissonance, in a way. Dissonant people act out of sheer hatred and destructive urges, and will go after themselves or others until they¡¯re...stopped.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t immune to the shadow that crossed Viola¡¯s face for a moment. The puzzle pieces of her paternal situation had clicked neatly into place some time ago. It still broke Octavia¡¯s heart to witness.

    ¡°And¡­nobody ever notices that anything¡¯s wrong? The nausea, the dizziness, anything?¡± Harper asked once more.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Even if they see a doctor, no matter how much they¡¯re tested, nothing will ever be visibly wrong. It¡¯ll look like it¡¯s all in their head.¡±

    ¡°And that just makes them feel even more alone,¡± Madrigal spoke sadly. Anything short of a smile on her face was deeply unsettling.

    ¡°And that¡¯s why it¡¯s the responsibility of Maestros and Maestras to free them from their suffering, by which they might regain their senses,¡± Eleanor added. ¡°Still, it takes a skilled hand and a special soul to heal a Dissonant person.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted towards Madrigal, her thoughts drifting in tandem. ¡°Madrigal, that night on the riverbed, with that¡­man. How did you know what to do?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s soft smile was much more appreciated. ¡°Lyra told me what to do--the first time, and the second time, and every time I needed to. When I need her help, it¡¯s like she takes my hands.¡±

    Eleanor¡¯s smile was just as soft. ¡°What is your Harmonial Instrument, dear?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a harp!¡± she answered proudly, patting the bag nestled comfortably against her side. ¡°The first time I ever saw the darkness, I was really scared, but Lyra showed me how to fight back. She showed me how to help people, too. When there¡¯s trouble, I can always count on her. I know she¡¯ll always be there for me.¡±

    Eleanor¡¯s eyes fell to the instrument unseen, obscured beneath the fabric of the little bag as it was. ¡°Your bond is surely a special one, child. It is a blessing that you two have one another.¡±

    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have been in trouble if I was closer to Silver Brevada, then? Is that it?¡±

    Viola¡¯s narrowed eyes offset Madrigal¡¯s prideful beaming. Octavia flinched. Eleanor nearly did the same.

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°No, my dear, that¡¯s¡­not what I meant to imply. To remove the Dissonance from within a human soul is highly difficult for any Maestro to do alone. Normally, it would take rigorous training--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve trained rigorously, grandmother, every single day! I practice until my fingers bleed and my hands are covered in blisters, and I still can¡¯t save a single person! I thought Silver Brevada and I were on good terms. I thought I was a decent Maestra--a good one, even, and yet if another Dissonant person crosses my path, all I¡¯ll be able to do is grant them a quick death! Is that all just because my relationship with my instrument isn¡¯t ¡®special¡¯ enough?¡± she snapped, her voice steadily rising.

    ¡°Viola, love, that isn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°So what, is there something wrong with my soul? Is a ''soul of ice'' weaker than a spirit of wind? Is that how that works? Am I too frigid to be a healer? It sure as hell didn¡¯t stop you from saving father, did it?¡±

    ¡°Viola--¡±

    ¡°So it has nothing to do with training or effort or whatever like you said? You can just wake up and be a good Maestra one day? You can just¡­treat everything like a game and pretend to be a hero, and that¡¯s somehow enough to save someone¡¯s life? Is that what I need to do? Make everything serious into a joke? And maybe, magically, my instrument will do everything for me? Is it that easy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s shaky murmur was barely within earshot, a gaze meant for sparkles now pooling with tears. Viola froze the moment they met her own, her eyes wide and plagued by a tint of guilt in turn. For how Octavia watched one foot slide slightly behind her, she had half a mind to wonder if the girl was going to bolt. She stood her ground, surprisingly, even if the strain that crossed her face threatened to split her in half.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it,¡± Viola murmured back. ¡°I just...it¡¯s...personal.¡±

    The silence that followed was abysmal, with only the soft crackles beyond the fireplace to fill the gaps. Octavia¡¯s fingers settled over Madrigal¡¯s own, deathly still to a degree that unnerved her. She squeezed, receiving nothing in return. Harper¡¯s initiative to speak at last was equal parts bold and startling.

    ¡°Miss Eleanor, where does the Dissonance come from?¡± he asked, his voice notably quiet.

    To her credit, Eleanor was undeterred. ¡°Dissonance is born from bad memories. It flocks to places of tragedy and suffering. Be warned, though, that it takes a powerful memory to give birth to Dissonance. A simple bitter experience will not do.¡±

    ¡°Is there a¡­way to get rid of it? Like, completely?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly, somewhat fearful of the answer to follow.

    ¡°There is.¡±

    Viola¡¯s tone was sharp and dark, painted with something unlike that of her prior ire.

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°There isn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°There will be,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°I¡¯ll find a way.¡±

    ¡°My love,¡± Eleanor began with a sigh, ¡°we¡¯ve¡­discussed this. The world cannot be rid of a natural force. Dissonance is a given part of life, just as the Harmonial Instruments are a sacred blessing unto this world.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll find a way to get rid of it,¡± Viola spoke harshly. ¡°I refuse to believe something that awful could ever be natural. Something had to make it that way, just like how something had to make Harmonial Instruments.¡±

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°Even I don¡¯t know where the Harmonial Instruments came from, or for how long Dissonance has inhabited this world. As it stands, only the instruments themselves could tell their tales.¡±

    ¡°No one knows anything about them?¡± Octavia asked. ¡°That¡­can¡¯t be right. Maestros and Maestras all over the world, and no one else knows a thing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid much of that information has been lost to time, dear,¡± Eleanor answered sadly. ¡°The world of Maestros and Maestras is a secretive one, hidden away from those who would compromise its sanctity. Take pride in your identity as a Maestra, but guard that secret with your life.¡±

    ¡°Who would ever want to hurt a Maestra?¡± Octavia asked, perplexed. ¡°What would they gain from--¡±

    ¡°Power,¡± Harper interjected suddenly. ¡°Fortune. Maybe.¡±

    When Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to him, his gaze was almost distant. She tilted her head and nudged his shoulder. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°This might be a bit of a stretch, but I highly doubt that there isn¡¯t a single other person in this world who doesn¡¯t know something. If this power is as special as you say, there must be others who know how important it is. People who know the truth, the details, all that.¡±

    Eleanor paused. ¡°It¡¯s very true that I don¡¯t hold all the answers to the mysteries of the Maestro world. I was born and raised in the capital, as was my mother before me.¡±

    ¡°Did your mother teach you how to be a Maestra?¡± Madrigal asked quietly. Hearing her speak again, quiet or otherwise, was nice.

    Eleanor nodded. ¡°She taught me all that I know, as did her mother to her. Ours is a proud lineage of Maestras, each with the same partner, passed down through time.¡±

    Viola opened her mouth, and yet closed it just as quickly. Harper continued in her stead.

    ¡°So then there were generations before you who knew about Maestros and Maestras. If that¡¯s true, there¡¯s no way that there¡¯s no one else in the world without a similar situation. There¡¯s other people who know more about¡­all this,¡± he spoke, gesturing freely to nothing in particular. ¡°I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    ¡°Maybe your sister knew something,¡± Madrigal offered calmly, tapping Octavia¡¯s shoulder.

    Her words were nearly lethal, given the way Octavia¡¯s heart skipped far too many consecutive beats. ¡°You think my sister disappeared because of Maestra stuff?¡±

    ¡°It makes sense,¡± Viola added. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be a stretch to say she knew more than we do. She disappeared under awfully mysterious circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Then it seems,¡± Eleanor added, ¡°that your sister may be another great mystery of the Maestro world, as well.¡±

    Once more, her hand was upon Stradivaria¡¯s case. It was instinctive.

    ¡°If the knowledge of Maestros and Maestras stretches back that far, it¡¯s reasonable to say that all of this had to start from somewhere,¡± Harper continued. ¡°Maestros had to start from somewhere, right? And if they started from somewhere, the Dissonance had to start from somewhere, too.¡±

    ¡°And if it started from somewhere, then it isn¡¯t eternal,¡± Viola breathed.

    ¡°And maybe it can be stopped,¡± Madrigal added hesitantly.

    ¡°Viola,¡± Eleanor began, her words slowing the moment her eyes found Viola¡¯s pained expression. ¡°You know I will always put my faith in you as an advocate for the truth. Just...please, don¡¯t get your hopes up so high that you hurt yourself instead. Be prepared for the worst.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already seen the worst,¡± she muttered. ¡°And I never want to see it again.¡±

    ¡°Either way,¡± Harper continued, ¡°this all starts with us learning more about Maestros, I¡¯d guess. We won¡¯t get anywhere if we don¡¯t start looking into stuff ourselves.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes fell to him, and she clung to his every word. ¡°Do you have something in mind?¡±

    ¡°I had a feeling as soon as you said there might be people that are interested in Maestro stuff from the outside. Coda¡¯s kind of a¡­questionable place at night, and people around here talk a lot. Honestly, way too much. It wouldn¡¯t be too much of a stretch to assume someone else around here knows something about Maestros.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it lucky that we all found each other?¡± Madrigal added. ¡°One Maestra from Silver Ridge, one from Minuevera, and two from the capital--with another retired Maestra there, too.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°Very lucky, and that only covers a really small part of Mezzoria. Mathematically, if this many Maestros and Maestras are in such a specific area, there should be plenty of others covering the continent. I refuse to believe we¡¯re alone.¡±

    Technically, their explosive experience in the forest would¡¯ve made five. Octavia declined to start a problem by pointing it out, for whatever could¡¯ve possibly left Viola¡¯s mouth afterwards.

    ¡°Still, where do we even start?¡± Octavia asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about Coda, so I¡¯m admittedly not much help here anyway.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°I¡¯ve got one idea, but it might be a little convoluted.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re listening,¡± Madrigal said with a smile.

    He crossed his arms. ¡°There¡¯s an event scheduled to happen at the auction house here in Coda tonight. Music-themed, for whatever reason. I think they kind of rotate themes or something, I don¡¯t know. Either way, it¡¯s gotten a little bit of attention from people with¡­interests, so to speak, that makes me a bit suspicious.¡±

    Octavia recognized the term, bitterly spoken as it was. It took effort to remember the names at all. She more or less guessed. ¡°Holly and Ivy?¡±

    Harper nodded, the confusion gifted to the remaining Maestras notwithstanding. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to one of the auctions myself, but they¡¯re pretty well-attended, from what I¡¯m aware. Rich people tend to end up there and start exchanging stuff from all over the place. If there¡¯s a sizable interest in things related to musical instruments, maybe we can find something Maestro-related?¡±

    ¡°That¡­is a pretty big reach, if I¡¯m being honest,¡± Viola scoffed. ¡°Just because it¡¯s music-related doesn¡¯t necessarily mean we¡¯ll find anything. Our luck so far has been good, but not that good.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I tried.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s better than nothing,¡± Octavia argued. ¡°Any lead is better than no leads. Even if we don¡¯t find out anything, we¡¯ll still have at least gotten to try. We...don''t exactly have anything else to go off of right now.¡±

    For the brief moment that her eyes flickered to the woman long since excluded from the conversation, the soft smile she found once more was warm. She appreciated it, and she returned it as best as she could. She made a mental note to offer her gratitude verbally, later, just the same.

    ¡°Well, suppose we did actually try this," Viola continued, every word splashed with skepticism. "What time does the auction start? This is¡­really short notice.¡±

    ¡°Nine o¡¯clock,¡± Harper stated plainly. ¡°We¡¯ve got time.¡±

    ¡°With what credentials? How would we even get in?¡±

    ¡°We have a Vacanti with us. You said your family specializes in art stuff, right? And you¡¯re, you know¡­affluent,¡± he tried with another shrug. ¡°Isn¡¯t that enough of a credential?¡±

    ¡°M-Me?¡± Viola stammered. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to an auction in my life. My father was responsible for all of the art trading in our family, but he never brought me along.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s even better,¡± Octavia added. ¡°If you can bring something with us to contribute, it might make it even easier to get in.¡±

    Viola paused for a moment, settling her cheek into one hand comfortably. ¡°We don¡¯t exactly have any shortage of art around here. Maybe something music-themed would work, if we¡¯re really going all out on this.¡±

    ¡°What are we gonna wear?¡± Madrigal asked with a soft tilt of her head.

    Octavia blinked. She hadn¡¯t exactly brought along anything formal, nor did she own anything in the first place. If the general presentation of at least two of her three newest companions was anything to go by, comfort largely took priority over elegance. It was nearly reassuring. Attending in her regular clothes didn¡¯t seem so severe on a personal level. She doubted Viola would agree, given how little Octavia knew of Coda as it was.

    ¡°That won¡¯t be an issue,¡± Eleanor offered, her soft voice still just as startling and sudden. ¡°We have plenty of formal clothes here in just about every size. You¡¯re all welcome to take whatever you need.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°Octavia, you and I wear the same size, and we can find something in my mother¡¯s old closet for Madrigal. There¡¯s bound to be something small enough.¡±

    Harper raised one hand with a nervous chuckle to match. ¡°You, uh, wouldn¡¯t happen to have anything for guys, would you?¡±

    Eleanor smiled. ¡°But of course, dear. I¡¯ve saved each and every suit my sweet Vincent has ever worn. He¡¯s far too big for them now, of course, but a mother has trouble letting go of certain memories.¡±

    ¡°Not like he needs a suit where he is now,¡± Viola muttered bitterly.

    Harper returned the woman¡¯s smile. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. I promise I¡¯ll bring it back in good shape.¡±

    Viola rose from her seat, clapping her hands together somewhat dramatically. ¡°Alright, this plan is a hot mess, but it¡¯s apparently all we¡¯ve got, and it¡¯s better than sitting around debating. I¡¯ll go to the basement and get the art, you three get cleaned up, and we¡¯ll¡­figure this out as we go, I guess.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s smile as she rose to her feet in turn came independent of her usual vigor. It was enough for Octavia¡¯s eyes to trail her just a bit too long, and it took conscious effort to remember her promise of gratitude. She did what she could to focus on granting her thanks, instead, peeling her gaze away from the Maestra as best as she could.

    ¡°Miss Eleanor, I can¡¯t possibly thank you enough for meeting us,¡± Octavia offered instead.

    Eleanor beamed. ¡°It was my pleasure, dear. To see the next generation of young Maestros and Maestras thriving is enough reward for a lifetime. All I ask in return is that you take care of my Viola.¡±

    Octavia nodded resolutely. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s safe, I promise.¡±

    ¡°I know you will,¡± the woman assured. ¡°Your light is meant to guide.¡±

    She brushed her fingers against the cat one last time on the way out, at least. It was largely in tandem with Harper that she departed the cozy room, for how the Maestras ahead of her had already begun the process of ascending the grand staircase she¡¯d nearly forgotten about. Even once more surrounded by clean and pristine whites, it was somewhat less imposing with two Maestras scaling its tall steps. Neither did so with notable energy, and she followed their steps with a nagging discomfort. It blunted the overwhelming aura of the vast manor at large, still scathingly unexplored and amplifying her every motion with an unfortunate echo.

    ¡°That reminds me,¡± Octavia said, ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask about this auction thing. What made you think it might¡¯ve been a lead? Besides the obvious.¡±

    Harper sighed, lowering his voice somewhat. ¡°I wasn¡¯t lying about everything I said. It really does all make sense, even though I agree it could definitely be a reach. Still, Holly and Ivy are loud, annoying, brazen, and all-around bad influences. I wasn¡¯t going to admit to it in there, but I¡¯ve never once seen them get involved with anything that didn¡¯t end up with something ridiculous attached to it. Domino¡¯s actually the one who tipped me off to this whole thing even happening, and he heard about it from them. If they knew about it in the first place, it probably comes with something of merit.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°They are literally magnets for unsavory people,¡± he answered bluntly. ¡°I¡¯m convinced it¡¯s intentional at this point. They¡¯re always chasing whatever they think will get them somewhere profitable. If this is what they¡¯ve got their sights set on, it¡¯s at least worth looking over their shoulders at--not that I really want to follow them in any capacity. I don¡¯t exactly know what goes on at these kinds of events, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Where there¡¯s smoke, there¡¯s fire,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°Exactly. Unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°You¡­seem to know a lot about them. Do you guys know each other personally?¡±

    Harper¡¯s face crumbled in what she could only presume to be absolute disgust. ¡°God, you have no idea how badly I want to say no. We¡¯re not exactly well-acquainted, but we most definitely are not on good terms. That¡¯s putting it nicely. We¡¯ve got different¡­ideologies. Not sure how else to word it. It¡¯s worse because they¡¯re convinced I¡¯m intentionally trying to screw with their income.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°By which you mean keeping Domino in line?¡±

    ¡°By which I very much mean keeping Domino in line, and away from them,¡± he groaned. ¡°It goes a bit deeper than that, but you¡¯ll see what I mean in a bit.¡±

    ¡°In a bit?¡±

    He sighed once more. ¡°They¡¯ll be at that damn auction. I¡¯d stake my life on it. They flock to wealthy shiny stuff like moths to a flame. You¡¯ll be able to hear them from across the room.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted quietly. ¡°Do you think we might be in too deep with this whole thing?¡±

    His grin was appreciated, mildly sarcastic as it was. ¡°We were in too deep the second you told me about magic violins and trumpets.¡±

    She found a smile in return. At the very least, she wouldn¡¯t be in too deep alone.

 10. Behind Closed Doors

    There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Madrigal anything short of exuberant. It was an incredible relief that it didn¡¯t last. All it took was a mild amount of fashion.

    ¡°Mild¡± was an understatement, given exactly how much attire Viola¡¯s mother truly owned. Octavia still hadn¡¯t quite pinned down the origin of Viola¡¯s fashion sense, borderline regal as it was. It spoke to affluence, and that which was offered to the two Maestras was much the same. Every shimmering fabric and sparkling satin hardly outdid the twinkle in Madrigal¡¯s eyes, resplendent as they were once more. She practically squealed. It was much, much more welcome. By comparison, there was something at least mildly intimidating that came with the realization of one closet costing more than Octavia¡¯s entire life thus far. She almost feared so much as looking at it directly.

    If Madrigal had any such qualms, she showed absolutely none. Already, she was fluttering between row after row of styles and garments, fingers kept absolutely anywhere except to herself. ¡°This is incredible! You¡¯re practically like royalty!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s touch was tender and hesitant, by comparison. Fleece was soft. Her skin savored it, trailing one coat delicately. ¡°All of this belongs to your mother?¡±

    Viola shrugged half-heartedly. ¡°She won¡¯t be using it any time soon.¡±

    She¡¯d expected sass, at least. Even a quip about her disoriented reactions would¡¯ve been enough. Instead, Viola was an onlooker, and no attempts to catch her eye were fruitful. Octavia tried thrice over, and each attempt was met only with a turned head and an averted gaze. She tensed.

    ¡°We can¡­really wear whatever we want from here?¡± she asked, her fingertips still absentmindedly fondling the delicate fabric.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Viola replied quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­freshen up and drag some painting or another out of the basement. You two take your time.¡±

    Octavia never got the chance to argue, for how Viola left them in her wake without hesitation. She followed the departing Maestra with her eyes alone, stiffening with discomfort. Given what heavy words had been tossed in her direction minutes prior, Octavia couldn¡¯t particularly blame her. It still didn¡¯t make the sight hurt any less. She sighed.

    ¡°How does this one look?¡±

    Madrigal was giving her whiplash, almost. She didn¡¯t exactly hate the energy, although the stark contrast between the two Maestras was almost jarring. Green looked good on her already. Octavia was starting to notice a preferential pattern, endearing as it was.

    She smiled. ¡°Beautiful. Goes great with your eyes.¡±

    The Maestra beamed, nearly vibrating with excitement. ¡°Really? Thank you! This is gonna be so fun! I¡¯ve never gotten to dress this fancy before, to be honest. I almost feel like a princess in a--¡±

    She stopped short, her face falling the moment she¡¯d bitten her tongue. Octavia winced.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked.

    Madrigal flicked her fingertips against the fraying threads quietly. Her volume matched. ¡°I know that sounds silly, but it¡­makes me happy. Is that bad?¡±

    Octavia frowned. Her hand settled over Madrigal¡¯s instantly with a tight squeeze in tow. ¡°It¡¯s not bad at all. You¡¯re allowed to be happy. You¡¯re allowed to feel like whatever you want to feel like, princess or not.¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, her curls bouncing along with her. ¡°But Viola said--¡±

    ¡°Viola didn¡¯t mean it,¡± Octavia interrupted. ¡°Viola was just angry. What she said was wrong, and she definitely doesn''t believe the things she said. You¡¯re...fine just the way you are. You¡¯re a wonderful Maestra, too.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes shimmered dangerously. ¡°You think so?¡±

    Octavia nodded fervently, her braids brushing her cheeks as she did so. ¡°I know it.¡±

    Madrigal blinked heavily several times over. Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the glimmer stemmed behind every motion, particularly given the wobbly smile that settled onto the Maestra¡¯s lips soon after. She did what she could to offer a genuine one of her own.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go talk to Viola. You get all fancied up, okay?¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Madrigal murmured, the soft light tinting her eyes far more welcome by comparison.

    Actually getting out of the closet was a trial in and of itself. The entire room was large, and the manor more so still. For a place so empty and vast, it was nearly suffocating. Octavia had been raised in a house infinitely smaller than Viola¡¯s own, and the atmosphere had been nothing short of lively and bountiful at all points in time. This was cold. It was possibly rude to say, let alone think. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    Her eyes flickered to every last coat of dust along every last lonely surface for far longer than they should¡¯ve. She¡¯d taken great care to avoid mentioning Viola¡¯s father. She¡¯d never so much as given thought to the Maestra¡¯s mother. Of that, too, she was now afraid to pry. Madrigal was the sole source of warmth in such a dead and isolated room, and sealing her within felt cruel. Octavia liked to imagine her sunshine could be contagious, for what was so desperately necessary. Viola deserved better than this place.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she could remember where Viola¡¯s room was in the first place, and it was absolutely her fault for not having explicitly asked. It took her no less than twenty seconds to get lost. It was almost impressive. There was a simultaneous pang of guilt that came with each door she passed, given how lifeless whatever lie beyond was in turn. For a current household of two, this was maddening even from afar.

    Octavia made a mental note to ask exactly how four people had once ended up with so much unused space. She made a second mental note to handle a newly-crowned soul of ice with the delicacy and tact it deserved. It probably wasn¡¯t the best time.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    She almost tripped outright. It definitely wasn¡¯t Viola. His sudden appearance was almost worse, for how he still largely clung to the door overall. Octavia could hardly see him. It was enough to nearly stop her heart.

    ¡°God, you scared me. I¡¯m not gonna lie, think I¡¯m lost. I¡¯m¡­assuming that¡¯s her dad¡¯s room, then?¡±

    Harper smiled. ¡°Yeah. I feel kinda bad about using his clothes, but they¡¯re...really nice. High quality stuff.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°So are you gonna let me see you in the high quality stuff, or are you gonna hide behind the door all night?¡± she teased.

    He blushed slightly. ¡°I mean, yeah, I can do that. I¡¯ve just...never worn a suit before.¡±

    The shyness was new. It was endearing, somewhat. ¡°So? I¡¯m sure it looks great! Show me.¡±

    He took his time, his full visage greeting her with an agonizing slowness that nearly made her rush him. He cleaned up excellently. He looked lovely in formal clothing, at that. She made it clear with what playful applause she could. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, his gaze stolen and his brightening blush more than prominent.

    ¡°It looks great,¡± she reassured happily. ¡°Don¡¯t be shy. You look just as good in a suit as you do in regular clothes.¡±

    Harper¡¯s timid eyes flickered to hers for a moment. ¡°You really think so?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I know so.¡±

    Harper exhaled heavily. ¡°Just...didn¡¯t know what to expect. I thought maybe it wouldn¡¯t be the right kind of thing for me.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°It¡¯s just a suit. Didn¡¯t think most guys gave it that much thought.¡±

    He winced. ¡°Yeah, no, you¡¯re¡­right. Not something most guys do. I guess I¡¯m just a bit self-conscious. I feel like I don¡¯t really deserve to wear stuff like this.¡±

    For as much as it stung simply to hear, she battled to keep her smile. ¡°You deserve to wear nice things, no matter what background you come from. I believe that from the bottom of my heart.¡±

    Harper¡¯s soft eyes met hers in full. She found the smile she was looking for, demure as it was. In the brief moment he opened his mouth to speak, he closed it just as quickly. Instead, it was only a nod that spoke to silent gratitude. It was more than enough.

    ¡°I, uh, hate to do this to you,¡± Octavia added, her voice faltering, ¡°but you wouldn¡¯t have happened to see where Viola went, would you? I kinda¡­forgot to ask which room was hers.¡±

    Harper chuckled, gesturing accordingly. ¡°You almost had it. Third door down on the right from here.¡±

    ¡°Third door on the right, third door on the right,¡± Octavia muttered beneath her breath repeatedly. If she lost her way again, his teasing would be the worst possible consequence. ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ll see you in a bit!¡±

    She could hear him laugh as she moved a bit too fast, and that was embarrassing enough in and of itself. Given the way she saw him trail his fingertips along his tie again and again in her wake, she liked to imagine he was satisfied. He deserved it. Dedicated as she was to a different situation entirely, she still brought a smile with her all the way there.

    <hr>

    The hesitation she found originated somewhere between facing the Maestra within and ensuring she was in the correct place at all. If she was wrong this time, she was going to scream. She could hardly bring herself to touch the doorknob, and subsequently didn¡¯t--although, in truth, it was largely the discomfort on her shoulders that served as a deterrent. It took effort and a deep breath to engage at all, and she rapped her knuckles against the door apprehensively.

    ¡°Viola? You in there?¡±

    She got seconds of silence before she got an answer at all. ¡°Yeah, come in.¡±

    Octavia did as instructed, hesitantly or otherwise. She couldn¡¯t find Viola, at least initially. Her room was practically identical to her mother¡¯s own, and the thought alone was enough to trigger yet the same unease as before. She shook it off as best she could. The closet was much the same, too, and the rustling within was enough of a beacon. It took significant effort to keep her eyes from wandering. This felt invasive, suddenly.

    ¡°I¡­kind of forgot which room was yours. I remember you said we wear the same size, right? And I was supposed to come in here for clothes and stuff?¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Viola murmured.

    Octavia paused. ¡°Thanks again for letting me use your clothes. I¡¯m sorry we kind of just came into your house like this.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I offered,¡± she murmured once more.

    ¡°Well, yeah, but still,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°I really do appreciate it. The others do, too.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem,¡± Viola murmured a third time over, distant as it was. Octavia frowned.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡± Viola answered, her words taut and sharp.

    Invasive or not, Octavia tugged the closet door open regardless. ¡°Viola?¡±

    Viola never once turned around. Even with her back to Octavia deep within, the way by which she brutally wrung the dangling hem of an innocent dress was more than visible. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she snapped.

    ¡°Are you really?¡± Octavia pressed.

    Viola nodded wordlessly.

    ¡°Talk to me. Please,¡± Octavia pleaded.

    ¡°About what?¡± Viola asked, her voice shaking in the slightest.

    ¡°About any of this,¡± Octavia pushed. ¡°The thing with your grandmother, the thing with the Dissonance, anything that¡¯s bothering you. I want you to be able to talk to me about things.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to,¡± she insisted, still offering only her back. ¡°I can take care of myself.¡±

    Whether or not Viola could see, Octavia found herself shaking her head anyway. ¡°You don¡¯t have to deal with this alone! That¡¯s the whole point of us being here! Isn¡¯t that why you gathered other Maestros in the first place?¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Does it really matter if I put other people¡¯s lives in danger?¡± she finally shouted, nearly sending the dress crashing to the floor. ¡°Does it really matter, if I¡¯m not strong enough to protect myself? If I¡¯m not strong enough to protect anyone else?¡±

    Octavia raised her hands hesitantly. ¡°Vi--¡±

    Her voice wobbled fiercely. ¡°I almost got you killed because of my weakness. When Stradivaria was stolen, I couldn¡¯t help you get it back. I can¡¯t even talk to my own grandmother without getting defensive anymore, and now I hurt Madrigal, who just got done saving our lives.¡±

    ¡°Viola, please--¡±

    When her eyes met Octavia¡¯s at last, they came with reddened cheeks and dried streaks of tears. How long she¡¯d been crying was debatable. Octavia¡¯s heart sank into her stomach, and she let every word in her throat follow in its wake.

    ¡°All I do is watch other people get hurt,¡± Viola nearly whispered. ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯m good at. Even if I try to avoid it, it just happens. I haven¡¯t even known all of you for a week yet and I¡¯m already putting everyone in danger.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands were firmly upon the girl¡¯s shoulders before she¡¯d realized. ¡°That¡¯s not true! You saved my life that night!¡±

    ¡°You saved your own life!¡± Viola cried back, eyes already glistening once more.

    ¡°I would¡¯ve died if you hadn¡¯t told me what to do,¡± Octavia insisted. The urge to shake her was overpowering. ¡°You¡¯re the one who taught me Maestro stuff. You¡¯re the one who gave me hope again--about my sister, about everything!¡±

    ¡°And what if I¡¯m wrong, huh?¡± Viola spat. ¡°What if I lead us the wrong way? What if you follow me and we never find your sister?¡±

    The thought absolutely stung. Ignoring it was Hell. ¡°T-Then I¡¯m glad I at least tried! I¡¯m glad I had the chance to try, and it¡¯s a chance I wouldn¡¯t have ever had without you!¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to be lonely,¡± she argued softly. ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to lose someone you love more than anything in the world. I know what it¡¯s like to have your whole life torn apart--your whole family torn apart by that loss. I know what it¡¯s like to live with¡­knowing that if you knew then what you know now, things might¡¯ve turned out different.¡±

    Viola was silent, tears still pricking the edges of her eyes. Octavia pressed.

    ¡°But you? You¡¯ve had to deal with that times a thousand, and it¡¯s not right. You¡¯ve fought for answers where others would¡¯ve given up. You fight for what you believe in when others tell you to quit. You know in your heart what you need to do, and you put everything you have into that. I don¡¯t care how long we¡¯ve known each other. I respect that.¡±

    Viola smeared her tears weakly against one shaky palm. ¡°You heard her. She doesn¡¯t think the Dissonance can be stopped. Even with more Maestros by my side, it doesn''t matter to her. I really, really thought she''d change her mind. It...didn''t mean a thing. I thought she''d believe in me.¡±

    ¡°My parents don¡¯t believe I can find my sister,¡± Octavia offered. ¡°Why should that stop me? I believe in you, and I believe in the things you believe in--and Madrigal, and Harper. Do you really think they would¡¯ve stuck around for an auction together if they didn¡¯t believe we could achieve something as a team? You really think they wouldn¡¯t have just¡­left?¡±

    Viola scoffed, wriggling out of Octavia¡¯s grasp. ¡°As if it¡¯s that easy to get Madrigal to give up on something. I mean, she followed us to a completely different city.¡±

    Octavia smiled weakly. ¡°There¡¯s no point in giving up. We¡¯ve only just started.¡±

    Viola embraced silence once more. She threw her eyes upwards, delicately sifting through garments with such focus that Octavia initially believed her to be distressed. Instead, it was with great care that the Maestra presented her with familiar fabrics, lace-lined and azure-tinted as they were. They almost passed for the same. They were splendid, by comparison, if not surely more expensive. Viola averted her eyes.

    ¡°This one,¡± the Maestra muttered, thrusting the dress before her. ¡°I¡­picked it out for you. It reminds me of what you usually wear, a bit. Thought it¡¯d be nice to see a fancier version. You¡¯d¡­look good in it, I think.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. She cradled it delicately, fingering the lace experimentally as she did so. ¡°Are you sure I¡¯m not infringing on your style by taking the blue one?¡± she teased.

    Viola shook her head, raising the previously-tortured dress aloft from the floor. ¡°I was thinking about this one. I have a bow that matches. I might have one that matches yours, too, if you want.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°That¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t like taking out my braids if I can help it.¡±

    Viola sighed playfully. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±

    ¡°You good if I change outside? I¡¯ll let you use the closet.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Fine with me.¡±

    Octavia was beaming in earnest. Black would surely suit her. There was almost an excitement that came with waiting. It was offset more so by the absence of tears, a victory embraced with far more joy--silent or otherwise. Octavia never managed to close the closet door on the way out.

    ¡°Wait.¡±

    Her fingers lingered on the doorknob. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    Again, it was Viola¡¯s back alone that she was granted. ¡°I just need to hear you say it. One time.¡±

    ¡°Say¡­what?¡± she asked, confused.

    Viola paused. ¡°Do you really think we can do this?¡±

    Octavia hardly hesitated. ¡°I know so.¡±

    Viola exhaled. ¡°Then that¡¯s all I need.¡±

    What ¡°it¡± was hardly mattered. Octavia would¡¯ve agreed, regardless. If it was for her, there was no argument. She¡¯d keep it that way.

    <hr>

    Octavia had never worn heels. She absolutely was not starting now, regardless of Madrigal¡¯s pleas as to the contrary. It would¡¯ve made lifting harder, and it would¡¯ve been downright miserable regardless. Either reason would¡¯ve been enough alone.

    ¡°It¡¯s not as heavy as I thought it¡¯d be,¡± she offered.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re just really strong,¡± Harper teased, shifting his weight somewhat beneath the frame. ¡°That, plus you run fast as hell. Anything else I should know about you? You¡¯re putting me to shame, here.¡±

    Octavia blushed. ¡°I-I mean, most kids in Silver Ridge grew up like that. We were all outdoors-y types. I used to help my dad lift stuff in the shop all the time, too. This is actually lighter than most of the things we had to move together.¡±

    It took care to balance the painting upright against the ground. She was grateful when Harper took the brunt of it, for how it would spare her Viola¡¯s wrath if it fell. It wouldn¡¯t be her fault, at least. ¡°I think we¡¯re just a pretty solid team, honestly,¡± he offered with a grin.

    Octavia gave him a smile of her own. She¡¯d stared at the canvas more than she¡¯d intended to, given the context. Viola¡¯s selection was intentional, the subject topical and sensitive. The visage of the violin alone wasn¡¯t enough to make her cry, nor was the unidentified musician who clasped it so gently.

    For Priscilla, Viola had clarified softly. That had almost been enough, then.

    ¡°I¡¯d say that¡¯s about as musical as we¡¯re gonna get. Do you think we¡¯ll get any money out of it?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola shrugged. ¡°Probably. My grandfather¡¯s art usually goes for quite a bit. Doesn¡¯t really matter, in this case.¡±

    Harper brushed the dust off his hands as best as was possible. ¡°Should we grab our instruments?¡±

    Viola shook her head fervently. ¡°Absolutely not. Bringing our Harmonial Instruments with us to an event like this is a terrible idea. If we didn¡¯t just outright lose them--literally lost, stolen, anything--we would, at best, risk getting exposed as Maestros. Besides, this absolutely is not the kind of event that¡¯s safe to bring them to. There¡¯s bound to be at least some questionable types in there.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands fell to her hips. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that leave us wide open?¡±

    ¡°Open to what?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°I dunno,¡± Octavia replied with a shrug of her own. ¡°Dissonance, maybe.¡±

    Viola tapped her foot against the ground. ¡°Bringing them is just as much of a risk as not bringing them. I¡¯m just going to assume that Dissonance isn¡¯t likely to show up in a crowd of people that big.¡±

    She kept her mouth shut, then.

    ¡°What¡¯s up with the backpack, anyway?¡±

    Honestly, she had a feeling it would come up eventually.

    ¡°I-I mean, we should bring something to bring stuff back with us in, right? In case we, you know¡­get anything? Bid on stuff? I don¡¯t know,¡± Octavia stammered.

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°You realize there¡¯s other ways of getting things back here, right? Do you think everyone who goes to these kinds of things goes there with¡­well, that?¡±

    ¡°Well--¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t even match.¡±

    That was fair. Octavia adjusted the straps on her shoulders, the colors strikingly mismatched with her shimmering garments as they were. ¡°Listen, I already brought it out here. It¡¯ll make things easier, I promise.¡±

    Viola stared her down. She stared back, albeit with notably more strain.

    ¡°Fine,¡± the Maestra finally relented, crossing her arms. ¡°Just don¡¯t let anyone mess with whatever you put in there.¡±

    With absolute certainty, above all else, she did not plan to.

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°How are we getting there, anyway?¡±

    Viola grinned. ¡°You¡¯ll probably like this one.¡±

    It took Octavia a moment to get the point, given how herself and Madrigal shared at least one moment of confusion. For all of the surprises she¡¯d found in Coda thus far, she hadn¡¯t expected to have every last one pinned down quite yet. The clacking came first, the realization came second, and Madrigal¡¯s eyes bursting into stars came third.

    The victim of the latter was borderline breathless, actually. ¡°Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God--¡±

    Harper whistled. ¡°Fancy.¡±

    She¡¯d never actually seen a carriage before. Viola took it with far too much grace, frankly. She outright curtseyed to the rider without a care, and he bowed right back accordingly. Octavia raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Do you do this often? Like, people actually do this?¡± Octavia hissed quietly.

    ¡°Not at all,¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna lie, I mostly just wanted to see Madrigal¡¯s face.¡±

    ¡°A pleasure, Miss Vacanti,¡± the rider offered, straightening up. ¡°Lady Eleanor has informed me that we will be traveling with a party of four this evening.¡±

    Viola nodded, gesturing to the canvas as she spoke. ¡°That¡¯s right. We¡¯ll be bringing this painting with us, as well.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful. Will you require assistance?¡±

    Harper grunted, hooking one foot beneath the frame with care. ¡°No worries, got it!¡±

    Octavia rushed to his side regardless, hands outstretched with a wince to match. ¡°You sure? I can help!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, seriously,¡± he dismissed with a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t have to carry it very far. You guys go get settled. It¡¯s gonna be a long night.¡±

    If it fell, it was still on him. She would at least make sure Viola didn¡¯t, gently pulling the girl up and over the steps instead. The latter didn¡¯t resist, sighing softly. ¡°Thanks. It might be a little crowded in here, so I¡¯m sorry in advance.¡±

    Octavia cocked her head. Her words were somewhat more important than the sounds of Madrigal¡¯s utter delight at her side. ¡°Isn¡¯t it just the four of us? There¡¯s enough room for--¡±

    ¡°Four of us plus one,¡± Harper interrupted, outright raising the frame clear above his head. ¡°Painting¡¯s gonna have to go in there. It¡¯s too big, I¡¯ve got nowhere to put it safely. Could you grab the other end, please?¡±

    Octavia leaned over the railing carefully, struggling not to scratch the canvas along the way. ¡°God, please don¡¯t hurt yourself doing that.¡±

    Viola had a point about the space issue. She really, really hoped the Maestra didn¡¯t mind their proximity. Their knees touched. Their shoulders touched. Everything touched. Still, it could¡¯ve been worse.

    Harper swung himself up and over the railing, forgoing the doors altogether. ¡°I mean, how long of a ride are we talking about, here?¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°Roughly fifteen minutes, I think. Honestly, I don¡¯t remember for sure.¡±

    Octavia did her best to curb her wiggling, failing almost immediately. The backpack absolutely did not help. ¡°That¡¯s not bad. I think we can deal with the space problem for a bit.¡±

    ¡°Where to, Miss Vacanti?¡± the rider called, eyes forward and reins in hand.

    ¡°The auction house,¡± she answered firmly. ¡°Front entrance.¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡±

    One flick of the reins was the only thing severing Octavia from Vacanti Manor entirely. It was daunting, somewhat, given exactly how much of Coda was still shrouded in shadow. Empty or not, she¡¯d at least been growing used to Viola¡¯s abode. The idea of being out in the city at night was mildly intimidating, company or otherwise. She watched it grow further with each passing second.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think this was a real thing. I¡¯ve always wanted to ride in one of these,¡± Harper said with a smile.

    ¡°You and me both,¡± Madrigal added, still utterly breathless from excitement.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go over this again,¡± Octavia interrupted. ¡°One more time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take things as they come. If we have to split up, split up. Investigating is our priority,¡± Viola rattled off. ¡°If we hit any leads at all on anything Maestro-related, we find each other and follow it as far as we can.¡±

    ¡°No telling anybody about Maestro stuff, though, right?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Viola nodded. ¡°Not a soul. Too risky. Like I said, the people who attend these events are not people you want knowing you¡¯ve got something that valuable.¡±

    ¡°Even without our instruments?¡± Octavia added.

    Harper¡¯s eyes flickered to her, briefly. She flinched.

    ¡°Even without them,¡± she repeated. ¡°Honestly, just being a Maestro might be enough to paint a target on your back.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°What if we see another Maestro, though?¡±

    Viola fell silent for a moment. ¡°On the off-chance that we do get that lucky, just¡­use discretion. Be really, really careful with who you tell.¡±

    She deserved the harsh look Viola fixed her with, probably. She¡¯d been gambling when she¡¯d met Harper, at least somewhat. It paid off beautifully, and therefore, she did not care. Octavia chuckled.

    ¡°And if we get into trouble?¡± Harper continued.

    ¡°Which we probably will,¡± Octavia muttered.

    The elbow to Octavia¡¯s stomach was also deserved, admittedly. She snickered as Viola continued. ¡°If it comes to that, we leave. Simple as that. We¡¯ll regroup somewhere and get out of there.¡±

    The Maestros nodded in tandem. ¡°We¡¯ll be careful,¡± Octavia said with a soft smile.

    Viola sighed regardless. It wasn¡¯t exactly an empty sentiment. Octavia more than planned to be careful, and she assumed the same intent was reiterated threefold. Still, she knew her luck. The trouble comment wasn¡¯t entirely a joke. At this rate, it was becoming a competition, and tonight was an unfortunate chance to enhance her score. She doubted it would take long.

 [EXTRA] 10.5. First Frost

    Of the 365 days in a year, a handful were undesirable. The vast majority were holidays. Several were anniversaries, both positive and negative. Of those, the accompanying memories were bitter either way. Celebrations came with an empty atmosphere, and an empty atmosphere came with loneliness. It echoed, literally and figuratively, with every step throughout a manor so devoid of life. Birthdays weren¡¯t an exception.

    In a perfect world, she could close her eyes and reopen them to tomorrow in an instant. Again, it was sour, a disturbing taste upon her tongue that was once sweet in the arms of another. She owed it to grandmother to tolerate the day, maybe, for how the woman did her best to do the work of three. It wasn¡¯t as though mother¡¯s company was a tremendous loss, to be fair. Still, smiling was beyond Viola. She¡¯d already tried.

    ¡°Close your eyes.¡±

    She¡¯d managed that much, at least. She¡¯d extended her palms where necessary, and she¡¯d accepted the delicate weight that settled into her touch. Crafting a ¡®thank you¡¯ would be difficult, given that she was still numb. She probably would be until the stars saw fit to set her free of today.

    Whatever pressed against her skin was cold, smooth, and sleek. As to how long she was supposed to keep her eyes closed, she wasn¡¯t sure. Viola ran her thumb over the length of the metallic sensation experimentally, and yet she was no closer to an answer. She threw caution to the wind after more than a moment.

    She¡¯d never been much of a musician. She still appreciated the gesture, and she threw together the best smile she could manage.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Viola said weakly, forcing her tired lips to curl upwards. ¡°It¡¯s lovely.¡±

    Her grandmother¡¯s smile was far more genuine, by comparison. She felt awful for not putting in more effort. ¡°I¡¯ve been¡­trying to find the right time. I believe now is as good a chance as ever.¡±

    Viola rolled the flute between her fingers in tandem, drinking in every sparkle captured beneath the lights of the salon. It really was pretty. She¡¯d admit to that, if nothing else. Once more was her touch exploratory, trailing along every twisting curve inlaid beyond twinkling silver. The engraving, too, was nice. Some part of her vaguely took the gift as a suggestion, and she wasn¡¯t certain if it came with implications. It wasn¡¯t as though any of her hobbies were particularly captivating, nor that she routinely kept up with any at all. Whether or not she¡¯d be any good at it was debatable. It was surely something she could contemplate alone. She couldn¡¯t think of a solid excuse, for how gratitude was a binding obligation.

    ¡°I hope you¡¯ll treasure that instrument just as much as I did. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll cherish you, just the same.¡±

    Viola raised her eyes. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you played the flute.¡±

    The same smile persisted. ¡°That flute meant the world to me, my dear.¡±

    Again, Viola¡¯s gaze fell to the shimmering silver. Again, too, they came back up. ¡°Then¡­why are you giving it to me? I don¡¯t feel right taking that from you.¡±

    Her question was answered by action alone. In lieu of words, her grandmother only settled down onto the couch. When she gestured towards the seat at her side, Viola could only stand stiff in place. At this point, there was no trading the salon for the comforts of a solemn bedroom. She wasn¡¯t entirely certain that it was for the better, and she stifled a sigh. With the flute still clutched in her hands, she sunk slowly into the same cushions.

    ¡°That is no normal instrument, my dear,¡± her grandmother began. ¡°And you will be no normal musician.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Her grandmother gestured to the flute as she spoke. ¡°That instrument carries an incredible power within, as will you. It will be your partner.¡±

    ¡°My¡­partner,¡± Viola repeated. ¡°With a flute?¡±

    If it was figurative, her grandmother¡¯s wording wasn¡¯t making it obvious. ¡°Your souls will be connected, it¡¯s true. That flute is called a Harmonial Instrument. You are to be its Maestra.¡±

    Viola stared. ¡°What?¡±

    Confusion meant nothing, apparently. Her grandmother only continued, patting the flute resting quietly in Viola¡¯s lap. ¡°You will be blessed with the ability to do amazing things. This instrument was once my partner, and yet I¡¯ve grown too frail to summon its strength any longer. It is you, my love, who would next earn the right to its companionship.¡±

    ¡°Amazing¡± was pushing it. She still conceded that it was pretty. Once more, Viola was cradling the flute in both hands, inspecting it at every angle beneath the gentle lights of the salon. ¡°How long have you had this?¡±

    Her grandmother only beamed. ¡°Years upon years. This instrument was handed down to me from my mother. It was passed down to her, as well. It has been in the hands of the Vacantis for as long as you could imagine.¡±

    She¡¯d never once heard so much as a note in the manor. Even if she strongly doubted that grandmother would trick her--today, specifically, for how poorly she already felt--it was odd regardless. The question that bubbled to her lips was instinctive and innocent, initially. It wasn¡¯t as though she was the next generational descendent in line. There had been time. There had been options. If grandmother hadn¡¯t waited, Viola wondered if the Vacanti streak would¡¯ve lasted. Of the two candidates, one had long since surrendered the name, anyway.

    A passing Peony brushed against her calves, and she flinched for a moment. It was enough to bring her back to reality, at least. Ultimately, she traded a weighted inquiry for something far lighter. ¡°What makes it so special?¡±

    Her grandmother¡¯s smile was endless, by now. ¡°That¡¯s perhaps for you to find out, my dear. Do you know that instrument¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°Its¡­name?¡± Viola asked hesitantly.

    Her grandmother nodded. ¡°If you feel it in your heart, you will surely come to know.¡±

    The concept alone felt silly. It was to say nothing of feeling anything with her heart at all. Ideally, anything pertaining to that could wait until tomorrow. Even so, she was being watched. Expectant eyes came with an exuberant smile, and it was the second obligation she¡¯d found since setting foot in the salon. She resisted the urge to sigh. In a perfect world, the sooner she spat out the syllables, the sooner she¡¯d be free of scrutiny. It wasn¡¯t at all a trial.

    ¡°Silver Brevada,¡± she murmured.

    She¡¯d never heard that name in her life. It came out far, far too easily.

    With wide eyes, she entrusted her confusion to her grandmother instead. ¡°What is¡­what does that mean? Silver¡­Brevada?¡±

    Confusion was met only with subtle, radiant satisfaction. ¡°Wonderful. Already, you share a bond. Be proud of that, Viola.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t particularly sure what she was supposed to be proud of in the first place. She was still considering ways to make an exit, somewhere between overstimulated and curious. The cat was outright snuggled up against one of her flats. That wasn¡¯t helping. ¡°Grandmother, I don¡¯t really¡­understand any of this,¡± Viola admitted.

    Her grandmother shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s quite alright. I¡¯m aware it¡¯s much to take in. Give it time, love. The two of you will surely--¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re supposed to be giving this to me?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t supposed to slip out. She thought she¡¯d contained it.

    Her grandmother took it with grace. ¡°It was my decision. As I¡¯ve said, I can no longer--¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t next in line, was I?¡± Viola asked, every word touched by something sour.

    The hint of distress wasn¡¯t intentional. The question wasn¡¯t intentional to begin with. It burned coming out as much as it did internally. She felt bad for interrupting, and yet it was just as much of a reflex. Bubbling sentiments were unrestrainable.

    Her grandmother never flinched, even as her smile slipped away. ¡°Order is¡­irrelevant. Viola, you are a Vacanti. This is your birthright. Your bond with Silver Brevada will be true, and that¡¯s all that matters. Whoever would come before you is¡­¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    She trailed off. That burned just as much. Viola couldn¡¯t help herself. ¡°Which of them would it have been?¡±

    The pain in her grandmother¡¯s eyes wasn¡¯t muted. ¡°Viola, that isn¡¯t¡­important.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Viola pressed. ¡°Did they know you had this thing?¡±

    She stiffened. That was enough of an answer, and Viola did the same in turn.

    ¡°I¡­appreciate it,¡± she forced out, resisting the urge to grit her teeth. ¡°I really do. I just¡­I¡¯m tired. I need some time alone. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Ideally, the swelling tears she could feel threatening her eyes weren¡¯t showing. She had a feeling she wasn¡¯t hiding them well. Her grandmother¡¯s soft tone was a solid indicator of that much. ¡°I understand. Take all the time you need, my dear. Know that I¡¯m here if you wish to talk.¡±

    She appreciated the thought just as much as the gift. It still meant nothing at the moment. It only served to hurt, and she was already hurting enough. Each motion to her feet was painful, and every echoing clack against tile was frustrating. Everything echoed. Everything always echoed, empty as four grand walls would forever be. For more reasons than one, Viola wished they¡¯d invest in installing carpeting someday.

    She echoed all the way down the hall. She echoed all the way around the corner. She echoed, and she echoed, and she echoed with every stinging step to the one place that didn¡¯t. It was the loudest silence, and the day was louder for it. Viola loathed it, and her knuckles were strained white around sparkling silver she¡¯d somewhat forgotten she was holding. She kept the tears in, miraculously, hot as they burned against her retinas. The cool metal against her palms was in sharp contrast to the heat in her eyes. She didn¡¯t necessarily hate it.

    There was no reason to lock the door. Viola did so anyway, a singular pained click sealing off her grief from an outside world of one. There had been more, once. Of them, there would¡¯ve been no need for isolation to begin with. There came an urge to collapse, although it would¡¯ve helped little. She¡¯d been numb most of the day, and numbness was preferable to sorrowful distress. Words of genuine kindness and glistening gifts had been the catalyst to tip the scale. She restrained the urge to throw the flute, at least. She didn¡¯t restrain the urge to cry.

    Viola settled down onto the bed in silence, as was a common theme already. It left her eyes on the floor and an instrument resting atop her knees, trembling in time with her shaky fists. She felt almost bad for it, given that it earned an additional sparkle in the form of falling pain. One by one, her tears speckled the gleaming silver in turn. It wasn¡¯t intentional.

    There were implications. The name was of least concern, for how it had rushed to her lips so easily. If he¡¯d known, his hands had perhaps once grazed the keys in passing. Were its transfer such a precious occasion, an audience of two would¡¯ve been a blessing. Where his touch should¡¯ve rested, it was her fingers that hesitantly graced the metal. Where she should¡¯ve smiled alongside him, her own prison was born of a home much too quiet.

    She¡¯d been very much trying not to think about it. One instrument alone, tethered even tangentially to his mental image, had undone her labor. Part of her really did want to throw it. Part of her wanted to hold it close, knowing what she now knew.

    ¡°Silver Brevada.¡±

    There was no true reason to say it. It was a meaningless title, whether instinctive or otherwise. It was still every bit as confusing as the first time it had touched her tongue. Still, Viola set the name free into the open air, one hushed whisper carrying words she didn¡¯t understand.

    ¡°Silver Brevada,¡± she said again. ¡°Silver Brevada.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as though it would do anything. It was a distraction from her father¡¯s face, if nothing else.

    ¡°Silver Brevada.¡±

    So, too, was it a ward against a silence so poisonous. Given what she held, she could shatter it in a different way at her leisure. She doubted she¡¯d do it well, if she tried.

    Viola threw her eyes to the right. The door was still locked. It didn¡¯t matter in the first place, and any amateur song she could cobble together would be no secret. There was an immediate regret that came with the concept of him missing her first attempt, sloppy or otherwise. The idea was almost enough to make her stop.

    It took mild effort to scrape her scattered tears from the metal, dotting at her sorrow with the fabric of her sleeves. The closest she¡¯d ever come to any true musical escapades was haphazardly-plucked keys on stray pianos. Whether or not she could elicit sound at all remained to be seen, and she second-guessed her angle all the way up to her lips. It felt natural enough. Her fingers were neatly spaced, draped over every key in positions she was unfamiliar with. That, too, was natural. She didn¡¯t question it.

    With hesitation, Viola inhaled. She exhaled, and she earned one note to show for it. It was progress.

    It was the tiniest of victories, and she kicked herself for celebrating something so insignificant. The sound was clear, crystal as it wavered upon the open air. She sustained it for longer than she¡¯d expected to manage, and still, it was beautiful. She couldn¡¯t quite consider it a talent. She experimented, pressing downwards along keys she hadn¡¯t yet dealt with. Of those, too, she earned sweet sounds for her troubles. That, by comparison, was somewhat more disorienting.

    This was startlingly easy.

    Viola didn¡¯t bother playing fast. She didn¡¯t bother with conscious effort at all, mostly. She entertained the idea that her pitiful experiences with pianos had been a fluke. If it truly was a talent, uncovered on the worst of days, it was almost nauseating that she couldn¡¯t share it with her father.

    She could share it with grandmother. She very much could share it with grandmother. She repeated the thought inwardly until it overshadowed his visage. For the one Vacanti she had left, she fought desperately to be grateful.

    Viola closed her eyes, indulging in whatever effortless melody spilled from her lips and fingertips alike. That was dangerous, maybe, given the risk of contemplation that came with the dark. What was leaving her soul in the form of soft songs was comforting, at least. Turning her attention to it wasn¡¯t particularly difficult, by comparison.

    Silver Brevada.

    Naming a flute still felt strange. Grandmother had spoken of it with such pride that saying so felt inconsiderate. She didn¡¯t hate the idea of companionship, strange as that was in and of itself. It wasn¡¯t as though she had much of it to begin with.

    That flute is called a Harmonial Instrument.

    Going back to ask felt strange, too.

    You are to be its Maestra.

    That one still bothered her.

    She wasn¡¯t sure how long she¡¯d been playing. Whether or not her volume control was sufficient was debatable, and there was a very good chance she was audible from across the manor. Viola was still grappling with the idea of a secret so well-hidden from her ears all along, supposedly. Why it was a secret at all was still baffling. Her father rarely kept things from her in the first place.

    She kicked herself for thinking of him again. Viola played harder.

    The idea of him playing the same flute was an outright fantasy. She was aware. She couldn¡¯t help it, and she hated that much.

    Viola played harder still.

    She was old enough, and there was no true reason for his hands to be guiding her fingers. She was already excellent, apparently. It didn¡¯t matter. If she faked mediocrity, would it be enough of an excuse to warrant his helpful touch? Would it warrant his presence at all?

    If she played harder, louder, yet more shrill, perhaps he could hear her from here.

    Tears pricked at the edges of her closed eyes once more. No amount of squeezing them tighter was helping. No amount of throwing her soul into her instinctive song was alleviating the pressure in her heart. No amount of beautiful breaths into the instrument stole the pain from her lungs, chilling as it was. Every exhale came cold, tinted with something beyond her burning cheeks. It matched the lead in her veins. She hated it. She couldn¡¯t make it stop.

    Loneliness was bitter. Loneliness was painful. Loneliness was frigid. Loneliness stung her lips on the way out.

    If she¡¯d kissed the cool steel, it was her fault for being distracted. The sensation made her jump, and her song was nearly sliced in two. Viola opened her eyes by reflex alone, her shrill harmony never quite falling still. The snowflakes were utterly inexplicable.

    She blinked. She blinked again. They were still there, aloft and delicate as they caught the streaming sunshine through the curtains. In the depths of a soft spring, the sight was all the more ethereal for it. They weren¡¯t impossibly numerous, and yet the drifting flecks of precious aquamarines were more than enough. As to what part of her didn¡¯t think to stifle notes equally as crystalline, she had no idea. It left them swirling, caught in currents unseen within the privacy of her bedroom.

    In isolation, Viola cultivated the smallest of snowstorms, trickling flurries fluttering to the carpet below. She followed every last flake down with her eyes, dissolving into nothingness from where it had come. They were eternal. Where scattered frost faltered, yet more was born to take its place. A chill once gently teasing her tongue now bloomed in earnest across her lips, and her every breath was undoubtedly frozen. It didn¡¯t hurt. If she could feel it this way, instead, she no longer hated it.

    She nurtured her little blizzard for what felt like far too long. It wasn¡¯t as though she didn¡¯t have the time to spare. It was only when her lungs began to request reprieve that she hushed her icy song at last. It was a suspicion given credence by their absence alone, for how soft snow only surrendered to nothing in silence. In tandem with fizzling sounds, they fizzled just the same. Every faint sparkle left in the wake of their departure was fragile, and Viola almost regretted stopping.

    You will be blessed with the ability to do amazing things.

    Part of her was convinced it was a trick crafted for a special occasion.

    Your souls will be connected, it¡¯s true.

    Whatever was still echoing inside of her chest ran deeper than she could explain. She pulled the flute from her lips, and its frigid kiss was left behind. Part of her considered reaching for the sensation, by which her fingertips would brush against the chill. The rest of her feared compromising the feeling with interloping warmth. Ideally, it would linger yet longer. Viola already missed it, somewhat.

    Silver Brevada.

    It had been her fault for running, and pressing was an apology of its own. If she was to forever hold a supposed soul so close to her own, the least she could do was ask of more than its name. It was the only cold she¡¯d ever want in this place.

 11. True Cherry and False Mahogany

    Octavia was starting to get a new appreciation for the word ¡°crowd¡± recently.

    Her record, prior to departing Silver Ridge, most definitely had not exceeded fifty people at maximum in one place. Market day was already pushing it. Minuevera had been at least twice as severe, even in passing and with a fleeting glance of preparation alone. Octavia already knew Coda to be massive--to her, at least, by comparison. This was a solid reflection of that. It was still no less dizzying.

    It was radiant, crowned by starlight in a way that was almost symbolic. It wasn¡¯t quite that she¡¯d expected the building to be small. Still, the stature up close was grand in a way she hadn¡¯t expected. The evening glow did far more than simple justice to the affluent populace that speckled the entrance, and she felt out of place now more than ever. The din of conversation was steady, the wafting music was gorgeous, and she was just barely lightheaded. It wasn¡¯t the most subtle combination, and it earned Octavia the worst flavor of teasing yet again. She was absolutely staring. It was her fault.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing that thing again,¡± Viola teased. ¡°The thing you do every time you see anything new.¡±

    Octavia blushed. ¡°I am not. I¡¯m just...surveying.¡±

    Madrigal got permission to fawn. Madrigal always got permission to fawn. She was jealous. The Maestra exploited the gifted joy of scrutiny for all it was worth--loudly. It was more than expected.

    Harper whistled once more. ¡°Fancy,¡± he reiterated.

    Octavia dismounted from the carriage, stumbling slightly in the process. Settling to the ground in flats rather than boots was deeply uncomfortable, if not scathingly unnatural. She raised one hand aloft, taking Viola¡¯s own into hers. The latter nearly tripped, and Octavia quickly caught her in full.

    ¡°Careful,¡± she chided softly.

    Viola flushed, averting her eyes. ¡°S-Sorry.¡±

    Harper was having an easier time removing the artwork than he¡¯d had loading it, apparently, for how he delicately tipped the frame to the ground with grace. ¡°Where do we put this, anyway?¡±

    ¡°I can take that for you, ladies,¡± a suited man called, raising one hand from afar.

    Harper narrowed his eyes. The man cleared his throat. ¡°A-And gentlemen.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow at Viola, who nodded in turn. ¡°Let him. He¡¯s an usher. They usually wait for carriages to arrive.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said you barely knew about this kind of stuff,¡± Harper whispered, content to doff the heavy weight regardless.

    Viola scoffed. ¡°I know enough.¡±

    ¡°And what name should I put the item under, ma¡¯am?¡± the usher continued.

    Viola cleared her throat. ¡°Vacanti. Same for the account.¡±

    He smiled softly. ¡°The Vacantis, then. It¡¯s been quite some time. Please, make yourselves at home and enjoy the evening.¡±

    Octavia absolutely could not feel less at home if she tried.

    Madrigal pointed towards the entrance, barred by a rainbow-tinted trickle of colorful attire trailing in reverse. ¡°Do we wait in line now?¡±

    Viola nodded, falling into line accordingly. ¡°There shouldn¡¯t be any problem getting in,¡± she said.

    Octavia did the same. ¡°They know who you are, right?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°They don¡¯t know me, but they know the art of the Vacantis when they see it. There¡¯s autographs in the corner of each painting for authenticity, anyway. It¡¯s not that hard for them to verify.¡±

    Octavia shifted the backpack on her shoulders slightly as she straightened up. Every step in Viola¡¯s wake was as cautious as it was starstruck, although she battled to keep the latter in check as much as was possible. She was lucky she didn¡¯t trip, largely absorbed in each of her five senses flooding with wonderful stimuli on every side.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice, low and near, was enough to shatter her absentminded concentration and startle her fiercely. She jumped.

    ¡°You might want to adjust the bow a little bit. I can kinda see it from here,¡± he chided with a smirk.

    Octavia flushed, stiffening in an instant. ¡°I-I--¡±

    He winked teasingly as he passed her by. Octavia gripped the straps in frustration and panic, fumbling with one hand behind her back for what feeble adjustments she could make without looking. She didn''t have the luxury of formally resettling the violin. She still felt bad about evacuating it from the warmth of its case at all, stuffed into the humble confines of a little backpack instead.

    It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t trust Viola. She trusted more or less everything Viola said, frankly. Being without Stradivaria was simply too daunting, particularly given the events of the last several days. Trouble followed her. She didn¡¯t trust her luck. If it never left her shoulders, she¡¯d surely be fine. She didn¡¯t dare think of Domino, for the exception that dilemma had been. Some part of her liked to imagine Harper would help her out, should she end up in a similar situation. Most of her was more concerned with hoping Harper would keep his mouth shut.

    ¡°Are you...sure they¡¯re going to let us in with you?¡± Madrigal asked, fiddling with one curl absentmindedly.

    ¡°You¡¯re my guests. There¡¯s typically only a limit of about six guests, and we¡¯ve only got four of us altogether. There¡¯s no reason they shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Harper¡¯s sharp swearing was enough to outright startle Octavia the moment they neared the front. ¡°Oh, God, I can think of two reasons they shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    She never formally got the chance to ask why. The voices that met her ears were shrill and mildly irritating enough, crowned by respective streams of blonde in differing fashions. It hardly mattered, given the way similarly-false formalities dripped from their lips and pamphlets slipped from their fingers. They were nearly blocking the doors outright. Harper¡¯s expression was somewhere between miserable and exceedingly agitated. She had an extremely vague guess, if memory served.

    ¡°Is that¡­¡±

    Harper¡¯s heavy sigh was a solid answer. He flicked one finger between each girl respectively. ¡°Holly. Ivy,¡± he droned.

    ¡°Are they friends of yours?¡± Madrigal asked innocently.

    ¡°I promise you, I would rather die than say yes. I just didn¡¯t think they¡¯d be right at the entrance.¡±

    Viola earned the brunt of the two girls¡¯ staring nearly immediately. Ivy, in particular, narrowed her eyes, rolling a pencil between her fingers slowly. Neither budged. It was almost impressive. ¡°Name?¡± she asked firmly.

    Viola cleared her throat. ¡°Vacanti.¡±

    Ivy raised an eyebrow, dragging lead far too harshly against innocent paper. ¡°I thought they didn¡¯t come to these anymore.¡±

    Holly¡¯s eyes flickered to the girl in turn. ¡°Isn¡¯t Vacanti that guy who--¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Viola interrupted sharply, her voice low. ¡°Vacanti. My contribution has already been secured by the ushers. Three guests.¡±

    The two girls peered over Viola¡¯s shoulder in tandem. Whatever venom she¡¯d been privy to was absolutely nothing versus what acid splashed their eyes moments later. It was almost enough to make Octavia shudder, for how it crashed down sickeningly upon one person alone. She gulped anxiously.

    ¡°They really do just let anyone in these days, don¡¯t they?¡± Holly hissed.

    What acid they¡¯d delivered, then, he offered back tenfold with his gaze alone. She¡¯d never seen that look on his face, and it was mildly terrifying. Harper crossed his arms, making a mild spectacle of glancing either girl up and down judgmentally.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied coolly. ¡°Apparently, they do.¡±

    Ivy clicked her tongue in aggravation. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little too poor for an event like this?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little too obnoxious for an event like this?¡± he shot back instantly. ¡°How much are they paying you to be annoying as hell, right out front?¡±

    ¡°He can¡¯t come in,¡± Holly declared bluntly.

    ¡°If these two want to come in, I don¡¯t care,¡± Ivy added, lazily waving her pencil in the remaining Maestras¡¯ direction. ¡°Dirty braids and all.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the opportunity to protest. Harper beat her to the punch spectacularly. ¡°You are literally the last person who should be talking about fashion sense. You didn¡¯t even get all the bugs out of your hair today, just so you¡¯re aware. You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    One of Ivy¡¯s hands darted to her ponytail instantly. Octavia snickered.

    ¡°So, here¡¯s the thing,¡± Viola spoke sharply. ¡°You don¡¯t have the authority to deny entry to guests of a contributor. It doesn¡¯t matter the reason.¡±

    ¡°And what makes you so sure of that?¡± Holly snarled.

    Viola stepped forward slightly--just enough to leave the girl flinching. ¡°Because I¡¯ve been here far, far longer than you. And unless you want the removal of the Vacantis¡¯ support from this auction house on your hands, I suggest you pass us each a pamphlet and let us be on our way.¡±

    It hardly mattered that she¡¯d never truly set foot in the auction house. The Maestra¡¯s bluff was more than passable. Holly sputtered, side-eyeing the similarly-distressed girl at her side before finding her voice once more. ¡°L-Listen here, rich girl. I¡¯ll have you know we were specifically appointed to these positions. You¡¯re threatening a staff member.¡±

    ¡°Sucking up is a little different than being appointed. Still, congratulations on getting real, honest work today. Good job, yaaay, so proud of you,¡± Harper deadpanned, applauding condescendingly.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, was anyone talking to you, idiot? Important people are talking,¡± Ivy growled.

    Harper made an elaborate and equally-condescending display of finding absolutely nothing to observe. ¡°Sorry, where am I supposed to be looking again? Can¡¯t find a damn thing! No, seriously, do I even want to know what you two had to do to get here? Because if it puts you anywhere near rich people, it definitely wasn¡¯t legitimate. You hoping it rubs off on you or something? Not how that works. Sorry you¡¯re finding out like this.¡±

    Holly scowled. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t know rich if it bit you in the ass!¡±

    ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t know class if it crawled up yours!¡±

    Octavia struggled to stifle a laugh, clapping one hand over her mouth quickly.

    ¡°I¡¯m kind of enjoying this,¡± Viola whispered. ¡°He¡¯s sassier than I thought.¡±

    Octavia found her composure as soon as was possible. ¡°I think this is our chance.¡±

    ¡°I found a pamphlet on the ground,¡± Madrigal offered in a whisper of her own, still battling her respective hushed giggles.

    With the leafy paper in one hand and Viola¡¯s wrist in the other, she made for the building with the argumentative Maestro still in her wake. He caught her in his peripheral with a knowing wink, rapid and fleeting. He didn¡¯t follow, instead somehow content to beat the vicious girls back with his own relentless venom again and again. Octavia had half a mind to stay and watch. It was a shame.

    It was resplendent inside in much the same way, enough to make her head spin a second time over. The crowd was worse, although she regretted not bracing for it further. One wrong move would surely leave her mingling with incorrect pockets of strangers, their general objective be damned. She clung to Viola for all she was worth, doing what she could to put her faith in the same gentle music and soft, silky atmosphere. It would keep her from tripping, hopefully. Madrigal was no help, for how she¡¯d adjusted to the semi-packed auditorium almost instantly. She outright sprinted.

    The Maestra more or less slammed into the balcony railing stomach-first, quick to a degree that Octavia initially believed she¡¯d injured herself. She pointed below with fervor and elation dripping from her voice, pleading for Octavia¡¯s hurried steps with her sparkling eyes alone. ¡°Come on, look!¡±

    She did as she was told. It was with gentler motions that she leaned over the balcony herself. It took a moment to recognize it as a balcony at all, given how incredibly deep the entire floor below ran. She hadn¡¯t realized they were upon a second story, although the grand scale of the center stage cast downwards warranted its space without question. The idea of tethering herself to one of its nearest seats, plush and comfortable as they seemed, was somewhat terrifying. She¡¯d never been claustrophobic before. This wasn¡¯t a great time to start, foreign as the atmosphere was.

    Viola delicately confiscated the pamphlet from between Octavia¡¯s fingertips, flicking her fingertips across every page lazily. ¡°It¡¯s a bidding guide. Same rules as always. I don¡¯t think we really need this.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s face fell. ¡°I kinda thought it¡¯d be a list of items or something neat.¡±

    ¡°Well, I mean, I get it. We only just brought the painting in,¡± Octavia offered. ¡°I guess they just keep all the items a surprise.¡±

    Viola nodded with a smile. ¡°That¡¯s part of the appeal of these events, actually. You never know what you¡¯ll find here.¡±

    That was simultaneously promising and concerning. Octavia had had more surprises in the past week than she¡¯d experienced throughout most of her life, and all had been born in unfamiliar places. This was no different. For how people were still steadily filing in and settling down accordingly, she wasn¡¯t fond of the way her heartbeat was already stuttering. She¡¯d assumed she¡¯d had at least until they started to deal with that.

    ¡°Soooo,¡± Octavia began, ¡°how exactly...do we bid?¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re planning on bidding?¡±

    ¡°Well, no, not necessarily!¡± Octavia sputtered, waving her hands defensively. ¡°I was just wondering, in case something happens! Or if there¡¯s a lead, like you said, or if there¡¯s Maestro stuff, you know? Like, in an emergency.¡±

    Viola smirked. ¡°If it does come to that, we can bid, actually. My family has an account for that. My grandfather¡¯s artworks usually earn around 750,000 Gold a piece, so we would at least have somewhere around that range to our surplus at the end of the night. Otherwise, the Vacanti account that we use for auctions should still have somewhere around four million Gold from the last several.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened dramatically. Madrigal was not immune to the same. ¡°Four million?¡± they both exclaimed in baffled unison.

    Viola shushed them, laughing as she cupped her hands over their mouths respectively. ¡°I promise you, we are nowhere near the most well-off ones here. There are people in this room with wealth you couldn¡¯t even imagine.¡±

    ¡°So this is how rich people live,¡± Madrigal murmured dreamily.

    Viola met Octavia¡¯s eyes once more. ¡°If you want to bid, bid. Just tell them to bill the Vacanti account, and our family can verify the purchase at a later date. Altogether, that gives us about 4,750,000 Gold to work with, if my numbers are right. Can I trust you to stay within that range?¡±

    Octavia nodded. Not everything could be scathingly expensive, surely--if it came to that at all. The idea of spending such astronomical amounts of money was still mildly horrifying, someone else¡¯s or otherwise.

    Viola smiled. ¡°Good. If you want to bid, it¡¯s easy. All you have to do is raise your hand and call out the price you¡¯re willing to pay. They¡¯ll be passing around little signs with numbers on them when the actual event starts.¡±

    Madrigal tapped Octavia¡¯s shoulder gently. ¡°Have you never been to an auction before?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Have you?¡±

    Madrigal shrugged. ¡°In Minuevera, we have them for livestock all the time. It sounds like the rules are exactly the same.¡±

    Octavia flushed. Once more, she was the least-traveled. It was as awkward as it was embarrassing.

    ¡°Madrigal, are you planning to bid too?¡± Viola asked. ¡°We¡¯d all be sharing the same account.¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, beaming happily. ¡°I have lots of other ways to get information.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°Like?¡±

    Madrigal cleared her throat. Whatever stream of words she launched into was utterly lost on Octavia, the tone and accent foreign as they were. If she really tried, she could make out bits and pieces from the inn--almost.

    ¡°I, uh, forgot you could speak another language,¡± Octavia muttered.

    Madrigal opened her mouth for a moment, and yet closed it just as quickly. Instead, yet more unfamiliar tones spilled from her lips, sharp and soft in a different manner altogether. Octavia blinked.

    ¡°Two languages?¡±

    Madrigal beamed. She did the same once more. Every new word in yet a new accent was as fluffy and gentle as it was indecipherable and exotic. Viola, too, blinked with equal befuddlement.

    ¡°Madrigal, exactly how many languages do you speak?¡± the Maestra asked.

    Madrigal proudly raised eight fingers. Octavia had to count at least twice out of pure disbelief.

    ¡°I learn something new about you every five minutes,¡± Viola mumbled.

    ¡°Madrigal, that¡¯s incredible,¡± Octavia gushed. ¡°How did you learn all of those?¡±

    Madrigal poked Octavia¡¯s forehead playfully. The latter flinched beneath her touch. ¡°I¡¯ve been working at the inn since I was little. We¡¯re a trade town, silly! We see guests from all over the world. I had to learn to keep up.¡±

    Viola¡¯s hands settled onto her hips. ¡°Well, that¡¯s one extremely handy way of gathering information. Can I trust you to stay on your toes while you mingle?¡±

    Madrigal saluted dramatically. ¡°The Magical Madrigal will not let you down!¡±

    By now, it was taking slightly more effort on Octavia¡¯s part to dodge the throngs of passersby, fully settling as they were. She¡¯d had her precious preparation time, if their solid movements were anything to go by. She tensed. At the very least, she had accomplices. It was one comfort. She inched closer to Viola, somewhat.

    If the Maestra noticed, she said nothing. Viola offered her only a smile. ¡°Then I guess that just leaves you and me, Octavia. It sounds like Madrigal can handle herself.¡±

    The shuffling crowd was double-edged, in a manner of speaking. Octavia had her space, and the oxygen she¡¯d hoped to find was slightly more accessible. Her line of sight was notably more uncompromised, by which she had her visual fill of sporadically-placed tables and accompanying beverages. They weren¡¯t necessarily abundant, nor were they of the most interest to a crowd on the verge of the main event itself. Those that loitered regardless did so without urgency. There was exactly one drawback. He was slightly shorter than the rest.

    She hurriedly fumbled through a mental checklist. She knew with absolute certainty she¡¯d seen the hat before. She couldn¡¯t place where immediately, and it was incredibly frustrating. When it clicked, so, too, did the knowledge of the inevitable consequence. If her line of sight was unimpeded, she was absolutely not the only Maestra free to look.

    Octavia tugged at Viola¡¯s sleeve, never once peeling her eyes away from the table. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that, actually,¡± she murmured.

    She was correct. They, too, were able to follow her eyes. Madrigal¡¯s exploded into stars. Viola¡¯s burst into flames. She¡¯d expected as much.

    ¡°No,¡± Viola muttered under her breath. ¡°No no no no no.¡±

    Madrigal had met his eyes long before either Maestra could intervene. It would¡¯ve been a fruitless battle regardless, for how he abandoned his drink and made the first move. His grin from afar was just as Octavia had remembered it, dripping with a confidence and charisma that was still nearly irritating. Viola¡¯s fingers made their own move well into her hair, tangling and tugging in relentless frustration.

    ¡°Y-You¡¯re¡­here,¡± Madrigal breathed, euphoria splattered against every word. ¡°You¡¯re here again.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    His voice was as smooth as his grin. ¡°I certainly am,¡± he murmured.

    Once more was Madrigal¡¯s hand in his own, his touch still equally as delicate as before. His tender kiss upon her skin, too, was just as gentle, his lips pressed to the Maestra¡¯s hand for far longer than was necessary. It wasn¡¯t necessary at all, granted. Had Octavia not physically hooked her arms beneath Viola¡¯s shoulders when she did, the Maestra more than likely would¡¯ve ripped his head clean off.

    ¡°Wait, Renato? What are you doing here?¡± Octavia asked, struggling to express her surprise and restrain a squirming Viola simultaneously.

    Renato tipped his hat playfully. It didn¡¯t clash as much with the tuxedo as she¡¯d expected it to. ¡°Tavi and, uh¡­Violet, right? Always a pleasure.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± she corrected firmly.

    ¡°I want you to die,¡± Viola spat.

    ¡°And Viola,¡± Octavia offered on her behalf.

    His grin spoke to disregard for her malice. ¡°I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ I owe you girls an apology for my little training session back in the woods. You were right. I was making a mess. My bad.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re only apologizing for the trees, after all that?¡± Viola growled.

    Octavia cupped a hand over Viola¡¯s mouth, stifling a laugh over the sensation of obscenities pressed against her palm. They¡¯d found a Maestro already, technically. It was a bittersweet victory.

    ¡°What are you doing here? How did you get in?¡± Octavia asked.

    He winked. ¡°I have my ways. What are you guys doing here?¡±

    Octavia chose her words carefully. ¡°Just¡­looking for something. Some stuff.¡±

    Renato crossed his arms, freeing Madrigal¡¯s hand at last. She didn¡¯t seem pleased about it. ¡°Some stuff, huh? I¡¯m pretty good at finding things, you know.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Renato gestured around the room with yet the same grin. ¡°I found my way into this place, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    He snuck in. She should¡¯ve seen that one coming.

    ¡°Who am I if not a man who likes a good party?¡± he continued. ¡°Free drinks.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you even old enough to drink?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± he answered far too casually.

    ¡°Renato,¡± Madrigal asked delicately, her voice still tinged with bliss, ¡°if you see anything related to Maestro stuff, can you help us?¡±

    Octavia winced. Subtlety hadn¡¯t lasted for longer than ten seconds.

    He tilted his head. ¡°Maestro...stuff. That would be...what, exactly?¡±

    Octavia blinked.

    Viola had wriggled out of her grip in full, still mostly seething. ¡°Maestros? Really? Things related to Maestros, idiot.¡±

    Renato was still. ¡°I have no idea what that means.¡±

    Viola growled. ¡°I am so tired of you messing around.¡±

    Madrigal was far kinder by comparison. ¡°Do you...know what a Maestro is?¡±

    Renato shook his head. It was enough to bring them to silence--even Viola, wrathful as she¡¯d been.

    ¡°Are you actually serious, or are you joking around?¡± Octavia asked incredulously.

    Renato raised his hands defensively. ¡°No, I swear, I¡¯m being serious. I¡¯ve honestly never heard that word in my life.¡±

    Octavia exchanged a fleeting glance with an equally-puzzled Viola. ¡°But you¡¯re literally a Maestro,¡± she continued.

    Renato flinched. ¡°Am I?¡±

    ¡°You know, the...stick...thing. In the woods.¡±

    His hand slipped beneath the interior of his suit jacket, returning quickly with two memorable halves of cherry oak in tow. ¡°These?¡±

    Viola rubbed her temples with a grimace. ¡°You did not seriously bring them with you here.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands were on his quickly, ushering the little sticks towards confinement once more. ¡°Put those away! Don¡¯t bring them out here! We¡¯re at a musical auction, for God¡¯s sake!¡±

    She was being a hypocrite, given that the straps of her backpack scraped her shoulders with every hurried movement. She didn¡¯t particularly care. He was far more unstable and infinitely more unpredictable.

    Renato obliged, still baffled. ¡°You have no idea how confused I am right now.¡±

    Octavia winced. If Harper and herself were any indication, she could understand living ignorant to Maestro abilities in general--blessed as they¡¯d been and still just as unknowing. The term alone was a reasonable mystery. Renato was an outlier, then, notably skilled and well aware of such prowess. It mattered little that Madrigal hadn¡¯t known the details, given that her splendorous bond with Lyra¡¯s Repose had filled the gaps. He was odd. She experimented.

    ¡°Renato,¡± Octavia began hesitantly, ¡°what¡¯s your Harmonial Instrument¡¯s name? The...drumsticks, I mean.¡±

    ¡°Now, why would I name the damn sticks?¡± he teased.

    She frowned. ¡°No, seriously. Think carefully and concentrate really hard. What¡¯s the name of your Harmonial Instrument?¡±

    He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Several tense seconds later, Renato shrugged. ¡°I have...no idea.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    He cracked one eye open. ¡°Am I supposed to know that or something?¡±

    Viola was equally as baffled. ¡°You...don¡¯t know your Harmonial Instrument¡¯s name?¡±

    Renato raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡±

    ¡°That...shouldn¡¯t be possible,¡± the Maestra muttered.

    ¡°You¡¯ll find out eventually,¡± Madrigal spoke with a soft smile, gently claiming Renato¡¯s hand once more. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    Renato returned her efforts with a grin, poking at one of her buns playfully. ¡°That means a lot to me, princess.¡±

    Madrigal beamed, her face dusting the softest scarlet once more. Viola rolled her eyes.

    Octavia tapped Viola¡¯s shoulder delicately, dropping her confused voice to a whisper. ¡°Is¡­that a thing that can happen?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­think so,¡± Viola whispered back. ¡°There shouldn¡¯t be any way for a Maestro to not know the name of their Harmonial Instrument--especially if they know how to use it.¡±

    Octavia paused for a moment. ¡°You know all that stuff your grandmother said? About the¡­souls of ice and the spirits of wind and whatever?¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°So do you think it has something to do with whatever his...spirit thing is?¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°You lost me.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Like, you know, you have your ice, and¡­Harper has his fire, or whatever. What exactly does Renato have?¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened, and yet her face clouded with confusion just as quickly. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never actually seen any other kinds of Maestros before I met you. I mean, it¡¯s completely possible that it¡¯s related to...all this.¡±

    Despite her best attempts as to the contrary, Octavia doubted she¡¯d be forgetting the Maestros¡¯ unfortunate forest quarrel any time soon. Every unhesitant boom, unseen and yet certainly present, had been blessed with astounding force she still hadn¡¯t quite wrapped her head around. Her closest guess was a relative of Madrigal¡¯s windy talents. It still left him incredibly and disorientingly different by comparison--fitting, given his eccentric tendencies. She groaned inwardly. Even conceptually, Renato was excellent at giving her headaches.

    She didn¡¯t get the chance to press him, given how he¡¯d already more than made off with a Maestra beneath his arm. Madrigal, to both her credit and detriment, had not resisted in the slightest. Even from here, her oozing starlight was contagious, and her adoring eyes were locked with his alone. They were well into distant conversation, and Octavia vaguely feared for their mutual isolation. It was Viola¡¯s turn to groan, burying her face in her hands.

    ¡°It¡¯s just you and me now, I guess,¡± Octavia offered, patting Viola¡¯s shoulder gently.

    Viola groaned once more. ¡°Madrigal¡¯s flirting and Harper¡¯s arguing. We haven¡¯t even been here for twenty minutes.¡±

    It was more or less solid timing, for how they¡¯d both lost the crowd and caught its rising conversation. Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the sharpened atmosphere, and the hurrying ushers were an indicator in and of themselves. The little signs were as simple as they were effective, and it took her at least two tries to claim one for herself--young as she was, by comparison to the clientele at large. She¡¯d needed to hoist herself to the tips of her toes to grasp a numbered placard from the top of a well-balanced pile, and she was at least mildly embarrassed. She was appreciative no one called her on it--Viola included.

    ¡°Seventy,¡± she read from the sign aloud, twirling the little handle experimentally. ¡°Lucky number?¡±

    Viola smiled. ¡°Hopefully. Can I leave the bidding part to you?¡±

    Octavia nodded, waving the small placard absentmindedly. ¡°What am I looking for, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Anything Maestro-related directly, or¡­anything you think might give us a lead. I trust your judgment,¡± Viola clarified.

    She winced. ¡°And if I¡¯m wrong and I accidentally spend a ridiculous amount of money on nothing?¡±

    Viola patted her shoulder. ¡°Then we at least tried to chase something. That would¡¯ve been worth it. It¡¯s not like my family does anything with it, anyway.¡±

    The Maestra made to descend, already taking steps towards the stairs to the first floor. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go see what¡¯s going on down there. You keep an eye out up here.¡±

    ¡°Wait, can I bid from up here?¡± she asked.

    ¡°This is technically the balcony. Why do you think you can see the stage from here?¡± Viola answered. ¡°Just make sure you¡¯re loud.¡±

    Octavia nodded. Granted, she had companions that were far, far, far louder.

    Viola had had a point about the balcony, given exactly how far she¡¯d need to project her voice. Running in flats was most definitely not comfortable and more than likely not elegant. Still, when the railing nearly slammed into her stomach, it at least gifted her with the questionable blessing of an unimpeded view and acceptable volume.

    The surrounding crowd was a burden by comparison, more than capable of crushing her with their abundant and shifting movements. She hunted for Viola with her eyes. She was unsuccessful. Her chances were limited, and further attempts were blunted by the commanding presence of the host striding upon the gaping stage.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± the man began, gesturing with wide arms to a broad audience beyond. ¡°Welcome, once again, to another night of fast fortunes and treasures traded. Tonight, for one night only, we¡¯ve prepared for you a luxurious assortment of exotic novelties from all over the world--this time, musical in essence and pleasing to the soul.¡±

    Octavia was already bored. It was a great start. She¡¯d been horrifically correct about the space concern, for how she nearly found herself squished by strangers against the railing. It took effort to angle her body accordingly, battling for personal space with her arms splayed at uncomfortable angles. It worked, mostly. The backpack helped, an unfortunate cushion that still left her somewhat concerned for Stradivaria¡¯s safety. That was her own fault. She sighed.

    The man clasped his hands together, more than ignorant to her plight high above. ¡°Each item tonight is one-of-a-kind, and a spectacular addition to any connoisseur''s collection. Perhaps you¡¯ll find exactly what you¡¯ve been looking for. Perhaps it may even find you, instead.¡±

    For how much effort had gone into the past hour alone, she planned to scream if she didn¡¯t find something besides another stray elbow in her side.

    ¡°Without further ado, we present tonight¡¯s first item. From the collection of an artist in the far-off city of Whitebrook comes this luxuriously crafted marble masterpiece. You¡¯ll find here a sweeping and elegant depiction of a lady of the opera, lost in song as the day breaks. Why, that is the title of this fine piece--The Aria of Dawn. This splendid work has traveled across the continent specifically for you. Feel free to welcome it as the newest addition to your collection, be it vast or new. If I may direct your attention to the--¡±

    The sculpture was pretty enough. It very much was not for her. Neither was the experience of whoever had just stepped on her right foot. She rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Now, given the credentials of the original artist and the quality of the material, we will be starting our first bid tonight at a humble 450,000 Gold.¡±

    She doubted she¡¯d be able to raise her little sign into the air nearly as fast as a select few around her, for how well-versed in the art of the auction they seemed to be. Octavia got the gist quickly, simple as the premise had been described. Placards erupted around and below her in tandem, speckling the wealthy masses intermittently at a speed that was almost dizzying. The sheer heights of numbers being flung so casually from affluent lips were equally disorienting, and she still couldn¡¯t wrap her head around the concept of spending such an exorbitant amount of money on such an average sculpture.

    When it halted at last, it did so with the bang of a gavel upon an innocent podium--more than enough to make her jump. She¡¯d hardly had time to blink, given how quickly the entire exchange had truly occurred.

    ¡°Sold, sold to the woman in blue! 600,000 Gold, what a spectacular deal for such a gem! Congratulations on your new purchase! What an excellent start to an excellent evening. The next item on tonight¡¯s agenda, as you¡¯ll find--¡±

    Conceptually, the idea of participating was now mildly terrifying.

    The pattern scared her at least three more times consecutively before she came to expect it at last. The moment it was no longer intimidating, she found comfort in focusing in full. The process was identical for the next hour straight, and Octavia scanned each and every item with caution and care. There was little of neither interest nor relevance, given their general objective.

    The man did an excellent job of embellishing the moderately-mundane, and it was honestly a talent. The harp was utterly average, by comparison to one far more splendorous with which she was acquainted. The tapestries were useless. The garments were appealing, the rugs were acceptable, and all that came in between could generally be appreciated. It did utterly nothing for her cause, and it wasn¡¯t long before she was hanging over the railing in exasperation.

    Viola¡¯s carefully-contributed painting did well, at least, and they¡¯d stoked their own funds with yet another 810,000 Gold. It was enough to earn a smile. It was all she could cling to, for how her hopes steadily dwindled with each passing moment. She wondered if Viola was having better luck, and scanned the room below with her futile eyes yet again. Octavia liked to imagine the latter half of the auction would be promising, lest this entire experience have been more or less fruitless. At the very least, she thought, they¡¯d found Renato once more. It wasn¡¯t necessarily the greatest discovery.

    ¡°Up next, we present to you this fine concert grand piano, brought to us by a retired master musician in Ardenfall,¡± she heard half-heartedly, disconnected as she was. ¡°This is truly an instrument that has withstood the test of time. Weathered by the winds of fame, this antique look is impossible to replicate, unique in its appearance and with a story in every scratch.¡±

    It was an elegant way of saying it looked questionable, at best. The keys were there, granted. It desperately needed varnish, if not sanding and general touch-ups overall. It was almost amusing to think someone would genuinely spend money on such a worn-down instrument. In some sadistic way, the thought made her smirk.

    The stranger colliding gently with her forearm was her retribution for the thought, then. Octavia was running out of space to preserve her fragile breathing room, curling in on herself yet more as she became flush with the railing. She rolled her eyes, straddling an apology and righteous silence. She never got the chance.

    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am, my mistake.¡±

    She sighed heavily, not so much as bothering to raise her head. ¡°It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Crafted by artisans with deep respect for the art of woodworking, this mahogany piece is accented by stunning ivory keys in immaculate condition. If I could draw your attention to the pedals, here--¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not mahogany.¡±

    ¡°What was that?¡± she heard at her side.

    It was a reflex spurned by her woodworking blood, and she hadn¡¯t realized the irritated words had left her mouth until it was too late. She winced. ¡°Sorry, just talking to myself. My bad.¡±

    ¡°No, what was it you said?¡±

    The man at her side was insistent, peering down upon her gently. When she raised her eyes to him, he didn¡¯t back down. He¡¯d apologized moments before, and yet was so near to her once more. ¡°What did you say about the mahogany?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I-I mean, it¡¯s not mahogany. I don¡¯t know why they¡¯re advertising it as if it is.¡±

    The man paused briefly. ¡°How can you tell, miss?¡±

    Octavia pulled her eyes away from him warily, leaning back over the railing in full. ¡°It¡¯s not dark enough. Even if the varnish is faded, mahogany would still absorb color better than that. Everyone assumes piano wood is mahogany all the time, but mahogany is supposed to have this kind of¡­deep and rich color that lasts. Look how light that color is instead, see?¡±

    The man moved closer to her still, his face more than enraptured. ¡°Interesting. What could it be, then?¡±

    Octavia gestured to the piano once more, doing what she could to block out the continued discussion onstage. ¡°I think it¡¯s maple. I¡¯m not completely sure from this high up, but maple could still hold varnish for that long. It¡¯d just be¡­lighter. Besides, Ardenfall doesn¡¯t usually export mahogany. Even if they did, the craftsmen there apparently prefer working with cheaper wood like maple in case they mess something up.¡±

    The man hummed in approval, nodding slowly. ¡°And how do you know all of this, miss?¡±

    Given the spontaneous realization she¡¯d been ranting to a complete stranger, Octavia stammered. ¡°I-I...my father is a woodworker by trade. I¡¯ve picked up some of his knowledge over time. A-Again, I¡¯m not completely sure it¡¯s maple, that¡¯s just my¡­guess.¡±

    His smile was gentle all the same. ¡°Tell me, do you think that piece could be repaired?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. This conversation was more interesting than anything she¡¯d encountered in the past hour. ¡°I don¡¯t see any reason it couldn¡¯t be. The keys look fine, and ivory is a lot more of a pain to repair than wood. It doesn¡¯t look like anything is chipped. Just a little bit scratched, I think. It could probably be sanded pretty easily and just given a new coat of varnish. Maybe a nice finish and shine. The legs look okay, too.¡±

    Whoever had opted to illustrate its functionality onstage was doing so with grace, gifting the room with a soft and delicate melody. Octavia nodded approvingly. ¡°And it works. It sounds fine, so the actual piano itself is alright. It¡¯s just the wooden parts that need to be fixed. If the keys are dirty, there¡¯s still probably a way to clean them up if you try hard enough.¡±

    ¡°True, true. Ivory yellows naturally over time, but there are most definitely ways to make it sparkle once again. You have an impeccable eye for quality,¡± the man praised with a smile more brilliant.

    Octavia blushed beneath his praise, somewhat. He was engaged the moment the bidding erupted, and his volume so near to her was startling. His voice carried splendidly. It was as impressive as it was jarring.

    ¡°700,000 Gold!¡± he bellowed, thrusting a placard well above her own head.

    ¡°700,000 Gold, I hear 700,000 Gold,¡± the man onstage repeated. ¡°Do I hear 725,000 Gold? 725,000--why, 800,000 Gold, 800,000! Do I hear--¡±

    ¡°950,000 Gold!¡± the man declared, equally loud and equally confident. The way by which he stood his ground was captivating, and Octavia watched as his offers rose ever higher. Over a decaying piano, of all things, he was unflinching. It was as admirable as it was somewhat confusing. She cheered him on silently, foreign as he was.

    ¡°Sold, sold!¡± she finally heard, releasing a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d been holding. ¡°Sold for 980,000 Gold to the man on the balcony! An excellent purchase you won¡¯t regret, sir. Our next item of the night is one which--¡±

    Octavia eyed him incredulously. He beamed brightly. ¡°You¡¯ve helped me make a fine purchase. I look forward to restoring that piece to its full glory.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please. You¡¯ve bought another piece of garbage,¡± Octavia heard, shrill and not so distant. ¡°And on a whim. Unplanned. Compulsive.¡±

    She had little room to turn, given how tightly compressed she still was against the railing. Her newest stranger met her gaze opposite that of the man she¡¯d been captivated by, battling her way to his side. She countered his smile, for how she offered none. She fixed him with sharp eyes, harsh and unpleasant. He took it well.

    ¡°Portia,¡± the man scolded gently, ¡°there is always room for more. I have been offered guidance that I believe has led me to a solid business decision. Given sound advice, who am I to refuse such an opportunity?¡±

    The woman¡¯s eyes flickered downwards to Octavia leisurely. ¡°From a child?¡±

    The man frowned. ¡°From a friend. Be polite.¡±

    She eyed Octavia up and down far too slowly. Octavia flushed.

    ¡°You, girl,¡± the woman began, her voice low, ¡°what month were you born?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°September?¡±

    The woman scoffed. ¡°That explains it.¡±

    ¡°Portia,¡± the man interrupted, his tone notably more firm, ¡°why don¡¯t you go have another drink? I¡¯m sure there are still plenty left.¡±

    The glances they exchanged were loaded, albeit silent. It took time for the woman to find solace in her beverage, sipping softly as she made for yet more beyond the crowd. Octavia watched her disappear. The man sighed, leaning against the railing beside Octavia once again.

    ¡°I apologize on her behalf,¡± he offered. ¡°She can be somewhat¡­judgmental of my business practices.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Is that your wife?¡±

    The man laughed heartily. It was enough to make Octavia jump. ¡°No, no! I could not so much as begin to imagine! Portia is one of my prime business partners. A bit crass, you¡¯ll find, and yet her sharp eyes are second to none in the world of appraisal. She is very much an asset.¡±

    ¡°What kind of business do you run?¡± Octavia asked.

    The man straightened up, offering her his hand calmly. ¡°I apologize for not introducing myself. Alessandro Drey.¡±

    Octavia returned his smile, extending her own hand in turn.

    Don¡¯t.

    She¡¯d only brushed her fingertips against his own before she recoiled sharply. It was loud and soft all at once, fleeting and yet echoing. It was internal. It was blindingly unfamiliar. It was enough to curl her fingers and widen her eyes, her heart skipping several beats consecutively. Her eyes darted about without revelation. It was far more disorienting than it was terrifying, and she tensed.

    It was one word--no more, no less. Octavia awaited more, and still found nothing. She knew her inner voice. That wasn¡¯t it in the slightest.

    ¡°Miss?¡± the man asked, his hand still extended and his face clouded with concern.

    She was cautious, albeit hurriedly. She pinched the skirt of her dress on either side with trembling fingers, dipping into an anxious curtsey as she stammered. ¡°O-Octavia. It¡¯s nice to meet you, Drey.¡±

    She realized her mistake instantly, clapping one hand over her mouth with a blush to match. ¡°Mr. Drey! I meant Mr. Drey, I¡¯m sorry! I wasn¡¯t trying to be rude!¡±

    Instead, he only laughed. ¡°No, no, dear girl, it¡¯s perfectly alright. Please, call me Drey, then. I have always believed formalities to be more than unnecessary, regardless.¡±

    Octavia smiled weakly, still struggling to regain her full composure. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, then, Drey,¡± she offered.

    He smiled, slipping one hand into the linings of his suit. ¡°Likewise. Here.¡±

    Octavia accepted the little card he offered up with false calm, fighting to focus on the glossy paper. ¡°Solenford...Institute of Architecture and Restoration,¡± she read aloud. ¡°SIAR?¡±

    Drey nodded. ¡°Our business specializes in restoring artworks and pieces from around the world. Some are resold, but most proceed to find homes in museums and collections for scientific or artistic endeavors. Money is no object.¡±

    That much was clear. He¡¯d spent nearly one million Gold on a worn-down piano.

    ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you,¡± she offered anyway. ¡°It sounds like you work closely with the community.¡±

    Drey¡¯s face lit up. ¡°We strive to do so, but we are always looking for more ways to assist. We have attempted to straddle the line between business and charity for quite awhile now, but there is always room for improvement.¡±

    Octavia chanced a brief glance to the stage once more. She¡¯d lost count of exactly how many paintings had come through the building tonight. There was always room for more, apparently. She rolled her eyes. One conversation with this man was more interesting than nearly every item she¡¯d witnessed in this entire auction.

    ¡°Are you and Portia the only ones who work there?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Heavens, no,¡± Drey answered swiftly. ¡°My business employs dozens, perhaps hundreds. Portia is simply one of my top advisors. It can be a very lively company.¡±

    ¡°Did you come here to buy things to restore tonight?¡±

    He beamed. ¡°But of course. We have attended auctions in Coda numerous times, and tonight is no different. Portia aids me in choosing promising pieces in need of repair, and we make our choices from there. Once again, I must commend you on your keen eye for craftsmanship. I very much look forward to seeing that piano in its full glory once more.¡±

    Octavia smiled softly. ¡°Happy to help.¡±

    ¡°And now, we present a well-loved and timeless piece. You¡¯ll find before you a rosewood clarinet, lovingly curated from a skilled musician of Solenford. Arriving now on stage, this item is certain to--¡±

    ¡°Solenford,¡± Octavia mused. ¡°That¡¯s where you come from, right? Where is that?¡±

    Drey leaned slightly more against the railing. ¡°The far north. Dreadfully cold in the winter months. I would not recommend ever moving there, but it can be a lovely place to visit.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t an usher. In fact, it was the first time throughout the entire evening Octavia had seen anyone short of the position cross the stage at all, let alone anyone slightly adjacent to her own height. As to what a girl, instead, would be doing at its center, she had no guess to offer. It was definitely rosewood, if she squinted. They¡¯d been honest this time. It didn¡¯t make the person carrying it any less jarring, given how her bland, uniformed attire left her strikingly out of place in a room so splashed with luxurious color. She drew eyes and mumbles of confusion. Octavia, too, was not immune to staring at her every unhesitant step.

    Drey caught Octavia''s gaze, puzzled as it was. He took the scene in stride with a curious smile. ¡°I wonder what this could be,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°What can we do for you, ma¡¯am?¡± the man at the stage¡¯s center asked, his own smile never quite faltering. ¡°This is an immaculate instrument you¡¯ve brought for us today.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­more than that. I¡¯d like to play it, if that¡¯s alright with you,¡± she spoke coolly, her clear voice betraying her size. ¡°As a demonstration.¡±

    The man paused. Still, he found his composure soon after. ¡°But of course! It would be a pleasure to hear that rosewood sing.¡±

    ¡°I suggest you back up a bit.¡±

    He didn¡¯t resist. Octavia smirked. She was sassy, then, if her song warranted so much room for her splendor. She almost respected the self-confidence. There was a part of her that thought to pry at the clarinet with her eyes, for how she¡¯d almost come to enjoy dissecting each compromised piece of wood that graced the stage.

    It didn¡¯t look poor at all, and "immaculate" had genuinely been a strong descriptor. Still, given its supposed owner, it was more than likely at least well-loved. Appearance and sound were two entirely different concerns. Even disconnected as she¡¯d been, she could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d already seen at least one other clarinet pass through center stage at least once. Blessed by a musician¡¯s touch or not, this one was no different.

    The lightning was new, at least.

 12. Risky Business

    The moment the girl¡¯s lips touched the reed, Octavia nearly fell from the balcony.

    Part of it was simply the shock of such a display in such a place, mismatched in every way. An equal part, in contrast, was the way by which her song was far from what Octavia had begun to grow accustomed to. The shrill, swift melody spoke not to light, nor ice, nor wind, nor fire. Every note carried a spark, and every spark carried a crackle.

    Her song stung the air, humming steadily even from such a distance. The brilliant little flashes that popped and fizzled along the floor left the stage sprinkled with crumbling jolts, skittering along the hardwood in vibrant golds that burned Octavia¡¯s eyes. She tried and failed to avoid looking directly at the tiny, scattering bolts trailing from the bell, kissing the stage and dying shortly after their radiant birth. The sound of the little thunderstorm mixed beautifully with the harmony offered by such an innocent clarinet, and it was not Octavia alone who was starstruck. The girl had more than a captive audience.

    Perhaps more so than the lightning born before Octavia¡¯s eyes, that was the greatest and more dire problem of all.

    Every thought in Octavia¡¯s head was just as electric, shocking her with such ferocity she feared she might faint. There was a Maestra, in plain sight, actively performing to a crowd perhaps numbering in the hundreds. For all of her fears that came with Stradivaria buried in the depths of her forbidden backpack, it was someone else entirely who¡¯d exposed dozens upon dozens of people to a world they surely did not belong in. She could only imagine the current look on Viola¡¯s face.

    Her wide eyes traveled to Drey slowly. He was more than mesmerized by the electrical spectacle, much the same as those around him. She didn¡¯t blame the man. It was still enough to send her heart pounding.

    It felt like far, far too long before the reckless Maestra was satisfied. Her tapering melody left admittedly-lovely spindles of plasma crawling and fizzling along the stage. The stray sparks that rained haphazardly from the bell sank downwards with soft crackles of their own, swept up by nothing and stolen just as soon as they¡¯d come. She was unfazed beneath the hundreds of eyes tethered to her every movement, bowing quickly as she lowered the instrument.

    The applause that followed was explosive, nearly deafening in Octavia¡¯s vicinity. Hardly a seat was left occupied below, for how many patrons had leapt to their feet with vibrant cheers. Drey was not immune to the same by any means, his eyes practically sparkling with delight. ¡°Splendid! Well done!¡± he cried.

    The man on stage, hesitant to approach the instrument at all, couldn¡¯t be faulted for his apprehension one bit. It didn¡¯t matter. It was the girl, instead, who took his place, her voice startlingly clear. The moment the raucous applause dimmed to something tolerable, she found her words.

    ¡°This instrument is special,¡± she spoke calmly. ¡°I¡¯m selling it for no less than 32,000,000 Gold.¡±

    The room exploded with something more than applause. The numbers that flew were high and frantic, far outpacing every price Octavia had heard throughout the night. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly what part of her had believed the Maestra¡¯s stipulation to be too lofty. For what populace packed the auction house and what wealth tainted their fingers, she kicked herself over her doubts. Given what they¡¯d seen, she absolutely couldn¡¯t fault their interest. It was still utterly and absolutely horrifying, and no amount of intervention on her part was going to mend the situation. The man who¡¯d reclaimed his rightful place on stage struggled to keep up with the rising bids, climbing ever higher with each passing second.

    ¡°32,000,000! D-Do I hear 32--34,000,000? 34,000,000, for the--what? 35,000,000? Incredible!¡± he cried, stumbling over his words.

    There was a terror that came with knowing the little instrument would soon slip into ignorant hands. It was a crisis she couldn¡¯t mend, and it still burned to consider. At the absolute least, if she could speak with its Maestra, the evening would¡¯ve been worth it. Perhaps it would give her the chance to shake some sense into the girl. She clearly needed it in abundance.

    ¡°193,000,000 Gold!¡±

    Drey¡¯s voice at her side was equal parts powerful and intimidating. With his sign spearing high into the air, his confident voice reached every last corner of the auction hall. Octavia lost her breath.

    The silence that befell the room was in agonizing contrast to the roar of bidding that had besieged it moments ago. Even the host was stunned into speechlessness, gazing blankly at the balcony for more than a moment. ¡°Come again?¡±

    ¡°193,000,000 Gold,¡± Drey repeated, unyielding, ¡°and a word with the little lady.¡±

    Simply hearing the number leave his lips was enough to make Octavia dizzy. It was to say nothing of the context. The Maestra below flinched, her eyes wide and her own disbelieving gaze cast high to the balcony in turn. Her hands gripped the little clarinet ever tighter as she stared, unmoving.

    ¡°I...193,000,000 Gold. Are there¡­any other offers?¡± the man below asked hesitantly, his voice wavering somewhat.

    When not one response arose from the murmuring crowd, the bang of the gavel left the room bursting with commotion instead. ¡°S-Sold, sold to the man up in the balcony, once again!¡± he cried. ¡°I do believe that could be a record, ladies and gentlemen! What a night to remember! Truly a hard act to follow. Nonetheless, there is still plenty more to come before the night is through. Please...give us a moment to prepare the next item. It will surely be worth the wait!¡±

    The Maestra was swept from the stage delicately, the mysterious rosewood still clutched tightly in her shaking hands. Octavia lamented losing sight of her at all, lest she somehow find her way out of the auction hall before they had the chance to meet--if she could get that far. On a closer level, she was somewhat afraid to turn her head. Whatever she¡¯d find on Drey¡¯s face would probably be cause for concern. She no longer had qualms about the price of the piano. He was insane.

    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± she muttered.

    Octavia clapped one hand over her mouth the moment it slipped out.

    To her immense relief, he took no offense. Instead, he laughed with such fervor that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. ¡°Oh, I cannot say otherwise! And yet, how could I not be? It is an absolutely splendid instrument, would you not agree?¡±

    Damage control was still an option. ¡°I-It might be a trick of some kind. Maybe an act to rile up the audience, you know? What if you just spent all that money on a normal clarinet?¡±

    Drey¡¯s hand settled onto her shoulder gently. ¡°Then it will have been well worth it, my friend. A fine price for such an incredible show.¡±

    He was most definitely insane.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the man on stage began once more, ¡°we now present to you another item of great interest and intrigue--not quite like the others in our collection tonight, and yet a prize nonetheless!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t an instrument, nor was it artwork. She wouldn¡¯t have been particularly surprised to see something at least adjacent, given the handful of tapestries and literal rugs she¡¯d seen sold on occasion tonight. Octavia assumed it was the pillow, at first, silky and delicate. She could hardly see the booklets atop it without straining her eyes, neatly-bound and rosy-pink as they were. There were books at some point, if memory served. They weren¡¯t that small, nor handled with such a gentle touch. Octavia raised an eyebrow. So did Drey.

    ¡°It seems the night may have yet more surprises in store,¡± he whispered.

    ¡°Tonight, you¡¯ll find ten opportunities for ten outsiders, a chance never before offered to most!¡± the man continued. ¡°We present passports to the Blessed City, inaccessible through legitimate means. It is only through scouring the blackest markets that you¡¯ll find passage beyond these halls. Now, with complete legitimacy, entry into the city of Velrose could be yours!¡±

    ¡°Velrose?¡± Octavia asked, raising her eyes to Drey. He hummed in approval.

    ¡°It is not quite as inaccessible as he claims, provided your rationale and credentials are true. I have voyaged to Velrose many a time, and I would not be surprised if others in this establishment have done the same. You heard his words. The black market is not to be underestimated. Of course, speaking in terms of legality, he has a point.¡±

    She peered over the rim of the railing once more. Sure enough, no amount of preaching was enough to generate the same interest in the wake of the Maestra¡¯s electrifying display. The soft murmurs of the crowd versus the uproar of conversation before were a solid indicator of at least that much. Granted, a Harmonial Instrument really was an excruciatingly hard act to follow.

    ¡°Drey,¡± Octavia asked quietly, ¡°what does Velrose have to do with music? This is still a music-related auction, right?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never heard of Velrose, I take it?¡± he asked softly, his words paired with a smile.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve never even seen it on a map before.¡±

    Drey tilted his head endearingly. ¡°It would mark no map, for certain. Velrose is a city shrouded in mystery. Their populace is intolerant of outsiders, although most believe them to simply be bound by the virtues of religion. As to music, the pride and joy of the Blessed City is the grand bell tower at its very center. The song of the bell is said to bring peace and bliss beyond mortal compare. That is, at least, what its residents seem to believe.¡±

    She dissected his words with care. ¡°What¡¯s their religion, exactly?¡±

    ¡°In all honesty, I cannot say," he admitted. "They will not share it with the world. It is perhaps one of the greater mysteries of the Blessed City. I would like to uncover the truth for myself, someday.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes fell to the stage once more. There were at least a handful of things not clicking in his explanation. The religious fixation seemed off-putting. If the auction house had managed to acquire ten entire passports to a place supposedly so secretive, it couldn¡¯t be quite as elusive as it was made to seem. Still, to be off every map entirely was odd. Even now, the crowd was largely disinterested. She eyed the rosy little passports carefully, gleaning what she could from so far a distance as they rested quietly.

    It was a reach. To be fair, so was the entire event. She¡¯d already missed out on the clarinet.

    ¡°Interested in Velrose, are you?¡± Drey murmured. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn there was the slightest touch of a tease in his tone, and she flushed.

    ¡°I-I mean, I¡¯m a bit¡­curious, yes,¡± she confessed.

    He beamed. ¡°I can respect your desire to crack the mystery of the city. Hopefully you can get further than I did.¡±

    She¡¯d been correct about the general disinterest. There was still acknowledgement, somewhat, in the form of occasional hands cast high and lazy numbers climbing in half-hearted increments. It was a far cry from the chaotic atmosphere that had followed the Harmonial Instrument¡¯s debut. 2,500,000 was still no low number, and those that rose ever higher did at least some justice to the leather-bound booklets waiting patiently onstage.

    ¡°8,000,000 Gold!¡±

    He had way too much money.

    Once more had Drey thrust his bidding sign well over his head, the number erupting from his lips more than double what had already been offered. Yet again, he drew murmurs from a crowd that clung to his actions and astonishing wealth. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. This was getting out of hand.

    It was no shock that Drey had zero challengers for a second time over. Even the host below was not without surprise of his own. If they were worth less, he was doing an exceedingly poor job concealing the fact. ¡°8,000,000 Gold! Sold, sold, to the man on the balcony yet again! A fine purchase, sir! And that, ladies and gentleman, is only the first set, with four more to follow! Give us a moment to--¡±

    ¡°Drey?¡± she asked, confused.

    Drey lowered his arm, offering her a brilliant smile. ¡°A token of my thanks for your aid to my affairs tonight.¡±

    Her heart leapt. ¡°Wait, really? For me?¡±

    ¡°But of course,¡± he offered gently. ¡°I really suppose I should find Portia, by now. As they plan to offer up such a consecutive quantity, I would guess these to be the final items of the evening. If you are satisfied, this may be the time to indulge in what few beverages may still remain. I will bring to you your prize once the bidding is through.¡±

    Octavia blinked, her words briefly stolen by disbelief. ¡°Y-Yes, thank you! Thank you so much!¡±

    He left her with a wave, sinking into the thinning crowd. The thinning itself was of note, given the way by which she had more room to move than usual. If his words had been anything to go by, she could blame the passports. Octavia tossed her eyes back to the stage. Yet another pair of tender, rosy booklets lay silently atop the same ornate pillow, identical in every way to those they had succeeded. She leaned closer over the railing, her gaze flickering several times over between the crowd and stage at large.

    She had two passports, graciously given. She had four Maestros to account for. For all of her earlier bluster, this was going to be terrifying. It was the last chance for anything meaningful that she was going to get tonight, fourfold as it was. Octavia gripped the handle of her sign tightly, inhaling as deeply as she could.

    ¡°2,500,000 Gold!¡± she heard first. ¡°Starting the bidding at 2,500,000 Gold!¡±

    ¡°2,750,000,¡± came a voice below.

    The following call was adjacent, by comparison. ¡°3,000,000!¡±

    And from below, the stranger was still stubborn. ¡°3,250,000!¡±

    Octavia ran through her mental math as quickly as possible. Provided the freshly-sold painting applied on top of what Viola already possessed, it left her with approximately 4,810,000. She didn¡¯t dare base her understanding of the process off Drey, unfathomably affluent and possibly deranged as he was. She¡¯d never done this in her life. Still, if she interpreted the atmosphere loosely, it was simply a series of bluffing and calling at its core. No one knew of her limit. She could play along. At the very least, she could try.

    ¡°3,500,000!¡± she shouted, recoiling beneath her own volume.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one. At least a handful of those around her were equally startled. The quantity of eyes that fell to her from both near and below were horrifying, expectant and inquisitive in equal measure. She shuddered beneath their abundant gazes, struggling to keep her sign aloft with trembling fingers.

    She blended in, apparently. The man on stage motioned to her accordingly with a smile. ¡°3,500,000! 3,500,000 from the little lady with the braids! Do I hear--¡±

    ¡°4,000,000,¡± she heard of the stubborn stranger below once more.

    Octavia¡¯s heart raced relentlessly beneath the twofold pressure of the moment and the eyes upon her. ¡°4,250,000!¡± she cried.

    ¡°4,500,000!¡± she heard in return.

    It was with gritted teeth and a sinking heart that Octavia was forced to retreat. If she hoped to bluff her way through this entire situation, she was pushing it by now. She quickly found that her work would¡¯ve been cut out for her regardless, given the final price of 5,750,000 Gold. Replanning was leaving her with a headache instead of passports. She had three more chances. She wasn¡¯t sure if she could handle so many prying eyes on her once more, and she gripped the railing far too tightly.

    ¡°Relax,¡± she heard smoothly from behind. ¡°You¡¯re gonna break the damn thing.¡±

    Someone was intruding too near to her personal space, and she flinched. When she turned her head sharply, he was close enough to startle her. Given their proximity, her face likely would¡¯ve crashed into the brim of his hat were he slightly shorter. Renato laughed at her mild distress. She bristled somewhat.

    ¡°I thought you were hanging out with Madrigal,¡± Octavia asked, still battling her pounding heart.

    ¡°He is,¡± Madrigal offered happily, squeezing in opposite Octavia. At the very least, the Maestra didn¡¯t startle her quite as severely by comparison. ¡°We heard you bidding. You were really cool!¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t know you could yell like that,¡± Renato added, grinning in approval. ¡°What kind of crap are we bidding on, anyway?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure where he got ¡°we¡± from, and she didn¡¯t plan to ask. Already, her eyes were fixated on yet more little rosy rectangles, tiny specks taking the stage from far below her balcony view. He was an afterthought, and her head was already spinning. ¡°They¡¯re passports. I just need to win one of these auctions. I have three more chances, including this one. They¡¯re selling the same thing a few times.¡±

    His face fell as he leaned over the railing beside her. ¡°How much you got?¡±

    ¡°4,810,000 Gold,¡± she answered.

    He whistled dramatically. ¡°Where the hell did you get all that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not even enough,¡± she muttered. ¡°These people have way too much money, and I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯m supposed to compete.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t stress,¡± he offered. ¡°There¡¯s a trick to this whole thing. You said you have three more shots at this, right? You¡¯ve got time.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Time for¡­what?¡±

    Renato tossed his arm around her shoulder casually. It was, to her extreme surprise, not as irritating as she thought it¡¯d be. ¡°Listen. You¡¯ve gotta get inside their heads here for a second, Tavi. That one guy earlier probably scared the hell out of everyone with how much he spent on those little things. I mean, it was almost twice the amount of what that last round went for. In the second round, anyone who wanted to go up against him probably got it out of their system. That was the first real round, if you want my opinion.¡±

    She didn¡¯t particularly want his opinion, actually. If it came bundled with nicknames, it was worse. He wore an excessive amount of cologne, apparently, and that absolutely did not help. Still, somehow, his voice was calming. At the very least, she didn¡¯t have to ask him to keep talking. He wouldn¡¯t shut up.

    ¡°But God, they¡¯re like what, this big? They¡¯re tiny. Why the hell do they cost so much? It¡¯s a friggin¡¯ passport. Isn¡¯t it just, like, paper in there? I don¡¯t get why paper costs that much. It¡¯s paper. I don¡¯t care what they put on it or what they put it in. There is paper in there, right? That¡¯s how those work?¡±

    She¡¯d be lucky if she could hear the bidding process at all, honestly.

    ¡°Anyway, like I was saying, now we¡¯re on the second ¡®real¡¯ round. Which, I mean, that¡¯s technically the third round, I guess. I don¡¯t know. From what I¡¯ve seen at these kinds of events, it gets kinda stale when you keep selling the same thing again and again. Everyone¡¯s already waiting for the night to be over at this point, probably. They just wanna get their stuff and leave. By the last two rounds, people¡¯ll already be heading home, if they¡¯re not already.¡±

    Octavia nodded, dividing her attention between the boy and the man on stage as much as she could. ¡°And that means...what, exactly?¡±

    Renato tapped her little sign with one fingertip. ¡°Don¡¯t bid this time. Wait and see how much this one goes for. Watch who bids, watch people¡¯s reactions, see how many people bid, and see who¡¯s interested. By round four, people should be starting to¡­you know, not care. If anyone spaces out in round four, they can make it up as a last-minute bet in round five, so round four is where you¡¯ve gotta hit ¡®em where it hurts.¡±

    She was fairly certain he was outright making things up for the sake of saying words. Processing his explanation was a nightmare. Still, she did as she was told, watching quietly as numbers and voices flew loudly in tandem across the room. Having company reduced her stress, somewhat, and she appreciated the companionship--Madrigal¡¯s, at least.

    Each bid climbed ever higher, their increments equal to that of the prior round. The little passports in tandem succumbed to a crisp 4,900,000 with a bang, by which the gavel made her jump. She hadn¡¯t realized exactly how sharply she¡¯d been focusing.

    Renato patted her shoulder. ¡°You were real smart not to show your whole hand on that second round, but this is where you gotta go all out. Try to keep it straight and simple, or people might figure out you¡¯ve got a limit when you start using weird numbers.¡±

    ¡°So don¡¯t go beyond 4,800,000,¡± she interpreted breathlessly, gripping the sign¡¯s hilt with nearly enough force to crack it in two.

    Renato nodded. ¡°You got this. Go slow, come in late, build it up, and cross your fingers tight.¡±

    Madrigal smiled, squeezing Octavia¡¯s free hand. This was the most prepared she was going to get. It was better than fumbling through it on her own.

    ¡°2,500,000!¡± she heard at last. ¡°Do I hear 2,500,000?¡±

    ¡°2,750,000!¡± came a voice from below.

    She tensed. He had a point. Every bid that arose was definitely slower versus the last two chances to claim the rosy booklets. In truth, she was floored Renato had been onto something at all. She had little time to dwell on it. Already, her hand was on its way up, and she readied the loud call of 3,000,000 on her lips.

    ¡°4,000,000,¡± someone instead cried from the balcony.

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Madrigal winced, and so did she. Renato swore sharply under his breath.

    ¡°4,250,000!¡± Octavia shouted instead, throwing her arm high with enough force to strain her shoulder. She nearly hit Renato in the face in the process. Madrigal squeezed her other hand tightly.

    ¡°4,500,000,¡± the man from before answered, unfazed. Renato¡¯s grip around her dissipated rapidly, and she staggered slightly beneath her newfound freedom.

    ¡°Stick to the plan. Stall it out,¡± he whispered. When her eyes fell to him, she caught only his back as he slipped out of sight. With only Madrigal¡¯s silent grasp to fall back on, she did as she was told to the best of her anxious ability.

    ¡°4,600,000,¡± she more or less stammered, trying and immediately failing to stem the waver in her voice.

    ¡°4,700,000,¡± her distant opponent answered once more.

    She hesitated, running through the math in her head once more. Madrigal tugging on her sleeve quickly was her sole indicator that she¡¯d nearly missed the final call. Her stomach lurched.

    ¡°4,800,000!¡± she cried, her desperate grip tight enough to practically imprint the handle into her palm. She called twice over for good measure. If she failed this round--provided Renato¡¯s convoluted logic was to be believed--the next round would likely be financially out of reach. He hadn¡¯t been wrong so far. She was sweating, her anxiety split neatly between the eyes of those around her and the concept of failure. This was the closest they¡¯d gotten to anything productive thus far. Ultimately, she was the one who¡¯d asked to bid.

    The moment her unseen opponent began to speak once more, her heart threatened to explode. What she had left would pale in comparison to the standard increments he offered up again and again. He never made it that far, and not one overpowering number left his mouth. Rather than his counter, Octavia¡¯s bid was met only with a different kind of bang. The sharp, unmistakable shattering of innocent glass rang clear, audible well across the room. Octavia found her verbal assailant, at least, if his shout of surprise was anything to go by.

    The bursting light above his head exploded without warning or explanation, showering the soft velvet below with crystal rain and flickering sparks. It was the second crackle of electricity she¡¯d heard in the auction house tonight, although far more natural by comparison. Madrigal shrieked. Octavia recoiled violently. Their reaction was not localized, for how so many panicked and curious eyes alike fell to the sudden spectacle. Even those nearest to the stage had arisen, somewhat, straining to catch a glimpse high above of the mild chaos. Octavia hoped he wasn¡¯t hurt, abundantly blessed by sprinkling glass as he was. At least visibly, he was simply left mostly shaken. She wasn¡¯t much better.

    Really, she herself was so shaken that she outright missed the bang of the gavel entirely.

    ¡°4,800,000!¡± she heard from the stage. ¡°Sold for 4,800,000 to the young lady with the braids! I, uh, ask that everyone remain seated for our final round of passports, as I understand there might be a bit of a situation upstairs. Nevertheless, let us wrap up the evening! For one last time, we present--¡±

    What wide-eyed joy she found was short-lived, given the physical interruption it came with. The arm suddenly draped around her shoulders with force made her jump. It accompanied ridiculously-abundant cologne, which at least alleviated her fears of a stranger¡¯s touch. Every word that left his mouth was ragged and breathless as he panted slightly. ¡°Good job¡­Tavi. Knew you¡­had it in you.¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°Where were you?¡±

    Renato winked at her playfully, still gasping for air somewhat. ¡°Just¡­took out a bit of gambling insurance.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me--¡±

    ¡°It worked, didn¡¯t it?¡± he teased. ¡°Listen, I was careful. No one saw. I train hard, you know.¡±

    She was well aware of that much, unfortunately. Octavia struggled to escape his half-embrace, her hands settling onto her hips. ¡°You could¡¯ve gotten someone hurt.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said with a highly unnecessary bow, ¡°but now a certain someone is a few weird little passports richer. Thank you, thank you.¡±

    Madrigal applauded. Octavia groaned.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure no one saw you?¡±

    Renato winced. ¡°So, uh, I like to imagine they didn¡¯t. I mean, I¡¯m careful, I think. I¡¯ve got my ways. I¡¯m gonna be real with you, I didn¡¯t actually check. They¡¯ve got their eyes on more important stuff, right? It¡¯s not like I--¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    Renato raised his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Okay, honestly, I should probably get the hell out of here--like, now. I¡¯ve got a lot of questions, but I¡¯m guessing this isn¡¯t the greatest time. Give Vi my regards, would you? I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll see you again soon, Tavi.¡±

    ¡°Stop calling me that,¡± she deadpanned.

    He had more than enough time to peck Madrigal¡¯s cheek on the way out, grinning the same grin as always all the while. ¡°You stay beautiful for me, Maddie. See ya!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as though her words would¡¯ve reached him, given the speed with which he outright sprinted through the front doors with a startling bang. At the very least, she was relieved to hear it born of natural wood this time. As to where exactly he thought to escape to in the depths of the night, she couldn¡¯t fathom--nor did she want to know.

    She was more preoccupied with Madrigal, her cheeks blossoming into a brilliant scarlet. Her hands settled over the glowing warmth slowly, her mouth nearly agape as words failed her. She¡¯d earned a nickname for her troubles tonight, apparently, although one cherry-flavored souvenir seemed of far more interest than the other.

    ¡°I think I love him,¡± she whispered breathlessly.

    ¡°Sold to the man in the green suit! Ladies and gentleman, that just about brings our evening to a close!¡± Octavia heard from the stage, somewhere in the midst of Madrigal¡¯s melting. ¡°As always, gathering of payments and distribution of goods will be taking place shortly. If you¡¯ve purchased any lovely pieces tonight in need of transportation, please let one of our fine staff members know so that we may aid you in making accommodations. We thank you for being here with us in Coda for another fabulous evening. As always, we hope to see you again soon.¡±

    With the conclusive words came surging and shuffling, by which the balcony was no longer stagnant. The floor below was largely the same, and she was once again thankful for the tiny amount of extra space the backpack allotted her. Octavia wrapped her arms tightly around a still-disoriented Madrigal, more than ignorant to the push and pull of the rippling crowd. If the girl were to be swept away, she had a feeling nothing would get her attention at this point.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± a soft voice called from the stairs. ¡°That was amazing!¡±

    Octavia had enough room in her arms for one more, if it meant not losing Viola in the same mess of strangers. With arms outstretched, she embraced the Maestra all the same, leaving a dazed Madrigal sandwiched at their center. It wasn¡¯t as though the latter seemed to care, hardly blinking as she was. ¡°I kinda screwed it up a bit,¡± Octavia muttered regardless.

    Viola smiled. ¡°You did great. Were those the Velrose passports?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if they¡¯re a lead or not, but I have a feeling about them. Do you happen to know anything about Velrose?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Never heard of it, honestly. How many did you get? Just those two?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Four, actually.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°But I thought you only won one bid.¡±

    Octavia crawled out of the embrace to the best of her ability. It left Madrigal still rigid between them--speechless, motionless, and still every bit as gloriously scarlet.

    ¡°Also, what happened to her?¡±

    ¡°Listen, I met a guy up here on the balcony,¡± she interrupted. ¡°He runs a restoration business in a city up north, I forgot the name of--oh, wait, hang on.¡±

    She sifted through her pockets for a moment. Much to her relief, the flimsy little card hadn¡¯t escaped her. She passed it to Viola accordingly, earning a raised eyebrow in return after several seconds.

    ¡°Solenford,¡± Viola read aloud. ¡°That¡¯s...really, really far from here. That¡¯s almost on the other end of the continent. What¡¯s he doing here?¡±

    ¡°He said he was looking for stuff for his business,¡± Octavia clarified. ¡°We got into a talk about a worn-down piano they were selling, and apparently I talked him into buying it. He told me I helped him with his business or something, so he won me two of those passports to pay me back.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°So we have four passports, then? I guess he has money to throw around, then.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Okay, so, uh, that wasn¡¯t even slightly the worst thing he spent money on.¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell. ¡°That was him?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we should...probably talk about that.¡±

    Viola sighed heavily. ¡°That was bad. That was really, really bad. Every person in this room just got exposed to Maestros for the first time, and now that man is going to have a Harmonial Instrument.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it just be enough to talk to the Maestra?¡± Octavia offered.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s not the point. It¡¯s already weird enough that a Maestra is willingly parting with her Harmonial Instrument, but the implications of one being in the hands of a non-Maestro is dangerous. That¡¯s not something that should be shared with the world.¡±

    It made sense. Still, Octavia pushed. ¡°Okay, but Harmonial Instruments are only bonded to their Maestro, right? So¡­even if they did have one, there¡¯s really not a whole lot they could do with it. They wouldn¡¯t get any fancy lightning or anything.¡±

    Viola sighed once more. ¡°No, you¡¯re right. It¡¯s just...I don¡¯t know, that¡¯s a piece of the Maestro world. Whether or not they could actually use the instrument is irrelevant. Eventually, someone would put two and two together.¡±

    Octavia cringed. She¡¯d forgotten the other issue. ¡°Oh, God, I think it actually gets worse than that. He asked to talk to her afterwards, too.¡±

    Viola¡¯s expression came to match perfectly. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s really, really, really bad.¡±

    ¡°If she¡¯s willing to sell her Harmonial Instrument, who knows what she¡¯s willing to talk about with random people?¡± Octavia murmured, somewhat cognizant of her audible panic.

    ¡°She¡¯s going to get hurt,¡± Viola muttered, biting her nails.

    ¡°Did you happen to see her when you were downstairs? After she left the stage?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°No, I never saw her after that. If this guy wants to talk to her before she hands her instrument over, though, she¡¯ll have to come out to the main floor.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s our chance,¡± Octavia stated. Viola nodded in agreement.

    ¡°Excuse me, miss.¡±

    So engrossed in their lightning-flavored crisis had she been that she hadn¡¯t noticed the little pair of rosy booklets at her side, clasped patiently in waiting hands. On closer inspection, they were spectacularly bound and splendidly textured from a much nearer distance. ¡°Taking payment for the¡­Vacanti account, was it?¡±

    The man¡¯s eyes fell to Viola instantly. The notepad and pencil that settled into her hand were met with hastily-scribbled numbers and an equally-quick signature. She hardly blinked. It really did seem almost routine, given how the girl had denied her lack of prior participation. ¡°Yes. No issues here.¡±

    He smiled, the paper pad carefully exchanged for equally-small passports. Octavia claimed one with only slight hesitation from his outstretched hand. ¡°Two passports into the Blessed City. I bid you both safe travels.¡±

    She returned his smile half-heartedly, departing as he already was. Octavia ran her thumb along the length of the leather, the surprisingly-comfortable texture rising to meet her fingertips. She rotated it slowly and experimentally. The rose stamped softly into the center was beautiful, elegantly swirling and gently dented. She trailed it with her fingernails, savoring the slight dip beneath her skin as she traced the sweeping pattern. Splashed with the softest pink as it was, it matched its namesake perfectly. It was lovely. She had something stringless and bowless to put in the backpack now, at least.

    Viola was not immune to the same experimental inspection, albeit to a lesser degree. ¡°I¡­kind of expected them to be a bit bigger.¡±

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t limited to two passports for long. Yet more little pink booklets were high aloft, bundled with her name in a rich voice she was coming to appreciate. Even from across the room, he was hard to miss. She wasn¡¯t distant from him for long, and her smile was the only beacon he seemed to need. When Viola eyed him warily, Octavia drew lines between the girl and her questionably-wealthy not-so-stranger with her eyes. Viola winced the moment it clicked.

    ¡°Drey, this is my friend Viola,¡± she offered almost immediately. ¡°And, uh, my other friend, Madrigal.¡±

    She¡¯d nearly forgotten the latter, still utterly wordless and in exactly the same starstruck pose she¡¯d been left in. Octavia was starting to wonder if it was permanent.

    ¡°Miss Viola, Miss Madrigal, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you both,¡± Drey greeted with a respectful bow. Whatever was going on with Madrigal was of little concern, apparently. Octavia hoped the Maestra was satisfied with her first impression.

    Viola didn¡¯t miss a beat. Her returned curtsey was admirable and graceful, far from what Octavia would¡¯ve been able to emulate. ¡°It¡¯s our pleasure, sure. Thank you for watching over our Octavia tonight.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes. Being wildly disoriented and being incompetent were two different things.

    Drey smiled, waving the little pink passports gently. ¡°I apologize for the time it took to receive them, but here they are nonetheless. I heard your skilled bidding on yet another set, as well. Splendid work!¡±

    Octavia smiled in earnest. ¡°It was still pretty scary, but thank you.¡±

    ¡°Still, that you would seek out a second pair so soon is intriguing. Have you more than one companion for your journey to the Blessed City?¡± he asked, curious eyes trailing the room for what she presumed was an answer.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got Madrigal,¡± Octavia mentioned, gesturing to her wordless companion. ¡°I¡¯ve also got one more friend who isn¡¯t in here right now. Definitely needed more than two.¡±

    The sudden nudge to her ankle made her jump. Her eyes flickered downwards and found one flat tapping the back of her heel repeatedly. When she met Viola¡¯s eyes, the slight shake of the Maestra¡¯s head was nearly too subtle to notice. It wasn¡¯t quite invisible, and she flushed. Kind as he was, he was still technically a stranger. Effective immediately, Octavia bit her tongue.

    She tenderly embraced the offered passports from his waiting hands, her smile just a bit too strained to be legitimate. ¡°T-Thank you for these, by the way. It was really nice of you to bid for me.¡±

    By comparison, Drey¡¯s smile was more than genuine. ¡°Of course, my friend! The pleasure of your company was all I could ask for. I will be here a while longer, I suppose. I will admit, I have purchased a fair bit more than was intended. It will surely take time for the items to be prepared for transport.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Drey, sir,¡± Viola began, ¡°how many purchases did you make tonight?¡±

    Drey chuckled. ¡°In truth, I may have lost count. Several paintings, multiple sculptures, and a lovely piano well in need of attention that was identified for me by a friend of yours.¡±

    His grin was for her. Octavia blushed.

    ¡°The passports, of course,¡± he continued, ¡°and¡­something else that I am awaiting patiently.¡±

    Octavia tensed. It was becoming unavoidable. Viola battled the approaching subject, to her credit. ¡°How will you be transporting everything?¡±

    She had little luck. Drey¡¯s voice was already distant, his eyes roaming the room dangerously. ¡°Transport? Yes, we will be using the railway. It will be no issue to send our purchases tonight back to Solenford. Before that matter, there is something of greater importance I must address.¡±

    He was startlingly successful, if not synchronized with Octavia¡¯s own realization. Their eyes landed upon the same strained expression and neat grays in unison, small and buried in the depths of the crowd. She was visibly anxious, if her iron grip around the clarinet was worth anything. Her own gaze darted rapidly in every direction, her movements slow and her discomfort practically radiant from afar. If Octavia didn¡¯t know any better, the girl could¡¯ve passed as hopelessly lost.

    Either Drey didn¡¯t notice her guarded demeanor or didn¡¯t care. From what Octavia knew of him thus far, she could believe either one. ¡°Miss, miss!¡± he called much too loudly, waving high with the same brilliant smile.

    The girl¡¯s eyes snapped to his own instantly, and she recoiled. In her defense, even Octavia was still growing used to his volume. Still, the degree to which the girl was on edge had Octavia raising an eyebrow.

    She raised one finger hesitantly, gesturing to herself. He nodded fervently, never doffing the same smile. It took more than several seconds for her to oblige his excited gestures at all. Every step towards him rippled with discomfort so contagious it may as well have stained the carpet. What silent composure she¡¯d conjured was excellently betrayed by the tiniest tremble of her hands around every key, the innocent rosewood pulled tightly against her chest.

    ¡°W-What do you want?¡± she stammered, her eyes suddenly scraping the floor.

    Octavia was sincerely starting to think Drey was immune to hostilities. ¡°Your performance was marvelous, miss. Thank you for treating us to such a show.¡±

    His praise was lost on the girl, who only fidgeted with yet more billowing discomfort. She didn¡¯t so much as acknowledge her buyer as she thrust the instrument out before her. ¡°Take it. You bought it, right? 32,000,000.¡±

    Octavia glanced at Viola, earning the same puzzled expression in return over the girl¡¯s demeanor. Drey, as could be expected, was nonplussed. He didn¡¯t pry, wrapping his fingers delicately around the neck of the clarinet. He never tugged, and it was at last enough to draw the Maestra¡¯s attention.

    He smiled gently. ¡°I do not mean to intimidate you, miss. My words are sincere.¡±

    Her eyes widened for a brief moment before her firm grip relaxed. The instrument nearly fell, for how quickly she set it free. It took effort on Drey¡¯s part to hurriedly recapture it with fumbling hands. ¡°I-It¡¯s fine. Do whatever you want with it. I don¡¯t need it anymore.¡±

    ¡°Now, miss, my bid was not simply for the clarinet alone, do you recall?¡± he added. ¡°Would you grant me the pleasure of knowing your name?¡±

    The girl¡¯s anxious eyes traveled rapidly. It was not Drey alone they touched upon, but yet two more Maestras who flinched in turn beneath her nervous gaze. ¡°Give me yours first,¡± she demanded of the businessman.

    He didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Alessandro Drey,¡± he offered with yet another bow.

    So, too, did he offer up another tiny card, pinched between careful fingers as he swiftly withdrew it from within his suit jacket. Octavia had half a mind to wonder if the same voice would intrude upon her thoughts once more. It was enough of a passing concern to leave her palms clammy. This was definitely not the time.

    The girl hesitated, eventually plucking the little card from his fingers with a trembling touch of her own. ¡°Cadence,¡± she muttered.

    Drey smiled. ¡°Cadence,¡± he repeated. ¡°What a lovely name.¡±

    She relaxed slightly. Still, in the face of his warmth, she was blunt by comparison. ¡°When will I receive the payment?¡±

    Drey laughed. ¡°Straight to business, then! Quite admirable. You would surely make a fine businesswoman, if you so chose the path. I believe it should take five to seven business days, provided memory serves me well.¡±

    His eyes fell to Viola. ¡°Miss Vacanti, was it? How long do these affairs typically span, in your experience?¡±

    Viola twitched at her side. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but do the same. For all the time she¡¯d spent with Drey, she¡¯d never once mentioned the Maestra¡¯s last name. Viola said as much, every word more than defensive. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±

    Drey only gave her an endearing gaze. ¡°Why, dear girl, I would only assume that you are the splitting image of your father. Am I not correct? How often have I witnessed his skillful business sense at so many events within these walls? It has truly been quite some time, granted. Where has he been?¡±

    Viola closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. ¡°Five to seven business days sounds about right,¡± she spoke with words equally pointed.

    ¡°I need it sent to my personal account,¡± the girl interrupted. ¡°It can¡¯t be sent to my school account or my family account. I filed for a separate one.¡±

    Drey nodded. ¡°I see. I will not pry, but I will see to it that such will be done. I will speak to who must be spoken to and ensure the correct transfer. Have no worries, Miss Cadence.¡±

    Cadence exhaled slowly, one heavy breath rattling on the way out. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°With that said,¡± he continued, his tone brightening, ¡°I¡¯ve many questions for you, miss. I simply must ask of your splendid performance earlier.¡±

    Octavia stifled a gasp. Logically, she¡¯d known it was coming. She had no idea what ignorant part of her had sincerely believed in the possibility Drey may have forgotten. At her side, Viola¡¯s eyes were screwed shut, fingers crossed tightly behind her back. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but do the same.

    Cadence only shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­want to talk about it. It¡¯s nothing. I just wanted to sell the clarinet. It was a trick. Please don¡¯t tell anyone that. I hope you¡¯re not angry about it.¡±

    The disappointment Octavia found on Drey¡¯s face, subtle as it was, was spectacularly welcome. She prayed it would stay that way. For now, she didn¡¯t dare uncross her fingers or release the breath she held so desperately.

    ¡°Is that so,¡± Drey murmured. ¡°I assure you, I am not cross at all. Your company was more than worth the price, my friend. Still, an incredible trick nonetheless. Tell me, then, how did you do it? Were the staff involved?¡±

    The girl once more didn¡¯t answer, her bangs brushing against her glasses as she shook her head twice over. ¡°I still don¡¯t want to talk about it. It¡¯s a secret. Just don¡¯t tell.¡±

    Drey nodded, his face still lined with dissatisfaction. At last, Octavia breathed her beautiful sigh of relief.

    ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Drey continued, undeterred, ¡°it would be an honor to learn more of you, Miss Cadence. Have I heard correctly that you hail from Solenford?¡±

    Cadence nodded in turn, her eye contact with the businessman notably stronger. ¡°Yeah. Solenford.¡±

    Drey smiled, gesturing to the delicate card between her fingers. ¡°If you look there, miss, you will see that I, too, am of Solenford myself. Is that not a wonderful coincidence?¡±

    The girl¡¯s eyes drifted across the little paper once more half-heartedly. ¡°Yeah,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°If you would not mind my asking, would you happen to attend the Solenford Girls¡¯ Academy?¡± he asked. ¡°I believe I recognize that uniform.¡±

    Cadence stiffened slightly. ¡°Yeah,¡± she muttered once more.

    ¡°Do you enjoy it there?¡± Drey asked.

    Cadence winced, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her skirt. ¡°It¡¯s¡­prestigious,¡± she answered slowly.

    Drey didn¡¯t pry. ¡°Tell me, Miss Cadence, would you perhaps take interest in an internship? I have once spoken with the headmaster of that particular academy long ago. They have engaged in excellent partnerships with organizations of all causes, both near and far. I believe you may stand to benefit from one such experience. It would surely count towards your curriculum, as well.¡±

    Cadence blinked. ¡°Internship?¡±

    Drey nodded with excitement, the same radiant smile plastered across his face. ¡°Yes, yes! I would like to formally offer to you an intern position at the Solenford Institute of Architecture and Restoration--if it should pique your interest, of course.¡±

    ¡°Oh, God.¡±

    When all eyes fell to Viola in the wake of her murmured words, the Maestra clapped one hand quickly over her mouth.

    ¡°Is everything alright, Miss Vacanti?¡± Drey asked with concern.

    Viola nodded vehemently. ¡°Y-Yes, sorry! I just¡­thought I saw a spider on my dress? It must¡¯ve been my imagination, it¡¯s getting really late.¡±

    Drey smiled. It was enough of an excuse, apparently. ¡°That it is. Miss Cadence, what do you say to my offer?¡± he pressed.

    He hardly needed to. Cadence didn¡¯t hesitate in the slightest. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Is boarding included?¡±

    ¡°But of course. I will see to it that every aspect of your stay is handled, free of charge. You will be as one of my own staff, sheltered and cared for. You will have nothing to fear.¡±

    ¡°Then sure,¡± she spoke quickly. ¡°When will I start?¡±

    Drey seemed almost taken aback by her hurried agreement, if the look on his face was anything to go by. ¡°If you would like, you are more than welcome to return with my staff and I to Solenford. Perhaps tonight we may dine together, by which I may come to know you better--if you would be comfortable with such, of course. I realize it was simply minutes ago that we were but strangers, my friend.¡±

    Cadence didn¡¯t falter. ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡±

    Octavia was sweating. This was a new problem entirely.

    ¡°Should I contact your parents? I could reach out to--¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cadence interrupted sharply. ¡°We can just go.¡±

    Drey raised an eyebrow. He didn¡¯t push. ¡°Purely out of curiosity, how is it you came all the way to Coda, miss?¡±

    Cadence tortured the fabric of her skirt, twisting with far too much force. ¡°Train.¡±

    ¡°That is easily over a week¡¯s travel by railway. Solenford is quite a ways away from Coda. Were you not lonely?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she answered curtly once more.

    Drey tilted his head. ¡°You are quite an independent young woman, clearly-- and a marvelous musician, at that. Tell me this, then. With your talent, why is it you part with such a splendid instrument?¡±

    Once more were Octavia¡¯s fingers crossed. The Maestra had held fast to her silence thus far. So, too, did Octavia pray she could hold fast to her luck.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t want it anymore,¡± she answered with a shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t like playing it. I wanted to make something off it, instead.¡±

    Drey¡¯s face fell slightly. ¡°With your skill, that is somewhat of a shame. However, I respect your rationale, whatever it may be. Are my questions beginning to drain you, my friend?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± he asked with a laugh. ¡°I do apologize for pressing so heavily. Now, then, are you prepared for our departure? I will be certain to temper my curious tongue at dinner, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°W-Wait,¡± Octavia interjected.

    The moment every gaze landed on her instead, it was all she could do to lie through her teeth in a panic. ¡°Uh, Drey, can we talk to Cadence before you go? It¡¯s the first time we¡¯ve¡­met another girl our age at the auction tonight. W-We were curious about some stuff, too.¡±

    That part wasn¡¯t even slightly a lie.

    Drey only smiled, much to her relief. ¡°That is perfectly alright with me. Have her come when she is ready.¡±

    Cadence scowled. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly enjoy enduring those eyes. Viola didn¡¯t let Drey escape regardless, raising her voice the moment he pivoted sharply on one heel.

    ¡°Mr. Drey, sir, one last thing!¡± she called.

    He turned yet again to face her in full. ¡°Yes, Miss Vacanti?¡±

    Viola raised one rose-tinted booklet aloft. ¡°The passports. How exactly do we use them? Where do we go to get to the city?¡±

    Drey beamed. ¡°Ah, yes! I nearly forgot to mention. You will find the railway station at the east end of Coda. Each Sunday, there is a train that departs to the Blessed City. Simply be sure to show the conductor your passports, and you shall be granted passage. No ticket is necessary for the voyage.¡±

    ¡°How long is the actual trip?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Three days¡¯ time from departure, nonstop to Velrose,¡± he offered. ¡°All you shall need for lodging will be provided to you. As for myself and my staff, we will be departing north. You are always welcome to visit Solenford, should you be willing to tolerate the lengthy journey. This is where we part ways, it seems.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for all of your help, Drey,¡± Octavia added. ¡°Honestly.¡±

    Drey beamed, and Octavia returned his smile in earnest. ¡°It was more than my pleasure, Miss Ellis. I wish you and your companions safe travels. May we cross paths again someday!¡±

    He waved, and she waved back until he was well out of sight. If he were to speak as he slipped into the steadily-dispersing crowd, Octavia was certain she could¡¯ve trailed his familiar voice anywhere. She had half a mind to wonder if Cadence could do the same, for how she¡¯d eventually be forced to catch up with him herself. The moment he departed, the same anxiety had blanketed the girl once more. Being bordered by two Maestras surely didn¡¯t help.

    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±

    It was neither Octavia nor Viola who pressed her first. It was soft. It was a third Maestra Octavia had outright forgotten was present.

    Cadence stepped back. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    Madrigal stepped forward.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to Viola¡¯s. She found only identical confusion. ¡°Listen, we just want to talk for a bit,¡± Octavia offered instead.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk to you,¡± Cadence answered, her voice wavering.

    Again, she stepped back. Again, Madrigal stepped forward.

    ¡°Why are you getting rid of it?¡±

    It was a tone she¡¯d never heard out of Madrigal¡¯s mouth, typically bubbly and overflowing with enthusiasm as every word was. It was unnerving, far too flat and severe for the vibrant Maestra. Octavia flinched.

    Cadence glanced over her shoulder. Every panicked step in reverse drew nearer to a wall. For each movement backwards, Madrigal claimed yet another forwards. Octavia shuddered simply watching the display, the lightning-blessed Maestra rapidly driven into a literal corner.

    ¡°I-I just don¡¯t want it anymore,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°Madrigal, are you alright?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°What¡¯s its name?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Cadence spat, gasping sharply the moment her back collided with the wall in full. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°It does,¡± Madrigal spoke coolly. ¡°What¡¯s its name?¡± she asked once more.

    ¡°Why do you care so much?¡± Cadence growled, desperately and futilely flattening herself against the masonry.

    ¡°What¡¯s its name?¡± Madrigal asked thrice over.

    ¡°Madrigal, take it easy,¡± Octavia pleaded, settling one hand on the Maestra¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°What¡¯s its name?¡±

    ¡°Madrigal, what is this about?¡± Viola pressed, slipping between the two Maestras.

    Octavia had thought to do the same, beaten to it by seconds. Cadence didn¡¯t resist. The look of discomfort on Viola¡¯s face the moment she faced Madrigal in full was contagious. If Octavia inched closer, she could catch Madrigal¡¯s eyes in the girl¡¯s glassy peripheral, simultaneously focused and not. They were sharp and dull all at once, razor-edged and lightless. What sparkling chocolate Octavia had grown accustomed to was absent, if not veiled. The chill that claimed her was almost painful.

    Her voice was monotone, strikingly neutral. Her body language spoke to far less of the same, for how she¡¯d cornered the lightning Maestra and still pressured her even now. ¡°Say it.¡±

    ¡°E-Etherion,¡± Cadence hissed. ¡°Now leave me alone!¡±

    Madrigal blinked twice. ¡°Etherion,¡± she echoed.

    ¡°Etherion,¡± Viola repeated as well. ¡°Is that your Harmonial Instrument¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it, I told you! I don¡¯t even know who you all are!¡± Cadence shouted, digging her fingernails sharply into her shoulders.

    They were pushing it. At the end of the day, she was a Maestra, more than threatened on every side and unaware of their intent. Unwilling or not, she was clearly gifted, and that had been more than clear to see. Were she to return with the instrument and retaliate, the resulting crisis would be both somewhat justified and an absolute nightmare. Octavia adjusted the backpack on her shoulders slowly. She hadn¡¯t needed its radiant contents the entire night, thankfully. She very much did not want to start now.

    Viola¡¯s voice softened. ¡°We¡¯re Maestras, too. All of us. We should¡¯ve said that first, sorry. We just want to talk about some stuff.¡±

    Viola¡¯s exchange was irrelevant--ironically, given their initial focus. It was Madrigal, rather, that Octavia couldn¡¯t help but fixate on. She¡¯d finally given Cadence much-needed space, blessing the girl with precious distance as she took several slow steps backwards. She blinked repeatedly, her eyelids fluttering time after time.

    ¡°Madrigal, are you okay?¡± she whispered.

    Madrigal raised her somewhat-teary eyes to Octavia, wiping stray droplets away with one finger. ¡°Sorry! I think I got something in my eyes. I¡¯ll be okay!¡±

    Octavia thought to press. Still, Cadence was louder. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are, and I don¡¯t care what you want to talk about. I¡¯m not involved in this crap anymore. Just let me live my life!¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not involved? You¡¯re a Maestra.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be,¡± Cadence growled. ¡°Not anymore. I renounce it.¡±

    ¡°Then what the hell were you doing up there on that stage?¡± Viola argued. ¡°Messing around with...whatever all that was? You just painted a huge target on your back. Everyone knows you¡¯re a Maestra now, whether or not you want them to.¡±

    Cadence¡¯s breathing was far too heavy. ¡°I-I...they don¡¯t know that, they think it¡¯s the clarinet! You heard that man, everyone thinks it¡¯s a trick. I just wanted it to sell higher. That was the truth.¡±

    ¡°Why do you need that much money?¡± Octavia asked gently. ¡°You said you wouldn¡¯t go lower than 32,000,000, right? Why so much?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s none of your business,¡± Cadence spat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    Viola frowned. ¡°Listen, as Maestras, we have a right to know if--¡±

    Cadence¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°We don¡¯t come from the same worlds. If you¡¯re standing here tonight, in this building, because you want to, I know that for a fact. You don¡¯t know me. You don¡¯t know anything about me. Let me leave!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re really fine going with a total stranger?¡± Viola snarled. ¡°Are you out of your mind?¡±

    ¡°If you were in my shoes, you¡¯d do the same,¡± she spoke with venom. ¡°Let me leave.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t argue further, falling quiet for a moment. ¡°Don¡¯t tell him anything--about us, about our world, anything,¡± she warned sharply.

    Cadence¡¯s fingers curled into fists at her sides. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m stupid? Of course I won¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to be involved in any of this anymore. Don¡¯t talk to me again.¡±

    Octavia had more or less lost track of Drey¡¯s general vicinity. Cadence hadn¡¯t, apparently, given how swiftly she shoved past every Maestra on her way through. Her pace left nothing more to be said, her steps hurried and her stress lingering in the open air. Viola didn¡¯t stop her. Octavia didn¡¯t dare try, either.

    ¡°Do you really think she won¡¯t talk?¡± she asked aloud hesitantly.

    Viola threw her arms up in exasperation. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. I hope to God she doesn¡¯t. She seemed eager enough to leave everything behind her.¡±

    ¡°Why would she not want to be a Maestra?¡± Madrigal murmured. It was a scathing relief to hear her voice painted with life once more.

    Viola inhaled deeply. ¡°I guess...not everyone wants to be a Maestro or Maestra. I can understand why.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal, all that earlier, asking about her Harmonial Instrument. What got into you?¡± Octavia pressed. There was no point in holding onto it much longer.

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you that¡­confrontational before, I guess. What gives?¡±

    Madrigal paused for a moment. ¡°Lyra really wanted to know,¡± she finally spoke with a satisfied smile.

    Octavia blinked.

    ¡°But¡­Lyra isn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°Are you guys alright?¡± she heard from afar, footsteps falling softly against plush velvet again and again. ¡°Sorry I left you in here by yourselves!¡±

    They had absolutely, under no circumstances, been ¡°by themselves¡± at any point. The amount of faces--and voices--Octavia had encountered tonight alone were dizzying enough to almost make her wish otherwise.

    ¡°You¡¯re fine,¡± Viola answered with a smile. ¡°Thanks for the distraction. Sorry you skipped all the fun stuff.¡±

    Harper came to a gentle stop, catching his breath as he stretched comfortably. ¡°Judging by the looks on your faces, I¡¯m guessing I missed a lot. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll catch me up on everything, right?¡±

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°How did things go with your friends?¡±

    Harper exhaled heavily. ¡°Once again, not my friends. Would rather die than change my mind on that. Eventually got them pissed off enough that they left. Don¡¯t know where they ended up, and I don¡¯t want to know. Nowhere positive, I¡¯m sure. I don¡¯t think they ever even realized you guys got in.¡±

    ¡°Look what we got,¡± Madrigal added, plucking one rosy leather booklet from Viola¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Neat,¡± he said, poking the leather delicately. ¡°Uh¡­what is it?¡±

    ¡°Passports to a city called Velrose, apparently. Octavia¡¯s idea. Seems like she found something that might be a lead for us,¡± Viola answered.

    Harper grinned. ¡°That¡¯s awesome! Nice work!¡±

    When Octavia didn¡¯t acknowledge his praise, he tapped her shoulder. ¡°You okay?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t, actually. For everything that had clicked neatly into place tonight, there was infinitely more that had slashed holes in a puzzle she didn¡¯t realize existed. Eleanor Vacanti would only be able to fill in so many gaps on her behalf, given the specificity of her experiences. With her eyes flickering to the little pink passports repeatedly, her head felt fuzzy. Hours ago, she¡¯d suspected this entire idea would be a reach. Now, she truly was in too deep.

 13. The Path Forward

    The moment she was on the couch, everything left her mouth at once. She was amazed it came out in even slightly coherent sentences.

    Octavia hadn¡¯t realized exactly how much could be crammed into the span of several hours until she started laying bare each discrepancy aloud. Part of it was desperately slammed in front of Eleanor Vacanti, for which she felt somewhat bad. A fair amount more was for her own mental well-being, if not for the sake of dragging three more Maestros down with her into untangling every auction-born thread.

    Renato¡¯s ignorance was inexplicable--the Maestro kind, at least. Velrose was a mystery, Cadence left her floored, and the latter¡¯s Harmonial Instrument was yet further a conundrum. She was relatively certain she was torturing Viola¡¯s grandmother with how quickly she was speaking. She couldn¡¯t help it, nor could she stop.

    ¡°Dear girl, slow down a bit,¡± the poor woman finally begged. ¡°Let¡¯s take things one step at a time.¡±

    Octavia blushed, fidgeting as she finally found the drive to taper off. Madrigal patted her knee reassuringly.

    ¡°The lightning, then,¡± Viola began. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­never seen a Maestra with lightning before. Between the four of us, we¡¯ve apparently got wind, light, ice, and fire. Lightning is new. Exactly how many different...things like that are there? Whatever they are.¡±

    ¡°Magic,¡± Madrigal whispered.

    ¡°Not magic.¡±

    Eleanor smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve already told each of you what makes you special, correct?¡±

    Harper nodded, crossing his legs comfortably. ¡°Will of fire, right?¡± he asked, raising one finger to himself. ¡°Will of fire, spirit of wind for Madrigal, heart of light for Octavia, and, uh...Viola was¡­¡±

    ¡°A soul of ice,¡± Viola finished on his behalf. ¡°Though I¡¯m impressed you memorized them.¡±

    ¡°Why do they call them that? Just to be fancy?¡± Octavia asked.

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°Oh, no, they¡¯re quite necessary terms. You do not simply possess light, my dear. Your entire heart is light. You carry it within you, and you are blessed by its warmth.¡±

    Octavia blinked. That was even more confusing than the last time she¡¯d heard it.

    ¡°So there¡¯s a lightning version, then,¡± Harper continued.

    The woman nodded. ¡°It is called the essence of lightning. It is uncommon, just as lightning is fleeting. Those with its grace are rational and clever, if not somewhat skeptical. They can be¡­difficult. After all, lightning is dangerous to handle.¡±

    Octavia scoffed. Cadence was difficult, alright.

    ¡°Is it just those five?¡± Madrigal asked, leaning down to poke the cat nestled at her feet. ¡°Fire, ice, lightning, wind, and light?¡±

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°There is but one more. The strength of sound resides in those who are brave, confident, and headstrong. It is startlingly powerful, and must be controlled with great care. It is not to be seen, and yet you will most definitely know its prowess from afar. I take it that the strength of sound is the last which you have not yet--¡±

    ¡°Renato,¡± Octavia and Viola deadpanned, more or less simultaneously.

    Madrigal beamed. Octavia was fairly certain she knew why. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Who¡¯s Renato?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why I couldn¡¯t see him fighting, I guess,¡± Viola said with a shrug. ¡°There was nothing to see to begin with.¡±

    ¡°About Renato,¡± Octavia clarified aloud. ¡°He¡¯s a Maestro we met a while ago, but he didn¡¯t stick with us. He showed up again at the auction, and he brought his instrument--instruments?--with him. When we talked to him, though, he seemed to have no idea what a Maestro was. He didn¡¯t even know what Harmonial Instruments were. He didn¡¯t know anything, really.¡±

    ¡°But we saw him use it before,¡± Viola continued. ¡°And he¡¯s really¡­skilled. Despite that, he didn¡¯t know his instrument¡¯s name. Is that even possible?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t miss the way Viola gritted her teeth halfway through. She smirked.

    The woman paused for a moment. ¡°That¡­does sound strange. It¡¯s odd for a Maestro not to know their instrument¡¯s name, let alone to forge such a close bond in spite of that. I¡¯m honestly at a loss. Perhaps keep an eye on that boy. There may be something more to him.¡±

    That would involve encountering him a third time over. The thought was apparently mutual, and Viola rolled her eyes. The aggravation on the girl''s face alone was enough to leave Octavia stifling a snicker.

    ¡°Cadence doesn¡¯t want to be a Maestra,¡± Madrigal murmured sadly. ¡°Why not?¡±

    Eleanor¡¯s face fell the moment her eyes touched the Maestra¡¯s sorrowful gaze. ¡°My girl, Maestros and Maestras do not choose their fates. It is a blessing that each of you has answered the call, but not all who are granted Harmonial Instruments accept their destinies. There are those who choose to reject them, and their partners must wait for the day when yet another claims them again.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes shimmered painfully. ¡°That¡¯s so cruel,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°If it can¡¯t be used by anyone else, is it just...useless until its owner dies?¡± Harper asked.

    Eleanor nodded. ¡°So long as their chosen Maestro or Maestra has the ability to play, their partner will wait patiently. Once they can no longer use them well, then and only then will the Harmonial Instrument choose a new partner.¡±

    The idea alone was enough to make Octavia cringe. The concept of Stradivaria being alive, somehow, suddenly brought new context to confinement within a dark chest in the woods. She hoped she hadn¡¯t taken too long.

    As to whether or not Cadence felt the same, given her circumstances, she couldn¡¯t say. Really, Etherion had been on Madrigal¡¯s mind perhaps more than its Maestra¡¯s own--in the moment, at least. It still bothered Octavia significantly. She was almost afraid to ask, lest she incur the same unsettling and monotone behavior. She took her chances.

    ¡°Madrigal, about...Cadence¡¯s instrument. You said Lyra ¡®wanted to know¡¯, right?¡±

    Madrigal nodded, a smile plastered onto her face.

    ¡°You could hear her? Like, in your head?¡±

    Again, she nodded, the same smile eternal. Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to Eleanor¡¯s expectantly.

    She beamed. ¡°That¡¯s normal for those with a deep connection to their Harmonial Instruments. Someday, you will surely hear their voice in your heart. Still, it¡¯s impressive that one of you has made it there so soon.¡±

    Madrigal beamed. It should¡¯ve quashed most of Octavia¡¯s concerns, given that it at least gave context to an otherwise puzzling interaction. It mostly did, and she was content for a moment.

    Don¡¯t.

    It didn¡¯t fix everything. She couldn¡¯t prove it. She had an extremely vague suspicion, for what had been settled gently into her backpack.

    In truth, that line of thought was enough to make her raise an eyebrow. ¡°Hey, Madrigal?¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t¡­Lyra¡¯s Repose here the whole time?¡±

    She nodded.

    Octavia paused. ¡°How did you hear her from across the city?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s face fell, her eyes cast high to the ceiling for several seconds. Eventually, the same satisfied smile sparked on her lips once more. ¡°I guess we¡¯re just that close!¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°But¡­you--¡±

    ¡°And these,¡± Viola asked, raising one little pink passport calmly. ¡°Velrose. We got the basic explanation from Octavia, but we wanted to know if you knew anything. Do you think there¡¯s Maestros or Maestras there? Have you ever heard of it in the first place?¡±

    Octavia never got the chance to push Madrigal further, for how Viola¡¯s volume overshadowed her own. Eleanor, too, continued atop her. It was as frustrating as it was necessary, possibly. ¡°There¡¯s likely Maestros and Maestras everywhere, dear. That being said, I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever heard of that place. I only know so many places in the world.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll have to start figuring things out for ourselves, at this point. Anyone here ever taken a train before?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Have you?¡± he shot back with a smirk.

    Viola blushed. ¡°I mean...no, I¡¯ve never gotten the chance.¡±

    ¡°Something Viola hasn¡¯t done before!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, outright startling the cat.

    Viola bristled. ¡°Excuse you, there¡¯s lots of things I haven¡¯t done!¡±

    ¡°Yes, but in the short time I¡¯ve known you,¡± Harper continued playfully, ¡°I¡¯ve watched you give Octavia this one really specific look every time she sees something new and shiny--all of us, really. It¡¯ll be fun to do something new together, for once.¡±

    ¡°I do not give her any kind of ¡®look¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    Ignoring the voice in her head was difficult. Ignoring the issue with Lyra¡¯s Repose was difficult. At the very least, her fellow Maestros were warm, and their extended company was a welcome concept. It was a twofold benefit--every step forward left her slightly nearer to Priscilla, just the same. She smiled.

    ¡°If we¡¯re going somewhere that far away, I really should let my family know,¡± Madrigal added. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna walk all the way home?¡± Octavia asked.

    Madrigal giggled. ¡°No, silly, I¡¯ll send a pigeon.¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°People actually do that? I thought it was a joke.¡±

    ¡°I should probably let everyone know I¡¯m headed out, too,¡± Harper spoke over Viola¡¯s snickering. ¡°I need to let Domino know he¡¯s in charge until I get back. If he gives me a hard time about it, that might¡­not be the only thing I need to give him.¡±

    Eleanor nodded. ¡°Viola, dear, while you¡¯re in the city, would you like to--¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Viola spat. ¡°I don¡¯t. There¡¯s no point.¡±

    She sighed deeply. ¡°I see. I can¡¯t make you go, but just know that the option is there. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d welcome the company.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see him like that. I¡¯ll see him when he¡¯s free. You know that.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare pry. She could string together the context well enough. She tensed regardless, brief as the exchange was.

    She had few preparations to make herself, given that she¡¯d surrendered the safety of Silver Ridge what had felt like ages ago. It had left her with a soul of ice, a spirit of wind, and the will of fire at her side. It was a trade-off she was more than happy to make, if the violin she treasured wasn¡¯t enough of a comfort already.

    The wait until Sunday was going to be torture. Even so, it was still baffling to her exactly how long one day could be. After all, she¡¯d started her morning in Minuevera. Under no circumstances was she resistant to rest. Three days would surely give her plenty of time for that, if nothing else.

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare admit she was nervous about the train. She¡¯d had enough of Viola¡¯s teasing for one night.

    <hr>

    It was an immense relief that Sunday arrived uneventfully, given how much had been packed into the span of several days. She¡¯d started the week as a normal girl and ended it as a Maestra, to say nothing of the myriad of crises somewhere in the middle. She had her time to explore Coda, granted, with the gracious assistance of her trusted local guide. Octavia didn¡¯t dare leave Viola¡¯s sight for a moment, lest she accidentally break her peaceful streak. Any day in which Stradivaria wasn¡¯t stolen was a good day--to say nothing of cherry-flavored chaos, reckless lightning, or the horrors of screeching violet. It was much-needed bliss.

    By the end of her stay, she was almost proud of the degree to which she¡¯d grown used to the city. She could point out landmarks. She could lead the way to shops and restaurants. She still, under no circumstances, could find her way back to Harper¡¯s camp on her own. She didn¡¯t dare so much as attempt. It left her somewhat prideful to see the approval on Viola¡¯s face at her newfound navigational confidence. Gone was the teasing she¡¯d grown accustomed to, let alone the ¡°look¡± that Harper had been so painfully correct about. She got her revenge the moment they reached the train station.

    Every glance Viola took around the platform was one born of wide eyes and mild disorientation. She wasn¡¯t alone, to be fair--the situation was fourfold and mutual. It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia had ever been here. She very much did not care.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the tourist now?¡± she teased, elbowing the Maestra playfully.

    Viola rolled her eyes, outright hitting the back of Octavia¡¯s head with the innocent little passport. Octavia only snickered. ¡°Shut it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s loud,¡± Madrigal whimpered, settling her hands over her ears.

    Octavia didn¡¯t blame her. Every rumble and screech of mechanical movement along rails and otherwise was enough to shake the planks beneath their feet. ¡°Loud¡± was putting it nicely, by which even their raised voices were still somewhat failing them. The bursts of wind that periodically tortured her braids with every adjacent departure were as much of a novelty as they were annoying, and she gripped her rosy booklet ever tighter. If it were to fall to the tracks, she might as well follow it down at that point.

    Harper took it well enough, one hand flat against his cap in resistance to the same overpowering gust. ¡°Can¡¯t say I ever thought I¡¯d get the chance.¡±

    ¡°Where are we going again?¡± Octavia spoke well above the steady ambience of the station.

    ¡°Platform fifteen is what someone said at the auction,¡± she offered, her eyes flickering from sign to sign along the ceiling. For how tormented they were by the fierce rumbling of every departure, it was somewhat of a miracle none had snapped clean off their hinges.

    ¡°That one,¡± Madrigal offered. Sure enough, one pointed finger trailed to a flimsy, hanging iron sign, notably more weathered than the rest.

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t really look like it¡¯s taken care of very well.¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°I mean, I get it. It doesn¡¯t exactly sound like anyone goes here very often. That¡¯s what Mr. Drey said, right, Octavia?¡±

    She knew they were talking. Still, her attention was largely on the lovely rose pressed deep into the same color. She trailed the inlaid insignia with one hesitant fingertip, tracing every curve that dipped beneath her touch. She¡¯d been excited, mostly. With her feet physically upon the platform, it was a different experience altogether.

    Each thought that peeked through the newborn fog in her head was equally fuzzy. There was an all-too-solid chance she didn¡¯t know what she was doing. Velrose was a shot in the dark, taken solely on instinct to the tune of an absurd amount of Gold. Each glance at the pastel leather kissing her fingers was an echoing reminder of the same whim.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    She jumped, her nails scratching against the leather in the process. The sensation was uncomfortable enough to leave chills tormenting her spine, and she winced.

    ¡°S-Sorry, what?¡± she stammered.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Viola asked gently.

    Octavia thought to simply say yes, at least briefly. Instead, she was honest. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­not sure if this will get us anywhere. I¡¯m worried I made the wrong choice. What if we get to Velrose and there¡¯s nothing? What if it¡¯s like Drey said, and we can¡¯t even get in?¡±

    ¡°Then if nothing else, we followed a lead. We tried, and we ruled something out,¡± she comforted, settling one hand onto Octavia¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°And we went somewhere neat in the process,¡± Harper added with a soft smile.

    Madrigal beamed. It was a beautiful contribution, versus the pitiful trickle of sunshine that slipped through the slats of the roof.

    ¡°First boarding call for the eleven o¡¯clock to Velrose!¡± she heard well above the continued ambience, still ever-present and overpowering as it was.

    ¡°That¡¯s us,¡± Harper interrupted.

    Madrigal hugged the little pink booklet to her chest with delight. ¡°This design is still so cute! Do we get to keep them after we use them?¡±

    Viola smiled. ¡°That¡¯s sorta the point of passports. They¡¯ll even give you a stamp, usually. I¡¯m assuming Velrose is the same way.¡±

    She assumed it was the conductor she was presenting her precious rosy leather to, for how carefully he inspected the insignia in her outstretched hand. It took her a moment to trail his eyes to her own instead, well past her passport and laced with something almost akin to judgment. She struggled to stand her ground. ¡°Four for Velrose,¡± she offered shakily, never lowering her arm.

    The man carefully claimed the booklet from her fingers, and she immediately felt vulnerable. He hardly looked at the barren little pages he leafed through so casually, his eyes on the Maestra alone. ¡°How exactly did four kids your age get your hands on passports to Velrose, of all places?¡±

    ¡°We won them in an auction,¡± she stated plainly, struggling not to shirk beneath his gaze.

    When he laughed, she was infinitely more relieved. ¡°That sounds about right. They¡¯re always looking to get rid of these things. You can hardly do anything with them. Not sure you¡¯re gonna have much luck out there. You sure about going that way? They¡¯re really not too kind to strangers.¡±

    Octavia chanced one hesitant glance over her shoulder. Where her face offered only apprehension, she could at least steal three flavors of confidence from behind her. Their smiles got one out of her in return, as did the nod from Viola. She inhaled deeply.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Yeah. We¡¯ll take our chances.¡±

    <hr>

    It was her fault for truly and thoroughly believing that three days would come and go easily.

    It took exactly six hours for second thoughts to settle in. It was not at all for the apprehensive reasons she¡¯d thought she¡¯d find the moment the train rolled its way out of the station and beyond the limits of Coda. Their cabin was cute and comfortable, and Octavia counted at least one blessing in that aspect.

    It still left her with three days¡¯ worth of painful waiting and contemplation, by which the suspense of the so-called Blessed City was going to eat her alive. It left her with three days¡¯ worth of questions she had no feasible way of answering at the moment. It left her with three days¡¯ worth of time with the one person infinitely more excited to be here than she was.

    ¡°It even comes with sheets! I kinda thought we¡¯d just have to sleep on the mattress. Is that bad? And they¡¯re really comfortable! They¡¯re nice and soft. They¡¯re also firm. Maybe they can be soft and firm at the same time. Is that possible?¡±

    ¡°Please be nice to the sheets,¡± Octavia begged weakly. ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll give us more if we mess them up.¡±

    Madrigal was borderline torturing them, frankly. The innocent whites that clung desperately to the bed suffered somewhat beneath her ruthless tugging, and it had only taken six full hours for her to make it to the point of substantial wrinkles. She hadn¡¯t even slept yet. Octavia somewhat wished she would.

    ¡°And I heard the conductor say there¡¯s even somewhere we can bathe here, right?¡± she continued, absolutely undeterred. ¡°How do they even keep water on trains? Is it hot water? Are we gonna have to take cold baths? I haven¡¯t taken a cold bath in awhile.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a steam engine locomotive,¡± Octavia deadpanned. ¡°They¡¯ve got plenty of hot water, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Since when do you know about trains?¡± Harper asked, kicking his feet lazily against the mattress.

    She scoffed. ¡°I know a lot of things. You know nothing of my vast collection of literature.¡±

    ¡°So intelligent,¡± he teased, resting his cheek in his palm. ¡°A scholar among us.¡±

    She struggled to control her smile. It was impossible. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I happen to be an expert on fungi of all types and a great appreciator of the classics of fiction.¡±

    ¡°Mhm, I see,¡± he continued. ¡°Mushrooms, then.¡±

    ¡°And lichens, even.¡±

    ¡°And magic.¡±

    ¡°The lichens?¡±

    ¡°I meant the violin, but I guess that counts.¡±

    Madrigal peered up at the top bunk. ¡°What¡¯s a lichen?¡±

    Octavia never had the chance to answer. The cabin door slid open, and a Maestra came to a standstill. Her eyes fell to Madrigal immediately. She raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°What are you doing with the sheets?¡±

    ¡°Did you have a nice walk?¡± Harper asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

    ¡°It¡¯s so empty,¡± she answered. ¡°I walked up and down the length of the whole train and only counted maybe four other passengers.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± he offered. ¡°Why so few?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m assuming it has something to do with how hard it is to get a passport,¡± Viola replied, settling down onto one bed comfortably.

    Octavia rested her hands behind her head, throwing her eyes to the ceiling. ¡°Or the fact that no one gets in, apparently.¡±

    ¡°When you say no one gets in, do you mean literally? Like, there¡¯s a gate up front or something?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°Not according to Drey,¡± she answered, turning her head to meet his eyes. ¡°Apparently, everyone¡¯s just¡­distant. It¡¯s like they don¡¯t want company.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°Ready or not, we¡¯re company.¡±

    ¡°Worst-case scenario, they¡¯re under a legal obligation to let us in,¡± Viola clarified. ¡°I double-checked at the auction, and passports are the sole requirement to enter Velrose. Even boarding a train with a Velrose passport is enough to qualify. We shouldn¡¯t have to actually show it at a gate. We should just be able to walk right off the train--hypothetically.¡±

    ¡°What do we do for shelter?¡± Madrigal tried. She¡¯d switched targets to the pillow, apparently.

    ¡°I mean, I would assume they have an inn or something. If they¡¯ve got merchants or whatever regularly going in and out, there has to be a place they have open for travelers, or it wouldn¡¯t really survive as a city. Would it?¡± Harper tried, his voice touched by uncertainty.

    ¡°Drey said he didn¡¯t have much luck when he was there,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°With anything.¡±

    ¡°Well, according to you, that guy¡¯s interested in coming home with ancient artifacts and stuff, and they¡¯re an ancient city. Case closed on that one,¡± he said, stretching comfortably.

    ¡°We¡¯ll play it by ear,¡± Viola offered. ¡°Let¡¯s get where we need to go and work our way up from there.¡±

    ¡°Never took you for the improvising type,¡± Harper teased.

    ¡°It¡¯s contagious,¡± Viola sighed, her eyes flickering to Octavia with a smirk.

    ¡°I¡¯m innocent,¡± the accused answered lazily.

    Madrigal had, by now, somehow decided that unleashing the brilliance of the setting sun from behind every curtain was a good idea. Octavia closed her eyes for multiple reasons, the least of which was the mild overstimulation that came with overthinking the voyage. She drank in their voices and did what she could to stifle the same creeping suspense that battled to swallow her whole.

    At the very least, she was able to test out her mattress the gentle way by comparison to a different Maestra. She found solace in a nap. Given the length of the trip, she had a feeling she¡¯d be doing so often.

    <hr>

    She enjoyed it, for the most part. She wasn¡¯t sure at exactly what point she¡¯d fallen asleep in the first place. She opened her eyes several hours later to starlight rather than the oppressive sun, simmering warmth replaced with flooding moonbeams through the window. The springs of her mattress creaked slightly as she propped herself up on her elbows. The height of the moon beyond was a solid indicator of the growing evening.

    It took more than a moment to reacclimate to the steady, comfortable rumbling well beneath her, briefly mysterious. Her second thought came in the form of figuring out exactly how many days she had left to go. She strongly doubted she¡¯d managed to sleep through all three.

    ¡°You missed dinner,¡± she heard quietly from below.

    She peered over the side of the bed carefully. The absence of a little blue bow told enough of a story, replaced by a nightgown and glossy hair. Octavia winced.

    ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to wake you up,¡± she apologized in a whisper.

    It didn¡¯t help that another pair of sleeping Maestros were opposite her bunk entirely. She was lucky her awakening hadn¡¯t been fully contagious. It took effort to inch her way towards the ladder with careful movements, the skirt of her dress sticking to her thighs uncomfortably all the way there.

    ¡°They¡¯ve still got hot food left over, I think. Sorry we didn¡¯t wake you up. You seemed pretty comfortable,¡± Viola apologized back, grogginess painting her tone. ¡°Go wash up or something if you want.¡±

    Octavia landed on the carpet with a thump that was notably louder than intended. ¡°I¡¯ll try to be quiet coming back in.¡±

    Viola had already rolled away from her, more than comfortable herself. ¡°Make as much noise as you want. We¡¯ve got plenty of time to sleep. If you need me, you know exactly what I¡¯ll be doing.¡±

    Octavia stifled a laugh, gathering her clothes in her arms as quietly as was possible. Already, Viola¡¯s limbs were entangled in a mess of blankets with startling complexity. She¡¯d earned her rest, at least, questionable as her methodology was.

    One hand on the handle of the door still left her hesitating. It took her several seconds to pinpoint why, given her general comfort with the atmosphere and stillness of the evening. She chanced one more look behind her over every unconscious Maestro in turn. It eventually clicked.

    The last time she¡¯d abandoned a sleeping Viola in the dark of night had ended in outright disaster. Speeding into the depths of the evening as they were, she strongly doubted lightning would strike twice. Even if it did, help wouldn¡¯t be far--threefold as it now was, although she prayed it wouldn¡¯t come to that regardless.

    She still didn¡¯t feel right leaving Stradivaria in her wake. It took effort to balance the case and her clothes at once, let alone to shut a sliding door quietly with her foot. It was a necessary sacrifice.

    Madrigal had been wonderfully correct about the hot water, although Octavia doubted she would¡¯ve been wrong in the first place. She took her time bathing, given the way by which she was blessed with both privacy and isolation in the face of a train so shockingly desolate. She didn¡¯t particularly look forward to the process of her hair drying. Given the trade-off that was glorious steam kissing her skin for what was objectively far too indulgent a length of time, it was, once more, a necessary sacrifice.

    Dinner was passable. Madrigal¡¯s was still better. The lack of company in the empty room was unnerving, for how every last movement she made echoed slightly. She ate faster than she should¡¯ve, and not solely secondary to the mediocre meal. It still wasn¡¯t long enough for her hair to dry, and that was an annoyance in and of itself.

    The aisles weren¡¯t as uncomfortably desolate by comparison, although she partially gave credit to their narrow size. The darkness she¡¯d expected to find so late was shattered by the spilling moonlight, every beam bursting through broad panes beyond splashing upon the carpet. She enjoyed the glow they came with, following their guiding lights out into the vast world that passed her by.

    It was largely a blur, if she were to cast her eyes straight down through the glass. Forward, at least, she caught the shaded crests of mountains on occasion. In the depths of the evening, it was hard to follow little but the stars. Even those were appreciated. Just as in Minuevera, the night sky that trailed her unsteady path was identical the world over. It was a comfort she embraced with her heart, bound to the whims of a speeding train or otherwise.

    Her boots didn¡¯t touch the floor when she sank into the booth. It left her with a solid view, at least, for how she could claim the moon beyond for herself with a simple turn of her head. It left her space for yet more, by which Stradivaria¡¯s case hit the table with a thunk.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Octavia muttered aloud.

    The violin was sleeping just as peacefully as those she¡¯d left behind, and she unzipped the case with slow movements that may as well have spoken to the same. She cradled either portion of the instrument with care, offering up a deep breath.

    ¡°Talk to me.¡±

    She got silence. She absolutely saw it coming.

    It felt ridiculous. Frankly, she was lucky she had as much isolation as she did, lest she be cursed to experiment in front of three other Maestros. It would open an entirely new avenue of teasing, possibly--to say nothing of the sparse passengers who may have witnessed her outright conversing with a violin.

    In her defense, she was fairly certain at least two of them didn¡¯t have the capacity to converse, either. Madrigal was, apparently, an incredible exception, if the astonishment of Eleanor Vacanti was anything to go by. If Octavia¡¯s interpretation was correct, the Maestra had somehow earned full conversations. Were it Priscilla, she probably would¡¯ve long since figured out the same. Getting the magical violin to talk was going to be a puzzle in and of itself. She sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m Octavia,¡± she offered nervously, patting the base of the instrument with reassurance far from necessary. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m sure you know that by now. We¡¯ve kinda been through a bit together at this point. Sorry I haven¡¯t really stopped to actually talk to you. I¡¯m, uh, hoping this is a good opportunity to get to know each other?¡±

    Again, she found nothing. She groaned. She felt mildly insane.

    ¡°So, about that Dissonance,¡± she continued, eyes flickering around the room absentmindedly. ¡°Scary stuff. You really helped me out back there, both times. Appreciated it. I think we¡¯re a good team.¡±

    Nothing. Moderately insane.

    ¡°Oh, and, uh, sorry about--what was his name? Domino? The whole, uh, letting you get stolen thing. It was an accident. Good thing Harper was there. He¡¯s super nice, have you met him?¡±

    Of course not. She was literally talking to a violin. Significantly insane.

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s been really nice so far. Viola is amazing, Harper is sweet, Madrigal is¡­well, Madrigal, and Renato is¡­definitely there. I guess I kind of have you to thank for letting me meet everyone.¡±

    She sighed. She hadn¡¯t yet entirely processed the way by which only several days had passed. At the moment, it still didn¡¯t make her any less insane.

    ¡°I wonder if Priscilla had anyone she traveled around with. I mean, she was always really good at making friends. I can¡¯t think of a single person who didn¡¯t love her right away. I know she was always going from city to city, but I hope she had a few people she could confide in. I assume it gets a bit lonely on the road all the time.¡±

    She kicked her feet lazily beneath the table. ¡°I tried to play you a few times when I was little, do you remember? You were too big for me to actually hold. Priscilla was patient about it. I feel bad that I didn¡¯t have a lot to show for how much she tried to help me figure you out. At least give me credit for effort.¡±

    She stroked the neck of the violin, relishing the cool sensation of copper strings beneath her fingertips. ¡°I guess I just never had the talent that she had. I mean, granted, you were the only violin she ever wanted, so now I wonder if she just honestly couldn¡¯t play without you. I feel like being a Maestro lets you cheat a little at being a musician.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know where she got you from,¡± Octavia continued, propping her elbows up on the table comfortably. Her face followed suit, cheeks settling comfortably into her hands. ¡°Everyone found their Harmonial Instrument in their own ways. Miss Eleanor said it¡¯s a special thing, and everyone¡¯s different. I had a box. I had the same stupid box dream every day for a full month. Did you know about that? It was driving me insane.¡±

    She paused. ¡°Were you calling me, even back then? I feel like that¡¯s the only time we¡¯ve really connected outside of playing together.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t entirely true. She still couldn¡¯t prove it. It didn¡¯t make the echo any less haunting, nor the tone any less memorable. She¡¯d replayed that singular syllable in her head dozens of times over. She couldn¡¯t curb the thought, haphazard of a guess as it still was.

    ¡°Was that you, at the auction?¡± Octavia asked quietly. ¡°Calling me?¡±

    The silence she found was expected, if not still disheartening. The steady rumbling of the voyage into the night filled the gap where words failed her. She exhaled deeply, trailing one fingertip along the rim of the mahogany.

    ¡°I know you were with Priscilla the whole time. You saw what she saw, and you two went through the same things together. I¡¯m sure of it. I just¡­want to know what it was you saw together. I want to know what happened.¡±

    To be a part of it would¡¯ve been wonderful, if not for just a moment. If she pleaded aloud, she wondered if she would¡¯ve gotten her wish.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen overnight.¡±

    The voice she found was far from the one she¡¯d expected, given how hard she was straining to catch so much as a syllable. She jumped, stifling a yelp as she nearly fumbled the violin in her panic. Keeping her balance was of second priority, and she scrambled to remain upright in her seat.

    ¡°God, please don¡¯t scare me like that,¡± she begged.

    Madrigal winced, recoiling a bit at the sight of Octavia¡¯s mild panic. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! You never came back to the cabin. I was getting worried about you.¡±

    Octavia sighed, smoothing her slightly-wet and now unfortunately-frazzled hair. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Sorry if I worried you guys. I¡¯ll head back in soon.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Can I sit with you?¡±

    Octavia nodded. With a smile, Madrigal settled down across from her with notable energy, bouncing slightly against the booth cushion with a bit too much enjoyment. The delicate golden sparkles that trailed in her wake were notable against the streaming moonlight. It was the second time she¡¯d seen the little harp crowned by the lovely glow of night, actually.

    ¡°You brought Lyra¡¯s Repose?¡± Octavia asked.

    Madrigal¡¯s smile brightened, and she nodded once again. ¡°This is our routine. We like enjoying the moonlight together.¡±

    Octavia returned her smile. ¡°You two are close, huh?¡±

    She hugged the instrument, rubbing the resplendent metal against her cheek. ¡°I love her lots,¡± she spoke happily.

    ¡°What was it like? When you first got your instrument, I mean?¡± Octavia asked.

    Madrigal paused for a moment, eyeing Lyra¡¯s Repose endearingly. ¡°I was really excited when I found her, and we played together a lot. I didn¡¯t hear her right away, but the first time I saw Dissonance, I was scared. I was really, really scared, actually. That¡¯s when I heard her speak, and she showed me what to do. I haven¡¯t stopped hearing her since. She¡¯s kinda like a second voice in my head.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s¡­something you can actually hear? Not just, like, feel?¡±

    Madrigal nodded again, her gentle smile never leaving her lips. ¡°Kinda. It¡¯s¡­hard to explain. She¡¯s in every part of me. I hear her in my head, and I feel her in my heart. It¡¯s like she¡¯s a part of me, too.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a very simple mental image. Octavia''s one syllable of reference left much to be desired.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen overnight,¡± she repeated. ¡°When Stradivaria is ready, it¡¯ll reach out to you. You¡¯ll know when it does. Maybe it already has, and you just don¡¯t know it yet.¡±

    ¡°Does it bother you that no one else can hear their Harmonial Instrument?¡± Octavia asked bluntly. It was unintentional.

    Madrigal took it well enough, regardless. ¡°Not really. If anything, I feel like it makes our bond even more special. It makes me even more excited for everyone to do the same with their partners.¡±

    Octavia cast her eyes to Stradivaria alone, shimmering softly in its own right beneath much the same moon. Madrigal¡¯s company was more than welcome. She would¡¯ve appreciated yet more, ideally in her head and in her heart. The smallest pang of jealousy that bit her was unwelcome, and she struggled to stifle it as quickly as was possible. It wasn¡¯t fair to Madrigal.

    She got half her wish, unrelated to the instrument as it was. Where she¡¯d sought the company of three, she found it in the form of a gently-crossed threshold and the most subtle shuffling of a sliding door. The Maestro that met her eyes over her shoulder was quiet, his smile equally so. She returned it. It was a solid distraction from the envy, both born of his visage and the knowledge he suffered the same plight. She waved.

    ¡°Yay, you¡¯re awake!¡± Madrigal offered cheerfully, raising her arms aloft. Her volume was debatable, and Octavia winced.

    ¡°Did we wake you up? Sorry if we were being loud,¡± Octavia added.

    Harper shook his head. ¡°Nah, nothing like that. I just got lonely when I woke up and everyone was gone.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t Viola still in there?¡± she asked.

    ¡°She¡¯s a different kind of gone at the moment. The train could crash and I think she¡¯d sleep through it.¡±

    Octavia chuckled. ¡°She¡¯s definitely earned her rest lately.¡±

    Harper settled in beside her, stretching comfortably. ¡°I think we¡¯ve all earned some rest,¡± he offered. ¡°Maybe not quite as much as her, granted, but we¡¯ve kinda had a lot going on so far.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot more where that came from,¡± Madrigal teased, her voice bubbling with obvious excitement. ¡°We have lots to do in Velrose!¡±

    ¡°Well, God, I mean, hopefully we have something to do in Velrose,¡± Octavia corrected.

    ¡°I think this is the first time I¡¯ve seen you with your hair down.¡±

    Sudden as it was, Harper¡¯s acknowledgement was enough to leave her blushing. It was the one observation she¡¯d been keen to avoid. Madrigal had spared her, at least. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t get a chance to put it back up yet,¡± she stammered.

    Harper only smiled, absentmindedly tangling his fingers between her still-frazzled locks. ¡°I like it. Want me to get it set up for you?¡±

    Octavia scoffed. ¡°You know how to braid hair?¡±

    ¡°The amount of things I¡¯m an expert in would surprise you,¡± he answered, his voice pooling playfully with mock hurt. ¡°You think Louise and the girls style their own hair?¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°Right. Forgot you¡¯re basically a dad.¡±

    ¡°And,¡± he continued, ¡°I actually used to have long hair, myself.¡±

    Octavia choked on a laugh. ¡°You? With long hair?¡±

    He smirked right back, his fingers already settling into her hair comfortably with soft twisting and delicate pulling. ¡°I would¡¯ve put Holly and Ivy to shame back then.¡±

    ¡°What made you cut it?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°Some stuff,¡± he offered with a shrug, never halting his careful work. ¡°Creative choices.¡±

    ¡°Creative choices,¡± Octavia repeated, rolling her eyes playfully.

    ¡°Creative choices,¡± Harper reiterated once more, his smile as teasing as his voice. ¡°There¡¯s a lot you don¡¯t know about me.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t know about everyone,¡± she confessed, content to endure Harper¡¯s gentle ministrations. ¡°Did you know Madrigal speaks ten languages?¡±

    ¡°Eight,¡± Madrigal corrected, poking Octavia¡¯s cheek happily. ¡°Two more would be fun, though! I¡¯ve been thinking about trying to learn more, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Damn, eight? I can only speak one, and I still can¡¯t even do that right half the time. All good, by the way,¡± he offered, tugging at her braids firmly.

    Several careful touches were a solid indicator of a job shockingly well done. The symmetry was satisfying beneath her fingertips, and she patted either freshly-tethered braid several times over for good measure. ¡°Not bad,¡± she teased.

    ¡°Excellent, you mean. Perfect. Fantastic, even,¡± Harper joked.

    ¡°Can you do mine?¡± Madrigal pleaded, leaning in towards him. ¡°Pretty please?¡±

    He eyed her buns carefully for a moment. ¡°I dunno, your hair might be a bit too pretty for my messy work.¡±

    ¡°I thought it was excellent. Fantastic, even,¡± Octavia mocked.

    ¡°I think your buns might be outside of the range of what I¡¯m capable of. They look really specific. I don¡¯t wanna mess them up,¡± he continued.

    Where Octavia had expected Madrigal to deflate, she beamed instead. ¡°My family taught me how to do them. My mom and my siblings all have buns just like mine.¡±

    ¡°Then that¡¯s something that should stay special for you,¡± Harper concluded. ¡°Plus, I only really know the basics.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not basic,¡± Octavia muttered.

    His laughter was pleasant, and she couldn¡¯t help but offer the same. Madrigal was privy to their happiness, and her own was contagious in turn. What had started as envy and melancholy had left her warm and light, by which she lamented only the absence of a soul of ice by her side. Unconscious as the Maestra was, she didn¡¯t dare wake her manually. Still, drinking in their moonlit satisfaction, she couldn¡¯t help but miss it somewhat.

    Her heart grew ever lighter the moment she heard the shuffle of a door caressing the threshold once more. She straddled preparing an apology for their possible volume and readying words of welcome in the depths of night. If Viola minded, she¡¯d be sure to tease as to her insistence of two more days to sleep unrestricted. She tossed her eyes over her shoulder once more.

    And yet, their door was firmly shut. The cabin was more than unperturbed, and Octavia had no additional Maestras to show for the sound. Her eyes fell left to the continued shuffling that followed suit, born of carpet by comparison. It was a cabin not her own, quietly made vacant. She winced. The apology for their volume she would have to offer now, by comparison, would need to be substantially more genuine.

    She readied her sorries and braced for whatever chiding she¡¯d probably earned. She never got it, for how the stranger emerging from the shadows ignored her entirely. He kept his distance well down the hallway, content to claim his own booth in utter silence. Madrigal and Harper had long since opted for the same quiet, their own gazes following Octavia¡¯s in unison. Staring at a complete stranger felt awkward. Still, desolate as the atmosphere was, it was somewhat of a reflex. She almost debated resuming their conversation.

    He didn¡¯t speak. He hardly moved at all, save for the effort of resting his head against his arms upon the table. She couldn¡¯t make out his face, and not due to distance alone. The unsteady rising and falling of his shoulders was ragged enough, initially, to lead her to suspect sobs. As to why a man would choose to come into the hallway solely to cry, she didn¡¯t particularly want to know. She didn¡¯t judge. Objectively, it was none of her business.

    By virtue of who she was and the world she lived in, the violet born of his shoulders was.

 14. The Alternative

    She hadn¡¯t seen it in days. Ideally, she never would¡¯ve had to see it again. It was every bit as nauseating, every bit as unnerving, and every bit as disgusting. Her heart raced and her breath fled her, for what she knew of it in full. It was recontextualized. Of every place it could possibly be, it followed her to the furthest into the unknown she¡¯d ever been. She outright trembled, her eyes trailing every flickering wisp that rose silently from the man¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Dissonance,¡± Octavia murmured, her voice trembling in turn. It was the best she could do.

    ¡°What?¡± Harper asked, nearly breaking his neck with the speed at which his eyes snapped to hers.

    Octavia leapt to her feet, either portion of Stradivaria gripped tightly enough to whiten her knuckles permanently. ¡°Dissonance,¡± she repeated. ¡°I-I think he¡¯s Dissonant.¡±

    ¡°How can you tell?¡± he asked, the rising panic in his voice slowly beginning to match her own. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    She tensed somewhat. She forgot he¡¯d never seen it before. She¡¯d wished all along he¡¯d never have to see it at all. For what power he¡¯d been blessed with, it was a feeble dream that Octavia kicked herself for clinging to.

    ¡°His shoulders,¡± she answered, gesturing accordingly with the tip of the bow. ¡°The smoke. Remember what Viola said?¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°But¡­why here? Why now? What does that even mean?¡±

    Octavia shook her head, outright afraid to tear her eyes from the man at all. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I have no idea.¡±

    ¡°What do we do?¡± he asked hurriedly.

    Her last solution had been sickening.

    Waking Viola would do nothing, given how she¡¯d be recommended the same resolution a second time over. She couldn¡¯t stomach so much as the concept, let alone follow through. It was to say absolutely nothing of committing murder in front of Harper and Madrigal. Simply being in the presence of a Dissonant person at all was plaguing her with enough of the same dread to leave her nauseated. She swallowed the guilt that came with consideration, her palms clammy and her knees weak. She couldn¡¯t kill someone. She couldn¡¯t give Harper an answer at all, then.

    ¡°What are you afraid of?¡±

    The coolness of Madrigal¡¯s voice was somewhat startling, and she did actually jump. She fought to tear her eyes from the man long enough to find the Maestra instead, words still more or less useless. Where her breaths were heavy and anxious, Madrigal was calm and steady.

    ¡°What are you afraid of?¡± she repeated plainly.

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know how to help him,¡± Octavia admitted. ¡°The last time Viola and I ran into a Dissonant person, there was nothing we could do. We were both too unskilled to¡­get it out.¡±

    ¡°To purify him.¡±

    She¡¯d never heard it put that way. Really, she wondered if it was another Madrigal-specific term.

    ¡°Yeah, that,¡± Octavia continued regardless. ¡°She told me what happens if I--either of us--mess up. I can¡¯t. All we could do was¡­try to grant him a quick death.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Madrigal said. Octavia kicked herself. She¡¯d forgotten Madrigal had been there, in truth.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± Octavia repeated quietly.

    Madrigal hugged Lyra¡¯s Repose tightly against her chest, sporting a soft smile. ¡°I can show you,¡± she offered. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be afraid of.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t. If I mess up, he¡¯ll be--¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t be. You won¡¯t mess up.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal,¡± she warned, her tone severe. ¡°Your wind and my light are not the same. Me messing up and you messing up would have two very different endings.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what wind can do,¡± Madrigal replied coolly. The look it came with was equally cold, and Octavia flinched.

    Still, Octavia could do nothing but shake her head. When she refused to budge, Stradivaria still useless in either half of her iron grip, Madrigal stepped before her. With herself and Harper at her back, the Maestra was her shield from the stagnant Dissonance bound so tightly to one soul. She was undaunted, never faltering as her eyes fell to the man alone. She settled Lyra¡¯s Repose snugly in her arms, each finger coming to rest over delicate strings.

    ¡°Watch,¡± she instructed. ¡°I¡¯ll show you how.¡±

    Octavia held her breath. Every gentle note born of the little harp that night had been deceiving, for the incredible gales it had brought forth without mercy. Here, in the darkness of the moonlit evening, the soft melody she wove was as true as it was touched by her storm once more. It was more restrained, somewhat, and Octavia mostly attributed it to the confines of the train. It didn¡¯t deter the winds that rustled her dress and ruffled her braids. She couldn¡¯t see it. For the way her entire being felt the push of every crystalline gust, she knew it was there. She could assume its destination.

    ¡°Your partner will guide you. Lyra takes my hands and shows me what to do,¡± she began.

    Madrigal wasn¡¯t immune to the same, her small tempest more than enough to ensnare her curls and taint her clothes. Even Harper at her back was blighted by the storm, forced to cling to his cap and battle his stray bangs as was necessary. For the velocity at which her unseen winds spun ever faster, it was outright audible.

    Octavia heard it grow as much as she heard it rise. She heard it move much the same, innocent plucks and soft flicks of Madrigal¡¯s wrists more than enough to control her perfect gusts. It went high. She could feel it change direction, for how the Maestra herself was more than enough of an indicator.

    ¡°Think about love, and think about healing. Think about how much you want to help someone,¡± she continued.

    Octavia nodded, her heart pounding rapidly. She was lucky if she could think straight at all.

    Every ounce of Madrigal¡¯s swirling storm met the man in full, torturing his clothes and drawing his attention. Given how quickly the newborn gales had been offered to him, they stole his attention as he stirred. So, too, did they steal his breath. At the very least, Octavia could see the exact moment Lyra¡¯s melody met his insides. The slender funnel born of yet the same deceptively-soft strumming and plucking left her rippling winds streaming well past his lips, spiraling down into the depths of his body from within as he choked quietly. His hands never quite rose to his throat in desperation. Octavia at least saw them twitch.

    Harper¡¯s own did, by comparison. She winced along with him, well aware of her own conscious breaths. ¡°Damn,¡± he muttered with immense discomfort.

    Madrigal shook her head, never tearing her eyes from the man as her fingers moved swiftly. ¡°He won¡¯t remember. They never do. It doesn¡¯t hurt him.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    Her voice was as heavy as it was quiet. Octavia didn¡¯t dare press.

    ¡°You¡¯ll feel it resisting,¡± Madrigal continued. ¡°It¡¯ll feel like something¡¯s pulling on it. That¡¯s how you¡¯ll know it¡¯s working. Trust your partner. They¡¯ll help.¡±

    There was at least a brief moment where Octavia was more or less forced to wonder if the man was even alive. She trusted Madrigal with everything she had. Still, the sight of him outright slumped over the table, besieged by wind writhing in the depths of his very soul, was somewhat nauseating in and of itself.

    He was nearly lifeless, an empty shell offered only to grotesque violet at war with healing gales. The tears claiming his pale cheeks were the only indicator of his distress, physical or otherwise. Really, it was the only thing that gave Octavia hope he wasn¡¯t dead at all. It didn¡¯t matter if he didn¡¯t remember. It surely didn¡¯t change what he felt in the moment.

    ¡°Destroy it,¡± Madrigal stated firmly. ¡°You¡¯ll feel it. The minute you do, crush it. Don¡¯t hesitate. Just keep pushing until it breaks. You¡¯ll know when.¡±

    There was no reaction from the man pinned so viciously by Madrigal¡¯s minor tempest. Of Madrigal herself, the faintest tremble of her fingertips against every string came with notes ever thicker and strums ever more harsh. Beneath the gleaming moonlight of Minuevera, she¡¯d been as obscured as she¡¯d been ethereal, her silhouette more than enough to claim Octavia¡¯s eyes. Up close, with far more moonbeams to slice through the dark, Lyra¡¯s Repose was clear to see. So, too, was the strain on Madrigal¡¯s face and the tremble tainting her muscles. Her song never stilled. Her focus never faltered. Not once, resistance of something unseen be damned, did her fingers ever slow.

    It felt like forever, given how long Octavia¡¯s breath sat squarely out of reach. The moment the Maestra¡¯s fingers uncurled from their taut positioning, the explosive storm that followed was nearly horrifying. With the absence of tension came the withdrawal of every gale, agony incarnate captured in its wake. In reverse, the winds that had dug so remorselessly into the man¡¯s body erupted with a force undoubtedly distressing--if not substantially painful.

    The billowing smoke carried along with every rapid rotation of Madrigal¡¯s miniature vortex was helplessly confined, cursed to evacuate and blast against the ceiling without restraint. The man didn¡¯t choke quite as much as the one in Minuevera did, and it was somewhat of a relief. It didn¡¯t spare him entirely. It still took time for the useless Dissonance to dissipate in full with every twist and turn of the spiraling gusts.

    Just as soon as her roaring winds had been unleashed upon the aisle, they stilled with equal grace and a clear breeze as their sole momento. The song of such power that had touched the air tapered and faded as delicately as the violet she¡¯d stolen, every crystalline echo trailing off in time with wispy mists. One soft exhale was enough for Madrigal.

    ¡°Whoa,¡± Harper breathed. ¡°I¡­wow.¡±

    The returned peace and the gentle clacking below her feet did nothing for her heart. Still, even now, Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the way she trembled fiercely, every heartbeat pounding against her chest so loudly she was convinced it was audible. The blood that rushed through her ears matched with her adrenaline. Every attempt to open her mouth came with no words to show for it.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    The warm smile Madrigal blessed her with was much needed. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be afraid of,¡± she repeated.

    With hesitation, Octavia cast her eyes back at the innocent man once plagued by agony. Again, he was just as limp and slack against the table. She still feared for his life, initially. The tears, genuine and clear, that trickled steadily down his cheeks were once more her one counter. The sigh of relief she breathed was wonderful, and she could¡¯ve collapsed to the carpet below.

    ¡°How would I even¡­do that with light?¡± she murmured.

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°Ask Stradivaria.¡±

    Harper, too, exhaled almost just as heavily. ¡°Can I¡­eventually do that too?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s smile never faltered. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s just like I said. Your partner will help.¡±

    ¡°But if I mess¡­¡± he started, falling silent just as quickly.

    Octavia winced. He didn¡¯t need to finish. The mental imagery the implication alone came with was horrifying. Suppressing it took far more effort than she would¡¯ve liked.

    ¡°Should we tell Viola?¡± she interjected, lest the same violent image sit for too long in Harper¡¯s own head as well.

    Harper sighed. ¡°We can tell her tomorrow. She needs her rest. Honestly, after all of that, so do we. It¡¯s late.¡±

    Octavia was more than inclined to agree, and Madrigal nodded in turn. She at least took the liberty of offering her attention to the man once last time, notably unconscious. At the very least, it seemed far more natural. The shoulders that rose and fell evenly were devoid of smoky violet, and she gave her silent praise to Lyra¡¯s Repose. It was a peace she feared her light could never grant, and a reprieve her song could never give. She desperately wanted to. Fear was indestructible all the same.

    If nothing else, he was alive. Were it her light alone that sought to free him of pain tonight, she doubted that would¡¯ve been the case. The knowledge of his salvation was the only thing that would let her sleep peacefully tonight.

    <hr>

    The travel that followed was blindingly uneventful in comparison to the agony-stained evening she¡¯d been forced to bear witness to. She¡¯d hesitated to tell Viola, somewhat, for fear of any myriad of reactions that could¡¯ve followed. To recount the tale of a Dissonant person to her once near-accomplice in murder at all was a sickening enough thought. Still, Viola took the news with startling coolness, her surprise much more muted than expected.

    She¡¯d been just as perplexed, at least. For a train consisting of less occupants than Octavia could count on one hand--themselves notwithstanding--the sight of Dissonance at all came in the company of shockingly low odds. Madrigal¡¯s so-called ¡°purification¡± process was another topic for another time. If Viola¡¯s prior confessions had been anything to go by, it surely wasn¡¯t the best time to discuss that situation.

    She left Stradivaria alone. If they connected, they connected. Octavia didn¡¯t bother to push, nor could she if she wanted to--and by God, did she want to. She thought to bother Viola as to whether she¡¯d been lucky enough to beat her to the punch with Silver Brevada. If she got an affirmative, the jealousy might¡¯ve been enough to burn her heart. She kept her mouth shut.

    She really did spend almost two straight days sleeping, Viola¡¯s joking be damned. She remembered to eat, and she remembered to bathe. It was with sealed curtains and gloriously-crafted darkness that she and her exhausted companion indulged in as much unconsciousness as could be desired. It wasn¡¯t as though there was much left to be desired otherwise, although Madrigal and Harper seemed to get something or another out of what sunshine was offered from day to day. She didn¡¯t particularly bother to check.

    They found her often enough, at least one of them content to tease regularly as to her somewhat-questionable commitment to sleeping. She didn¡¯t need to roll over to figure out which one it was--she was starting to get used to him. Viola dismissed them on her behalf as much as was necessary, be it with a tired wave of her hand or a choice gesture of her fingers that Octavia was surprised she knew.

    Her sleep was largely empty and dreamless, save for flickering scenes of an auction hall or the lighter aspects of her prior Maestro introductions. She didn¡¯t particularly dislike them. She was spared of the Dissonance creeping into her head, mostly. She wasn¡¯t entirely immune, and she awoke with at least somewhat of a shudder in those instances. If nothing else, there were no boxes of which to speak. That was one victory.

    Octavia didn¡¯t bother keeping track of time, after a certain point. When they got there, they got there. As such, the overwhelming blare of the train whistle was more than enough to nearly knock her off the top bunk entirely, by which she would¡¯ve landed face-down on the floor gracelessly. Viola, by comparison, did actually fall--a shorter distance, granted, and blessed with the ceiling to meet her annoyed eyes, but still enough to surely hurt. It didn¡¯t stop Octavia from snickering, and she probably earned the pillow that was subsequently hurtled into her face.

    In truth, so long had Octavia traveled that she¡¯d almost forgotten where she was headed entirely. Madrigal helped, somewhat, for how many times she had to excitedly hear the name ¡°Velrose¡± repeated in far too elated of a tone so soon after becoming conscious. The blinding sunshine wasn¡¯t pleasant, blasted upon her as it was with curtains torn open against her will. At least one of them was awake enough to challenge the Blessed City. It certainly wasn¡¯t her.

    Every anxiety she''d carried with her all the way to the city had ultimately been blunted by the monotony of the voyage. She¡¯d left them in Coda, and those that had stowed away had been scattered upon the tracks in her wake. Instead, every unfamiliar field and distant mountain that passed her by cursed her with what she¡¯d long forgotten. Each window offered her the same, territory she couldn¡¯t place bursting on all sides with a sea of greenery unmatched. It spoke to nothing of what lay ahead, no matter how hard she fought to peer forward.

    When her feet touched solid ground for the first time in three days, the sensation of hard earth beneath her soles felt outright foreign. In some ways, it was--a simple seven days prior had seen her entire life bound behind the borders of Silver Ridge. Now, instead, she more or less had little idea as to where in Mezzoria she was at all. It wasn¡¯t as terrifying a concept as she¡¯d expected it to be.

    At the very least, Viola and Harper had been localized to Coda for the duration of their lives, and it was somewhat of a comfort to not be isolated in her experiences. Madrigal had slightly more of an advantage. It still wasn¡¯t by much. The bursting sparkle in the eyes of the latter was contagious, and it eased whatever fears could¡¯ve clung to her even now.

    The station, if it could even be considered such, was in such stark contrast to Coda¡¯s own that Octavia briefly wondered if they had yet a ways to go. She didn¡¯t hate that it was open, by which the summer breeze kissed her skin in excess and the brilliant sunshine poured down through the glass overhang. It was roughly as empty as she¡¯d expected, for what she¡¯d been led to believe of the city¡¯s secrecy. So unrestrained was the station by architecture that she may as well have been abandoned in a sea of sprawling green. It was as lovely as it was disorienting. Beneath the blue skies overhead, the lush atmosphere was pristine.

    Of equal purity were the distant stone walls rising high enough to practically kiss the sky itself, a barrier her eyes were helpless to penetrate from afar. If she cast them high enough, she could just barely make out one structure towering well above the rest. It was a beacon that captured the gleaming sun just the slightest bit more, resplendent as it held fast to the same shimmer. She had a strong guess. She couldn¡¯t prove it from here.

    ¡°Why is it¡­so far back?¡± Harper asked, more or less echoing her sentiment.

    It was at least ten minutes¡¯ worth of walking, if she eyed the gap to the towering walls beyond correctly. Only the grassy ocean lay between the station and the presumed city, with solely distant mountains to keep her company on the flanking horizons. They were the only train, and the lack of mechanical companionship was just as jarring. Before the Blessed City, she may as well have been in another world entirely.

    ¡°Privacy,¡± the conductor offered. ¡°Not my idea of a good location, but it¡¯s the best they were willing to offer under the circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Circumstances?¡± Harper pressed.

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Wait, who¡¯s ¡®they¡¯?¡±

    ¡°The higher-ups,¡± he answered plainly. ¡°But that¡¯s no problem of mine. I stay out of all of that. I¡¯d suggest you kids do, too, but you¡¯re already here.¡±

    Madrigal beamed, seemingly immune to whatever offense could¡¯ve been garnered from his words. ¡°We¡¯re really good at being right where we need to be.¡±

    ¡°Do you need to see our passports again?¡± Viola interrupted, one hand already drifting towards her bag.

    The conductor shook his head. ¡°No need. The people at the entrance won¡¯t ask. You did all you had to do just by boarding. As for whatever you¡¯re actually doing here, that¡¯s none of my business, either.¡±

    Octavia smiled weakly, adjusting Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders. ¡°Thank you for everything,¡± she offered.

    He nodded. ¡°You kids stay safe.¡±

    She tried to ignore the ¡°from what¡± that nearly slipped out of her mouth. If she had to ask, she¡¯d surely find out eventually. She wasn¡¯t sure she particularly wanted to know before she so much as set foot inside.

    It really was an ocean, more or less. High-rising grasses of an endless field fought to swallow her whole from her ankles with every step. She didn¡¯t hate it, necessarily, picturesque as it was. For what she was led to expect of the Blessed City by name alone, the nature beyond its walls was doing it incredible justice. Every step that left leafy sprouts battling to sneak into her socks was somehow welcome. She embraced the silence that settled neatly and comfortably between them, broken up largely by the soft rustling they crafted underfoot. It was as disorienting as it was enjoyable, peaceful in a way she couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint.

    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± Viola murmured, shattering their silence suddenly enough to startle Octavia.

    She tilted her head. ¡°Hear¡­what?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s this¡­kind of rushing sound, almost. It¡¯s sort of far away, but if you listen really hard, I think you can hear it.¡±

    It took effort to hear over the wind in the first place, blessing her ears in mild excess as it was. If she really strained, she could just barely make out the vestiges of a steady and audible rumble. Far and gentle, it was intermittent to a degree that she hardly held the ebbing noise for long.

    ¡°Are those¡­waves?¡± she tried.

    Madrigal¡¯s voice behind her overshadowed the soft sound altogether. ¡°I think that¡¯s the ocean!¡± she cried happily.

    ¡°Is Velrose an ocean city?¡± Harper asked. ¡°I thought we were in a mountain range or something.¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never seen the ocean, though. That¡¯ll be interesting.¡±

    The dread she¡¯d managed to suppress for three straight days and scatter to the wind found a way back to her soul. For a town so carefully encircled by infinite stone and impenetrable walls, the gate that threatened her was ominous in a different manner entirely. It was iron, for one, and every spearing point could easily have pierced what courage to challenge the Blessed City she¡¯d managed to bring along. Grass became cobblestone, and she nearly tripped the moment the difference greeted her boots underfoot. It was as much of a literal barrier as it was symbolic, and such a towering city already left her feeling small in every way.

    The man before the gate was, at the very least, of a reasonable height by comparison to every form of protection the city offered. It hardly made his presence more welcoming, the stranger clad in black a stark contrast to the shades of her little rosy passport. The mental image she¡¯d been given by the name alone was faltering before she¡¯d so much as set foot within. The glare she was offered didn¡¯t help, crossed arms and cold eyes refusing to grant respite in the wake of her arduous voyage.

    ¡°Can I help you kids?¡± he spoke plainly. If he truly wanted to help, she absolutely would not have known by his tone.

    Octavia tried and failed not to stammer. ¡°W-We just want to enter. We have passports.¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°If you didn¡¯t, you wouldn¡¯t have made it this far.¡±

    She blushed somewhat. It was her fault for forgetting the boarding rules. It spared her more interactions she very much did not want, at least.

    ¡°I can¡¯t stop you--not legally. Go ahead,¡± he spoke in a voice far too low.

    The creak that came with the unlatching and subsequent swinging of the gates was unsettling in and of itself. As to how often they were opened to the outside world at all, Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly sure any guess she gave would come close to being accurate. She tensed, resisting the simultaneous urge to move forward and backpedal all at once.

    The soft sound of her own boots clacking against true cobblestone in full echoed slightly beneath the arches overhead. Penetrating the high-rising walls was as much of a victory as it was distressing, uncertainty pooling in every step she left behind. No amount of peering over her shoulder at those who followed was helping. If anything, it was worse, for the apprehension she caught on their faces in turn.

    The bang that followed the gate swinging shut behind her startled her fiercely. Where she¡¯d battled at an auction for the right to simply be here, she was now formally forced to come to terms with her decision. She¡¯d been in too deep that night, and slightly less, for the one before it. This was on another level.

    ¡°Welcome to Velrose,¡± she heard of her stranger beyond the gate. ¡°You don¡¯t belong here.¡±

 15. Velrose

    The outside walls had been enough to smother her in suspense. By comparison, the inside was smothering in a different way entirely.

    Versus Coda, the architecture was practically archaic. It took more than a moment to recognize the style as intentional, and yet additional time after to gain a sense of appreciation for it. There was a softness that came with the aura of the city itself, augmented in part by the calm atmosphere so different from the capital. Where such a foreboding exterior had spoken to suspicions of bustling crowds and a suffocating populace, it was surprisingly gentle by comparison.

    She could walk in a straight line, for one. There were signs of life, as could be expected. She had her share of shops, bakeries, idlers, and everything in between. Still, where Coda had drowned out her thoughts, the relative quiet of the city left her begging for sound. There was a fine line between soft and empty. She towed it nervously with every step.

    Even now, every glance from every stranger was uncomfortable at best and sharp at worst. It was more than enough to send a chill down her spine, and she preferred them to the handful dripping with disdain and hostility. It was with great relief that most moments of eye contact were broken as quickly as they¡¯d been made, the eyes of those she¡¯d never met hurriedly pried away and cast somewhere far off.

    The urge to keep her head down or her gaze straight ahead was overwhelming. The closest she got to normality was children sprinting past, immune to the general atmosphere pervading those well at Octavia¡¯s own eye level. Their laughter and happiness, background noise as it was, was the only semblance of satisfaction she was finding in the vicinity. Once more, beneath eyes she loathed attracting, she shuddered.

    Welcome to Velrose. You don¡¯t belong here.

    ¡°Tough crowd,¡± Harper muttered.

    ¡°Where do we start?¡± Madrigal asked. Even her enthusiasm was dampened, somewhat, by the oppression of the very air.

    Viola quickened her pace at Octavia¡¯s side. ¡°Shelter, probably. We need to find a place to sleep tonight before we do anything else. I¡¯m not too fond of the idea of sleeping on the streets in a place like this.¡±

    Harper smirked. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad once you get used to it.¡±

    ¡°Drey said he¡¯s been here before. He would¡¯ve had to get accommodations,¡± Octavia continued. ¡°I assume they can¡¯t really shut out anyone with a passport.¡±

    Viola nodded, her eyes already scanning building after ornate building. ¡°They have to accommodate merchants or their entire city would fall apart without trade. It¡¯s in their best interest to at least offer somewhere to stay.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯re not merchants or anything like that,¡± Octavia countered uncomfortably. ¡°Honestly, they probably don¡¯t know why we¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°Or who we are,¡± Viola added. ¡°Frankly, they don¡¯t need to right now. We¡¯ll get a place to sleep, get settled, and then we¡¯ll start trying to get some answers.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, look.¡±

    She followed Madrigal¡¯s gesturing, and it was immediately worth it. How she¡¯d been so distressed by the atmosphere that she¡¯d missed the spearing tower beyond, she couldn¡¯t explain. No matter how high to the azure sky overhead she offered her gaze, it still wasn¡¯t enough to drink in the entire splendor of the structure.

    It was as grand as it was imposing, the relentless sunshine once more stolen by sparkling bronze and tucked away in an alcove so precious. The bell was utterly pristine, no matter how faint its visage was from so far below and so far away. The building to which it was so wonderfully married was not to be ignored, bursting with brilliant color as the same splashing sunlight left radiant glasswork shimmering from afar. It was absolutely splendid. She stared endlessly at both, although it was that which rose well above her head that ensnared her attention the most. It was the first time in Velrose that anything had truly left her satisfied.

    Harper whistled. ¡°So that¡¯s the bell tower you were talking about.¡±

    Octavia nodded. Drey had relayed as much, for what he¡¯d apparently been relayed in turn. ¡°Drey said it¡¯s the most amazing thing about Velrose. Something about the way it sounds when it rings, too.¡±

    ¡°I mean, if these people are religious fanatics to the degree that Drey told you they were, I¡¯ll take a wild guess that that whole building is a church,¡± Viola offered.

    ¡°That¡¯d probably be a good place to start, provided they give us a chance,¡± she answered.

    ¡°So what do we even do, walk up and just tell them we¡¯d like to hear all about their culture? Something like ¡®hey, this conservator said you guys are suspicious, do you happen to know what a Maestro is?¡¯¡± Viola asked, her tone splattered with skepticism.

    Octavia winced. No matter her wording, that particular conversation was going to be a mess. ¡°I mean, honestly, I only based my guess on this city by the fact that the passports showed up at a musical auction. Also, Drey said there was a ¡®mystery¡¯ to it, for whatever that was worth.¡±

    ¡°Drey, who you¡¯d known for less than an hour at that point,¡± Viola added with a hint of sarcasm.

    Octavia blushed. ¡°I-If I¡¯m wrong, I¡¯m wrong, but that was my general thought process. Given the looks we¡¯re getting, there¡¯s probably at least a reason we¡¯re not welcome here.¡±

    ¡°Inn,¡± Madrigal interrupted plainly.

    It literally said Inn, blunt enough that it nearly made Octavia smirk. Had Madrigal not pointed it out, she more than likely would¡¯ve walked right past it. The architecture was identical to all that surrounded it, snugly positioned between whatever other shops saw fit to flank it from either side. The woman waiting before the building wore the exact same sharpened gaze she¡¯d been fighting to avoid. Sleeping on the streets was starting to grow less unappealing, if this was going to become a regular issue.

    ¡°Excuse me, miss,¡± Viola began, taking charge where Octavia nonverbally refused to do so. ¡°Do you have any rooms available for the night?¡±

    Where once she¡¯d found a standard sharpened edge, Octavia now could¡¯ve cut herself on that same glare. ¡°For whom?¡±

    Viola shrunk somewhat beneath her pointed gaze. ¡°Four people--myself and the travelers behind me. We can pay without issue. Several nights would be ideal.¡±

    The woman crossed her arms. The hostility in her eyes bled into her voice, somehow. ¡°You¡¯d be sharing one room for your whole stay. You can only stay for three nights at maximum.¡±

    Viola recoiled. ¡°Three nights? I¡¯m sorry, did I hear that correctly? Only three? Like, at all?¡±

    ¡°Standard. That¡¯s how it is. This is the only inn here, so if you don¡¯t like it, you won¡¯t have any luck anywhere else. Three nights,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°Even if we pay extra?¡± Viola pressed, her voice rising somewhat.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Standard for everyone,¡± she repeated casually.

    Whatever knot Octavia had gone out of her way to unravel in her stomach came back with ease--tighter, perhaps. The bell tower had been a nice reprieve. Three days to scrutinize Velrose in full was almost laughable, given what little she¡¯d seen of it thus far. Really, sleeping on the streets was now exactly one-half of her problems. Beneath every hostile glare that latched onto her back even now, the idea of what would happen if she was genuinely deemed to not belong here was horrifying. It raised an entirely new issue, and she once more shuddered at the concept of both concerns in combination.

    It was a reflex for her eyes to dart about uncomfortably, clinging to whatever bastions of less-violent attention she could beg for. Octavia struggled not to look a single stranger in the eyes, or to come even slightly adjacent to their faces at all. The silence was still awful, and Viola¡¯s continued arguing with the innkeeper only served to draw yet more attention where she pleaded to be ignored. If she could¡¯ve blended in with the gentle architecture, innocent and pure, she would¡¯ve fought for her life to do so.

    She at least appreciated the innocent purity of the same children who continued to play without concern, utterly immune to whatever daunting atmosphere sought to smother her in full. She tracked them with her eyes, bursting with the only happiness she could salvage in such a place. It was the one thing that calmed her racing heart, familiar in a way that spoke as much to Coda as it did simply to natural human interaction.

    She spoke too soon, ultimately. Cobblestone didn¡¯t exactly seem to be a fun surface to crash into with such force, particularly at a speed notable enough that Octavia could physically hear the impact. The boy was lucky he didn¡¯t smash into the hard granite of the adjacent fountain outright. He would¡¯ve been even luckier if he wasn¡¯t bleeding, let alone if it was only from one place. She winced fiercely at the sight, mildly concerned the small child had managed to hit his head in the process. Under no circumstances did she blame him for crying. At this point, she wouldn¡¯t have minded crying for an entirely different reason.

    It wasn¡¯t as though there was much she could do besides stare with great discomfort, given how she feared the wrath of whoever would witness her attending to a child not her own. In this city, under this atmosphere, she didn¡¯t dare. Instead, she was rooted in place beside an equally-uncomfortable Madrigal. Somewhere in the process of watching, she¡¯d lost Harper entirely.

    ¡°Harper?¡± she called, soft and audible all at once.

    If he¡¯d heard her, he didn¡¯t show it. Prying eyes meant little to him, apparently. The degree to which he moved almost instinctively with steps far too hurried was simultaneously admirable and risky. Already, he was crouched low, utterly uninterested in all but one tiny gaze alone. She held her breath.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she heard him ask softly.

    His words were met with much the same crying, more or less lost to reasonable pain. He pressed. ¡°Did you get hurt?¡±

    Crying or not, he at least earned an affirmative nod for his troubles this time. Viola was still oblivious, her arguing effectively ceaseless at Octavia¡¯s back. Otherwise, she was fairly certain Madrigal was watching with equal investment.

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Can I see where you got hurt, then?¡±

    The degree to which there was no actual blood was extremely surprising. Even from across the street, she was fairly certain she would¡¯ve caught at least a speck of it, should it have stained the stone below. Light splotches of red sure to evolve into bruises served as the only souvenir of a cruel collision with the ground. Harper smiled gently.

    ¡°It looks like you¡¯ll be okay. I¡¯m sorry if it hurts, though. Did that scare you?¡±

    Where there was no blood, there were at least tears. Open dialogue or not, Octavia was still not particularly shocked to find at least that much. She was much more concerned at the way by which people were slowing around her. Standard paces slowed to hesitant crawls or outright halted entirely to drink in the same spectacle. She clenched her fists. It didn¡¯t matter if their eyes weren¡¯t on her. She didn¡¯t particularly like where they were landing, more or less defenseless on the ground as he was.

    ¡°Harper, there¡¯s people staring,¡± she muttered through gritted teeth.

    Once more, he ignored her entirely. He was on one knee, his attention just the same in one place only. ¡°Don¡¯t cry. You¡¯ll feel better in a little while. Do you want to go back to playing with your friends?¡±

    The boy shook his head, his tearful distress possibly endless at this point. Octavia couldn¡¯t quite dissect the exact look that crossed Harper¡¯s face. It was concerning, particularly given the oddly-specific smile that followed.

    Viola had been kind enough to purchase a home for Royal Orleans, by which the little instrument no longer was forced to cling to aging towels and other decaying means of concealment. He¡¯d protested in earnest, and yet Viola¡¯s stubbornness had won out in the end. It was a lovely case, really. Every shimmering silver lock was gorgeous as it sparkled beneath the sunshine, and the material held up splendidly against whatever rugged elements would challenge it. He was testing it against cobblestone today, apparently. He was testing the same glistening locks today, apparently. She was going to have to kill him today, apparently.

    ¡°Harper, don¡¯t!¡± she hissed.

    The moment the sunlight slammed into the golden splendor of the trumpet in full, she really, really entertained the idea of killing him. He met her gaze. She tried to convey the same sentiment with her eyes alone, given the way he was also ignoring her flailing and desperate nonverbal pleas for him to stop. What panic she harbored in her eyes probably betrayed her false hostility immediately.

    The instrument settling comfortably against his lips did little to impede his ceaseless smile. He winked at her. That, too, did little to impede her bubbling panic. She strongly contemplated tackling him before this could go any further. As it was, she was too anxious to even watch what was to come. She did it anyway.

    Really, if the people of Velrose who might¡¯ve loathed her would¡¯ve stopped to drink in her reactions, they would perhaps have been baffled. To be in such abject panic over a boy playing a trumpet was perplexing at best and insane at worst. There was always the chance Harper simply intended to play normally. She¡¯d seen him do it, satisfying as his temperate song still was. It would be harmless, a sweet gesture she could live with. He¡¯d surely tease her about her anxieties afterwards, and she¡¯d have earned them in full. They¡¯d laugh. It¡¯d be funny. She¡¯d look back on it fondly.

    The moment she saw the same familiar, crackling embers spark to life beyond the bell, she mentally ran through every way she could slaughter him. She hoped he was fine with dying in Velrose.

    As had been the case many times over in the past several minutes, Harper very much ignored her. His song absolutely was not tailored to her fears, yet again crafted with intent to serve one person alone. It was still lovely, for what it was, carried steadily on the wind in tandem with the precious embers scattering like orange stars to the open air above. They were brilliant beneath the sun, delicate in every way. Were they not aflame, they could easily have passed as the most searing of rains that splashed against the sky.

    It didn¡¯t matter how pleasing of a sight his warm melody offered. Unlike the three Maestras he traveled alongside, Harper was, by no true fault of his own, cursed with the inability to play quietly in the open air. He was audible. He was exceedingly audible. Octavia was exceedingly light-headed.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    She¡¯d already asserted that people were staring. If they weren¡¯t before, if the sentiment was a deterrent alone, they absolutely were now. Octavia gripped her braids in frustration, tugging harshly as her eyes chased the rising stream of flickering embers that climbed into the sky. Madrigal was sincerely clapping in awe at her side, beaming with utter disregard to the situation as a whole. His song was enough to finally get Viola¡¯s attention, at least. She literally screamed.

    ¡°Harper!¡± she cried at a volume that terrified Octavia. ¡°Are you insane?¡±

    He definitely was. As Octavia had come to expect, Harper yet again did not bother to acknowledge their collective panic whatsoever. Instead, the sprinkle of delicate sparks that still shone so vividly amidst the sunshine were one of two things to which he offered his attention. His gentle harmony flickered in its own right, every note as warm as the precious scarlets and oranges he painted the sky above with.

    For how many eyes had fallen to him, accompanied by how many emotions and how many intents, he never ceased. His smile behind the mouthpiece never faltered. He was fearless, his confidence seeping into his song. He earned a smile back, every sparkling ember reflected where once had been tears.

    ¡°Wow,¡± the child breathed.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t happening,¡± Viola muttered frantically, tangling her fingers deep into her hair. ¡°This seriously isn¡¯t happening. Tell me he¡¯s not actually this stupid.¡±

    ¡°W-We can fix this!¡± Octavia reassured.

    She absolutely could not fix this. She had no idea where to begin to fix this. It was the auction problem all over again, albeit born of their own circle rather than the actions of a stranger. Every method of damage control she could concoct in her head was useless. Her eyes flickered back and forth helplessly between Viola¡¯s frustration and Harper¡¯s blissful ignorance. This was an entirely new type of screwed.

    ¡°A¡­Maestro?¡±

    One word brought her world screeching to a halt, fast enough that she felt dizzy. Viola caught it simultaneously, apparently, for how quickly their heads snapped towards the innkeeper in tandem.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°A Maestro,¡± the woman repeated quietly. ¡°A Maestro has come to our city.¡±

    ¡°You know about Maestros?¡± Octavia practically shouted.

    Her revelation was contagious. The crowd so haphazardly gathered had traded hostility for wonder. Judgmental glares melted beneath the glowing warmth of embers carried so joyfully upon the wind. Where Octavia heard the word once, she heard it soon dozens of times over.

    ¡°He¡¯s a Maestro!¡±

    ¡°Here? A Maestro?¡±

    ¡°Wait, seriously?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a Maestro over there!¡±

    Octavia still wasn¡¯t sure exactly what Harper was and wasn¡¯t ignoring, given the way she watched his eyes flicker at least once to his surroundings. He rose to his feet with care, claiming more space with which to send his song burning brighter. He did so somewhere between gently and passionately, every once-fizzling ember now sparkling and sizzling with something far more luminous. Their delicate crackles had evolved into something notably audible, every breath with which he could fuel his flickering flares leaving them challenging the sunlight overhead. His grin was perhaps the only thing brighter by comparison, unfaltering even in the depths of his fiery song.

    Harper turned his head slightly, and he finally--finally--gave her his attention. What terror and doubt had plagued her had melted in the presence of his luminous warmth. With his gaze on hers alone, the sudden sparkle igniting in his eyes put her light to shame. His song exploded with happiness in equal measure to that of his brilliant smile. She¡¯d never actually seen his flames before.

    It was a literal explosion, in a sense. Octavia knew him by his gorgeous little embers alone, delicate and fragile in a way that still spoke to lovely warmth. Now, the fire that erupted forth from the bell of Royal Orleans was a different type of beautiful entirely. His flames were absolutely splendid, scathing bursts of radiant oranges and luminous scarlets that swirled and spiraled without restraint. Where his precious sparks had crackled so softly, there was nothing inhibited about his fiery song broiling in the open air. The wavering mirage left in the wake of every scorching note was spectacular, and she could hardly look away. It was closer to the mental image she could¡¯ve expected from the terminology of the will of fire. It didn¡¯t make the display any less incredible. It wasn¡¯t his audience alone that was captive. She couldn¡¯t fight her smile.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me you know about Maestros? You¡¯ve seen them?¡± Viola continued to press frantically, her wide eyes never once leaving the innkeeper.

    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± the woman answered, her attention more than stolen by raging flames aloft. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me there was a Maestro among you children!¡±

    ¡°About thaaat,¡± Madrigal teased.

    The implications of the situation were the least of Octavia''s concerns, and her eyes were on Harper alone. He was perhaps the one thing burning brighter than every brilliant flame Royal Orleans could offer. She paid little attention to the cheers and praise he garnered with such simple effort on every side, a city once so hostile now ensnared in the palm of his hand. Octavia didn¡¯t blame them one bit. His fires were resplendent, easily replaced with yet more doubly luminescent the moment one flame faltered.

    He was endless, and his smile more so. He found plenty of time to meet her eyes again and again, perhaps more so than whatever care he could gift his captive audience. At least once, he clung to her gaze almost permanently. The way by which he managed to continue his fiery melody with one hand was extremely impressive. It left the latter available.

    One finger flickered between herself and him, trailed by the most fleeting gesture to the ground in front of him. This time, it was her own grin that was explosive. She nearly hurtled Stradivaria¡¯s case to the cobblestone below.

    Viola¡¯s scolding at her back meant nothing. The enveloping gazes of those she¡¯d feared mere minutes ago meant nothing. The anxieties that came with being more or less encircled by strangers meant nothing. His happiness was impossibly contagious, and her eyes were for him alone. Octavia got the same back, and Harper hardly needed to repeat the same motion. He did anyway, and it left a violin on a collision course with her shoulder instinctively. She loved it.

    It was so rare that her light spoke not to harm, justified as her defenses always were. There was an irony, then, that the softest radiance she¡¯d ever offered had burned specifically for him. To do so twice over would be a blessing. It was the first time she played alongside another Maestro with genuine joy in her heart.

    Where his own happiness had left him bursting into flames, she sparkled with the glow of every star in the sky. The warmth that bubbled beneath her fingertips and splashed onto the strings was free of panic, born only of satisfaction. He¡¯d already seen her luminous little orbs before, miniature stars in their own right. Now, she¡¯d grant him the chance to experience them once more.

    Blessed in excess by the relentless sunshine above, it took effort to leave them shimmering brighter than that which shone down from on high. It didn¡¯t impede her in the slightest, and every radiant ribbon that swirled forth from her luminous song was a lovely substitute. The golds and ivories that kissed the sky were wonderful, unrestrained and ambling upon the wind. Sometimes they were blighted by stray flame, mingling beautifully with scalding crimson that challenged the sun in turn. She could probably burn brighter than him, if she tried. Given the look on his face, she was extremely tempted.

    His grin was as infectious as his energy, and his scorching melody wrapped her heart up in full. At least once, he intentionally did the same outright, and she put her faith in him regarding the mildly-concerning proximity of his explosive flames. He never burnt her, and she trusted him instantly. The way by which bursting scarlets surged and flickered so relentlessly before her left her skin as hot as her blood, stray embers teasing her own glorious little stars. She played. He played harder. Today, she learned that he was, in fact, competitive.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­amazing,¡± she heard afar from the innkeeper. ¡°That girl¡¯s a Maestra, too?¡±¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s own excitement was more than audible above their songs--unsurprising, truthfully. ¡°We¡¯re all Maestros, ma¡¯am! Every one of us!¡±

    ¡°Incredible,¡± she responded breathlessly. ¡°To see this many Maestros in our city is¡­unbelievable. It¡¯s been so long.¡±

    ¡°So long since¡­what, exactly?¡± came Viola¡¯s own voice. ¡°Have you had Maestros here before?¡±

    ¡°In passing,¡± she clarified. ¡°We haven¡¯t had one in quite a while. It¡¯s been at least a few years now. For this many to come through, though? And on the same day, no less? It¡¯s nothing short of a miracle. You have my apologies for my behavior earlier.¡±

    ¡°N-No offense taken,¡± Viola stammered. ¡°Who was the last Maestro who came through?¡±

    The innkeeper was quiet for a moment. Octavia struggled to make out her words, more than occupied as she was. ¡°I don¡¯t remember her name. Didn¡¯t see her much, she just met with the acolyte and left. You kids should meet with her, too. I promise, she¡¯ll definitely want to meet with you.¡±

    ¡°The acolyte?¡± Madrigal asked.

    ¡°The acolyte of the church,¡± the woman continued. ¡°The keeper of the bell tower who sees all. Go to her.¡±

    ¡°Wait, why?¡± Viola interrupted.

    ¡°She needs to know you¡¯re here, that¡¯s why. Everyone will tell you the same thing. It¡¯s in your best interests to speak with her.¡±

    As to what that referred to, Octavia only half-cared. It was cryptic, granted. Some part of her brain was more than aware she was making progress. Most of her was exceedingly interested in outshining Harper--literally and figuratively, if he was going to put up this much of a fight. She forgot she had an audience, at some point. On sight alone, with his burning eyes never once drifting left nor right, he was apparently guilty of the same.

    She was laughing, at least. If Harper weren¡¯t so occupied with maintaining his blazing melody, beautifully overlaid with her own, she had a strong feeling he¡¯d be laughing along with her. How his breath control was borderline perfect was beyond her, if he was able to offer up such a scathing song and the fiery brilliance that came with it again and again. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn he was getting progressively more dramatic, for how fiercely every roaring scarlet plume was left scorching the very air. It was as wonderful as it was overpowering, a sun of his own making that set her soul ablaze.

    She couldn¡¯t quite tell if her own sweat was secondary to the unforgiving heat of their searing melodies in tandem or their faltering stamina. It was enough for her to call him out, much to the dismay of the part of her that could¡¯ve burned forever.

    ¡°Let¡¯s finish this up!¡± she cried well above their radiant harmony. ¡°See if you can top this!¡±

    Octavia surrendered her stars in favor of streams, radiant ribbons swirling aimlessly about her on every side. She adored her own warmth, pulsing luminescence left grazing her skin each time they drifted past. Draped in Stradivaria¡¯s light, she didn¡¯t hesitate to birth yet more with every lovely note. She lost count of exactly how many she made, although there came a point where her eyes captured only glowing golds in her permanent peripheral. She was incandescent, a star of her own making at the center of her newborn galaxy. She didn¡¯t fear the soft sizzle of every ribbon that passed her by, content to illuminate her braids and leave her enveloped in artificial starlight.

    The little spin she added at the center of her personal solar system was exclusively to mess with him, the skirt of her dress billowing in her wake. It worked wonderfully. The look on Harper¡¯s face, stunned into shock as he was by her brilliant display, made her laugh even harder. It was almost enough for him to stop playing outright, given how long he was staring.

    He did, in fact, find a way to top that.

    Where she¡¯d dismantled the stars, he assembled the sun. When he bounced back, he did so with a blazing smile and a heat she couldn¡¯t match. His flames were less unrestrained, his pulsing oranges and bursting scarlets less raging. She¡¯d never seen them so compressed, densely packed into a scorching ball of fire that would surely incinerate the sky. If he had remorse as to burning a hole in the clouds high above, he very much did not show it.

    It took little effort for the scathing sun to swell, fueled in equal parts by stolen breaths and a melody far too competitive. It was beautiful as it burst forth, besieging the open air without mercy as it climbed ever higher. No longer could she call it a "little" fireball, for what notable size he¡¯d somehow managed to nurture such brilliant flames into growing. She trailed it with her eyes all the way up, somewhat concerned as to how long he¡¯d truly have full control before it carved a place amongst the stars in its own right. The self-assured grin on his face as his eyes continuously flickered to hers wasn¡¯t the best sign.

    The boom that followed startled her violently. The broiling ball of flame never made it that far, exploding into splashing sparks in every direction. It was a resplendent display, searing rain sprinkling down from on high in yet more gorgeous hues of crimson. Conceding defeat was as dissatisfying as it was undeniably enjoyable.

    She hitched either portion of Stradivaria beneath the crook of her arm, clapping along with those offering far, far more of the same. Her own applause came with a playful roll of her eyes. ¡°Alright, I give up. I¡¯m not gonna lie, you¡¯ve got me beat on the flashy stuff. Show-off.¡±

    When the trumpet descended from his lips at last, she¡¯d expected to find the same endless grin--if not teasing of his own to match hers. Instead, his eyes only trailed between Royal Orleans and the sky above several times over, stray embers above still sizzling beautifully as the wind claimed them. He tilted his head.

    Octavia echoed the motion. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Again, he repeated the same cycle of circular glances. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡±

    She followed along this time. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well, the other stuff, yeah, but not the last thing,¡± he clarified. ¡°I didn¡¯t do that. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    Once more did her own gaze track to the still-smoking blue skies above. If he hadn¡¯t recognized the extent of his own strength yet, it would be his right to uncover. He had plenty of it, clearly.

    ¡°You two must meet with the acolyte,¡± came a voice from the crowd, dispersing as it was. ¡°She¡¯ll be so pleased to see you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes!¡± another agreed unseen. ¡°She¡¯s been waiting for Maestros for such a long time.¡±

    ¡°The¡­acolyte?¡± Harper asked, raising an eyebrow.

    Octavia had heard the term just barely within earshot. She¡¯d hardly given it thought, more or less dismissing it outright in the moment. In this context, it was somewhat more confusing.

    ¡°We got told the same thing,¡± Viola called, Madrigal still more than content to applaud beside her. ¡°Great performance, by the way.¡±

    Octavia beamed as they rejoined her, still dispelling the residual adrenaline that came with exuberant light. ¡°T-Thank you!¡±

    ¡°And as for you,¡± Viola snapped, one pointed finger spearing viciously in Harper¡¯s direction, ¡°Don¡¯t you ever do that again.¡±

    Harper laughed. ¡°Okay, in my defense, didn¡¯t you say Octavia sorta did the same thing for me when we first met? Besides, it¡¯s not like I did it for no reason. It¡¯s¡­kind of a reflex.¡±

    The harsh look Viola tossed at her instead was enough to make Octavia blush, somewhat. In terms of haphazardly displaying their instruments to strangers, she and Harper were now even. It wasn¡¯t the most enviable form of camaraderie.

    ¡°You two have a bit too much in common,¡± Viola hissed.

    ¡°The acolyte,¡± Madrigal interrupted. ¡°The innkeeper told us to go talk to the acolyte of the church. She said the acolyte is the one who watches over the bell tower.¡±

    ¡°So it is a church,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°What are we supposed to be talking to her about, exactly?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I haven¡¯t quite figured that part out. The innkeeper didn¡¯t go into detail. Either way, it¡¯s something to follow--especially if she knows about Maestros.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°The whole city knows about Maestros, apparently.¡±

    ¡°This entire place is weird. I¡¯ll give you credit for landing us somewhere promising,¡± Viola teased, elbowing Octavia¡¯s side gently.

    Octavia smiled, teasing or not. To follow a fleeting idea in Coda halfway across the continent and be correct was immensely gratifying. What physical sensations had accompanied anxiety and doubt along the way had long since evaporated in their entirety, whether beneath treasured warmth not her own or in the presence of progress at all. It felt wonderful.

    ¡°Drey did mention something about religion being an important thing in this city. Maybe he meant that the church itself is important?¡± she tried.

    ¡°Maybe, but if they¡¯ve got a church, they¡¯re probably worshiping something. Either way, we¡¯ll find out soon enough,¡± Viola offered.

    Every step that followed into the heart of the Blessed City spoke to little of the apprehension she¡¯d carried so recently. Where she¡¯d shied away beneath hostile gazes on every side, she now found genuine endearment and soft acceptance. This, too, was its own warmth, and she carried her head as high as the bell tower looming peacefully beyond.

    They were not the first of their kind to voyage through Velrose from beyond the walls, if words in passing were to be believed. The thought ate away at the back of her mind, edging its way down into her heart. It wasn¡¯t quite a hope she was clinging to, a stretch as it may have been. She¡¯d already gotten lucky enough by simply being here. Still, she kept it in reserve to dissect. She wasn¡¯t alone. She could breathe easily. In the confines of a city so far from home, mysterious in every way, she didn¡¯t mind getting her hopes up.

    You don¡¯t belong here.

    She did, apparently.

 16. The Acolyte

    There was simultaneously something impressive and mildly disorienting about the incline. Octavia was convinced she was hallucinating, at first, given how the ground beneath her feet seemed to rise ever higher with every step. The path to the bell tower, unmistakable in the distance, brought with it steady elevation that left the streets sloping steadily upwards. She feared she¡¯d trip, and peering over her shoulder was dangerous. She did it anyway. Her formal confirmation of an incline came in the form of a city descending in full beneath her. Each step was difficult, her calves aching somewhat in the process of pursuing the glimmering bronze so high aloft. She assumed it was worth it.

    She hadn¡¯t been to a church in years, by which her only memories of such were draped in black and stained by tears. She could hardly juxtapose that of Silver Ridge with the one crowning the Blessed City, and she was more or less beginning to understand the moniker by sight alone. The bell tower had captured her full attention from the moment she¡¯d set foot in Velrose, and yet that to which it was tethered was--ironically--divine.

    The architecture was splendid. The stature was unfathomable. The atmosphere was as grandiose as it was imposing, and the glasswork that ensnared every stray burst of sunlight was one thousand times more radiant up close than she¡¯d seen from afar. She was fine with being blinded, if the glistening stained rainbows were how she lost her sight entirely. It put every last suncatcher and carefully-crafted vase she¡¯d ever seen in her life to utter shame, and she stole every color with wide eyes.

    The prismatic splendor was as symbolic as it was lustrous, angelic depictions assembled with such love and care splashed upon wall after wall. Octavia¡¯s eyes traversed each and every scene, chasing the story they seemed to paint in full. Of particular note was that which shimmered brighter and stretched further, sprawling glasswork speaking to an angel and a human all at once.

    Where one born on high remained as such, the iridescent girl so far below raised her glassy arms skyward. Under no circumstances was Octavia religious. Truthfully, sleeping in was more appealing than attending services for any given deity--that of Velrose or otherwise. Still, she at least paid her utmost respects to the incredible craftsmanship that went into the resplendent art of the church itself.

    The doors, born plainly of wood, paled in comparison to the splendor of the structure if not for their size alone. Even the entrance to the city itself had left her more unnerved. Still, she hesitated atop the steps for a brief moment. Delicately, she knocked several times over--provided that was how this worked.

    ¡°You might have to knock harder than that,¡± Harper whispered teasingly.

    She glared over her shoulder, meeting his smug grin with a roll of her eyes and unwavering eye contact. With him pinned in her sights, she refused to face forward as she violently slammed her balled fist against the wood again and again.

    He snickered. ¡°Better.¡±

    It took time to earn the foreboding creak that followed, by which the doors still opened slowly enough to allow for a deep breath. She wasn¡¯t sure what compelled her to adjust her braids, although Viola smoothing out the little bow tethered tightly in her hair made her feel somewhat better. She already planned to assault the acolyte with every conceivable question she could concoct. She opted to at least make a solid first impression, in that case.

    The small face and round eyes that poked out from behind the door, then, left her more or less perplexed. It took her a moment to even register the need to look down rather than forward. Octavia raised one hand slowly and awkwardly, offering a half-hearted wave.

    ¡°Uh¡­hello?¡± she tried.

    The tiny tilt of the tiny head that followed left a stream of blonde spilling over little arms, curious eyes peering up at Octavia without a word. Objectively, she didn¡¯t stare for long. It was still more than enough to make the Maestra uncomfortable.

    ¡°We, uh¡­we¡¯re looking for the acolyte, if she¡¯s available?¡± Octavia pressed.

    The word was enough to prompt her departure, apparently. Still, Octavia found her moments later, blessed with the full view of the church interior as little hands brought the doors open wide. The child, too, was in full view, every bit as small as Octavia had expected. Her tiny touch rested atop pearl-tinted robes, as elegant as they were slightly too large on such a little body. If she was an acolyte, she fit the mental imagery of the word. It didn¡¯t make her miniscule visage any less confusing, if that were the case. She couldn¡¯t have been a day over seven years old.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­are you the acolyte?¡± Octavia asked, somewhat unnerved by the endless silence--age be damned.

    It was almost a relief when the girl shook her head, yet more sandy cascades streaming freely over thick fabrics. Instead, she motioned for company, one little hand beckoning for four sets of footsteps in her wake. Octavia caught Viola¡¯s equal look of confusion, given the stature of their wordless guide. Still, she shrugged, surrendering to the nonverbal orders of a child half her height.

    The interior was somewhat less vibrant and exotic versus the exterior, and yet was still more than breathtaking in its own right. Where the grandiose nature of the church upon first glance had slammed into her from outside, the peaceful atmosphere within settled onto her shoulders with grace.

    It was what she could expect from such a holy place, plush carpet rising to stifle her every step and distant choirs echoing her concept of angels on earth. It was accurate enough of a stereotype, and she appreciated it nonetheless. The sound of the doors slowly coming to a close at her back, in the midst of such beautiful silence, managed to scare her somewhat.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes glittered. ¡°It¡¯s so¡­royal,¡± she breathed.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t exactly inclined to disagree, although her wording would¡¯ve been significantly different. She only allotted half of her attention to her little guide, the child¡¯s iridescent robes scraping the maroon below with every tiny step onwards. Octavia had substantial concerns she would outright trip, and yet she navigated the length of every ornate corridor with aplomb.

    The mounted candles along every wall illuminating her path were as beautiful as they were ironic. The thought that Madrigal could easily plunge them into darkness with one swish of her wrist made her smirk. For now, she appreciated the flickering view.

    It was the most notable aspect of the walls at all, frankly, given the utter lack of artwork or even windows. She was thankful she wasn¡¯t forced to endure it for long, in part to their tiny guide¡¯s swift navigation. The doors she threw open--rather, pushed against with effort, on behalf of her little stature--made far less noise than those of the entrance.

    Octavia almost felt bad for not helping. It wasn¡¯t as though she knew exactly where she was going, let alone what she was supposed to be helping with at all. Ignorant to whatever deity blessed the Blessed City itself, she was more than blessed with abundant sunlight in excess.

    The chapel was all she¡¯d expected of a church from the term alone, if not excessively flooded with streaming sunshine in every sense of the word. The glass above surrendered to daylight without resistance, and the spilling skies on high left ray after ray kissing her boots. The atmosphere was almost more holy on behalf of the light alone. It put every pitiful speck of candlelight left in the hall at her back to shame. If nothing else, the pews were crafted of the same pine as those in Silver Ridge. Wrapped up in the splendor of Velrose, it was at least one more comfort of home clutched well across the continent.

    Only now, drowning in a sea of sunshine, did Octavia lose her little guide. So preoccupied had she been with the way she was left to squint and wince that she¡¯d hardly noticed company at all. The child hadn¡¯t, apparently, and she made for the men at the far end of the chapel without hesitation. Yet the same pristine garments met her for a second time over--and a third, technically. Even as one extended his arms, a soft smile born for the child as he knelt to her height, she never returned his embrace.

    ¡°Little Allison, hello! It¡¯s good to see you out of your room,¡± he greeted.

    And still, his offered warmth was wasted as she simply stared. The message was lost on him, seemingly, and the man at his side took the hint. Granted, his attention was largely for the Maestros alone as he gave the child his quiet words. ¡°You¡¯ve brought visitors, it seems.¡±

    Octavia waved nervously. Madrigal¡¯s own wave, by comparison, was much the opposite.

    ¡°Lady Acolyte, it appears these guests have entered your sanctum. What shall be done?¡± the first man asked.

    It had taken them time to shift enough for the beaming sunshine to splatter on yet more company. If their presence alone, mysterious as they were in such a place, was disorienting, then the girl who claimed the pedestal at their backs was enough to steal the breath from Octavia¡¯s lungs.

    She was unfathomably beautiful, resplendent in a way that left her shimmering brighter than even the radiant glasswork painting the church exterior. Every drop of light spared from the skies above rained down upon her with grace, landing perfectly in cascading blonde that sparkled in turn. She was an angel clad in white, perhaps more regal than even that which Octavia had seen cling to the others of the church thus far. Upon her delicate skin, the aura was entirely different. She was draped in purity befitting of Heaven, and the billowing fabrics rippled with every tiny movement. Octavia¡¯s mouth was painfully dry.

    From what Octavia knew of acolytes, the soft and lyrical tone of every word that left the girl¡¯s lips was to be expected. ¡°Let me speak to them. One of the clergy has told me of their arrival.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Lady Acolyte,¡± she heard in tandem.

    Given how easily she¡¯d prompted the departure of both men, it left Octavia raising an eyebrow. In seconds, she been offered first impressions of an angel, an acolyte, and a princess all at once.

    They kept the child, at least, equally transfixed on much the same gorgeous acolyte of many faces. The door coming to a gentle close behind them left Octavia draped in another flavor of silence entirely, plagued by sunshine and blessed by the presence of an angel. It was broken up, somewhat, by the soft shuffle of little feet against plush carpet.

    Her movements were hurried. Her arms were outstretched at the last possible moment as she collided with thick fabric in a gentle thud. Their tiny guide didn¡¯t hesitate to bury her face deep in the acolyte¡¯s robes, clinging fiercely. So, too, did she earn an embrace and a soft laugh for her troubles.

    ¡°Did you miss me?¡± the acolyte teased, stroking streaming locks not so unlike her own.

    The child nodded in the confines of the crisp garments, splashing the same sandy cascade in every direction. Octavia smiled. At the same time, she stiffened. She was absolutely interrupting something or another.

    ¡°Is, uh, is this a bad time?¡± she asked nervously.

    The acolyte shook her head, rubbing the child¡¯s back as she relaxed her tight embrace. ¡°Not at all. I¡¯ve been expecting you four.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Wait, do you¡­know who we are?¡±

    The acolyte beamed. Her smile was equally radiant. ¡°Those of the church have spoken of you. Velrose is a small city, and word travels fast. I¡¯ve heard of your remarkable display in the plaza.¡±

    ¡°Our¡­display,¡± Viola spoke with an agonizing slowness. Granted, Octavia would¡¯ve hesitated to use the exact same word.

    The acolyte''s best efforts to part from the small child clinging to her robes were only half-successful, for how the little girl slipped behind her anyway. ¡°You four are Maestros, are you not?¡± she asked.

    There it was. Octavia breathed a sigh of relief. At the very least, she wouldn¡¯t have to say it.

    ¡°I apologize for not being more cordial,¡± the acolyte spoke, one hand settling gently over her heart. Her slight bow almost felt lost on Octavia, humble as she already felt. ¡°My name is Sonata, acolyte of the Velrose Church and heir to the Ivory family. I¡¯d like to formally welcome all of you to the city of Velrose.¡±

    Octavia fought the urge to smirk. She was already aware that she belonged here, in stark contrast to the harsh words she¡¯d been given at the city gate. Now, too, she had the acolyte¡¯s blessing. She battled the urge to retrace her steps and rub it in the man¡¯s face.

    It didn¡¯t particularly surprise her that Viola could keep up, elegant and refined as the Maestra already was. Her curtsey was more or less perfect in return, just as Octavia remembered it. ¡°Viola Vacanti, heir to the Vacanti family. And Maestra, of course.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal Talludo,¡± another Maestra nearly interrupted. With fingers split into a familiar V as they settled proudly over her eyes, her own brilliant grin gave the bursting sunshine a solid challenge. ¡°Heir to the Talludo Inn and liberator of the darkness!¡±

    Heir to an inn was a step down versus the heir to an entire family. Granted, Octavia doubted a single person could rival Madrigal¡¯s second title. She once more stifled a smirk.

    ¡°I, uh, I¡¯m Harper,¡± the Maestro in question began with a nervous wave. ¡°I¡¯m not really heir to anything, but I¡¯m still a Maestro, so we¡¯ve¡­got that.¡±

    His eye twitched somewhat in the process of saying it. Octavia tried not to analyze it too much. She didn¡¯t do a spectacular job ignoring it.

    She did such a poor job that she nearly forgot to introduce herself entirely. Her best attempt at a curtsey paled in comparison to Viola¡¯s, although she liked to imagine the sentiment was still appreciated. ¡°O-Octavia. Octavia Ellis. Maestra.¡±

    She winced. She and Harper had something in common, then. It wasn¡¯t as though any of it was supposed to be a competition in the first place.

    She strongly doubted the acolyte would¡¯ve cared, anyway. She didn¡¯t, and for that, Octavia was thankful. ¡°Viola, Madrigal, Harper, Octavia. I will remember your names. And this little one,¡± she added, gesturing behind her, ¡°is Allison.¡±

    The attention the girl gave to each of the Maestros was fleeting, her eyes scanning the four in turn before she disappeared behind the acolyte¡¯s robes once more. Again, too, the acolyte laughed.

    ¡°She is my beloved little sister,¡± the acolyte continued fondly. ¡°We¡¯re often separated during the day due to my duties, but still she runs to my side when she can. This time, it seems she¡¯s brought company.¡±

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°What do the Velrose acolytes do, anyway?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°Acolyte,¡± Sonata corrected. ¡°Singular.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯re the only acolyte in Velrose? In this giant church?¡±

    The acolyte only beamed with pride in response. Silver Ridge hadn¡¯t required acolytes, if memory served relative to the handful of times Octavia had bothered to come within ten feet of a church. Still, from what she knew of the concept, she was at least aware of the holy system that necessitated multiple--usually. For one singular acolyte to attend to the sprawling splendor that was the absolutely massive Velrose Church was unfathomable. She briefly entertained the idea that the comment was a joke altogether.

    ¡°Honestly, the term ¡®acolyte¡¯ is not entirely accurate. Like others, I assist in day-to-day services and responsibilities as is necessary. However, most in the church share that burden, the young ones included.¡±

    She offered an illustrating glance behind her at the clinging child, still such within the depths of her trailing robes. Her smile softened at the sight.

    ¡°I heard someone say ¡®Lady Acolyte¡¯ when they talked to you,¡± Madrigal offered. ¡°You sound a lot more important than a regular acolyte.¡±

    Sonata laughed softly. ¡°Yes, the word ¡®acolyte¡¯ is a bit different. My role is more¡­ceremonial. Formal, if you will.¡±

    ¡°Like a priestess?¡± Octavia tried.

    The acolyte shook her head. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she saw something nearly playful settle onto the girl¡¯s lips, fleeting as it was. ¡°Not quite. There is one duty I can fulfill that no one else can. It¡­might be easier to simply show you. It¡¯s a bit of a walk, though.¡±

    ¡°A walk?¡± Viola asked, her eyes already trailing the acolyte¡¯s every departing step.

    ¡°Well, not really a walk,¡± Sonata clarified, somewhat content to preemptively leave them in her wake. ¡°I hope you¡¯re all okay with stairs.¡±

    <hr>

    Octavia was beginning to reconsider her initial labeling of the acolyte as an angel.

    In a feat that could be classified as naive at best and outright diabolical at worst, the Velrose Acolyte had forgone mentioning exactly how many stairs they were expected to be ¡°fine¡± with. ¡°Massive¡± didn¡¯t do the staircase justice by one word alone. It was sprawling, spiraling, climbing skywards to such a degree that Octavia wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if she ended up in the clouds. The bursts of sunshine that erupted from the splattered windows along suffocating stone were the one thing that gave her any motivation to move higher.

    Sonata had zero difficulty ascending, apparently, and it was clear to see by her every unperturbed step ever upwards. She didn¡¯t so much as pause for breath, let alone show any indication of labor whatsoever. Octavia, under no circumstances, considered her athleticism to be poor. She was a phenomenal runner, to say nothing of her other general movements in the nature of Silver Ridge. Still, her calves were beginning to burn. Even Harper wasn¡¯t immune to the beads of sweat that had begun prickling his skin, and he himself outshone her in at least one of her prized physical strengths.

    Viola, then, was in absolute agony. Not once did she beg for reprieve, even with her labored breaths more than audible and her gasps echoing somewhat off every wall. Her face, splashed with brilliant red, spoke to more than simple exertion, and Octavia sincerely feared she might outright tumble in reverse to the first floor of the church once more. Madrigal guided her along with patience, and she fought with all her heart for every step that followed. No amount of slowing down collectively, nor any amount of inquiring as to her well-being, was enough to deter the Maestra.

    Octavia had already seen the limitations of Viola¡¯s athleticism--if it could even be considered such--in the midst of their initial encounter with Renato. She¡¯d been told of the complication in passing, by which the girl was simply born this way. That she¡¯d ended up with a flute for a partner, her lungs as delicate as they were, was a cruel twist of fate. She¡¯d never exactly been blessed with an easy path in life.

    It did end, eventually, although not without substantial effort and physical tribulations. Octavia was somewhat convinced she¡¯d been forced to ascend to Heaven itself, for how long she¡¯d been pressed to climb. The breeze that kissed her heated skin, even before she¡¯d exited in full, was her first blessing.

    The second came in the form of the sky at her fingertips and the city at her feet, infinitely miniscule below as Velrose besieged her pupils in every direction. She nearly tripped over the limestone, disoriented and dizzy by the sheer height she¡¯d been granted. If she strained, she could see people moving, little ambulatory specks as they¡¯d become. If she stretched, she could probably touch the sun. She was tempted. She had a third blessing, and she found the sun somewhere far more accessible.

    The bell, up close, was absolutely breathtaking. Every glance she¡¯d stolen from ground level was pitiful by comparison to the bronze before her eyes. What sunshine had been seized unflinchingly from the sky above lay captured and glistening along its surface. Every last subtle movement she made left it glistening at any angle. If she were to step in the wrong direction, she¡¯d perhaps be blinded for life. It was unweathered, unhindered, and tethered with incredible care to the eaves well above her head. In that moment, on sight, Octavia could understand the moniker of the Blessed City.

    The size difference between the acolyte and the tremendous bell was striking. Still, she was undeterred, one palm coming to rest flat upon the shimmering metal. ¡°This is the bell tower of the Velrose Church. It is the pride and joy of our city,¡± she spoke.

    ¡°That explains the stairs,¡± Harper muttered, rotating his suffering ankles carefully.

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­heard it brings peace to people who hear it ring. Is that right?¡± Octavia asked.

    Sonata blinked. ¡°Who told you that?¡±

    Octavia winced. Pulling words from Drey¡¯s lips so soon was, more than likely, not her greatest plan. ¡°I-I just heard it in passing when we got our passports.¡±

    The acolyte paused for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re correct. Its song is a charm against pain and suffering. Those of Velrose are safe under its care.¡±

    ¡°Something¡­only you can do,¡± Viola began, her breaths still somewhat labored. ¡°Is this it?¡±

    Sonata¡¯s smile returned, laced with yet more pride. ¡°Very good. It¡¯s true that I am an acolyte, but I am also the bell-ringer of the Velrose Church. Thrice daily, I play its song.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, whoa, wait, this bell?¡± Harper asked incredulously, gesturing to the bell in question with equal astonishment. ¡°This giant thing? You can actually ring this yourself? Like, without help?¡±

    The acolyte nodded, beaming ever brighter. ¡°It¡¯s not easy, I assure you. It took years upon years of practice to fully perfect.¡±

    When their disbelieving silence lasted for much too long, Sonata tossed one glance towards the sun. ¡°Would you like to see? It¡¯s a little early for the next toll, but I¡¯m sure no one would mind.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes were perhaps all that could sparkle brighter than the bronze beneath the sunshine. ¡°Please please please please please!¡±

    Sonata was practically aglow. With slight effort, she adjusted the draping sleeves of her abundant robes. ¡°I advise you all to cover your ears. It can be quite loud at such a close distance.¡±

    She did as she was told, albeit slowly and with hesitation. Those around her followed suit. With one less active sense--mostly, for what still bled through as Sonata¡¯s footsteps echoed against the limestone below--her eyes trailed the acolyte¡¯s every movement. The tolling rope was equally grand, splendidly golden and spectacularly woven. The selfish bronze spared at least a crumb of sunlight, and the shimmer upon the material was well worth it.

    It was there that Sonata¡¯s unhesitant touch came to rest, slender fingers curling deftly around the length of the rope. The acolyte braced against the ground, somewhere between overextended and not. It was a highly specific position, and yet she¡¯d adopted it with such near-instant ease. Even before she gave so much as one tug, Octavia was already incredibly impressed.

    ¡°Ready?¡± she called, her words of warning slipping through Octavia¡¯s guarding fingers.

    She nodded. Still, it was almost a reflex to claim several steps in reverse. She didn¡¯t quite flatten herself against the railing, but still felt more than justified in adopting a bit of distance.

    The acolyte ascended. The moment gravity reclaimed her, Drey¡¯s prior words clicked into place instantly.

    Sonata¡¯s graceful demeanor was utterly unthreatened by the physical labor that came with such a feat. In truth, it was augmented ever further. She kicked hard off the floor of the bell tower with such force that she practically flew, anchored to the tolling rope alone and rising like the angel she was. With what was necessary to earn her title as bell-ringer, the true effort of every toll left her suspended for several moments. Each and every time, she descended with elegance, a being of Heaven returning to the world below with so little exertion to show for it.

    Even like this, she was beautiful. She was the second-most beautiful thing to be found atop the bell tower at that moment. The acolyte absolutely was not lying about the volume. Octavia, in no way, shape, or form, cared.

    The bong that followed rippled through her blood and resonated through every inch of her soul. She couldn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t try. It came in waves, pure in every way as her heart vibrated in tandem with the tower itself. Every breath she could steal from the wobbling air was fleeting, and she was lucky she could breathe at all.

    In no way was the sensation terrifying. It was unlike anything she¡¯d ever experienced, her whole being made of crystal that sang beautifully beneath every toll. Somewhere between complete calm and unbelievable astonishment, Octavia was more or less robbed of her thoughts. It was wonderful.

    Sonata repeated the same cycle twelve times over, by which she was an angel in flight and yet again descending at the mercy of one guiding rope. When the bell came to a standstill at last, Octavia hardly registered its tapering song. She was more than tethered to where she stood, possibly forever. Untangling herself from the glistening rope, the acolyte was hardly breathless. Really, she was hardly plagued by exertion at all, content simply to smile as her feet finally kissed the floor of the tower.

    That same smile was almost prideful once more, given the stunned silence that had besieged all four Maestros simultaneously. It was only the residual echo of the tolling that sliced through the stillness, showering the city below with much the same blessing. Viola, to her credit, did her best. It took a significant amount of attempts to clear her throat, regardless.

    ¡°T-That was¡­you¡¯re¡­excellent. At what you do, I mean,¡± she stammered, her voice cracking slightly.

    Harper nodded in agreement. ¡°Really impressive stuff. I mean¡­that¡¯s a seriously big bell,¡± he repeated, his voice tinged with the same mild fluster. At the very least, Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one inexplicably disoriented.

    ¡°No one else in the church rings the bell? Why do you have to be the one to do it?¡± Octavia asked at last, battling to steady her words.

    Something in Sonata¡¯s smile shifted. Octavia couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what. ¡°That¡¯s an excellent question. In that case, here¡¯s a little riddle for you to answer.¡±

    ¡°I love riddles!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, her voice utterly unhindered. It shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise.

    The acolyte clasped her hands comfortably behind her back. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m the only bell-ringer in the Velrose Church? Take your time and think hard.¡±

    Octavia blinked. She thought it was a joke.

    ¡°How many guesses do we get?¡± Madrigal asked. At least one of them was taking it well--not that the person in question would¡¯ve had it any other way.

    Sonata beamed. ¡°As many as you¡¯d like. I¡¯m in no hurry.¡±

    ¡°Is it...because you¡¯re the oldest?¡± Harper offered. ¡°Like, relative to the other acolytes?¡±

    ¡°There are no other acolytes,¡± Viola whispered.

    Harper winced. ¡°Forgot that part.¡±

    ¡°Is it because you¡¯re the¡­heir, did you say?¡± Viola tried. ¡°To the Ivory family, right?¡±

    Sonata tipped one hand back and forth playfully. ¡°Somewhat. You¡¯re on the right track, though.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s physical!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, throwing her arms skyward. ¡°You¡¯re the strongest person in the whole church, right?¡±

    Sonata laughed. ¡°I wish. I assure you, it¡¯s no major feat.¡±

    ¡°In our defense, it¡¯s a big bell,¡± Harper argued. ¡°Like¡­really big.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t so much that Octavia was uninterested in the acolyte¡¯s sudden puzzle--which, frankly, she seemed to be enjoying a bit too much. The bell was simply just that captivating, and all the more so for the way it had left her vibrating from the inside out. She only hesitated for a fraction of a second before grazing the bronze with her fingertips, wonderfully warm as it was. It didn¡¯t burn in the slightest. The smooth texture was a wonderful plus, and she savored it as she trailed her touch downwards endlessly. Up close, it was strikingly clear, splendidly reflective and still more than capable of annihilating her sight should she step out of place.

    She stole the shade it offered, somewhat silly as it made her feel. It took effort to crawl beneath the rim of the bell and claim the darkness within, the light of the world beyond still spilling around her ankles. The shift in temperature was surreal, cool air settling upon her skin as she stood tall.

    If she were to shout in its bronze embrace, sheltered from all that was beyond, she wondered if the echo would instead steal her hearing. Once more, she repeated the same ministrations, running her fingers along the length of metal now cold to the touch. She felt secure. From the outside, she might¡¯ve looked ridiculous.

    When Octavia was silent, Viola¡¯s eyes drifted to the only other item of interest atop the bell tower. The boots visible beneath the base of the bell left her raising an eyebrow. She looked ridiculous.

    Harper and Madrigal were more or less onto nothing. Viola blocked them out to the best of her ability, pushing aside the mild irritation that came with the acolyte¡¯s delight at their befuddlement. She started at the top and trailed her way downwards, in that case.

    It was a city fond of Maestros, apparently, if not simply aware of such to begin with. The revelation was instantly trailed by insistence as to an audience with the acolyte, unexplained as the recommendation was. The acolyte in question had acknowledged them as Maestros less times than she could count on one hand. The acolyte in question was starting to drive her insane, for how Viola could hear the rising satisfaction in Sonata¡¯s voice with every distant incorrect answer.

    She sighed heavily, opting to actually count on much the same hand physically. Sonata was revered. Her role was ¡°ceremonial¡±. The city¡¯s religion was still anyone¡¯s guess, although Octavia had done quite a splendid job at framing it as mildly intimidating.

    Sonata had been intimidating, granted, right up until exactly five minutes ago. If Viola didn¡¯t know any better, she¡¯d genuinely believe the acolyte was enjoying herself more than Madrigal. The thought alone had her convinced the bell was still messing with her head.

    Octavia was immune to Sonata¡¯s muted glee, although she could definitely hear the soft laughter beyond the bell. She still claimed sanctuary within its metal walls, her footsteps echoing gently with each experimental movement. For the acolyte¡¯s sake, she at least attempted to play along.

    It was, more than likely, an absolutely horrible idea to rest her full body weight against one curved wall of bronze. If she were to send it ringing, she¡¯d probably deserve the banishment from Velrose she¡¯d surely earn. It hardly mattered, given that it didn¡¯t move one inch whatsoever. She tried at least once more, albeit far more carefully--not that it would¡¯ve helped. She was met with the same resistance. Sonata was infinitely more lithe than her, if not exceedingly delicate on sight. How the girl didn¡¯t break every bone in her body three times daily was beyond Octavia.

    She was teasing. Viola could¡¯ve sworn the acolyte was outright teasing. If she were in either Harper or Madrigal¡¯s shoes, she probably would¡¯ve lost it by now.

    Viola fought onwards to run through her mental checklist, eyes shut and still struggling to block out the sounds of unnecessary enjoyment. Sonata¡¯s physical ability was nothing short of miraculous. She could perform a task that ¡°no one else could¡±, apparently. ¡°No one¡± was ambiguous. She hardly considered herself strong, ringing a bell dozens of times her size with hardly any effort. Never once, in any church Viola had set foot in, had she seen a bell even half the size of Velrose¡¯s precious own rung by those without incredible strength. In the face of this bell, supposedly, strength was irrelevant.

    Viola paused, slowing her thoughts to a halt. She mentally retraced that one once more.

    ¡°Sonata,¡± she tested aloud, ¡°can you¡­do this with any other bells, or only this one?¡±

    Sonata continued to smile, her playful expression still painfully such. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried any other, but I doubt I could do the same anywhere else.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s fingertips were going slightly numb beneath the eternal sting of the cold metal, for how long she continued to physically explore every inch of the bell from within. At the very least, she didn¡¯t need to fear risking her eyesight in the artificial darkness. When she met with tactile resistance on the far side of the bronze, it was almost startling. Where once had been smooth, uninterrupted curvature came the slightest indent under her touch, dipping slightly as she traced the indiscernible outline.

    She had to squint, tilting her head. For all its shade-plagued twists and curves, she first thought it to be the rosy crest pressed so neatly into her passport. Still, up close, her pupils could steal the sunshine from below. It was enough to confirm her one other suspicion. She froze.

    And so, too, did Viola¡¯s eyes go wide in tandem with Octavia¡¯s own.

    ¡°Viola!¡± Octavia called, her voice echoing violently from every inch of bronze encircling her. She winced immediately, struggling to poke her head out from beneath the rim instead. She nearly injured herself in the process, given how quickly she moved.

    ¡°Viola, it¡¯s¡­she¡¯s a--¡±

    ¡°A Maestra,¡± Viola spoke softly. ¡°You¡¯re a Maestra.¡±

    Where she¡¯d teased and tormented so gently, the gentle dusting of pure satisfaction that settled onto the acolyte¡¯s face was far from explosive. It hardly mattered, for how she was radiating delight.

    Sonata beamed. ¡°Correct.¡±

 17. Reunion

    They took it well enough.

    ¡°A Maestra?¡± Harper and Madrigal exclaimed, more or less simultaneously.

    Viola nodded. ¡°It explains everything. The whole city knows about Maestros--and they respect them, apparently. Plus, as soon as everyone knew we were Maestros, they wanted us to meet with her.¡±

    ¡°And,¡± Octavia added, squirming her way out from beneath the bell, ¡°the actual bell is a Harmonial Instrument. That¡¯s why she¡¯s the only one who can play it, even though it¡¯s so big.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s the only acolyte, too,¡± Viola continued, pinning her gaze to the girl in question. ¡°I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s why it¡¯s just a title. There can¡¯t be more than one acolyte because there can¡¯t be more than one Maestra.¡±

    Sonata only smiled, clasping her hands behind her back comfortably. ¡°Well done, all of you. I knew you¡¯d figure it out.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a Harmonial Instrument? That thing? Seriously? It¡¯s huge!¡± Harper cried.

    Viola shrugged. ¡°An instrument is an instrument, I guess.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how big it is,¡± Madrigal said, beaming regardless. ¡°It¡¯s still really pretty!¡±

    ¡°Why not just¡­tell of all of this yourself?¡± Harper asked, his eyes flickering to the acolyte.

    Sonata paused briefly before offering the same smile once more. ¡°Truthfully, this was more fun.¡±

    He rolled his eyes, subtle as the motion was.

    If the acolyte noticed, she didn¡¯t acknowledge it. ¡°Consider it a test of sorts, then.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°A test of what?¡±

    Sonata dodged her question entirely. Instead, the acolyte gestured towards the glimmering bell with one hand. ¡°Now that you know the truth, I¡¯d like to introduce all of you to Valkyrie¡¯s Call.¡±

    Again did Octavia¡¯s eyes settle upon the resplendent bronze, still just as captivating beneath the sun¡¯s abundance as it had been at first sight. ¡°That¡¯s the name of your Harmonial Instrument?¡± Octavia asked.

    She nodded. ¡°Valkyrie¡¯s Call is much more than just my partner. It is the guardian of this little city.¡±

    ¡°Guardian?¡± Viola repeated.

    Sonata¡¯s smile never faded, proud as it was. ¡°A guardian who has watched over Velrose since its birth. We praise its blessing and protection with love in our hearts.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, wait a minute,¡± Harper interrupted. ¡°You guys¡­worship the bell. Am I hearing that right?¡±

    Octavia blinked. Drey¡¯s quip regarding the city¡¯s odd religious practices clicked at the strangest time. She did her best not to be judgmental. Still, given the apparent deity in question, it was incredibly difficult.

    ¡°How old¡­is Velrose, exactly?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Hundreds of years. The city was founded to shelter Valkyrie¡¯s Call. In return, we are blessed with its protection.¡±

    Beneath the weight of Viola¡¯s blank stare, she continued. ¡°Its song is not just for show. Rather, it keeps us safe from the darkness that would otherwise plague this city.¡±

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°Dissonance?¡± she tried.

    Sonata nodded. ¡°Yes. The Blessed City is free from its curse by the thrice-daily song that it sings. Never will Dissonance hurt our people. At least, that¡¯s how it¡­should be.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°Should be? What do you mean?¡±

    The acolyte was quiet for a moment. The same soft smile snuck its way in between her words. ¡°I have a task for you four that I can entrust only to Maestros. However, you¡¯ve traveled a long way, and I¡¯ve no doubt given you much to consider. Rest, for now. The clergy has seen to it that the innkeeper will harbor you for free.¡±

    Harper returned her smile. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you.¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± she spoke softly. ¡°I only ask that you return to me tomorrow morning. There is much to discuss.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Viola interrupted, her sharp urgency more than enough to startle Octavia. ¡°I¡­forgot to ask something.¡±

    Sonata folded her hands in front of her robes. ¡°What would that be?¡±

    Viola side-eyed Octavia. Every word left her mouth slowly and cautiously. ¡°The innkeeper mentioned something I¡¯ve been wondering about. She said a¡­Maestra had passed through here years ago and spoke to you. Who was she?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped several consecutive beats. She feared the answer and welcomed it in equal measure. In truth, she¡¯d forgotten the comment entirely.

    Sonata paused. ¡°I myself have never met with a Maestra in detail. However, as a young girl, I saw one in passing just once as she visited the church. She would¡¯ve met with the previous acolyte, not me.¡±

    ¡°Who was the previous acolyte?¡± Viola pressed.

    Even with her smile still soft and graceful, the tint of sadness plaguing her lips was not lost on Octavia. ¡°My mother. She died from illness several years ago.¡±

    Viola winced. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    ¡°I took her place shortly after, when Valkyrie decided I was ready. Even so, I never saw that Maestra again. I don¡¯t know what she was here for.¡±

    ¡°What did she look like?¡± Octavia murmured, her voice painfully soft.

    Sonata shook her head. ¡°I honestly can¡¯t remember. I was young. I only remember the instrument she carried on her back.¡±

    Viola hesitated for far too long. ¡°What¡­was the instrument?¡±

    ¡°A violin,¡± she answered. ¡°It was lovely.¡±

    Octavia dropped to her knees with such speed that the limestone crashed painfully against her skin. She hardly cared, sending Stradivaria¡¯s case nearly hurtling to the floor of the bell tower with equal fervor. Her hands trembled fiercely with every motion, and she struggled not to drop the violin entirely as she cradled the little instrument in her arms. Her heart threatened to explode. She couldn¡¯t breathe. Even now, she was torn between hesitation to ask and urgency to know. For what the latter would mean, should she be correct, she had to. It would¡¯ve killed her to be silent.

    ¡°Was it this one?¡± she asked, her voice shaking viciously. ¡°Did it look anything like this?¡±

    The silence that befell the air left only the sound of blood rushing through Octavia¡¯s ears, accompanied in tandem by the painful volume of her heart threatening to explode. She wondered if Sonata could hear it, devoid of words as she was. She prayed. She prayed with every last ounce of faith her soul could muster.

    She¡¯d never seen another violin like Stradivaria. She¡¯d never seen another flute like Silver Brevada, nor another harp like Lyra¡¯s Repose. To her, in every way, it was unique. To Sonata, for the sake of everything she loved, it had to be, just the same. It was the only plea she had for the acolyte. It was the only prayer she would offer to Valkyrie¡¯s Call.

    ¡°That looks like the one.¡±

    They were words of perhaps little weight to Sonata, calm and unhurried as they were. The tears that erupted and spilled down Octavia¡¯s cheeks in earnest spoke to something else entirely. Not once in her life had her heart felt so light, and the revelation nearly made her dizzy. The fingers so desperately clutching the violin trembled for a different reason altogether.

    ¡°That was her,¡± she breathed, her voice cracking almost instantly.

    ¡°Your sister,¡± Madrigal offered with a soft smile.

    Viola¡¯s hand settling peacefully onto her shoulder was the second warmth she found, her knowing smile leaving Octavia absolutely aglow. Whether Priscilla was alive, in that moment, was irrelevant. She had something. It was tangible. Her trail had led to the Blessed City, and her shadow was visible. It was a miracle that Octavia etched into each facet of her soul. She didn¡¯t bother to stem her joyous tears, for how she¡¯d earned them in every way.

    ¡°We¡¯re looking for her sister. She¡¯s a Maestra who went missing a few years ago,¡± Harper clarified for the acolyte. ¡°We haven¡¯t found anything up until now, but it sounds like she might¡¯ve come through here. I know you said the last acolyte passed away, but is there anyone else who might¡¯ve talked to her? Does anyone know where she was headed, or¡­anything about what she was doing?¡±

    Sonata tilted her head. ¡°I¡¯m¡­honestly unsure. Much of the clergy since then has changed over the years. The previous acolyte was very secretive, as well. Her meeting with the Maestra was in private, behind closed doors. I knew nothing of it.¡±

    ¡°Priscilla,¡± Octavia sobbed with a smile. ¡°Her name was Priscilla.¡±

    ¡°Priscilla, then,¡± Sonata corrected softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t do more to answer your questions. However, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if someone in the city knows of her. Please feel free to explore and gather whatever information you need.¡±

    Viola took Octavia¡¯s trembling hands, guiding the violin back into its home alongside the Maestra. ¡°We¡¯ll meet with you tomorrow morning, you said?¡±

    Sonata nodded. ¡°Please. At that time, I¡¯ll tell you more. It¡¯s a favor I can only ask of another Maestro--Maestros and Maestras, in this case. I¡¯m grateful for your assistance in advance.¡±

    Octavia smeared her tears against her palms as best as she could. Still, each wave of relief that crashed against her soul was welcome every time. Priscilla was here. Priscilla had been here. Perhaps Priscilla had stood in the shadow of the bell tower specifically, the echoes of her love still drifting in the open air where Octavia could taste them now. The thought would warm her blood forever, for where the sunshine would falter spectacularly by comparison. It wasn¡¯t that she was ignoring Sonata, nor the request the acolyte had given them overall. This was simply too pressing. This was simply all she¡¯d ever asked for.

    She couldn¡¯t fight the smile that seeped through her tears. She had kindness to thank, a heroine to thank, snowflakes that had blessed her bedsheets to thank in excess. Her safety was one piece of the puzzle, and yet their simple companionship had carried her further than she could ever have walked alone. She offered what gratitude she could with her hazy eyes, her heart utterly overflowing with satisfaction.

    Above all else, it was perhaps Stradivaria she thanked the most.

    <hr>

    Every step she took through the city was disorienting, given that she was more or less walking on air. Her heart was somewhere high above, tangled in clouds she could hardly see beyond the glare of the bell beaming down below. She¡¯d more or less floated down the foreboding staircase, by which the strenuous descent was--thankfully--lost on her. It was a beautiful sensation that was equal parts dangerous, and she was lucky to have companionship solely for safety. She¡¯d already run into three separate strangers and at least one wall. She couldn¡¯t help it, and every conscious thought drifted well out of reach into the skies overhead.

    ¡°Do we actually feel like exploring at this point?¡± Harper asked. ¡°I know going down the stairs was easier than going up, but I¡¯m still not sure how much more walking I¡¯m up to today.¡±

    Viola shuddered. Stairs were stairs. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly blame her. ¡°We¡¯ve made more progress today alone than anything we¡¯ve tried to follow so far. I feel like there¡¯s a lot to this city that we still don¡¯t understand, but we¡¯re on the right track. That¡¯s what counts. I think this is as good a place as ever to call it a day.¡±

    ¡°I¡­kinda wanna keep looking around more. Just a little bit,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°Do you want us to come with you?¡± Harper offered.

    She shook her head with a smile. ¡°You guys go relax. I want a bit of time for myself, if you know what I mean. I was hoping to clear my head a bit.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Gotcha. Octavia time. I get it.¡±

    ¡°See you for dinner!¡± Madrigal exclaimed with a wave, opting to take every step in reverse. Octavia feared she¡¯d trip. To be fair, she¡¯d done it before without issue.

    She lost the other two soon after, Viola gently tapping her shoulder twice over. Octavia did what she could to graze the Maestra¡¯s passing eyes with gratitude, wordless as the gesture was. The smile she earned spoke to her silent thanks, and she smiled back twice as brightly.

    She drank in the city for a moment, still and silent as the summer sunlight spilled down upon her in excess. There was a warmth that came with acceptance, for how the tension she¡¯d felt on arrival had evaporated at last. It took effort not to dwell excessively on the obscene amount of information she¡¯d been forced to swallow throughout the day. Truthfully, she feared her head would be too abuzz to let her sleep tonight. Sonata¡¯s request would perhaps be compromised by her inability to acquire solid rest the night before. She owed the acolyte her full efforts, at least.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted high above to the bell tower several times over as she walked, her ears straining in half-hearted anticipation of the tolling she¡¯d been told would come. To be fair, Sonata¡¯s last blessing had been recent enough--not that she could forget it, given the memorable sensation of her blood rippling and her soul resonating. She looked forward to it, regardless. Her steps brought her towards the church largely on instinct, the gentle slope tugging at her muscles somewhat.

    It still baffled her that a city so splendidly gorgeous was vehemently isolated, tucked away from prying eyes on the far edges of Mezzoria. Granted, she¡¯d heeded Viola¡¯s warnings long ago. With a Harmonial Instrument as its crown jewel and a Maestra at its core, the Blessed City was perhaps not safe for an ignorant society at all. There were passports out there, regardless--they themselves were proof of that, after all. People had surely come, more than likely just as ignorant. It wasn¡¯t exactly a tourist destination. For the love they offered to Maestros, those who called Velrose home seemed more than united in shunning strangers by comparison.

    Her roaming eyes now caught only soft smiles and happiness on every face. It was a beautiful relief, if not somewhat flattering. Some part of her felt bad to have ever left them feeling threatened in the first place, verbal hostilities at the gate be damned.

    Even so, Octavia found discomfort painted upon at least a few. The sight grew in number, somewhat, as she drew nearer to the church overall. Every step unveiled something slightly more strict than simple apprehension, if the hint of venom in their eyes was anything to go by. They were obligated to host anyone, if memory served. Knowing what she now knew, she didn¡¯t necessarily fault them for their disdain. Whether or not she would¡¯ve offered the same, in their shoes, was irrelevant. She tried to follow their eyes, as difficult as the task was. Whoever had earned their ire hopefully expected such, ideally well-traveled and short to stay as they were. Her cold welcome was still unpleasant to recall.

    Octavia strained far too hard to follow their gazes. Her eyes left the path forward, and her safety followed suit. It was now the fourth stranger she¡¯d physically run into in the past hour. This collision was a bit more firm by comparison, and she yelped in surprise. Her fault. She winced fiercely.

    She didn¡¯t get the chance to apologize. It had taken a grand total of five sudden impacts, born of distractions, to send her stumbling in reverse. At last, she lost her balance, crashing to the ground with a force that left her back aching. She groaned, Stradivaria¡¯s case jutting sharply into her shoulder blades and threatening her with bruises. She raised her head towards the blinding sun, shaded somewhat by the newfound shade blessing her in excess. It accompanied a hand, steady and peacefully offered before her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, miss,¡± a soft voice came with it. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    It took effort to capture his face, given the interloping glare of the sun from below. He was unfamiliar, his gaze worried and his clothes as plain as they were well-ironed. She indulged in his assistance, taking his hand.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m alright,¡± she stammered.

    With another mild cry of surprise, she was swiftly pulled to her feet. Again, she staggered beneath the sudden motion. He never loosened his grip, and she was grateful for the way by which he steadied her in turn. She half-heartedly dusted the stray flecks of stone from her dress, mildly embarrassed.

    ¡°My apologies,¡± the man offered, his voice still just as gentle. ¡°I stopped in the middle of a busy crowd. I should¡¯ve been more aware of my surroundings.¡±

    Octavia waved her hands frantically. ¡°No, no, it¡¯s okay, really! I wasn¡¯t paying attention.¡±

    Her words were ignored in favor of a smile. ¡°My name is Samuel. You have my apologies,¡± he repeated.

    He wasted no time on introductions. Given exactly how she¡¯d managed to introduce herself, she figured she owed him the same--properly. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia,¡± she answered back.

    His eyes widened slightly, to her surprise. ¡°Octavia? Have you by chance visited the Coda Auction House recently?¡±

    Octavia blinked. She¡¯d never seen his face in her life. ¡°Have we¡­met somewhere, sir?¡±

    The man chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°No, I promise we haven¡¯t met before. However, I believe I may have heard about you from my business partner. You¡¯re definitely Octavia, correct?¡±

    She raised an eyebrow warily. ¡°I¡¯m¡­definitely Octavia, yes. Business partner?¡±

    She never got her answer. Instead, the man turned, raising one hand well above her head with a wave to no one. ¡°Alessandro!¡± he called.

    His shout was enough to draw the vehement glares of those around her, if his presence alone hadn¡¯t been enough to do so already. Still, Octavia was more so unnerved by the familiarity of the name alone than the palpable hostility in the air. She couldn¡¯t place it. It didn¡¯t take long to learn with her eyes and ears, instead.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± she heard from afar, deep and rich by comparison.

    His suit was still every bit as crisp, and he was still every bit as charismatic. He looked elated, frankly, and his quickened pace towards her spoke to the same. His smile was radiant as he threw his arms wide in satisfaction. ¡°What a pleasure to see you once more!¡± he called.

    Her eyes lit up, and her own subsequent smile exploded. ¡°Drey!¡±

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve met my dear friend,¡± he spoke to the man with a grin of his own. ¡°She was a splendid help at the auction, have I mentioned?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve mentioned. I vaguely recognized the name, but I still wasn¡¯t certain I had the correct person. I thought I¡¯d let you be the judge.¡±

    ¡°And a fine judge you chose,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Her face is a hard one to forget.¡±

    Octavia blushed. It was still far too much praise for one well-worn piano.

    ¡°It¡¯s great to see you again, too, Drey,¡± she replied, offering her hand to him casually.

    Stop!

    She¡¯d heard that voice exactly once.

    It was sharp, masculine, and dreadfully unfamiliar as it sliced through her thoughts. She could¡¯ve sworn it was louder than had been the case at the auction, and it was more than enough to leave her physically recoiling. Her fingers curled inwards on instinct, her nails digging fiercely into her palm. The pounding of her heart was impossible to ignore, as was the echo of the word that plagued her long after silence had reclaimed her head. Again and again, she chided herself. There was nothing, just as before. There was nothing. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    It took a deep breath to force her fingers to uncurl, thrusting her hand in Drey¡¯s direction with a bit too much effort. She prayed her distress wasn¡¯t visible, given the way she could feel the physical strain splattered on her face. If Drey¡¯s puzzled expression was anything to go by, her discomfort was definitely noticeable. She kicked herself.

    If Drey had cause for concern, he forewent it in favor of a firm grip as he shook her offered hand vigorously. ¡°A pleasure, as always. If you would not mind my asking, for what purpose have I found you within the walls of the Blessed City?¡±

    She gulped. There was no simple answer, and she scrambled for a passable excuse. ¡°Sight¡­seeing?¡± she tried.

    Drey was quiet. Even Samuel eyed her strangely. She flushed.

    ¡°I-I mean, I didn¡¯t want to waste those passports you got for my friends and I. Thank you for those, by the way!¡± she stammered. She much preferred Viola lying on her behalf.

    Drey was content enough with her flimsy answer, at least. ¡°You need not thank me! The splendor you would find within the city is surely priceless, and well worth the effort. I presume your friends are somewhere in the city as well?¡±

    If he already knew, he already knew. She nodded. ¡°Resting.¡±

    ¡°Resting,¡± he repeated. ¡°It was no doubt a long and tiresome journey you¡¯ve all made to be here. Tell me, how have you enjoyed the city thus far?¡±

    ¡°Big,¡± she answered quickly. ¡°Still not as busy as Coda.¡±

    ¡°Very true,¡± he mused. ¡°What of the citizens? Have they treated you well?¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°They¡¯ve been kind to us.¡±

    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be,¡± Samuel interrupted. She¡¯d almost forgotten he was there at all.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked.

    He raised one hand to his mouth thoughtfully. ¡°With all due respect, I¡¯ve never seen them show hospitality beyond the required minimum by international law. I hope this doesn¡¯t come off as rude, but they¡¯ve little reason to show kindness. How did you do it?¡±

    She froze, her blood following suit in her veins. She¡¯d completely and totally forgotten. It was the worst possible mistake she could¡¯ve made aloud.

    ¡°Perhaps you have come ever closer to solving the mystery of the city,¡± Drey interrupted, his gaze shining as it fell to her. ¡°A charismatic face never fails to satisfy even the coldest heart.¡±

    She breathed an inward sigh of relief. For once, his oddly-poetic nature was scathingly convenient.

    Samuel wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°But Alessandro--¡±

    ¡°Ah, but where are my manners?¡± Drey interrupted once more. ¡°Octavia, I would like to formally introduce you to Samuel. He is my trusted business partner and right-hand man, a skilled and highly-educated historian. He is a true asset to our work at SIAR.¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°Isn¡¯t Portia your right-hand man? Or, uh¡­woman? Where is she?¡±

    He chuckled again. ¡°She has returned to Solenford already. She is a fickle one, for sure. If Samuel is my right-hand man, then Portia is more of my¡­left-hand woman, I suppose one would say.¡±

    ¡°Alessandro and I have been partners for ages, even back when I first graduated from the Solenford College of Archaeological Studies some twenty-odd years ago. SIAR has been a joint effort between us. Of course, I defer to him for business work.¡±

    ¡°A businessman you are not,¡± Drey teased with a grin. ¡°But a scholar? One of the best.¡±

    Samuel more or less read Octavia¡¯s mind, given the question he¡¯d plucked straight from her thoughts. ¡°We¡¯re no strangers to the Blessed City. Myself, I¡¯ve come no less than twelve separate times. Alessandro and I are here to make an exchange. A contact here has agreed to sell to us several cultural artifacts, priceless in nature from the city of Velrose.¡±

    ¡°Priceless is a strong word,¡± Drey mused, ¡°and not entirely accurate. However, one could say there is no price too high for preserving the works of yesterday.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a bit of an...eccentric man,¡± Samuel whispered to her alone. ¡°You¡¯ll grow accustomed to him, if you haven¡¯t already. It can be a struggle for me to keep him in reality.¡±

    Octavia giggled. Samuel seemed kind enough.

    ¡°The tools of battle are a fine addition to our collection!¡± Drey exclaimed, somewhat louder than was necessary. ¡°They shall shine splendidly amongst their brethren in SIAR¡¯s vast armory.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re buying weapons?¡± Octavia asked. She couldn¡¯t quite associate Velrose with violence in any capacity.

    ¡°Polearms, at least today,¡± Samuel clarified. ¡°Spears and the like. Relics from centuries ago, although we¡¯ve yet to completely understand the history of this city. We can only hope their condition is suitable.¡±

    ¡°You should see it, Octavia!¡± Drey continued, his eyes sparkling and his gestures grand. ¡°The armory of SIAR is second to none. Armaments of war and defense hailing from the world over lay restored and enshrined upon our shelves. Perhaps they will find refuge in a museum, or perhaps they will call our humble institute home for all time. Our doors are always open to you, should you ever consider the voyage.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s startlingly proficient with them,¡± Samuel muttered. ¡°If you would believe it, he¡¯s managed to pick up the trade of combat somewhere along the way.¡±

    Octavia blinked. She couldn¡¯t imagine him as a fighter of any kind. Still, Drey was an excessive man, for lack of better words. It wouldn¡¯t surprise her if he dabbled in the unnecessary more than was warranted. She couldn¡¯t say she wasn¡¯t curious.

    ¡°Octavia, my friend, would you perhaps like to accompany us to our exchange? The three of us would be pleased to have you come along.¡±

    She shook her head with a smile. ¡°I appreciate it, really, but I¡¯m honestly pretty tired from the trip. I was gonna go get some rest myself, honestly.¡±

    Samuel and Drey nodded with understanding, the latter deflating somewhat. He still clung to most of his enthusiasm, granted.

    ¡°Wait, did you say three of you?¡± she added suddenly.

    Drey glanced over his shoulder, his eyes trailing along passersby. ¡°I believe she was just here a moment ago. Have we lost her?¡±

    ¡°There, Alessandro,¡± Samuel offered, pointing sharply beyond Octavia¡¯s view. ¡°She may have gotten separated.¡±

    ¡°Cadence, my friend!¡± Drey called, raising one arm high with a fervent wave. ¡°Come, come!¡±

    She¡¯d forgotten the name. She¡¯d nearly forgotten the girl¡¯s existence entirely, frankly. Her heart skipped enough consecutive beats to warrant mild concern.

    The girl¡¯s approach was far from hurried, the stiff grays of her attire enough for Octavia¡¯s eyes to track her every step. Physically, she¡¯d hardly changed since the auction. She was devoid of the crackling lightning that had once tickled her lips and speckled the ground, and Octavia was eternally blessed for that much. In other ways, she was different at Drey¡¯s side. Her brow was unfurrowed, her eyes untainted by the anxiety once living behind her pupils. No longer did her gaze scrape her shoes, nor did she flinch in the wake of his energy. She was content and calm. It was new. It didn¡¯t last.

    Where she found no lightning born of the girl¡¯s skillful breaths, she found enough of it in a harsh gaze instead. Cadence¡¯s glare sought to strike her down, shocking her with such fervor that chills jolted painfully down Octavia¡¯s spine. Even with her attention returning to Drey alone, Octavia could still feel the weight of loathing eyes spearing into her back again and again.

    Drey was more than immune to the moment, beaming regardless. ¡°Cadence has been a fine intern thus far, and a welcome addition to our ranks. Today marks her first true excursion to a trade--and in the Blessed City, no less!¡±

    ¡°A trade we¡¯ll be missing out on shortly if we don¡¯t go soon,¡± Samuel scolded lightly. ¡°Bring your head down from the clouds, Alessandro.¡±

    Drey chuckled. ¡°Alright, alright. I suppose this is where we take our leave. Octavia, will we perhaps cross paths again during your stay?¡±

    She shrugged with a smile. ¡°Who knows?¡±

    He returned the same smile, his eyes soft and endearing in a way that warmed her heart. ¡°May we meet again! It was a pleasure, my friend.¡±

    Samuel had already begun leaving him behind, gesturing to the businessman in exasperation. ¡°Today, Alessandro!¡±

    ¡°Right, right!¡± he answered, his pursuit hurried. By comparison, Cadence¡¯s was not, lagging as she trailed in his footsteps.

    ¡°Cadence.¡±

    When she continued walking, Octavia didn¡¯t back down. ¡°Cadence,¡± she called again, somewhere between firm and just quiet enough for privacy.

    The Maestra slowed to a halt, never once turning around. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me.¡±

    ¡°Does he know?¡± Octavia asked bluntly.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t,¡± she spat. ¡°And he never will. Don¡¯t ever speak to me again.¡±

    The Maestra¡¯s stride resumed in full, somewhat faster in the wake of Octavia¡¯s simple pressing. Still, it was enough to satisfy Octavia overall. As she slipped into the obscurity of the crowds, Cadence took with her the only secret that mattered. It was the one truth Octavia couldn¡¯t afford to unravel in the Blessed City.

    Only now was the fatigue actually settling in. The uphill climb towards the church wasn¡¯t exactly strenuous. Regardless, she¡¯d scaled the stairs to the bell tower and back again already today. Her muscles were starting to burn slightly, and the idea of rest was at last welcome. Retreating didn¡¯t sound awful, although exploring Velrose further would¡¯ve been preferable. She had an abundance of time, she supposed. She adjusted Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders, the violin within jostling with the tiniest thud against the lining.

    The voice still bothered her immensely.

    Octavia at least tried to pay attention to her steps this time, lest she beat her record and run into five strangers in total today. She still leaned on her theory of Stradivaria reaching out, mostly. Something about the idea of it intruding on her thoughts at all was simultaneously comforting and not. In truth, this wasn¡¯t how she thought she¡¯d make the connection in the first place. If she were to ask aloud, let alone directly, she wondered if she¡¯d get an answer in return. She strongly doubted it, and that left her all the more frustrated. She sighed heavily.

    Don¡¯t. Stop. She¡¯d only been chastised, curt as the words were. She wasn¡¯t particularly sure what she¡¯d done wrong in the first place.

    It could¡¯ve been shaking hands. It could¡¯ve been touching. It could¡¯ve been Drey¡¯s touch, specifically, for how his hand had reached for hers twice over.

    She paused briefly. The latter option made her raise an eyebrow, even in passing.

    The walk to the inn was shorter than the walk to the church, although she had half a mind to wonder if her semi-racing thoughts were of any meaningful contribution. She didn¡¯t find the innkeeper outside, although it hardly mattered. If Sonata¡¯s words were anything to go by, she had her safe harbor without issue. She wouldn¡¯t need to ask. She wouldn¡¯t have had the capacity to ask anything, given the way a different visage entirely violently derailed every line of thought she¡¯d attempted to pursue.

    She knew the hat. She knew the curls. She knew the boy comfortably perched beside the door of the inn. She wished she could forget the grin, frankly--permanent, devilish, and dripping with something far more mischievous than she was ever willing to deal with. His eyes spoke to the same, and the moment they met hers, she could practically feel the irritation bubbling in her blood.

    He tipped that insufferable hat dramatically. ¡°Fancy seeing you again, braids.¡±

    Viola was going to scream.

 18. The Blossom and the Flame

    Viola did, in fact, scream.

    Granted, her face had been buried deep in her hands at the time. Still, one brief instance of shock had so quickly been replaced with abject rage that it genuinely made Octavia flinch.

    ¡°Why are you here? Why is he here?¡± she cried repeatedly, tangling her fingers into her hair.

    Madrigal had the exact opposite reaction. In place of her usual bravado, she waved shyly at the boy, giggling in utter infatuation. When he offered a playful wink in return, she swooned, averting her gaze with an ear-to-ear smile. The auction was not to be forgotten, apparently.

    Harper, in notable contrast to every party, was oblivious. ¡°Uh, who is this?¡±

    ¡°This,¡± Octavia began, hands outstretched in the boy¡¯s direction, ¡°is Renato.¡±

    ¡°At your service,¡± he offered teasingly, tipping his hat yet again towards Harper.

    Harper blinked. With his expression devoid of anything but confusion, he slowly tipped his own cap in return.

    ¡°You¡¯re following us!¡± Viola growled, her glare sharp enough to kill. ¡°You¡¯re actually following us!¡±

    ¡°Just a little,¡± Renato teased once more. ¡°I follow the fun. You guys are always interesting. Plus, I¡¯d never pass up the opportunity to bask in the presence of such beautiful people.¡±

    Harper cleared his throat. ¡°And men,¡± he interjected disdainfully.

    Renato winked at him. ¡°I know what I said.¡±

    Harper blushed.

    ¡°Though my eyes are really for my Maddie only,¡± he continued, flicking a lazy finger gun in her direction. With two fingers, she traced a heart into the air, her expression positively delighted.

    ¡°How did you even get here? The train from Coda only leaves once a week, and you weren¡¯t on it. Where¡¯d you even get a passport to get through the gate?¡± Octavia asked.

    Renato grinned. ¡°The cargo compartments aren¡¯t too uncomfortable, believe it or not. And some innocent rich guy from the auction house might be one passport shorter. Granted, that second one is his fault for not checking his pockets well enough.¡±

    ¡°You stowed away,¡± Viola spat.

    ¡°You stole a passport,¡± Octavia added.

    ¡°You¡¯re so handsome,¡± Madrigal breathed, her cheeks resting comfortably in her hands.

    ¡°I¡¯m not following any of this,¡± Harper interjected, waving his hands in a plea for peace. ¡°Renato, right? You mentioned him once. Who exactly is this guy to any of you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll explain. Renato, take a seat,¡± Octavia offered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take a seat, actually. Consider leaving instead,¡± Viola growled.

    ¡°Sit, Renato,¡± Octavia ordered, pointing sharply at the nearest chair.

    Renato blinked beneath their conflicting demands--and beneath Octavia¡¯s highly abrasive orders. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Even when stretching and crossing his legs, he was surely still conscious of the way Viola glared daggers into him. He could do nothing else but smirk under her gaze, only perpetuating the vicious scent of bloodlust in the air. Madrigal moving her seat ever closer to Renato¡¯s own was the breaking point for Octavia, the grating squeak of chair legs against the floor slowly driving her insane. She rubbed her temples impatiently.

    ¡°Are we done? Is everyone done?¡± Octavia hissed, more than irritated.

    She was incredibly relieved to earn the silence she¡¯d hoped for, even if it came at the cost of her palpable aggravation. Madrigal failed to read the room, instead nodding fervently as she flashed a bright thumbs-up to the Maestra. Octavia sighed.

    ¡°Harper,¡± Octavia repeated, turning to the Maestro accordingly, ¡°this is Renato. Madrigal, Viola and I met him in the forest outside Minuevera when we were on our way to Coda.¡±

    She paused, well aware of the way Viola¡¯s mouth had parted in the slightest--whether to speak, shout, berate, or some combination of the three, Octavia didn¡¯t want to know. With a look that could kill, she fought to intimidate the girl into biting her tongue. ¡°Don¡¯t say a word,¡± she mouthed silently. ¡°I mean it.¡±

    She skipped the more controversial aspects of their initial encounter, continuing. ¡°We met up again at the auction while you were outside. He left before we found you, and now he¡¯s¡­here, apparently.¡±

    She chanced a look at Renato, who was still in the middle of stretching comfortably. He winked at her once more, and she groaned.

    ¡°Most importantly, he¡¯s a Maestro,¡± she finished.

    ¡°Wait, really?¡± Harper asked, his eyes wide. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a Maestro who wasn¡¯t a¡­well, a Maestra.¡±

    Octavia smirked somewhat. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Maestras?¡± she teased.

    ¡°N-Nothing,¡± Harper sputtered, waving his hands defensively.

    ¡°I¡¯ve still got no idea what that means, but I¡¯m always carrying these little guys,¡± Renato interrupted, withdrawing two halves of cherry oak from the inner confines of his vest. ¡°Supposedly, there¡¯s more than meets the eye here.¡±

    Harper eyed the drumsticks with interest, leaning forward slightly in his seat. ¡°That¡¯s your Harmonial Instrument? Or, uh¡­instruments?¡±

    Renato shrugged, twirling one stick half-heartedly in either hand. ¡°Apparently.¡±

    When Harper offered only a puzzled look to Octavia, she continued. ¡°Somehow, he¡¯s proficient with his instrument despite not having known anything about Maestros before meeting us. I haven¡¯t¡­entirely figured out how.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your instrument¡¯s name?¡± Harper asked Renato.

    Renato¡¯s grin was slowly slipping off his face. He shrugged again.

    Once more, Harper handed Octavia the same confused expression. It was Octavia¡¯s turn to shrug.

    ¡°You still don¡¯t know?¡± Viola pressed, seemingly spared of further ire.

    Renato shook his head. ¡°Hey, man, I still don¡¯t even know what exactly I¡¯m supposed to be learning here. Be nice to a new guy.¡±

    ¡°At the very least, I think we figured out what your¡­affinity, I guess, is,¡± Octavia offered. She wished she¡¯d found a better word for it, at this point. ¡°The strength of sound, apparently.¡±

    Renato¡¯s bright grin fell just barely short of condescending. ¡°Cool! I have no idea what that means.¡±

    Madrigal leaned closer to Renato, her head nearly touching his shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t think the people here would mind having another Maestro around!¡±

    Octavia sighed. She wasn¡¯t necessarily wrong. There was merit in bringing Renato along, loath as she was to admit it. She doubted it would go well with all parties involved. She opened her mouth to ask regardless. As expected, she didn¡¯t get far.

    ¡°No,¡± Viola spat.

    ¡°Viola, she has a point,¡± Octavia answered, well aware of the direction of the conversation to come.

    ¡°He¡¯s not staying with us, he¡¯s not coming with us, and he¡¯s not interacting with us.¡±

    ¡°Five Maestros is better than four Maestros, and we have no idea exactly what Sonata even wants us to do.¡±

    ¡°Four Maestros worked perfectly fine until ten seconds ago.¡±

    ¡°She specifically said it was a task she could only entrust to Maestros. He¡¯s a Maestro, and he could help with whatever it is.¡±

    ¡°We are a very nice and capable group of Maestros already.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s strong. None of us can deny that. He¡¯s got the strength of sound. We¡¯d be more¡­diverse.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got light, ice, wind, and fire. That¡¯s diverse enough.¡±

    Once again, Octavia found herself rubbing her temples. Nearly every time she and Viola had bickered since their travels in tandem had begun, it had been a cherry-flavored argument. This couldn¡¯t keep happening every time he was present.

    ¡°You¡¯re being stubborn.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being stubborn in that you keep insisting on trying to take him with us.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not thinking about this rationally!¡±

    ¡°Neither are you!¡±

    Renato chuckled nervously. ¡°Ladies, please--¡±

    ¡°Renato, shut up,¡± they growled in unison. He quickly obliged.

    ¡°I¡¯m not following any of this,¡± Harper interrupted. ¡°I have a feeling I¡¯m missing some context here, but I honestly agree with Octavia--I think. Sonata didn¡¯t specify exactly what she needed Maestros for, or anything that we should expect. Maybe there¡¯s¡­safety in numbers, especially since she mentioned Dissonance at some point? Should we¡­just take him along for this?¡±

    Viola glared at Harper, brutally chastising him with her eyes alone. He averted his gaze nervously.

    ¡°Viola,¡± Octavia began, ¡°just for this. Once we¡¯re done, we go our separate ways. If you never want to see him again, that¡¯s that.¡±

    ¡°But I want to see him again,¡± Madrigal whined, curling up against Renato¡¯s arm in full.

    ¡°Just for this,¡± Octavia repeated, intentionally ignoring Madrigal.

    Viola¡¯s deliberation was extensive. The way by which her eyes caught Renato several times over was not subtle. The way by which he, in turn, had crossed his arms uncomfortably was also not lost on Octavia. Some part of her truly felt bad for repeatedly subjecting him to Viola¡¯s disdain. He wasn¡¯t necessarily a nuisance. He was, at least, annoying.

    ¡°Just for this,¡± she finally muttered. ¡°And he stays in a different room.¡±

    ¡°Yay, Renato¡¯s coming with us! We¡¯re gonna fight the darkness together as a team!¡± Madrigal cried.

    Renato nearly fell from his chair as Madrigal outright threw her full body weight onto him. Complete and utter confusion was splashed clear across his face. It wasn¡¯t even slightly his fault.

    ¡°Alright, you got me, I have absolutely no idea what¡¯s going on,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything in detail later. Long story short, we need your help for something tomorrow. You¡¯re coming with us.¡±

    He nodded slowly. Octavia was aware that it wasn¡¯t a choice so much as a harsh order. She wasn¡¯t fond of the look in his eye that spoke to enjoying her abrasiveness. She flinched.

    ¡°I mean, I did sign up for fun. Might as well do something while I¡¯m here,¡± he replied, ruffling Madrigal¡¯s hair playfully. She laughed with delight.

    Harper cast his eyes between Madrigal and Renato before meeting Octavia¡¯s own. She silently did what she could to convey her intent to fill the gaps later.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about this anymore. I want to eat and go to bed. I want peace and quiet in my life,¡± Viola moaned.

    ¡°Renato, go get your own room,¡± Octavia ordered. ¡°We¡¯ll talk tomorrow.¡±

    He was absolutely pushing his luck. It was driving her insane. ¡°You guys had enough of me already? I was thinkin¡¯ I could stick around for a bit and--¡±

    ¡°Leave!¡± both girls hissed simultaneously, venom tainting their tones. To his credit, he untangled himself from Madrigal relatively quickly, practically bolting out of the room.

    Harper blinked, his peace in stark contrast with the bang of the door slamming shut behind the fleeting Maestro. Madrigal frowned, crossing her arms where once had been Renato moments before.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think this needs to be said, but I¡¯m extremely confused,¡± Harper offered to no one in particular.

    ¡°Was he with you the entire time?¡± Viola asked sharply, rubbing her temples.

    Octavia shook her head, placing one hand over her heart. ¡°Viola, I swear to you, he just showed up when I got here. He was waiting outside. I have no idea how long he¡¯s been here or how he found us.¡±

    Viola sighed, deflating somewhat. ¡°Did you at least have a good time exploring?¡±

    Octavia stiffened a bit. He¡¯d slipped her mind, in truth. ¡°Actually, I, uh¡­met someone.¡±

    Viola lowered her hands, draping her arms lazily over either side of the chair. ¡°Yeah? Who else did you meet?¡±

    Octavia shifted uncomfortably on the bed, casting her gaze at the floor. ¡°I saw Drey again.¡±

    His name alone was enough for Viola to straighten up instantly. Harper was no different. ¡°Drey is here? Why?¡± she asked.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°He said he¡¯s making some sort of trade for more artifacts or something. Work-related stuff. He brought a new guy with him--I think his name was Samuel. We just happened to cross paths.¡±

    ¡°But he was just in Coda, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Harper asked. ¡°I thought only one train from Coda came to Velrose each week.¡±

    ¡°I thought I remembered him mentioning railway transport for the items he bought at the auction,¡± Viola offered, raising one hand to her mouth thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s possible he¡¯s got his own private source of transport. Hypothetically, he could reroute it to Velrose himself.¡±

    ¡°But why so soon?¡± Harper continued. ¡°I mean, why Velrose, anyway?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°Honestly, probably a coincidence. He mentioned having been to Velrose a few times at the auction. Actually, Samuel had said he¡¯d been to Velrose a lot more times than Drey has. Not sure how often they come here.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not following you, too, is he?¡± Viola muttered sarcastically, disdain still tainting her voice. Octavia had a feeling she knew why, given her current cherry-flavored frame of reference.

    Even as a joke, regardless, the thought alone was still unnerving. ¡°N-No. He¡¯s the one that mentioned Velrose to me in the first place. He was probably already planning to go, especially since they¡¯ve been here before. Also, he¡¯s not like that, anyway.¡±

    ¡°You talk like you¡¯re best friends,¡± Viola joked.

    Octavia winced. ¡°Well, no, but he seems like a good person.¡±

    ¡°If you say so,¡± she murmured, propping one elbow up against the armrest. She settled one cheek neatly into her hand, sighing far too deeply.

    Once again, the strange experiences with unwelcome voices in her head were personal enough to be stifled. Octavia opted to keep them close to her heart. Technically, she¡¯d had three surprise encounters today alone. Two made sense. One didn¡¯t. She¡¯d focus on the former.

    ¡°Was Etherion there?¡± Madrigal asked quietly, her voice monotone.

    Her lack of enthusiasm was more than notable, and well more than enough to draw the eyes of every Maestro in unison. Octavia knew the Maestra¡¯s tone to be lost on Harper, largely--uncharacteristic as it still was. Regardless, she¡¯d seen it before. Viola, too, was no stranger. As could be expected, it was the same expression. It was the same blank gaze, the same tint of urgency behind her pupils, and the same utterly neutral body language that left her hands languishing quietly in her lap. It was unnatural. It was still every bit as uncomfortable. Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat.

    ¡°What?¡± Viola replied hesitantly.

    ¡°Was Cadence there?¡± Madrigal asked instead, her tone still more than identical.

    Octavia, too, hesitated. ¡°S-She was, but I didn¡¯t see her Harmonial Instrument. I didn¡¯t even see a case. Honestly, I only spoke with her for a second.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes narrowed. Viola¡¯s best efforts to break the threatening silence, at least, were to a baffled Harper¡¯s benefit. It was possibly intentional.

    ¡°What¡¯d she say?¡± she asked quickly, addressing Octavia in turn.

    It took effort to ignore Madrigal¡¯s razor-edged gaze boring holes into her skin. ¡°She hasn¡¯t said a word to Drey or anyone else about¡­you know. She said she won¡¯t any time in the future, either.¡±

    Viola exhaled heavily. ¡°Good. One less thing to worry about.¡±

    ¡°You guys have got to start explaining who these people are,¡± Harper begged. ¡°I knew about Drey, but exactly how many new friends did you make in the two hours I was outside?¡±

    Octavia sighed. Even for the trace topics she¡¯d opted to keep close to her heart, there was still an extreme amount of explaining left to indulge in. She wasn¡¯t looking forward to it. At the very least, she hoped he¡¯d take it all well. Phrasing was going to be a nightmare.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    <hr>

    She was blessed, somewhat, in the way by which the walk to the church afforded her the opportunity to fill in the gaps--as promised. Harper was the easier of the two. Drey, Cadence, Renato, and Madrigal¡¯s baffling interactions with both of the latter were difficult to recount in full. In particular, she¡¯d gone out of her way to stifle a laugh at his wide-eyed reaction to the ridiculous situation between Madrigal and Renato. He took it better than Viola, at least.

    Octavia was content to see him nod along with every statement, although he did a relatively poor job of concealing his notable overstimulation. Content-wise, Harper did, in fact, take it well. Mentally, she¡¯d likely drained him. She offered a silent apology and even more silent praise for his efforts.

    By comparison, Renato was a nightmare to handle--unsurprisingly, although in a different manner than usual. With the hot sunshine as her witness, she struggled to piece together her timeline aloud from start to finish. In the greatest detail she could muster, she carefully strung together every highlight she could.

    She attempted to paint the events of the auction as vividly as words would allow. She relayed everything she¡¯d learned thus far regarding Maestros, stolen directly from the mouth of Eleanor Vacanti. Most prominently, she fought to thoroughly clarify the current Velrose situation. She addressed every facet of their time in the Blessed City thus far, right down to Sonata¡¯s previous playful riddle. Octavia hoped, for the most part, that she¡¯d made clear the true ambiguity of whatever the acolyte had requested of them. She¡¯d dragged Renato into it. He deserved that much.

    If Harper was overwhelmed, then her words may as well have meant nothing to Renato. If the absolutely hopeless grin on his face was any indication, Octavia was positive that he was completely and utterly lost. She wished she could at least give him the benefit of the doubt, for how he occasionally nodded his head and offered quiet affirmations that spoke to some semblance of understanding. It didn¡¯t make his interpretations any more meaningful. It didn¡¯t make him any less of Renato.

    ¡°So this Drey guy is here, with a friend, and he brought the lightning girl.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Why does she have lightning again?¡±

    ¡°Because she¡¯s a Maestra, remember?¡±

    ¡°But, like¡­why lightning?¡±

    Octavia groaned. ¡°I don¡¯t know, why do I have light? Why does anyone have anything?¡±

    ¡°And this girl we¡¯re meeting today, what does she want us to do?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°I just told you I have no idea. None of us do. That¡¯s the whole point of us bringing you, just in case we need more manpower.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve got manpower,¡± he said with a wink. Octavia cast her eyes high, pleading with the sun above to sear Renato¡¯s mouth off his face.

    ¡°Octavia, are you done yet?¡± Madrigal called, peering over Viola¡¯s shoulder several feet away.

    ¡°Almost,¡± she replied, well aware of the exasperation in her voice.

    Renato was becoming a Madrigal magnet. That, in turn, was becoming a problem. What little isolation Octavia could salvage for the sake of her attempts at full disclosure was hard-earned and easily compromised. Viola was fighting for her life to rein in the Maestra¡¯s unyielding affection, effectively acting as a wall between the two Maestros. It wasn¡¯t going well. He wasn¡¯t helping, even visibly taken aback by her adamant affection as he¡¯d been. When he wiggled his fingers at Madrigal playfully, Octavia scowled.

    ¡°Knock it off,¡± she hissed.

    ¡°I¡¯m just waving,¡± he said with a deceivingly-innocent grin.

    ¡°Why do you act like this with her?¡± Octavia continued, her voice dripping with irritation.

    He fixed her with the same grin instead. ¡°You gettin¡¯ jealous on me, braids?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± she growled.

    Her tone was enough to compromise his grin, even if only for a fraction of a second. It almost felt good. She pushed. ¡°The way you act around her is disgusting.¡±

    It was with mild surprise that she watched the harsh word send hurt flashing across his eyes. Renato flinched. ¡°What¡¯s your problem with me hanging out with her?¡±

    She didn¡¯t hate it. She indulged every drop of venom she could find. ¡°Listen to me--and listen close, because I¡¯ll only say this once. Just because I¡¯m not as angry as Viola about what you did doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not angry at all. I don¡¯t know how many girls you go around randomly grabbing and kissing, and I don¡¯t know what you think you¡¯re trying to pull with her. Just know that if you ever break Madrigal¡¯s heart, I will make your life a living Hell.¡±

    He gulped. She was more than satisfied watching him squirm under her harsh gaze. Still, he found his voice regardless, weak as it was. ¡°What makes you think I go around flirting with other girls?¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes sharply. Admittedly, there was something strongly gratifying about seeing his usual grin slip clean off of his face. ¡°You certainly seemed to get handsy pretty quick. It sure looks like you¡¯ve practiced that routine a few times over. Has it ever worked for you?¡±

    Octavia gave him a moment. She waited for him to crack. She waited for an admission of false affection, or perhaps a confession of impulsive actions on a path to heartbreak. Even an apology would¡¯ve been satisfactory. Instead, he fell silent, burying his hands in his pockets uncomfortably. She pressed harder.

    ¡°Madrigal is our friend. You can already tell she wears her heart on her sleeve. If you ever take one step over that line and hurt her, I¡¯ll--¡±

    ¡°You really think I¡¯m not serious about her, don¡¯t you?¡± he murmured, his tone just barely tinted with sadness.

    It wasn¡¯t even slightly the reaction she¡¯d expected. ¡°I¡­what?¡±

    Renato struggled to concoct another grin. Still, it was strained, visibly faulty in every way.

    ¡°If that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about, then I can promise she¡¯s the first girl I¡¯ve ever done that to. I already told you that my eyes are for Maddie only.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Octavia spat.

    ¡°I like her,¡± he offered quietly. ¡°I really, genuinely do. I¡¯ll prove it to you someday.¡±

    If she¡¯d hoped for the opportunity to push him further, she¡¯d lost it to the Maestra in question. His eyes flickered to Madrigal, and she took his distant attention with absolute delight. Her frantic waving earned a genuine smile. They traded--a playful wink for an airborne heart, drawn by overly-enthusiastic fingers, Octavia bit her tongue. She regretted this conversation, somewhat. She owed him for the auction, she owed him for this, and some fleeting part of her hoped to cheer for Madrigal¡¯s happiness.

    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Viola said, snapping Octavia out of her thoughts.

    It was still just as impressive as it was yesterday. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure at what point the towering church would stop being beautiful, if ever. The scalding sunshine blessed the shimmering stained glass with abundant resplendence this morning, and she liked to imagine it was making a good first impression for Renato. To his credit, he seemed equally transfixed. Of that, at least, she was satisfied.

    Still, it was the bell that seemed to capture his attention by a more prominent margin. She didn¡¯t particularly blame him, for how it had largely captivated the entire Blessed City in turn. It was just as marvelous this morning, similarly, as it had been each time she¡¯d seen it thus far--distance notwithstanding. Even so, the Maestro cast his eyes high to the glimmering bronze for what seemed to be far longer than was reasonable. Of that, then, she didn¡¯t push.

    <hr>

    ¡°You¡¯ve brought another Maestro with you,¡± Sonata spoke joyfully, clasping her hands together with delight. ¡°Wonderful.¡±

    In the apparent radiance of her presence, Renato could only offer a tiny, awkward wave. ¡°Hey there, Miss, uh, Acolyte, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Biting her lip was doing nothing to stifle Octavia¡¯s smug smile. Seeing him humbled was, honestly, much more amusing than it should¡¯ve been.

    ¡°We hope you don¡¯t mind,¡± Viola offered. ¡°Since we weren¡¯t sure exactly what the task you had in mind entailed, we thought another Maestro would be beneficial.¡±

    Sonata beamed. ¡°No, this is wonderful news. I¡¯m surprised you all are acquainted with so many Maestros.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes. She wholeheartedly agreed.

    ¡°So then,¡± Harper began, ¡°what¡­can we do for you?¡±

    The silence was largely expected, given how long the question had gone unspoken. Sonata¡¯s smile softened as she nestled her hands together behind her back. ¡°I¡¯d like to tell you all a bit of a story first.¡±

    They mostly nodded in unison. Sonata nodded back with much the same gentle smile. She inhaled quietly.

    ¡°Blessed is the blossom warmed by the flame. Gifted is the flame born to warm the blossom. One thrives in the embrace of the other, eternal together. Should the flame cease to flicker, so, too, does the blossom wilt. There is no worth to a flame that does not warm. The blossom thrives as the flame burns on, in harmony and peace alike.¡±

    Octavia blinked. Her confused silence was mutual thrice over. Madrigal, at least, clapped.

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°I¡­huh.¡±

    Renato grinned uncomfortably. ¡°Cool. It kinda sounds more like a poem, but it¡¯s, uh¡­neat. Good stuff.¡±

    Viola was less shaken by comparison. ¡°What does it mean?¡± she finally asked.

    Sonata¡¯s knowing smile was a catalyst for concern. Octavia groaned inwardly, for what answer was more than likely to come. There was a headache that would follow in its wake, surely.

    ¡°You¡¯ll find out in time. Perhaps you¡¯ll solve the mystery,¡± she spoke with subtle joy in her tone.

    I can respect your desire to crack the mystery of the city.

    More so than the minor anguish of being absolutely correct as to the acolyte¡¯s gleeful words, it was Drey¡¯s that she found echoing instead. It wasn¡¯t necessarily the time, nor the correct context. It was largely involuntary.

    ¡°Alright, a riddle!¡± Renato spoke with semi-enthusiasm, reclaiming her attention once more. ¡°I love riddles. Big fan of riddles.¡±

    ¡°And,¡± the acolyte continued, possibly enjoying herself just a bit too much, ¡°it¡¯ll be key in today¡¯s venture. Keep it in mind.¡±

    ¡°What do you want us to do?¡± Harper asked once again.

    Sonata quieted, turning her back to the Maestros with painfully-slow steps. The sunshine beyond caught her gaze instead, aimless as it was. ¡°There is another,¡± she finally answered softly.

    And when she declined to continue, the silence that again stung the air was tainted with both confusion and mild irritation. The latter, granted, was largely Octavia¡¯s to claim. Every cryptic statement was gradually growing aggravating.

    ¡°Another¡­what?¡± she pressed.

    ¡°Valkyrie¡¯s Call has a twin,¡± the acolyte spoke at last. ¡°And the Velrose Acolyte does not serve alone.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­trying to say you¡¯re not the only Velrose Acolyte?¡± Viola asked, her tone painted with disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s the opposite of what you said yesterday.¡±

    Octavia, too, took issue with the same assertion. The idea of Valkyrie¡¯s Call having two Maestras was nonsensical--from what she knew, at least. This was neither the time nor the place for her to conclude her understanding of the Maestro realm may have been compromised. She winced at the thought.

    To her relief, Sonata shook her head, her gaze still distant as streams of blonde tickled her shoulders. ¡°It is as you said. I¡¯ve stated that I¡¯m the only Velrose Acolyte. For Valkyrie¡¯s twin, however, this is not the case.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a¡­second bell?¡± Harper tried.

    ¡°Not a bell,¡± Sonata answered quickly. ¡°But you¡¯re on the right track. There is a second guardian in this region.¡±

    The manner by which the words ¡°in this city¡± were forgone was somewhat jarring. ¡°In Velrose?¡± Octavia asked.

    Once more, Sonata shook her head. Rather than answer further, she made for the chapel¡¯s pulpit instead. For as cryptic as her actions were, Octavia largely preferred them to whatever confusing statements the acolyte could¡¯ve offered up instead. The thought almost felt rude. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    Upon Sonata¡¯s return, Octavia found several small, tenderly-lilac rectangles nestled softly into the fabrics draping her arms. They numbered five. She raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°There is one for each of you. You will need them for this task,¡± the acolyte clarified, distributing them to each Maestro accordingly.

    When Sonata pressed the little square of gentle lilac firmly into Octavia¡¯s outstretched palm, the texture scuffing her skin was achingly familiar. The leather, of note, she could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d encountered recently. In every way, then, the flimsy papers and the delicate latch spoke to much the same as the rosy passport nestled safely in her backpack even now. She ran one thumb over the material carefully.

    ¡°Are we going somewhere new?¡± Madrigal asked, her voice loaded with far too much excitement.

    Sonata smiled beneath Madrigal¡¯s contagious enthusiasm. ¡°Just as Valkyrie bears a twin, so, too, does Velrose as well.¡±

    ¡°A second city?¡± Harper and Viola nearly cried in tandem.

    When Sonata nodded, Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. True to her words, the insignia was different. Upon closer inspection, it was not an intricate rose pressed deep into the leather, as she¡¯d grown used to. Every curving line and intersecting shape instead wove what, on first glance, spoke to a delicate flame. It was elaborate, if nothing else--perhaps more so than its floral companion. This, too, she ran her thumb over experimentally.

    ¡°Correct,¡± Sonata replied, a tiny splash of pride tinting her voice yet again. ¡°It stands by the name of Velpyre.¡±

    Renato shuddered. ¡°That¡¯s a bit of an ominous name, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°As ominous as its crisis,¡± the acolyte answered. ¡°I, too, have a twin--one who guards Valkyrie¡¯s counterpart. However, she falters in her duties.¡±

    ¡°The other Harmonial Instrument has another acolyte,¡± Viola interpreted hesitantly. ¡°In¡­Velpyre.¡±

    ¡°One who shirks her responsibility and endangers innocent lives,¡± Sonata added. ¡°The Dissonance often slips through her fingers and threatens those who rely on her for protection.¡±

    ¡°What, uh, what the hell is the Dissidence?¡± Renato whispered, leaning towards Octavia in the slightest.

    It was neither the time nor the place. Still, it was the one thing she¡¯d somehow forgotten to elaborate on in full. ¡°Dissonance,¡± she corrected in a whisper equally soft. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­it¡¯s a long story.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t she stop it?¡± Harper asked quietly of the acolyte.

    Sonata shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. However, this cannot go on. Have you begun to understand why I¡¯ve called you all here?¡±

    ¡°You want us to get this other acolyte to do her job?¡± Renato guessed, waving his passport half-heartedly. If he had qualms as to the finer details of the task, violet-tinted as they were, he made no indication of such.

    When Sonata nodded, Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°But why can¡¯t you go to Velpyre yourself?¡±

    Sonata¡¯s expression settled into something solemn. ¡°I cannot leave Velrose. As its acolyte, I must stay above.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you can never leave at all? That¡¯s¡­kinda messed up,¡± Harper offered sadly. ¡°Like, the whole city?¡±

    He didn¡¯t get his answer. Octavia cut him off. ¡°Wait, wait, wait. ¡®Above¡¯? What¡¯s ¡®above¡¯, exactly?¡±

    Sonata fell silent. ¡°If you¡¯re all ready to begin, I¡¯ll show you the way to Velpyre.¡±

    Confused, Octavia nodded anyway. She wasn¡¯t the only one, granted.

    ¡°Born ready,¡± Renato replied weakly.

    Sonata made for the door. She gestured for them to follow. They obliged. It was a reflex. At this point, Octavia had largely surrendered to wherever the acolyte saw fit to lead. She liked to imagine actually engaging in the task in question would provide more clarity than whatever cryptic crumbs Sonata saw fit to sprinkle. It was a losing battle.

    It wasn¡¯t so much that she doubted Sonata¡¯s leadership as much as it was baffling in its own right. For how the acolyte walked clear past the front doors of the church, Octavia raised an eyebrow. The train station was well on the other side of the city, and yet they¡¯d continued far past the exit. If there was something more to be shown prior to their departure, Sonata didn¡¯t--or, at least hadn¡¯t yet--said as much. Octavia had half a mind to believe the acolyte wouldn¡¯t, anyway, perplexing as she was. This was getting more elaborate by the minute.

    At the very least, Viola seemed to be struggling with much the same overstimulation. With the Maestra¡¯s own eyes scraping along the plush carpet with every unhurried step, Octavia could physically see the thoughts being dragged along the way. A second city, a second acolyte, and a second Harmonial Instrument were all overwhelming at best and completely unbelievable at worst. It was to say nothing of wherever Dissonance fell into the equation. She stifled a sigh. It was either that or a headache.

    How many stairs one church could harbor--size be damned--was a mystery. Still, Velrose endeavored to deliver, apparently. Sonata¡¯s guidance had left them at the foot of yet more, descending instead as they were. They had light, granted, flickering flames touching upon cramped stone as they were. It didn¡¯t change the discomfort of the impending descent, if the nature of Sonata¡¯s path was any indicator.

    Going down was easier than going up, hopefully, and the sigh that slipped from Viola¡¯s lips surely spoke to a similar thought. Sonata didn¡¯t hesitate. By proxy, Octavia didn¡¯t have the luxury.

    It was an arduous spiral, extensive in its own right. It was kinder to Viola¡¯s lungs, if nothing else. Still, to descend and ascend alike were lengthy tasks--although for different reasons entirely. Where the Velrose bell tower had blighted her with a physical challenge, this descent instead confronted her with suffocating silence. It was widespread, and Sonata did little to alleviate its grasp. Octavia actively wished, for once, that Renato would say something ridiculous. The echo of footsteps off every wall was slowly driving her insane. Both staircases were miserable in their own ways. She couldn¡¯t quite pick her poison.

    Sonata¡¯s words, when they came, were sudden enough that they outright startled Octavia. ¡°Make for the church. Find the acolyte. Question her and make her perform her duty, however you must. I trust your judgment, all of you.¡±

    Octavia sighed. A terrible decision, really.

    The room that awaited them upon their full descent could hardly be called a room, given its enormity. It was tremendous, empty, and mildly intimidating. It was worsened, somewhat, by the lack of any given door, window, or major object of interest aside from fickle candlelight that illuminated a path to nothing. For how truly large the space was, it was suffocating in its own way regardless. Octavia shuddered. She regretted complaining about the stairs.

    Still, the ominous room had its quirks. The iron plating, for one, caught her eye far later than was reasonable. It was centralized, elevated, and circular in its own right. Its size was perhaps more distressing, although it was the strikingly familiar pattern cut deep into the metal that was of her highest priority. It took her a moment to place it, for how recently she¡¯d seen that twisted little flame pressed innocently into leathery lilac instead.

    The bell, above all else, was incredibly confusing. It was tiny. It sparkled, it dangled, and the pitiful pole it called a home offered up only a scarlet rope for its silver troubles. It was almost ironic, given the display one thousand times more splendorous crowning the apex of the Velrose Church. It would¡¯ve been cute, had the entire scene not been so absolutely inexplicable.

    Octavia never got the chance to ask one single question, regardless. Sonata was upon the little rope before she¡¯d had the chance to blink, tugging swiftly. The delicate ting of tiny silver echoed extensively off every empty wall, circular and all-encompassing as they were. It was fruitless, at least immediately, and dozens more questions had begun to rush to Octavia¡¯s tongue already. She sat cleanly on the border of curiosity and anxiety. She was teetering towards the latter, if her instincts had anything to say about it. She eyed the acolyte warily.

    The rumbling beneath her feet was absolutely jarring, by comparison. She outright jumped at the sudden presence of sound at all, and more so for the noise that followed iron scraping against stone. The plate moved largely of its own accord, shifting with a steady slowness that was equal parts fascinating and distressing to witness. What that left her with was indiscernible darkness beyond, untraceable and impossible to dissect from a distance.

    No amount of standing on the tips of her toes as it gave way ever further was doing her any favors. It was almost terrifying exactly how wide the blackened hole beneath the guardian metal grew to become, massive in its own right. The dimly-lit stairs that eventually came to light didn¡¯t assuage her fears in any capacity. She very much did not enjoy the direction this entire situation was heading.

    ¡°Oh, this should be fun,¡± Renato muttered, the anxiety in his tone immediately betraying his sarcasm. ¡°Hope we¡¯re all fine with tight spaces.¡±

    ¡°It opens up quickly. Step inside and you¡¯ll see,¡± Sonata clarified. ¡°Be on your guard, though. The Cursed City is unkind, even with approved passage.¡±

    Viola slowly buried her face in her hands with a groan. ¡°I know you didn¡¯t just call it that. Right before we go in the hole? Seriously?¡±

    Sonata shook her head, smiling softly in turn. ¡°Do not be afraid. You five will stand your ground marvelously. Trust in yourselves, and trust in your ability to change the minds of others.¡±

    That eased absolutely none of her fears. Even now, Octavia had to wonder if there was anything else Sonata had miraculously forgotten to relay. It took more than a full moment¡¯s hesitation to will herself forward, ambling anxiously in the direction of the threatening darkness in question. Laying her foot on the top step was enough to make her heart pound, and she peered over her shoulder anxiously. She found three equally-fearful gazes. How Madrigal could smile so brightly in such a place was absolutely beyond her.

    ¡°It¡¯s all part of the adventure,¡± Madrigal whispered reassuringly, bouncing on the tips of her toes with far too much excitement. Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle a laugh. Her brilliant smile would be enough to challenge the darkness, at least. It was one relief.

    She was enough of a motivator. With resolve largely stolen from a spirit of wind at her back, Octavia fought to take one tentative second step downwards. The booming voice that greeted her movements in response erupted from below, exploding from the darkness and startling her fiercely. She nearly lost her footing, and the idea of tumbling down into the dark was utterly horrifying.

    ¡°Identify yourself,¡± a deep voice unseen demanded.

    To Octavia¡¯s tremendous relief, it was Sonata who answered on her behalf. Over her shoulder, the acolyte peered down into the depths. ¡°Allow them passage, under the guidance of the Velrose Acolyte,¡± she called.

    For a moment, only silence arose from far below. It took more than a moment for the voice to respond in kind. ¡°Understood, Lady Acolyte. They will be welcomed.¡±

    Sonata met Octavia¡¯s fearful eyes with a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. The authorities within Velpyre are kind to Maestros. The citizens are your only true concern.¡±

    Exactly half of her statement was calming. Octavia really, really didn¡¯t want to entertain the other half. She threw what was left of her worries down into the dark, forcing one foot in front of the other in a descent she questioned more every second. The echo of footsteps behind her, steadily increasing in number, was comforting. She didn¡¯t enjoy being at the front. It spared them the trouble, at least.

    It was a far shorter descent, thankfully. She¡¯d been fearful that she¡¯d be condemned to yet another lengthy staircase. Once more, she still continued to contemplate exactly how many stairs one singular church could shelter. The idea of yet more stairs awaiting beyond even these was almost laughable, if not miserable. Viola would surely die, if so.

    She entertained the concept of a train station deep beneath the earth itself, for wherever that would lead to. It would explain the passports, let alone their constriction to the church itself. Sonata, in all of her mildly-aggravating ambiguity, had not once specified as to the actual voyage to Velpyre. There was not one indication of its placement on a map, nor its distance from the Blessed City overall. The trip to Velrose alone had afforded only barren landscapes of endless meadows and empty plains, by which not another city had greeted her eyes for miles. Another voyage was sure to be lengthy in its own right.

    The base of the stairs harbored nothing even slightly indicative of underground transport. Really, it harbored nothing that spoke to transport at all. There were buildings, at least. There were pathways. There was ornate architecture, abundant and mirroring the style of the Blessed City above. It was disheveled, granted, every cracked stone beyond the foot of the steps in stark contrast with the adequately-maintained housing and structures clustered so closely to one another. If she squinted, they, too, were somewhat crumbled and compromised at points.

    She followed every path with her eyes, for the downward slope each one gradually took. The stern-faced men flanking either side of the staircase were of zero concern. Further and further did her gaze trail along the cobblestone, crawling along the cracking paths towards the dim horizon.

    And beyond, there rose one singular building far more splendorous than those that came before it. Pointed spires peeked shyly above the sloping horizon, and it was with effort that Octavia came to the tips of her toes to observe. It, too, was a mirrored image, ornate and beautiful even from a distance. It didn¡¯t have a bell tower, granted. It was still more than enough to hit her in the stomach.

    It was no path to a city. It was a city.

    She found her validation nearly instantly. It was born of the voice at her side, expressionless and neutral as the man spoke. His words were a mirror of their own, somewhat. She wondered if the knot in her stomach was growing to become a permanent fixture, at this point.

    ¡°Welcome to Velpyre,¡± he half-heartedly greeted, his tone utterly apathetic. ¡°Watch your step.¡±

 19. Watch Your Step

    The revelation of the city¡¯s existence at all was the first shock to strike Octavia. The darkness was an immediate second. The sentiment was widespread and all-consuming, in almost that exact order of realizations specifically.

    ¡°It¡¯s underground,¡± Viola breathed. ¡°It was beneath our feet the whole time?¡±

    ¡°Do people actually live here?¡± Renato muttered. ¡°It¡¯s¡­so dark.¡±

    The streetlamps, to their credit, at least tried. What humble luminosity they offered was somewhat sufficient, by which she could move without stumbling every several steps. It was still far too little to drape her in any true sense of safety, blighted by the dim atmosphere on all sides. If she closed her eyes and pressed forwards, Octavia wondered exactly how much light she¡¯d genuinely lose. The Velrose Church was surely above, and yet her gaze thrown high left a sky obscured. There was no sky of which to speak, and she¡¯d never envisioned a city with a ceiling.

    The longer she considered their positioning with each and every step, the more unnerving the concept became. They, too, had trudged along the open streets of the Blessed City above without a care as to what lay below. If she were to shout, she wondered if those passing by in Velrose would hear. As it stood, to make noise in the darkness at all was a terrifying concept. From her cobblestone sky came only the faintest of golden glows, peeking shyly through the cracks and sparkling in the slightest. Her eyes clung to them desperately, the lamps already forsaken.

    ¡°They look like stars,¡± Madrigal mused, following Octavia¡¯s gaze.

    Harper did so in turn. ¡°What are they?¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s¡­sunlight,¡± Viola offered. ¡°I¡¯d assume the city has to get air somehow, or everyone in this place would suffocate.¡±

    Octavia shuddered. The thought was as disgusting as it was true. What unnatural light had been neatly provided was solely ample, by which she could get by. It left much to be desired, and the concept of suffocating in eternal night was utterly horrifying. How anyone could choose to live in such a place was beyond her.

    ¡°W-We should get moving,¡± Octavia spoke quickly, readjusting Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ll get in and out as soon as possible. I saw the church from the stairs. See how the road kinda slopes a little bit? I think we¡¯ve just got to follow it down.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Renato added. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be real with you, this place is already weird.¡±

    The path wasn¡¯t necessarily steep, and yet it took effort to maintain a steady gait along the downward slope. Octavia was somewhat self-conscious of the way Stradivaria jostled with just a bit too much noise upon her shoulders, every step leaving her standing out. She could perhaps melt into the darkness, if she tried, and pray it would spare her from roaming eyes. The eyes she did find, scattered as they were, either hardly wandered or wandered far too much.

    It was by no means a normal city, if first impressions were anything to go by. It had its familiarities, for what stalls and merchants she still observed speckled upon the roadsides. There were people. That was a given, although she kept her head down as much as was possible. The silence was awful, shattered in the most minute way by conversation that was much too quiet in the dark. She didn¡¯t dare look at exactly what wares lay offered to those who would seek them out. Her eyes had already stolen more than she¡¯d wanted to see.

    Octavia was used to color. She was used to a lively atmosphere, let alone the warmth of companionship. There was no warmth to be found in this place, and the chills that had taken up permanent refuge along her spine were her consolation prize. She didn¡¯t dare turn her head. She didn¡¯t dare make eye contact, even as she heard whispers grow louder or questions become demands. They weren¡¯t for her. If they were, she refused to check. For what conversations her ears occasionally caught, she wished she could remove them altogether.

    Sonata had been cryptic, as could¡¯ve been expected of the acolyte by now. Still, her warning was beginning to hold water. The city was as surreal as it was deeply unsettling. She cast her eyes forward, forgoing the urge to glance at signs of life. It was almost irresistible.

    ¡°Your locks are immaculate, girl.¡±

    The voice from behind startled her viciously, and she nearly stumbled as her head jerked sharply to the right. It wasn¡¯t meant for her, given the way the man¡¯s eyes were on Madrigal alone. He was exceedingly unfamiliar, trailing parallel to her every footstep as their paces synced flawlessly. He was much too close, and still drawing yet nearer in the most subtle manner. Madrigal hastened. So did he, unfazed.

    His false smile was as scathingly unnerving as the calm in his voice. ¡°Where are you from? That¡¯s no style from above. You¡¯re not from around here, are you?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s nervous laugh did little to redirect his attention, her own eyes locked firmly ahead as she clung to the fake sunshine on her lips. Even from here, Octavia could feel her discomfort. Her efforts to ignore were in vain all the same.

    ¡°Your hair is absolutely splendid,¡± he pressed, extending his fingers casually towards one plush bun upon the Maestra¡¯s head. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d part with it for the right price? You wouldn¡¯t mind if I--¡±

    He never made it that far, his hand struck by another in turn. Renato¡¯s piercing glare was perhaps the only thing more intimidating than the darkness itself. ¡°Step off, man. Take a hint. She doesn¡¯t want anything you¡¯ve got to offer,¡± he growled.

    What false smile the man had donned fell instantly. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I was speaking to you, sir.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart was pounding viciously. Conflict was impossible at the moment. This place was far too unfamiliar. Confrontation was dangerous, and she battled the overpowering urge to run. She battled the equally-overpowering urge to beg them to do the same.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m definitely speaking to you,¡± Renato hissed, every word dripping with venom. ¡°I said step off.¡±

    The longer their eye contact went unbroken, the tighter the knot in Octavia¡¯s stomach became. At no point did either halt in their tracks, nor did they slow. It was as much a mutual, wordless threat as it was self-defensive, for how one solid lunge could¡¯ve easily closed their gap. She held her breath, stealing what little oxygen she could claim in such a place.

    The man looked away first, although it was not without a fleeting glance upon them all. It hardly mattered that Harper flinched, given that his own narrowed eyes pierced the stranger right back. Octavia respected Viola¡¯s efforts to emulate the same, albeit tinted with significantly more fear. She couldn¡¯t find it in herself to contribute, frustratingly, and offered up only a desperate prayer for respite instead.

    It took much too long to find it. The man tore his eyes from the Maestros a full eternity later, mumbling incoherently beneath his breath as his stride parted with their own. The moment he was out of sight, she could¡¯ve collapsed in relief. She didn¡¯t dare, lest it happen twice over. She was immensely grateful that Renato opted to stifle any parting hostilities, instead shuffling just the slightest bit closer to Madrigal.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the Maestra whispered.

    Renato¡¯s light, reassuring touch upon her shoulder trailed her shaky words. He exhaled sharply. ¡°Apparently this place is full of freaks. Let¡¯s get this over with and get the hell out of here.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t disagree in the slightest. Once more, it was with a prayer for isolation in the dark that she threw her eyes firmly forwards.

    She held her breath for so long that she was practically light-headed by the time the downward slope grew more severe. It never became intolerable, despite the length of time it took to traverse in full. Had she been running, she wondered if she might¡¯ve stumbled instead. The singular miracle she¡¯d uncovered in Velpyre thus far came in the form of simple orientation, by which the city offered a linear path that didn¡¯t leave her lost in the dark. She didn¡¯t dare imagine the consequences that could¡¯ve followed, in that instance. The church was its own beacon, albeit devoid of the light of Heaven she would¡¯ve begged for in a place so cursed by shadow.

    True to Sonata¡¯s words, there was no second bell. The church was smaller by a notable margin, although still lovely in its own way. A bell tower was irrelevant, for how it found splendor in ornate architecture and masterful glasswork she¡¯d seen not so long ago. The brilliantly-crafted stained glass adorning the highest walls was scathingly familiar, and every bit as lovely as it had been in the Blessed City. The lack of true sunlight to illuminate every colorful shard was a tragedy, with only speckled pinpricks of creeping rays to atone.

    The angelic imagery was nearly identical, and she still took comfort in its artisanal value. So, too, did she find a divine figure casting its arms down and its wings wide. The glassbound touch of the girl below grasped nothing, for how high her illustrated hands arose to meet her deity. It was the most notable similarity Octavia had yet found. Otherwise, the darkened city spoke to nothing similar of the one she¡¯d begun to miss severely.

    Viola had beaten her to the doors, foreboding or otherwise. It hardly mattered, and she assumed the sentiment to be collective by now. The Maestra was swift and unhesitant, particularly in comparison to Octavia¡¯s wavering entry to the Velrose Church. Viola practically pounded against the wood with a knock far too sharp, her own urgency violently contagious. Etiquette be damned, Octavia had half a mind to burst into the church of her own accord. What lay within was uncertain, if not daunting in its own right. Still, she¡¯d seen enough of the city at large. A church was a church. Sanctuary was sanctuary. It had to be better, somehow.

    The doors creaking open were still unnerving, although for a different reason entirely versus Velrose. Octavia would be lucky if her circulation was still normal after today, given how her heart could hardly beat steadily anymore. She knew little of what to offer the clergy besides the blunt truth, should she need to jump to it so quickly. Should it be the acolyte herself, she wondered if she would know on sight. Given the light Sonata had cast her in, she was somewhat anxious as to encountering the latter.

    She got neither. Instead, the boy she found was absolutely out of place in every way. If her life depended on it, she couldn¡¯t dare classify him as part of the clergy. His attire was far too casual, and his demeanor just the same. His words were genuine, his voice untinted by the strain of grace. He was strikingly normal.

    ¡°Yes? Can I help you?¡± he asked calmly.

    ¡°W-We¡¯ve come to see the acolyte,¡± Viola spoke, her voice more than pressured. "We¡¯re here on the orders of the Velrose Acolyte.¡±

    He tensed, his once-peaceful gaze sharpening somewhat. Even with his shoulders stiff, his words were still just as level. ¡°You¡­came all the way from above? For what?¡±

    ¡°We need to see the acolyte,¡± Octavia echoed quickly. ¡°We need to talk to her.¡±

    She watched anxiously as the boy¡¯s palm settled flat against the door from within. For a moment, she feared he¡¯d outright slam it in their faces, condemning them to the darkness of the city outside. To her unfathomable relief, he didn¡¯t.

    The boy exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to try. If she doesn¡¯t want to talk to you, though, don¡¯t be surprised.¡±

    She hardly waited for him to open the door in full. The urge to sprint into the church was almost humiliating, and stifling it took more effort than she¡¯d anticipated. At the very least, if the strain on the faces of those behind her was anything to go by, she wasn¡¯t alone.

    It was notably warmer within, although the chill of the open city had largely mingled with that which had poisoned her blood forever. Who to pray to in this house of worship was a mystery. She made a mental note to offer up everything she had, at some point, for the fact she¡¯d made it here safely at all.

    The interior was nearly identical to that of its holy companion above, right down to the plush carpet that cradled her anxious footsteps. There was another choir, somewhere, echoing distantly as it was. At its core, it was certainly a church, and she surmised there was at least a clergy to be found. She much preferred their far more humble guide, his hands comfortably settled into his pockets and his pace leisurely.

    The manner by which they trailed him was nearly pathetic, coagulating in fear of the unknown. For what she now had of sanctuary, she was still in Velpyre. Her first impressions had been sour, and there existed more than enough time for yet more to pose a threat.

    The chapel he guided them to with little urgency of his own was, too, startlingly familiar. In most ways, Sonata¡¯s usage of the word ¡°twin¡± was beginning to carry weight. Still, she was robbed of the flooding sunshine above--as expected, somewhat. The pipes were new, instead, and utterly breathtaking in stature. Along the furthest wall they rose, climbing high to scrape well past the ceiling above. The flickering candlelight failed them in every way, their golden gloss shamed by the pitiful luminescence of the room. They were as abundant as they were inexplicable. Standing on the tips of her toes afforded her little clarity, given that her peaceful guide was taller than her.

    There was no stray clergy. In the lonesome chapel instead stood one occupant alone, clad in soft ivories and pale lilacs alike. They were unmoving, nor did they bare their face to those beyond. Octavia had suspicions, if the thick material draping the stranger spoke to anything of its counterpart. She feared making assumptions.

    ¡°Lady Acolyte.¡±

    His voice was no longer soft, instead well-projected and crystal clear. His hands, once nestled away casually, now found themselves clasped firmly behind his back. Her calm guide¡¯s face was just as calm as his eyes, even devoid of an answer. He didn¡¯t falter. At the very least, he claimed the shadow-clad stranger¡¯s attention, and their eyes met at last.

    The boy dropped to one knee upon the soft carpet below, bowing his head solemnly. ¡°I¡¯ve brought guests,¡± he spoke just as clearly, even with eyes cast to the floor alone.

    He was immediately irrelevant. The instrument to which his absent visage gave way left Octavia nearly starstruck. She followed the pipes low, crawling along their shimmer to the resplendent mahogany resting beneath. The intricate patterns that lay settled into the hardwood were as masterful as they were precious. Every key, pristinely graced with the faintest reflections of humble candlelight, stole what radiance it could from a room far too plain by comparison. Each row of ivory and ebony alike was immaculate, and, collectively, the organ was immensely beautiful. If this was ¡°Valkyrie¡¯s twin¡±, it was a splendid compensation prize for the journey she¡¯d taken to witness it. She couldn¡¯t stop staring.

    ¡°What do they want?¡±

    The voice she found jerked her back to reality, equal parts sharp and quiet as it was. Every step their robed stranger took forward was muffled by the interloping maroon underfoot. The attire was, physically, of striking resemblance. The splash of color, delicate or otherwise, was a small discrepancy by comparison. Octavia¡¯s guess grew stronger by the moment, and her heart pounded where she knew it shouldn¡¯t.

    Her tranquil guide¡¯s gaze still stuck to the floor. ¡°They seek an audience with the divine acolyte. Your guidance and wisdom are a blessing upon us all.¡±

    Only now did his voice waver in the slightest. It spoke to something more than fear, although Octavia couldn¡¯t pin down exactly what. She eyed him warily.

    Once more, he was of least concern. The girl who drew near was imposing in her own right. Folded hands settled neatly before her robes and foreboding eyes came to rest on the boy¡¯s kneeling visage alone. She couldn¡¯t have been more than Sonata¡¯s age, her slight lack of graceful presence by comparison notwithstanding. She carried something separately powerful, indescribable in its own way. This time around, Octavia¡¯s mouth was dry for a different reason entirely. The girl¡¯s shoulders rose and fell with the softest of breaths.

    ¡°Leave us, then,¡± she answered firmly, each word nearly monotone in origin.

    ¡°And yet I cannot,¡± the boy argued, shaking his head. ¡°I, too, could only hope to bask in the glow of the everlasting acolyte. What knowledge she will impart unto us today is known only to chance.¡±

    Octavia could¡¯ve sworn, for the briefest moment, that the corner of the girl¡¯s mouth twitched slightly. ¡°I command you to begone, boy.¡±

    ¡°I refuse. I will see this through to the end, my acolyte. My brave, strong, powerful acolyte. My wonderful, divine, perfect, flawless acolyte.¡±

    The girl bit her lip. ¡°No, seriously, get out,¡± she spoke bluntly.

    He made a show of counting on his fingers. ¡°My incredible, amazing, merciful--¡±

    ¡°You are embarrassing me,¡± the girl hissed in a whisper, not immune to a sneaking smile.

    ¡°--shining, glorious, immaculate, valiant--¡±

    ¡°Get off the floor.¡±

    ¡°--radiant, that¡¯s a good word, I like that one--¡±

    ¡°Get off the floor.¡±

    ¡°You would deny this knight of the acolyte his deliverance, then?¡± he finally asked, raising his head with an undeniable smirk of his own.

    ¡°Get off the floor,¡± she ordered through gritted teeth, her shoulders notably shaking.

    ¡°Then perhaps a knight is in need of assistance from his magnificent acolyte. This kind of hurts my knees.¡±

    ¡°You deserved it.¡±

    ¡°Help.¡±

    One hand rushed to her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle a laugh. ¡°No,¡± she answered plainly.

    It was with immense confusion that Octavia watched the boy stagger to his feet, brushing the lint from his pants with a playful roll of his eyes. ¡°It does actually hurt, you know.¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°You deserved it,¡± the girl repeated, not bothering to conceal her blatant smile.

    The boy took his place at her side, stuffing one hand into his pocket as he gestured to the girl with the other. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you our beloved acolyte. I serve as her loyal knight.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Acolytes have knights?¡±

    The acolyte in question scoffed, outright slapping the boy¡¯s hand away with just a hint too much force. ¡°Shut up. You¡¯re so stupid. You¡¯re not my knight.¡±

    ¡°I could become one, if you¡¯d let me,¡± he joked with much the same smirk, side-eyeing her teasingly.

    She laughed in earnest. It was a wonderful sound, albeit in extreme contrast with her stoic first impression. Octavia, too, couldn¡¯t help but smile.

    It took the acolyte a moment to collect herself, finding one deep breath to show for it. Her smile slipped, somewhat, although traces notably remained. With hands folded before her once more, she bowed her head. Then and only then was Octavia reminded of Sonata¡¯s grace.

    ¡°Selena Ebony. Acolyte of the Velpyre Church,¡± the girl offered plainly.

    Octavia vaguely remembered Sonata¡¯s introduction being slightly longer. Still, the second half of her words had slipped her mind. She wondered the degree to which the acolytes¡¯ circumstances differed overall, their cities of residence so violently different as they were.

    ¡°So there¡¯s¡­Ivory up in Velrose, and you¡¯re Ebony down here,¡± Harper noted aloud. ¡°Are the two families related?¡±

    What was left of the acolyte''s smile slowly slipped off her face. ¡°No, they¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°What, I don¡¯t get an introduction?¡± the boy at her side whispered harshly.

    Again, the acolyte bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle another newborn creeping smile. ¡°You can introduce yourself. I¡¯m not going to do it for you,¡± she whispered back.

    ¡°I¡¯m asking nicely.¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°Really nicely.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, please be normal.¡±

    His smirk was for her. By comparison, his smile was for them. He offered a simple wave, lazy as it was. ¡°I¡¯m Josiah. Selena and I are partners in crime.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t say it like that,¡± the acolyte begged, rolling her own eyes in turn. ¡°He¡¯s my best friend, and he¡¯s an idiot. Ignore everything that leaves his mouth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m her favorite idiot, so it¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Josiah, I swear to God,¡± she hissed under her breath. He only snickered.

    Octavia preferred her casual demeanor, in truth. It wasn¡¯t that she disliked Sonata in any capacity. Still, her first impressions of the Velpyre Acolyte were far less stiff and imposing. The degree to which she felt her own muscles relax was a testament to comfort in a place she figured she¡¯d find none. It was the first warmth she¡¯d found in Velpyre at all.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­Maestros, correct?¡± the acolyte asked, her tone slipping into something mildly more formal. ¡°The clergy mentioned that a group of Maestros came into the city today.¡±

    Octavia nodded. Josiah crossed his arms. ¡°Honestly, I never thought I¡¯d see other Maestros down here. There¡¯s a lot of you guys, too.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡±

    The acolyte cut him off, tapping one finger against the air repeatedly as she passed over each of them in turn. She did so twice, raising an eyebrow at last as her eyes flickered to the boy at her side.

    ¡°I thought they said six,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure it wasn¡¯t five?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I really thought they said six.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Six Maestros?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s definitely only five here,¡± Josiah insisted, gesturing to the present Maestros accordingly.

    Selena fell silent for a moment before shaking her head. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m really tired. Ignore me,¡± she offered.

    ¡°Have there ever been any other Maestros down here?¡± Octavia blurted out. It wasn¡¯t what they were here for. She quite literally couldn¡¯t help it.

    With zero hesitation, Selena shook her head once more. ¡°Never. Only the acolytes of the church.¡±

    It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. Octavia hadn¡¯t been necessarily expecting a ¡°yes¡±, given the way by which Velpyre was tucked away deep in the darkness. In retrospect, she was grateful that Priscilla had never set foot in this place. It took exactly one weight off her shoulders.

    She sighed deeply. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia. This is Viola, Madrigal, Harper, and Renato,¡± she spoke, gesturing to each Maestro in turn. ¡°We wanted to¡­talk for a bit.¡±

    ¡°About what?¡± Selena asked, her playful smile long gone. The blank expression painting her face was simultaneously unnerving and far more expected of an acolyte. Octavia fought to choose her words carefully, fidgeting uncomfortably. Viola took her place, the Maestra¡¯s words equally as slow and delicate.

    ¡°We were¡­sent down here at the request of the Velrose Acolyte. We don¡¯t know the¡­full details, but she asked us to act as messengers.¡±

    The way by which Selena¡¯s eyes slowly sharpened into something dangerous was not lost on Octavia. ¡°Messengers of what?¡± she asked again, her tone sharper in tandem.

    To Octavia¡¯s immense surprise, it was Madrigal who was the most blunt of all--calm or otherwise. ¡°The acolyte says you¡¯re not doing your job properly. She says you¡¯re not dealing with the darkness and protecting the people you¡¯re supposed to.¡±

    The Velpyre Acolyte scowled, her fingers curling into fists. ¡°Oh, she did, did she? What would she know? How does what I do concern her in any way?¡±

    ¡°W-We don¡¯t know,¡± Harper quickly interjected, shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯re just messengers. She says the Dissonance isn¡¯t being dealt with effectively down here.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s never even been down here!¡± Selena spat. ¡°Yet she would have the nerve to look down on me? Through the words of others? She can¡¯t even be bothered to say it to my face?¡±

    Octavia waved her hands defensively. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s something we can do to help? With the Dissonance?¡±

    ¡°There is no helping this place!¡± the acolyte growled. ¡°And here I thought there¡¯d be a good reason for Maestros showing up down here. Did you all seriously make that whole journey just to berate me?¡±

    Her venom was striking. Octavia struggled to search for a single sentence of any flavor. She came up with nothing.

    ¡°She said she couldn¡¯t make it down here herself,¡± Viola tried, her voice wavering somewhat. ¡°Otherwise, I bet she would¡¯ve said all this to you directly.¡±

    ¡°No, she wouldn¡¯t have,¡± Selena snapped. ¡°I can tell you that with complete certainty. She wouldn¡¯t have said a word to my face. That¡¯s the kind of coward she is.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t certain exactly why Selena¡¯s ire towards the Velrose Acolyte irked her so much. It was enough to sneak under her skin. ¡°She¡¯s not a coward.¡±

    ¡°Then you know nothing about her,¡± Selena answered coldly. ¡°And you know nothing about me. Leave.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Selena--¡±

    ¡°Leave!¡±

    Her volume and harsh tone startled Octavia. She never got the chance to protest, given the boy who moved faster to her side than words could rise to her lips.

    ¡°We¡¯ll talk outside. Leave her be for now,¡± he urged, gently grabbing her wrist. ¡°Please.¡±

    The entire exchange had occurred so quickly that Octavia didn¡¯t dare object. She stumbled somewhat as he ushered her out of the chapel, the others close behind and radiating discomfort of their own. She threw one final look over her shoulder at the acolyte, motionless and meeting Octavia¡¯s passing glance with bubbling poison. Every footstep fell under her steel scrutiny, and Octavia shuddered beneath her gaze. This was more akin to the Velpyre Church experience she¡¯d expected. She winced at the thought.

    Josiah gave her respite from the acolyte¡¯s venomous glare, pulling the chapel doors shut behind him with an ominous creak. Up until she was out of view, Selena never once budged, nor tore her eyes away from the place in which Octavia¡¯s every hesitant step had fallen moments before. Only once the Maestros were severed from her fuming rage in full did Josiah exhale sharply, letting his head fall against the door with a bit too forceful of an exasperated thud. He closed his eyes, embracing silence for several loaded seconds.

    ¡°You want to talk that badly?¡± he finally offered coolly. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s talk.¡±

    <hr>

    He didn¡¯t live in the city, apparently. To Octavia¡¯s surprise, it was not one of the many poorly-illuminated houses she¡¯d seen on the way in that he¡¯d led them to. In reality, it hadn¡¯t been a long walk at all, consisting of only several sharp turns down halls that echoed much too severely. Why anyone would actively choose to live in the church was beyond her, and yet he seemed more than comfortable. He wasn¡¯t part of the clergy, and he¡¯d formally confirmed it for her at last. Still, per his words, he held merit. He was respected enough. He hadn¡¯t exactly explained why, and the stiff circumstances had somewhat deterred her from pressing.

    Why he¡¯d have a window in a place shrouded in eternal night was, initially, inexplicable. Every steady tap that audibly speckled the glass pane was eventually enough to pique her curiosity. Parted curtains explained almost nothing. Really, it left Velpyre even more confusing.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­raining,¡± she observed aloud, her voice immediately soaked in much the same befuddlement. The increasing volume of raindrops pounding against the roof above was a secondary confirmation, and she briefly strained her eyes high beyond the glass. There were no clouds of which to speak. If anything, it was even darker.

    Renato and Harper peeked over her head, trailing her own eyes as streams of spilled rain cascaded gently down the main road. Sloped as the city was, it was somewhat unnerving to watch the sizable puddles swelling around the church¡¯s perimeter. The concept of the building flooding was horrifying, for the thought that came with it of drowning in the dark.

    Josiah read her mind, somehow. ¡°We have a drainage system. We¡¯re used to it.¡±

    Viola¡¯s own eyes drifted to the window from afar. ¡°How does it rain in a place like this?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Comes from above,¡± Josiah answered plainly. ¡°When it rains above, the water falls through the cracks into Velpyre. It rains down here, too. We share that.¡±

    Octavia tore her eyes away from the window, surrendering her observation spot to those who continued to watch. ¡°I have a¡­lot of questions about this place,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Ready whenever you are,¡± Josiah offered with a shrug. ¡°Ask whatever you need to.¡±

    Just as he had done, Octavia forewent true seating in favor of the carpet below. She crossed her legs comfortably, struggling to organize her thoughts in order of priority. They were all pressing in their own ways, ultimately, and choosing one at a time was a challenge.

    ¡°What¡¯s it like to live down here? Why would someone choose this?¡±

    It was a bad one to start with, given how rudely it came out. She winced immediately.

    If Josiah took any offense to her words, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Everywhere is someone¡¯s home. This is mine, I suppose. It could definitely be better.¡±

    ¡°Do you live alone down here? What about your family?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°They left. I stayed.¡±

    Octavia hesitated for a moment before pressing him further. ¡°Why?¡±

    Josiah leaned back onto his palms with a sigh. ¡°When you¡¯re born, you roll the dice on your lot in life. Some people end up rich, some end up poor, and some end up here. When people end up here, their priority is getting the hell out. No one can blame them. I don¡¯t fault my family. I¡¯m the one who chose to stay, anyway.¡±

    ¡°What made you stay here?¡± Viola added.

    His faint smile was still noticeable. ¡°Selena and I grew up together. We ended up pretty close. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to leave her behind when the time came. After a pretty heated argument with my parents, I ended up staying.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re childhood friends,¡± Madrigal mused. ¡°That¡¯s lovely.¡±

    ¡°And the church gave you a place to stay?¡± Octavia continued.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°You could say that. We had an agreement.¡±

    He paused for longer than she¡¯d expected. Just as Octavia made to press him, he continued quietly of his own accord.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t fault Selena. She really is trying her best,¡± he spoke, his tone solemn. ¡°You¡¯re not the first ones who¡¯ve criticized her.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°We¡¯re sorry. Like we said, we¡¯re just messengers. I don¡¯t really understand this whole situation. I want to, though.¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes. ¡°You all seem like good people. You¡¯re genuine. We don¡¯t get a lot of that here.¡±

    Viola folded her hands in her lap. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m willing to bet that you guys didn¡¯t get here without any trouble.¡±

    When he cracked an eye open to survey their faces, he apparently found his answer. Viola cleared her throat. He smirked.

    ¡°People around here do whatever they want. In the dark, no one can stop you. No one cares enough to stop you. It¡¯s our punishment for being below.¡±

    ¡°So that lifestyle is¡­normal,¡± Viola concluded.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°This whole place is made of nothing but malice. Anything goes. Violence, corruption, everything you could imagine. No one can stop any of it. However bad you think it is during the day, it gets infinitely worse at night.¡±

    By now, his words had become more enticing than the rain. Still, for the attention he had in full, the silence between each sentence still benefited from the downpour¡¯s relentlessly-rhythmic interruption. Octavia fidgeted slightly.

    ¡°I have a question,¡± Octavia began, knowing full well she¡¯d already asked quite a number more. ¡°You keep¡­saying ¡®above¡¯ and ¡®below¡¯ when you talk about Velrose and Velpyre. Why not just call them by their names?¡±

    ¡°Local custom, honestly. You¡¯ll hear it in both cities often enough, if they ever feel like talking about us up there at all. Above. Below. Blossom. Flame. All of it.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Blossom and¡­flame?¡±

    Josiah flicked one finger towards the ceiling, then back down to the floor. ¡°Blossom. Flame,¡± he repeated respectively.

    She recognized the words. It took her a moment, and her eyes widened when it clicked.

    ¡°The¡­poem,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°Sonata¡¯s story.¡±

    Her revelation was contagious, her surprise even more so. ¡°The blossom and the flame,¡± Viola spoke incredulously. ¡°Velrose and¡­Velpyre?¡±

    ¡°I already forgot the whole poem, honestly,¡± Renato admitted with a weak sigh.

    ¡°You guys know it? I can tell it again, if you want,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°It¡¯s common knowledge down here. Everyone knows it by heart.¡±

    ¡°Please do,¡± Viola requested. Josiah nodded in turn.

    ¡°Blessed is the blossom warmed by the flame,¡± he spoke plainly, every word somewhat more natural than was normal. ¡°Gifted is the flame born to warm the blossom. One thrives in the embrace of the other, eternal together. Should the flame cease to flicker, so, too, does the blossom wilt. There is no worth to a flame that does not warm. The blossom thrives as the flame burns on, in harmony and peace alike.¡±

    ¡°So the¡­blossom and flame refer to Velrose and Velpyre, then?¡± Harper asked.

    Josiah was silent for a moment before responding, his tone somewhat strained. ¡°You could interpret it that way, yes.¡±

    It took time for the puzzle pieces to settle cleanly into place, and more than one attempt on Octavia¡¯s part. When it clicked, it did so bitterly. She initially believed she¡¯d misinterpreted, given how unsettling of a tone she¡¯d found. The knowing look on his face left little other alternative. She didn¡¯t appreciate the singular beat that her heart missed.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­wow,¡± Renato offered bluntly.

    ¡°The cities depend on one another?¡± Madrigal finally asked.

    ¡°This whole thing sounds kinda¡­hostile towards Velpyre, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Harper added.

    ¡°Very,¡± Josiah replied, his voice still just as strained. ¡°Above, they see us as the ones that ruin everything. They¡¯re not completely wrong. They go out of their way to hide us from the rest of the world, and they treat us like scum. Frankly, this place is mostly scum. It¡¯s an endless cycle.¡±

    He paused for a moment. ¡°And below, it¡¯s more of the same. When someone looks down on you for so long, it¡¯s only natural to hate them right back, isn¡¯t it? One hell of a symbiotic relationship we¡¯ve got going on.¡±

    Any sentiments Octavia could scrape together to comfort the boy would be weak at best and downright false at worst. She didn¡¯t try, and she was somewhat grateful that every other Maestro forewent the same. She let the endless rain roaring above do the talking in her place, clinging to the discomfort that came with burning silence.

    ¡°I won¡¯t leave her,¡± he stated firmly. ¡°No matter how bad things get, I won¡¯t leave her alone here. She¡¯s my best friend. If she can¡¯t leave, then I don¡¯t want to go, either.¡±

    ¡°She can¡¯t leave?¡± Harper murmured. ¡°Like¡­ever?¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s what Sonata said, too,¡± Viola added sadly. ¡°She can¡¯t leave the city at all.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°It¡¯s the exact same for Selena. She can never leave here, even if she wants to. As the acolyte, she¡¯s duty-bound to stay in Velpyre for her entire life.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± Octavia blurted out once more. Just as before, it was still possibly an insult to Josiah¡¯s home. She kicked herself for the same reflexive mistake twice over.

    Nonetheless, he agreed. ¡°She hates it here, and I don¡¯t blame her. She can¡¯t keep the Dissonance at bay if there¡¯s so much more than she can handle. As strong as Seraphim is, it won¡¯t help. One Maestra can only do so much.¡±

    ¡°Seraphim?¡± Viola interrupted.

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call,¡± Josiah clarified. ¡°It¡¯s the twin Harmonial Instrument of the one up above. It¡¯s damn powerful, but it¡¯s not enough. More and more Dissonance shows up here every day. Even when she does her best, it doesn¡¯t change a thing. In the past few months, it¡¯s even been slipping out when people go up above.¡±

    ¡°The train,¡± Harper spoke suddenly. ¡°The Dissonant man. Was he from Velpyre?¡±

    The implications of Dissonance spreading like a disease were absolutely nauseating. Recalling their experience on the train did her zero favors. ¡°Do people just¡­leave and come back?¡± she asked nervously.

    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s difficult, though. To actually get anywhere else in the world, you¡¯d need both a passport for Velpyre and a passport for Velrose. Getting either one isn¡¯t easy. Honestly, I¡¯m amazed you guys made it this far. There¡¯s absolutely no way you¡¯re from Velrose.¡±

    Octavia smiled softly. ¡°Silver Ridge, Coda, and Minuevera. And, uh¡­¡±

    She side-eyed Renato. She¡¯d never bothered to ask. He grinned.

    ¡°Selbright. Way off in the west.¡±

    Josiah gave him a smile of his own. ¡°You¡¯re kidding. That¡¯s where my family ended up.¡±

    Renato tipped his hat playfully. ¡°Small world.¡±

    ¡°Are Maestros¡­respected down here?¡± Harper interrupted. ¡°In Velrose, everyone seemed to love us.¡±

    Josiah paused for a moment before responding. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Like I said, we¡¯ve never actually had Maestros down here before besides the acolyte. I¡¯d advise against telling anyone, though.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it make it easier to get around without hostility if people knew? I mean, if there was a chance they¡¯d respect us?¡±

    ¡°It would only make it harder for Selena,¡± he answered coolly. ¡°Please, don¡¯t. Trust me.¡±

    His tone told her she shouldn¡¯t pry. She couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°Why?¡±

    He sighed heavily. ¡°Selena does her best. There¡¯s no one who¡¯ll recognize that. There is no ¡®respect¡¯ for the acolyte below like there is up above. She¡¯s¡­blamed for everything. That¡¯s all they do to her.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes met hers, and the slightest tint of a plea that stung her carved its way down into her soul. ¡°If they see other Maestros, they¡¯ll only compare her to you. It¡¯ll get worse. It can¡¯t get any worse for her.¡±

    There was thunder, now, distant as it was. She was amazed she could hear it down here at all. If lightning were to strike in the Blessed City, some part of her wondered if she¡¯d witness the brilliant flash of light seeping down below. For how Josiah had illustrated the Cursed City as Hell itself, its direct wrath perhaps wouldn¡¯t be entirely unwarranted. Octavia no longer felt nearly as guilty about her chronic disparaging of Velpyre at large. It was the acolyte alone that her thoughts wandered to more than anything, and the offer was almost instinctive.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± Octavia spoke slowly, ¡°is there anything we can do to help? With any of this?¡±

    For a moment, the boy fell silent, casting his own eyes beyond the rain-blighted glass and into the soaked street. After several seconds, he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.

    ¡°You can help me get her the hell out of here.¡±

 20. Selective Salvation

    The song of the Velpyre Church was not cast thrice daily, much to Octavia¡¯s surprise. It was yet one more discrepancy between Seraphim¡¯s Call and its shining twin so high above. Instead, Seraphim¡¯s melody claimed the night thrice over with a startling gentleness--size be damned. The sound, then, woke her thrice over much the same. How the others slept through it so easily was beyond her. Just the same, her blood rippled and her soul resonated in the wake of every note. As before, it was as blissful as it was disorienting. It was much more welcome the first time. By the last, she was more or less permanently awake. It was a different kind of curse in the Cursed City.

    Josiah hadn¡¯t been lying about holding merit in the church, apparently. He¡¯d arranged for their shelter, confined to one room and born of a literal church as it was. It was infinitely better than nothing, and she was more than grateful for his hospitality relative to their more-than-recent first meeting. There was an incredible irony to be found between the sanctuaries both above and below. In peaceful Velrose, the sheer nature of the grandiose church made even the image of sleeping inside impossible. In violent Velpyre, she didn¡¯t dare imagine sleeping anywhere but its twin. It was one more discrepancy.

    It hardly mattered. Sleep was impossible. Every attempt she made to bury her head beneath blankets in the wake of Seraphim¡¯s song was fruitless. She groaned inwardly. Lately, she was beginning to wonder if she¡¯d ever sleep normally again.

    Just for a day. Help me get her out of here for just one day, and I can promise it¡¯ll make managing the Dissonance much easier. I swear it.

    If his words from last night were to be believed, getting the acolyte out of Velpyre was a temporary endeavor. For the pleading tone he¡¯d taken in the process of asking, subtle as it was, she didn¡¯t dare distrust him. Selena, too, was bound to one city alone. Octavia could check off yet another similarity between the acolyte and her counterpart above. It wasn¡¯t as though she could fault, in any capacity, even fleeting ideas to leave such a sickening place.

    This is all I¡¯ll ask for.

    Sonata¡¯s reaction would be anyone¡¯s guess. Octavia feared it, somewhat. To be granted permission to achieve compliance by any means necessary left a gray area. She wasn¡¯t particularly certain this methodology would qualify.

    Please.

    It was to say nothing of the blossom and the flame, mutually venomous as they apparently were. She hesitated to recall the poem at all. She hesitated to be here at all.

    If she couldn¡¯t give up on Velpyre, she could at least give up on sleep. Clearly, she was not getting it back. She thought to bring Stradivaria, aimless as her path through a place so unknown would be. Still shuddered to consider the last several times she¡¯d been caught alone and in danger, by which the instrument had been her only salvation. Still, this was a sanctuary from the darkened city beyond. The Velpyre Acolyte was not to be underestimated. She gave her utmost trust to the guardian of the Cursed City, well-acclimated or not. In that way, maybe she fit in with those of Velpyre in a different manner entirely.

    Granted, the Velpyre Church was significantly less intimidating than its twin. It didn¡¯t keep Octavia from getting lost by default, and she feared ending up in the unfamiliar depths of anything with the name ¡°Velpyre¡± attached to it. The clergy existed, somewhere. She vaguely remembered the direction of Josiah¡¯s room, although she didn¡¯t dare wake him for her own comfort. The silence she found in between the song of Seraphim¡¯s Call spoke to a sleeping church, if not a sleeping city beyond. Still, if there was a song, there was a Maestra. Where they could claim sleep in peace, Selena alone awaited in the depths of night as a guardian angel. Octavia checked off another similarity between the acolytes, two angels of a different kind entirely.

    If she really struggled, she could almost recall the direction of the chapel. Seraphim¡¯s continuing melody would¡¯ve been of significant assistance, although she feared she¡¯d utterly lose the ability to move at all once more. It took mild trial and error to make it that far. The slight differences between the doors helped, and she was fairly certain her guess was correct. It didn¡¯t quell her hesitation, her palms flat against the wood as she mulled over the idea of entry. Whether it was worth anything was debatable. She thought to apologize. It was the best she could offer.

    There was a brief moment where she assumed the acolyte had already gone to sleep as well, by which she would¡¯ve been alone with only Seraphim¡¯s Call for company. The idea wasn¡¯t as unnerving as Octavia had expected it to be. Still, she caught streaming black tied back neatly, facing her in lieu of a gaze she couldn¡¯t meet. She wasn¡¯t aware if Selena knew she was there at all, really, given that her every gentle step was ignored. Only the creaking of the chapel doors at Octavia¡¯s back served as a warning.

    Even without turning her head, the acolyte¡¯s voice was firm and clear. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Octavia fidgeted nervously. ¡°Uh, I just wanted to¡­see how you¡¯re doing, I guess.¡±

    Only then did Selena cast her gaze over her shoulder, her sharp eyes softening in the absolute slightest. ¡°Oh. It¡¯s you. I thought it was someone from the clergy.¡±

    It was in stark contrast to how Sonata spoke to the clergy above. One more discrepancy. ¡°Is it okay if I come in?¡± she asked quietly.

    Selena¡¯s gaze fell forward again, and Octavia was once more left only with restrained hair to show for it. ¡°Yeah. Do what you want.¡±

    Her words weren¡¯t particularly inviting. Still, Octavia accepted the invitation regardless. Even the second time around, the organ was every bit as splendid to witness. Valkyrie¡¯s Call was omnipotent, an all-seeing guardian that reigned marvelously from on high. So far below, she still chose to see Seraphim¡¯s Call as a softer guardian in its own right. Her shuffling footsteps, muffled by interloping carpet, would¡¯ve been far more awkward if not for its comforting visage. She appreciated the instrument. She was fairly certain its Maestra hated her.

    Octavia claimed the opposite end of the pew, stiffening almost immediately. Any attempt to cobble together an apology left hasty words fizzling and dying on her lips. Selena had every reason to be irate. Were she the acolyte, she would¡¯ve felt the same. She didn¡¯t entertain the thought for a moment more, given the path it could¡¯ve taken.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I yelled at you.¡±

    It was entirely possible the acolyte could read her mind. Selena¡¯s soft words echoed off the walls of the spacious room, somewhat. Octavia flinched.

    ¡°N-No, I¡¯m sorry, we shouldn¡¯t have accused you like that. We didn¡¯t know,¡± she quickly offered in return.

    Selena sighed. ¡°I know you didn¡¯t know. You were just doing what you were told to do.¡±

    Her words felt pointed, in a way. Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, choosing her words carefully. ¡°Do you¡­hate the Velrose Acolyte?¡±

    Selena exhaled slowly. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never met her. I¡¯ve never even heard her voice. Still, somehow, all she¡¯s done is criticize me. It must be nice up there.¡±

    Selena drew her knees up to her chest, curling up in the pew. Octavia was still robbed of eye contact, by which the acolyte only stared at her shoes instead. She was quiet for a moment.

    ¡°I wonder if anyone¡¯s ever criticized her before,¡± the acolyte murmured. ¡°I wonder if she¡¯s ever gotten anything except constant praise and affection.¡±

    Octavia had no idea how to answer, in truth. Any words of comfort may very well have been lost on the acolyte, given the apathy that plagued her face. She did her best.

    ¡°I¡­like your song,¡± she tried instead. ¡°I heard you playing earlier. It sounds really nice.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Selena breathed, closing her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re one of the few people to think that, then.¡±

    ¡°How long have you been awake for?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°Most of the night. I don¡¯t go to sleep until after the last song. I just don¡¯t really feel like sleeping right now, is all.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I was having trouble sleeping too.¡±

    ¡°Did I wake you?¡±

    ¡°Everything wakes me,¡± Octavia groaned. ¡°I think I¡¯m turning into a light sleeper.¡±

    For a brief moment, Octavia almost noticed the slightest of smirks. ¡°My bad. I¡¯ll never do it again.¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m what got you to stop playing, I think the church would kill me,¡± Octavia joked, resting her head lazily against the pew.

    Selena scoffed. ¡°We¡¯re in the same boat there. I¡¯m used to it, at this point.¡±

    The chuckle that soon left Selena¡¯s lips was empty, devoid of any genuine amusement. Her face matched, blank as it was. Octavia stiffened somewhat.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly.

    Selena took one deep breath in full before responding. ¡°I mean that you¡¯re not the only one the church would be furious with. Not like that¡¯s anything new.¡±

    Octavia chose her words carefully once more. ¡°What exactly¡­if you don¡¯t mind my asking, what¡¯s your relationship with this church, exactly? I mean, I know you¡¯re the acolyte, but you keep talking about¡­criticism.¡±

    ¡°They hate me,¡± Selena responded plainly, her words almost instant. She bundled them with a shrug. ¡°Always have and always will. Too much Dissonance and not enough salvation.¡±

    The acolyte opened her eyes, offering them to Octavia at last. When Octavia didn¡¯t answer, Selena instead seemed to roll her eyes at nothing in particular. Octavia winced.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Josiah already spilled all the details there,¡± she continued. ¡°Not much else I can say. I¡¯m used to being hated in every way imaginable.¡±

    Octavia considered crossing a line not hers to tread. She took the risk. ¡°Have you ever¡­thought about leaving?¡±

    Selena laughed once, a single and sudden sound that outright startled Octavia. ¡°Of course I have. I¡¯m not much more than dead if I screw up, which I will. They know better.¡±

    ¡°You say that like the church will kill you,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare. They¡¯re running out of Maestras.¡±

    Octavia froze. She almost sounded serious.

    With one look at Octavia¡¯s face, Selena really did smirk. ¡°They¡¯ve never killed any, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking. The Velpyre Acolyte is too precious to them, but they can¡¯t always guarantee they¡¯re going to get another.¡±

    Pressing was somewhat horrifying. She did it anyway. ¡°What¡­happened to the last acolyte?¡±

    Selena¡¯s smirk faltered somewhat, never quite evaporating in full. ¡°She got away.¡±

    Octavia fell silent. Given how the acolyte kept eyeing her after every sharp revelation, she had half a mind to wonder if Selena was enjoying drinking in her discomfort. She was justified, somewhat, for what they¡¯d already cursed her with. Octavia kept her mouth shut.

    ¡°My mother was the last acolyte,¡± Selena went on. ¡°When she met my father, the church was so excited to see her give birth to a healthy baby girl. I didn¡¯t even make it to a year old before she escaped with him. Never actually met either of them.¡±

    Once more, Octavia could offer nothing. Once more, Selena went on.

    ¡°They can¡¯t kill the acolytes, sure,¡± she admitted with yet another shrug. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean they can¡¯t break them, if that¡¯s what keeps them in line.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t look the acolyte in the eyes. She gave her gaze to Seraphim¡¯s Call instead. It was too much at once. Her stomach was beginning to hurt.

    ¡°Do you want to see something?¡±

    She didn¡¯t, more than likely. Octavia nodded anyway. Given where this entire conversation had steered, she feared the worst.

    When the acolyte brushed her tethered hair forward upon her shoulders, the nape of her neck was laid bare to see. Octavia inched closer hesitantly as Selena lowered her head, provided that was where she was intended to be looking. She just barely had enough room above the robes to witness Selena¡¯s skin at all, soft olive shockingly offset by grotesque purple. It was more than scarred, strained tissue pulling far too taut on her innocent neck. The mark was almost gruesome, poorly-healed and stricken by the haunting echoes of charred veins on several sides. It was the last place Octavia expected to see the Harmonial Crest, somewhere between neatly-pressed and not.

    ¡°What¡­is this?¡± she finally murmured, well aware that she was staring.

    Selena was quiet for a moment, tense and still as she clung only to her parted hair. ¡°This is what I mean to the church. This is what I mean to this place, too. This is all I am.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s silence only enabled her further. ¡°Just don¡¯t touch it. It never healed properly. It hurts.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a¡­tattoo?¡± Octavia tried.

    She heard Selena scoff. ¡°It¡¯s a brand, actually. Like I¡¯m a damn animal.¡±

    Curiosity morphed into abject horror. She was probably going to vomit.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­awful. Who did that to you?¡± Octavia asked, her voice wavering.

    ¡°The clergy, who else?¡± Selena snapped.

    Octavia jumped at her harsh words. It took several moments for the acolyte¡¯s tone to settle with a sigh.

    ¡°This is normal. This is what¡¯s expected of us--of me, really. There¡¯s no use for a worthless flame. In the eyes of the clergy, there¡¯s nothing more worthless than someone who can¡¯t control all the mess this God-forsaken city has to offer. The bastards up above always insist it¡¯s my fault whenever Dissonance sneaks its way up there. Each and every time, I pay the price for it. They don¡¯t care, and they don¡¯t want to care. They have no idea what happens down here.¡±

    Octavia stared at the twisted brand for an eternity. It was almost a relief when the acolyte freed her restrained locks, night-black obscuring charred purples once more. Still, Octavia knew it was beneath, forever clinging calmly. The knot in her stomach couldn¡¯t be undone.

    ¡°They can¡¯t kill acolytes, but they can break them,¡± Selena repeated disdainfully. ¡°They¡¯re running out of ways to break me, though. I¡¯ll leave it to them to think of something more evil. This city is really good at that.¡±

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Octavia inhaled deeply, battling her surging nausea. ¡°Who¡¯s the next acolyte after you?¡±

    Selena shook her head, still turned well away from the Maestra. The motion of her tethered hair in the process still kept the scar concealed, at least. ¡°None. It¡¯s the responsibility of the acolyte to make another one. I¡¯m an only child, so I don¡¯t have any siblings who can step up.¡±

    Slowly, the acolyte¡¯s eyes found the ceiling alone as she straightened up. ¡°I¡¯ll kill myself before I have kids in this city. I¡¯m never subjecting anyone to this Hell. If I get my way, this city dies with me.¡±

    She knew she should stay silent. She knew it wasn¡¯t her place to relay the news. For all the forsaken acolyte had entrusted her with, she couldn¡¯t help it. It slipped out, more or less.

    ¡°Josiah wants to get you out. He wants to help you escape, just for a day.¡±

    Selena¡¯s eyes snapped to hers in an instant, and Octavia flinched. There was no hostility to be found, nor any unspoken cynicism. She expected sarcasm, somewhat, if not a bitter laugh. It was what she was growing to expect from the acolyte thus far. It was justified, if her words were to be believed. The softness in her eyes was extremely jarring, by comparison.

    ¡°Really?¡± Selena asked, her voice equally soft.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He said he thinks it¡¯ll help. With everything, I mean.¡±

    She forewent the ¡°with doing your job¡± portion of that statement. It would¡¯ve been cruel. In truth, Sonata¡¯s assigned mission was beginning to lose precedence. Her prioritized acolytes were beginning to switch places, ever so slowly. The revelation left her heart beating just the slightest bit quicker.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen if I¡¯m caught,¡± Selena murmured. It was the most vulnerable her voice had ever sounded.

    ¡°We¡¯ll help. All of us will,¡± Octavia reassured. ¡°He has a plan. It sounds like he really cares about you.¡±

    The blank look on her face was enough to leave the Maestra backpedaling awkwardly. ¡°I-I mean, I don¡¯t know him that well, but that¡¯s definitely what it looks like.¡±

    Selena didn¡¯t object. Her faint smile was unmistakable. ¡°I know.¡±

    The silence that settled between them was equal parts uncomfortable and not. Octavia didn¡¯t dare shatter it. She left that right to the acolyte alone.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I have absolutely nothing to lose. At this point, I don¡¯t care what happens to me. There¡¯s so little they can do that they haven¡¯t already done.¡±

    Octavia smiled, risk be damned. ¡°I¡¯ll let Josiah know. We¡¯ll come get you tomorrow once he gives us the plan.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± Selena asked, her eyes widening slightly. ¡°So soon?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare speak of Sonata, nor the slight obligation as to a timely solution. It was a compromise she assumed was mutual, if not simple enough to conceal. ¡°Is tomorrow an issue?¡±

    Selena only grinned, a welcome sight for an otherwise solemn acolyte. ¡°Tomorrow can¡¯t come fast enough.¡±

    In truth, Octavia was afraid. Where she¡¯d been a messenger once, she was a messenger still. Where the blossom threatened to overpower her senses, the flame threatened to burn her alive. Between two worlds in either direction, she could still process little of both lives around which they orbited. Even so, if there was one burnt more harshly by the same flame, it was perhaps the one contribution she could offer to the Cursed City. In the deepest depths of the worst kind of darkness, there was hopefully one place her light could reach.

    <hr>

    He was extremely smart. She learned that quickly enough.

    Given how quickly Josiah had met each of them, their strengths had been accounted for almost instantly. He¡¯d sized them up and broken them down in ways that left Octavia feeling outright vulnerable, and she had half a mind to wonder exactly how much he could read her. Every aspect of his plan was nearly flawless, and he dissected it into fragments she could understand. He went so far as to sketch a rough map of the city from memory, even. He was startlingly skilled at drawing. That wasn¡¯t important right now.

    It was simple enough, at least at a surface level--get out, steal one day of sunshine, and get in. With six accomplices--five Maestros, at that--the acolyte¡¯s escape was all but ensured. It wasn¡¯t as though those above knew what to look for of the acolyte below, isolated as the guardian of the flame was. So long as she doffed suffocating garments in favor of casual attire, Josiah insisted she¡¯d blend in effortlessly. It still left those below, privy to the face of their beloved acolyte. The least of their concerns came with immovable guardians of another kind, by which those who monitored their singular escape route were not to be so simply distracted. It necessitated violence, swift and silent all the same.

    Their volunteer was highly predictable. He was silent when he wanted to be, if the auction meant anything. He was still vehemently unstable, mentally or otherwise. Given the way Renato¡¯s eyes more or less lit up at the concept of the task, Octavia continued to be certain that something was severely wrong with that boy.

    Selena found her rest, fleeting as it was. ¡°Tomorrow¡± for the acolyte meant little in the face of a nocturnal schedule, and Octavia hoped her time above wouldn¡¯t be viciously blighted by fatigue. It was not Josiah alone who knew the schedules of the clergy by heart. It was both a bane and a blessing, by which the acolyte was practically inverse to those who tormented her relentlessly in the overlapping dusk and dawn.

    She slept unperturbed in the light of day, fleeting meals and half-hearted leisure time notwithstanding. With the setting sun came monotony, by which Seraphim¡¯s Call was to sing yet again. Per her own words, she¡¯d earned enough independence to avoid prying eyes in the depths of night--for now. There¡¯d been a story there, born of ruthless resistance. Octavia had thought to pry deeper, and yet held her breath all the same.

    And, as such, Josiah seized upon that overlapping window. A resting acolyte was not to be interrupted, lest her song suffer for it--ironically. The cresting sun so high above, in every sense of the word, would flip their hourglass of freedom. Only with its descent would their hasty return be necessary.

    Between getting her out, stealing the sky, and getting her in, it was the latter that posed the most difficulty. It was the one problem by which Josiah was forced to forgo his preference for stealth in favor of a genuine distraction. The clergy adored Maestros enough, and Octavia added it to her mental similarities list between the blossom and the flame.

    They¡¯d already dealt with one spontaneous performance above. Another below wouldn¡¯t hurt, nor would it necessarily be unfathomable as a supposedly-appreciative gesture. From there, Selena was free to fake insomnia as necessary, should her wandering at odd hours be noticed.

    Really, there was quite a bit more Octavia would¡¯ve preferred her light to offer the Velpyre clergy, at this point. It was a sick thought. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    It was a strong plan, even with the handful of holes Josiah acknowledged were impossible to fill. Their window was brief, no more than one hour. It left both the Velpyre and Velrose Churches alike to escape in tandem. Velrose was perhaps even riskier, for how their own visages had become well-known. To accompany the acolyte¡¯s every step would be exceedingly dangerous.

    Selena would go first. They would go second. With the setting sun would come the inverse, approved as their descent was to those below--with more than enough room for repeated incapacitation of the guards, if necessary. She highly, highly doubted Renato would have qualms about doing it twice.

    One hour to get out. Twelve hours above. One hour to get back in. Fourteen hours on edge. For the sake of an acolyte consumed by hateful flames, it couldn¡¯t fail.

    Selena was lovely in plain clothes, truthfully. Beyond the robes, she was far from an acolyte and one with the unholy world. The dress was sweet, although the lengthy sleeves and sprawling tights were somewhat disorienting. Clad in black, Octavia feared she¡¯d melt beneath the summer sun above.

    It hides the bruises, she¡¯d been told upon pressing.

    Selena looked good with her hair down, too. It hid something else, at least. Octavia tried once more not to remember it was there.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to split up,¡± Josiah instructed upon the stone steps. ¡°We¡¯ll be a lot more obvious if we move as a unit, and there¡¯s still plenty of people out at this hour.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t enjoy the multiple sets of eyes settling onto her simultaneously. It was becoming a trend. She flushed. ¡°O-Okay, I¡¯ll go with Selena and Josiah. Everyone else, meet up again at the entrance to Velrose. And, uh, Renato?¡±

    He tilted his head.

    It was an ironic request. ¡°Please at least try to be quiet.¡±

    He saluted with exaggeration and a grin to match. ¡°Won¡¯t let you down, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°You should take another Maestro with you,¡± Viola insisted. ¡°Just in case. Selena doesn¡¯t have access to her Harmonial Instrument. For today, she may as well not be a Maestra.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s a good thing,¡± Josiah added with a smile, his eyes flickering to the visible discomfort crossing Selena¡¯s face. ¡°That¡¯s the whole idea.¡±

    When Selena returned his smile at last, Viola continued. ¡°Bring someone who can play quietly in case there¡¯s any trouble.¡±

    That ruled out Harper immediately, really. Between Viola and Madrigal, Octavia settled for the latter by a thread. She seemed excited enough about it, beaming accordingly.

    ¡°Then we¡¯re good,¡± Viola confirmed with a nod. ¡°Harper, Renato, and myself. You, Madrigal, Selena, and Josiah.¡±

    ¡°Then we should get going,¡± Harper added. "We need as much time as we can get."

    Octavia cast her eyes high towards the ceiling. The faintest traces of starlight still just barely trickled through the little cracks overhead. The night sky beyond speckled the city with slight reprieve in the face of infinite darkness, and it was all they could cling to. The streetlamps tried, at least. Without the pitiful crumbs of sunshine that tumbled down below during the day, their visibility was awful. For once, it wasn¡¯t as much of a curse. She resolved to exploit it with everything she had.

    They split just as quietly as they¡¯d spoken, and moved perhaps just as swiftly. To follow the main road back was one thing, and yet Selena had no such privilege. Planning wasn¡¯t the only thing Josiah was good at, apparently. His navigational skills in Velpyre rivaled Harper¡¯s own in Coda, and Octavia would never have found every twisting alley or corner of her own accord. He hardly threw his gaze over his shoulder to confirm their continued pursuit, and yet his pace was simple enough to match. Whether or not it was intentional as he wove between poorly-lit building after building, cloaked in darkness, Octavia was unsure.

    Selena was the center of their little shield, never far from those who secured her every fleeing step. She didn¡¯t dare slow, and neither did Octavia at her side--nor Madrigal at her back, eyes flickering in their wake time and time again. At least the latter had stopped trying to run in reverse, at this point.

    ¡°Are you holding up okay?¡± Octavia asked the acolyte, her volume low.

    Selena nodded, her pace still swift. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m a little tired, but I¡¯ll probably feel better as the day goes on. Maybe the sun will help. I¡¯ve slept enough for a lifetime already.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know I probably kept you up,¡± Octavia murmured.

    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s no problem. It was my fault. I¡¯m the one who was awake in the first place.¡±

    The silence that blanketed them came on the heels of the darkness, all-encompassing and oddly safe. They stole into the depths of the Cursed City without hesitation, trailing Josiah¡¯s every confident step. Several of his navigational choices were somewhat disorienting, granted. At least once, he rounded multiple buildings in such quick succession that Octavia nearly tripped. She didn¡¯t, and that was what mattered. One glance over her shoulder found Madrigal still well on her guard, the Maestra¡¯s own eyes darting diligently in every direction. She caught Octavia¡¯s, and she offered a brilliant smile in return. Octavia tried to give one back.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    Hearing her own name out of the acolyte¡¯s mouth was jarring, quiet as it was. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Why would you go this far for a stranger like me?¡± Selena asked softly. ¡°We just met. You could get in serious trouble.¡±

    She was very well aware. She¡¯d been doing all she could to ignore it. Even now, she didn¡¯t so much as try to imagine Sonata¡¯s reaction if she were to find out. Regardless, she shook her head with a strained smile.

    ¡°Done it before and I¡¯ll do it again. It¡¯s just what we do,¡± she joked. ¡°No one deserves to be alone like that.¡±

    Selena¡¯s smile was genuine, and Octavia¡¯s fears slowly melted in its wake. It was worth it.

    ¡°You could even call us defenders of justice, maybe. Right, Madrigal?¡± she teased, glancing over her shoulder once more.

    Madrigal didn¡¯t respond. Madrigal didn¡¯t move forward at all. She¡¯d stopped walking entirely, at some point, rooted firmly in place. It was an instinct for Octavia to slow to a halt, by which the others did the same.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± she asked again.

    Madrigal was silent. Octavia couldn¡¯t peer down the same alleyway from her current angle, although the Maestra at her back seemed to have a perfectly unobstructed view. She didn¡¯t so much as blink. Octavia checked.

    ¡°Did you¡­see something?¡± Josiah asked quietly, equally still.

    She¡¯d seen that look on Madrigal¡¯s face exactly once, icy and piercing. Octavia was hallucinating the oozing hostility, possibly. It was still every bit as unnerving to so much as witness compared to last time. She didn¡¯t ask what was on the other end of that spearing glare. She wasn¡¯t certain she wanted to know.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± she tried once more.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Madrigal,¡± Octavia spoke firmly. ¡°We need to go. Now.¡±

    She caught Madrigal¡¯s gaze. She didn¡¯t want it, for how the slowly-drifting stare briefly lingered over Octavia. She flinched beneath the cold eyes that stung her, still unblinking and notably glassy. The sight was lost on Selena and Josiah, surely. It was more than enough to leave her heart racing, by comparison. She barely breathed. Neither did Madrigal.

    The wait for the tension to break was agonizing. Madrigal finally blinked, the glass atop her pupils shattering to pieces in the process. Once more did her eyes water in the slightest. This time, there came no smile of reassurance, nor bubbling words to ease Octavia¡¯s pounding heart. Instead, her previously-piercing gaze fell to the ground.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said softly, her voice more than monotone.

    Octavia wanted to press. She wanted to pry. In the moment, Selena took priority, and she had little to do but run. Madrigal following in her wake, silently or otherwise, was a relief.

    Selena and Josiah, to their credit, were content with the same. Madrigal was quiet for the remainder of their hushed escape. Octavia was both relieved and unnerved by her peace all at once. As to Josiah, she was sincerely impressed by their lack of intervention the entire voyage to the front gate, by which not one stranger crossed their path. Disorienting or not, he absolutely seemed to know exactly what he was doing with every unhesitant turn.

    She almost expected to find a dead body somewhere in the dark, concealed as it would be. It was as clich¨¦ a fear as it was rational in the Cursed City. She didn¡¯t dare voice the concern aloud, lest Selena give validation to her concerns.

    She worried for two dead bodies, at least, at the foot of the gate steps. She rightfully exhaled the moment she reached the staircase, high-rising as it was and every bit as ominous from below. The others were there. She recognized the prone attire, awkwardly splayed and very much unmoving. Octavia raised an eyebrow at Renato. If he confirmed her fears, he was next.

    Spinning a drumstick lazily in one hand, the boy bowed with far too much flair. ¡°Not dead. You can clap for my handiwork, though. Please, don¡¯t be shy.¡±

    Selena snickered at her side. Simply seeing her happy in some capacity, morbid or otherwise, was enough to make Octavia smile.

    Still, she¡¯d expected Madrigal to literally applaud. She¡¯d expected Madrigal to acknowledge his carefully-tailored prowess in some capacity, if not to at least interact with the boy. Instead, the Maestra was perfectly neutral. The light tinting her eyes where darkness threatened to steal it away meant nothing. Her behavior wasn¡¯t entirely unnoticed. Renato tilted his head.

    ¡°You¡­okay, Maddie?¡± he tried weakly.

    For him, Madrigal fought for a strained smile with a shake of her head. ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± she answered quietly, her words hollow.

    Viola side-eyed Octavia. She caught the glance, and she knew its intent. It would have to wait.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Josiah interrupted. ¡°Next step.¡±

    Octavia had never gone up. To be staring upwards into the ascending darkness was jarring, for how it narrowed rather than opened. Coming in was already constricting on its own, and that had relaxed quickly enough. Being compressed was going to be deeply uncomfortable by comparison. She could capture the tremendous iron barrier from below, sealing her deep in the depths of the Cursed City. Much the same flaming insignia was carved into the metal underside, and she was sure to have her flame on the way to the blossom.

    This time, there was no deceivingly-innocent little bell to offer an ascent, as had been the case during her plunge into the dark. The lever was crass, flaking and iron in its own right. If its intended purpose was to be believed, given its home beside the stairs, Octavia assumed it saw little usage. It wasn¡¯t a particular surprise.

    Rusting or not, Josiah didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°This is it. Stick to the plan. You guys get out first. Selena and I will come out a little while after.¡±

    Octavia nodded. Her silent affirmation echoed fourfold. Selena¡¯s best attempts to maintain a solemn face were blighted by a creeping smile, and it was not at all lost on Octavia.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± the acolyte spoke softly.

    Josiah threw his full body weight into the effort of shifting the lever. He was either immune or ignorant to the flaking rust staining his fingers, and Octavia could believe both. As above, there came the slightest of delays before the same creaking and scraping of metal greeted her ears. Beyond the confines of one room alone, it was a slightly softer sound. It was by no means fully quiet, and she harbored at least mild concern for the noise seeping into the city. In contrast, the specks of candlelight tumbling through the widening cracks were splendid, a far cry from the pitiful crumbs of sunlight offered as an afterthought to the Cursed City. It was Heaven¡¯s light in a hopeless Hell.

    ¡°Yes?¡± she said, turning to the acolyte.

    The smile gracing Selena¡¯s face was no longer small, nor demure. Instead, she beamed beautifully, and every drop of discarded sunshine Velpyre hardly deserved was shamed by the acolyte¡¯s face alone. It hardly mattered that they¡¯d known one another for a time so fleeting. It was the first time she¡¯d seemed truly and genuinely happy. Selena clasped her hands gently behind her back, radiating soft delight.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Selena breathed. ¡°For everything.¡±

    Octavia had no words to respond, nor could she offer a smile that would come anywhere near rivaling the acolyte¡¯s own. She tried anyway with everything she had. Beneath the flooding candlelight of the Velrose Church as it streamed through the gaping hole, Selena was beautiful. So far below, she was an angel that deserved the world. Octavia cast her eyes high to the blossom, well in sight and more than accessible in the wake of screeching metal.

    And where the blossom was free, her path was not.

    She¡¯d never seen guards above, for how her hesitant descent had been so simple. Josiah had even gone so far as to confirm the same. She recognized the attire, the harsh gazes, the peeking faces. Really, they spoke similarly to those who¡¯d once told her she didn¡¯t belong in the Blessed City. If she squinted, at their backs came trailing whites along the ground, much as she¡¯d seen in passing within the walls of the church so high above.

    It hardly mattered whether any man was holy or unholy in origin. The seeping disdain that splashed down the stairs and flooded the Cursed City was enough to drown Selena¡¯s smile. It was enough to poison her eyes with terror. It was enough to leave her trembling.

    If the Velpyre Acolyte was an angel awaiting flight, then the Velrose Acolyte cast her judgment from on high. Blossom-born or not, it was her gaze that was perhaps the most aflame of all.

 21. Hell

    It was equally as bad as it looked. It was every bit as incriminating as it was made out to be. Every sin was laid bare in the darkness, where candlelight meant to warm so gently instead clashed with the flame so far below. They¡¯d accounted for slip-ups. They¡¯d accounted for holes. At no point had they accounted for complete and utter capture, all eyes wide and flooded with horror. No one moved. No one breathed. For the four words that tumbled down the steps of the blossom into the depths of the Cursed City, there was no viable answer for the Velrose Acolyte.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Sonata¡¯s voice was unsettlingly calm. ¡°Helping the acolyte escape¡± was not a reasonable response, honest or otherwise. There was always damage control. Of even that, Octavia had no idea where to begin. She wondered if she remembered how to speak at all.

    Sonata didn¡¯t press her for an answer. Instead, her eyes drifted to the furious gaze so far below her. Balled fists and trembling arms matched terribly well with radiating ire. Clad in wavering black, blighted by the updraft descending from on high, it was yet another contrast versus her pearl-enveloped counterpart. One was quiet. One was not. That, too, was of note.

    ¡°You¡¯re the acolyte, correct?¡± Sonata asked, her tone deceptively soft. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.¡±

    Her words were somewhere between pointed and polite, tinged with something Octavia couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. It did little to shake Selena, her expression absolutely vicious.

    ¡°It was you,¡± the Velpyre Acolyte spat. ¡°This whole time. Everything.¡±

    Sonata blinked, her expression scathingly neutral. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t. You don¡¯t know anything, after all,¡± Selena growled. ¡°You know nothing of suffering. Just know, if nothing else, that you are the one who has absolutely ruined my life.¡±

    ¡°Do not speak that way to our acolyte!¡± a man at Sonata¡¯s side snapped, lurching forward. ¡°Know your place, you worthless flame!¡±

    Sonata raised one hand, quickly and silently. He, too, fell silent instantly. ¡°My apologies,¡± the man muttered.

    ¡°You are not to leave Velpyre. I know you know this,¡± Sonata continued.

    Sonata received an answer only in hatred alone, venomous eyes hurling poison high aloft the steps from the darkest depths of the flame. The look on Selena¡¯s face was absolutely horrifying, and nothing Octavia had ever seen the girl craft before. Once more was the world of the blossom and the flame beyond her. She didn¡¯t dare interfere. She hardly dared breathe at all, her heart threatening to burst at any moment.

    Josiah was at the Velpyre Acolyte¡¯s side immediately, unhesitant steps leaving Selena well behind his back. His voice was steady and calm where his eyes were not, and Octavia was not at all ignorant to the way his hands trembled somewhat. ¡°This was my fault, Lady Acolyte. This was my idea, and I planned this myself. Selena had nothing to do with it.¡±

    ¡°She had everything to do with it.¡±

    Sonata didn¡¯t quite shout so much as she did raise her voice just a bit too sharply. It was more than enough to make Octavia jump. It was, too, more than enough to clash with the visage of the gentle angel of the blossom she knew. The way the Velrose Acolyte narrowed her eyes, plagued with a hostility Octavia couldn¡¯t imagine tethered to her, was deeply unnerving. ¡°The acolyte is solely responsible for her faults,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°Let me through,¡± Selena demanded, her voice low and her words painfully slow. ¡°Now.¡±

    ¡°Return to the church,¡± Sonata ordered, just as slowly. ¡°Carry out your duties.¡±

    There was no warmth. There was no happiness where the Velpyre Acolyte had been finally granted such just moments before. There was no softness where the Velrose Acolyte had showered a city in much of the same. They were not those she knew, for as fleeting a time as Octavia had known them. Two new acolytes stood before her, hateful and judgmental in equal measure.

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I will not ask twice.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t go,¡± Selena repeated, each word razor-edged. ¡°I won¡¯t let you control my life anymore.¡±

    Sonata inhaled sharply, exhaling just as such. ¡°Very well.¡±

    White robes, crisp and pristine, were traded for lilac. The men who made way for yet others at Sonata¡¯s side were still and peaceful. The soft hues that opposed their own garments were more than enough for Selena¡¯s rage to fizzle and die. What cursed her face was something closer to raw terror, if not still plagued with the slightest drops of ire. That, too, was a face Octavia had never seen her make. Selena hardly had the chance to run. Even if she tried, she surely wouldn¡¯t have gotten far.

    Every man that swiftly descended the steps did so with horrifying speed, for what they were to offer the Velpyre Acolyte alone. Not once did they trip, nor did they hesitate to claim the stairs two at a time as was necessary. With what little light Octavia¡¯s pupils could steal in the darkness, she could at least find the way by which lilac matched with lilac. It took her less than a moment to make the connection, and Selena¡¯s screams were a solid indicator in and of themselves. Somewhere between growls and shrieks, their firm hands clasping in excess around her every limb did little to stem her frantic flailing. Her size versus theirs meant nothing. Where the Velpyre clergy could lay siege to her four times over, she gave them no reprieve.

    Josiah struggled in a different way entirely, practically lunging towards the man gripping Selena¡¯s left arm into dust. His own grasp was desperate, and he strained with sharpened eyes as he tugged futilely at a grip far stronger. ¡°Let her go!¡± he shouted, his voice shaking.

    It earned him violence. Where he¡¯d managed to compromise Selena¡¯s restraints in one place alone, it was not to be for long. The swift motion of a ruthless touch meant to quell the acolyte now crashed down upon Josiah in full, the back of the man¡¯s hand slamming fiercely against the boy¡¯s cheek.

    The force was immense to a startling degree, more than enough to leave him staggering. It wasn¡¯t enough to deter him entirely, and he attempted yet the same again with his face more than reddened. The second time, it was no longer open-handed, and he earned a full fist for his efforts. The fearsome blow directly to his teeth sent Josiah hurtling to the ground, crying out in pain all the way there.

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Octavia cried out herself, still more than frozen in place. It was the first way by which she¡¯d shattered a silence of her own making, let alone intervened. Renato did so physically, racing to the boy¡¯s side for what little could be done without words. Josiah was bleeding, notably, one stream of red delicately trickling from his lips. Still, his fearful eyes were on Selena alone, writhing and screaming even now.

    ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Selena screeched. ¡°Leave him alone! Get away from him!¡±

    And yet, there was another whose gaze fell only to Josiah in turn. He had the leeway to peel his eyes from the Velpyre Acolyte, for how those around him held fast where he was vulnerable. ¡°You were aware of your task.¡±

    His wounds were of little concern, apparently. Josiah¡¯s breaths were labored, his motions panicked. ¡°This would¡¯ve--¡±

    ¡°Gather your belongings and do not return,¡± the man ordered.

    ¡°Listen to me!¡± Josiah begged.

    ¡°I will not repeat myself.¡±

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Selena shrieked, still squirming and writhing endlessly in the throes of her restraint. It was all she could do to scream his name, kicking and flailing at that which she could not reach. ¡°Get off of me! Get off! Josiah! Josiah!¡±

    ¡°Lady Acolyte, I beg of you, please! Forgive her! Punish me if you want, but please, just spare her!¡± Josiah pleaded, his panicked eyes cast hastily aloft.

    ¡°This is her retribution alone,¡± Sonata insisted sharply.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do anything!¡±

    ¡°Josiah!¡±

    ¡°This is the path she has chosen, and so, too, must she pay the price.¡±

    ¡°Josiah! Josiah! Josiah!¡±

    ¡°Sonata, please!¡± Octavia begged of her own accord, burned by the cycle of prayer and denial before her. In the face of an angel of judgment where once had been mercy, she could hardly hope for the latter. Still, to hold her tongue would¡¯ve killed her.

    ¡°We will talk. Return to the church, all of you. Forget this task,¡± she spoke plainly. Her words dripped with disappointment, if not disdain at worst. Her expression offered only more of the same, and it scorched horrifically just to incur. Octavia was nauseous.

    ¡°Sonata, please!¡± Octavia cried once more.

    And yet, the Velrose Acolyte had already turned her back on the flame, indifferent to the suffering and sorrow of her counterpart in the darkness. Perhaps she was satisfied with the outcome. Perhaps she¡¯d lost interest. One of those was far more disgusting to consider than the other.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you!¡± Selena howled. ¡°You bitch, I¡¯ll kill you! I swear to God, I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll kill you!¡±

    Her obscenities earned a tightened grip--if it were possible, for how their violent grasps were already dying her skin a permanent red--and a forceful blow. Bound as she was, it was all Selena could do to cry out in pain as one man struck her fiercely across the face. It did little to stem her verbal hostilities, and she hurled every hateful word imaginable up the steps and into the blossom. It mattered not that the Velrose Acolyte couldn¡¯t be bothered to bear witness to the girl¡¯s struggle. It was more than audible, and Selena made doubly sure of that.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Viola pleaded, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. ¡°Leave her alone!¡±

    ¡°Stand down!¡± Sonata boomed.

    Her ferocious voice echoed heavily down the staircase, rippling into the darkness below. Octavia¡¯s heart nearly exploded, only partially from fright. It was the first time she ever truly feared the Velrose Acolyte. Days ago, it would¡¯ve been an impossible concept.

    ¡°This is greater than you all. This is beyond the scope of what you understand, and you must leave it be. Return to the Velrose Church at once. I will not repeat myself,¡± Sonata called clearly.

    Selena never once left the grasps she¡¯d been ensnared in, still kicking and battling desperately to no avail. She stayed that way as they departed, captive to the Velpyre clergy that dragged her ever deeper into the darkness. It was only as Sonata¡¯s visage grew ever more distant that the Velpyre Acolyte¡¯s pleas changed, the frantic name on her lips a different flavor entirely. She¡¯d already screamed it dozens of times over, and yet now did so in excess. He did the same right back.

    ¡°Selena!¡± Josiah shouted, her name on his tongue shaky all the way out. ¡°Selena! Damn it! Selena!¡±

    ¡°Josiah! Josiah, please!¡±

    He wasn¡¯t content to stay tethered to the ground, even for what Octavia knew was to come. It was his third attempt. She never made it far enough to beg him to stop, even as he lunged yet again. He stumbled all the way there, sprinting haphazardly and nearly collapsing at least once. ¡°Selena!¡± he cried yet again.

    This time, it wasn¡¯t his face. It was his stomach, and the kick that he earned in full to his torso was enough to knock him backwards. He crashed to the ground remorselessly, hitting his head in the process as he gasped from the impact alone. For once, he couldn¡¯t get up. Renato at his side for a second time meant nothing, and Harper was equally as powerless. Where he could hardly breathe, let alone move, let alone stand, it was the acolyte¡¯s name that feebly fled his bloodied lips again and again and again. It was reciprocal, albeit ever more distant. It was the worst duet of panic and fear Octavia had heard in her life.

    There was no winning a battle with Velrose. There was no winning a battle with Velpyre. If the might of Valkyrie¡¯s Call was anything to go by, Sonata could very well kill them at her leisure. In the wake of two acolytes, apathetic and tortured alike, only tears remained in their stead. They were not Octavia¡¯s alone, although the Maestra offered up her fair share. The candlelight that spilled from the blossom above was taunting, a false Heaven that thwarted the flight of an angel so unlike Sonata.

    For all that lay unknown of the blossom and the flame even now, pain was unmistakable. Where the song of Valkyrie¡¯s Call resonated so splendidly above, it was Selena¡¯s cries that echoed for far too long in the darkened streets below.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    <hr>

    To return to Sonata immediately would¡¯ve been foolish at best and incredibly dangerous at worst. The embrace of the Velrose Church was impossible to escape, for how the steps of the flame had so lifelessly ejected them into the hollow blossom once more. The sanctuary was once safe and peaceful, and now Octavia feared for what may have spread. Whether they were, at large, known to be complicit in the attempted elopement of the Velpyre Acolyte remained to be seen. So, too, would it remain to be seen whether they were in danger by now.

    Four of the five left. Octavia did not. Where they sought air and reprieve from the suffocating confines of the church, she refused to leave the basement. She didn¡¯t blame them in the slightest for their hurried departure. Under other circumstances, she perhaps would¡¯ve done the same. They hardly spoke, plagued by permanent silence. What was to come was a concern that ate away at her soul. It was only the second-most violent blight on her insides, given how her heart was ravaged each time she laid her eyes upon the iron insignia.

    Stradivaria was her sole comfort as her eyes lay glued to the plate, once more the only barrier between the Blessed and Cursed Cities alike. To know of who lay below, suffering in the darkness even now, was sickening. Not once had she stopped wondering as to Selena¡¯s fate, and with every fleeting reminder came a wave of nausea. She clung to the case of the violin for dear life, resting her head against the rugged material as her leftover tears spilled over. Octavia didn¡¯t bother to wipe them away.

    Even hypothetically, it was a reflex to imagine Priscilla in her own shoes. The Velpyre Acolyte would¡¯ve gotten along with her, maybe. She¡¯d made it to Velrose, although Velpyre had laid out of reach--and not necessarily in a bad way. If she could turn her eyes skyward and ask as to what could¡¯ve been done, she would do so in an instant.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she murmured aloud softly.

    She knew she¡¯d earn nothing. It wasn¡¯t a deterrent. Already, her tears were back, and she cursed its case with them unflinchingly.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she repeated, her voice cracking. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do--about anything.¡±

    She expected the silence. To have her partner in her arms was peaceful enough.

    ¡°I miss her so much. I wonder if you ever miss her, too.¡±

    Octavia closed her eyes, burying her face into the textured material as her shoulders shuddered. ¡°What would she have done? What would she do now?¡±

    There was a non-zero chance they¡¯d be forced to leave Velrose. It would leave them right back where they''d started, if not worse off than before. Priscilla had been here. Sonata had seen her. Were they evicted from the Blessed City, the one shred of hope Octavia had scavenged from the winding path of fate alone would be snatched away. It was the most agonizing thought imaginable. Any physical ire she could incur from the Velrose Acolyte paled in comparison to the fear of being shunned.

    She couldn¡¯t face Sonata. She hadn¡¯t the heart, let alone the energy. She wondered if the others had mustered the courage to do so, by now. As to what they would¡¯ve said, she couldn¡¯t begin to fathom. Perhaps she¡¯d be forced to beg for forgiveness--if not mercy. If they were afraid, she could empathize. No one was more afraid than her.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered hoarsely.

    She didn¡¯t understand. It wasn¡¯t a new concept, and she was growing used to not understanding anything. It wasn¡¯t the blossom and the flame alone, really. To account for what she did understand was a trial. To account for what she was confident in, let alone what she could believe in, was infinitely more difficult. For at least one moment, she wondered what she was doing here at all.

    Bang.

    It was soft and muffled, stifled somewhere behind her own poorly-concealed sobs. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint its origin, distant as it was. She nuzzled her face deeper into the case, shirking the outside world in favor of that which rested in her lap.

    Bang.

    It was louder, slightly. She raised her head, letting her eyes climb as high along the distantly-winding stairs as was possible. She strained, and yet found little.

    Bang.

    Octavia tilted her head. If it came from the top, it certainly didn¡¯t sound that way.

    Bang. Bang. They were seconds apart, steady and identical.

    Ever so slowly, Octavia uncurled herself from the case nestled in her lap. Every bang was slow and even all at once, if not somehow louder with every iteration. She thought she was hallucinating the movement beneath her feet, initially. Still, the floor was most definitely wobbling in the slightest with each and every bang that followed.

    Her eyes snapped to the iron plate she¡¯d gazed at so half-heartedly minutes before. The little bell dangling so innocently beside it was not immune to every bang that followed. Once, it wobbled, somewhat. The next time, it offered a soft and pitiful chime, stolen by force.

    Hesitantly, Octavia rose to her feet. It was with equal hesitation that she unzipped Stradivaria¡¯s case with care, cradling the violin in her arms. For how the little bell only gave the most tender, fleeting chime with every relentless bang, she couldn¡¯t help but watch. Her steps towards the plate were as cautious as they were curious, and she gripped either portion of Stradivaria tightly as each bang grew ever louder.

    Bang. Bang. Bang. She held her breath and tightened her grasp.

    The sudden, sharp creak of iron scraping stone was nearly enough to kill her. She wanted to run, and yet it was courage alone that bound her feet to the floor. Curiosity was a close second. She stole several careful steps in reverse, nestling the violin against her shoulder as she leveled the bow with the strings. Ignoring her trembling fingers was difficult. She didn¡¯t bother trying to steady her breath, for how she knew she¡¯d lose it so soon afterwards.

    The metal barrier crawled along the cold stone below for what felt like far too long, offering up one noise much louder than that of every bang she¡¯d come to expect. The screeching of opposing materials grinding against one another was borderline unbearable, and she winced at the way by which it echoed once more. When at last it stilled, the gaping path that plunged into the depths may as well have led to darkness incarnate. Velpyre was wide open. People left, sometimes. It made enough sense. Still, she didn¡¯t dare lower Stradivaria. So, too, could she not fight the way her hands shook so fiercely.

    The tap tap tap that followed was rapid in place of the much louder sounds she¡¯d heard before. With no other noise of which to speak, it was only her own labored breaths that caught her ears. She could see nothing, no matter how desperately she tried to peer deep into the darkness below. It was as open as could be, a gaping hole of pitch black that offered only the unknown. The speckled candlelight amongst the walls meant nothing. She didn¡¯t move. She doubted she could if she tried.

    Every tap was louder. Someone was running. Someone was sprinting. Someone was ascending.

    He practically erupted from the darkness, the one person whose breaths were perhaps more frantic than her own. His face was swollen, the blood long since dried. He was bruised. In no way did the brutality he¡¯d endured stem his flight, and he raced with everything he had. In the brief moment he met Octavia¡¯s eyes, she found only pure and unrestrained horror. She heard the screeching second.

    ¡°Josiah?¡± she asked, her voice trembling.

    ¡°Run!¡± he cried.

    He made it three steps, and the world exploded.

    From true darkness came unnatural darkness, bursting and surging in unfathomable plumes of disastrous violet. To a degree Octavia had never witnessed, the entrance to Velpyre erupted with a sea of screeching smoke. The sound was unbearable, nauseating as always and immediately cursing Octavia with fearsome dizziness. It was fast. It was faster than any murky indigo she¡¯d ever seen give chase, crashing and rushing in the worst of tides at Josiah¡¯s heels. Not once did he look back, every stone below now splashed with splattering violet and cloaked in the most toxic haze Octavia knew of. If there was a way into Velpyre, she would never have known. For now, it only screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

    Josiah scrambled up the steps to the best of his ability, his rapid pace never stilling for a moment. In her hesitation, she was cognizant of the way he lunged for the hem of her dress. He missed. It was enough to make him pause, then and only then.

    It left her staring down a wave of violet that could blot out the sky, for how it already threatened the room. Gone was every flickering candle, swallowed by violent clouds of gushing smoke. Octavia''s eyes were wide. Running would do nothing. If she ever were to drown, it would be to violet alone, with Josiah at her back.

    Protect him.

    Origin of the demand be damned, she didn¡¯t question it for a moment.

    She¡¯d heard that voice already, several times over. This time, she didn¡¯t dare disobey, nor would she have reacted otherwise. Octavia''s body moved long before her thoughts could catch up, and her fingers were flying before she¡¯d so much as noticed.

    She felt the heat. She earned the warmth. Her blood burned and her heart pulsed. Starlight was set ablaze in her veins and erupted in its own way. Each drop of brilliance that breached her skin was in stark contrast to violet besieging her on every side, and her song was a beacon in an ocean of screeching. It was all she had, lost in a sea of agony. She was looking down from above on a Maestra battling for her life. She¡¯d never played this fast before. She wasn¡¯t entirely certain it was intentional.

    Her precious light blossomed, glowed, surged, hardened in a way she¡¯d never seen. It was reflexive, the way she clasped them tightly in the embrace of the sun. Within its grasp, they burned in tandem. Pulsing radiance served as the only barrier between Josiah, herself, and the most horrific surge of violet imaginable. Every sharp note left it stronger, every strike of the bow left it brighter. She braced low to the floor, by which she could maximize her breathing room. It wasn¡¯t quite scorching enough to set the oxygen within ablaze, and Octavia thanked any god that would listen for such a blessing. It gave her no room for reprieve, regardless.

    Her radiant shield was all she could salvage in the depths of the screaming sea. The impact was immense when it came, and the sensation of her luminous bubble bending slightly beneath the crashing pressure was horrifying. It wasn¡¯t enough to make her stop under any circumstances. She played for a life both her own and not.

    She was aware of Josiah, motionless and breathless as he was at her back. He was still upon the steps, his footing stolen and his words just as absent. Octavia wouldn¡¯t have had the focus to spare to instruct him to be still. She assumed he¡¯d come to the same conclusion. So, too, was she far more fixated on the single instruction she¡¯d been given. At the cost of her life, she would obey.

    Octavia closed her eyes. Witnessing the blurring agony beyond her shimmering shield was already disgusting, her world narrowed to only the blackest violet that pressed forth endlessly. It was just as instinctive in the face of physical pressure, and she was vaguely aware of the way she was crying out. Every tendon and fiber of her muscles was straining terribly, every fingertip aching fiercely as it collided with rugged copper time after time. She was bleeding, maybe, and her movements stung. The speed was immense, and it was so desperately necessary.

    To halt her song was to die, surely. To halt her song was to surrender another life not hers to give. It was all she could do to play and scream, challenging that which would scream back far more brutally. Where it would surge, she would shine. It was all she could do.

    In reality, it only took several seconds. To Octavia, it was an eternity. There came a point when she met with slack, resistance lessened and pressure eased against her glimmering bubble. It was a catalyst for her eyes to open, and yet never for her song to cease. The violet that passed her by was slow, washing casually over her arching radiance as she sunk to the depths of an agonizing ocean. She was adrift, and she brought Josiah with her.

    She hardly had the leeway to cast her gaze over her shoulder. It was to her immense relief that he was still stagnant, his panicked eyes both peering beyond her brilliance and tracking her every movement. Sparkling glass, born of the sun and twinkling with every terrified note, was all that stood between her and a fate she dared not imagine.

    Where it was useless in the face of her luminescence, the ruthless smoke was content to climb high up the staircase. The sea she¡¯d feared so viciously passed her by at last, surging aloft and beyond the basement. Octavia heard it screaming all the way up, horrific even in passing. Still, she didn¡¯t dare stop. She wouldn¡¯t stop. The moment she saw more, she felt justified.

    It was born of the same genuine darkness and every bit as unnatural. It was slower, sprawling and spreading like the most toxic of fumes. It was still equally violet and equally loud, content to amble aloft in weak wisps and crawl along the stone at her feet. Like mist, it settled and shrouded. To inhale it would¡¯ve been lethal, perhaps, and it was one more reason never to still her aching fingers.

    The tap that followed was new, if not familiar in its origin. She found another tap, and yet another tap soon after. They were even. They weren¡¯t frantic, nor did they speak to panicked sprinting. She burned brighter, shimmered harder, and doubled down with eyes equal parts sharp and terrified.

    The face that emerged from the depths of Velpyre was far calmer, every step far slower than Josiah¡¯s had been moments before. It took time for the darkness to surrender what little Octavia could catch on the edges of her brilliance. Where useless candlelight had been so remorselessly stolen and shamed by murky mist, it was the edges of her glistening barrier that she was forced to trust in.

    She knew the lilac, traded from casual black and disheveled as it was. The hair didn¡¯t fare much better, still spilled from its tethered home and yet now strewn aimlessly. There were new bruises, and they matched what Octavia had witnessed come to pass. It was no wispy trail that emerged from either shoulder, deceptively innocent as the rising violet would¡¯ve been. Rather, it was a wave, billowing and pooling in a cascade that left steeping agony pooling upon the floor. In every step did it linger, puddles of suffering incarnate left stagnant and miserable. Octavia had seen Dissonance before. She¡¯d seen Dissonant people before. This was unfathomable. This was impossible.

    She didn¡¯t so much shuffle as she did steal steps far too unnatural, painfully slow and enough to threaten Octavia¡¯s veins. Were they not still bursting with brilliance, they may have burst outright from terror alone. Octavia didn¡¯t dare break eye contact, although there was little to match--lightless and veiled by shading indigo as it was. She was lifeless, maybe. Octavia could truly have believed her to be dead, at that moment.

    Octavia''s radiant protection meant nothing, every audible sizzle well above the Maestra''s own head doing little to deter the Dissonance-soaked approach. If she chose, she could reach out and lay her cold touch upon the sun. As to which would win out, Octavia couldn¡¯t say. Octavia didn¡¯t breathe. Neither did she.

    Her gaze, murky as it was, fell to the floor. Josiah was strikingly still, his breaths just barely rattling as he met her with wide eyes. His own harbored something between terror and confusion, and yet he never pulled them away. To her credit, dead as her glare was, she met him with the same. Josiah blinked. Selena didn¡¯t.

    And when she tore her broken eyes from his at last, she claimed the stairs they¡¯d surrendered in favor of desperate safety. Her movements were slow, initially. Every step was paced, if not heavy. Still, they quickened in the slightest. She was brisk. She was frantic. She was sprinting, stealing the steps so rapidly that Octavia feared she might stumble. She practically did, and there came a point where she was nearly clawing her way up the staircase.

    What poisonous haze she¡¯d left at her back trailed the acolyte, rising from the basement and following in her hurried wake. Flanked by malice on every side and saturated in much the same, she was a beacon of agony that surged ever upwards, carrying all that she could on her shoulders. If Octavia strained, she could hear screeching--so aloft and distant as it was.

    Octavia hesitated to still her song. It took time for her to trust the fading fog, ambling behind the acolyte as it had mostly been. What remained was weak, clinging, skittering in a way she could hope to evade. She was paranoid. She peered down into that open hole from afar again and again. She fought for her fleeing breath again and again. She struggled to assemble a single sentence again and again, and she failed each and every time. She threw her eyes to Josiah¡¯s own, and he was just as helpless as she was. Their panic matched. His might¡¯ve been slightly worse.

    In opening the entrance to Velpyre, he had unleashed Hell instead.

 [EXTRA] 21.5. Outrun

    In some sick and twisted way, the pain was a good thing.

    It was twofold, by which it spoke to his own self-preservation and served as a scathing reminder. To go back now was dangerous at best and suicidal at worst. They¡¯d already implied the latter in passing. Even being so near to the steps was pushing it, and he looked over his shoulder regularly to verify his isolation. It was needed, for what calculated pleas would have to leave his lips. He¡¯d get one shot. He knew them well enough for that. They knew him well enough for that.

    Josiah brushed his fingertips against his cheek. It still throbbed, warm to the touch and every bit as horrifically tender. It was nothing compared to what she was going through, surely. He could always ask for another strike to match, if that got him any closer to being her mirror.

    It really had been his idea. That was, by no means, a lie. So, too, was his one directive in the Velpyre Church still more than applicable. His safety was a concern, granted, for how eviction would leave him formally homeless in the dark. The passport would do him little good, and he¡¯d simply be much the same with only sunlight to show for it. Even so, he was--for now--somewhat irrelevant. He was disposable. She wasn¡¯t.

    If he strained, if he pressed himself flat against the doors, he could perhaps make out her screams. He hadn¡¯t yet tried, nor did he particularly want to. He still hadn¡¯t completely stopped shaking. Once more did Josiah touch the same wound. It was definitely swelling, and he pushed the slightest bit harder. It was still far from what Selena felt at this very moment.

    He¡¯d more or less lost track of how long he¡¯d been standing perfectly still, helpless to do more than glare down the doors to the church and cycle through every possible excuse he could conjure. Josiah strung them together like feeble stitches, by which his words would surely be slashed to shreds. His eyes drifted high, clinging to the dull stained artistry sprawled along the front walls. In the earliest hours, the humble leftovers of sunshine hadn¡¯t yet seen fit to pity him from above. So, too, was the world below equally dim, and so, too, did not a drop of natural light spill onto the iridescent glasswork. It was fitting.

    He¡¯d respected it, at some point. He¡¯d thought to throw rocks at it, once, in the hopes it might shatter with such severity that the imagery would rain upon every step. It was tempting to do so again. It was tempting to burn the entire place to the ground. He¡¯d planned that out long ago.

    Josiah inhaled. He exhaled. He was still shaking, balled fists at his sides and anger oozing where he knew there should¡¯ve been tears. To rip his eyes from the church was miserable, and to turn his back on it was even more so. It left nowhere. It left nothing.

    He stuffed his hands into his pockets, not daring to close his eyes as he embraced the uphill climb. That, too, was tempting, and it would¡¯ve left him with only his racing thoughts for company. It was exceedingly dangerous, for how easily it could¡¯ve gotten him assaulted. To be fair, he could find plenty of that if he simply turned around. He hadn¡¯t bothered to leave the walls of the church in a considerable amount of time, and each foray into the Cursed City at large felt raw. If he radiated enough raw ire, perhaps they¡¯d leave him alone. If the prying eyes that already poked at him captured his anxiety, he¡¯d simply turn his gaze to steel. They weren¡¯t the clergy. He¡¯d already seen enough.

    Every step away was miserable. The temptation to sprint in reverse, to backpedal and plead and fall to his knees on behalf of the acolyte, was borderline irresistible. For all she¡¯d done, this was new territory. There was a morbid part of Josiah that drew lines between sins and punishments, and yet there was no precedent for a failed escape. He struggled not to entertain the thought of what was left to take. Selena had nothing left to give that hadn¡¯t already been stolen once.

    He focused on the dull aching in his face, multifaceted and widespread as it was. He still tasted blood, a bit. If he stopped clenching his teeth so hard, maybe it wouldn¡¯t hurt so severely. It was more of a motivator than a deterrent. Still, even now, there was no way that he matched with Selena.

    He thought to keep his head down, and yet settled on more or less not caring. What befell him, befell him. He was fairly certain at least two people had tried to claim his attention thus far, and he¡¯d already decided to sting the next person who tried with what venom his pupils could hold. Josiah mouthed every practiced word silently, dissecting and rearranging carefully-spliced sentiments in the darkness. It was his idea. He¡¯d pressured her. He¡¯d forced her. He¡¯d threatened her, maybe. For what they knew of Selena, he strongly doubted they¡¯d believe several of those.

    They needed him, then. He could do what they couldn¡¯t. He had done what they couldn¡¯t. It was his one weapon, and they were powerless to refute it. He could hold it high above their heads and forever be correct. Without him, they¡¯d struggle. Without him, there would be no promised song. He was indispensable. Even if he was disposable, it would put them right back where they started with her. It would be the clergy¡¯s loss.

    Josiah¡¯s blood was burning. It was enough to make him dizzy, almost. Either he took the fall or he made a threat. He couldn¡¯t do both. The thought of failure, in both instances, was enough to make him nauseous. He¡¯d already failed Selena enough. She couldn¡¯t be alone. He wanted to scream. Something beat him to it.

    He thought he¡¯d hallucinated it, at first, distant as it was. The second time was definitely legitimate. It still wasn¡¯t enough to break his stride, although he knew ignoring it was surely cruel. For what was to pass so often beyond the walls of the church, it was one of the only benefits of his false sanctuary. Were he a better person, maybe he¡¯d help. As it stood, he could hardly help the one person who mattered. He didn¡¯t so much as turn his head.

    The third time, by comparison, was much too loud. It was enough for him to jolt, somewhat, and he lamented the prospect of being caught off guard in the open. He¡¯d heard every scream imaginable through walls both thick and thin. He¡¯d pounded on chapel doors and pleaded for mercy on behalf of an acolyte so aflame, rewarded only with cries and shrieks ever louder. This was new. This was piercing, eternal. It was enough to make him stagger, at least for a moment. His darting eyes chased nothing before him, and he threw them behind instead.

    To be fair, it was dark. It was dark enough that he blamed the absent church on a trick of the light, or at least a failure of his eyesight. He¡¯d hit his head earlier. It made enough sense, and he blinked heavily several times over. Still, the church was all but gone. Still, he had his screeching, steadily louder and diving into the depths of his soul. There¡¯d been air, once. Now, there was violet. Again, he blinked, and again, it was still there. There was more of it, maybe, doubling and tripling in quantity with each passing second. Josiah froze perfectly in place, slowly withdrawing trembling hands from his pockets. He squinted, for what little luminescence the pitiful streetlamps gave him to work with.

    If he could afford the tiniest glance upwards, he¡¯d still steal no tumbling droplets of sunrise. It was a deeper darkness than he was keen to in the Cursed City, and the distantly-broiling cloud was an immediate suspect. Josiah briefly suspected something was burning, and yet all that was alight in the flame was the haphazardly-cobbled radiance speckled along the roadside. The smoke, then, was utterly inexplicable, and he watched with mild horror as the writhing fog billowed high and cleared every roof.

    It ambled aloft enough to kiss the ceiling, flat and sprawling along the stone boundary between the blossom above and the flame below. Something was still screaming, painfully loud and more than enough to wrack him with biting chills. He took one step backwards. It came forwards, and his heart threatened to stop.

    Josiah¡¯s eyes snapped to his left and right accordingly, chasing strangers he¡¯d fought to escape the attention of mere moments before. Of those who faced the same swirling smoke, unfathomably towering as it was, not one flinched. Not one screamed a true, genuine scream. In the wake of the piercing and intolerable screeching that drowned his eardrums, some at least raised uncomfortable hands to aching heads. Several faces fell, just barely strained in a way indiscernible. It was the closest he got to finding anything even slightly reminiscent of acknowledgement. He felt sick.

    Again, he stole one step backwards. Again did the writhing wall of violet move forward in the slightest, billowing and gushing as it swallowed the sloping road into artificial darkness. He reversed exactly once more, and no longer was it slow.

    Where once was a cloud now came the sky, explosive and swelling. Screeching smoke scattered far, rushing in every direction as the Cursed City was engulfed in its foggy embrace. Fanning and pushing, true boundaries were irrelevant, and Velpyre may as well have been a humble box filled with pouring violet. If he looked to the furthest reaches of the left, he found only smoke. If he looked to the furthest fringes of the right, Josiah only found more of the same. The sky became the sea, and the sea crashed heavily to the streets below with only sickening screams of its own. It surged much the same, fast and horrific.

    For at least a moment, he was powerless to do little but stare. Where the world filled with violet, his eyes filled with the same. He left room for terror. He left room for panic. There¡¯d been oxygen in the air, once, and yet now came pressure that crushed his lungs. He fought to catch breaths he¡¯d already lost, and still found nothing to show for it. The longer he stared, the closer it came. It was unbelievable, the threshold of surreal long since passed. Even as it screamed, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to do the same.

    Josiah turned sharply on his heel, and he refused to surrender his terrified gaze to the sea.

    He ran.

    It was instinctive. It was all he could do, and his body moved before his mind could catch up. He hadn¡¯t had time to gauge the gap, if one existed. He didn¡¯t have time to do so now, and he could¡¯ve sworn the screeching was getting louder. He could feel the impact of every incredibly heavy footstep as it beat upon the cobblestone below, a sharp shock he kept to himself where the sound was lost. Even of those he passed who turned their heads, their eyes fell only to his fleeing panic. Not one followed, nor did one call out in his wake. Of some, he saw yet more hands rise feebly to blighted ears. It was never enough to spur them into motion, and every last one was rooted firmly in place.

    There was at least one brief moment where he truly believed he was going insane, alone as he was in his sprint. It was never enough to still him. He could argue with one sense at a time, perhaps, and yet all five in tandem was a stretch. If he couldn¡¯t trust in what he saw, he could trust in what he heard. If not that, then he¡¯d trust in what he felt, brutally crushing as the atmosphere slowly became. His lungs threatened to burst long before he¡¯d hit the apex of his sprint, and it left every breath far more shallow than he would¡¯ve liked.

    Josiah couldn¡¯t summon the strength to turn his head left nor right, whether relative to expending energy or finding what he prayed not to see. What glances he¡¯d already stolen of it had been expansive and all-encompassing, a city enveloped in a black hole far below the earth. He tried to unravel it, let alone to process it at all. Each time, he failed, and self-preservation won out above all else. There was nothing left but to run, his heart long since drained of blood and pumping solely fire in its place. It wasn¡¯t a conscious thought, and he didn¡¯t stop to piece together the consequences of stalling. He had suspicions. They were more than enough.

    He could hear it. It was most definitely there, although he wasn¡¯t certain for how long it would pursue. To not have the capacity to turn was agonizing, for what precious distance it would¡¯ve stolen from him. Was there distance at all? How close was it? Could he turn and be free? Would he turn and be dead? To know so little in the dark was its own Hell.

    Josiah could hear his own breaths, at least, desperate and gasping with every frantic step. He could hear what blood rushed through his ears, somewhat louder than the screeching. There was ringing, a bit, and it was somewhat painful. His stomach hurt. His head hurt, and not from the prior impact alone. His suffering was not born of physical pain, by which the Velpyre clergy could never hope to seize him with such terror--try as they might, and for as near as they¡¯d come several times over.

    Selena was still back there.

    What blood had been set ablaze by fear alone ran cold, frozen by the thought of another flame entirely. Even now, she was bound to the church, perhaps physically as much as symbolically. For all who were content to simply stand and ignore, he liked to imagine she would¡¯ve seen it. It didn¡¯t change the fact that she couldn¡¯t run. Maybe she couldn¡¯t breathe, either. Maybe she was just as sick and just as scared. Maybe she felt alone, and maybe it was the one thing he wasn¡¯t supposed to be doing. To turn around would kill him. It was slowly becoming a settling belief, unsubstantiated as it was.

    Josiah couldn¡¯t stop. It was a reflex. He was no longer conscious that he was running at all.

    It was louder. He still couldn¡¯t turn--or, if he could, he very much feared doing so. If she was still in the church, he could do nothing for her right now. He¡¯d go back, certainly, without question. He could do little to help her if he was dead. It was one motivator, although it stung his heart as an excuse more than anything. Part of him wanted to stop. Part of him wanted to screech to a halt in the middle of the road. Part of him wanted to gather what courage his trembling hands could hold and dive into the screeching sea that chased him down. He¡¯d lost track of how long he¡¯d been running. If he went backwards at the same pace, how long would it take him to reach the church? Would he have to hold his breath? Was it poisonous? And if he made it there, if he had the acolyte in hand, what was then to be done?

    As it was, he was already suffocating. He already had so little breath to hold. His breaths were ever more shallow, and slowing was no longer his sole fear. Josiah was fueled by dread alone, a terror burned into his heart and soul unlike any he¡¯d ever conceived of. He¡¯d entertained the idea of death before. It wasn¡¯t particularly pleasant, granted, and he was in no general hurry to die. Still, of every method of dying he¡¯d ever mentally processed, he¡¯d never settled on one so utterly petrifying. Running was futile, maybe. It was all he had. He did it anyway, his thoughts as blank as they were racing.

    Bang.

    It was on his left, metallic and violent. He didn¡¯t have time to inspect it visually, nor to cling to it audibly. Glass shattered, somewhere, and it was a sound equally fleeting. At his back was a cacophony of scattered noises, mundane and destructive speckled amongst the most unnatural screeching he¡¯d ever heard. They weren¡¯t constant. Still, when they came, they did so loudly with bang after bang.

    Some were aloft. Some weren¡¯t. He could swear at least one was directly over his head, and still he couldn¡¯t find the drive to look up. He doubted he could¡¯ve tilted his head back that far. It was amazing he was still moving, immense as the pressure was. Were he to fall still, it was perhaps gravity that would do him in, crumpled like paper and crushed into dust. It was another reason to run.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    He had little aim, in truth. His logic was instinctive, much the same as his movements. There was nowhere to go but up, and it was all Josiah had to work with. What lay beyond that was irrelevant. What consequences that came with, mortal as they were, were irrelevant. The Velrose Acolyte was one thousand times more preferable to this. The blossom had oxygen. That alone was enough. It was the second time today he¡¯d had to make a break for the exact same place, and yet his rationale differed wildly. The irony would¡¯ve made him laugh, in a time of peace. That time was not now, and he could hardly think as it was.

    He clung to the main road, pressing uphill with all he had. Ascending at such a speed was a nightmare, borderline impossible to maintain steadily. Of all other pains, he was fine. He could tolerate them. Of his legs alone, he was horrified. The moment he felt himself faltering, the lightheadedness came second.

    Adrenaline was a short-term solution, and he¡¯d leaned on it for far longer than that. Even now, he was holding fast to it with everything he had, a lifeline in a dark place. His calves were burning, and his body was following suit. He was straining. The oxygen flow was of absolutely no help, and the universe railed against him with every step. He wanted to scream. He didn¡¯t have the luxury.

    He knew he wasn¡¯t supposed to, and it was solely on impulse that he did it anyway. Josiah threw his gaze over his shoulder.

    There was no Velpyre. In its place was violet alone.

    There had been a city at his back, once. The very atmosphere was stained by smoke alone, forever tinted agonizingly dark. Everywhere his eyes could¡¯ve touched was marred by screeching smog, a surging ocean that had long since surpassed a tidal wave. It was Josiah who was the outlier, unblemished air that was the exception. At his front, at least, he had streetlamps. They weren¡¯t perfect, and they only offered so much. Behind, he had nothing, swallowed as all had been. He stared into absolute darkness, and absolute darkness stared back. Absolute darkness screamed at him, and Josiah did the same in his heart. There was no Velpyre. There was no world at all to be seen, overtaken only by blackened nothing. It was far, far too close.

    Never, for even a second, did he stop running. He didn¡¯t slow one single step, his sprinting as desperate as it was consistent. Still, still, in the face of clouded destruction that swallowed a city whole, no one moved. No one ran. No one screamed, nor panicked, nor cried. Where he¡¯d dreaded touching it with every ounce of his soul, they drowned sooner than he could blink.

    One moment, they were there. The next, they weren¡¯t, devoured by raging violet in utter silence of their own. Josiah could hardly register their disappearances to begin with, unaware bystanders merging so seamlessly and rapidly with the tides of Hell. He thought to cry out to them, to warn them, to berate them for their inaction. It wouldn¡¯t have mattered. He wouldn¡¯t have had time for one single word to leave his lips.

    His gap had been stolen. The distance had shortened. The ocean was at his ankles, and every wave lapped much too near to his back for his liking. It was the most disgusting chill he¡¯d ever been shocked with in his life, and he doubted he¡¯d ever come close to another--if he lived to experience more. It couldn¡¯t have been more than three feet between himself and violet annihilation.

    Josiah¡¯s eyes snapped forward. He refused to look again. What panic had been forsaken by those around him, then, he offered up in their wake one thousand times stronger. He was afraid. He was terrified. If this was how he died, choking to death and crushed in the dark, then maybe--just maybe--he could outdo Selena¡¯s pain, if even for a moment.

    There was a part of him that thought to chide himself, lest his panic steal precious oxygen he could barely harbor. No amount of steadying his breaths was helping. No amount of reiterating a mental need for focus was helping. Running was all that was helping. To check again would be suicide, and he knew his steps were sure to falter from fear alone. It was a wasted effort, possibly. Everything hurt. His legs were weak, his entire body burning in the worst way.

    He was screaming. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be, and it was as much a reflex by now as running was. He caught it quickly enough, gritting his teeth in its place and swallowing what of his vocal panic he could stem. It wasn¡¯t as though there was anyone left to call him out on it. If there was, there wouldn¡¯t be for long.

    This wasn¡¯t how he wanted to die. Of all the ways Velpyre could¡¯ve killed him, this was the one he¡¯d least expected. This wasn¡¯t what was supposed to happen. This was inconceivable. This was Hell. This was the worst that Hell itself had to offer, and he was left to recount every sin he¡¯d ever committed with each step. As to which of them had warranted such a punishment, he still hadn¡¯t figured it out. He had no God left to pray to.

    At the very least, he¡¯d go out fighting. It would be his one comfort on the way down.

    Either he was faster, or it was slower. At some point, one of those was true. Josiah was straining fervently as he sprinted, every muscle crying out in agony as his steps doubled and he laid waste to the incline. He¡¯d never so much as attempted to run this quickly, and he doubted he could keep it up for long. He didn¡¯t have a choice in the slightest. Josiah¡¯s soul had long since left his body, and he was looking down on a boy running for his life from above. There was no room for any emotion but fear, as nice as it would¡¯ve been to cheer himself on from up high. He couldn¡¯t see the gap from there, if there was one. It would¡¯ve been helpful.

    The stairs were visible, by comparison, with wide and terrified eyes he did truly possess. How long he¡¯d been running meant nothing. It was all he knew how to do anymore. It was all he¡¯d ever be able to do again, surely. The guards were absent, although it made sense relative to previous Maestro-inflicted head trauma. His eyes flickered upwards. The border was sealed, the plated iron serrating the blossom from the flame unforgivingly. In that way, the compressed city below grew more so with every bang of straining metal and crushed debris.

    Things were breaking. Not all of them were at his back. If he¡¯d come this far forward, then so, too, had the smoky sea. The pressure was unfathomable. With each passing second, his most likely cause of death became snapping his neck. To be fair, his potential methods of lethality were taking turns.

    The terror that seized him at the sight of the unmoving iron was enough to make his veins burst. Josiah¡¯s eyes fell beside the staircase. He¡¯d used the lever earlier in the day, granted. It had been heavier, more impeded by rust and wear. It had taken almost his full body weight to make it budge, and he¡¯d felt every last bit of resistance underneath his straining touch. Something had given way eventually. He liked to imagine it would be easier the second time, having no longer languished uselessly forever. It would still leave him extremely vulnerable for several seconds.

    He had no room for vulnerability. To be vulnerable was to die, and he hadn¡¯t yet established exactly how much room he¡¯d made for himself between his own skin and the black hole in his wake. He¡¯d find out the hard way. It would be the first time he¡¯d stop running in an eternity.

    He¡¯d pull it and run. There was no choice, nor would he have the chance to even verify that the entrance was opening at all. He didn¡¯t have the luxury to remain idle for a moment. Even simply stopping for this long was a luxury itself. He couldn¡¯t submit to staring, nor could he embrace rest and reprieve. He¡¯d have one chance.

    Josiah didn¡¯t bother to pray. He caught himself screaming again. It took longer to stop it this time, and the way the world had started to spin wasn¡¯t helping. He bolted sharply from the main road, throwing every ounce of adrenaline directly into his lower body. The gap was precious, and surrendering it meant death. He needed as much as he could get. Josiah gave his eyes to the lever alone, every streetlight behind him just barely enough to leave the sprinkles of corrosion sparkling against the ground. He¡¯d almost cut his hand on it earlier. If he did so this time, he strongly doubted he¡¯d feel it.

    Josiah didn¡¯t register actually pulling it. Again, he was disconnected, watching someone else strain and struggle to open the entrance as quickly as was possible. To his credit, frantic as he was, his laborious gasping and panting betrayed the physical strength he offered up. It was enough, and he caught the taut click that came with success. He¡¯d only heard it a few times in his life collectively. He¡¯d heard it today, he knew it was correct, and that was more than enough. He didn¡¯t wait for iron to kiss stone, nor for the sounds of scraping metal to begin their endless echo down the steps. Above all else, Josiah didn¡¯t dare cast his eyes behind him.

    He nearly stumbled as he scrambled upright, staggering somewhat upon recapturing his footing. His muscles loathed him, and he loathed himself for pushing onwards. Every bang that followed in his wake sincerely left him wondering if he was going to explode. There was a morbid curiosity that came with wondering exactly what had been crushed so ruthlessly beneath the pressure of a sealed city, captured somewhere in the depths of the swirling sea churning so viciously behind. Clearly, the ceiling cracks were doing nothing. This was plenty to work with.

    The moment he touched the steps, he was robbed of light in full. What streetlamps had been left behind, if he could hazard a guess, succumbed to darkness not meant for the Cursed City. The tiny, precious luminescence he¡¯d begged for the entire sprint here was gone. Josiah was plunged into pitch-blackness, for a moment, with zero light for his horrified eyes to grasp. It didn¡¯t stop him from running, invisible as the ascending stairs were.

    He knew of the delay. It made for the worst several seconds of his entire life thus far, marred by complete and total darkness with only screeching to show for it. He¡¯d trip, maybe, and tumbling down into Hell unseen would¡¯ve been agonizing. Once more, he was screaming. This time, he¡¯d earned it. He gave himself a moment before he bit his tongue.

    The tiniest crack of light that finally prickled the steps was salvation from Heaven, spilling down into the dark and kissing his skin. It came with the natural screech of metal upon stone, contrasting sharply with screeching far more unnatural below. Every step took him further from the sound, and he wondered exactly how wide of a gap he¡¯d managed to make. If he turned, he¡¯d likely fall. It was enough of a deterrent to keep him from trying, even elevated as he now was.

    With each passing second, the moving plate blessed him with just the slightest bit more luminescence, candlelight once so feeble now his only lifeline in a world with nothing else. If he had to claw his way through the cracks, he would. If it were to get stuck, right there, right now, he¡¯d sooner tear his own skin apart than be left to die in the dark.

    Every step brought him closer to the light. Every step took him further away from Hell. That was all that mattered. He ran. He¡¯d never stop running. When it opened in full, flickering flames dusting the staircase of a different flame below, Josiah could see enough to steal every step two at a time. He could hardly feel his legs anymore, and yet he was still moving forward regardless. He could hardly feel anything anymore. He could hardly think straight.

    As to where he¡¯d go once he was out, he had no idea. This was the furthest ahead he¡¯d thought, and his only continuing plan from here was to run. If it followed into the Blessed City, that was their problem. At the very least, the sky above was infinite. His wasn¡¯t.

    And when he burst into the light, it was the first time he¡¯d been above in ages. He wasn¡¯t alone. This time, for what she¡¯d already given up, he¡¯d do everything he could do to warn at least one person.

    ¡°Josiah?¡±

    ¡°Run!¡±

    He couldn¡¯t stop running. He couldn¡¯t even slow down, and that was as frustrating as it was natural. It was behind him. It had followed. He could hear it coming, and he could hear the screeching flood devastate the world above just as relentlessly. He still feared looking, and he fought not to. When Octavia, too, was still, Josiah didn¡¯t blame her. He¡¯d had the same reaction, to be fair.

    Josiah reached for her as he made for the steps, once more claiming them as quickly as was possible. He missed her arm. He went for her dress, and yet his fingers faltered as his skin solely brushed the material uselessly.

    And in leaving her behind, he¡¯d be condemning her to the same death. He¡¯d stopped running. He was still supposed to be running, probably, and yet he was scathingly still. His eyes fell to her first. They fell to the violet beyond second.

    It was explosive, erupting from below in the manner he¡¯d more or less expected it to. Every drop of black in the universe crashed down upon them in one room, funneled from Hell with nowhere to go but up. It hadn¡¯t been his idea alone. The ocean screamed where he¡¯d fallen silent, and the most sickening darkness surged at his front for once. He was still, and what precious distance he¡¯d struggled to ensure had been dashed in seconds. Octavia would go down with him. It wasn¡¯t a comfort. Josiah didn¡¯t look away, and eyes surely burnt forever by horror drank in his death head-on. He gave up on breathing. He gave up on thinking. He wondered, above all else, exactly how badly it would hurt.

    Death was not dark. Death was brilliant. Death was radiant, and death was warm.

    He didn¡¯t even realize his footing was gone until the contrast of cold stone and searing air struck him, vividly hot and all-encompassing. It was a light that sliced through the black, carried on the notes of a racing song. He was at her back, and she was crying out. Josiah could do little but watch, for how he¡¯d already given up on praying entirely. Octavia¡¯s light was incredible in every way. He didn¡¯t question it. He held his breath, eyeing her cautiously as her fingers flew and her luminescent melody screamed back. The shimmering shield she¡¯d offered up left him ensnared by the translucent sun, a hollow star sunken to the depths of a screeching sea.

    He was trembling still, fingernails scraping steps so uselessly scaled. Even now, a voice in his head just slightly softer than her radiant song pleaded with him to run. Her resistance, as successful as it was fragile, made little difference. He didn¡¯t count the seconds. He didn¡¯t count his heartbeats. He couldn¡¯t still his breaths, his lungs freed of crushing pressure in a way that left him gasping. He watched on every side. It was all he had.

    It was above them, beside them, beyond them, behind them. His eyes snapped in every direction and trailed every droplet of surging violet far. It went up. This time, he didn¡¯t, powerless to so much as move. He met Octavia¡¯s gaze exactly once. If the look on her face was any indicator, whatever panic he¡¯d brought along as a souvenir was more than visible. Josiah couldn¡¯t help it. He couldn¡¯t explain, and no amount of hunting for his words right then and there would¡¯ve left him with one syllable.

    And where he¡¯d run, she walked. She took her time.

    For a moment, he was convinced he was hallucinating a second time over. Even above, weak as the light was, it was better than the pitch-blackness that lay down beyond the gaping entrance. Octavia¡¯s light helped, and he counted that blessing. It was on the vestiges of her brilliant bubble alone that he stole the steps of another, soft tap after tap scaling stairs he¡¯d just beaten upon so brutally.

    She came with violet. Somehow, there was yet more. In lieu of an ocean, she was the hallmark of a gentle tide that kissed the floor and spread along the stones below. Josiah couldn¡¯t decide if he was horrified or relieved. For whatever reason, he was leaning towards the former. It was the first time he could ever recall, and it was a feeling not meant for her. He didn¡¯t have time to hate it.

    She had her robes back. She was fervently disheveled, and yet very much alive. Lilac was buried in true, unnatural violet, and the dichotomy was as ironic as it was disgusting. Josiah couldn¡¯t decide which he hated more on her, clinging and constrictive as they both were. Eyes just recently so desperate spoke to nothing of the sort. Really, they spoke to nothing at all, and he could find no light behind her gaze as her hollow glare crashed into him.

    His painfully-racing heartbeat was irrelevant. The unforgiving throbbing in his bloodstream meant nothing. He let the acolyte burn holes in his soul, and he didn¡¯t dare look away. He couldn¡¯t see her in there, her gaze veiled in bubbling darkness as it was. It was still unmistakably her, and she was unmistakably here. She was out. That was all that mattered.

    If he could¡¯ve pinned her with his eyes, he would¡¯ve. Josiah never got the chance, and she stole the steps he never had the chance to claim. The resting river at her back followed, and violet left his view in full. It accompanied that which he begged to take back, and his panic changed flavors. It was bitter on his tongue. He watched Selena upon every stair, screeching be damned. Dragging the rising flame down with his gaze alone was impossible.

    Her light was warm. Her light was gone. Octavia stared at him, and his suffering finally outdid someone else¡¯s. It was a competition Josiah loathed winning. He was supposed to be running. At the very least, his heart would never slow down again. Maybe he¡¯d never catch his breath again.

    He envied Octavia, then, for how her focus fell sharply forward. He¡¯d struggled to do the same, recently. Even so, with every hurried step, he broke his own rule again and again in the light. In the gaps between her words, he hunted for another gap entirely. He couldn¡¯t help it. It was a reflex that came bundled with sprinting. His attention fell behind, each and every time, and Josiah¡¯s eyes would be over his shoulder forever.

 22. I Promise

    Objectively, she had to stop to allow him to breathe. She wasn¡¯t immune to doing the same. She was grateful for the rest she¡¯d stolen--tearfully--at the foot of the steps, for how she now took every one with equal parts panic and burning curiosity. Octavia sympathized with his plight, given the apocalypse Josiah had fled moments before. It didn¡¯t stop her from prying, labored breaths or not.

    ¡°Talk,¡± she demanded, Stradivaria¡¯s case slamming against her back with every frantic step. ¡°What the hell happened down there?¡±

    Josiah reciprocated calmly enough, never once shirking her pointed inquiries. ¡°They took her back, but I don¡¯t know what happened after that,¡± he panted. ¡°They told me to get my stuff and leave. They said that I couldn¡¯t stay in the church anymore. Octavia, they told me if I ever went near her again, they¡¯d kill me.¡±

    Octavia had gotten the same general impression, for how she¡¯d seen him spoken to. It made the confirmation no less chilling. ¡°Then what?¡± she pressed.

    ¡°I was still outside around an hour or so later. I wanted to wait for a while before I went back to the church. I was going to convince them it really was my idea, or explain why they needed to let me stay, or something. I heard this¡­awful noise, I can¡¯t describe it. It was almost like something was screaming. Everyone around me started acting strange. It was so loud that I couldn¡¯t stand it. There was this huge cloud of smoke behind me, and I just started running. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Dissonance,¡± Octavia clarified.

    ¡°I know,¡± Josiah answered plainly. ¡°I know. Selena explained it to me at one point. I¡¯ve just¡­never actually seen it before.¡±

    ¡°You live in Velpyre and you¡¯ve never seen Dissonance?¡± Octavia asked, trying and failing to stem the slightest tint of sarcasm.

    ¡°Never. I always hear about how it gets out, though, so I know Selena sees it.¡±

    ¡°So you ran up here?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to go back for Selena, but I couldn¡¯t see anything. It took up the entire sky--or, you know what I mean. People were getting caught in it one after another. It came over the whole city. There was this¡­horrible pressure in the air, and I felt like I was going to suffocate. I really, truly believe that if I ended up in there, I would¡¯ve died. I had nowhere else to go but up.¡±

    ¡°Did you know it was her?¡± Octavia asked bluntly.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    The top steps were visible. It still left more necessary effort, and they ran with all they had. ¡°Do you know what ¡®Dissonant¡¯ means?¡± Octavia tried.

    ¡°I know that, too, but I didn¡¯t even think about it. It didn¡¯t even cross my mind until just now, when I¡­actually saw her.¡±

    Octavia was quiet for a moment. ¡°Are there other people who made it out somehow?¡±

    He was silent.

    ¡°Josiah? Who else got out?¡± she pressed.

    ¡°Nobody.¡±

    Octavia recoiled. ¡°What do you mean ¡®nobody¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Nobody else got out,¡± he repeated quietly. ¡°Not that I know of. No one moved, no one ran, no one did anything. They just stood there. I don¡¯t think anyone even saw the damn Dissonance.¡±

    She didn¡¯t bother to ask what had become of those left below. She could infer, as sickening as the thought was. She doubled over at the top of the stairs, gasping for air as her hands clasped her knees. Josiah did much the same at her side, swallowing oxygen with equal desperation. Just minutes prior, she¡¯d feared venturing into the heart of the church. Now, she couldn¡¯t imagine doing more than shunning the flame below. The hinges of the door were loose. It was a miracle it was intact at all, for what force had surely erupted past.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± she spoke after a moment. ¡°You¡¯re not a Maestro, right?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? I promise you, I¡¯m sure. I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s something I¡¯d know. Why?¡± he asked.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to shake her head. ¡°Just¡­wondering.¡±

    ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    Octavia laid one palm flat against the compromised door, hesitant as she was to push. ¡°We need to find the others, and we need to do it fast.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t question her. His footsteps were locked into sync with hers as she found the strength to move, bursting beyond the staircase and stumbling into the church. It was the same above as she¡¯d remembered it. For how she¡¯d only been sealed in the Cursed City for so short a time, it felt eternal. In that manner, she could empathize somewhat with Selena.

    The wisps were different, foggy and familiarly-tinted as they were. They kissed the carpet casually, trailing the corners and cursing the walls. Even now, in the wake of her hurried sprint, they could do little more than fizzle and drift at her feet. Not one went beyond grazing her boots, and she stomped over several pitiful smoky puffs outright. They didn¡¯t scream nor screech, not daring to so much as writhe. Under no circumstances was this all that remained. For what true Hell had been unleashed, she was terrified to discover where it had ended up.

    To curb her racing thoughts was agonizing. The safety of her companions took priority, wherever they were, and all else would wait. So shortly after came the safety of others, born of the blossom and the flame alike. Of those above, she could imagine the risk. Of those below, she couldn¡¯t fathom the consequences. It spoke to nothing of Selena. It spoke to nothing of what couldn¡¯t be seen by those from beyond her world, besieged by invisible agony in a way she¡¯d never wish upon anyone.

    It left one outlier. She didn¡¯t bother pressing Josiah further, burning as the question was upon further thought. For what he shouldn¡¯t have been able to witness at all, she thanked any god who would listen that he did.

    <hr>

    If their expressions were any indicator, the severity of the situation was not lost on the four who¡¯d turned their backs on the church. The wide-eyed fear on their faces was different in origin than her own, and yet still spoke to similar dread born of creeping agony. They were calm enough. Those around them were not. Octavia had been correct to worry as to the lives of others, and those of the blossom had clearly come to the same conclusion.

    The shouting and screaming that befell her ears was far more natural than the horrific screeching she¡¯d grown to expect. Still, in its own way, it was chilling. Those that ran past bore a third kind of panic, hands tethered to loved ones or that which they could carry. The peeking sun was deceptive, the softest splashes of morning light just barely filtering onto the Blessed City at the most cursed of times. For a moment, she could hardly move.

    ¡°Why is everyone screaming? I didn¡¯t even think they could see the Dissonance,¡± she asked openly, forced to nearly shout above the vocal horror in every direction.

    ¡°They can¡¯t,¡± Viola answered, raising her voice much the same, ¡°but they know it¡¯s here!¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Octavia asked.

    It was not anxiety and overstimulation alone that kept her bound in place. Valkyrie¡¯s Call cried out high above, a relentless threefold song that could hardly be called such. Intermittent as it was, the sensation was still deeply unsettling and far from peaceful. Each vibration that left her blood trembling did so with much less grace, her muscles taut and her nerves strained. She tensed against her will, and the bell she¡¯d just begun to appreciate now cursed her with a sharp headache. No amount of clinging desperately to herself was stifling the prickling pressure clinging to her skin.

    Harper was taking it slightly better, although the wince he bore as he shouted above the tolling was more than visible. ¡°It¡¯s a warning signal! Someone told us that this is the pattern for emergencies!¡±

    It took much too long for Valkyrie¡¯s Call to fall silent once more. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but feel relieved, even with the ominous tolling replaced by yet more audible panic. Most had already surged well past. Only now did she sporadically catch one to two denizens of the blossom darting by with fear strangling their steps. It left screams she couldn¡¯t see, numerous as they were, and that was all the more horrifying. Valkyrie¡¯s song was far from the only echo in the Blessed City, and their terrorized voices carried far.

    ¡°The bell announces Dissonance is around?¡± Octavia attempted to clarify.

    ¡°The bell announces emergencies. Regular Dissonance has its own pattern, apparently,¡± Viola offered. ¡°From the looks of it, they don¡¯t seem to have emergencies very often.¡±

    ¡°Which begs the question,¡± Renato interrupted, ¡°what the hell¡¯s going on?¡±

    Octavia and Josiah nearly answered in unison. ¡°Selena.¡±

    The silence that fell upon them collectively was as instant as it was smothering, offset only by unseen anguish and distress audibly pervading the air. Viola blinked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Selena,¡± Octavia repeated. ¡°It¡¯s her. That¡¯s where all this is coming from.¡±

    What began as mild disbelief evolved into pure horror. Silver Brevada nearly slipped from loose fingers to the cold cobblestone below, a rattling gasp escaping Viola¡¯s lips. One trembling hand rose to her mouth uselessly.

    ¡°You¡¯re joking,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not joking,¡± Octavia spoke hurriedly. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°Do you have any idea, absolutely any, how bad this is?¡± Viola murmured, every word shaky as her voice rose higher.

    ¡°Wait, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Harper asked slowly.

    ¡°For a Maestra to be Dissonant is¡­¡± Madrigal nearly whispered, snatching the words from Viola¡¯s lips.

    It was a severe situation. Octavia was well aware of that much. Regardless, for all Viola had spoken of the Maestro world, never once had she seen such helplessness incarnate plague the Maestra¡¯s expression. It was more chilling than any ice her skillful song could ever offer up, and Octavia¡¯s heart dropped into her stomach. Viola¡¯s eyes pierced hers with fear unrestrained. That, too, froze her soul.

    Every horrified gaze that drifted to Octavia in turn was equally distressing, more than enough to leave her nauseous and anxious. Josiah spared her, at least, clenched fists trembling at his sides as his eyes scraped the ground alone. It still left four Maestros staring her down. She fought the urge to run.

    ¡°What?¡± she finally spat, just a bit too harshly.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Harper answered, averting his eyes.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± Madrigal asked bluntly.

    Octavia didn¡¯t know, nor could she be tasked with concocting a solid answer. It was a situation she absolutely did not want to take charge of, and to lead them in the face of a disaster unprecedented was a terrifying concept. She was no leader. She could hardly speak at all, every word dying on her lips instantly. She was trembling. Where she couldn¡¯t look a single one in the eyes, she cast her gaze high aloft to Valkyrie¡¯s Call instead.

    Yet again was it crying out, warnings of the worst kind raining down to the city below. Even now, the Velrose Acolyte did as only she could, never faltering in the face of catastrophe. Octavia wondered if Sonata knew the circumstances. She wondered if Sonata would care at all, should she learn the full truth of the agony currently unleashed.

    ¡°She¡¯s up there alone,¡± Octavia observed aloud, her gaze still locked on the bell tower alone.

    ¡°Octavia, she¡¯s by herself,¡± Viola quickly interjected.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean she¡¯s by herself,¡± Viola repeated with far more urgency. ¡°She¡¯s alone! She doesn¡¯t have anyone up there to help!¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Help with what?¡± she pressed.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Selena?¡±

    It took a moment. When it sank in, Octavia found only lead where her blood had once run. ¡°Oh, God,¡± she muttered softly, her voice trembling.

    Valkyrie¡¯s Call would lead her with ease. The song of a bell that sounded off so high above its twin below was a beacon to the acolyte who¡¯d plagued her life from afar. There was surely nowhere else Selena could¡¯ve gone. Of what Octavia had seen of a Maestra so haunted by agony, Sonata¡¯s power was irrelevant. Ultimately, she was alone. She was mortal. She was vulnerable in every way.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± Renato asked this time, his voice strikingly level.

    Protect him.

    She¡¯d done just that, and she had Josiah at her side to show for it--more than shaken as he was. She prayed, for at least a moment, to recapture the same demanding guidance a second time over in the midst of chaos. She found nothing, and it wasn¡¯t entirely a surprise. Still, it was disheartening. It left her to do all she could, drinking in their strengths and stealing the deepest breath she could. Her words were surely betrayed by her trembling voice. It was the best she could do, for how all eyes were on her.

    ¡°We¡­need to help her, a-and we need to help the people here at the same time. We need to evacuate. Selena¡¯s¡­never been to Velrose, so she shouldn¡¯t have been able to find her way up the tower immediately. We have time, but we have to move now.¡±

    ¡°T-Then let¡¯s split up,¡± Viola offered, her own voice threatening to crack. ¡°We can take care of the Dissonance down here, but we need to get you up there.¡±

    Already, Stradivaria was halfway into her arms, cradled gently in shaky hands. ¡°Why me?¡±

    She was far from the only one clinging to her partner. Viola¡¯s grip upon Silver Brevada was renewed and strong all the same. ¡°You¡¯re faster than every single one of us, especially with those stairs. You¡¯ve got the best shot of getting there in time.¡±

    In time for what, she refused to ask. ¡°What about Harper?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°We need him down here. The more firepower we have on the ground, the better.¡±

    ¡°Good one,¡± Renato joked.

    Viola never got the chance to scold him, sharp as her eyes already were. The screeching was sharper, and she nearly bashed herself in the head with Silver Brevada as her hands flew to her ears on instinct. It was a collective reflex. Octavia, too, was not immune to at least a strong wince, staggering somewhat in the wake of the biting dizziness that trailed the sound. It hardly mattered if she could see it immediately. She knew it to exist, somewhere. It took a moment.

    ¡°There!¡± Madrigal cried, one surprisingly-steady fingertip aimed squarely to the distant left.

    She was disgustingly correct. It was far slower than that which Octavia had been assailed with below, granted. It left the boiling violet no less horrific, swelling and writhing in a predictable fog she¡¯d unfortunately grown to expect. It was slow, at first, and yet it rose steadily ever higher into the crisp air of dawn. Sunbeams peering into the Blessed City were lost on the smoky agony, once more screaming as it was. What it lacked in speed, it made up for in quantity, and it fanned out far too efficiently. It wasn¡¯t quite the sea, and that was a relief. It was still enough of a mist to leave Octavia claiming hesitant steps in reverse. Where she moved backwards, it came forwards. She was far from the only one.

    ¡°Eww, this stuff again? Seriously?¡±

    Her eyes snapped to Renato. So, too, did Viola¡¯s follow along. Where she¡¯d expected to find terror in the face of his first round with suffering incarnate, he seemed far more simply uncomfortable--if not annoyed.

    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­seen it before?¡± Viola asked incredulously, every word slow and shocked.

    The Maestro never once tore his eyes from the screaming smoke, undaunted even as it pressed ever further forward. ¡°I mean, yeah, a couple times. Sick and tired of it, honestly. It¡¯s gross as hell.¡±

    Octavia held her breath. ¡°Do you¡­know what it is? I thought you¡­didn¡¯t know what Dissonance was.¡±

    To her immense surprise, he only grinned with far too much satisfaction, adjusting his hat as he braced against the ground. ¡°Oh, cool, we gave it a name. I have no damn idea what I¡¯m lookin¡¯ at, but I sure as hell know how to get rid of it!¡±

    Octavia never got the chance to press him further, forced to swallow the dozens of questions he¡¯d cursed her with. Instead, his confident eyes fell to a different Maestro entirely. ¡°Harper, help me out here!¡± he called. ¡°Give me whatever you¡¯ve got!¡±

    Harper flinched, his fingers tensing around Royal Orleans. ¡°M-Me? I, uh, I can try!¡±

    Octavia had seen his flames in full exactly once, and in far more joyous circumstances. She¡¯d never seen him fight, and it would¡¯ve been a sweet thought to imagine he¡¯d never have to. Where his scorching song had once birthed the sun with every blazing note, he battled to do so once more with sharp eyes and steady hands. What burning brilliance he¡¯d offered up with much more happiness in the light of day now challenged the weak rays of dawn. Fiery scarlets and searing oranges were stolen from the sky, clinging to his broiling melody. His breath was fuel to lashing flames as powerful as she¡¯d remembered them, at utmost minimum. In the face of agony unrivaled, the contrast of his scathing inferno before the most miserable violet was glorious.

    For all that could explode from the bell, he crumpled it into a burning star born of a fiery ballad. It was the second time Octavia would be utterly remiss to call it a ¡°little¡± fireball. It swelled fiercely, devouring what oxygen the swimming smog before him hadn¡¯t yet laid claim to. It doubled in size, tripled in size, crackled viciously with every last breath he could offer. It was much the same breath with which he gave it flight, and the small sun that erupted forth was as beautiful as it was mildly terrifying to witness.

    Renato took one step forward. He took another. He took another, and another, and another, collapsing into a heated sprint with a grin burning just as brightly. If the luminosity bothered him, he didn¡¯t show it. If the scalding warmth, red-hot and scattering embers in its wake, stung him, he didn¡¯t flinch. He was alongside the surging star with every undaunted step, two neat slices of cherry oak brandished between deft fingers. His pace was perfect, and he didn¡¯t falter as he caught the flaming tailwind of the little sun. Initially, Octavia thought he fell. He did much, much the opposite.

    At such a speed, his velocity brought all he needed to send him forwards just as fast. Unflinchingly, Renato cast his full body weight downwards onto his outstretched hands, his occupied palms claiming the cold ground below. Once and once further he tumbled, his ankles clearing his own head with incredible skill. Not for a moment did his gathered speed falter. If anything, Octavia could¡¯ve sworn he was faster. It was more than enough.

    When he pushed hard off the stone earth at last, the height he stole aloft was incredible. He sailed above the sun, a star in his own right with drumsticks raised just as high. Renato inverted twice over as he crashed to earth, gravity reclaiming him at last. He brought with it a cry of effort, ruptured hellfire, a sparkling grin, and the loudest sound Octavia had ever heard in her life.

    Fires once so densely packed and perfectly condensed shattered to pieces beneath the shockwaves, skillful flicks of the Maestro¡¯s wrists more than enough to burst the burning sun. The ball of flame erupted in a display equally splendid and vicious, a ruthless boom trailed instantly by a crackling whoosh in its wake. Octavia was flat on the ground, knocked well to the cold earth below at some point. It hardly registered, and the pain of collision mattered little. Her eyes were on the exploding sun alone, searing rain splattering violently in cascades of burning crimson and flickering orange.

    The contrast upon screeching violet was striking and instant, for how the incinerating wrath of the will of fire left the writhing mist melting ferociously. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn the impact audibly sizzled, and the fading screams of unnatural agony grew softer where specks of flame fizzled and died. Spare embers sprayed and splashed haphazardly to the ground, sputtering to a quiet and flickering death in their own right.

    ¡°Ah! It was you!¡±

    Harper, too, was left stunned on the ground, just barely propped up on his elbows. His eyes were wide with something between surprise and awe, one finger fixed firmly upon Renato. ¡°I-In the plaza, with my fire! That was you!¡±

    It took effort for Octavia to prop herself up much the same. Still, her shock mirrored Harper¡¯s own as her eyes flickered to Renato. ¡°Wait, that was you?¡±

    Renato offered Harper only a sly grin, playfully spinning one drumstick between his fingers. ¡°Guilty as charged. Couldn¡¯t stay away from the action. Either way, nice shot, man!¡±

    Harper smiled weakly. ¡°You¡¯re not so bad, yourself.¡±

    Renato offered his assistance, and Harper took his hand without hesitation. He flinched beneath the motion of Renato ruffling his cap, shirking away slightly at the sudden touch. It made Renato laugh, at least, and Harper returned the gesture with another half-hearted smile.

    Octavia wished she could spare the time to be proud of his strength--either of them, really. Still, as she found her footing and aided a shaky Viola in reclaiming her own, her heart was racing for a different reason entirely. Once more were her eyes aloft out of reflex, and once more was her stomach in a knot.

    ¡°Madrigal, go with Octavia,¡± Viola ordered, clutching Silver Brevada tightly.

    Madrigal blinked. ¡°Me? But why are--¡±

    ¡°Stairs and I don¡¯t mix, even a bit,¡± she answered with little emotion. Already, her eyes were cast only to swirling violet, churning in grotesque clouds somewhat distantly. ¡°You can at least help get her up there. We need a strong Maestra to help.¡±

    At her praise, Madrigal beamed. Even now, two split fingers rushed to her eye victoriously. ¡°The Magical Madrigal will not fail!¡±

    ¡°I can help,¡± Josiah offered, his eyes falling to Octavia. ¡°I¡¯m not a Maestro, but I can help evacuate.¡±

    Already, if she looked, Renato and Harper were a magnet for Dissonance alone. In their wake trailed a soul of ice, although she halted in her tracks several paces forwards. Viola spared Octavia precisely one glance over her shoulder, eyes sharp and firm.

    ¡°We¡¯ll meet up later. Do your best and stay safe!¡± she called, Silver Brevada already rising to her lips.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Same to you!¡±

    The steady tap tap tap of Viola¡¯s flats upon the hard ground was all that clashed with natural screaming and unnatural screeching. She could hear Royal Orleans from afar, if she tried. She could hear the explosions that followed, if she wanted. Valkyrie¡¯s Call was silent. She waited. When she found nothing, her eyes drifted to her side instead. His desperate words were fragile, and they matched the severity of his gaze perfectly. It was the most prominent sound she could find.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Josiah spoke slowly, ¡°please.¡±

    She thought to ask. It didn¡¯t matter. She already knew, and she nodded slowly.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­do everything I can,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°I know whatever happens, happens,¡± he continued, his voice soft. ¡°I know we¡¯ve only just met. I¡¯ve never seen someone go so far for a stranger. I¡¯m sorry to ask you to do it again, but¡­please help her. Please.¡±

    Every breath she could take rattled on the way out. ¡°I promise I will.¡±

    The way his eyes shimmered threateningly was not lost on her, the calm in his voice irrelevant. Still, it was with a sharp inhale that he turned just as sharply on his heel, dashing towards panicked cries Octavia couldn¡¯t pinpoint. The lump in her own throat was just as much of a threat.

    There was a hand left at her side, crawling its way into her own and squeezing tightly. Where the dawn didn¡¯t offer Octavia brilliant sunshine in full, she found enough of it in Madrigal¡¯s smile--worried eyes or otherwise. She squeezed back, stealing her touch reluctantly in favor of the bow and fingers upon sturdy strings. Just as soon as she¡¯d fled the church, it was the pride of the blossom that drew her back up its steps with Madrigal at her side.

    Octavia feared losing her way, initially. Dissonance made for an excellent guide in the worst way, dripping trails of wispy remnants still stuck to carpet and clinging to corners. Once more were they useless and harmless, if not still notably unsettling. Every twist and turn was ironically illuminated by that which stole the light more effectively, candlelight long since blighted traded in turn for miserable navigators. The return of the tolling helped, still steady and distressing. Octavia shivered with every step.

    ¡°Madrigal,¡± she began breathlessly, never slowing her stride. ¡°Are you coming up with me?¡±

    ¡°It has to be you,¡± she answered.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t know if I can do this on my own.¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, her curls bouncing violently with each motion. ¡°You¡¯re not alone. Sonata is up there, too. You¡¯ll be together.¡±

    ¡°What about you, then?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s smile was eternal, even in the dark. ¡°I¡¯m not alone. I have Lyra.¡±

    It was a warm thought in a time of cold pressure, and it eased Octavia¡¯s heart in the slightest. So, too, could she say the same for the violin she clung to so tightly as she ran. It was her one singular comfort in a place meant for so much more.

    The staircase was just as endless as she remembered it being, and her eyes climbed much too high. From the foot of the steps, she could make out little more than the echo of the bell as it bounced painfully down to earth. If sound was deemed irrelevant, then her sight was claimed by ever more guiding violet. Selena¡¯s aftermath was damning, fizzling, clinging to every stair Octavia would be forced to take. It was the first time she dreaded stepping on them, wispy and useless as she knew them to be. Her stomach hurt, and she cast her gaze above for far longer than she¡¯d intended. Octavia tensed, her grip around Stradivaria enough to leave her muscles aching.

    Madrigal turned her back on the Maestra, her fingers falling naturally into position over every string of Lyra¡¯s Repose. Her smile was more than audible in her voice. ¡°Not a single teeny tiny bit of darkness is gonna get past me! I won¡¯t let you down.¡±

    Octavia felt a tiny smile poke the edges of her lips in turn. ¡°Thank you. Please be safe.¡±

    ¡°And¡­Octavia?¡±

    She¡¯d thought to run, one foot already mounting the steps. Octavia stilled, throwing a glance over her shoulder. ¡°Yes?¡±

    Madrigal was motionless, her words soft. ¡°Do whatever you need to do.¡±

    As to what it meant, Octavia didn¡¯t dwell. It had implications. She didn¡¯t want to follow them. All she followed was the song of Valkyrie¡¯s Call, and she threw everything she had into storming the stairs of the Velrose bell tower instead.

    Climbing the steps slowly paled in comparison to sprinting. Adrenaline helped, and her body felt shockingly light. When the bell fell silent, all the stone walls offered her was the song of her own labored breaths as she climbed faster, faster, faster still. Her heartbeat echoed just the same, as did the blood rushing through her ears. She¡¯d had thoughts, at some point. They¡¯d tumbled to the bottom already. She felt clear. She felt strong. She carried a promise with her, traded for fear. Were she Sonata, perhaps she would¡¯ve crumpled beneath the weight of terror on her own. Still, when she reached the peak, neither would be alone. It was enough to keep her fighting forever.

    The light that spilled down from above crashed upon the steps in waves, and Octavia chased it all the way out. She stumbled into the open air, the even flooring below clashing sharply with that of the unbalanced steps behind. It took her more than a moment to regain her footing, and she stumbled slightly as she stood atop the Velrose bell tower at last. Where had once been toll after toll, the resplendent bell was silent and still at its center. It was simultaneously how she remembered it and not, all at once.

    The girl who laid claim to the rope of Valkyrie¡¯s Call did so without faltering, slender hands taut around the shimmering rope and pearl-tinged robes mildly ruffled. Signs of a hurried flight be damned, the Velrose Acolyte was every bit as angelic nearest to the heavens. With a bell as her shield, she was steadfast and unmoving. Not once did the acolyte unwind herself from the rope, nor did she relax her tense and familiar posture. Not once, as well, did she peel her eyes from her counterpart of so far below.

    It was surely the highest the Velpyre Acolyte had ever risen, a fallen angel propelled into the highest peak of the blossom from the very depths of Hell. She carried with her every last bit of sorrow and agony, violet-born and not. Disheveled lilac clashed with much the same violet, oozing Dissonance cascading from shoulders that once shook with stifled laughter. If Sonata was frazzled, then Selena was broken.

    She was low, braced in her own way in a stance Octavia failed to register as human. So, too, was her glare eternal, offered to her twin of the blossom alone. The Dissonant girl left yet more in her wake, fizzling and dying much the same. Her heart was perhaps equally dead, and only rage sizzled in its place. For what could spill into her eyes alone, every bit of wrath Octavia had ever seen pool behind hazy pupils stung the Velrose Acolyte in full.

    Selena¡¯s visage alone spoke for itself. Sonata, then, was the catalyst for war.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Sonata said calmly. ¡°You¡¯re finally here. Your timing is perfect. Let¡¯s begin.¡±

 23. Ropeburn

    Where the pride of the blossom was still, so, too, was the victim of the flame.

    Neither moved. Neither breathed. Calm eyes battled those far more hollow. Octavia, too, was powerless to find her breath.

    Her steps were slow, practically echoing off the limestone where a bell had so recently echoed in their place. Stradivaria rose to her shoulder with trembling hands, following in the wake of a pounding heart. For at least one moment, she questioned why she was here at all. Valkyrie¡¯s Call was deathly still, and the Velpyre Acolyte was much the same. Pure silence was all she could cling to, the blood rushing through her ears her only interruption.

    She fell into place behind Sonata, unhesitant hands still taut around the tolling rope. The acolyte was quiet. The acolyte hardly emoted. The acolyte only tightened her grip and narrowed her eyes, not once peeling them from the unrestrained hatred before her.

    ¡°She hasn¡¯t been here long,¡± Sonata spoke coolly. ¡°She only came moments before your own arrival. I suppose Valkyrie¡¯s song led her here one way or another.¡±

    ¡°What do we do?¡±

    ¡°What must be done.¡±

    Octavia gulped. ¡°And that is?¡±

    Sonata paused for a moment. ¡°Support me. I will handle this. Keep your distance behind me. I will tell you when to cover your ears. Do as I say, exactly when I say it. Do you understand?¡±

    Taking orders from Sonata felt uncomfortable, in light of recent events. Octavia was terrified to object regardless. ¡°Yes,¡± she answered softly.

    ¡°Good. Are you ready?¡±

    Octavia never had the chance to answer. What words she¡¯d sought to breathe were viciously overshadowed by a scream, nearly akin to a growl. Selena¡¯s speed was equal parts horrifying and precise, centered upon the Velrose Acolyte alone. Every unhesitant step left wisps of grotesque violet trailing in her wake, a sickening afterimage that followed each tiny movement. It didn¡¯t matter that she raged as she surged, her motions as erratic as they were clean. She was a streaming comet, a shooting star of agony cloaked in poison. At her lowest, as she cried out with unfathomable ire, she was still beautiful.

    ¡°Cover!¡± Sonata called, bracing against the floor of the tower.

    Octavia did as instructed, shifting her grip on Stradivaria accordingly to allow her hands to move. She watched on as Sonata kicked hard against the limestone, erupting upwards in flight like the ascending angel Octavia remembered her to be. Her full body weight was captured by the tolling rope, and she descended with grace and divinity. The bell, by comparison, could not have offered less of the same.

    Valkyrie¡¯s song brought no warmth. Valkyrie¡¯s song brought no comfort. Valkyrie¡¯s song brought no peace, nor did it pulse through her heart and cleanse her soul from within. Octavia still felt it in her blood, undeniably, down to every last droplet. So, too, was every vibration impossible to ignore. The bong that crashed into her from within began at her ears and spiraled down into her core, remorselessly shaking every last aspect of her being. Her veins could¡¯ve burst. Her heart could¡¯ve exploded. The world began to turn on its side, and staying upright took all of her strength as she staggered. The cold sweat that accompanied the awful sound was instant, and the physical sensations were almost painful. She lost her breath and found nausea. Covering her ears was utterly useless.

    And yet, she wasn¡¯t the only one to suffer. At the very least, Octavia had remained on her feet. The same could not be said for Selena, blasted backwards as she was. The Velpyre Acolyte screeched in a manner far beyond human, and she tumbled several times over along the limestone floor of the bell tower. At least twice, she hit her head directly. The thick, clouded Dissonance that clung to her in droves wavered for the briefest moment, the shockwave just barely enough to disrupt the billowing fog.

    One toll was enough to repel her. Yet more pinned her down, tethering her to the floor of the tower. No amount of struggling left Selena successful at returning to her feet. This was how Valkyrie¡¯s Call went to war. It was every bit as horrifying as Octavia had attempted to imagine.

    Four tolls were enough to satisfy Sonata, intentionally or otherwise. When the bell returned to a standstill, she returned to earth just the same. The echo was still more than disorienting, and Octavia¡¯s rapidly-racing heart would surely never calm again. She didn¡¯t dare imagine what this sounded like from below. In the midst of crisis, Octavia offered up a silent prayer of a blunted song besieging the streets. Dissonance or not, she didn¡¯t want the others hearing--or feeling--this.

    Sonata herself didn¡¯t seem particularly immune to the bell¡¯s ruthless song, if the prickling sweat upon her brow was any indicator. So, too, did her shoulders rise and fall laboriously. It was with far less effort that she¡¯d witnessed the Velrose Acolyte bless the blossom with twelve tolls and a satisfied smile, with hardly a drop of fatigue to show for it. This was different. This wasn¡¯t normal. In a way, Octavia almost couldn¡¯t overlay the bell that had left her so delicately shaken with this one at all.

    ¡°Not enough,¡± Sonata spoke solemnly, her voice wavering somewhat as she battled for her breath.

    Never did her eyes leave Selena. The Velpyre Acolyte had reclaimed her footing, shaky as it was. Once more was she draped in violet, dripping in hatred, and hauntingly gorgeous as she radiated raw ire. The bell¡¯s wrath was momentary. From what little Octavia had learned of Selena, the girl was more resilient than that by nature alone.

    ¡°But it definitely got to her, somehow,¡± Octavia offered breathlessly.

    ¡°Not enough,¡± Sonata repeated, her eyes as sharp as her voice was calm. ¡°Stall for me. Valkyrie¡¯s Call cannot sing continuously.¡±

    ¡°Stall how?¡± Octavia asked.

    Stealing several hesitant steps backwards from the Dissonant acolyte was as futile as it was reflexive. She could close the gap in seconds, clearly. Octavia couldn¡¯t help it, and her eyes darted between the two acolytes anxiously.

    When the tension broke, a gap was lost. It was not at all the one between Octavia and Selena, but rather that which lay between the two acolytes alone. Selena lunged, sprinting in full towards Sonata with only trailing violet to show for it. Octavia was fast. From what she was seeing, she truthfully wasn¡¯t confident she could outrun Selena at all. She couldn¡¯t fight the panic that settled in.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Sonata spoke calmly, never once moving from the bell.

    The acolyte¡¯s voice was all that gave her strength, instinctive as it was. Stradivaria flew to her shoulder once more like a magnet, and she tore the bow across the strings sharply. The burn in her muscles was instant, the bubbling in her blood more so. The pulsing in her veins was far from that of the bell¡¯s curse, beloved and powerful in a way she embraced. Her radiance was explosive, and every string was plagued with the same in the face of her luminous song. Her light was sharp, fierce in every way.

    Each glow of gold burned white-hot, stretched taut and ready to strike with the softest sizzle as they laid in wait. Stretched as they were, she stole the sun¡¯s rays and crafted brilliant arrows. They seared her eyes to look at, somewhat. She stared down Selena, holding her breath as she slashed at the strings relentlessly. Just as the Velpyre Acolyte could surge forth, so, too, could her light.

    The recoil left her staggering, at least briefly. Her radiant beams were explosive in their own right, sailing forth sixfold towards Selena. Octavia¡¯s aim was more accurate than she¡¯d expected it to be, truthfully. Of the six, Selena managed to dodge four. She wasn¡¯t immune to two, stinging her left thigh and lower torso accordingly. Clothing meant nothing, for how hot such striking brilliance burned. Selena shrieked, crumpling to the ground in pain. If Octavia strained from here, she could see the instant blistering, the rapid reddening. The acolyte¡¯s thigh, in particular, fared poorly, mildly charred and sickeningly blackened by the unforgiving burn. It shimmered, somewhat. Something was oozing. She didn¡¯t want to know what.

    ¡°Well done,¡± Sonata offered softly, once more bracing against the rope.

    There was no satisfaction to be found beneath her praise. Octavia stared with horror, her hands trembling around either portion of Stradivaria. Selena was writhing even now, possibly whimpering as she clutched the wounds desperately. Octavia felt sick. She felt disgusting. She felt guilty, above all else. Where her light had speared agony itself, never had she speared a person. She wondered what it felt like. She hated that she wondered at all.

    ¡°Sonata,¡± she began, her voice trembling. ¡°What¡­exactly is your plan here?¡±

    ¡°Do not have qualms about hurting her. She has chosen this path,¡± Sonata answered plainly, her eyes never once leaving the Velpyre Acolyte. ¡°Hesitation will get both of us killed.¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t choose this,¡± Octavia protested.

    ¡°Cover!¡±

    The only response she earned was a warning, just barely softer than the first. It was her fault for not monitoring Selena more closely, already resistant to her scathing injuries and back on her feet. The acolyte still staggered as she lunged, far from unimpeded, and Octavia could most definitely see the discolored patches of skin so brutally wronged by her light. She was nearly too late in covering her ears, accidentally hitting herself in the face with the bow. She knew what was coming. She didn¡¯t want to watch Valkyrie¡¯s cry hurt Selena any further, and yet she hardly had a choice.

    Sonata once more tolled the bell with every ounce of strength she carried, birthing the same unforgiving sound once more. Yet again was each aspect of Octavia¡¯s existence set ablaze in the worst way, dissected and reassembled from the inside out in an instant. It was its own type of agony, and covering her ears was still just as useless.

    Keeping calm was impossible, and her blood rushed through each vein far too quickly. If she moved the wrong way, they¡¯d perhaps explode altogether. The sweat trickling down Sonata¡¯s cheeks with every toll betrayed the hidden burden of her efforts. She was as fearsome as she was vulnerable. To withstand the sound and to produce it all at once were feats that left Octavia in awe of the Velrose Acolyte¡¯s power.

    And once more, Selena was sent hurtling in reverse. The sonic burst rippling outwards from the bell left her screeching in the same unholy manner, tumbling again and again as she crashed to the limestone even harder. She most definitely hit her head this time as well, fiercely enough that Octavia could actually make out the thud in between tolls.

    Whatever the Velpyre Acolyte felt was surely far worse than her own experience. Selena was shifting between clawing at her scalp and scratching at the floor of the tower until her nails cracked and bled, screaming all the while. The Dissonance plaguing her on every side left a miserable indigo star flickering in the wind, a flame blighted by a ruthless oppressor. Valkyrie¡¯s Call battled to snuff out the Dissonance. Selena was Dissonant. Octavia imagined it was not a pleasant sensation.

    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Octavia cried over the last vestiges of Valkyrie¡¯s song.

    Sonata was left to catch her breath after four more tolls. Their eyes in tandem tracked Selena, rising to her feet yet again in the wake of the repulsive noise. Even without the bell, Octavia was convinced her blood was still sloshing inside to a degree it shouldn¡¯t be.

    ¡°There is a fatal flaw to those blessed with the strength of sound,¡± Sonata began, her composure just barely compromised by brief fatigue. ¡°Such healing in the face of agony is beyond our reach. We would rend the Dissonant person asunder should we attempt from within.¡±

    It was a mental image more nauseating than even the sound of the bell. ¡°You can¡¯t expel the Dissonance from her?¡±

    ¡°She has fallen so low. While I can cleanse large swaths of the Dissonance, it is my bane that I could not ever expel it in full. I can, however, grant her peace in death.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t!¡± Octavia cried, clutching Stradivaria tightly against her chest. ¡°What about me? What if I purify her?¡±

    Only now did Sonata at last deem Octavia worthy of her gaze, fixing the Maestra with an expression of disdain. Octavia hated it.

    ¡°You would try? On one such as this?¡±

    Octavia loathed the idea of failure. She loathed simply the imagery of failure. She loathed the consequences of failure, if the words of Madrigal and Viola were anything to go by. She¡¯d been assured of Stradivaria¡¯s aid in the moment, once, and still the sentiment rang hollow. Her heart pounded viciously, and she feared her blood would stain the floor of the bell tower the moment it exploded in full.

    Still, her eyes fell to Selena¡¯s face once more. The acolyte was pitiful. The acolyte was pained, her hateful eyes swimming in agony and veiled in violet. The acolyte was precious, every scream born of malice and hurt. She was still beautiful, dripping in Dissonance and wrapped up in the worst of smoky suffering. She was still worth it. If the alternative was death, then it was no alternative at all.

    Octavia didn¡¯t have a choice. She¡¯d promised Josiah. For that, she couldn¡¯t falter.

    ¡°Cover!¡±

    There was only wrath where Selena¡¯s soft gaze should¡¯ve been, only cries of rage where Selena¡¯s smile should¡¯ve been. Sonata didn¡¯t hesitate the moment the Velpyre Acolyte surged forth yet again. It was the second time Octavia was nearly too late in covering her ears. The feeling of the bell¡¯s own cries penetrating deep past her skin was still despicable, and yet she was unfortunately growing to tolerate it. It was no less agonizing. Still, she could stay upright and on her feet. No longer did the world toss and turn, and no longer did she have to battle so harshly to maintain her balance.

    The same could be said for Selena, then. She was not repelled by Valkyrie¡¯s cry, instead maintaining her own balance. Her bare feet skidded sharply in reverse, granted, grinding harshly against the rugged limestone below in a way that surely hurt. It was one more place sure to bleed, given that the acolyte was already beginning to drip with red in quite a few more. Where trickling violet did not claim her skin, splashing scarlet did, speckling her once-pure robes. The Dissonance that called her home was undaunted, wavering yet less as it clung so closely to its Dissonant Maestra. Her breaths were labored, that much was clear. It didn¡¯t stem her strength.

    It only took three tolls, this time, to leave Sonata gasping for oxygen. Even with red staining her cheeks in another way entirely, she still harbored grace. ¡°Do you understand what will happen if you fail?¡±

    Octavia nodded. She didn¡¯t dare entertain the mental image. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Do you understand what will happen to Velrose if you fail?¡±

    She didn''t. She didn¡¯t know Selena¡¯s objectives. She didn¡¯t know if Selena was lucid enough to have objectives at all, an agonizing fire fueled only by hatred. Were she to descend the bell tower plagued with the same, the consequences trailed down a mental path Octavia hesitated to chase. Selena was one big, endless, walking bad memory. On the steps above Velpyre, at Josiah¡¯s side, Octavia had been spared of Selena¡¯s wrath. Here, it was Sonata alone who incurred the acolyte¡¯s ire. So, too, could it be Velrose that incurred the same.

    And again, her eyes flickered to the Velpyre Acolyte. Again, she found the same pain, radiating where murky violet could not conceal it. Even from afar, it was immense. It was insufferable. She¡¯d promised Josiah. She¡¯d promised Josiah. She¡¯d promised Josiah.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Octavia finally answered, her hands trembling alongside her voice. ¡°I understand.¡±

    ¡°Cover!¡±

    The lack of permission, understanding, or even faith was deeply unsatisfying. This time, Octavia genuinely was too late to cover. Selena was getting faster, her recovery time much the same. The auditory assaults of Valkyrie¡¯s Call were slowly lost on her, although still somewhat biting in their own right. Even without covering her ears, Octavia still endured the curse of the bell¡¯s song either way. The sensation was still awful. The pain was still just as severe. Her tolerance was still growing with every toll, and yet it made nothing easier. Covering her ears had been a placebo, perhaps. Even with her hands freed, she couldn¡¯t spare the concentration to play. Either portion of Stradivaria lay strangled ruthlessly in her white-knuckled iron grip as she watched the acolytes with wide eyes.

    Once more did Selena stand her ground. Her scalp was bleeding, streaming scarlet caking her frazzled hair as each laceration oozed steadily. Every crash of an enraged comet to the cold limestone below had left her bloodied and bruised, to say nothing of the burns still peeled and charred somewhat lower. The floor of the tower was not kind to her, for how stray stone had crawled its way into her wounds and ground itself into her reddened nailbeds. She gasped for air, gritted teeth betraying her composure and humanity in equal measure. This needed to end, and it needed to end now, lest Octavia be forced to watch a raging girl be steadily beaten to death.

    If Sonata cared, it hardly showed on her face. It hardly showed in her actions as she labored and tolled thrice over, panting in her own right as she descended to earth yet again. They were two angels, burning themselves out atop a place so close to Heaven. She wanted to spare both. She couldn¡¯t fathom why the Velrose Acolyte spoke so calmly of her counterpart¡¯s end.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to help her? She¡¯s an acolyte, just like you!¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°Do not compare us,¡± Sonata snapped. ¡°Those above are not the same as those below. The blossom thrives while the flame burns, that much is true.¡±

    Her voice was bitter in a way so wildly out of step with her graceful demeanor. In that moment, she was hardly the Velrose Acolyte Octavia knew. She¡¯d seen it in Velpyre, briefly. She¡¯d dismissed it as a fluke. To see it again was deeply unsettling. ¡°Sonata, she doesn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°There is no worth to a flame that does not warm,¡± she insisted harshly. ¡°We are born with responsibilities which must be upheld. Those who cannot perform such are nothing at all!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°Cover!¡±

    This time, it was Sonata who was nearly too late in tolling the bell. Selena advanced once more, undeterred and fierce as every bloodied step left her with arms outstretched and billowing violet as her aftermath. She was a storm of agony, striking at the Velrose Acolyte as Sonata rushed to clasp the rope. Still, she pulled with everything she had, rewarded with Valkyrie¡¯s cry in place of pouring sweat and stolen air. She was shaking, somewhat, the strain upon her muscles more than visible. Ears uncovered, Octavia was powerless to do more than watch her struggle, for how little her light could peacefully offer. Two tolls were all the acolyte could manage.

    The moment she fell to earth, she almost did so literally. Her hands battled to uncurl from the rope, and she winced sharply as her fingers twitched. Rubbed raw, viciously peeling, and blindingly red, Sonata¡¯s palms oozed and shimmered beneath the consequences of her repeated tolling.

    ¡°I.¡±

    It was one syllable, singular and sudden. It was deep, inhuman, distorted in every way. It was familiar all the same, for what cadence and tone painted it.

    Their eyes followed together. Selena was on her feet. Selena was steady in the face of Valkyrie¡¯s relentless assault. Whether Selena was growing stronger or Sonata was growing weaker, Octavia was unsure. Both were plausible. Perhaps both were true.

    The Velpyre Acolyte raised her head. The agony buried in her eyes didn¡¯t quite smother the fire. It didn¡¯t quite quench the flame. It didn¡¯t keep her from burning the bell tower to the ground with the white-hot blaze of her rage alone.

    ¡°I,¡± Selena spoke, ¡°am not worthless!¡±

    Where she was once a comet, she was now a nova. She swelled and burst, scattering violet like stardust from beyond. In her wake, at her back, the poisonous smoke rose and writhed in utter excess. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn it was opaque. She could¡¯ve sworn it was lethal, more so than ever. It was to say nothing of her shoulders, violently blighted by much of the billowing same.

    Upwards and aloft as the sickening violet rose, parallel and fanning, they were the closest to true angel wings the fallen acolyte would ever come. It was unreasonable, uncontrollable, unbelievable. Blackened agony bubbled beyond her eyelids and streaked down her cheeks. If they were tears, they hardly looked the part. She was far from sorrowful. If Octavia could envision rage, this was it. If Octavia could envision hatred incarnate, this was it.

    And when all the ire in the universe came crashing down to earth from on high, it was the Velrose Acolyte who endured that judgment.

    Selena was a fallen angel, and yet there was absolutely nothing angelic about her merciless flight towards Sonata. If she had been aggressive before, then her speed now was unfathomable. Her condition was irrelevant, and Octavia sincerely believed she was a star set to burn herself out via spite alone. Sonata¡¯s wide eyes, flooding with horror, were her only call to action. It was her turn to brace.

    She refused to hit the acolyte, aggressor or otherwise. Still, Stradivaria collided with her shoulder regardless. Once more did her radiance explode, her skin sear, the very stars ignite and pulse in her veins. Her rays of brilliance burst forth, sharp and yet again spearing as her desperate melody left them burning bright. Every swift strike of the bow against the strings left them cocked like the arrows she slowly shaped them to be.

    The slashes that followed, frantic or otherwise, sent them raining upon the floor of the tower alone. It was a miracle that she threaded the needle well, missing the acolytes in full as her scorching light crashed down between the two. Every golden ray shined fiercely, far beyond her control. Sonata winced behind the sudden luminosity, and Selena recoiled violently.

    Octavia didn¡¯t want Selena¡¯s attention by any means. Sonata couldn¡¯t afford to earn any more of the same. Every time the girl flexed her fingers with much the same grimace, the residual light left them shimmering disgustingly. Octavia didn¡¯t have a choice. There was nothing more Valkyrie¡¯s Call could do, nor its Maestra.

    ¡°I am not worthless!¡± Selena cried out, time and time again. ¡°I am not worthless! I am not worthless! I am not worthless!¡±

    Still, the Velrose Acolyte stood strong. Her wounded hands and raw skin found the rope yet again, grasping tightly as she cried out in pain. ¡°I¡¯ll keep her stunned! You do whatever must be done!¡±

    Do whatever you need to do.

    Octavia knew what she needed to do. Actually doing it was an entirely different matter.

    She¡¯d promised Josiah.

    She had no time to prepare, as much as she wished desperately for the opposite. Selena leapt at Sonata directly, perhaps with the intent to do far more than simply injure. Even now, the same four words tumbled from her enraged lips again and again, absolutely dripping with raw and unimaginable hatred each time.

    Sonata¡¯s hands were openly bleeding, her skin snagging upon the rope with every pull. Where Valkyrie cried, so too did the Velrose Acolyte, her audible pain filling the open air. She stopped just short of a scream every time, sickening scarlet trickling in the slightest down the rugged material. It hardly meant anything to begin with, for how Selena only slightly slowed in her tracks. She staggered. She stumbled. Never once, in any capacity, did she stop her furious pursuit.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    And in the face of an unfaltering flame, Octavia traded the painful cry of the bell for the touch of a violin.

    She¡¯d never done this before. She¡¯d once prayed she¡¯d never have to do this at all. Her one lesson had been of a different flavor entirely, lightless and skilled. She had no choice. She had nothing left. She braced, she gasped for air, she trembled, and she struggled to still Stradivaria upon her shoulders. She could hardly see straight. For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut.

    She¡¯d promised Josiah.

    She¡¯d promised Josiah.

    She¡¯d promised Josiah.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she murmured beneath Valkyrie''s song, ¡°please guide me. Please.¡±

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Sonata cried.

    It was fearful. It was the first time she¡¯d ever heard such terror in the acolyte¡¯s voice, her composure cracked and exchanged for genuine horror. Two tolls had been too much. Her body was faltering. Her hands were shaking fiercely, as was every last muscle around the rope. She was gasping rapidly, her own eyes wide and drenched in utter panic. Ever more, she stained the rope with her efforts, blossoming red against gold once so precious. Sonata was wilting. Selena was burning. The flame was surging. The flame was screaming.

    Octavia let her blood burn. She let her skin ignite. She let her heart stop beating and surge with starlight instead. She let every last ounce of the sun burst into flames in her veins, radiance that ravaged her inside and out leaving her song desperate and her teeth gritted. It didn¡¯t hurt. She¡¯d already stretched it once, stolen beams of sunlight crashing onto the strings with blinding brilliance that threatened her pupils. It pulsed, it sizzled, and it swelled the more she slashed and struck. Maybe she was being guided. Maybe she wasn¡¯t. She believed either one, for how her fingers moved so quickly and her pleading melody exploded so fervently.

    In any other circumstance, the single radiant arrow she¡¯d birthed might¡¯ve been resplendent and admirable. Right now, it was all she had. Right now, it was all she could do to tear the bow across the strings, send her fingers flying, and unleash her independent light upon the Velpyre Acolyte. She was terrified. She''d promised Josiah.

    Octavia was taking cues almost exclusively from Madrigal. For how often the same screams of asserted worth were spilling from Selena¡¯s lips, it took only careful aim to launch her beaming salvation down the acolyte¡¯s throat. It was blindingly luminous, so much so that Octavia could visibly track the glow outside Selena¡¯s chest as she pushed ever further. In stark contrast to the haze of deadly violet still enveloping the Dissonant girl, it was a beacon. Selena had come to a complete standstill, clutching at her chest tightly and futilely. With her best attempts to scream confiscated, it was all she could do to scratch desperately at her heart. It left only the streaking blood of her nailbeds staining her robes where yet more had not already splashed.

    Sonata had nothing left. This was all they had left. The alternative was death, and Octavia refused to surrender her promise. She fought for speed as much as she did precision, still offering silent pleas for Stradivaria¡¯s guidance. Her thoughts were split in every direction, a number of which retraced Madrigal¡¯s explanation time and time again. She hunted for resistance, her swirling radiance meeting with little as she played. To panic was to falter. She refused to entertain the idea that she was doing this incorrectly. With every hurried note, she searched, and searched, and searched.

    When she felt a tug, her heart could¡¯ve stopped. Granted, it was already fairly close to doing so regardless. Still, the taut sensation she felt seize her fragile ray of radiance was almost unmistakable. She couldn¡¯t imagine what else it could be, particularly given the way Selena writhed so desperately. Her entire body was heaving, the violet clinging to her surging and swirling without aim. Where Valkyrie¡¯s Call had left her flickering like a blighted flame, she now did the same. Octavia doubled down, gripping the bow tighter as she battled her frantic breaths.

    Every push against the strings was stronger, every harsh note ever brighter. Her song was vibrant, sonorant, resonating. Her extended brilliance felt tight and taut, if the resistance that came with her fingers along searing copper meant anything. She, too, was taut, tensing violently. For how hard Madrigal had labored, skilled as she was, Octavia assumed it was to be expected. In no way did it ease her distress. She threw every ounce of faith she had into Stradivaria¡¯s song. She offered every possible prayer she could to whatever god would listen. She¡¯d promised. She¡¯d promised. She¡¯d promised. She¡¯d promised. She¡¯d promised.

    The mass she claimed, indescribable as it was, refused to budge. It didn¡¯t bend, her labor be damned. Selena was outright growling, scraping at her arms with such fervor that she drew new blood entirely from innocent skin. There was no escaping luminescence lodged so deep, and yet it left Octavia with so little to show for it. Octavia held on with everything she had, pressing so harshly against every string that she knew with certainty she¡¯d earn calluses.

    Valkyrie¡¯s song was absent. It was hers alone that offered anything. She herself was crying out. She pushed. She felt the slightest of yield, the tiniest of slack upon the edges. She felt something giving way. She felt her beautiful, radiant ray, besieging the acolyte as it was, fighting so desperately. She felt it succeeding.

    It broke.

    It snapped.

    And so, too, did the world shatter to pieces.

    The sharp slack she found was unwelcome. The fizzling light she found was horrifying. Where she¡¯d slashed so pleadingly with a humble bow, it may as well have been the knife of a god who hated her that severed her brilliant salvation. She staggered beneath the sudden recoil, eyeing Selena with utter terror. It didn¡¯t sink in immediately. She spent at least three seconds in denial. It was the only three seconds she got.

    All that came next did so instantly, and she could do little more than watch.

    Sonata screamed. It was the first time Octavia had ever heard that particular sound of horror from the Velrose Acolyte, composed and graceful as she was. Selena was slow. She wasn¡¯t immobile, cursed by radiance within moments ago or otherwise. Even now, her eyes were upon Sonata alone. She lunged. Once, and only once, did Sonata abandon the bell. It was the last time she stood by her partner¡¯s side.

    The Velrose Acolyte sprinted well to the railing at her back, stealing whatever gap was possible to steal. It didn¡¯t matter, and surely wouldn¡¯t. Tears streamed in excess down her reddened cheeks, as did blood and flaking tissue down onto her disheveled robes. Once so wonderfully pristine, they now spoke to nothing such. She gasped for air wordlessly, trading panicked pleas for wails of despair.

    Selena seized upon the useless gap, still screaming a different scream entirely. Where Sonata¡¯s desperate back found only metal, flattened and pinned, Selena¡¯s bloodied nails found shining skin not her own. Her grip was relentless and iron as it closed around the acolyte¡¯s neck, her nails sinking deeply beneath its surface where possible. Sonata choked just as much as she shrieked, bubbling scarlet erupting from somewhere new entirely. No amount of shoving and flailing spared her. She was frail. She was drained. She was lucky if she could raise her arms at all, pushing futilely against the Velpyre Acolyte¡¯s chest.

    The Dissonance was not kind to her. It, too, was suffocating. On that, she choked, and Octavia watched as it drew dangerously close to her every orifice in less time than it took her to blink. Sonata squeezed her eyes shut, yet more swimming tears splashing against her robes in the process.

    And in the moment she cracked her eyes open, half-lidded and lightless as they were, she threw her arms around Selena¡¯s torso. Nails lodged in her throat be damned, hands blocking her airway be damned, Dissonance stealing her breath be damned, she never let go. She slid one foot forward. She leveled her shoulder blades with the railing behind her. Her angle was perfect. It was a position Octavia had seen her adopt so many times before, accompanied by a song she¡¯d never forget again in her life. For one last time, she pushed. She launched. She flew.

    In silence, it was two angels, born of above and below, that disappeared over the railing of the bell tower.

    Valkyrie¡¯s Call was still. There were no morning tolls. If Octavia strained, she could hear the panicked screams of the citizens below, distant as they were. There was blood on the tolling rope, if she looked. There were splotches of the same along the limestone, if she cared to inspect. Octavia didn¡¯t move. Where her veins had been pumped full of starlight moments ago, she was left with only lead to weigh her down.

    Sunrise was here. It was beautiful, clouded skies splashed with every shade of pink and orange as they parted. She drank it in for a moment, her vision blurring. Valkyrie¡¯s Call shimmered splendidly beneath the faintest rays of dawn, sparkling bronze stealing the softest sunlight from on high.

    She didn¡¯t want to look.

    She stood in place for several more minutes. She wondered if the people of Velrose would be lonely without their morning tolls.

    She didn¡¯t want to look.

    Or any tolls at all, really.

    She didn¡¯t want to look.

    It was still ringing, anyway. It was a souvenir she could take home with her, once everything was over. She could keep the sound. She could put it on a shelf and admire it. She could replay it in her head again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

    She would probably have to look eventually.

    Was she still supposed to be covering? Sonata was going to get angry if she stopped trying.

    She took the slowest possible steps towards the railing, one by one. They echoed.

    Her eyes flickered to Valkyrie¡¯s Call as she passed it by. It really was incredible, the way a Harmonial Instrument could scream so loudly without a Maestra. She learned more about this world every day.

    Octavia leaned against the railing, her eyes firmly forward on the horizon beyond. She wasn¡¯t sure at what point she managed to let her gaze crash to the ground. She matched with the acolytes. It was the closest camaraderie they were ever going to get. Now, she didn¡¯t have to feel left out in the midst of the blossom and the flame.

    The world was so small from above, just as it had been the first time Sonata had graciously led her to the top of the bell tower. It was an incredible sight. The houses were tiny. The people were tiny. The acolytes were tiny. She made them out by their robes, white draped upon colorful lilac. Granted, they were clean, once. It was hard to actually see the colors from here. The sprawling, infinite red was not doing either of them any favors. It made for a lovely halo, if nothing else.

    Sonata was sleeping, atop as she was. Octavia didn¡¯t blame her, given the degree to which she¡¯d exerted herself so fiercely beside Valkyrie¡¯s Call. She deserved her rest. Cobblestone didn¡¯t make for too soft a bed, and she lamented that on the acolyte¡¯s behalf. She had Selena¡¯s body beneath her, at least. Hopefully, that was soft enough. Did her hands still hurt? It wasn¡¯t the only place that bled. Octavia had never quite considered how much blood one person could harbor. It was a solid lesson, and Selena illustrated that point with far more aplomb.

    She pitied the Velpyre Acolyte, for how she had no soft surface upon which to rest. Octavia liked to imagine Sonata was warm. She liked to imagine that made up for every unnaturally-twisted limb, crumpled and crushed. She liked to imagine that made up for the portions of her skull that had fared more than poorly upon collision with the ground. She liked to imagine the colors that weren¡¯t red were a trick of the light.

    She knew what the violet was, wisps playing in the pooling scarlet and slinking along the stones. Octavia couldn¡¯t tell what the pink colors were. It was one part of her curiosity, although most of it came in the form of meeting Selena¡¯s eyes from here. There was no way to tell if they were still open. Maybe she should wave. Maybe the acolyte would wave back. Could she move that arm in the first place? It probably wasn¡¯t supposed to look like that.

    They weren¡¯t dead. That was impossible. After all, they were just here. Sonata was still playing. Valkyrie¡¯s Call was so, so loud. Was it possible for the bell to be quieter? Maybe Octavia could ask nicely. Her blood still hurt. She looked at them again. They were still asleep. They were still captured in an expanse of scarlet, one twisted clump of viscera that stung her eyes again and again. Did it hurt? Did it hurt? Did it hurt? Did it hurt?

    She¡¯d go ask. Every motion towards the steps left her floating. There were a lot of stairs, and she didn¡¯t look forward to it. She wondered how fast the descent would¡¯ve been if she simply jumped.

    <hr>

    She was numb. She was lonely. She took every step slowly and calmly. Madrigal¡¯s absence in front of the stairwell door was only slightly puzzling. To be fair, they needed all the help outside they could get. There was an acolyte to help with that, at some point. She¡¯d surely be back soon.

    The screams in the streets hadn¡¯t halted. In reality, they¡¯d grown louder. There was more Dissonance, possibly. It was unlikely, really, given the way the bell was still ringing forever. Still, Octavia supposed Selena had carried more than enough bad memories to curse the Blessed City in earnest. It wasn¡¯t as though what she¡¯d managed to expel would¡¯ve been enough. The Velpyre Acolyte got what she wanted in the end, maybe.

    She could always go ask if that was the case. Every time Octavia blinked, she could see Selena¡¯s body. Maybe she was dead. It was debatable. Had she stopped breathing? Did it hurt when she hit the ground? What did she think on the way there? Did she think anything at all?

    People were still sprinting around her, hands still either full of loved ones or belongings. They were nearer to the Dissonance this time around, their screams yet closer. She doubted they could see the murky fog, sweeping along the ground as it was. She could. To know it was there and yet not perceive it was a horror she didn¡¯t wish on anyone. She cast her eyes left, right, forwards, and backwards, and found not a single familiar Maestro.

    She knew where she could find two of them. She knew where they were supposed to be, rather than where they were. One was still playing. Everything would be fine. So, too, was Octavia¡¯s only logical course of action to battle against the agony plaguing the blossom--alongside a different blossom, maybe. She was still getting them mixed up, double-sided as the term had become. To fight back was her responsibility as a Maestra, ultimately.

    She sounded like Sonata. How ironic. Did she scream on the way to the world below?

    Still, Stradivaria never made it to her shoulder. She never even had the chance to make the motion, and something encircled her wrist tightly. She was yanked forwards with such force that it nearly hurt, stumbling in an indiscernible direction. It took more than a moment to recognize warmth, particularly relative to the touches of those she knew. It was unfamiliar.

    ¡°Octavia, are you alright? Come, we must hurry!¡±

    Her eyes widened, chasing his back alone as he ran. She relaxed in his grip, her voice hoarse. ¡°Drey?¡±

    ¡°Where are your friends?¡± he continued breathlessly. ¡°Have you lost them?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll be fine!¡± she called, angling Stradivaria¡¯s bow so as not to stab his arm. ¡°What are you still doing here?¡±

    He turned to face her, eyes loaded with worry. ¡°I was here to find you, of course. We must flee while we have the chance.¡±

    Despite his firm grip, he was surprisingly gentle. His pace was equally so, although she could¡¯ve run faster if she chose--fatigue be damned. ¡°Where¡¯s Samuel? And Cadence?¡±

    He shook his head, never slowing his pace as he led her through the city streets. She¡¯d never traversed the eastern flank of the church before, nor had she circled it in full. She didn¡¯t resist his unfamiliar navigation. ¡°I am unsure. I can only hope they have found their way out, as well. We were meeting with our client when we heard the news, but I know not the details. Have you any idea what¡¯s happening?¡±

    It had taken her far too long to notice his other hand, more than occupied in its own right. It was a beautiful weapon, for what little of them she was familiar with. True to his word, he¡¯d found something of merit in Velrose--tools of violence or otherwise. The polearm was as ornate as it was functional, by appearance alone. The blade glistened beneath the cracking light of dawn, and the inlays were sprawling. It was, by no means, short. How he could run with both her and the weapon in hand simultaneously was baffling.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she lied through her teeth, shaking off her distraction as she chose her words carefully. ¡°I heard something about a big disaster happening. Something¡¯s in the air. We need to evacuate out of the city.¡±

    ¡°That we do. I have been informed of a secondary exit from the city, beyond the walls ahead. You must watch your step!¡±

    ¡°Watch my¡­step?¡±

    It took her a moment, for how the way by which they burst past the arches left her crossing into a sudden threshold of greenery once more. She really did almost trip, and his continuous tugging didn¡¯t help. The back exit was somewhat smaller, if not every bit as ornate. It was isolated, and not another soul trailed outwards behind them. She shuddered to imagine the crowds and subsequent panic that surely hastened to the front gates. The sea of grass that crashed into her gaze and boots in tandem was familiar, swaying relentlessly beneath every gust of wind. It halted, eventually. There was gravel, rocks, and a second sea entirely. She skidded to a halt so quickly that sod was left disrupted in her wake.

    She¡¯d forgotten it was an ocean city. She¡¯d forgotten about the ocean altogether. In a way, her first view of the sea was beautiful, seafoam crashing against jagged rocks so far below in burst after burst of salty spray. In any other scenario, it would¡¯ve been a sight to savor. She could¡¯ve sat and watched it for hours. She didn¡¯t enjoy that the experience was probably tainted for life, given the circumstances. As it stood, the drop was dizzying. The cliff was absolutely tremendous, and the plummet was undeniably vertical. It rivaled the bell tower, if it didn¡¯t outdo it altogether. She wondered how things were going back there. It was amazing that she could hear Valkyrie¡¯s Call from here.

    Drey set her hand free, grimacing. ¡°Damn. My client had stated that this exit was often unused, but he neglected to mention the vast ocean at our feet!¡±

    ¡°Can we go around the walls of the city instead? You know, circle it from the back?¡± Octavia offered.

    He nodded. ¡°A fine idea, if you yet possess the energy to do so. Shall we be off?¡±

    Octavia returned his nod. ¡°I can take it.¡±

    Drey smiled. ¡°Truly a brave girl. We shall make it through as one.¡±

    Even in her current emotional state, still privy to the ghosts of the bell¡¯s roaring cries in her eardrums, his smile was irresistible. His presence was somewhat comforting.

    ¡°How did you know where to find me?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I did not. I have searched far and wide across the city.¡±

    With the peaceful rush of the ocean at her back and the gentle sunrise blooming high above, the dichotomy between the exterior and interior of Velrose was unthinkable. Octavia was dreaming, maybe. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you save yourself? You were in danger.¡±

    His face softened. ¡°You are a treasured friend. You must live another day, cherishing a peaceful life in this wonderful world. Besides, I continue to owe you a favor for your assistance at the auction, remember?¡±

    It was laughable. If only he knew how tumultuous her life truly was.

    She wanted to thank him, and she made it as far as opening her mouth. She lost out to the violet, for what opportunity of gratitude it stole from her.

    It made enough sense, given that the blossom--the city, at least--was more or less overflowing with agony. The Dissonance was raw and excessive, murky clouds swirling slowly at the foot of the gate. They¡¯d hardly gone far, for the sea that greeted them below so quickly. She expected the screeching, somewhat, vividly disorienting and consistently nauseating. With one hand still tightly clamped around the weapon, Drey winced as his other palm rose to his ear.

    ¡°What is that horrible noise?¡± he cried above the shrill sound.

    Octavia had no time to offer up an excuse. He turned in full, facing the gate head-on as agony incarnate rose ever higher. It was practically a wall, opaque and sickening in every way. The haze was all-encompassing, sneaking and spreading to such a degree that circling the walls was no longer an option. It continued to scream, just as the same smoky violet continued to writhe and billow. She hated it. Her heart raced. With the restless ocean so far below at their backs, they were out of options. Even outside of the Blessed City, they weren¡¯t free from agony.

    ¡°What¡­what is this?¡±

    Octavia adjusted her grip around either portion of Stradivaria. ¡°What¡¯s¡­what, exactly?¡±

    ¡°This fog, do you not see it? The smoke that rises high?¡± Drey asked breathlessly.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You can¡­see it?¡±

    Drey took several steps forward, wedged firmly between Octavia and the approaching Dissonance. ¡°How could one not? This¡­foul mist, is it screaming?¡±

    He was correct, of course. The violet smog rolled ever closer, and widening the gap was instinctive. When Drey claimed one step backwards instead, Octavia did the same. The gravel she continued to catch underfoot made her feel ill, and every look over her shoulder left her panicking. The drop-off wasn¡¯t that far away.

    ¡°Drey!¡± she cried, more than distressed by the tiny gap between her soles and the cliff¡¯s edge.

    ¡°I know, my apologies!¡± he offered quickly, his tone strained. ¡°I will think of something. We must not make contact with it. It could be hazardous!¡±

    Again, he was technically right. Octavia was grateful he had the common sense not to touch it. Still, it didn¡¯t help with a plan of action. Her life was at risk, as was his.

    There was one solution. She wondered what Viola would have to say about it, somewhat. Even now, the idea alone left her heart pounding. He was more important than a secret, his life worth more than an explanation. If it was for his sake, she couldn¡¯t hesitate. She wouldn¡¯t hesitate.

    ¡°Drey, step aside. Please.¡±

    ¡°I will not,¡± he spoke resolutely. ¡°I will protect you as need be. Stay behind me.¡±

    The Dissonance was closing in, what peeking grass she could still see swallowed beneath broiling smog on every side. Octavia¡¯s eardrums were aching from the ever-increasing volume of the screeching she loathed. The world was spinning, slightly. She felt sick to her stomach, although she questioned whether that was due to the Dissonance alone. Still, if she was suffering, there was no way Drey wasn¡¯t privy to the same pain. They were out of time.

    ¡°Drey, please!¡± she begged.

    Drey didn¡¯t answer her with words, initially. She got to see the polearm in action, almost. His skill and dexterity were impressive, for how quickly he found his stance and how effortlessly he claimed his grip. He leveled the shimmering tip of the honed blade with the screaming smoke, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Octavia, I wish for you to lead a life of peace and happiness. I will protect that life with my own, and strike down those who would take that away!¡±

    ¡°But why me?¡± she asked again.

    He glared down the Dissonance alone, never once turning to face her. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, you are a precious friend. Please, let me do this for you!¡±

    The Dissonance was practically close enough to touch him. With one wispy, unfortunately-placed tendril of bubbling smoke, it tried. Octavia didn¡¯t give him time to lunge.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Drey!¡±

    Octavia!

    It was frantic in her head once more. It was loud. She didn¡¯t have time for it right now.

    Stradivaria crashing onto her shoulder was instinctive, as was the bow coming down hard against the strings in turn. Starlight scattered in her veins, the sun was born of her song, and the same radiance she¡¯d grown to expect was once more sharp and taut. She spilled it with everything she had, her luminous melody undaunted in the face of another as she offered up all she had. With her fingers pulsing and her blood igniting, she had her rays once more. They were stolen from the sunrise, long before the sky could claim them in full.

    Level with the strings, it took only simple slashes of the bow and a cry she couldn¡¯t contain to send them barreling high into the innocent air. The arch she offered up brought with it radiant rain, bursting beautifully as it struck upon every cloud of violet. Deep into the Dissonance it spiraled and speared, every ruthless sizzle compromised only by that which screamed ever louder. It took effort not to hit Drey, her aim as careful as it was true. It paid off.

    She did it again and again, striking beams born of her brilliant song boiling beneath her touch and bursting forth without mercy. Her volleys were accurate, her radiance powerful. Her light was piercing, and every writhing cloud that met with her luminous wrath was left to fizzle and shriek. She didn¡¯t dare stop, exhausted or otherwise. For the quantity she created, she was a solar flare all her own, exploding time after time against the surging violet. It receded. It was working. The recoil was an issue in its own right, every incandescent shot leaving her staggering more than was tolerable. With Drey¡¯s life on the line, she hardly had a choice. She¡¯d already failed twice over today.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± Drey murmured softly, his eyes wide and his voice muffled beneath the chorus of screeching.

    Where he ignored, it advanced. The Dissonance would¡¯ve clashed with his neck, perhaps, had Octavia been the slightest bit slower. She nearly was, and she nearly missed it just the same.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± she cried.

    She couldn¡¯t quite control the size of the burst that followed, panicked as it was. The brilliance that erupted forth from the strings barely sufficed, blasting forth above his right shoulder. It hit its mark flawlessly, and the boiling smoke splintered in an instant. The shrieking was not to be ignored, and yet the wisps her merciless light claimed in place of fog were far preferable by comparison.

    It was just enough recoil.

    She slipped on the gravel kissing her soles, tumbling backwards with zero resistance at her back. Octavia screamed, gripping the violin tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± she heard Drey shout.

    Something clenched around her wrist. She lurched forward, her body colliding violently with the cliffside as she cried out in pain. It was all she could do to hold fast to Stradivaria, dangling precariously in Drey''s grip. She opened her eyes, greeting his fearful gaze with one of her own.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± he called, staring down beyond the rim.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Is the smoke still there?¡± she called back, straining her eyes behind him.

    ¡°It is gone, but why would you not heed my words?¡± he cried. ¡°Why will you not allow me to defend you?¡±

    The ocean was roaring dangerously in her ears. This was not the time nor the place for this discussion. ¡°You don¡¯t understand! Your life was in danger!¡±

    ¡°Are you so quick to throw away your life for others?¡± he growled.

    His anger was new. It was startling, and she flinched.

    ¡°You just offered the same!¡± Octavia protested.

    ¡°That is a different matter! You are but a child. What happens to me must happen! That is how all things should be!¡±

    He sounded almost fine with death. It was unsettling. ¡°Drey, please just pull me up! We can talk later!¡±

    ¡°I shall, but I must take your hand! Drop the violin! It is replaceable where your life is not!¡±

    She shook her head, her braids snagging painfully against the jagged rocks of the cliffside. ¡°I can¡¯t! It¡¯s precious to me!¡±

    He frowned, his expression otherwise worried. ¡°The bow, then! Release it!¡±

    Again, she shook her head. He growled in frustration.

    ¡°Your life is in danger, and yet you fear for a violin? Give it here, and I will pull you up!¡± he offered instead, extending one hand towards Stradivaria.

    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± she cried.

    He fell silent for a moment, watching her dangle with hurt in his eyes. ¡°Octavia, please! How else will I save you?¡±

    If her view of his free hand was valid, he¡¯d dropped the polearm at some point. ¡°You can pull me up by my wrists, it¡¯s okay! I know you¡¯re strong enough!¡±

    Again, silence fell before he spoke. This time, his voice was equally as hurt. ¡°What is that violin to you that you would rather give your life than relinquish it? What is your life that you would throw it away so easily when others have pledged to protect yours?¡±

    ¡°Drey, please just pull me up,¡± she pleaded. ¡°I can¡¯t let go of it, I¡¯m begging you. Please.¡±

    He was quiet for a moment. She watched the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as he met her gaze wordlessly. She feared moving of her own accord, lest she compromise what grip he already had around her wrist. It was all she could do to beg with her eyes.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he finally spoke, softly and slowly. ¡°If I aid you now, will you continue to fight as you have done? Will you truly risk your life to change this world?¡±

    She exhaled, her breath rattling on the way out. The danger didn¡¯t matter, and it was reflexive. Her words were tinted with pride, true as they were. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    ¡°I will. I always will,¡± she spoke confidently.

    The silence that settled between them was eternal. Only the crashing waves beneath her dangling feet filled the gap, and Drey¡¯s eyes never once left her own. His shimmered, glistening under the softest light of morning. He withheld his tears, and yet his pain was clear. It stung.

    ¡°Drey?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Then you are no better than your sister.¡±

    The strong, sturdy warmth around her wrist faded in an instant. Eyes wide, Octavia plummeted, and her world went black.

 24. Dreams of a Distant Shore

    Octavia dreamed of Priscilla.

    She was perfect in every way. She was, had been, and would be forevermore, in death or otherwise. She was stubborn. She was flexible. She was brave, yet unafraid to admit to fear. She was kind, yet firm all the same. She was immaculate. She deserved every ounce of awe and praise the world had to offer. She was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was beautiful, and so, so loved.

    The loveliest tints of autumn leaves that crumbled to dust were immortalized in Priscilla¡¯s every step. The striking reds streaming down her back were just as memorable as the way by which they¡¯d tickled the case of a familiar violin. Even in her dreams, Octavia would be remiss to surrender the specter of autumn¡¯s blessing, splendorous as it was and inseparable as could be from the purest soul to ever walk the earth. She had her autumn. She basked in it. She treasured it in the dark, and she surrendered to its warmth.

    She wondered if Priscilla knew. She wondered how much Priscilla knew, let alone if Priscilla would be proud. She wondered what Priscilla would¡¯ve said, were she to see the hands that Stradivaria now called home. She¡¯d asked in prayer after prayer. She wondered if her voice could reach.

    Darkness was soft. Darkness was warm, painted by the loveliest reds of autumn as it was. Every gentle, silky memory of Priscilla¡¯s purity was more than she was willing to surrender. If this was death, Octavia wasn¡¯t entirely certain it was unwelcome. If Priscilla would be waiting for her, that, too, could¡¯ve been a blessing in disguise. She¡¯d done her best. She¡¯d truly tried. If Priscilla awaited with open arms, she could never ask for more. Death was okay.

    Death came with pressure. Death came with the confiscation of red and the offering of only black. Death came with a distant roar she couldn¡¯t ignore and distressing sensations she couldn¡¯t describe. Death came with an awareness beyond that which she would¡¯ve expected. The pain that assailed her body in full spoke to something far opposite the afterlife at last. She longed for the darkness that slipped through her fingers, clutching at soft dreams she couldn¡¯t keep hold of.

    She lost Priscilla. She found herself. She tasted the sand.

    She outright refused to open her eyes for a moment, each and every one of her five senses under simultaneous assault. Everything hurt. She didn¡¯t dare move, and she initially doubted she could at all. Even with her eyes screwed shut, the scorching sunlight battled its way past her lids and seared her however possible. She pinpointed the roar, at least, given the wet sensation lapping against her waist gently.

    The sand was ever-present, crawling its way into her soaked braids and dry mouth in the worst way. No amount of coughing was sparing her, nor was it doing favors to her aching chest. Opening her eyes hurt nearly as much as thinking did, for how it wasn¡¯t the brutal sunshine alone that left her head throbbing.

    It took an exorbitant amount of effort to find her footing, by which she staggered and nearly stumbled in the shifting sands at least thrice. Her head spun and her muscles burned. On all sides, the ocean had been unkind to her, salt-flavored air stinging her lungs where the sea hadn¡¯t ravaged her clothes. Were it not for the cresting sun, perhaps she¡¯d be shivering. As it were, struggling to process the shoreline at all, disorientation took precedence over physical suffering--for a moment, at least.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes chased the horizon behind every foreign wave. Beyond her gaze was endless blue, unfamiliar in every way. She was alive. She could move. She couldn¡¯t remember, if her life depended on it, how she¡¯d gotten here. As to where ¡°here¡± was, she couldn¡¯t so much as begin to guess.

    She tore her eyes from the sea, and instead found a child.

    Where she froze, he mirrored the same. He was equally as unfamiliar as the sprawling ocean at her back, wide-eyed and small. He drank in her pitiful visage, and Octavia stared him down with just as much befuddlement. The sands were not hers alone, and it was not the relieving revelation it should¡¯ve been. If she was to be told she was still dreaming, she would believe the concept in an instant. He blinked slowly. She blinked back.

    It took a moment to peel her eyes from his, round and inquisitive as they were. It was a lush place, the flourishing greenery contrasting pleasantly with the unsteady sands below. The little abodes were not to be ignored--humble, speckled and yet uniform as they were. With certainty, she could now say she¡¯d never been here. She¡¯d never imagined a shoreline commune in the first place, gentle and surreal as the sight still was. Octavia''s eyes flickered down to the boy once more. He still watched her endlessly, devoid of words or motion. In his defense, she wasn¡¯t much better.

    She heard voices in a tongue she didn¡¯t recognize, indescribable in every way. For each pair of eyes she drew, sparse and yet notable, she could only offer the same wide-eyed confusion in return. Their garments were plain, the fabrics ensnared in the salty breeze. They weren¡¯t quite as thick, elegant, or pristine as one which she¡¯d seen recently, just barely offset of pearly ivories as they were. Octavia couldn¡¯t place her nostalgia. It hurt fiercely each and every time she tried. Again and again, she did so regardless. It was all she could do to remain still upon the sand, with only the roar of the ocean at her back and unfamiliar words at her front to distract from the pounding pain in her head.

    There were five. There were ten. There were no less than twenty, and all eyed her up and down in equal measure. She held no fear, disconnected from the situation as she was. Even now, she was surely in a dream in a place she¡¯d never seen. The smallest, most humble part of her felt guilty for intruding upon the home of those she¡¯d never met, puzzled as they seemed to be in turn. It wasn¡¯t as though she would¡¯ve had the capacity to apologize, the language barrier more than daunting. In a thousand ways, she was out of place, pinned by gazes she could only meet one by one. She shivered, and not from the cold sting of the ocean¡¯s prior embrace alone.

    There was one who approached more closely, fearless of the Maestra who¡¯d so suddenly washed up upon their precious shore. She, too, was incomprehensible, even as she neared Octavia directly. Her firm words were lost. For how Octavia only stared her down, the pitch and cadence of every word changed in turn. It was no less than twice more that the same pattern occurred, each new dialect still lost on the girl shaking beneath the sunshine. Octavia clung to silence. It was as safe as it was a default. There was little room for frustration, and her head still hurt even now.

    The woman inhaled deeply before speaking once more. ¡°What is your name?¡±

    The spontaneous shift into words she could process was incredibly jarring. It took the Maestra more than a moment to even recognize them at all. She blinked, forgoing her silence altogether in surprise alone.

    ¡°O-Octavia,¡± she spoke plainly.

    The woman nodded. ¡°Where have you come from?¡±

    The pain was striking and searing, and it was a reflex to clutch at her head futilely. To remember her own name at all was a privilege, she supposed. Finding a language she could understand, let alone a person she could communicate with in such a foreign place, was nothing short of a miracle. The fluency this woman possessed was almost admirable. Octavia had half a mind to wonder if Madrigal still outdid her skills.

    Madrigal. Viola. Harper. Renato.

    The rupturing pressure threatened to split her head in half. It was rapid. It was their names alone, flashing and flashing yet more. It was a rush she couldn¡¯t resist, a tidal wave that slammed into her in full and battled to drown her. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    Samuel. Cadence. Velrose. Velpyre. Blossom. Flame. Sonata. Selena. Josiah.

    There were ever more indecipherable murmurs, rippling somewhere so far off. Every thought was infinitely louder, deafening as they crushed her in turn. Someone was calling her in the one tongue she¡¯d understood. It hardly mattered. Her own name, above all others, was of least importance. It was overwhelming. It was inescapable.

    Drey. Priscilla. Drey. Priscilla. Drey. Priscilla.

    And when it returned at last, it was agonizing.

    Drey.

    Priscilla.

    Priscilla.

    Priscilla.

    The most precious reds of autumn were tinted black, poisoned with every passing second. She didn¡¯t want to think of Priscilla. Priscilla was all she wanted to think of. She didn¡¯t want to remember. Remembering was all she could beg for.

    He¡¯d hurt her. Drey had hurt her. Priscilla. Priscilla.

    Octavia hardly registered the sea streaming down her face, challenging that which still surged at her back. She hardly registered the way each tear scorched her skin as it fell, nor the way her circulation had surrendered to her own ruthless grip. Her shoulders burned fiercely. It paled in comparison to how her head felt. Her vision was a mess, blurring and swimming as it was. There was a voice that wailed, screamed, cried out there somewhere. It sounded oddly similar to her own. It was so, so distant.

    He¡¯d hurt her. He killed her. He killed her.

    He hadn¡¯t said it outright, and yet she still knew it to be true. There was no other explanation. There was no other interpretation. He¡¯d been so willing to send her plummeting to her death. As to what he¡¯d seen fit to bestow upon Priscilla, the concept alone was enough to burn her alive from the inside out. Death would¡¯ve been kinder than entertaining the idea. Death would¡¯ve been preferable to thinking at all. Her shoulders stung more with each passing second, her blood bubbling and throbbing in a way indescribably painful. It was most definitely her own voice screaming so viciously. She¡¯d established that much.

    ¡°Summon the priestess!¡±

    It was more distant than even her own wailing, blunted as the sounds of the world were. What voice had called the words with such urgency was of absolutely zero importance, nor to whom they¡¯d pleaded. Her pain was relentless and indescribable, mental or otherwise. She couldn¡¯t decide which sensation was worse. The ache in her shoulders was borderline unbearable, her entire body shaking violently in the grasp of such horrific suffering.

    It was a hurt she¡¯d never felt in her life, all-consuming and coursing through every vein. If she were to be told she was pain itself, she would believe the words in a heartbeat. No amount of clawing at her skin was helping, and she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if her clinging fingernails were drawing blood. Her ears rang. She found the screeching, blighting her eardrums remorselessly as she trembled.

    It took far longer than it should¡¯ve to process what was happening. If the fall hadn¡¯t killed her, this surely would.

    She would be her own killer, then, for how every last corrupted blessing of a perfect smile tore into her heart. Octavia was still screaming, just as she was still suffering. That much was true. Still, she was at least conscious of the disgusting reality that came with her condition. If this was how Viola¡¯s father had felt, she pitied him in every way. If this was how Selena felt, she regretted it all the more.

    She wanted to die. She didn¡¯t want to die. She didn¡¯t want to die this way, specifically. She didn¡¯t know what she wanted at all. Her throat was raw, and still she screamed. She could hardly hear it above the torturous screeching, regardless. The world itself was a blur, and her silent plea for peace was more than drowned out beneath the noise. Part of her wondered what she looked like from afar. Most of her could hardly wonder anything at all.

    The girl that stole her way into Octavia¡¯s blurring world was hardly visible, her visage murky at best. She was small. She was alone, for how they¡¯d blessed her with space. Her eyes met Octavia¡¯s, round and still. She was undaunted, and Octavia could do little more than cry out before her. Every unhurried step towards the suffering Maestra left bare feet kissing shifting sands, a calm demeanor offered in stark contrast to Octavia¡¯s own.

    Remaining still was Hell, for how severely Octavia wanted to do anything but. Lashing out would¡¯ve been a reflex, given the way it could more than distract from the pain. She wanted to. She so, so desperately wanted to, and it hurt all the more to resist. The universe was spinning. She was dizzy. Again, she wanted to die.

    And when the girl¡¯s lips moved calmly, the screeching was cut short with such sudden silence that, for a moment, Octavia believed she had truly died. Where agony had writhed into every pore and nestled into her bloodstream, the incomprehensible melody that tumbled into the open air dulled her suffering yet more with every angelic note. It was crystalline and sonorous, the sole souvenir Octavia could steal as her vision erupted into blinding brilliance. She could hear it, heavenly and clear as it was.

    The light that cursed her sight, in turn, stole the blurring world and the girl out from under her. It didn¡¯t hurt as severely as she¡¯d expected it to, nor did her pupils scream and burn. She, too, no longer screamed, surrendering her sorrow and suffering to a song that crawled into her soul. It was comforting. It was inexplicable. It was the most beautiful relief offered by the most beautiful sound she¡¯d ever heard in her life.

    Octavia surrendered to the luminous melody for as long as she could cling to it, cherishing neutral and painless sensations she¡¯d taken for granted so recently. It took time to escape in full, and her newfound warmth inside and out was with her every step of the way. The moment it waned, she lamented its loss. To return only to the gentle ambience of the unbending ocean in the wake of both the agonizing screeching and the voice of an angel was a startling peace. When she found her sight, so, too, did she again find her savior. The blazing sun paled in comparison to the splendorous light that had overtaken her, and Octavia didn¡¯t flinch. Once more, she could only gaze at the child in utter awe.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Praise be to the priestess,¡± her prior interpreter spoke. ¡°You are lucky to have escaped with your life.¡±

    Finding her words was a trial, and no amount of blinking was easing the soreness behind her eyes. ¡°Where¡­am I? What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°To see a Dissonant one here is unheard of,¡± the woman persisted, ignoring the inquiry entirely. ¡°It is of no matter. The priestess will tell all.¡±

    Battling tears was still difficult. They seeped through largely without control, Priscilla¡¯s heinous truth still more than freshly unraveled. Even now, it would¡¯ve been far too easy to break down and sob upon the shore infinitely. Pressing, by comparison, was exceedingly strenuous. ¡°Who¡¯s the¡­priestess?¡±

    In lieu of a verbal answer, the woman¡¯s eyes instead fell to the same child once more. Once more, the girl¡¯s calm gaze captured Octavia¡¯s own silently. This time, Octavia didn¡¯t have the drive to look away. When her little hand rose to beckon, Octavia was still. The motion was lost on her. She stared further.

    ¡°Follow her,¡± the woman spoke quietly at her side.

    She was disconnected, her soul surely floating high aloft in the clouds and looking down upon the Maestra on the shoreline. It was a dream she couldn¡¯t awaken from, confusing and disorienting in every way. Only the uncomfortable sensation of her wet socks soaking the linings of her boots with every soggy step kept her tethered to reality. For how lightly and silently the girl moved, Octavia¡¯s body was made of lead by comparison. It was all she could do to oblige and trail behind a child half her size, silky cascades of blonde that ran far too long acting as her only beacon. It was still entirely possible that none of this was real. She would¡¯ve believed it in a heartbeat.

    She found her vivid greenery, lush and abundant in every way. It was a far cry from the rich, sturdy foliage she¡¯d come to know in Silver Ridge or beyond. Her path was shockingly clear, undeterred by floral obstacles or otherwise. She had her atmosphere, granted, for how the sweltering sun slipped through faulty canopies and left her salt-stained clothes clinging yet more uncomfortably to her skin. Each step deeper into the unfamiliar forest still left her struggling to focus exclusively on her navigator.

    She was as emotionless as she was silent, never once turning to face Octavia as she pressed onwards. Were she not fatigued and overwhelmed in every way, perhaps the Maestra would be pelting her with questions. If the circumstances weren''t so surreal, perhaps the ambience might even be peaceful. As it was, Octavia was lucky she could walk at all. She trailed her little guide ever deeper into uncertainty.

    The voyage was not tremendous, although the crumbling architecture she¡¯d been led to so casually was no more self-explanatory. The standing structures weren¡¯t abundant, and yet what decaying stone remained spoke to what had once been in excess. Blessed by moss as every limestone column was and cursed by time as the scattered masonry appeared, she could make no sense of it. If she truly squinted, she could hazard a guess at an altar--decaying in its own right, if the creeping flora and cracking stone was any indicator. The clearing was vast, and each solid step left her soaked boots clacking against yet more stone underfoot rather than packed earth. There was a brief moment where she entertained the idea she¡¯d left Mezzoria entirely. Whether such was possible, she had no idea.

    By comparison to her own audible footsteps, her speechless guide was equally silent in her movements across every raised stone. Her bare feet touched lightly below, and she walked with an ethereal grace. It was only the unflinching breeze that snuck its way past which brought any semblance of sound, the rustling leaves filling in where the girl was quiet. Small as she was, wrapped up in the wind with flowing locks and rippling fabrics ensnared in turn, Octavia feared she might blow away. It would¡¯ve been fitting, given the way by which the Maestra still wasn¡¯t fully convinced the child was real. When she stilled in her tracks at last, she had only archaic ruins for company. Octavia, too, stilled.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she finally asked. She feared the answer, somewhat.

    There was a delay of more than a moment, by which Octavia briefly wondered if the girl would ever speak at all. The words that left her lips at last were abnormal in every way.

    ¡°This child goes by Rani. I do not.¡±

    It was not the voice of a child, let alone a voice she could expect of a girl whatsoever. The deep, calm, and unmistakably masculine tone that offered up her answer was jarring enough to physically startle Octavia. For a moment, her eyes scanned the general vicinity of the child, both before and beside. She found nothing, and the alternative concept that settled into her head was impossible to fathom. It was a match that couldn¡¯t be. She somewhat regretted asking anything at all, and she was tempted to still her tongue entirely. It wasn¡¯t quite enough.

    ¡°Then¡­who are you?¡± Octavia asked.

    Again, the girl hesitated. ¡°You will learn in time,¡± the deep voice within relented at last.

    ¡°Where am I? What is this place?¡± Octavia continued.

    Her questions were lost once more. ¡°There is a story you are to hear.¡±

    ¡°A¡­story?¡±

    Even now, she was robbed of the girl¡¯s face. It was her back alone that Octavia bore witness to, cursed only to yet the same voice that shunned her questions and left her with more. Given how she tilted her head in the slightest, it was just barely enough to grant a hint of fair skin beneath the sandy veil draping her shoulders. Upon her neck was a symbol Octavia had seen exactly once before, crude and grotesque as the blackened scar had been. Here, it was soft. It spoke little of violence, for how naturally the familiar pattern had settled into the child¡¯s pores.

    A priestess and an acolyte were close enough in titles alone. Octavia began to rethink whether or not she should be grateful to those who¡¯d received her peacefully along the shoreline. If it was a natural burden, it was forgivable. If not, they were perhaps no better than the Velpyre clergy. It made too little sense regardless. For how she¡¯d surely be deflected once more, she declined to ask.

    ¡°I will tell it only once. You must listen carefully,¡± the deep voice went on.

    Whether or not she could be seen, Octavia nodded. Given the way hearing spiels of blossoms and flames once more would leave her blood cold and her heart dead, she prayed her waking dream would harbor anything but. It was raw. In contrast, she was lucky.

    ¡°Where once was none came all. From nothing, light cut through the black and brought life into being. He of all above spread his reach far, his legacy a mark upon the world he created. The spirited winds ravaged the mountains so carefully crafted. Upon the green, fire raged with a will untethered. Atop the highest peaks, ice born of the soul coalesced. The lightning struck the earth, its essence a testament to shining grace. When they who remained sang, the strength of their sound could move the earth. Above all, the light of the heart watched onwards. From his blessing came those who would guard they who existed below.¡±

    Octavia could only blink. Some part of her mind could fill in the blanks, if she tried. It was almost nostalgic. For what inquiries bubbled to her lips immediately, she was forced to swallow them just as soon. The same mismatched voice stole them away once more.

    ¡°Man flourished. Man blossomed into a force of its own, walking upon his world. From the hearts of their own came love, thrust upwards ever higher. Peace settled upon all.¡±

    When she found the same round, empty eyes offered to her at last, they were chilling in tandem with a darkened tone. Octavia didn¡¯t dare look away, nor did she dare speak. She carried every word with equal parts disorientation and puzzled fascination. Even now, she had no name for the one who spoke to her so clearly. It was its own frustration.

    ¡°But it was she who brought the world to ruin, enamored with the charms of man. Malice in the hearts of few dragged her from the throne above, clawed to earth with powers unfit for this realm. In her sorrow followed the agony of men, given form.¡±

    She knew the phrase. It almost clicked. It didn¡¯t quite make sense in full. She so, so desperately wanted to ask.

    ¡°Splintered, they above could not remain, tears beating upon the earth as they fell to mortal hands. The ninety-six took refuge within, until the chosen time should come.¡±

    Every question she held fast to was torture. Even now, she wasn¡¯t free of what continued to fester. Her storyteller only cursed her with more every second.

    ¡°There are those below who would yet receive their grace. Upon them, the struggle may still meet its end. In time, their pain will be witnessed, and they shall return to the throne at last.¡±

    Fragments made sense. As a whole, it did not. Her thoughts were abuzz, for as murky as they still were. She had the slightest of silences, and she thought to seize it with everything she could beg to know. She never got the chance.

    ¡°Stratos. Now is the time.¡±

    Her name was Octavia. She blinked.

    But¡­my Lord, so soon? She is not ready!

    And where she¡¯d never once heard the voice leaving Rani¡¯s lips until today, she¡¯d heard that one several times over.

    Don¡¯t.

    It had always been brief.

    Stop!

    It had always been direct.

    Protect him.

    She¡¯d never once heard it offer a full sentence.

    Octavia!

    At this point, she had a feeling she could no longer be mistaken.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± she mouthed silently, a guess she feared to gift with her voice.

    ¡°Cease your foolishness. She will be the one,¡± the voice surely not Rani¡¯s own demanded.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she had either half of Stradivaria with her to begin with. Her eyes flickered down to her hands, empty as they were. Still, it could be no other. She¡¯d replayed those fleeting words she¡¯d been offered far too many times before. She knew the tone. She knew the pitch. She knew her partner. If this was truly a dream, then this was the one thing she prayed she could take to the waking world.

    The moment the child drew near, it was a reflex to reverse in turn. Standing her ground was difficult. ¡°We will meet again, and you will know my name,¡± the unfamiliar voice offered slowly.

    For how every last desperate inquiry had been shoved back down her throat and locked tightly in her heart, frustration paled in comparison to bleeding dissatisfaction. She needed the name now. She needed Stradivaria. She needed her location, companionship, clarity to the tale. Priscilla, perhaps. Herself, in turn. Whatever ¡°the one¡± consisted of. She earned nothing.

    Her patience was rewarded only with the lightest touch upon her head, one small arm stretching high to graze her hair. Where she¡¯d craved the peace of darkness before, she found it yet again. It was a plunge of another kind entirely that sent Octavia spiraling into a blackened world once more, every thought spiraling much the same all the way down.

    <hr>

    The second time around, she¡¯d surrendered a salty embrace in favor of a gasp that threatened to destroy her lungs. Octavia had her ocean. It was distant, with only the gentle embrace of the plush earth below to cradle her instead. She could move, as could she feel. Sunshine still sank into her saturated clothes, sticking to her skin just as uncomfortably. It was perhaps genuine dirt that now prickled the back of her neck. It was raining, and shade spared her the full brunt of the sun¡¯s ire. It fell down her cheeks in bitter droplets, one by one and sparse as they were. Her rain came with sobs, and her sobs were far from her own.

    She opened her eyes and found her storm, so close and so sorrowful. She, too, owned tears, slipping sporadically over the edges of her face of their own accord. They were little match for Viola¡¯s, given how much more fiercely the girl wailed the moment their eyes met. The moment her head was so carefully cradled in Viola¡¯s arms, it was all she could do to throw her soaked sleeves around Viola in turn.

    ¡°Octavia! Octavia!¡± Viola cried time and time again. ¡°Octavia!¡±

    The urge to simply break down in Viola¡¯s embrace was overwhelming. It took too much effort to raise her eyes elsewhere. Velrose was at her back still, the rear gates looming high behind her as they once had. The ocean lay below, and she was safely above. Were it not for the salty remnants of the writhing sea that still coated her at every angle, she could easily have never left the cliff. Her personal rain was not born of a soul of ice alone, for the three Maestros that had huddled just as near. Even with Madrigal and Harper giving her space, their own hysterics were more than audible. Renato wasn¡¯t immune to blinking back tears, futile as the effort quickly became.

    She had a fourth observer, his shoulders shaking and his breaths rattling even from afar. He was wordless. His tears were few and far between, and yet more than unrestrained when they fell. The moment Octavia¡¯s eyes met his, soft and broken as they were, she scrambled to straighten up in full.

    Every apology she could¡¯ve dreamt of wouldn¡¯t have been enough. Everything she could¡¯ve offered up in her entire life wouldn¡¯t have atoned. For how much his gentle gaze, devoid of judgment in the slightest, sliced her heart to shreds all the same, it was tempting to dive from the cliff of her own accord. It came out regardless. There was so, so little else she could give him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! Josiah, I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so, so sorry!¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Josiah whispered, his hushed voice shaking. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not okay, it¡¯s not! It¡¯s not!¡± she cried out, her voice cracking instantly.

    His tearful eyes fell closed, and he inhaled deeply. When he offered nothing more, she, too, had nothing left. It was the worst punishment she could ever receive. It was perhaps deserved.

    ¡°I thought you died! I thought I would never see you again!¡± Viola sobbed.

    There was one punishment greater than the sting that came with failure. When it hit once more, wrath was stronger than grief. Octavia hadn¡¯t forgotten. It hadn¡¯t dulled. It burned, as did she, and she gripped Viola¡¯s arms far too tightly with trembling hands. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    ¡°He killed her!¡± she nearly screamed. ¡°He killed her! He killed her!¡±

    Viola recoiled in the face of Octavia¡¯s spontaneous ire, her tears briefly scared into submission. ¡°W-What are you talking about?¡±

    Simply saying it was Hell. ¡°Drey! It was Drey! He killed Priscilla!¡±

    Viola fell silent for a moment, only soft hiccups escaping her throat on occasion. ¡°Your¡­sister? Drey?¡±

    Octavia nodded frantically. ¡°He killed her!¡± she cried yet again.

    Viola shook her head in disbelief. ¡°How do you¡­know that?¡±

    Recounting the highlights of the situation between sobs was a challenge. She didn¡¯t mention the crisis atop the bell tower, for how it had come to speak for itself. She didn¡¯t dare look Josiah in the eyes twice over. She kept the visions of a pristine shoreline to herself, just as she swallowed the truth of what agony had plagued her with upon its warm sands.

    Rage was of interest. Vitriol was of note. Every word, every action, every implication from the once-kind lips and once-gentle touch of the man from SIAR was retold with hatred. She could hardly do the pain in her soul justice, regardless, and each sentence left her blood boiling yet more than the last. She was shaking, and no longer was it from sorrow alone.

    Octavia surrendered her sobs in favor of venom, and the way by which it so easily painted every mention of his name was almost startling. It was a burn that started in her veins and erupted out through every crack of her shattered heart. It was an unquenchable sensation, an itch that couldn¡¯t be satiated. They were silent, their collective eyes wide beneath every shaky revelation that dripped hatefully from her lips. There were no feeble sentiments of comfort, nor suggestions, nor input at all. It was the worst kind of calm, devoid of screaming bells and filled only with the roar of the ocean so far below.

    She didn¡¯t blame them. She could hardly think straight. She could hardly control her thoughts at all, for how they were a magnet to one idea and one idea alone. It was new. It was all-consuming. She didn¡¯t loathe it.

    ¡°What¡­do you want to do now?¡±

    She knew Viola would ask. It wasn¡¯t a difficult answer, in truth, although whether it was taken well remained to be seen. She had Stradivaria, nestled peacefully in the grass at her side. She should¡¯ve been relieved to find the violin, her hands no longer cursed to be barren. In a way, it was a relief. It would be sorely necessary, soon enough. It didn¡¯t quite slip out. It was voluntary, achingly true, and it stung her lips with poison all the way there. She didn¡¯t hesitate.

    ¡°I want Drey dead.¡±

 25. Loss

    There was drive that came with sorrow. What had taken only an instant to crush her heart and hurl every fragment to the sea below left hours lost above. Shoreline be damned, it took Octavia time to fill in the gaps. It was with shaking fists and rattling breaths that she struggled to drink in the tragedies in her wake, and her tears were not localized. Viola did her best. Josiah, miraculously, had far less tears of his own to shed than she would¡¯ve expected.

    Velrose was nearly no more, spared by utter luck. Even in death, Selena¡¯s agony was unparalleled. What remained was enough to curse the Blessed City with suffering once sealed so deeply below, unfathomable in such a holy place. Four Maestros had been little but a brief deterrent, despite exhausting every ounce of their strength. It left hundreds spilling from the violet-tinted gates, a city once thriving now practically devoid of life. Granted, their safety had been battled for in earnest, and it was one small victory.

    The death toll, by comparison, was debatable. It existed. As to what extent, mired in the worst shades of violet as it had been, there hadn¡¯t yet been a public consensus. It was not the acolytes¡¯ blood alone that painted the city, for how much had been spilt in the grasp of agony. Those who¡¯d perished by mortal means may have been the lucky ones, self-inflicted or otherwise. She prayed it wasn¡¯t many who¡¯d succumbed, regardless. It was all that could be done, now, for what Hell had already been unleashed. Failure outweighed pride fivefold.

    So high above, Valkyrie¡¯s Call claimed a new Maestra.

    Given how rapidly the bond had been forged, Octavia initially didn¡¯t believe them. Even so, the valiance of Allison Ivory betrayed her age to an astonishing degree. The strength of sound in her little hands was flawless still, and what of Selena¡¯s sorrow remained to ravage the world below succumbed to every toll. Some citizens returned. Some fled regardless. Neither option could be blamed, even with the blessing of the Velrose Acolyte upon them yet again.

    There was nearly an ire that she aimed squarely at Valkyrie¡¯s Call, for how easily the late acolyte had been discarded in favor of yet another. It ached, no matter how many times Octavia pictured it, to imagine Allison¡¯s face as she¡¯d heard of Sonata¡¯s fate. She wondered if the rope was still bloodied. Those innocent fingers had settled upon it regardless. It tore her apart.

    None of them saw the bodies. It was an incredible relief, and she vowed never to let slip the finer details of the gruesome sight. She didn¡¯t want to know who¡¯d discovered them, then. She didn¡¯t envy them. She doubted she¡¯d be forgetting the mental image any time soon, if ever.

    There was no Velpyre. The blossom had withered, somewhat, and yet survived all the same. The flame, rather, had long since been snuffed out in full. Sealed off as it was, what dwelled below was beyond comprehension. If yet more Dissonance remained, she didn¡¯t want to know. If it was little more than a tomb of the grandest scale, she didn¡¯t want to know. She spoke not a word of it to Josiah. His grief was his alone, and he¡¯d run from enough already. She wanted to confide in him, somewhat, given the way their sorrows might¡¯ve overlapped in the slightest. Her courage to pry was nonexistent, still drowning in her own flavor of grief anew as she was.

    She feared for Selena, then, and she feared for him much the same. In passing, she was surely loathed. In life, he was no safer, plagued by his birthright as he was. The flame truly had consumed the blossom once warmed, in the end--in both manners of speaking. Above, their rage could be almost justified from afar. To leave him in Velrose was cruel, if not exceedingly dangerous. He was a sole survivor. He was innocent. He¡¯d lost all he¡¯d known, for all intents and purposes--beloved or otherwise.

    I¡­hate to ask this, but do you guys have room for one more?

    There was one person she could save in the Blessed City, at least.

    It left Drey.

    It was almost a tragedy that he¡¯d survived the catastrophe, given what she now knew. Her rage was unshakable, her ire unyielding. It was a fury unlike any she¡¯d ever felt poison her veins, and she was indifferent to the shock and concern on every face. She knew it to be unnatural. She hardly cared, valid as it was. She rationalized her fire, somewhat--he was more than a murderer, and yet more still than the sickest of betrayers. He was a key piece of Priscilla¡¯s puzzle, even now. He knew what Octavia didn¡¯t. That could change. It was as irresistible as it was necessary.

    Evacuation was an excuse for passage, strictly limited as it typically was. Solenford was accessible, distance was irrelevant, and wrath was toxic. It was a vile combination. She regretted forcing someone to retrieve her belongings from the inn on her behalf, for how she refused to return to the Blessed City¡¯s boundaries. She would never take one step within the walls of the blossom again. If she had her way, ultimately, Octavia would never raise her eyes to the bell upon the church¡¯s peak so long as she lived.

    It hardly mattered, given the way every dream featured the same.

    In stark contrast to her prior voyage from Coda to Velrose, Octavia spent nearly seven full days bedbound alone. What joy had once come with her first foray into railway travel had long since evaporated, and it was only in the shadows of a lightless cabin that she found reprieve. She didn¡¯t blame Madrigal or Viola for avoiding the darkened room at all hours of the day. In truth, part of her did feel guilty for condemning them to her radiating sorrow in the evenings. If she remembered to eat, she was lucky. She didn¡¯t mind the isolation, for how she clung to it so desperately. It kept nothing at bay, and every tear she could ever conjure had surely soaked into her pillowcase long ago.

    She slept, sometimes. It wasn¡¯t pleasant, and she grew more resistant to the concept of surrendering to unconsciousness than she would¡¯ve liked. She¡¯d never had such vivid nightmares before, crystal clear in the worst way and splattered with the same scenes time and time again.

    The bells were a constant, long after she¡¯d awoken. The acolytes, too, were a chronic feature, mangled and bloodied as they¡¯d been. Every cry of her name, every call to guard her ears, every last sight and sound that could choose to blight her was ever-present. Awakening was worse, and the screams of Valkyrie¡¯s Call followed her up. No amount of slamming her head against the pillow or screaming in her own way did a thing. It was endless. She almost missed the screeching Dissonance, by comparison.

    Drey was nearly a distraction. If she tried, her pain could be fuel to a different fire. It wasn¡¯t as difficult as it seemed. She was a pendulum between sorrow and scathing rage, fear and burning hatred. It was undoubtedly unhealthy. It was uncontrollable. Solenford inched closer by the moment, and it was her hands around his neck that would hopefully be the cure. It was the only flavor of blood she wished to see spilt.

    To their credit, they¡¯d tried.

    You did everything you could.

    We¡­saved a lot of people.

    That bastard is gonna get what¡¯s coming to him, believe me.

    Octavia, Viola had simply murmured, let us know if you need anything.

    She hadn¡¯t decided whether Josiah¡¯s silence was a relief or a crushing blow to her already-shattered soul. What he could¡¯ve given would¡¯ve been hollow at best. She¡¯d be surprised if he himself wasn¡¯t much the same.

    It was ironic. It was hypocritical. She wallowed in the thought until it came with paranoia.

    It took six days for that to settle in, and she¡¯d struggled initially to dismiss it as a trick of the light--or lack thereof, rather. For what soft footsteps had settled upon the threshold, she¡¯d hardly needed to roll over to draw a conclusion. They moved no further. She couldn¡¯t tell which one it was, nor did she want to guess. It was for far, far too long that she was cognizant of the cracked door, for the slight increase in background noise it brought along. Whatever eyes burned holes through her covers threatened the same of her skin. Stilling her breaths was a trial. Feigning sleep was her one defense.

    She heard the quiet thud that came with the door sliding shut, eventually. What isolation Octavia had initially been grateful for once more was dashed regardless, the same soft footsteps soaked up by plush carpeting. They were far too near the bed for comfort, and she was far too conscious still. Her heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. The moment the bedsprings creaked and the pressure left her body dipping slightly, her heart came to outright race instead. They were warm. Their soft breaths tickled the back of her neck. They were foreign, and that was her greatest concern. Octavia was deathly still.

    ¡°Do you¡­remember the first night we met? When we shared your bed?¡±

    They weren¡¯t foreign, then. She was silent all the same.

    ¡°You saved my life that night,¡± Viola continued. ¡°You were the first other Maestra I¡¯d ever met, and you were even my own age. You didn¡¯t run away, even though you could¡¯ve died. You¡¯d never used your Harmonial Instrument before, you didn¡¯t know what Maestras were, and¡­you were still so much stronger than me. I was jealous, honestly.¡±

    The familiar sting of prickling tears was irrelevant. Octavia¡¯s silence was precious.

    ¡°I was jealous for a lot longer than I wanted to be. I was jealous that you woke up to parents that ate breakfast together. I was jealous that Dissonance had never wronged you before that night. I was jealous of Madrigal in every way. I was¡­jealous of Harper, even, in some ways. I know that sounds terrible to say.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t jealous of Renato, apparently. The thought was almost amusing enough to threaten her vow of silence.

    ¡°Even now, I¡¯m still jealous of you,¡± Viola murmured. ¡°I¡¯m jealous of how you¡¯re creative, and how you always have a solution for everything. I¡¯m jealous of how easily you make friends, and how kind you are to others, and how far you¡¯re willing to go to do what¡¯s right. I¡­think I¡¯ll always be a bit jealous of that.¡±

    It was enough. ¡°Are you making fun of me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Viola answered firmly.

    ¡°Does this look at all like the time to tell me this? Not even the tiniest bit out of place?¡± Octavia spat.

    She could hear the frustration tinting Viola¡¯s tone. ¡°This is exactly the time I should be telling you all of this. God, Octavia, you realize what we¡¯re going to Solenford for, right?¡±

    She did.

    ¡°You understand what¡¯s waiting for us there, right?¡±

    She very much did.

    ¡°I wanted to tell you everything now,¡± Viola spoke softly. ¡°Just¡­in case.¡±

    ¡°In case of what?¡± Octavia muttered.

    Viola sunk into silence. Octavia didn¡¯t back down. ¡°Viola, in case of what?¡±

    When she found no answer, it was more than a catalyst for aggravation. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m going to die or something?¡± Octavia snapped. ¡°Is that sincerely how little you believe in me, even after all of that talk?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll follow you no matter where you go. All of us would,¡± Viola answered quietly, her voice shaking somewhat.

    It wasn¡¯t the answer she¡¯d expected. It hurt. ¡°You don¡¯t need to do this. I¡¯ll go alone. This is my fight.¡±

    Even turned away, she could feel the motion of Viola shaking her head. ¡°If it¡¯s someone who hurt you, it¡¯s a fight for all of us. We want to.¡±

    Octavia did the same. ¡°I don¡¯t want to put anyone else in danger.¡±

    ¡°I put you in danger too many times for you to say that to me,¡± Viola argued gently. ¡°Besides, being a Maestra means being in danger. It comes with the territory.¡±

    The silence that settled upon them in tandem was heavy. Only the deep rumble of their voyage and the delicate clatter that came with wheels upon metal served to soften the blow. ¡°You don¡¯t need to do this for me,¡± Octavia finally whispered.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to go to Coda with me, and you did,¡± Viola whispered in return. ¡°Please, let me do this for you this time. Let me return the favor. Let all of us.¡±

    She was running out of counters to the Maestra¡¯s sentiments, steadfast as they were. She wished she could be appreciative. She wished she could be believing, at least. It took longer than it should have for Octavia to summon enough courage to turn over in full. What she couldn¡¯t trust verbally, she could salvage from streaks of tears not her own and reddened cheeks to match. Viola was stubborn, and that was of no surprise. it was difficult to make out the shimmer in the dark, and still she found it all the same. The resolve that bubbled beneath was honest. It wasn¡¯t quite contagious. Octavia sighed.

    ¡°I want to talk to Josiah,¡± she whispered.

    It was the first time in days she¡¯d willingly risen to her feet, guided by a gentle touch or otherwise. So, too, was it the first time she¡¯d left her room with any semblance of purpose. It was the one hint of resolve she could steal. She had sentiments of her own still left buried.

    <hr>

    She¡¯d lost the sun already. Given the darkness she¡¯d clung to extensively, she¡¯d nearly lost track of time altogether. The delicate stars speckling the blackened sky were her one reprieve, and the rushing winds she¡¯d found outside were a relief. She didn¡¯t quite hate the way they battered her braids, for how her heart was battered in turn with every hesitant footstep. Viola gave her space. So, too, she¡¯d been informed, had the boy been given his. Octavia didn¡¯t so much as attempt to stand in his shoes mentally. She could hardly bring herself to stand adjacent to him at all.

    If he¡¯d heard her approach, he made no indication of such. If his windswept hair was any sign, he¡¯d been out here for quite some time himself. Josiah¡¯s eyes were upon the stars alone, cast high and distant from the Maestra at his back. Even now, she hesitated to disturb him. She liked to imagine he¡¯d found at least some semblance of peace. She strongly doubted it, in truth.

    ¡°Josiah?¡± she asked hesitantly.

    He didn¡¯t so much as turn his head. ¡°Yes?¡±

    Octavia had to battle the urge to fidget uncomfortably. ¡°Can I¡­sit with you?¡±

    He nodded, and she stole his permission before apprehension could sting her once more. She could understand his preoccupation with the view, at least, if it were honest. She followed every stretch of track with her eyes as it evaporated quickly in their wake, her words unfortunately left behind much the same. She considered condolences. A small part of her considered apologies. Neither would be fruitful, and one would surely kill her the moment she began. Octavia never had the chance to entertain either option.

    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± Josiah murmured. ¡°And you don¡¯t have to answer if you don¡¯t want to.¡±

    She nodded. She hoped her silence was enough of an answer, and was more than satisfied when it was.

    ¡°Selena¡­had never seen the open sky before,¡± he began. ¡°All she ever got were those crappy little dots in between the rocks down below. She never got to see the night sky like this. She never got to watch the sunrise, or the sunset, or even the way the sky looks on a rainy day. She never saw any of it down there.¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    He paused for a moment. ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve had the chance to step outside. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a Velrose passport at some point. I haven¡¯t gone beyond Velrose, but I¡¯ve seen the sky with my own eyes. I¡¯ve had the privilege to see the outside world in a way Selena didn¡¯t.¡±

    He folded his hands together neatly in his lap, his gaze still offered to the stars alone. He sighed. ¡°Octavia, when she fell, did she land face-down?¡±

    It was a gruesome question. Her stomach lurched. She shook her head regardless, battling the lump that quickly rose in her throat. Octavia lamented the way her voice cracked all the way there. ¡°S-Sonata¡­fell on top of her. She landed face-up.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s faint smile, fragile as it was, was an immense surprise. ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s all I wanted to know.¡±

    Breaking down was imminent. No amount of biting her lip was helping. ¡°Josiah, I¡¯m so sorry--¡±

    His soft eyes fell to her at last, one raised palm stifling her words gently. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to apologize for. You did everything you could, and none of this was your fault. I¡­should¡¯ve expected this to happen eventually.¡±

    Octavia blinked back her tears to the best of her ability. ¡°Expected¡­what?¡±

    He sighed, his gaze stolen by the stars once more. ¡°You can only push someone so far before they break. Honestly, I knew that day was going to come for Selena at some point. You said you talked to her, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Once.¡±

    ¡°Did she show you the scar?¡±

    She nodded. It was an unfortunate memory. ¡°Yes.¡±

    He was quiet for a moment. ¡°Did she show you the bruises?¡±

    Octavia was silent in turn. She shook her head.

    ¡°What about the burns?¡±

    Once more, she shook her head.

    ¡°Did she show you the joints on her fingers that never healed properly?¡±

    Octavia had no words to offer him. Josiah exhaled slowly.

    ¡°Velpyre deserved it,¡± he murmured. ¡°They deserved everything that happened. At the greatest expense, the clergy finally got what was coming to them. Even in the wake of all of this, somehow, I don¡¯t care that the city was destroyed. I really, really don¡¯t.¡±

    She thought to ask as to how anyone could indulge such cruelty. In truth, her fleeting interactions with Selena had been more than enough to illustrate such a concept. Part of Octavia wondered if Josiah had read her mind, somewhat.

    ¡°An acolyte can¡¯t run away if her legs are broken,¡± he offered quietly. ¡°She won¡¯t flee with a broken spirit, either.¡±

    It only made their silence thicker. She was grateful he pressed first. ¡°Would you fault me for not doing more?¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have done anything more. You¡¯d put yourself in danger,¡± Octavia answered.

    She watched as he closed his eyes slowly. ¡°Selena was in danger every day of her life for the simple crime of being the Velpyre Acolyte. What I saw was nothing in the face of that. I wouldn¡¯t have survived in her shoes.¡±

    ¡°But it was still hard for you to see, wasn¡¯t it?¡± she insisted. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­dismiss that.¡±

    ¡°Do you know why I was there in the first place? Do you know why the clergy gave me a place to stay when my family left for Selbright?¡± he continued.

    Octavia shook her head once more, whether he could see her or not. Josiah hardly needed her denial.

    ¡°I kept her in line, according to them. I gave her a reason not to run away. I gave her a motive to play every night. I gave her a reason to eat and sleep and not destroy herself out of spite. I gave her something to live for.¡±

    ¡°Then isn¡¯t that something to be proud of?¡± Octavia asked.

    Josiah took one deep breath. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think she did, at least. Either way, she¡¯ll never know, now. She had no idea that¡¯s how they thought of me, and I think the concept would¡¯ve broken her heart. I wonder if it would¡¯ve been kinder to her if I never existed. I wonder if death would¡¯ve been preferable to what she had to endure.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°How can you say that? If she would¡¯ve lived for you, isn¡¯t that enough?¡±

    ¡°All I did was keep her from burning herself out, and even then it didn¡¯t stop the way they hurt her,¡± he insisted. ¡°The hunger strikes, the sleep deprivation, the beatings. The way she did everything in her power to spite them, and the way they¡¯d¡­break her until she played again. All I did was postpone that and force her to do the one thing she didn¡¯t want to do, every day of her life, right up until the end. Am I not at fault for her death, just as much?¡±

    His words were as soft as they were sharp. Not once did he don a shred of visible emotion, his expression utterly blank. His opened eyes had caught the glistening stars once more, and their light was all she found within. For how hard she¡¯d fought to go numb, he¡¯d been successful in her stead. It was enough for her heart to miss several beats painfully. Octavia had little to offer him. She tried regardless.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t do this to her,¡± she argued gently. ¡°You know who¡¯s to blame, and it¡¯s not you.¡±

    He gave her no answer. His empty focus was still upon the night sky alone, and she didn¡¯t particularly blame him. Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry someone hurt your sister,¡± he murmured at last.

    It was unexpected, gentle as he¡¯d given it. She found tears she¡¯d long thought expended, and it took effort to beat them back. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry, too. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to kill him?¡± he asked. ¡°When we get there, the guy who hurt her?¡±

    She paused. ¡°Probably.¡±

    ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll be able to do it?¡±

    She hadn¡¯t so much as entertained the opposite. It was a chilling concept. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know. I¡¯m going to try.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes drifted to her slowly. ¡°I can¡¯t do a lot to help fight. I¡¯m sorry about that. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever want to be a Maestro, but I wish I could be more useful.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Please don¡¯t say that. You don¡¯t need to be useful. You just need to be you.¡±

    He chuckled, somewhat empty as the sound was. ¡°Sometimes I wonder how much things would change if I was a Maestro. I don¡¯t envy you. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for Maestros, but I wouldn¡¯t want to be in your shoes.¡±

    For the first time in longer than she could remember, Octavia smiled softly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to be in my shoes, either. I don¡¯t blame you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll support you,¡± he offered. ¡°I¡¯ll support you however I can. You did more for Selena in a day than anyone else did in a lifetime. I want to do something for you instead.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to feel like you owe me anything,¡± Octavia said.

    Josiah¡¯s smile was fragile. It was debatable, for how it just barely challenged the dull tint in his eyes. Still, it was welcome, and she put her faith in it. ¡°I want to. I know your friends probably think the same way. You have some great people by your side, you know that?¡±

    His eyes flickered to the door at their back, and hers followed along. Their audience of four knew nothing of subtlety, given how several faces had quite literally flattened against the window. Madrigal waved high above them all. Octavia was forced to stifle a genuine laugh as she returned the same. It was not even slightly an invitation. It didn¡¯t matter, apparently, and four Maestros stumbled gracelessly onto the newly-cramped platform within seconds. At least one nearly greeted it face-first.

    ¡°Not eavesdropping, I swear!¡± Harper spoke quickly, waving his hands in alarm.

    ¡°I mean, if I could hear through the door, I definitely would¡¯ve,¡± Renato mumbled.

    The swift kick Harper delivered to his ankle was somewhat deserved. The yelp of pain he gave right back was enough to draw a giggle out of Octavia.

    ¡°We were all just worried about you,¡± Madrigal said with a gentle smile.

    Viola¡¯s knowing gaze was enough, her own smile more so. Octavia returned the favor.

    ¡°Thanks, guys. I¡¯ll¡­be okay,¡± she reassured. ¡°I just need a little while to think.¡±

    ¡°And think we should!¡± Renato asserted, bashing one balled fist against his palm dramatically. ¡°We¡¯re gonna wreck this Drey guy, right?¡±

    ¡°Knock it off!¡± Viola hissed through gritted teeth.

    Renato blinked. ¡°Too much?¡±

    ¡°Kind of a calm attitude for murder,¡± Harper muttered.

    ¡°You¡¯re really gonna do this?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Octavia nodded regardless. ¡°The more I think about it, the more I know it¡­has to happen. It¡¯s not just for me. It¡¯s for anyone else who¡¯s in danger, or for anyone else he¡¯s hurt. I don¡¯t know why he killed Priscilla, but I know that he did it. He needs to pay for that.¡±

    Viola¡¯s voice was soft enough that Octavia nearly didn¡¯t hear her speak. ¡°You¡¯re not¡­conflicted about killing someone?¡±

    Shaking her head almost felt cruel. It was still the truth. Octavia spared no empathy for him, and surely never would again. Every breath he breathed was one undeserved, even now. If she were to spill the depths of her ever-growing hatred to Viola in full, at least some part of her feared the repercussions to their relationship. It would¡¯ve been partially her fault for asking.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± Harper began instead, changing the subject delicately, "do you¡­have enough things to take care of yourself? I know you didn¡¯t get a chance to grab all of your stuff out of Velpyre.¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°I have the clothes on my back and everything I usually keep in my bag. I don¡¯t have much else. I¡¯ll have to pick up some more clothes eventually, probably. I¡¯ve been just washing and reusing these ones the whole trip. I¡¯ll worry about it later.¡±

    Renato crossed his arms. ¡°What do you keep in there, anyway? That¡¯s a small bag for everything you¡¯ve gotta carry.¡±

    Josiah smiled softly. ¡°Not much. I usually carry around my journal and some first aid stuff. Maybe some snacks, I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You know first aid?¡± Harper asked.

    He nodded. ¡°I¡¯d like to become a doctor, eventually. I¡¯ve been trying to pick up things wherever I can, but there¡¯s not a lot of doctors in Velpyre to study from. I want to learn more about herbs and methodologies and whatnot at some point.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°You should come to Silver Ridge. I¡¯ve got a lot of books you can borrow.¡±

    ¡°What do you want to do someday, Octavia? With your career?¡± Josiah asked.

    She winced. ¡°I¡­honestly haven¡¯t given it much thought yet. I guess Maestra isn¡¯t really a profession. Maybe I can follow in my dad¡¯s footsteps and become a woodworker or something. One of the only things I¡¯m good at is telling what different kinds of wood look like.¡±

    ¡°Alright, then, what¡¯s this?¡± Renato teased, swiftly thrusting one drumstick before her eyes.

    ¡°Cherry oak,¡± she deadpanned.

    He blinked several times over. ¡°How the hell did you do that so fast?¡±

    ¡°Figured it out a long time ago. You didn¡¯t exactly keep them hidden,¡± Octavia muttered with a smirk.

    ¡°Well, I want to lead a double life!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, throwing her hands high excitedly. ¡°Keeper of the Talludo Inn by day, slayer of the darkness by night. The Magical Madrigal will protect the peace of this world for life!¡±

    Josiah tilted his head. ¡°The magical¡­what?¡±

    She¡¯d deal with it later.

    ¡°I¡­if it¡¯s any consolation, Octavia, I¡¯m not entirely sure what I want to do, either,¡± Harper comforted. ¡°I think it¡¯d be nice to take care of the kids properly. Make enough to get them all somewhere to live and whatnot. I¡¯d love to be a florist, maybe.¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°I remember you mentioning something about that at some point.¡±

    ¡°Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life,¡± Renato admitted with far too much pride. ¡°Take it as it comes, I suppose. No sweat, we don¡¯t need to have everything planned just yet. Harper, move over, let me see this man¡¯s bag.¡±

    ¡°What? No, you can¡¯t just go through someone¡¯s things!¡± Harper cried, inching ever closer to the bag at Josiah¡¯s side defensively.

    ¡°Damn, he¡¯s got a stethoscope in there? Lemme see!¡±

    ¡°Get your hands out of there!¡±

    Josiah chuckled, apparently content to refrain from intervening. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to hide. Just don¡¯t make a mess if you can help it.¡±

    ¡°Viola, what do you want to do with your life?¡± Madrigal asked softly.

    Viola stiffened in silence. It wasn¡¯t subtle. ¡°Lawyer, maybe.¡±

    ¡°I found the journal!¡± Renato cried, casting a cluster of carefully-bound leather high above his head.

    ¡°Put it back!¡± Harper scolded, desperately reaching for the same. Their height difference, in that moment, was palpable. Octavia struggled not to laugh.

    Renato had zero qualms with delving into every borrowed page, for how quickly he¡¯d begun to leaf through the little leather journal. His eyes lit up almost instantly. ¡°Damn, did you do all these yourself? These are awesome!¡±

    Josiah flushed in the slightest beneath his praise. ¡°I just¡­draw a bit, sometimes. Things I see and whatnot.¡±

    Harper had largely calmed, casting his own eyes upwards towards the same illustrations. Octavia appreciated the way by which Renato lowered the journal from on high, stealing what she could with her eyes. Josiah was a spectacular artist, actually, and every lead-laced stroke was masterful. He was startlingly skilled at sketching people, in particular. She recognized few, initially. Renato¡¯s excessively-invasive scan of page after page, at least, brought to light exactly one subject of notable interest. The way by which several humble pencil marks could capture the full splendor of the airborne Maestro was utterly stunning. The grin that exploded upon his face threatened to split him clean in half.

    ¡°Is that¡­me?¡± Renato asked, somewhere between astounded and thrilled.

    The pose was perfect, his visage more so. Granted, cherry oak surely wasn¡¯t too difficult to shade accordingly. It hardly mattered, given exactly how fleeting of a glance Josiah would¡¯ve truly gotten at the spectacle. The level of detail was borderline impossible. She side-eyed him in wonder, briefly. He shied away from her gaze, and she smiled.

    ¡°From Velrose!¡± Renato cried happily. ¡°When we were roughing up that purple stuff, right? Man, you¡¯re amazing at drawing!¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°What can I say? I was inspired.¡±

    Octavia had her turn, eventually. It took effort to will the journal out of Renato¡¯s hands, for how fixated he continued to be. She handled every page with grace, by comparison. For each unfamiliar stranger she¡¯d found previously, there lay a significant amount more of the Velpyre Acolyte. Josiah had done her incredible justice at every angle, regardless of what flavor of expression befell Selena¡¯s illustrated face.

    It wasn¡¯t a smile she¡¯d personally seen the acolyte wear, and still Octavia found it enough. There were no bruises. There were no scars. There was safety pressed to paper alone, and his sketches had blessed her with peace. It was as much of a comfort as it was an ache. Her eyes flickered to him once more--preoccupied as he was, handling two Maestros prying into the depths of his artistic background. She found a smile, there, at least. She still wondered where the grief lay.

    ¡°So all the other people, they¡¯re strangers?¡± Harper asked. ¡°Do you just¡­draw people you see walking by, or something?¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°I kinda just pick ones that catch my attention. The loud ones, the oddly-dressed ones, you know what I mean. I draw a lot of the people that come to the church for confessions.¡±

    ¡°Confessions?¡± Madrigal asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s clergy who¡¯ll sit and listen to your sins,¡± he offered. ¡°They can¡¯t see you, but they can hear you speak. Interesting concept. Still unsettling. I can¡¯t imagine the things they have to hear.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the sins I could confess to,¡± Renato joked.

    ¡°I can think of a few,¡± Viola muttered under her breath.

    Each page was generally more captivating than the conversation, in truth. His depiction of the church was immaculate, limited as stained glass could be by strokes of lead alone. His illustrations of architecture were equally impressive. She had half a mind to keep the journal outright, for exactly how much love and care he¡¯d clearly poured into it over time. He most definitely made the interior look nicer than it actually was, atmosphere be damned. That, too, was impressive.

    ¡°There was someone the other day I didn¡¯t even get the chance to speak to. She was literally sprinting out of the confessions room. Ran right into me, knocked me flat on my back and everything. I tried to apologize, but she just took off running anyway. She looked horrified. It¡¯s¡­weird to say, but I got the urge to draw her afterwards.¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°You draw jerks?¡±

    Josiah smirked. ¡°It¡¯s like I said. I draw the interesting ones.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t exactly fleeing in the sketch, at least, smothered in anxiety as the static pose was. The way by which Josiah illustrated such expressions of misery and distress was also worthy of praise. He¡¯d captured the subtle curves of her glasses well, as did he do justice to her muted bangs. To be fair, monotone as it truly was, the attire necessitated little color. His basic shading had done the trick, for how bland the attire of the Solenford Girls¡¯ Academy truly was. On paper, she was perfect. She was accurate. It was vile.

    Octavia laughed. It was a low and bitter sound, bitten into singular syllables that began one by one. It was abnormal, strained in every way. They trickled, at first. It didn¡¯t stay that way.

    She drew their gazes. She couldn¡¯t help it. Octavia was well aware of the manner by which Viola¡¯s eyes widened, let alone how Madrigal¡¯s own had glazed over instead. It hardly mattered. She could barely tear her own away from the paper. She didn¡¯t try.

    Harper tilted his head slowly. ¡°Is¡­everything okay?¡±

    For how long he¡¯d spent in the depths of what was, for all intents and purposes, a horrific place, Octavia wondered how many people had ever witnessed Josiah¡¯s lovely creations at once. A Maestra¡¯s visage so cautiously sketched held a captive audience of five silent onlookers and one less than such. Octavia¡¯s laughter was hollow, utterly devoid of joy or true emotion. Still, she couldn¡¯t stop. It came with tears, and tears came with something indescribable. For how every drop crashed so perfectly onto each piece of her sickening puzzle, it was eternal. It clicked. It crushed along the way. She laughed harder.

    Fingers slipping desperately through the crevices of her braids did nothing. There was an urge to tear Cadence¡¯s skillfully-sketched silhouette to shreds, somewhat. It would¡¯ve been rude, still disturbingly beautiful as it was. Instead, she laughed yet more still. She laughed, and she laughed, and she cried, and she laughed, all the way to Solenford.

 26. The Weight of a Sin

    Contrary to what she¡¯d been led to expect, Solenford was surprisingly temperate in the summer. The evening chill was the closest she got to the frosted image that had been painted for her. Every mountain rising to kiss the sky so far off provided the slightest haze upon each peak. It was as near as she could come to achieving a winter in the far north of Mezzoria. Were it to snow at the moment, it would do little to freeze her blood. Her skin ran far too hot, and her veins were already boiling. That wouldn¡¯t change.

    She pitied those that trickled solemnly into a city far less blessed, distraught and weary in the face of disaster. It was in the mourning throngs that she stole cover, as did the Maestros collectively. The twinkling stars just barely beginning to speckle the sky trailed her every step into the city, and she moved with quiet rage. The silence in the wake of those who departed so long before them was deafening. Not so much as the song of one insect met her ears, and moonlight was her only company. It was the last train for the night. Truly and genuinely, they were alone. Where she feared it¡¯d be unsettling, she was somehow calm.

    Again and again did she swallow the sharp, cold air of the night. It did nothing, even if she willingly tried. She would burn forever.

    ¡°The eastern side of the city,¡± Madrigal murmured. ¡°That¡¯s where SIAR is--at least, that¡¯s what someone on the train said when I asked. It¡¯s a big white building.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t miss it, then,¡± Renato added with slightly too much enthusiasm. ¡°Let¡¯s get on in there!¡±

    ¡°Wait, do we have a plan?¡± Harper asked. ¡°What are we¡­going to do, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Easy,¡± Octavia answered, remorseless venom tinting every word. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill Drey.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to get information from him first,¡± Viola reminded, side-eyeing her uncomfortably. ¡°Before anything else.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re serious about killing this guy, right?¡± Josiah spoke, his voice low. ¡°Hasn¡¯t he already tried to kill you once? Who¡¯s to say he won¡¯t try again?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t hesitate for a moment. ¡°He¡¯ll try. I know he¡¯ll try, but he won¡¯t manage. I¡¯ll kill him before he kills me.¡±

    Harper¡¯s gaze scraped the grass with every step. ¡°We don¡¯t know almost anything about this place. Did Drey tell you about the kind of stuff that goes on in there? Like, what we¡¯re up against, exactly?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°The only people I know who are involved with SIAR are Drey, Cadence, and two other people who work for him. I don¡¯t remember if he said anything about anyone else being there.¡±

    Their voices were quiet, and yet her own was lethal. She could feel the poison stinging her tongue as she spoke. It didn¡¯t quite hurt, and she didn¡¯t quite hate it. The cover of night was a blessing as she pressed onwards into the city, moving mostly on instinct. She¡¯d expected her fury to be at least slightly more unmanageable, and she¡¯d even been expecting the tiniest hint of fear. Instead, it was plain and blunt to the point of leaving her calm. Drey was there. She was going to kill him. It was as simple as that.

    ¡°Is this place even open right now?¡± Josiah asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re always working,¡± Madrigal answered plainly. ¡°Someone else said they have people doing restoration stuff all hours of the day. They¡¯re open.¡±

    Octavia nodded approvingly. She strongly appreciated the effort the Maestra had put in for her sake. It was impressive that she¡¯d managed to salvage this much from people so broken on a voyage so draining. Eight languages helped, surely.

    ¡°How many people?¡± Harper asked this time.

    Madrigal was instant. ¡°A lot.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°And we¡¯re doing this now? Like, right now?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s even more people working during the daytime. Plus, SIAR is off-limits to visitors at night, and Solenford is quieter, too. Nobody else will get caught up in everything,¡± she continued.

    Octavia was simultaneously grateful for her thorough dissemination and unnerved by how coolly Madrigal spoke of violence. She was the last person Octavia expected to remain this steady in the face of what to come. It was still one more thing to thank her for.

    ¡°The other workers, then,¡± Josiah began. ¡°How are we handling that?¡±

    ¡°Look, I can¡¯t prove anything, but if everything Octavia said about Drey is true, I have a feeling we¡¯re going to meet with a bit of¡­obstruction,¡± Harper offered, tipping one hand back and forth ambiguously.

    ¡°They¡¯re gonna try to kill us,¡± Renato interpreted.

    Harper groaned. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re probably gonna try to kill us.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to fight back,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°Carefully. For all intents and purposes, they¡¯re innocent people who have no idea what their boss has done.¡±

    ¡°And if they do know?¡± Josiah challenged.

    ¡°Then they¡¯re just as guilty,¡± Octavia spoke sharply. ¡°They¡¯ll get what¡¯s coming to them.¡±

    She could feel the eyes on her back in the wake of her vitriol. She deserved it, probably, for as unnatural as she knew every word to be on her lips. She couldn¡¯t help it, nor did she want to. She didn¡¯t care, she had no plans to care, and she strongly considered the concept that her vengeful flame wasn¡¯t burning quite hot enough just yet. It would take more to incinerate him, maybe. As to what that looked like from afar, it was the least of her problems.

    Josiah cleared his throat with notable discomfort. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­figure it out as we go, I guess.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be fiiiiine,¡± Renato added nonchalantly, waving one hand dismissively. ¡°We¡¯ve got one hell of a Maestro team, right, boss?¡±

    While Octavia appreciated his efforts to lighten the atmosphere, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to reciprocate his enthusiasm. Nonetheless, she appreciated the sentiment. Without turning around to face him, she nodded.

    ¡°Over there,¡± Harper spoke, raising one pointed finger aloft and beyond. ¡°I can see it, I think. White building, right?¡±

    Octavia followed his gesture. If she trailed her eyes along the starry sky, she could just barely catch the cresting white shingles not-so-distantly rising. It wasn¡¯t as far from the residential area as she¡¯d expected it to be, and her instinctual path led her past more than enough ordinary houses before it. She kept her gaze high and tracked the towering ivory closely, not quite looming and yet more than enough to guide her way. It was almost out of place, the roof alone grand where the city was not.

    ¡°Hidden in plain sight,¡± Viola murmured.

    When she met it in full, she understood Drey¡¯s pride. For as much as she loathed upon loathed him, she couldn¡¯t exactly blame him. In a way, it was beautiful.

    His description had never quite erased the initial impression of a museum for her, despite his retelling of all that regularly came to pass within its walls. Its stature and grandiose architecture did no favors to that mental image, ornate and elegant in a way strikingly modern. It was almost painfully white, and yet vividly refreshing against the backdrop of the blackened sky. If nothing else, it was massive. She understood why it was alone in the clearing, every deceitful house complicit in its obstruction having long since retreated. Were she to stand immediately before it, the difference in size would leave her smaller than ever.

    Where SIAR itself offered only blinding white, every flower blooming splendidly in the courtyard brought much-needed splashes of color to the gem of Solenford. She recognized most, and the rainbow of roses in particular was soft upon her eyes. Every bush was well adorned, every bed blessed with a blossoming palette. They sprouted gorgeously at any angle, petals spectacularly raised and loved on full display as they delighted beneath starlight. The softest spray of the center fountain in the depths of night left each blossom coated in mist, sparkling splendidly beneath the kind moonbeams above. In that way, SIAR was a painting that she¡¯d stepped into in full. It was a landscape that left her floating, disoriented in the evening breeze as she drank it in. Every color be damned, she¡¯d paint it red soon enough.

    ¡°This is it, I suppose,¡± Viola stated firmly. ¡°White building, unmissable for sure. Matches the description Madrigal gave us.¡±

    If Madrigal had heard her name, she made no indication of such. Like Octavia, her eyes were cast to the grand institute alone. The Maestra was silent, as she¡¯d mostly been since their disembarkment. Octavia pressed forth into the floral thicket that rose to kiss her dress, nearly snagging the fabrics as she drifted too close to straying branches and thorns. Madrigal was almost not immune to the same, although much more secondary to apparent distraction. Octavia hoped she wouldn''t trip.

    ¡°What are we supposed to do, just walk right in and call for this guy? ¡®Hey, we¡¯re looking for Mr. Drey, hoping to straight up kill the man if he¡¯s not busy¡¯?¡± Renato half-joked crudely.

    ¡°We¡¯ll¡­figure it out. We¡¯ll just be casual until we find him. Let¡¯s not give ourselves away immediately,¡± Octavia answered.

    ¡°Easier said than done. Drey knows what you look like. He knows what Madrigal and I look like, too,¡± Viola replied. ¡°From the auction. Who¡¯s to say he hasn¡¯t passed along that information?¡±

    ¡°He thinks I¡¯m dead. I doubt he would¡¯ve had the foresight.¡±

    Renato chuckled. ¡°Can¡¯t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you, then.¡±

    Octavia could either agree with him or tell him to shut his mouth. She opted for the former. ¡°We have the element of surprise. We¡¯ll maximize that as much as we can.¡±

    Harper¡¯s fingertips brushed softly along peeking carnation petals as he passed a stray flower. ¡°There¡¯s six of us. Five Maestros. Do you¡­still not think that¡¯s enough for us to take him on? It sounds like a pretty one-sided fight. We should be good, right?¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°He killed Priscilla. I¡¯m willing to bet she was as strong a Maestra as any. I have a bad feeling about him and what he¡¯s capable of.¡±

    ¡°And he might not be fighting alone,¡± Viola added. ¡°He¡¯s got others, like you said.¡±

    ¡°He called them his left-hand and right-hand people. I don¡¯t know if they can fight,¡± Octavia clarified.

    Viola nodded. ¡°And he¡¯s also got--¡±

    She never had the chance to finish. The blossoms that crawled along the grass nearest the foreboding walls were unfamiliar, although she could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d seen those precious whites in a book once before. They matched the building, somewhat, and yet the spray of greenery from tender leaves helped destroy the monotony. Those, too, were beautiful in a place she hated to call the same. They were abundant. They were loved. They were handled with care, even now, attended to so lovingly under the gleaming moon above by gentle hands. For what touch befell every fragile petal, it was a miracle hands so stained with blood didn¡¯t leave them dyed a permanent scarlet.

    The same touch was sickeningly skilled at weaving lightning from nothing. It was still startling that she¡¯d only ever worn the same dull grays and bland tones in all the time Octavia had unfortunately known her. Every emotion in the world crashed into her heart at once. Curiosity as to stylistic preferences was one, at the worst possible time.

    It didn¡¯t matter how fast Octavia could reach for Stradivaria¡¯s case. Madrigal was faster.

    The Maestra didn¡¯t so much sprint as she did lunge, laying siege to Cadence with a speed that briefly challenged even Harper¡¯s own. Unhesitant arms outstretched, it took only seconds for an iron grip to clasp upon either shoulder. Madrigal slammed the girl against the limestone behind with startling force. Cadence''s head snapped backwards quickly enough to nearly collide with the building, and her strangled cry of shock did nothing to deter a streaming spirit of wind. No amount of kicking nor flailing did her any favors, nor did panicked writhing and squirming.

    ¡°Get off of me!¡± she cried, eyes wide with horror. ¡°Let go! Stop! Let me go!¡±

    Madrigal did no such thing. If anything, she doubled down, clenching the girl¡¯s shoulders ever tighter to a degree that left her wincing. Cadence only begged harder.

    ¡°Madrigal, stop it!¡± Viola finally cried. Even so, not once did her hands come anywhere near Madrigal.

    ¡°You wretched child, what have you done to him?¡±

    The chill that seized Octavia¡¯s spine put the sting of the night air to shame. Her eyes snapped to Viola¡¯s momentarily, and she found much the same dread. The tone on Madrigal¡¯s lips was unnatural. The pitch of her words just barely matched. Her words were sharper than anything that had ever left the Maestra¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about!¡± Cadence shouted desperately.

    No amount of frantically sinking her fingernails into Madrigal¡¯s forearms was successful, and Madrigal¡¯s grip was made only of steel. The Maestra didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Her hands were exceedingly near to Cadence¡¯s neck, and Octavia had half a mind to wonder if Madrigal had missed her mark when she¡¯d lunged. It was a horrifying thought.

    ¡°To use him in this way, how many have you hurt? What have you done?¡± Madrigal growled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t understand! Let me go!¡± Cadence pleaded, eyes still soaked in terror as she kicked futilely at Madrigal¡¯s shins.

    ¡°Maddie, what are you doing?¡± Renato asked quietly, his own voice tinged with disbelief.

    Octavia had no words to chastise Madrigal. She had no words to plead for Madrigal¡¯s mercy on behalf of another. This was hardly the Madrigal she knew at all, and she clung to every venomous word that dripped from the Maestra¡¯s hateful tone. She tensed.

    ¡°Madrigal,¡± she finally began, her voice shaking, ¡°what¡¯s going on?¡±

    Cadence was, by now, slamming her fists into Madrigal¡¯s arms repeatedly with no success. Again, Madrigal didn¡¯t flinch. She didn¡¯t bother to turn her head as she answered, never once peeling her eyes from the desperate girl in her grasp.

    ¡°Octavia, just like Drey hurt someone important to you, Cadence hurt someone very important to me,¡± Madrigal spoke, her own voice trembling in response.

    Octavia claimed a momentary sigh of relief. The words offered in return were, at least, painted in a tone she was far more familiar with. It didn¡¯t make Madrigal¡¯s words any less alarming. ¡°What did she do? Who did she hurt?¡±

    ¡°Nobody! I didn¡¯t do anything wrong! I don¡¯t understand!¡± Cadence yelled, her body still more than pinned to the cold walls of SIAR.

    ¡°You were there,¡± Madrigal snarled. It was much, much worse in her own voice. ¡°I saw you. I know what you did.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Harper asked slowly, every word touched with mild fear.

    ¡°In Velpyre,¡± Madrigal spat. ¡°She was there. She was complicit.¡±

    ¡°I told you, I didn¡¯t do anything!¡± Cadence insisted.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­not possible,¡± Josiah interrupted. ¡°I was the only one who made it out, I¡¯m sure of it. There was no one behind me. She looks like the girl I saw at the church. Still, there¡¯s no way she was down there when¡­everything happened.¡±

    Viola nodded hurriedly. ¡°Josiah¡¯s right. We left after¡­Selena got caught. We would¡¯ve seen her come out.¡±

    ¡°I even sat on the steps, and no one ever came up besides Josiah when the Dissonance broke through,¡± Octavia added. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense. There¡¯s no way you could¡¯ve seen Cadence down there. She wouldn¡¯t have survived!¡±

    ¡°She could have,¡± Madrigal spoke coolly. ¡°With his power, she could have.¡±

    Octavia had long since written off her prior behavior to be the byproduct of prying eyes alone. As to what stilled Madrigal so suddenly in the streets of the Cursed City, it was retrospectively unnerving. Octavia kicked herself. She¡¯d seen it before, fixated as it was on one person alone. After all, it was here again.

    I guess Lyra really wanted to know.

    She held her breath.

    ¡°Madrigal, who is¡­¡®he¡¯?¡± Octavia asked.

    She never got her answer. Cadence¡¯s pleas drowned out her thoughts. ¡°What are you all even doing here? Get away from me! Leave!¡±

    ¡°No thanks,¡± Renato replied bluntly, crossing his arms. ¡°We¡¯ve got some business to attend to.¡±

    ¡°Your boss has done some horrible things. He needs to pay for his crimes,¡± Harper continued.

    ¡°He¡¯s not my boss,¡± she spat. ¡°You¡¯re talking about Mr. Drey, right?¡±

    ¡°He killed my sister,¡± Octavia said.

    ¡°No he didn¡¯t,¡± Cadence argued.

    ¡°Yes, he did. I don¡¯t care if you believe me or not, but he¡¯s not the man you think he is.¡±

    Madrigal narrowed her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not worth it. She would defend him no matter what.¡±

    ¡°You know nothing about me,¡± Cadence growled. ¡°None of you do. Don¡¯t talk like you know me.¡±

    ¡°What were you¡­doing in Velpyre?¡± Josiah asked slowly, his voice shaking somewhat.

    Cadence fell silent for a moment. Only when the endless grip on her shoulders tightened did she finally speak.

    ¡°He had a trade to make for the institute. We ended up down there, and he wanted me on patrol because the city¡¯s a hellhole. That¡¯s all I know. I didn¡¯t go with him to the exchange. I really don¡¯t know anything.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Madrigal hissed.

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth! I just told him what I saw!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. If it truly was a lie, then she¡¯d almost certainly borne witness to a fleeing acolyte. It still would¡¯ve made little sense to the Maestra, surely. To Drey, she could say the same, if he knew in turn.

    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Madrigal repeated, this time with a voice touched by venom. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you one more chance to tell the truth.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡± Cadence challenged. Her shaking voice betrayed her false confidence instantly.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes drifted, ever so slowly, to the colorful bag hugging her side. The slight bulge around the edges was enough of a threat, for what it housed, and she glared daggers into the Maestra to match. The terror reflected in Cadence¡¯s eyes spoke to a thorough understanding of the wordless warning.

    Her words were quiet and timid, her breaths labored in between. ¡°Mr. Drey took Samuel and I to his contact in Velrose--someone¡¯s house, I don¡¯t know. Next thing I knew, he told me his actual contact was somewhere else. He told me to walk around with my Harmonial Instrument out, even though I didn¡¯t want to. Spent the whole day like that. We ended up underground and he did the real trade. He got some weapons or something. I seriously didn¡¯t go with him to the exchange, he just told me to explore the city. I ended up in the church, and I overheard some things about the acolyte. I told them to Mr. Drey later, and he said he¡¯d ¡®handle it¡¯. I still don¡¯t know what he meant, but he told me to stay down there while he and Samuel went back to Velrose.¡±

    She paused for a moment, finding five more glares where once had been one alone. There was hardly anywhere for her to place her eyes that didn¡¯t graze a hostile Maestro. Every breath was faster.

    ¡°I saw the acolyte leaving. I saw you guys running. I wanted to stay out of it, I wanted to stay out of all of this, but I just keep getting dragged into things I don¡¯t want to be involved in! Then all hell broke loose a little while later, and this wall of Dissonance came, and Mr. Drey never came back for me.¡±

    Tears that had begun to threaten her eyes spilled at last, dripping onto Madrigal¡¯s unsympathetic hands as her heaving shoulders remained pinned. Restraining her sobs was only half-successful. Cadence didn¡¯t bother to stem the wobble in her words.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do, so I just played, and played, and played, and I thought I was going to die, but here I am! I waited, and then I clawed my way out of there, and the whole city up above was in shambles, and it took me forever to find Mr. Drey and Samuel, and then we left to go home, I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know! I didn¡¯t want to be there, I didn¡¯t want to be involved, but it just keeps happening!¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice trembled, his calm and soft words be damned. ¡°Do you understand that your actions got people killed?¡±

    Cadence shook her head frantically, once more writhing in Madrigal¡¯s grip. ¡°I don¡¯t! I don¡¯t even know what happened!¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Josiah was justified, in every conceivable way. Even Octavia wasn¡¯t immune to her own rage. Still, for what little she herself had understood of the blossom and the flame, it was perhaps cruel to assume Cadence would¡¯ve grasped the full picture. She didn¡¯t know Selena. She didn¡¯t so much as know the acolyte¡¯s name. It spoke to nothing of the consequences.

    He said he¡¯d ¡°handle it¡±.

    Cadence¡¯s hands were still, in some ways, stained with blood. If she spoke the truth, she was perhaps not the only one. It was one more thing to press him on, as flimsy as the thread was. In the most sickening way, with five words alone, Octavia was no longer here solely for Priscilla.

    ¡°I believe her,¡± Octavia said softly.

    Every pair of eyes that snapped to her stung her with disbelief. It was Cadence¡¯s own gaze, above all else, that flooded her with the same.

    ¡°Octavia, are you serious?¡± Viola asked incredulously.

    ¡°I believe her,¡± Octavia repeated. ¡°I don¡¯t think she could¡¯ve taken down Velpyre alone, and I don¡¯t even think it was intentional.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that?¡± Harper pressed.

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°I just¡­know. I can feel it. I think...Drey had something to do with it.¡±

    She still couldn¡¯t prove it. As with so many other things, it was an instinct, and she spilled her puzzle pieces amongst the flowers of SIAR. The silence that draped them did little to assemble her rationale. She could pick through each accusatory fragment like rose petals if she had the time. She didn¡¯t. The soft rustling of leaves enveloped in a breeze against her hot skin was her only auditory reprieve.

    ¡°Madrigal, let her go,¡± Octavia requested.

    Wordlessly, Madrigal obliged. It left Cadence slumped against the wall, just barely on her feet as she braced against the cold masonry.

    ¡°What will you do?¡± Cadence asked, her voice still shaking.

    Octavia inhaled deeply. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill Drey.¡±

    Once more did Cadence¡¯s eyes pool with shining tears. ¡°He¡¯s kind to me.¡±

    ¡°He was kind to me, too.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s stronger than you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m stronger than him in ways he doesn¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°No, he¡¯s really stronger than you. He¡¯s swift, and he¡¯s cunning, and he¡¯s skilled. He¡¯s proficient with nearly every weapon I can think of. It¡¯s a hobby, and he¡¯s good at it. He¡¯ll kill you.¡±

    She vaguely remembered Samuel speaking to a similar sentiment in Velrose. Drey¡¯s dexterity with a polearm so useless against agonizing violet was another compliment to the assertion. Regardless, they were five Maestros, and he was one man. It changed nothing, and she didn¡¯t waver.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill him first,¡± she answered with confidence.

    ¡°If he dies, I¡¯ll have to go back to the academy. I can¡¯t go back there,¡± Cadence argued further.

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    Cadence hesitated for a moment. ¡°I just¡­can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll stand against us?¡±

    Again, she hesitated. It was a relief when Cadence finally shook her head, slow as the motion was. ¡°If you mean what you say, if he really is such an evil person, I don¡¯t want any part of this. I just want to be left alone. Is that so much to ask?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re involved now,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t want to be, you¡¯re right in the middle of it. You need to see this through to the end.¡±

    What patience Cadence had given to Octavia was not widespread. Viola was splashed with venom in its place. ¡°Am I not making myself clear? I don¡¯t want anything else to do with any of this. I don¡¯t even want to be a Maestra. What will Mr. Drey do to me if he finds out I betrayed him?¡±

    ¡°Cadence,¡± Octavia began, ¡°we¡¯ll protect you. We won¡¯t let him hurt you. Like it or not, you¡¯re a Maestra, just like the rest of us. We can do this together.¡±

    Octavia offered one gentle hand to the girl, steady and still. Cadence¡¯s eyes flickered down to the awaiting gesture in utter silence, much the same as that which besieged the air. So, too, did they rise once more to Octavia¡¯s own, anxious and afraid.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure you can do this?¡± she asked, slowly and quietly.

    Octavia gave her only confidence. ¡°We can do this. If it¡¯s all of us together, we can take him down.¡±

    With slow, tentative motions that left Octavia¡¯s heart racing, Cadence¡¯s trembling fingers wrapped around Octavia¡¯s palm. Her grip was shockingly firm, and she almost squeezed tightly enough to hurt. Octavia was far more relieved than distressed.

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan, then?¡± Cadence asked.

    Octavia winced. ¡°We¡­don¡¯t really have one. At least, not a specific one."

    ¡°You¡¯re joking,¡± Cadence deadpanned.

    ¡°This guy tried to kill Octavia once already. For all he knows, he actually got away with it,¡± Renato began. ¡°We¡¯ve got the element of surprise here. We can catch him off-guard and go in for the kill.¡±

    ¡°And now we have you,¡± Viola added. ¡°He¡¯ll never see it coming.¡±

    Cadence recoiled slightly. ¡°What¡­do you expect me to do, exactly?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet, but it¡¯ll be something important,¡± Octavia finished. ¡°Both me and you, he won¡¯t be expecting either one of us. We can use that to our advantage.¡±

    ¡°You do understand everyone else inside won¡¯t take any of this sitting down, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°We were sort of expecting that already. There¡¯s enough of us that we should be able to put up a fight without issue.¡±

    ¡°No, not without issue. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m making myself clear. Mr. Drey¡¯s definitely the best at swordplay and whatnot, but part of working at SIAR means knowing your way around self-defense.¡±

    ¡°At a damn museum?¡± Renato asked, baffled.

    ¡°Protection against thieves, bad contacts, you name it. It can be tricky work. Mr. Drey wants to be sure everyone in SIAR can protect themselves first and the wares second.¡±

    Renato whistled. ¡°Guess we¡¯ve got our work cut out for us.¡±

    ¡°We can do it,¡± Harper reassured. ¡°We¡¯ll stick together. We¡¯ve got this.¡±

    ¡°I need to get my instrument,¡± Cadence added. ¡°I¡¯ll be back afterwards. I don¡¯t carry it around with me.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I thought you said Drey made you bring your Harmonial Instrument to Velrose? Why?¡±

    Cadence hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He¡­usually tells me not to bring it anywhere.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get to press. Viola nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll regroup inside. Find where we are, and then get behind us as soon as possible. We¡¯ve got to be cohesive.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a side entrance I usually take to stay quiet,¡± Cadence offered. ¡°I¡¯ll go in that way and meet you guys out in the main lobby. It won¡¯t take long.¡±

    ¡°Should we follow you through there? You know, if it¡¯s quiet?¡± Josiah asked.

    She shook her head. ¡°If you¡¯re really going to go through with this, no amount of sneaking around is going to make things easier. Mr. Drey will come, and so will everyone else.¡±

    ¡°So we go all in,¡± Renato added with a dark grin. ¡°We¡¯ll take on every bastard in that building at once.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then. We''ve got this,¡± Harper repeated.

    Out of every possible Harmonial Instrument that could¡¯ve spoken to violence at the ready, it was the one boy immune to the same world that threw Octavia severely off guard. It took her a moment to figure out exactly why Josiah was swiftly rolling up one leg of his pants. The knife was a shock, and he withdrew it from the strap around his calf with a striking amount of calm and finesse. Most of them raised an eyebrow, some with notably more surprise than others. At least one Maestro got more out of the display than was necessary.

    ¡°Okay, genuinely did not see that coming!¡± Renato exclaimed with far too much glee.

    Josiah smiled weakly, squeezing his fingers around the hilt. ¡°I know I¡¯m not a Maestro, but I¡¯ll still do what I can to help.¡±

    Renato only continued to beam, excitedly withdrawing two little halves of cherry oak from the confines of his vest. ¡°Alright, then we¡¯re all good to go! Let¡¯s kill this guy!¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, stop it!¡± Viola snapped.

    Cases clattered to the cold ground and Harmonial Instruments shimmered beneath the moonlight. Brass, silver, mahogany, and everything in between captured the speckled starlight above in time with the chilling air Octavia shoved deep into her lungs. Stradivaria in her arms was a comfort, if not a spark to ignite vengeful stars of her own. Already, her blood was surging with something slightly more than the burn she was used to. It felt justified. She wasn¡¯t afraid.

    Lyra¡¯s Repose was an outlier. The harp, too, glistened beneath abundant moonbeams, sparkling as beautifully gold as ever. Its Maestra was far less driven, far less aflame, and far more monotone. Once more, her sharp gaze was for the girl whose fear brought only lightning.

    ¡°Cadence.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s voice alone was enough to make Cadence jump. ¡°W-What?¡±

    Madrigal fell silent for a moment, her solemn eyes falling only to the harp cradled in loving arms. ¡°Don¡¯t you ever use him like that again.¡±

    Whatever words of confusion visibly settled on Cadence¡¯s lips fled the moment she met Octavia¡¯s eyes. It was enough to leave her turning, her body angled towards the shadows beside the imposing visage of SIAR. She left exactly one glance in her wake, flung hastily over her shoulder.

    ¡°Octavia, there¡¯s something you should know,¡± she started.

    Octavia met much the same gaze. Cadence hesitated.

    ¡°He¡­spoke very highly of you. He always did.¡±

    If Cadence expected to find sympathy in her eyes, Octavia refused to give it. She could never generate it, for the life of her, if she tried. All that bubbled up was hate. All that tainted her words was venom. All that racked her muscles was violence, and she gripped Stradivaria¡¯s neck so tightly that the strings dug into her skin. Her knuckles whitened in the process, and every word burned on the way out.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to make sure he never speaks again.¡±

    In some sick way, it felt good.

    <hr>

    It took only a mild amount of courage to throw open the doors of SIAR. Where it was white outside, it was tenfold more so within. She blamed everything from the lighting to the paint, cold marble refusing to clash with monotonous ivory assailing every wall. It was enough to make her wince, for how the dark of night she¡¯d left in her wake still cursed her with dilated pupils. The lobby was blinding. She didn¡¯t dare look away.

    SIAR was somewhat less striking on the inside versus what the regal exterior had led her to believe. It reminded her of a literal museum, in some measures. There were paintings, granted. There were sculptures, sometimes. There was glass, glistening as necessary, and that which was precious laying behind its barriers. It was a predictable first impression, even if she¡¯d been reminded multiple times of the way by which SIAR was anything but standard. The lobby was shockingly massive, and she feared her breaths would echo.

    Most of her focus left her indifferent to glistening artifacts or pristine art, accessible as it was to her eyes in passing. For as colossal as the room was, it came with navigational choices. All four corridors were sizable in their own right, even from afar. They were uniform, spanning from west to east gradually. With the moon high aloft as it was beyond the shockingly-white walls, for every hallway to be lit so thoroughly was jarring in the depths of night. For the institute to be awake at all, showered in light that left it shining in the most uncomfortable ivories, was unsettling. Her eyes couldn¡¯t travel down every corridor. She didn¡¯t trust her imagination to fill in the gaps.

    Not one Maestro spoke. It took her a moment to verify if a single Maestro was breathing, really. She wondered if her sentiment about echoing breaths was contagious. It more than likely did not help that they very, very much were not alone.

    She didn¡¯t bother counting how many. Octavia was vaguely aware of the nature of SIAR¡¯s mission, for how pridefully Drey had spoken of it. For what her mind had come to associate with the idea of restoration and conservation, the crisp coats and uniforms were reasonable. That, too, was a predictable first impression. Where their hands had surely handled delicate and decaying artifacts time and again, their eyes now handled her with just as much delicate confusion. She and those like her drew every gaze at once, born of every angle and splattered with befuddlement. If they were to ask as to the rationale of her presence, she¡¯d have nothing for them. She owed them nothing, much the same.

    Her eyes chased every corridor, flickering to the gaping entrances once, twice, three times over in turn. She stung every baffled face, one by one. He wasn¡¯t here. He needed to be. He needed to be here now. It would compromise their precious element of surprise, granted. She could argue, in the interest of logical thought, that it would be in the sole interest of preserving their edge before those who knew not of her vendetta could intervene. It was honestly born of an emotion much simpler than that.

    ¡°Drey!¡± she boomed.

    Her cry echoed fiercely, just as she¡¯d suspected it would. It was thoroughly satisfying to witness hatred carried upon one word alone curse every inch of SIAR. She knew she¡¯d startled every Maestro at her back. It was the least of her concerns, and her shout of his vile name had stolen every word from every mouth--dozens of them, left to watch her with yet more disorientation. Not one worker moved, nor spoke in the face of a wrathful Maestra burning remorselessly in place.

    It was the northwestern corridor. The clacking footsteps that echoed in return were the only response to her furious cry, and she couldn¡¯t be bothered to tense as they neared. She didn¡¯t need visual confirmation. For what they¡¯d followed, she already knew.

    It was that easy. With one call, he¡¯d come running.

    And as he emerged into the flooding light, his shoulders just barely rose and fell with the effort of catching stolen breaths. The hand clinging to violence bore not a polearm, for once. Octavia knew little of swords, let alone weapons at large. The rounded blade glimmered mercilessly beneath the blinding lights above, and every minor movement of his skillfully-clinging fingers left it sparkling in a sickening manner. At the very least, it was a weak grip. His fingertips were not immune to their own shimmer, absolutely minimal as it was. He¡¯d been interrupted in his work, maybe, the hour of the night be damned. His fixation on weapons was mildly concerning.

    It took a moment for their eyes to meet. She expected anything but the way his own softened. In that case, she pierced him with everything in her soul that spoke to the opposite.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he breathed. ¡°You¡¯re¡­alive?¡±

    She didn¡¯t even realize she¡¯d lunged until she was in restraints, one arm bound on either side by desperately-clinging Maestros. They were unfortunately successful, and she battled Harper and Renato with more writhing than they deserved. She couldn¡¯t help it. Whatever tiny part of her had expected to keep her composure had been naive. It was a reflex. She embraced it, her veins scorching to such a degree that her heart would never beat properly again.

    ¡°Murderer!¡± she screamed. ¡°Murderer, murderer, murderer!¡±

    Drey flinched. Every tentative step he took into the lobby left his echoing footsteps challenging her screams and growls. His words were deceptively soft. ¡°I¡­do not understand.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll make you understand,¡± Octavia snarled, still fighting either grip with all she had.

    ¡°How did you survive?¡± he asked quietly.

    Given that he¡¯d been the one to send her falling to her death, she¡¯d expected more rage--or disappointment, at least. His gentle tone was an entirely different type of infuriating. She didn¡¯t bother answering.

    ¡°You killed her!¡± Octavia shouted.

    His face flickered with confusion. ¡°Who have I killed?¡±

    ¡°Priscilla,¡± she spat, stilling her flailing momentarily. ¡°My sister.¡±

    It was enough to wipe every emotion from Drey¡¯s face. He was silent, and his empty eyes never once left Octavia¡¯s own.

    ¡°Is¡­that what this is about?¡±

    Either portion of Stradivaria was gripped so tightly that she¡¯d surely send the violin crumbling into dust soon. Restrained as she was, it was all she could do to kill him with her glare alone. With every drop of poison she could conjure in her soul, she prayed her eyes could pierce his heart and tear him to shreds.

    His eyes fell to Stradivaria. ¡°You have done as she has,¡± he finally spoke.

    She didn¡¯t grace him with words. Not one person, of the dozens who bore witness to her ire, dared to offer up words of their own. Every frantic heartbeat she harbored echoed, more than likely.

    ¡°I did not kill her, Octavia. I saved her.¡±

    There was the briefest, most fleeting moment by which she was confused. It didn¡¯t last.

    ¡°In the same manner, I, too, tried to save you.¡±

    She¡¯d expected sorrow at his formal admission. She¡¯d already known Priscilla was dead, to be fair. Still, this was her explicit, spoken confirmation of Drey¡¯s guilt. All of her tears had been set free long ago. What was left was only righteous wrath she¡¯d stored up for one man alone. It festered, and did so one thousand times more as he spoke.

    Whatever showed on her face, she couldn¡¯t begin to imagine. She hoped it hurt. It did, apparently, for the way his face contorted with pain as he kept her hateful gaze. ¡°Octavia, I never hoped for this. Believe that, if nothing else.¡±

    ¡°Liar,¡± she growled.

    His eyes narrowed, touching upon each innocent Maestro in turn. ¡°What are you doing here? Why have you come?¡±

    When Octavia remained silent, it was Renato who took the lead. ¡°We¡¯re here to take you down.¡±

    Drey blinked slowly, his gaze somewhere between soft and firm all at once. Every step towards them came with vulnerability, the sword settling casually at his side. ¡°I do not understand.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make sure you never hurt anyone again,¡± Renato continued confidently. ¡°Understand that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to pay for whatever you did in Velpyre,¡± Josiah spoke slowly, his voice trembling somewhat. It was with trembling hands, too, that a blade much smaller than Drey¡¯s own came level with the man from afar.

    ¡°Velpyre?¡± Drey repeated, his tone once more touched by confusion.

    ¡°And you¡¯ll pay for what you did to Octavia,¡± Madrigal added. ¡°Our friend.¡±

    Octavia was content to cease her struggling, limp in her frustrating restraints. The freedom she found from their grips came with warnings in the form of gentle gazes. For them, at least for now, she¡¯d struggle to be composed instead.

    ¡°Revenge, then,¡± Drey spoke calmly. ¡°Perhaps that is deserved. I do not deny my sins.¡±

    His words were disorienting. It wasn¡¯t enough for Octavia to let her guard down. ¡°Then you¡¯ll take the punishment you deserve? You¡¯ll pay with your life?¡±

    At her question, he glared. ¡°Do you have the resolve to take a life, Octavia?¡±

    She wouldn¡¯t give it thought. He was an exception, surely. ¡°You don¡¯t deserve to be alive.¡±

    Where every Harmonial Instrument rose threateningly into position, Octavia was reminded of company in the worst way. Josiah wasn¡¯t the only one with a knife. It was unfortunate that he¡¯d only brought one, given that several workers managed to clasp more than that. Every coat, every vest, every man and woman in every last uniform offered up sharpened violence between skilled fingers. Their grips spoke to experience, and that in turn spoke to the truth of Cadence¡¯s words.

    She wondered how fast they could move. She wondered how hard they could hit, let alone if they were content to go for blood. Her circle had already collectively agreed on pinning down Drey alone, with collateral assailants only to be deterred. Should their lives be at risk, it was perhaps easier said than done. She¡¯d already asserted their guilt by association, to be fair.

    The only blade that mattered, then, was the one that rose powerfully and with concerning control into hands far more trained. Drey¡¯s stance was just as strong, his weak grip banished in favor of something fierce. She¡¯d seen his prowess once, even if he¡¯d never so much as lunged--his posture and aura alone with a simple polearm in the face of Dissonance was overpowering. Only now was he a threat.

    ¡°It is¡­disheartening that you believe I make such decisions with ease. I do only what must be done,¡± he spoke.

    ¡°Tell me why,¡± Octavia demanded, leveling Stradivaria against her shoulder.

    ¡°I owe nothing to one who is dead.¡±

    ¡°You owe me for what you did. You owe me that much!¡± she cried. ¡°Why did you do it?¡±

    The tip of the sword was level with her eyes. His approach had lessened their gap to a worrying degree, and yet it would still take time to close the distance in full. If he lunged, it would still take a minimum of five seconds, she guessed. That, she could calculate. The pain on his face, she couldn¡¯t understand.

    ¡°You carry a burden too heavy for a child, just as was such for your sister before you. I have given you the choice of peace, and twice now that violin has thwarted that blessing!¡±

    His gaze crossed each Maestro in turn, his gesturing sword doing much the same. ¡°To each of you, I offer one last chance. Stand down, lay down your arms, and walk away. Lead a peaceful life as children, grow to old age, and do not walk this path. You are toying with forces that you do not understand. I do not wish to hurt any of you, nor do I enjoy it!¡±

    ¡°Save your breath,¡± Octavia spat, settling the bow against the strings. ¡°You can¡¯t take back the things that you¡¯ve done.¡±

    Drey fell silent for a moment. ¡°I do not deny my sins,¡± he repeated at last. ¡°Given no reprieve, though, I will sin again.¡±

    The tension searing the very air was suffocating. If there was oxygen left to steal, it would scald her lungs the moment she tried. For how every muscle tensed and every face was strained, she was left waiting for what was to come--sudden as it would surely be. On edge as she was, the hand that settled onto her shoulder startled her horrifically.

    ¡°I¡¯ll distract him,¡± Renato whispered. ¡°You wait for your chance, and then go for the kill.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°By yourself? Are you sure?¡±

    She could hear the grin in his voice, of all places he could¡¯ve offered it. ¡°You''re serious about this, right? Then trust me.¡±

    ¡°Capture them alive, if possible,¡± Drey spoke loudly. ¡°Do not harm them.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t the only one at the ready. Dozens of foreign blades shimmered beneath the blinding lights above, white striking steel raised aloft in dangerous hands. Where every set of narrowed eyes met her, firm stances and radiant threats followed in their wake. Where the workers were scattered, she refused to submit to the same. It took only her echoing footsteps to offer a lead, and those of her own world met her wordless defenses with understanding. Their backs were parallel, their instruments in position. If one faltered, another would cover. It was as ready for Hell as she was going to get.

    Her eyes flickered to Drey. Her eyes flickered to Renato. Her eyes flickered to every gaze both on her side and not. Her heart pounded and her rushing blood blotted out every thought. If not for Priscilla, then it would be for herself. She gripped the bow, gritted her teeth, and awaited the inevitable.

    ¡°Mr. Drey!¡±

    It was a clarinet that interrupted where a violin was silent. The corridor left echoing with a different set of sprinting steps altogether was unfamiliar. If she squinted, she was still helpless to pierce its full length with her eyes. She hardly needed to. Drey¡¯s eyes, for at least a moment, were given to a different Maestra entirely. It was one of a handful of times Octavia had ever seen Cadence resemble a Maestra at all, for how her Harmonial Instrument settled so naturally into hands made to birth lightning.

    ¡°Cadence?¡± he asked incredulously. ¡°Please, return to your room. It is¡­unsafe here.¡±

    She resisted. Instead, she sprinted once more, bound for a man with a sword at the ready. Her hair brushed fervently against her cheeks as she ran, and still she was undeterred with fingers full of bottled thunderstorms. ¡°Let me help!¡± she pleaded.

    ¡°Cadence, please,¡± Drey begged. ¡°It is dangerous. I will handle this.¡±

    There came the brief and fleeting thought that Cadence may have double-crossed them. Objectively, Octavia knew little of her morals or where the girl¡¯s heart truly lay. She could count the times they¡¯d met on one hand. Offering up her faith in full was dangerous, and yet it was all she could do. Never once did she relax her grip upon Stradivaria as she prayed, her breath permanently hitched in her throat.

    Cadence was before him, her eyes upon him. So, too, were her slender fingers at home upon every key, shining splendidly beneath the same burning lights that illuminated steel violence all around. They were in stark contrast to one another, mere inches away as they were. Where she¡¯d once shied away from his gaze, she now claimed it by force and clung to it for dear life.

    ¡°This is something I can do to help. Please, I want to be of use to you,¡± she tried.

    Drey shook his head. His eyes were sickeningly soft. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be of use to me, child. I simply ask for your safety. Please, put that instrument away and find somewhere safe. I will let no harm befall you.¡±

    ¡°Give me a chance to prove myself!¡± she begged.

    ¡°I do not understand. What do you mean?¡±

    She hesitated, every word slow and shaky. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­made so many mistakes in my life, and I know I can¡¯t go back and fix them. Just once, I want to have someone to protect besides myself. I want that opportunity. I want to do something good. Please, just¡­let me have that.¡±

    Octavia clung to her every word. Drey, too, seemed to do the same.

    ¡°What will you do, then?¡± Drey asked softly.

    ¡°This.¡±

    There was no pause between his inquiry and her song. Cadence¡¯s lips fell to the reed in an instant, her fingers moving rapidly across every glistening key. Sounds Octavia had heard only once prior were no less electric, and her melody of lightning was every bit as powerful as it had been that night. The dry crackle and steady hum that quickly besieged the air was palpable even from afar, and Cadence¡¯s hair rose strand by strand with every note. It was of little concern versus the white-hot sparks that skittered from the bell of the clarinet, contrasting sharply with the cold whites of the marble below. Every bursting jolt was not born to kiss the floor alone, and Drey was equally as vulnerable to her brilliant current.

    The golden voltage that stung his fingers began to surge and flicker in radiant arcs, scattering sparks rising like crackling stars where they had once rained. Never, more than in the context of pure theatrics, had Octavia borne witness to the true essence of lightning in action. Cadence was splendid. Drey flinched. Even if she couldn¡¯t make out the Maestra¡¯s face from behind, Octavia was satisfied imagining the lightning striking deep into Drey¡¯s heart from Cadence¡¯s gaze alone.

    It was Cadence who flinched, so soon after.

    It was her song that came with it, stifled with a shrill squeak that left every hovering spark crashing to the floor. They stung her flats as they fizzled, and not once did she fight to steal them back. Her fingers were still. Her sudden silence was jarring and sharp, and not a word left her mouth. Whatever strained gurgling just barely slipped from her throat was nearly inaudible from afar, and Octavia was fairly certain she¡¯d misheard the sound entirely.

    Where once had been grays, useless and dull, Octavia now found scarlet. It blossomed, a spreading flower unfurling so delicately across Cadence¡¯s back in the most perfect halo. Deep as it was, it spilled, somewhat. The material wasn¡¯t quite enough to serve as a true sponge, and it left flecks of much the same red sprinkling in tiny droplets against the pristine marble below. Silence was broken by grinding steel, and once more by a heavy thud as the Maestra fell. Not once had the instrument left her hands.

    Red met crystal, restrained and yet shining behind ruthless eyes. His blade, once unblemished, bore excessive and shimmering crimson that dripped freely to the stark white underfoot. Where he didn¡¯t offer enough with what violence he carried, Cadence filled in the gaps. She was a river, cascading and flowing in every direction as she blessed SIAR with all the scarlet it could desire. Her eyes were still open. Her grip was still tight. The blood trickling from her lips had splattered upon the reed generously, and yet she¡¯d never fumbled the clarinet. It was her face alone that kept no color.

    Drey flourished his weapon, the hurt in his eyes neatly aligned with the stolen blood he sent splattering to the floor. When his pained gaze met Octavia¡¯s own, it was her blood in turn that finally exploded. So, too, did the world come with it.

 27. Retaliation

    ¡°Bastard!¡±

    Drey was fast. It was her first surprise. There was exactly one person faster, and that, too, was as much of a shock.

    He was ruthless, cherry oak sending bursting boom after boom sailing in the man¡¯s direction. His eyes were sharp, his movements ever sharper. His brief skills on display in Velrose were nothing. Octavia had never seen this side of Renato before, unflinching and unhesitant as he was to challenge a man with blood so freshly staining his fingertips.

    The eruption of violence that encircled her on every side was blinding and overwhelming in the most literal sense. Cadence was a catalyst, and those that served to defend their employer did so with little remorse. Octavia couldn¡¯t necessarily blame their hostility, and yet it was unforgivable all the same. They really were armed, if not to a far lesser degree than Drey himself. It didn¡¯t make their own assault any less skilled, any less deadly, any less targeted towards vital organs or throats.

    As to how they intended to obey Drey¡¯s request for a bloodless brawl in such a manner, she couldn¡¯t fathom. The Maestros were at each other¡¯s backs, defensively and offensively all at once. Should she bother to count, and should she include one boy with only a humble knife to show for his bravery, they were outnumbered by--at the utmost minimum--forty-five to six. It made little difference.

    She¡¯d never heard them harmonizing before, complementary and beautiful atop one another¡¯s wrathful melodies. The cacophony was chaotic and organized all at once, and their every note lined up flawlessly. Octavia had never truly stopped to consider the literal sounds of desperate combat--her radiant performance amidst wondrous flames in Velrose was an outlier. They were admirable and terrifying all at once, and every overlapping song was splendid.

    The dichotomy between the will of fire and a soul of ice meant little. They were excellent together, bursting crystal and scorching flames more than enough to besiege all who sought to draw near. Neither Viola nor Harper left fear seeping into their songs, quickly assailed time and time again by spearing blades and honed edges as they were. Every thrust and slash never made it far, and they hardly needed to backpedal. He incinerated where she froze, and her frosted wrath rained down where his inferno faltered. Not one scratch befell their skin. They were perfect. They carved the only gap that mattered.

    A spirit of wind was unbending, unhesitant in every strum. Her stormy melody was divine, streaming and gusting along her skin with such fervor that stray embers and flakes of ice were caught in her gales. Josiah was emboldened by her tailwinds, maybe, and he sprinted without hesitation of his own. Their footsteps fell into sync almost instantly. Where he was free to cast his eyes forward and steady his breath, Madrigal was cursed to play endlessly. She didn¡¯t so much as slow her pace, her fingers flying along every string. It was the forsaken girl alone who rested carelessly in their sights, and not once did the Maestra sprawled out on the cold marble below stir. Josiah ran ever faster.

    And that left a face somewhere between a shadow of ire and a grin of confidence, skillful hands erupting again and again. He needed her light. For who he was after, Octavia would give him all she had.

    Renato¡¯s power was, up close, incredible. She¡¯d witnessed it under stranger circumstances, the strength of sound lost on training alone or heavy blows against violet. Now, he was out for blood. His wrists were a blur, his bursts almost deafening at such a range. They were far from the earth-shattering explosions she¡¯d been cursed with in the forest, tempered and restrained by comparison.

    Really, ¡°restrained¡± was subjective--each boom surely would not have spared human skin. It was equally incredible, then, that Drey could keep up with what he couldn¡¯t see. His blade was flat against nothing. Time and time again, the blunt steel captured the explosive power of the strength of sound outright. The fierce ringing born on collision was disorienting and piercing, unavoidable all the same. For what he couldn¡¯t deflect, he somehow managed to evade. Under no circumstances did it deter Renato.

    He was amazingly athletic. His acrobatic prowess was perhaps the one thing more impressive than his physical offenses, and yet he claimed his momentum as a weapon still. Renato was forwards, backwards, skywards, and downwards time and time again. In every conceivable direction did he invert and tumble, throwing his full body weight down onto skilled hands and pushing hard into the open air. His height aloft was well-deserved, and what further inversions he could claim left him blighting Drey with every bursting boom that could besiege the man from on high.

    He, too, could evade, although with far more style and fervor. Once, twice, thrice did he tumble in reverse, remorseless steel often slashing futilely at where a Maestro had been moments before. Even in combat, he was every bit as unpredictable as Octavia had learned him to be. She didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off him.

    Drey trailed the boy with his own gaze, fixated and sharp much the same. ¡°And with whom do I have the pleasure of doing battle?¡±

    When he crashed to earth once more, he hardly needed to catch his breath. ¡°I¡¯m Renato Bell, and I am the greatest damn Maestro you¡¯ll ever meet.¡±

    Whether the brandished blade was a display of a stance regained or simple intimidation, Octavia was unsure. ¡°You would fight so strongly for Octavia¡¯s sake?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll fight anyone who hurts the people I care about, yeah,¡± Renato answered plainly.

    He left little room for conversation. Already, his hands were moving, and already, cherry oak was exploding. Drey moved much the same, ruthless steel following suit. Octavia was outright afraid to breathe, lest she shatter what made Renato perfect.

    Mostly wordless as his actions were, his intent had been made clear with confident words just minutes before. She knew little of Drey¡¯s stamina, and this was her first true taste. Ideally, it would be her last. Of what she knew of Renato, his own reservoir was strongly impressive. The forest alone had spoken to that much, and he proved it to her here with every last tumble and burst. It was a war of attrition, by which he who faltered would lose their life. If a violin touched her shoulder, it would be two Maestros versus one outside of such a world. In Drey¡¯s fatigue, she could claim the kill if Renato didn¡¯t beat her to the punch. She would¡¯ve strongly preferred to, and she hoped he¡¯d understand.

    There was an alternative ending to the war, should exhaustion swallow the wrong combatant. She refused to entertain it. Octavia was left physically and desperately shaking the idea out of her head.

    It left her watching, struggling to focus with all she had on every traded blow and skillful block. She praised the songs at her back and the powerful boy before her eyes, her concentration ensured in the most fragile peace possible. What window she could seize would be short, if Drey¡¯s sickening proficiency with the blade spoke to his recovery time. She was still planning exactly how she¡¯d do it. She could go for his eyes. She could go for his throat. She could go for his heart, maybe, although she feared her light would fail to run him through. It would be a trial by fire.

    ¡°Not bad, man,¡± Renato jeered, two little halves of cherry oak never once stilling their explosive assault. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day someone kept up with me. Let¡¯s see how long you can pull that off, huh?¡±

    And Drey, as such, dodged and countered with aplomb. It was a cycle, by which the boy left the conservator evading every unforgiving boom that found Octavia¡¯s braids wavering from afar. Still, for all his highly-impressive inversions and stolen momentum in reverse, there was very much a gap that closed ever more with each passing second. From here, to Octavia, it was crystal clear. To a Maestro in the heat of battle, eyes firmly forward and wrists well occupied, it was most definitely less so. She couldn¡¯t call out to him. She couldn¡¯t warn him aloud. Striking distance was not out of the question, and Octavia was left to pray Renato realized the circumstances.

    ¡°You are arrogant,¡± Drey replied, his own movements never halting in turn. ¡°You, too, do not know of the insurmountable cruelties of this world. You are but a child yourself.¡±

    ¡°Damn, isn¡¯t that even more embarrassing, then?¡± Renato pushed. ¡°You¡¯re getting your ass handed to you by a kid.¡±

    ¡°Tell me this, then, Renato. Would you fight your fight until your last breath? Would you cling so strongly to your beliefs that you would lay down your life?¡±

    Renato laughed. ¡°What the hell kind of threat do you think you could possibly pose to me? You really think you¡¯re hot stuff, huh? Look at you. You¡¯ve got nothing on me. All you can do is dodge.¡±

    If he was being calculated in his taunting, it didn¡¯t show. It came off as cocky. Her heart pounded. She believed either one, and she very much hoped it was the former. When he tossed one split-second glance over his shoulder, she nearly missed it entirely. He winked with a grin she knew all too well. Octavia gripped the bow tightly, hunting for whatever opening he fought to bless her with. So too, did she pray once more from the bottom of her heart that he knew what he was doing.

    Josiah¡¯s singular swear was audible well across the room.

    To Renato¡¯s immense credit, his concentration was unshakable. Not once did his eyes leave his opponent, even in the midst of the outburst echoing off every wall. Octavia wasn¡¯t immune. She couldn¡¯t help it. She regretted it.

    Josiah really did try. Surrounded by spilling scarlet on every side, the pristine marble below was far from such beyond Cadence¡¯s body alone. He didn¡¯t struggle against the same, splattered with the Maestra¡¯s blood as he thrust his palms harshly in tandem over the wound. It meant little, and Josiah was cursed with only seeping suffering for his efforts. Ever more red oozed between his frantic fingers, trickling down the fragile fabrics of what had once been attire so lifeless in another way. Cadence was motionless. It was a cold floor. It was no place to perish, and his cry of aggravation clicked in the worst way. He gritted his teeth, his breaths labored as he relaxed his muscles at last.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do,¡± he called to her with a shake of his head. So, too, was his voice shaking in just the slightest. ¡°She¡¯s gone. He went right through her heart.¡±

    She shuddered. Regaining her focus was miserable. She wondered if Cadence suffered, for how quick the blow had been. Still, even now, she heard their songs. She felt every gust, witnessed every ember, heard every crackle of every icicle plaguing the air. They didn¡¯t falter, for what had come to pass. It was the worst time for pride, and she still felt it burning in her heart on their behalf.

    ¡°You better stay focused, man!¡±

    They were words not meant for her, a taunt meant only to bite and disrupt. Still, it drew Octavia¡¯s attention immediately. Her heart was pounding, her blood rushing through her ears in equal measure. Her fingers trembled around the bow, and she strained her eyes with such fervor that it nearly made her dizzy. By comparison, Renato didn¡¯t appear even slightly exhausted. His breaths were even, his momentum flawless, his every flick and slash and burst perfect and controlled. He was still phenomenal. He was still very, very vulnerable to the gap.

    He had less of it. With each passing second, it grew ever more narrow, and she was still forced to pray upon pray that he came to the same conclusion. Octavia began to sweat, her eyes darting with mild panic to every last advancing movement Drey claimed. Keeping up was the least of his concerns, for how he¡¯d managed to match Renato thus far. She wasn¡¯t the only one who could seize a window. Renato couldn¡¯t give him one. Under no circumstances could Renato give him a chance.

    ¡°Renato,¡± Drey began, ¡°what would it take to convince you to lay down your weapons? What would convince you to return home, to begin anew in a life without violence?¡±

    Renato scoffed. ¡°Oh, screw that. I¡¯ll be damned if my life hasn¡¯t been anything but. You¡¯re crazy if you think giving up now will solve anything. You¡¯ve got a hell of a lot of blood on your hands. I wouldn¡¯t be sayin¡¯ that kind of thing if I were you.¡±

    She could trust in the boy¡¯s reflexes. She could trust in how quickly he could dodge, should it come to that. With each passing second, it grew ever more clear that it was, definitely, coming to that. It was a simultaneous gamble. Calculated as she hoped him to be, she assumed he knew of the opportunity. She assumed he knew of the danger, just as much. For how Renato would be forced to evade both steel and radiance in tandem, given what she¡¯d offer up in such a tiny timeframe, she liked to imagine she knew him well enough to trust in that.

    Octavia didn¡¯t need to kill Drey in one shot. She could make him stagger. She could exploit the recoil. She could singe him, sear him, burn him bit by bit. She, too, could wear him down. The burden was not on Renato alone, and she would prove it the moment she had the opportunity. She would return the favor in full. She tensed, bracing against the marble below.

    ¡°So, then,¡± Drey continued, ¡°as long as you can fight, even if it costs you your life, you would still choose to do so?¡±

    He laughed. ¡°Damn right. I¡¯ll keep fighting, just like this, right up until the day I die. I promise you, that day isn¡¯t coming any time soon.¡±

    She inhaled. She exhaled. She pressed the bow so hard against the strings that she feared she might snap it in half. Octavia watched, and she waited, and she chased the man with her eyes. She wouldn¡¯t miss. She couldn¡¯t miss. It didn¡¯t matter how many times she needed to try.

    ¡°And you mean what you say?¡± Drey spoke calmly, his eyes narrow.

    Renato answered with a grin she knew well. ¡°You know it, old man.¡±

    Drey embraced silence, briefly. His hands never stilled. His movements never halted. It was only his words that hesitated to escape his lips. Eventually, they were free.

    ¡°So be it, then. You have my apologies.¡±

    Octavia hardly had the time to blink. She didn¡¯t have the time to move. Not one note could erupt from Stradivaria¡¯s strings, nor could one drop of radiance spill from her blood. Drey was fast where Renato was not. He surged forward where Renato was still. Steel shimmered twice over where cherry oak was left to kiss the floor, clattering weakly one after another to the cold marble below. Renato staggered. Drey didn¡¯t.

    Where once had been taunting and teasing came only silence, a grin stolen from lips that so rarely offered anything but. It was far from the only thing Drey stole. Each respective thud that heavily collided with chilled marble was twofold in turn, unfamiliar and unnatural. For a moment, Renato¡¯s eyes were upon Drey¡¯s alone. When they fell, it was a slow descent to meet his rising arms. They trembled all the way up.

    Where cherry oak had been so lovingly cradled twice over now lay nothing. In its place, beyond wrists that had flicked and slashed and battled so viciously, all that burst forth was infinite red.

    He didn¡¯t scream. He didn¡¯t cry. He didn¡¯t breathe, nor could he stand. The wide eyes tethered only to his barren wrists and cascading blood pooled with naught but abject disbelief. The lacerations were perfect, precise, and clean. They were symmetrical in every way, uniform in a fashion that spoke to total control of a gleaming sword. His confusion was nearly as profuse as his exsanguination, spilling scarlet outright excessive as it stained the marble at his feet. So, too, did it more or less drench his clothes.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    As he crumpled to his knees, his face was hardly immune to the same, his head crashing against the floor with a violent thud of its own. It was unfortunate, the way his glassy gaze came level with his own hands so distantly resting. Even now, they were in position, ten fingers inwardly curled and readied for an explosive assault. Instead, it was only his veins that were explosive, by which he could do little more than stare and bleed. He stared, and stared, and stared, the dulling light in his eyes irrelevant.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t move, in her own way. Stradivaria slipped from her shoulder slowly, her horrified eyes darting back and forth between a Maestro and a murderer. The latter brandished his blade for a second time, although there was little left to intimidate. Specks of scarlet splattered onto the once-pure marble below, ever more dyed permanently red as the night grew deeper. He had the nerve to look her in the eyes. He had the nerve to pierce her soul with a gaze so soft. He had the nerve to flee, his footsteps echoing harshly off the marble as her skin burned white-hot in his wake.

    Her breaths were labored. She trembled, her eyes clinging to a boy on the last vestiges of consciousness. His own were hardly open, still fixated on his distant and useless skin resting beyond his reach. When they slowly fell shut at last, it left only those who called SIAR home confused in the aftermath of Drey¡¯s flight. It left some still violent, granted, besieged by much the same songs as they struggled in their own ways. She could always give chase. The rest of her heart was tethered to the floor, somewhere deep in the dual rivers of red that gushed forth forever.

    Her words would¡¯ve been lost aloud. Renato¡¯s devastation was discovered by wandering eyes. Madrigal made the worst sound Octavia had ever heard in her life.

    She¡¯d almost screamed that hard, once, beneath the crushing news of autumn red stolen too soon. Even upon shores she¡¯d yet to understand, Octavia had maybe done so on more than a single occasion for the same immaculate girl. It paled in comparison to the sorrow and terror that erupted from Madrigal¡¯s throat, a haunting echo that crashed endlessly against every wall of SIAR. The institute fell still beneath her pain alone, every last blade and every valiant melody beaten into silence in the wake of suffering far greater.

    She was sprinting. She was screeching. She was sobbing, staggering with every step. Her grip around Lyra¡¯s Repose was iron, her cries of his name and denial mingling forever. Maybe she would never stop screaming again. Maybe Octavia would never forget that noise as long as she lived.

    Madrigal collapsed to her knees, utterly immune to the blood pooling around her skin and stinging her dress. Where his eyes were shut and his breaths shallow, her shoulders were heaving and her gaze was frantic. Her tears collided with his bursting scarlet time and time again, splashing deep into the endless wells of red surging twofold on either side of the boy. They were the only thing more eternal than Madrigal¡¯s sorrow, the harp still trembling fiercely in her grasp.

    The reprieve shattered. Blades once still found their momentum once more. It was red of their own they sought, and they nearly got it in several ways. The Maestros were collectively hesitant, and it was almost their downfall. Trembling grips around keys and equally-shaky breaths left them stealing steps in reverse. Their eyes darted over their shoulders as they split their attention between half-hearted songs and a boy who could no longer offer up the same.

    So distracted was Octavia that she nearly didn¡¯t notice her own vulnerability until her salvation was through. The whoosh of crisp crystal sailing well past her ears was all that shook her from her daze. Once more was Stradivaria on her shoulder. It was the first time her light was let loose in SIAR, and she did so with remorseless rage.

    Not a one would touch them. Not a single one would breach, nor would they claim a drop more of innocent blood. With gritted teeth and narrow eyes, she let starlight surge through her racing heart and blast fiercely through her own trembling fingers. It wasn¡¯t enough to simply let her radiance wash over the strings, as she¡¯d done time after time. She pushed and pressed, a bursting nova of her own as the wrath of the sun wrapped them up in full.

    Her fingers flew and her skin burned, scathing brilliance aloft and wispy. It was as thick as it was aflame, gleaming far too brightly and perfectly white-hot. She let it encircle, just as she let it spiral. They were the center of a solar system born of her song, loaded with ire as it was. She could¡¯ve screamed. She very, very much wanted to, and she wondered if the stars would¡¯ve been born of her cries.

    Her efforts were not fruitless, nor did she assume they would be. Her heat was intolerable, and that was how she wanted it. Every assailant staggered, repelled by the fury of the sun birthed in such a cold place. No blade could touch her, for how cruel steel would surely melt in the face of her luminous melody. She¡¯d earned them precious breathing room, a galaxy centered around desperately-needed breaths and exhausted eyes. Royal Orleans and Silver Brevada were yanked from panting lips, their Maestros outright gasping for air with reddened faces to show for it. It was one more way she¡¯d failed. It was one more thing that left her burning brighter and playing faster.

    Josiah didn¡¯t hesitate, once more soaked with red from his knees downwards. The simple knife he¡¯d offered to wage war with was made useful at the cost of his attire. It was with careful slashes that flannel sleeves became ribbons, uneven and jagged as he pulled them taut. They made for haphazard tourniquets, bound tightly around two wrists that even now continued to gush profusely. He tugged tighter. He was rewarded with the same. Where Renato¡¯s breaths grew ever more shallow, Josiah¡¯s quickened in turn.

    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t be bleeding this badly,¡± he muttered through gritted teeth. ¡°Even if Drey severed an artery, this is way too much. Cadence was the same way.¡±

    ¡°Then why?¡± Harper asked, still struggling to catch his breath.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Josiah answered hurriedly. ¡°I¡¯m honestly not sure.¡±

    Viola¡¯s own breaths were labored in much the same way. ¡°How do we stop it?¡±

    Two of Josiah¡¯s fingers came to press firmly against Renato¡¯s neck. ¡°He¡¯s still breathing, but I¡¯m worried he¡¯s going to bleed out at this rate. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    Attempting to speak in the midst of her song was difficult. Octavia did it anyway. ¡°Is it possible Drey did something?¡±

    Josiah paused for a moment, never once tearing his eyes from Renato¡¯s wrists. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put it past him. Poison on his blade, maybe, or an anticoagulant. With what they¡¯ve got here, I can see him pulling something like that.¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice shook. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Josiah snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do! I can¡¯t make it stop!¡±

    Madrigal was louder than him. Madrigal was louder than all of them, and it took effort to talk over her at all. She couldn¡¯t be blamed, grief erupting from her throat in audible forms Octavia had never imagined it could take. At the very least, Priscilla had passed well out of sight of Octavia--an ironic relief, given where she currently stood. For Madrigal, her first love was left to slowly die before her eyes. Were it Octavia, she would surely be screaming the same way. Maybe she should¡¯ve been, and yet all she could offer up were the tears that stung her wide eyes.

    She squeezed them shut. She couldn¡¯t look anymore, for what was to come. Cadence had been enough. Priscilla had been enough, even. Renato, of all people, deserved better. He¡¯d been here for her sake, after all. This might¡¯ve been an even worse way to die--Cadence¡¯s demise was instant, hopefully. Speechless as he was, she wondered if he was in pain. She wondered if he was afraid. She wondered if he knew at all. He didn¡¯t deserve this. He didn¡¯t deserve this. This wasn¡¯t happening.

    Child, listen to me.

    She¡¯d never heard that voice in her life.

    It was feminine, foreign, unfamiliar in every way. She jolted.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± she tried aloud quietly. She earned nothing. She¡¯d doubted it instantly, regardless.

    Child, please, still your tears. You must listen to me.

    Madrigal was still louder than the voice in question, pain and agony taking audible precedence over calm and composure. Tears be damned, Octavia¡¯s blurring eyes darted to each Maestro in turn. Not one flinched. Not one looked away from the suffering boy still bound to the floor. Not one made the slightest indication of the words that plagued her head.

    If you wish to save his life, you must listen to my words. Please. Calm yourself.

    They weren¡¯t meant for her. Her eyes drifted to Madrigal, Lyra¡¯s Repose still pressed tightly to her chest in a trembling grasp. Hot tears claimed every string, challenging the sprawling red below with expansive sorrow. She cried, and cried, and cried, and never once did her desperate grip on the instrument falter.

    Lyra.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± Octavia cried.

    Her sharp shout was enough to draw the Maestra¡¯s attention, devastated eyes boring deep into Octavia¡¯s own. For one brief moment, she caught a shaking breath in wavering silence. It didn¡¯t keep her shoulders from heaving, nor her tears from spilling excessively.

    Do you wish to save him?

    Madrigal nodded fervently, her curls bashing her in the face in the process. Octavia didn¡¯t dare look away. There were others who did the same, albeit with far more confusion etched into their gazes.

    It will not be without consequence. Are you certain?

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Madrigal sobbed. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything.¡±

    Harper¡¯s words were as slow as they were puzzled. ¡°Madrigal, who are you--¡±

    Then you alone shall have my spirit.

    Madrigal played.

    Trembling fingers did little to stem a perfect melody, crafted between dripping tears and soft cries. The latter were blighted by the volume of her song, as gentle as it was powerful. It was a sound unlike any Octavia had ever heard from Lyra¡¯s Repose. So distracted was the Maestra that she had to outright remind herself to play, willing her own brilliant song to continue. She feared clashing with the crystalline ballad that tinged the air. It hardly mattered, given the way a delicate harp was somehow louder than her.

    Every note was indescribable, ethereal, nearly divine. It was a fresh and chilling warmth that was as disorienting as it was welcome, pulsing through her blood with every strum. Once more was the room at a halt, Maestros and not frozen and speechless. Knives were uselessly aloft and eyes were drawn to what could not be seen. She didn¡¯t need to see it to feel it in every part of her body, every careful pluck reverberating through her skin.

    And still, Octavia saw it anyway. Never in her life had she witnessed wind with her own eyes.

    It was a gale for two alone, a storm that narrowed the world to a dying boy and a broken girl. It was perfect, swirling and surging as it battered Madrigal''s curls and Renato''s own in turn. If the whipping winds bothered her skin as her dress beat upon her again and again, she didn¡¯t show it. If the sky were to collapse on her, she surely wouldn¡¯t flinch. Madrigal''s song would be eternal, equally viridian and stunningly beautiful beneath every pluck.

    Her winds glowed, her melody radiant in a different manner entirely. It was the most gorgeous green Octavia had ever laid her eyes upon, whirling and twisting in the most gentle of vortexes. She played faster, and so, too, did the luminous hue spin just the same. Madrigal was the eye of her own tempest, with yet one more enveloped in the hurricane that was her song.

    Every pluck left behind red of its own, and Octavia initially believed her to simply be too close to Renato¡¯s own blood--still more or less steeped in it as she was. Still, it was most definitely her fingertips, soft tugs upon copper leaving leaking scarlet in their wake. Where relentless tears had once burned the strings, it was now another fluid of a different agony entirely that painted Lyra¡¯s Repose. Even her tears, upon further inspection, weren¡¯t immune to the same. Crystal droplets of sorrow were now dyed deep crimson, and they streaked much the same as they slid down her face. Octavia thought to cry out, perhaps to beg for the girl to stop. She didn¡¯t dare. She doubted Madrigal would.

    If she was in pain, Madrigal made no indication of such. What ragged sobs left her throat and what bloodied tears dripped steadily from her eyes spoke only to a wounded heart. The Maestra didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Her movements were stronger, her strumming more powerful, her every note resonating more harshly upon the open air. Even for Lyra¡¯s Repose, it wasn¡¯t normal. And still, Madrigal¡¯s song was perfectly viridian, perfectly even, perfectly beautiful for one person alone.

    She unraveled her storm, slowly. It was a shocking sight in its own right, strands of rippling winds given visual form and blessing the open air. Thin and rope-like, every little string of shimmering viridian drifted to meet scarlet wounds, laying claim to weeping wrists. Her gathered gales unwound with skill and precision, layering neatly and tightly over where once had been hands in steady rows of threaded green. Like mesh, they clung, bandages born of gusting love that battled yet more blood behind. They were simply too strong, and the way by which Octavia failed to process the sight made them no less powerful. Not once did the dual barriers falter, nor did they wilt. They were ceaseless, glimmering, startlingly solid.

    And where Renato offered no blood, it was Madrigal who bled instead. It was her fingers yet more, and her tears still. It was her lips, newly blighted, as she coughed several times over. Red trickled down the edges of her mouth, and she played onwards regardless. Her agony was absent, if she felt any of that flavor at all. Her song, by comparison, was eternal. What she paid for in blood, she gave up in love one thousand times more.

    Once more, Octavia didn¡¯t dare insist she cease her song. The way by which Renato¡¯s breaths were stronger and deeper was not lost on her, still less than lucid as he was. It hardly mattered that his eyes were still closed and his words were still absent. Whether or not he was conscious at all was debatable. Octavia''s own heart was slowing, and it was wonderful. Her respective song had been extensive, her fingertips pulsing and burning with her own storm of starlight, and yet her muscles barely ached at all. He mattered more. Both of them did.

    There came a point when her song at last overpowered Madrigal¡¯s own, although not from lack of effort on the latter Maestra¡¯s part. The gusting melody that had inexplicably blessed her with viridian and cursed her with crimson slowed, never quite stilling as she continued to strum with bloodied fingertips. What was once a surging storm eased into a gentle breeze, calming and comforting along the cold marble. Renato never surrendered his glow, twofold and secure as his wrists were bound by glimmering green. Even now, not one drop of blood breached either one.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    Viola¡¯s voice startled her, given how focused she¡¯d been on the two Maestros below. Her eyes snapped to the Maestra at her side instead.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of this,¡± she continued. ¡°You need to get going.¡±

    ¡°Viola?¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let Drey get away. We¡¯ll handle things here,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°It might be a trap,¡± Josiah added. ¡°Please be careful. He could be trying to separate you on purpose.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I have no doubt. It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m going to take him down.¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°Be safe, okay? We¡¯ll cover you.¡±

    Octavia winced. They¡¯d already burnt themselves out enough. ¡°Will you be able to?¡±

    To her surprise, he grinned. ¡°Never better.¡±

    He proved it almost instantly. The trumpet rose to his lips with little hesitation, and the inferno he brought forth was enough reassurance in and of itself. The bursting flames that erupted from the bell were enough to spear well across the room, his rationed breath absurdly powerful. Surging oranges and scarlet rose to kiss the ceiling, stray embers left abandoned as they drifted so near to Octavia¡¯s skin. In the face of a heat she hadn¡¯t expected, she outright flinched. So, too, did those on the left.

    ¡°We¡¯ve only been holding them back,¡± Viola added. ¡°We¡¯ll start taking them out.¡±

    The flute that came to kiss the Maestra¡¯s own lips cursed the air with the exact opposite, frosted and dangerous in a different way entirely. Sharp, unforgiving crystal speared high, bursting forth from the already-chilled marble below and spearing ever upwards. Just as such, it burst well across the room, towering and crystalline in the most resplendent of barriers. Glistening magnificently behind roaring flames as it was, the wall was beautiful at the worst of times. The radiant chill that scalded the air was startling in its own right, and Octavia flinched once again. So, too, did those on the right.

    Somewhere in the midst of frost and hellfire lay room for escape, unhindered by that which would scorch or freeze her where she stood. The northeastern corridor was clear, and she could not be mistaken as to the path of the murderer¡¯s flight. She tensed. She lowered Stradivaria. Her eyes fell to Renato, still just as silent and just as motionless.

    Josiah was there. The clinging green still clung, shimmering and pulsing splendidly each time Octavia looked. It didn¡¯t keep him from binding the boy¡¯s wrists more naturally, thick gauze packing and settling cleanly over the glistening wounds. He wrapped Renato¡¯s wrists one after another in bandage after bandage, pulling taut with deft hands and careful eyes. The way by which not one glow of viridian slipped through the pristine cracks was surprising. Josiah still found time to meet her eyes with the absolute weakest of smiles.

    ¡°Go. You can do this. Don¡¯t look back.¡±

    She did what she could to return his smile, half-hearted as the effort was. Her eyes flickered to Madrigal at his side, her movements at last ceased and her song at last silent. Blood once flowing had caked her skin by comparison, trails previously trickling now dried and flaking. Each twitch of her fingers and minute movement of her hands finally left her wincing in pain, subtle as it was. She met Octavia¡¯s gaze wordlessly. It was all Octavia could do to nod.

    You should not hear my voice, child.

    It wasn¡¯t Madrigal¡¯s voice that offered her any words at all. She¡¯d already heard it once tonight.

    You are interesting. Could you be the one?

    ¡°Octavia, go!¡± Josiah called.

    His words were not those in her head, feminine and still so hauntingly unfamiliar. They were enough to snap her back to reality, and she turned sharply on her heel. She clutched Stradivaria, struggled to slow her pounding heart, and stole the deepest breath she could.

    Her light had faltered, and so, too, had she. Her failures were evident, and she knew them well. There were those who fought beside her, and those who suffered on her behalf. She wasn¡¯t perfect. Unlike Priscilla, she never had been, and never would be. Still, for more than the reds of autumn alone, she could fight. She could love. She could hate. She could run.

    And she was so, so good at the latter.

 28. Restore and Ruin

    The northeastern wing was well-lit, isolated, and quiet in a way she hadn¡¯t expected of the lengthy corridor. Darkness would have left it far more concerning, for how every shadow would¡¯ve harbored a threat. It was still just as ominous and unsettling to know what awaited at the end. Not once did she curse the absence of life, by which she feared not all who called SIAR home had stuck to the lobby tonight. It was an extremely lucky coincidence, were it one at all. Her urgent footsteps echoing off every tight wall were her only company. SIAR was twisting and unforgiving. She went straight and straight only.

    As to where Drey had actually gone, she knew only the general direction. Octavia hardly had the time to search thoroughly, given the multitude of doors she could¡¯ve opted to delve past. She¡¯d charged deep enough into the heart of SIAR that the violent songs at her back no longer reached her ears. Still, she knew them to exist, and her clock was technically ticking in that sense. Josiah was most likely correct about Drey¡¯s intent to trap her. She didn¡¯t particularly care.

    The corridor terminated deep, deep into the depths of the institute, if the length of her hurried dash was any indicator. It came with metal, large and foreboding. One flat palm upon it left her skin cold, and the slightest of forward motions found it heavy to the touch. As she caught her breath, she let her forehead kiss the iron. She welcomed the chill, her every pore otherwise radiating heat. It was the most notable entrance of all she¡¯d found throughout the corridor. She couldn¡¯t prove he was behind it, and yet it was an instinct once again that left her heart pounding. If he was going to corner her, she¡¯d let him. She pushed.

    It took her entire body weight shoved hard against the door to move it so much as an inch. She strained beneath the pressure, her laborious shoving rewarded with a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Doing so with Stradivaria in hand was difficult, and she was grateful she didn¡¯t trip over the half-obscured threshold in the process. The sharpened edges of the door scraped her knees as she squirmed her way in, and she winced. At the very least, she wasn¡¯t left scrambling in darkness.

    She was simultaneously grateful for the abundant lighting glowing above and unnerved by the sheer scale of the room. Where the entrance of SIAR had been strikingly white, its heart was suffocatingly gray. Box after box after box destroyed the monotony of four dull walls, whether wooden or steel in origin. Speckled and stacked in equal measure, they were abundant, both sealed and not as what lay within peeked beyond and shimmered beautifully. Works of art were plentiful, corners of canvas and framing just barely cresting from lids ajar. There were weapons, sometimes, and she knew them on sight by metal that sparkled beneath the spilling light overhead. Some bore dust. Some didn¡¯t. It made enough sense that their storage unit would rest so deep into the institute, sealed away from prying eyes.

    Octavia¡¯s hands trembled around Stradivaria with every shaky step. The sickening silence left her equally sick, and she feared her own breaths would echo. It was the first time in as long as she could recall that she was truly alone, with nary a song nor soul at her side. She¡¯d chosen this path, to be fair. She did have company, technically, nestled squarely on her shoulder even now. It still took far more courage than she knew herself to hold to press forward.

    Her eyes darted between, behind, and before each container that rose to meet them, both piled high and close to the ground. The vast, vast majority were more than sizable enough to conceal him, should he be here. From what she knew of him, she still doubted he was the type of man to strike her with stealth. His bluster spoke to a head-on approach, and he didn¡¯t present himself as a coward. Even so, she¡¯d already misjudged him enough. Her guard was impenetrable, and Octavia shifted her body as was necessary on every side.

    The slam that crashed into every wall echoed so fiercely that she feared the ceiling would cave. She jumped just as viciously, her grip around Stradivaria enough to leave her muscles aching. Octavia nearly snapped her neck in the process of turning, and still, she was correct. It was perfect. It was disgusting.

    Drey was clad in every shadow, his hand against the cold steel of the door. For a moment, he was motionless, offering only his back to her instead. It didn¡¯t matter, and her trembling mattered just as little. She steadied the bow over the strings. She braced against the floor. She struggled to still her rattling breaths, and she hunted for the thousands of words she¡¯d sought to choke him with. She found none of them.

    When at last he turned, he was blessed with the light above in the worst way. The steel that stole the same, shimmering and sparkling, had been traded in place of that which stood marred by scarlet. It was long, ornate, and well at home in his sturdy hands. For how his arm dangled so carelessly, the tip of the blade nearly scraped the floor. Every inlay and pattern was still just as beautifully sweeping as she¡¯d remembered. It took her a moment regardless. When it clicked, it burned.

    He knew, maybe. ¡°You recall this weapon, yes?¡±

    ¡°Velrose,¡± she answered, her voice wobbling somewhat.

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re trapping me in here?¡±

    Drey shook his head, gesturing to the entrance calmly. ¡°The door is unlocked. You are free to leave, if you wish. Even so, I doubt you would.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re damn right,¡± she snarled.

    His approach was unhurried, the weapon pressed closely to his side. It was his footsteps, now, that echoed where her own once had. She had to resist the urge to scramble for distance, mildly desperate for space. The image of Renato¡¯s hands crashing to the floor was too fresh. She feared the same, if not more.

    ¡°You wished to talk,¡± he said.

    ¡°I¡¯ve decided you¡¯re hardly worth talking to.¡±

    ¡°I apologize. I truly do owe you an explanation before I take your life.¡±

    ¡°What happened to not talking to the dead?¡± Octavia spat.

    ¡°Octavia, please,¡± he spoke softly. ¡°Even now, it is not too late to turn back. We could start anew.¡±

    Every honeyed word out of his mouth, laced with deceit, only served to leave her blood boiling. ¡°It¡¯s too late for everything. The only thing left is for you to die.¡±

    He wrapped either hand firmly around the shaft of the polearm, steadied and aloft. Still, his expression was pained. ¡°Octavia, my friend, please do not hate me for what I¡¯ve done.¡±

    The adrenaline was beginning to make her head hurt, restrained as it was. ¡°Get my name out of your mouth. Don¡¯t you ever call me your friend again. You are nothing to me.¡±

    ¡°Everything I do, I do with reason. There is nothing I have done without purpose.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    ¡°This, if nothing else, is the truth,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Would you not believe me?¡±

    It took everything in her power not to strike him down right then and there. Her ears were ringing. ¡°How could I? After everything you¡¯ve done? After all of the people you¡¯ve hurt? You¡¯re pure evil!¡±

    ¡°There is no ¡®pure evil¡¯ in this world, Octavia!¡± he cried. ¡°There is no blood spilt only for the sake of frivolous matters!¡±

    Hearing him raise his voice to such a degree was startling. Even as he¡¯d sought to take her life, not once had he spoken so sharply to her. Still, still, his eyes had pooled with only hurt. Octavia had no words to respond with, bitter or otherwise.

    ¡°If you wish to think me a villain, Octavia, then go on! Think me a villain! Do so, if that is what drives you forward for your cause!¡±

    He tensed. She could do little more than watch the way he lifted the weapon high, the blade capturing the gleam of every light above. She, in turn, adjusted her feet and angled the bow. She inhaled. She exhaled. She did so once more, every finger stiff and shaky around the neck of the violin. She wondered how hard it was to take a life. He was an exception, surely.

    ¡°Know that every man who walks this earth has ideals for which he would lay down his life without hesitation. If your drive is truly as strong as you say, then understand that this was inevitable. In another life, Octavia, perhaps we could have truly been comrades.¡±

    Drey swung the polearm downwards, the blade steadied and level with the Maestra before him. ¡°Above all else, know that this is not personal. With all that I am, from the depths of my soul, I am sorry for what I am about to do.¡±

    He lunged first. If she ever found guilt, she could perhaps claim self-defense. For the life of her, she¡¯d never regret it.

    Drey didn¡¯t pull his punches. He didn¡¯t hesitate for an instant. Every swift slash and swing was born of the intent to kill, and his aim was horrifying. She¡¯d stolen enough of his skill with her eyes as he¡¯d clashed with the strength of sound head-on, and yet that had been with a weapon entirely different. Here, his posture was new. His movements were fresh. His combat was unique, and his form was perfect. It was a separate style altogether, and she was learning him all over again.

    She could only transfer so much of what she¡¯d seen, for how he¡¯d become a different warrior altogether. Each blow came agonizingly close, and she could physically hear the whoosh of steel slicing the air clean in two. At least once, strands of hair clipped so precisely from her braids scattered in her peripheral vision. She didn¡¯t have the leeway to follow their path to the floor.

    It wasn¡¯t enough to shake her. Octavia retaliated with everything she had, her heart ablaze and her burning blood much the same as her song seized every muscle and vein. Her soul was explosive, and her light was unrestrained. The warmth she¡¯d nurtured so carefully beneath scorched fingertips now seared and scathed infinitely, the sun ripping her apart from the inside out and erupting into every note.

    Her radiance besieged the strings in full, surging and sizzling into the rays she¡¯d come to know so well. Every white-hot beam of brilliance was locked onto Drey and Drey alone, and every last one sailed towards him without mercy. Even he was hard-pressed to keep up with their speed, evading to the best of his ability. Those that missed crashed at his feet, bursting with a startling boom that left marble sprinkled with radiant debris.

    Each time he came at her, her stomach lurched. His reaction time was phenomenal, and hers paled in comparison. Her light pleaded for distance. His polearm was built to steal it away. Simple and skillful thrusts sought to take her down, not-so-subtly aimed for her heart or spearing between her eyes. Several swings left the blade sweeping horizontally towards her neck, as necessary. It was her own reaction time that was put to the test, and it was with a response far less practiced that she found herself defending her life.

    The shrill, sharp slashes of the bow across the strings left brilliance pooling from screeching notes, bubbling and surging for one man in place of a violet sea. It wasn¡¯t perfect, hastily-crafted as it was. It was somewhat of a gamble, at first, given the difference between unnatural darkness and mortal steel. Still, the radiant glass that wrapped her up in full was enough to just barely block his assault, buckling slightly beneath the crushing blows. Her luminescent shield burst into shattering starlight as she regained her footing, staggering backwards to reclaim her offenses. She was never content to take his hits for long, and it was a countermeasure she refused to cling to forever. She played faster.

    ¡°Please, Octavia, let me make this painless for you!¡± he begged, briefly stifling his assault as he stilled.

    On the tail end of another blow, her shining shield was left to dissipate with an audible sizzle. It was never enough to stem her song, and she held fast to the swirling luminescence that called her shoulders home. ¡°You¡¯ve haven¡¯t made anything painless for anyone. All you¡¯ve brought is pain!¡±

    He lunged once more, and she rushed to meet his head-on assault identically. The force of the crashing blade against her brilliant dome left her flinching, and she gritted her teeth.

    ¡°Tell me, then, who have I wronged that has led you down this path?¡± he shouted.

    For how he continued to push ever harder, she hated the way it buckled yet more. She experimented. With a swift strike of the bow, relentless and shrill, she left her radiance bursting. He earned it in full, outwards and rushing to greet his steel violence as it ruptured. She hoped it scalded him, and the way she watched him recoil in the wake of her splashing luminescence was promising. She spun sharply on her heel to the right, lest he exploit her lightless vulnerability.

    Instead, of what light she¡¯d harbored aloft, she cursed him in excess. What gently-swirling golds had orbited her speared towards the man viciously, nearly in time with his every movement. It took him even more effort to avoid her rushing wrath than usual, and yet he was still exceedingly skilled. With each passing second, his visage spoke to more of a fighter than a businessman. It was yet one more way he¡¯d deceived her.

    ¡°My friends,¡± she snapped. ¡°Cadence! My sister! Everyone!¡±

    This time, she was well aware of the way at least one surging strand of light grazed his shoulder blade. He gritted his own teeth. ¡°Would it ease your pain to know each reason in turn? Is that a blessing I can grant before death claims you, Octavia?¡±

    She wanted to ignore him, and she struggled to do so. Still, there was little ignoring the lump in her throat, nor the bitter tears that stung the corners of her eyes. Her words were half-hearted. She shook her head fervently. ¡°It¡¯s too late for that!¡±

    Yet again did her brilliant song leave her radiance sharp and piercing. Rays stolen from a sun not gifted to Solenford burned within the walls of SIAR instead, and she put every last one to use. Their aim was true, their path perfect. Not every one missed, and one pulsing beam clipped his right thigh. He grunted in pain, stumbling as he fought for renewed footing.

    ¡°The cycle of life and death in this world is not to be trifled with, Octavia, no matter how sorrowful its consequences may be! You and your kind, whether or not I understand in full, I know of your ambitions. I know the way you toy with fate, the way by which you interrupt the course of nature!¡±

    When he found his balance, it came with an opportunity. He lunged. Her reaction was dangerously dulled, and it was too close a call. Her enveloping barrier of brilliance was born much later than she would¡¯ve liked. He clashed, it bent, and she yelped.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Your sister, she was a saint. She, too, I called my friend. In our own ways, we sought the betterment of this world. Our paths divulged, and yet she was solely misguided! Believe me, Octavia, I did not enjoy taking her life!¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡± Octavia cried, despising the sensation of tears stinging her cheeks. Once more, her hands were trembling around Stradivaria. ¡°You know nothing about her!¡±

    ¡°Whether or not you accept it, I knew her!¡± Drey pushed. ¡°You are her splitting image in every way! You fight for your cause with such determination that you are blinded to what must be done, just the same as she!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know me!¡± she screamed. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about me, either!¡±

    Her vision was blurred, swimming in a sorrowful haze. Her response time was weakening, and she knew it to be true. She birthed the same shining barrier time and time again, and yet his blows seemed to grow only stronger. Whether it was herself that grew weaker instead, she couldn¡¯t tell.

    ¡°That night, your face was the same, down to every last feature. So highly she spoke of her sister, time and time again, that I knew your visage on sight!¡±

    Octavia shook her head desperately. ¡°Shut up, shut up!¡±

    ¡°Do you honestly believe Velrose was your own idea? Imagine my surprise when you so willingly chose to go!¡±

    ¡°Shut your mouth!¡±

    ¡°You are foolish to believe your world is hidden, that the signs of your unnatural magic are not on full display! You are an even greater fool to believe that your quest comes without consequence!¡±

    ¡°I said shut up!¡±

    ¡°I know more than you think, Octavia. I know of the dark forces that plague this earth, just as your sister had told me. I know of the way they have manifested long before our time, and I know of the suffering they lead to!¡±

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Octavia pleaded tearfully.

    ¡°But I also know what cannot be changed. I know what nature must allow! I know that mere children should not be playing with the forces of life and death themselves!¡±

    She was openly sobbing as she fought, and it was her sorrow that proved her greatest threat. Her rage was haphazard, her song a pendulum somewhere between ire and a shattered soul. No matter how she played, she was compromised. Her alignment was marred by hate and robbed of accuracy. Every blast of radiance that bore down upon Drey missed its target time after time, her brilliant hatred traded for audible pain as he dodged with ease.

    ¡°I do not fault you! You do not deserve to lead this life, and so I gave you a choice to step away! Even now, Octavia, you could go home and begin again! You could start anew without that wretched violin for which your sister threw away her life!¡±

    She had no words. Of the heart from which her light was born, he hit his mark as he slashed it to pieces again and again and again.

    ¡°I did not kill your friend. I merely stole his ability to fight, lest he walk this path forevermore. I could not do the same for Cadence, however I may have tried. Despite my efforts, I, too, could not save your sister, who raged until her last breath.¡±

    Her useless rays fell to earth with a pitiful boom from afar. Her bitter tears splashed onto her boots from much nearer. She feared she¡¯d fumble the bow.

    ¡°I know what I have done to that city, and I do not regret it.¡±

    She froze. Her tears stilled. Her song screeched to a halt, and he, too, was still.

    ¡°What¡­did you say?¡±

    He exhaled deeply. ¡°I thank you for showing me the truth of the Blessed City, and the Cursed City below. Know that my cause runs deep. A place--places, if you will--which meddles with the same forces of the natural world cannot stand. I bitterly regret the innocent lives lost in the process.¡±

    Her entire body was shaking. Her breaths were rapid. She couldn¡¯t see straight.

    ¡°You¡­Selena?¡±

    ¡°In one sense, there is someone I truly saved. She will never suffer again. Know that it was not I who drove her to her breaking point. That fault lies with others. I pity her, for it was fate which made her a catalyst.¡±

    The world was spinning. Her ears were ringing. It was an agony violet could never bring.

    ¡°It was you,¡± Octavia breathed. ¡°You¡­told the clergy. You knew what would happen.¡±

    And when he nodded, the remorse in his eyes meant nothing yet again. It was all she could do to scream.

    If her wails and cries of uncontrolled pain offered up a song of sorrow, then Stradivaria¡¯s song offered up the uncontrolled sun. It was a melody of discord, disorganized and sharp in a way that would surely have stung even her own ears. Her light was explosive, and no longer in a way she embraced. From her veins it poured, and she bled starlight so fiercely that she¡¯d surely die. She was a star cursed to burn forever, lashing luminescence boiling and writhing on every side. She¡¯d had a barrier, once, neat and condensed as it guarded her life. Now, she was engulfed in light somewhere between that of Heaven and Hell. She was the center of a cursed solar system, sobbing in the depths of a sparkling inferno.

    She didn¡¯t care where she was hitting, nor if she was hitting anything at all. Her fingers were moving, and the sound of a violin¡¯s desperate cries matched her own upon the heated air. It was enough of an indicator that she was playing at all. She could at least see Drey raise one hand aloft, shielding his eyes from the blinding luminosity of her absolute rage.

    ¡°What must it feel like, you might wonder, to be unable to truly save anyone from this path?¡± he called above her aimless harmony. ¡°To be villainized, hindered, rallied against at every step for attempting to restore order where order is due? For attempting to steer the innocent away from a life of pain and endless violence? Do you truly think I enjoy killing children, Octavia? Is that what you genuinely believe?¡±

    No amount of screeching was drowning out his words, desperate as it was. No amount of playing was loud enough to overtake his voice.

    ¡°I say again to you, Octavia, know that I honestly do care for you! My word is true, and I did what I could to spare you the same fate as those before you! You dabble with magic that you do not understand, and someday you will surely pay the price!¡±

    It didn¡¯t matter if she seared her pupils on the fringes of her own broken sun. It didn¡¯t matter if she squeezed her eyes shut and clung to compromised darkness. There was no escaping the bells echoing in her head. Selena was there, crushed in more ways than one beneath the touch of dawn. Sonata was there, suffering with wounded hands. Cadence¡¯s eyes were unforgettable. Renato¡¯s grin was unmistakable. Priscilla¡¯s face would forever be beautiful.

    It had only taken one man to steal it all away. Her heart was his victim, just the same.

    ¡°This is the only way I can save you. In death, I hope you will understand.¡±

    It was her fault. She¡¯d more or less handed him his opportunity.

    It was nothing short of a miracle that he missed his exact mark. With skill, Drey wove between the swirling wrath of the sun that called Octavia home, undaunted by the scorching heat threatening him on every side. A skillful thrust of the polearm left remorseless steel on a collision course with her face, and the blade sliced her left cheek far too cleanly. She cried out, recoiling instantly beneath the sudden sting of wounded flesh. Blood splattered against her shoulder, and she lost what little breath she still had. It was a second miracle that she¡¯d managed to keep her footing, stumbling in reverse rather than collapsing in full. Had she fallen, for what second chance he would¡¯ve gotten, there would¡¯ve been no further miracles.

    Her nova was a reflex, the sickening screech of the bow along every string largely unintentional. It left an exploding sun behind, rupturing and expanding uncontrollably. Every lashing ray blighted him in full, even haphazard and woven in utter disarray as they were. He stumbled backwards, arms aloft with only a polearm to uselessly guard against the unraveling star. The heat was immense, not lost on Octavia¡¯s own skin as the sizzling light erupted into sparkling nothing with a luminosity far too vivid. She panted, shoulders heaving. Her cheek burned. Her eyes widened, and she was trembling once more.

    Calm yourself.

    In the deepest throes of agony, every word was clear.

    Temper your anger or you will lose your life.

    It was no longer a guess.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she breathed aloud.

    Her ruptured sun had been fleeting, and the man was already balanced once more. The weapon was readied, his eyes were sharp, and his stance was perfect. His shoulders hardly heaved with labored breaths, nor did sweat cling to his skin. By comparison, her fingers burned. Her muscles screamed. Somewhere along the way, she¡¯d sliced her skin of her own accord, rugged copper claiming gentle red as her blood speckled the strings. She clenched the neck of the violin harder beneath the weight of a shudder. Within the walls of SIAR, it was the first time she¡¯d feared for her life.

    ¡°What should I do?¡± she whispered to the voice unseen.

    The silence she earned felt eternal. Her heartbeat filled the gap, deafening as it was.

    If you possess the resolve to take a life, you will do what must be done.

    It was an echo of a sentiment spoken by the man before her. The weight in every word was identical. It was still a task easier said than done, for how Drey had proven himself to be a man more than fit to challenge her world. Where the strength of sound had surely left him outmatched, he¡¯d escaped unscathed. Where a heart of light sought to pin him down, it was her life that now hung in the balance.

    She¡¯d tried everything. She¡¯d earned nothing. She settled the bow against the strings once more, steadying her footing. She was running out of time, physically. For what it had taken to get this far, he needed to die. There was no alternative. Panic was setting in, and she felt it writhing in her stomach. She didn¡¯t have the leeway to close her eyes.

    It was with a spark that one idea alone came to her. It was completely and utterly sickening.

    She slid one foot backwards, fixing her eyes firmly on Drey as she tensed her fingers around the bow. It was revolting. It was vicious. It was forbidden. It was all she had. It was necessary. It was necessary. It was necessary. She wondered what Priscilla would say.

    And when he lunged, she offered a silent prayer to Stradivaria.

    Forgive me.

    Drey¡¯s speed was identical to that which he¡¯d carried throughout their battle, unbound by exhaustion or hesitation as he surged forth. The tip of the blade was level with her heart, and she briefly wondered if he intended to offer the same swift end he¡¯d granted to Cadence. With what strength she had left, Octavia bolted sharply, pivoting swiftly to the right on one heel. It was enough for the steel to snag the hem of her dress instead, fabric slashed and torn in place of vital organs. She didn¡¯t flinch, and she watched as he stumbled.

    It was the one and only opportunity she would get. She seized it with a song she still couldn¡¯t fathom.

    He earned her eyes upon his own, and she hoped that burned enough. If it didn¡¯t, the fiery wrath barreling down his throat surely would. He couldn¡¯t scream. He couldn¡¯t speak. Octavia strongly doubted he could breathe, for his how palms surrendered the polearm so quickly. The fumbled weapon clattered to the floor with an echoing thud, his hands darting to his throat as he clutched desperately. She gave him pain. She gave him all the pain in the world.

    She¡¯d been concerned about her aim, last time, and she¡¯d somewhat feared missing her mark here as well. She needn¡¯t have worried, ultimately, and the spearing ray of radiance that erupted from the bridge chased him down and stung his soul. It spiraled deep, swirled vibrantly, and left him aglow as her brilliance seeped through his skin. The thin, pulsing line of gold left her light within for once. There was nothing to grasp this time, nor anything to hunt for. There was no tension to be expected. There was no fear of failure. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, a perversion of something sacred. It was a concern that lost out to wrath. She hoped it hurt. She needed it to hurt. She so, so desperately needed it to hurt.

    She¡¯d feared failing, once. Right now, of this alone, she¡¯d never wanted to fail more in her life.

    She was screaming all the way there. It was with every last ounce of energy she had, and yet more so she hardly knew she possessed, that she tore him apart. Where the sun was so often born of her blood, she unleashed it within his. Where heat so often boiled beneath her skin, she was doubly sure to leave his own twice as scathing. Where her brilliance bubbled and burst with such power in every swift movement and on every sparkling note, she¡¯d leave him erupting with the same from every orifice.

    He was light in the worst way, spilling and overflowing with her hateful luminescence. He couldn¡¯t beg, nor could he plead. He couldn¡¯t move, and screaming was her right alone. In the instant before his eyes surrendered to beaming light, his corneas surely annihilated from behind, she could swear she saw agony. It was perfect. She relished it, and she fought for more.

    She wasn¡¯t sure for how long she played. She wasn¡¯t certain for how long she was content to sear him from the inside out, incinerating every last inch of his very soul. He was a shell at some point, undoubtedly, an empty vessel that held solely her leaking light alone. If she stilled, her revenge would end. It kept her going, and her rage was endless. She played, and played, and played, and played. He was absolutely, undeniably dead, and part of her was privy to the knowledge that she was desecrating his corpse. She played. It felt good.

    And when she¡¯d had her fill--whenever that time had come, for how she hardly remembered it--she watched as her brilliant beam once meant to heal split and splintered. Crackling in two, it dissipated with a sizzle. Drey fell, crumpling lifelessly to the cold floor below. The marble was in stark contrast to what radiating heat still claimed him within. Part of her hoped it stayed forever.

    It hit. It took a moment to hit, by which she had to stare at his body for at least ten seconds. Her light hadn¡¯t been all that was content to sizzle, apparently, and she could hear it from here. He deserved it. He deserved it. It was disgusting. It was cruel. It was sick.

    Her hands trembled fiercely, and the world began to spin. At some point, her fingers unfurled slowly, eternally clutching Stradivaria as they¡¯d been. The violin clattered to the floor, and she nearly did the same. She doubled over, clutching her stomach instead as she vomited onto the marble underfoot.

    Octavia Ellis, she heard, your toll has been paid twice over.

    She didn¡¯t have the words to respond, nor did she have the energy to understand. She heaved until she was certain there was nothing left of her stomach. Even then, she couldn¡¯t stop herself from doing much of the same yet again. She would raise her eyes to Drey, and the cycle would begin anew. There came a point where she could bring herself to look at him no longer, and she was left squeezing her eyes shut. She gasped desperately for air, tears and sweat cascading down her cheeks in equal measure. It was all she could do to stay upright. Her knees trembled horrifically, and her head was throbbing.

    Whatever footsteps she heard beating upon the floor outside were beyond her control. She could hear them echoing off every wall of the corridor, seeping into a storage unit she¡¯d turned into the sickest of coffins. It was all she could do to turn her head. Self-defense was out of the question, for how everything ached and everything burned. Maybe whatever was to come was justified. Maybe it wasn¡¯t. She was his executioner, and perhaps she in turn had deserved her own.

    Heavy steel scraped against more delicate flooring with an ominous creak, and that, too, echoed. Every sound in the world was amplified in the tomb of her own making, and her racing heart was now the least of it. She¡¯d been correct about additional workers, although she was stunned it had taken so long to attract attention. Drey had sealed their duel away from prying eyes, granted. Still, she doubted her furious song had been particularly soft.

    The face that stared her down from the shadows was hardly a face at all, obscured in full by a white equal to the blinding motif of SIAR itself. They were clad in the same, thicker and bulkier in the slightest. It was a far cry from the crisp and flimsier coats she¡¯d seen in the lobby. For what chemicals could be found in an institute of restoration, she could understand the mask. It seemed suffocating, if nothing else, and she couldn¡¯t so much as make out the stranger¡¯s eyes. She held her breath, suffocated in turn. She didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± they spoke.

    She could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d heard that voice once, if not only once. To place exactly where would¡¯ve killed her, given how hard her head was throbbing.

    Their head drifted towards Drey¡¯s lifeless visage, and yet again back to her. ¡°You need to leave, quickly. Get out of here. I will handle the rest. Get on the midnight train out of Solenford and don¡¯t come back.¡±

    Octavia stared blankly. ¡°Who--¡±

    ¡°Take your friends and go, now,¡± they warned sternly. ¡°That boy needs a doctor.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t forgotten her companions in the slightest. Still, in the moment, Drey had taken precedence. Now, for what she¡¯d managed to leave behind, they were once more of the utmost importance. She surrendered her interest in the stranger, burning as their voice was. Her hands shook violently as she reclaimed Stradivaria from the unforgiving marble, and her knees rattled with every step she fought to take. The world wasn¡¯t real. She wasn¡¯t there.

    When she found her focus, she lost her stranger just as quickly. It was as though she¡¯d blinked and surrendered them, distracted as she¡¯d been. She wondered for how long she¡¯d disconnected. Even now, it was difficult to stay tethered to her own body. It would¡¯ve been painfully easy to float so high above, looking down onto the murderer of a murderer. She¡¯d hoped for pride and relief. She found guilt and disgust. She was somewhere in the center of both, a pendulum between satisfied and sickened that left her hyper-aware of blood upon her song. Revenge felt different than she¡¯d expected. It was what she¡¯d asked for.

    She didn¡¯t afford a final look at Drey¡¯s body, silent and devoid of any words with which to pierce her broken heart. With her partner cradled in her arms, Octavia left him behind. So, too, did she leave every ounce of hatred in her soul clinging to his corpse on the way out.

 29. Your Voice

    The gleaming moonlight beyond the windows was Octavia¡¯s one true comfort. It kept her eyes cast high above, drawn to the stars and away from the blood that stained her fingers.

    It was her third train ride in the span of only several weeks. The journey had lost its luster, morphed from exciting and endearing into something solemn and mundane. The voyage from Solenford to Coda left her with eleven days of contemplation at her fingertips. Any rest she¡¯d hoped to gather in the wake of what had been done was fitful, at best. The availability of travel in the depths of night was a shock in and of itself, secured by their ushering interloper at SIAR. She had little strength to give the circumstances further thought, disorienting as they were.

    She¡¯d escaped her bed, lest the same imagery take yet another turn beating her down in her dreams. If nothing else, her voyage no longer came with tints of overwhelming sorrow and ire. In a sick way, instead, there was peace. Octavia wasn¡¯t certain how she felt about it just yet.

    The idea of relaying the truth to her family burned. Really, she wondered if she even had the gall to face them again after outright committing murder--justification be damned. Her sister¡¯s killer, self-admitted, was dead and gone. Still, the satisfaction she¡¯d hoped to cling to in her heart was hollow. She¡¯d seen enough tragedies for a lifetime in the span of several weeks. They were inescapable, and she found them time and time again in each and every nightmare.

    The bells were a constant, at least on a nightly basis. They were one of many catalysts for cold sweats and nausea, forcing her to her feet and spurning her into anxious pacing. She was glad her companions had their peaceful dreams, if nothing else. She somewhat envied it.

    There was no triumph and joy. There was no sensation of overwhelming victory. Each of them were well aware they¡¯d been lucky to escape with their lives, successful in their mission or otherwise. They¡¯d hardly had the drive to so much as speak upon reunion, and Octavia couldn¡¯t blame a single one. She was the worst of them, perhaps, in that way. Every gaze was exhausted, shimmering, and knowing in equal measure. It was too much, and she shied away from all five.

    She would concede to Drey that they were, in fact, children. There was guilt, then, that came with what Octavia had dragged them into. There was even more so that came with what sights accompanied their actions. If they chose to sleep forever, she couldn¡¯t blame them. She hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that.

    Returning to Coda had been Viola¡¯s idea, safe and secure as it was. As to what came next, Octavia¡¯s best attempts to cobble together any mental framework were chronically impeded by fatigue. Priscilla¡¯s murderer was dead, granted. For the thousands of questions left in the wake of SIAR, growing ever more distant with each passing second, it was far from a straightforward conclusion. It left hows. It left whys. It left quelling the Dissonance, ultimately, an objective pendulum that took its turn swinging back towards the inexplicable. Octavia had already resolved not to breathe a word of Drey¡¯s death to Viola¡¯s grandmother, lest she never sleep peacefully again. She doubted she would ever be able to do so regardless.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± she asked aloud.

    Yes?

    ¡°I just¡­wanted to know if you were there.¡±

    I am here, Octavia.

    This was new. Since Drey''s death, it had been a constant. Gone were the sporadic and cryptic messages salvaged in bits and pieces. Instead, Stradivaria graced her in full with the communication she¡¯d craved. It was the only thing that kept her heart light enough to speak at all. If this was the bond Madrigal had described, she could understand its appeal. She cherished it.

    ¡°I have¡­a lot of questions for you.¡±

    I will answer all that you ask.

    ¡°Did you know Priscilla?¡±

    I did.

    ¡°Was she kind to you?¡±

    She was.

    ¡°Do you miss her?¡±

    Do you?

    Octavia smiled sadly. ¡°Every day of my life.¡±

    The silences between them weren¡¯t particularly uncomfortable. Still, the absence of the voice in her head was slightly more distressing. She didn¡¯t let it last.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡±

    Yes?

    ¡°Would she be proud of me?¡±

    I cannot speak for her, but I believe she would be.

    ¡°Did you know about Drey? The whole time?¡±

    I attempted to warn you.

    She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t listen.¡±

    When she found no response, she gently rested her head against the window. She debated pressing.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡±

    Yes?

    ¡°Is¡­Stradivaria your real name?¡±

    For the briefest moment, he was quiet. What else would it be?

    Out of fear of being incorrect, she hesitated to answer. ¡°Stratos. It¡¯s¡­Stratos, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Where have you heard that name?

    ¡°On the¡­beach place. With the forest, and the ruins. I don¡¯t know where that was, but¡­that girl, I heard her say it. Where was that?¡±

    A place only you can go.

    ¡°Does it have a name?¡±

    It does.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    You will find out in time.

    ¡°When?¡±

    Again, he was silent for a moment. Octavia?

    It was her turn to answer. ¡°Yes?¡±

    To what degree would you follow in the path of your sister?

    She paused. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    Would you finish what she has begun?

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    When he was quiet yet again, she pushed. ¡°What did she¡­begin? What do you mean?¡±

    I have a task for you, if you would choose to accept it.

    Octavia tensed. ¡°What¡­would that be?¡±

    It is no simple task, and yet one necessary for the good of all. It is a task your sister sought to undertake. It is one she could not see through to its end.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    It is¡­difficult. You will be strained in ways beyond which one should endure. It is a task I would not wish upon any. It is a task that your sister, valiant as she was, boldly accepted. It is a task, ultimately, that fulfills both of our wishes.

    ¡°Our¡­wishes?¡± she asked. ¡°What wishes?¡±

    Your companion, then. If memory serves, she seeks peace from that which wrongly poisons this world.

    ¡°The Dissonance?¡±

    It can be done.

    Her heart nearly stopped. ¡°I-It can?¡±

    Know that it will not be without sacrifice.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    He paused. You know not the task.

    She pressed. ¡°You said my sister would¡¯ve done it, right?¡±

    Correct.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    You will suffer. Know this to be true.

    She hesitated. She said it again. ¡°I¡¯ll do it anyway.¡±

    Do not be so quick to answer. Rest, for now, given what has come to pass. In eleven days¡¯ time, I will ask once more. If you would still accept, we will begin.

    For what she¡¯d found of his voice in full, his answers were cryptic and mysterious instead. That hadn¡¯t changed. It was somewhat irritating, and she resisted the urge to push him further. The loneliness that came with silence was unpleasant, his voice vanishing and his company imagined once more. It left her with only mindless moonlight to fill the gap.

    There was no calming the spark he¡¯d sent flickering through her anxious heart. Her head buzzed in a way that was more than mildly uncomfortable. Waiting for Coda was going to be awful. With Stradivaria nestled close to her heart, sitting still was absolutely not an option. Rest was impossible. Anxiety, at least, was trustworthy. She followed it where it carried her.

    <hr>

    She didn¡¯t stop at her own room, initially. It was almost by reflex that she ended up at the threshold of one she, more than likely, should¡¯ve left undisturbed. It was almost a comfort, in a way, that the idea hadn¡¯t been hers alone--the dead of night be damned. Madrigal¡¯s body practically barred entry, slumped against the floor as she was.

    Where Lyra¡¯s Repose was typically cradled with such love and care, Madrigal¡¯s arms were instead occupied with knees bundled tightly against her chest. It was the first time, in recent memory, that Octavia had ever truly seen them separated. With eyes wide open, she tolerated Octavia¡¯s every approaching footstep. Even so, the Maestra¡¯s glassy gaze was thrown somewhere far off.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°How is he?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid to check,¡± Madrigal murmured.

    ¡°Have you¡­seen him at all yet?¡±

    She shook her head wordlessly.

    Octavia leaned against the wall opposite Madrigal, submitting to silence broken only by the rumbling beneath. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be happy to see you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Scared of¡­what?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t protect him,¡± Madrigal said quietly.

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Neither did I. Madrigal, you saved his life.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t feel like I did.¡±

    She paused. ¡°How did you do it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Madrigal whispered.

    ¡°At all?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, her curls following gently in her wake.

    ¡°Is he awake?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she repeated.

    Octavia straightened up, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. ¡°Can I check?¡±

    Madrigal nodded, rising to her feet in silence. Her hesitation was almost contagious, near to the doorway as she remained. There was no longer a comfort that came with mutual anxiety. Octavia wasn¡¯t fond of the knot in her stomach. She was growing used to it, unfortunately. She, too, hesitated, her fingers stilling over the handle of the sliding door as Madrigal fell motionless beside her.

    She hoped he wasn¡¯t asleep. Of everyone who¡¯d struggled on her behalf, he deserved rest more than any. He deserved far, far more than what she could ever hope to give.

    In truth, despite her SIAR interloper¡¯s insistence as to the contrary, his condition hadn¡¯t required medical attention whatsoever. Madrigal¡¯s inexplicable touch had been enough, miraculous as it was. Not a drop of blood had breached the gauze, nor had he deteriorated in any capacity. For how grave of a state he¡¯d been in just hours prior, Octavia still struggled to wrap her head around the concept. It was an unfathomable relief, in one sense--eleven days without access to medical care, given the nature of his wounds, would¡¯ve been unthinkable. Her eyes flickered to his bandaged wrists far more often than they should¡¯ve. It was a reflex she kicked herself for again and again, try as she might to curb it. She half-heartedly wondered how many times he¡¯d done the same.

    He was awake, at least. Renato didn¡¯t acknowledge her upon the threshold, hesitant as her entry had been. His gaze, too, was elusive. Even now, she was second-guessing intruding, his solace more than well-earned. The moonbeams flooding the cabin were in stark contrast to the shadow over his face--subtle or not. It burned.

    ¡°Renato? Can I come in?¡± Octavia asked quietly.

    ¡°Sure,¡± he answered, equally soft. His volume didn¡¯t match who he was. That, too, burned.

    It didn¡¯t occur to Octavia to close the door behind her, fixated on the boy instead. She slipped into the moonlit room tentatively, settling onto the foot of the bed. ¡°Is¡­it okay if I sit here?¡±

    He nodded. She¡¯d never noticed how fluffy his hair was without the hat. It was almost cute.

    Asking him how he was would¡¯ve been a futile question, for how quickly it had risen to her lips regardless. The way by which he buried his wrists quietly beneath the covers was not lost on her, subtle as he¡¯d attempted to be upon her entry. Her heart could¡¯ve shattered, every last piece scattering across his bedsheets. No words would do him justice. There was no justice to be done. She once more second-guessed why she was here in the first place.

    ¡°If my dad saw me right now, I don¡¯t even wanna know what he¡¯d say.¡±

    She raised her eyes. His own were distant, tethered to the stars beyond the window. Still, the faint smirk that had settled onto his lips was notable.

    ¡°Your¡­dad?¡± Octavia repeated.

    He nodded once more. ¡°My parents wanted me to be a soldier. Can you believe that?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t--not of him. Envisioning it alone was impossible. ¡°Why?¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Family, lineage, all that crap. Supposed to carry on the tradition.¡±

    ¡°Did you¡­want that?¡± Octavia asked.

    Renato scoffed. ¡°Of course not. Bailed the minute I had the chance. They¡¯re angry as hell about it, and they probably always will be. I¡¯m never going back there again, that¡¯s for sure. Sick of all of it. Is it really that bad to want something else out of life?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I can¡¯t imagine. I¡¯m sorry you had to go through that.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter anymore, anyway. Can¡¯t really be a soldier if I can¡¯t hold a freakin¡¯ weapon.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. It was unavoidable.

    ¡°Does it¡­hurt?¡± she whispered tentatively.

    Once more, Renato shrugged. ¡°Little bit. Not much. Honestly expected it to be a lot worse. I¡¯m really not sure why it doesn¡¯t hurt more, to tell you the truth. It feels weird, though. I keep lifting my arms and expecting them to be there. I keep¡­trying to flex fingers I don¡¯t have anymore, and it feels bad.¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°Did anyone tell you? About¡­what happened?¡±

    He chuckled, empty as the sound was. ¡°Yeah. I know that Drey guy messed me up. My fault for getting cocky, I guess. Heard you got him right back, though. Bet that felt good.¡±

    Her stomach lurched for a different reason entirely. This was not at all the time nor the place for nausea. She struggled to refocus. ¡°Did anyone¡­tell you anything else?¡±

    Renato was quiet for a moment. The smile he found, for once, was genuine. ¡°Maddie saved me, didn¡¯t she? Viola told me.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know how she did it. Neither does she.¡±

    Yet again, he shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s magic for you, I guess.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle a smirk. ¡°It¡¯s not magic.¡±

    His grin was wonderful. She¡¯d missed it. ¡°You¡¯re so full of it. It¡¯s magic. Get real.¡±

    She laughed, and the warmth of his presence was almost as she¡¯d recalled it several days prior. It didn¡¯t stop the inevitable, deafening silence that soon suffocated her once more, try as she might to cling to what happiness she could salvage. She thought to grovel at his feet. She thought to beg for forgiveness. He¡¯d hate it. It was irresistible all the same. Between nothing at all and every apology she could conjure, she wasn¡¯t sure what was worse to endure.

    ¡°I know their names now.¡±

    Octavia hadn¡¯t noticed the tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes. She fought to blink them away regardless. ¡°Their names? Who¡¯s¡­¡®they¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Those two.¡±

    Her gaze followed as Renato tilted his head in the general direction of the table. She¡¯d never miss the cherry oak for the life of her, with or without his touch. Either stick rested as peacefully as the boy whose hands they¡¯d long called home. It was almost unsettling to see them positioned with such calm, devoid of explosive prowess. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened.

    ¡°You¡­how did--¡±

    ¡°Mistral Asunder,¡± he spoke with pride, embracing a smile equally touched with the same. ¡°They¡¯re kind of a unit.¡±

    ¡°It--I mean, they spoke to you?¡±

    ¡°No, they didn¡¯t say anything. I just knew, somehow,¡± Renato offered. ¡°Wait, they can talk?¡±

    She smiled. ¡°Eventually.¡±

    His head landed against the pillow with an exasperated thump. ¡°Huh. I doubt they¡¯re gonna say a freakin¡¯ word to me after all this, though.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Why not?¡±

    Renato¡¯s face fell, steadily yet surely. ¡°Don¡¯t see how I can use them anymore like this.¡±

    His point was accentuated by his wrists, lifted free of the covers and into her full view. She fought not to stare. She failed, and she knew he knew in turn. He sighed.

    ¡°I guess Drey got what he wanted. I¡¯m not gonna be able to fight for a damn thing.¡±

    In all the time she¡¯d known him, Octavia had never once seen him cry. She¡¯d never assumed it would come to that, for who he was and the person she¡¯d assumed him to be. The tears that steadily slipped down his cheeks were as off-putting as they were utterly heartbreaking, surely born of the wrong boy entirely. ¡°I¡¯m sure Vi will be happy I can¡¯t drive her insane that way anymore.¡±

    Leaping to her feet was a reflex. ¡°Renato, that¡¯s not true.¡±

    ¡°You guys got exactly what you wanted, too, right? Maddie¡¯s not gonna want me. Don¡¯t blame her. Can¡¯t hold her hands, can¡¯t put my arms around her, can¡¯t keep her safe from friggin¡¯ anything anymore. Can¡¯t even--¡±

    Every accusation stung. She never got the chance to rectify each one, every desperate correction dying on her lips. Whatever comfort she could offer him was stolen.

    The door opening in full nearly scared her to death, slamming against the wall with a bang that had both Maestros recoiling sharply. It was a third, then, whose tears came to match Renato¡¯s own. Granted, Madrigal¡¯s were far more excessive, her body racked with sobs and her own bitter tears trailing every hurried footstep. Octavia hardly had the time to dodge her hurried entry. Renato didn¡¯t have the time to dodge anything. The girl outright leapt at him.

    Octavia had to wonder if it hurt, given how quickly and firmly Madrigal smashed her lips against Renato''s. Her desperate touch upon either of his cheeks left the boy immobile and notably surprised. There was a stifled sound of muffled astonishment against her hurried kiss, brief as it was. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened in tandem with Renato¡¯s own, although she was much more satisfied to witness the way he gently settled into Madrigal¡¯s warmth. It was eternal. It wasn¡¯t. It was more reassurance than Octavia could¡¯ve ever hoped to give.

    It took ages for Madrigal to set him free, whether with her lips or otherwise. Their tears remained entangled, a puddle of mutual sorrow staining the sheets even now. He was speechless. He smiled. He laughed, and his laugh paired beautifully with Madrigal¡¯s. Her sobs were irrelevant, for how her joy bubbled into the air. Octavia, too, was not immune to the smile she could feel threatening to split her face in half.

    ¡°I, uh¡­didn¡¯t see that coming,¡± he finally spoke with a tint of a blush, his voice shaking somewhat.

    ¡°I love you,¡± Madrigal breathed, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll love you no matter what, forever and ever. Nothing will change that, no matter what happens to you or what you look like.¡±

    Renato grinned. ¡°You love me, huh? Isn¡¯t it a bit soon for that?¡±

    She shook her head fervently, blessing him with an affectionate smile. ¡°Nope.¡±

    Renato laughed. ¡°I wish I could¡­hold your hands, or something. You don¡¯t care that I¡¯ll never be able to do that again?¡±

    It was only the same endearing smile that answered him. Delicately, Madrigal wrapped both hands of her own around one of his wrists, lifting the bandages aloft with care. She blessed his wrist with a fleeting kiss, laced with enough love to leave Renato¡¯s eyes shimmering dangerously. When her smile erupted into something brighter, Octavia sincerely thought he¡¯d become emotional again.

    ¡°Damn it, you¡¯re gonna make me cry. Let¡¯s take this slow, alright? Can¡¯t rush stuff like this. I just met you, like, a month ago,¡± he joked.

    The giggle Madrigal offered in response was warm, even from afar. Her continued affection--well-deserved, granted--was enough of a response. In truth, it was enough that Octavia felt significantly out of place. She winced.

    ¡°I, uh¡­I¡¯m gonna head out. Let me know if either of you need me,¡± she said awkwardly.

    Renato laughed once more. ¡°See you in the morning, third wheel.¡±

    Still, his jeering was irrelevant. The gentle appreciation in his eyes was palpable, and she adored it. She beamed.

    She could still hear Madrigal¡¯s bubbly laughter and Renato¡¯s playful indulgence of such behind the door. It wasn¡¯t unwelcome, and she embraced the shred of warmth she¡¯d managed to find in the wake of catastrophe. Otherwise, it left only the streaming moonlight for company, kissing her boots and settling upon her skin as it was. Solace was dangerous. Isolation was dangerous. Overthinking was dangerous, and it was sure to occur regardless. She had half a mind to beg for their company once more, intruding as she knew she would be. It would keep her from driving herself insane with thoughts she wished she could cleave in two. She had eleven days to embrace fatigue. It wasn¡¯t the kind she was comfortable with.

    She still checked on the boys anyway, for what it was worth. It was their fault for not closing the door curtain entirely. It wasn¡¯t as though further danger would befall them for at least eleven days, and there was an irony that came with finding safety in such an uncertain place. She silently blessed their dreams from afar. Of one of them, in particular, she prayed for a peace she wondered if he¡¯d find any time soon. The world had been unkind enough to Josiah for a lifetime. She resolved to guard the truth of Drey¡¯s involvement with the Cursed City for as long as she could spare him--at least eleven days, if nothing else. Etherion, too, was a memento of unkindness.

    It was Josiah¡¯s idea, initially. Still, it had made sense. To leave Cadence¡¯s Harmonial Instrument behind in SIAR carried disastrous consequences, given Drey¡¯s apparent objective. It was Josiah¡¯s to guard, then, far from Madrigal until Octavia had found the energy to piece that puzzle together. In the worst way, it was almost a relief that the Maestra had been preoccupied with Renato instead. Not once, since their departure from Solenford, had she so much as attempted to interact with the instrument. How long that reprieve would last was debatable. Octavia embraced it while she could.

    Leaving Cadence behind was a nightmare. For all their silent savior had offered them in those blood-stained halls, surrendering the late Maestra to the hands of a stranger left a bitterness in Octavia¡¯s heart. She wondered if Cadence would loathe them. She wondered if she¡¯d be buried properly, at least. It was a safety she deserved.

    She cracked open her own cabin door as quietly as was possible, mostly devoid of company as she would be. Of her one roommate, the rest she¡¯d earned was tinted by comfort far beyond what could be described as graceful. She was surprised Viola hadn¡¯t outright fallen off the bed, disheveled as she was. Most of the blankets had, granted. It took effort for Octavia to stifle a laugh, torn between the urge to adjust the Maestra¡¯s questionably-dangerous sleeping posture or leave her to her methodologies. She made a mental note to tease Viola about it in the morning. It was almost endearing.

    Everything had started with Viola. Octavia prayed all would end at her side, much the same. For what was left, and for all that was to come, she liked to imagine this was a constant. It was a warm thought that she carried with her down into the dark. In the moment, this was enough.

    For the first time in far too long, Octavia dreamt of nothing.

 30. Not Okay

    Octavia enjoyed reading, usually.

    Books sparked joy, for the most part, and she was content to soak up fiction and nonfiction alike. She had little preference, provided escapism was hers for the taking. The difficulties of the surrounding world were far less appealing. Newspapers didn¡¯t count. Octavia hardly considered them literature in the first place, let alone useful. Silver Ridge was small enough, and what little news came through drifted past by word of mouth. Monochrome paper between her fingers was uncomfortable, if not unnatural. Her unwillingness to actually read it didn¡¯t help.

    She didn¡¯t have a choice, given the subject matter.

    His visage wasn¡¯t enough to claim the front page, so far from his home as the tragedy had spread. It was impressive that it had taken weeks for the situation to even grace Coda¡¯s ears, the warmth of Vacanti Manor embracing her well beforehand. His solemn end stole exactly half of page seven. He was hailed as a hero.

    Famed Solenford Cultural Conservator Found Dead at Thirty-Six.

    He was embellished in every way, achievements born of business and charity alike splattering paragraph after paragraph. There were testimonies, by which grieving lips spoke to a marvelous man. He was passionate. He was devoted. He was kind, he was resilient, he was utterly brilliant. He was stained in blood and choked by light. Octavia was both surprised and not that neither gruesome fact made it in. In truth, he was far from innocent. Pressed to paper alone, he was angelic.

    And so, too, was Drey¡¯s well-earned demise strikingly natural. Someone had done her dirty work.

    At the very least, she couldn¡¯t find another explanation. For the thorough inspection an autopsy would entail, chemicals served as a poor culprit. Granted, a raging heart of light was most definitely not an obvious conclusion. Still, it was an impossible mix-up. Those of SIAR knew better than that. It didn¡¯t matter, and the story was swallowed by the world all the same. What toxins in question would¡¯ve taken a life were debatable. She¡¯d sprinted past enough of them that night, and they''d possibly cursed a cruel blade in turn. If nothing else, it warranted smothered protection.

    She¡¯d never bothered looking back. It left his corpse with a stranger, their face cloaked and voice untraceable. She had no remorse as to leaving his charred remains languishing upon cold marble. She hadn¡¯t quite erased the irritation that came with not recognizing her interloper. They matched her benefactor, maybe. Curiosity burned. Octavia had suspicions. For the life of her, she had zero proof. Guessing only ached more.

    Even with her eyes shut and the paper surrendered to the table, Drey¡¯s monochromatic image still stung her pupils. She traded material sensations, embracing textured mahogany beneath her fingertips. Lazily, Octavia trailed her touch along the curves of Stradivaria¡¯s scroll in her lap. Silence was lonely. Silence almost hurt. Silence was somewhat better than empty words overall.

    Each conversation was awkward, although she still wasn¡¯t certain if the feeling was personal. Most of them were fine. Josiah was doing far, far better than she¡¯d expected, given the circumstances. Madrigal¡¯s meals came with love, and she still enjoyed the company of both a soul of ice and the will of fire in tandem. They were warm, and the cold grasp of catastrophe had done little to change that much. She¡¯d always wondered exactly how much space the manor had, and she found out quickly enough. Five spare beds were plenty. They were practically living together, and Octavia genuinely enjoyed it.

    She liked her room enough. Renato rarely left his.

    Four could block out the suffering in their wake. One couldn¡¯t, for how peace slipped away each time he looked down. Granted, his recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, wounds once critical now simply scarred and curving. No one was bothered by the sight of his wrists. Still, he¡¯d insisted on hiding them away. Harper did a good enough job at that, and skillfully-stitched cloth left two victims of flashing steel well-obscured in daylight. Octavia had learned a new talent of his that day.

    Renato had hardly spoken. Renato had hardly looked at her. His brief exceptions came bundled with deceptive grins sure to shatter like glass behind closed doors. They were surprisingly effective four times over, for who he was. That, too, was a talent, and his false enthusiasm helped. Octavia knew better.

    He was tired. He was always tired, apparently, although that was a far more viable excuse. He¡¯d been crushed in more ways than one, and miracles didn¡¯t erase the strain of physical toil in full. He was getting better about it. He could eat. He could bathe. He could swear under his breath in isolation, stringing frustrations together behind the thin sanctuary of closed doors. He could feign a smile for Madrigal, resilient in the face of a harp singing with good intentions. He could reciprocate her love, budding warmth between the two easing Octavia¡¯s heart. He could sob instead of sleep, for how Lyra¡¯s Repose tortured him instead.

    It was almost cruel. If Madrigal knew, it was more so. What she could do, he could not, beloved cherry oak languishing at his bedside. The thought alone was agonizing. With certainty, it paled in comparison to how he felt.

    Octavia inched her fingers along the bridge of the violin. Cold contact with sturdy wood helped the chill seizing her spine. The less she considered the concept of losing her partner, the better.

    ¡°Stradivaria.¡±

    Yes?

    She paused. ¡°Nothing. I¡­just wanted to know you were there.¡±

    I am here, as always I shall be. I will not leave your side.

    ¡°Promise?¡±

    I promise.

    It was one warmth she hadn¡¯t lost, fostered rather than degrading. She¡¯d spoken of his voice to the others. She¡¯d expected more surprise, in truth. Somehow, they took it much more calmly than anticipated. They¡¯d experienced stranger circumstances lately, to be fair. Octavia settled for what bond she¡¯d earned all the same, treasuring the words in her head each time she caught them.

    ¡°Do you¡­wanna talk about that thing again?¡±

    Of what do you speak?

    ¡°The thing that you want me to do.¡±

    I wish only for your recovery. At the moment, I do not believe action to be wise.

    She¡¯d seen it coming, given how many times she¡¯d earned the same answer. It was entirely his fault for leaving her steeped in suspense. She appreciated his concern for her mental fragility enough, and yet eleven days had long since come and passed. False happiness on every side was grating at best and hellish at worst. Curiosity was evolving into desperation.

    ¡°No one wants to talk about it. No one wants to take the next step. I want to do something.¡±

    And what is it that you seek, then?

    She was outright stroking the strings. The motion felt somewhat ridiculous. It was still calming, and Octavia indulged in it regardless. ¡°I have questions. I¡¯ve been waiting, and I know I¡¯m not the only one. There¡¯s Priscilla, there¡¯s the Dissonance, there¡¯s¡­so much. I don¡¯t know why no one cares. We--I--killed someone. We watched people die. I don¡¯t get how they can smile after all of that. I know Viola wants the Dissonance gone, and I know she¡¯d never be fine with stopping here. I¡­can¡¯t wait anymore. This feels horrible.¡±

    Complaints came with mental images. Mental images came with rapid heartbeats. It took more effort than it should¡¯ve to steady her breaths, let alone gather her words.

    ¡°Please. I can¡¯t wait,¡± she repeated. ¡°I need to take the next step, whatever that is. I¡¯ll do it alone if I have to. I¡¯m begging you.¡±

    For a moment, he was silent. What task is to be bestowed is meant for one alone, and that much is true. Even so, I highly suggest that you take comfort in companionship. Of your heart, in particular, it is doubly so.

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    You are independent and valiant, like your sister before you. Still, it is amongst those you cherish that your light shines most brilliant. Octavia, I¡­strongly suggest that your companions hear my words in turn.

    She sighed, her head flopping against the couch cushions with an exasperated thump. ¡°So you won¡¯t tell me what¡¯s going on until I get everyone involved.¡±

    It is so.

    ¡°All of them?¡±

    He hesitated for a moment. I would advise it.

    Octavia groaned. ¡°Including Renato?¡±

    Once more, I would advise it.

    ¡°Your advice sounds more like a demand to me,¡± she grumbled.

    He didn¡¯t respond. In place of words, she could¡¯ve sworn she heard the softest hum. It came from within, toned and sweet in a way she couldn¡¯t describe. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat, and the tiny smile that crept onto her cheeks was irresistible. She wondered how hard it would be to make him do it again.

    Octavia was so engrossed in her internal conversation that the click of the door latches nearly left her tumbling to the floor. At the very least, she regained her composure before they could torment her about it. Sneaking sunlight through the cracks gave way to three Maestros and a bonus accomplice. Two caught her eyes, waving with smiles she¡¯d long since grown wary of. Once had been far less reddened on departure that morning. Octavia tilted her head.

    Her staring was enough for Viola to rescind her gaze, tossing uncomfortable eyes at the hardwood. ¡°I burn easily, okay?¡± she muttered.

    ¡°Someone doesn¡¯t get outside much,¡± Harper teased, shutting the door in their wake.

    ¡°Not all of us grew up out in the sun,¡± Viola spat.

    ¡°Yeah, well, being homeless will do that to you.¡±

    Viola winced. Harper smirked.

    If she stared long enough at someone else, she could catch another smirk in a different flavor. By comparison, he wasn¡¯t red. He caught her prying eyes, pinning her with amusement of his own.

    ¡°I tan,¡± Josiah offered with a shrug.

    ¡°Is it hot outside?¡± Octavia asked, cradling the violin against her chest as she battled her way out of the sinking cushions.

    Harper nodded. ¡°You¡¯re missing the sunshine.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s really nice,¡± Madrigal continued, beaming. She, too, hardly seemed fazed by the sweltering heat. Octavia blamed her gardening skills. ¡°You should come out with us!¡±

    She¡¯d been the one to decline. That was her fault. Viola had insisted, and still she¡¯d argued against whatever shopping would¡¯ve consisted of. She hadn¡¯t been specific enough to sting Octavia with burning curiosity, at the time. Still, four people picking up one box was pushing it. The Maestra could¡¯ve more than carried it herself.

    ¡°What¡¯s in the box? Is that all you got?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola nodded. ¡°It was all we needed. It was ordered a few days ago. We just had to go and pick it up.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s, uh¡­¡± Harper began, immediately trailing off shortly afterwards.

    ¡°You brought four people with you to get one box that was a pick-up order? You didn¡¯t even have to actually pick anything out?¡±

    ¡°I...I get why she brought everyone,¡± he finished.

    When Octavia eyed the box warily, Harper averted his eyes.

    ¡°We stopped for ice cream,¡± Madrigal added, her own smile faltering somewhat. ¡°So it¡­wasn¡¯t just that. I got vanilla.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s in the box?¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡­still took us a while to find the place,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°None of us had ever been there before. For how high-quality everything they make is, I¡¯m surprised they--¡±

    Harper elbowed him hard in the stomach. He winced, biting his words in half instantly.

    They were deflecting. That wasn¡¯t new. That was never a surprise. Octavia locked eyes with Viola, pouring whatever aggravation she could into her own pupils. If the way Viola recoiled meant anything, it worked.

    ¡°Viola,¡± Octavia began slowly, ¡°what¡¯s in the box?¡±

    Viola exhaled. It took effort to balance the wrapped box in the crook of her arm, pinching the tail of the twine bindings with two fingers. One deft pull left crumpled packaging fluttering to the floor pitifully, well-crafted birch left to crown her embrace instead. It was lovely, for what it was. The wood was simple enough to work with, and yet the craftsmanship within Coda¡¯s boundaries was unique in its own right. The staining was nice. Octavia appreciated it enough. It still very much did not warrant four people to obtain. Viola kicked the straying paper away, raising her head once more. Her eyes spoke only to pain.

    ¡°I thought we were gonna let him open it,¡± Madrigal whispered.

    ¡°I want her to see it first,¡± Viola answered softly, never tearing her eyes away from Octavia¡¯s own.

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°¡®Him¡¯?¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°Keep an open mind,¡± she pleaded.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Octavia asked. It was as uncomfortable as it was frustrating.

    It took far too long for the lid to come loose, Viola¡¯s hands moving with an agonizing slowness. The paper within was softer, paler. It was gentle, by comparison, for what precious cargo it swaddled. Viola didn¡¯t need to delve beyond the birch walls herself. The way by which the sheer veil parted naturally on Octavia¡¯s behalf was as helpful as it was sickening. It took a moment to register the sight. It took a moment to process the context. It took much more than a moment to find words straddling ire and illness.

    ¡°Viola, no.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be right away, we just¡­wanted to have them available.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s way too soon to even consider. You¡¯re gonna make him even more upset.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t that be up to Renato, though?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°He won¡¯t even leave his room and you want to dangle¡­this in front of him? Like it¡¯ll help?¡±

    Harper¡¯s comforting touch made for her shoulder. ¡°Hey, Octavia, he doesn¡¯t have to use them right away. We just¡­wanted him to have them if he--¡±

    Octavia shirked it, evading him in reverse with haste. ¡°And you guys knew about this? And you were fine with it?¡±

    She cursed them with silence. It was sorely needed. With certainty, she was making them uncomfortable, and that, too, was necessary. She was every bit as uncomfortable herself every time her eyes fell forward.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± she asked sharply, stinging the Maestra with a glare she couldn¡¯t control.

    Octavia earned nothing in response. Madrigal only threw her shimmering gaze at her sandals.

    Viola had averted her eyes in turn, a plea for compromise long since surrendered. Octavia was robbed of shameful gazes four times over. She loathed the way her own were left to meet with nothing but hollow birch. It was to say nothing of the cruel wood within.

    They were shaped with care, and doubly so with love. Every wooden sliver that spoke to fingers, palms, and fasteners was skillfully made and expertly finished. There came dents that emulated nails, and the precise touch was almost sweet. She could lie. She could say they were gloves. Never once had she witnessed gloves so akin to works of art, so perfectly halted at wrist level.

    And above all else, unmistakable in every way, cherry oak was the cruelest of all.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to plead. ¡°Don¡¯t give this to him. He¡¯s not ready.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, there¡¯s more to it than that,¡± Viola began.

    ¡°He¡¯s not ready,¡± Octavia repeated. ¡°You¡¯re going to hurt him.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, listen to me.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even ask him if this is what he wanted!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, listen to me, please!¡±

    ¡°You seriously think he¡¯s doing alright? You guys are actually falling for that?¡±

    ¡°Octavia, there¡¯s a bigger problem. You don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand,¡± Octavia snapped. ¡°None of you do!¡±

    ¡°Please, give me a second to talk!¡±

    One sweeping motion clutched every last one in her line of fire. ¡°You guys are really just going to ignore everything that happened? You¡¯re seriously just going to move past everything? You¡¯re gonna smile, and laugh, and pretend nothing¡¯s wrong? You wanna talk about sunshine? Do you realize how many people are never gonna be able to see the sun again? People are dead! People are dead, and none of you care!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, Harmonial Instruments don¡¯t stay with one Maestro forever!¡±

    ¡°You think it¡¯s okay to torture him every night? Do you think it¡¯s fun to play in front of someone who loves their partner just as much as you do? If not more?¡± Octavia snapped, boiling eyes burning Madrigal alive.

    It was enough for Madrigal to flinch, her lip quivering as she soaked up every bit of scathing fire.

    ¡°If a Maestro can¡¯t play anymore, they move on! They choose a new one!¡± Viola shouted.

    ¡°Do you think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Octavia screamed.

    Her voice echoed off every wall in the foyer. She regretted it immediately, and not solely secondary to whatever disturbance she could curse Eleanor Vacanti with. The wide-eyed hurt on Viola¡¯s face was a close second deterrent. The settling silence that choked her in turn was equally jarring, if not by the contrast alone.

    She couldn¡¯t erase the shaking ire in her voice as she spoke, her false calm be damned. ¡°I am well aware of what happens, I promise you. It doesn¡¯t matter. We can¡¯t just push this on Renato. We can¡¯t make this go any faster than it¡¯s already going. You know that. I know that. Think long and hard about who really benefits from these¡­things.¡±

    Viola shook her head, eyes tinted with disbelief. ¡°You don¡¯t want him to get the chance, do you?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I want him to have his partner more than I¡¯ve ever wanted anything.¡±

    ¡°The hell are we yelling about?¡±

    Renato¡¯s voice was enough to jolt every last person in the path of Octavia¡¯s anger, let alone herself. Today was a good day, if he¡¯d managed to leave his room. It was more so, if he was fully dressed, and yet further, if the hat came with him. It was the one and only victory Octavia could celebrate. She didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t breathe. She wasn¡¯t the only one, for what was sure to come. As to what he¡¯d heard, she didn¡¯t dare guess. At the moment, she didn¡¯t want to exist.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    His room was near enough to the foyer. It took him twenty seconds to walk. It took precisely half of those for Viola to recognize the consequences of her stillness. Vulnerable birch spilled its secrets to the world even now. Renato¡¯s eyes dove within, and Octavia¡¯s heart threatened to burst. The world stopped spinning. His breath hitched, his eyes veiled by indiscernible glass.

    ¡°R-Renato,¡± Viola began, anything further fleeing her instantly.

    It had taken Octavia time to learn Renato, for how their travels in tandem were somewhat more limited. His body language had been of note, more than the rest, to a degree she could never ignore. Several weeks ago, it was amusing, bubbling over with enthusiasm and adorning his zest for life. Now, without fail, it was left to betray him. He slid one foot backwards and turned his body slightly. Octavia was all but certain he was going to bolt. When he stood his ground, it was a genuine shock.

    ¡°Whatcha got there?¡± Renato finally asked, his teasing tone compromised by his blank expression.

    ¡°They¡¯re for you,¡± Madrigal offered softly, piercing the crushing atmosphere. ¡°It¡¯s okay if you don¡¯t want them.¡±

    For a moment, he didn¡¯t move. Eventually, the corner of his mouth twitched, curving upwards in the most useless grin Octavia had ever seen. ¡°Damn, you guys got me a present? You shouldn¡¯t have.¡±

    The intent of every word was debatable. Venom and amusement were solid options, and both were equally hollow. It showed. For once, not one of them fell for it. Harper did what he could. ¡°We, uh¡­we...they were custom-made. Here in Coda.¡±

    Renato nodded, the same broken grin still plastered onto his face. His eyes didn¡¯t match. ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°You¡­know what they are, right?¡± Viola asked, every word slow and trembling.

    Renato nodded once more. ¡°Oh, yeah, for sure. I appreciate it, you guys, seriously. I¡¯ll try ¡®em out later. See how they fit and all that. Maybe we can paint them or something.¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°Renato--¡±

    ¡°That cherry oak is lookin¡¯ a bit bland without some more color, huh.¡±

    The dizziness that crashed into Octavia was unbearable. She nearly staggered. One hand clamped over her mouth just barely stifled a gasp. As to who caught what slipped through her fingers, she didn¡¯t know. She didn¡¯t care. She wanted to die.

    ¡°Octavia, you mind helping me carry those back to the room? I¡¯m kinda tired. I was¡­trying to sleep. You guys sorta woke me up. Do me a favor, would you?¡±

    Renato''s grin was permanent, eternally false as it clung to his lips. His dead eyes on hers froze her soul, and still she couldn¡¯t look away. It was an immense relief when he did so first. It left her nearly lunging for the box in Viola¡¯s arms, awkwardly balancing the weights of cursed birch and Stradivaria. With the violin and bow tucked beneath her arm, she feared dropping either one. She feared disobeying him more, and she ignored every whisper that was left in her wake. If she caught them, audible with every step, then he surely did in turn. She wanted to scream. Inside, she did.

    She entered his room first. It took both of Renato¡¯s wrists in tandem to pull the door shut behind them. Octavia¡¯s arms surrendered to his bed instantly, the box and violin colliding with the ruffled covers all at once. The prosthetics nearly spilled from their square home, and she panicked. She ushered them back into place hurriedly. Simply touching them was enough for her blood to clot. She didn¡¯t dare imagine how Renato felt.

    ¡°Lock it,¡± he demanded. ¡°The door.¡±

    ¡°Ren--¡±

    ¡°Now.¡±

    Octavia did so, one hand fumbling behind her until she found a notable click. Not once did she look away from him, granted only his back in the first place. His shaking shoulders, too, were visible.

    In the most pained whisper she¡¯d ever heard, his voice trembled much the same. ¡°Help me put them on.¡±

    Her eyes widened. She matched his tone. ¡°Right now?¡±

    With a gaze still stolen, Renato nodded slowly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia was silent for a moment. Her eyes darted between Renato and the box resting on the covers. ¡°I¡­you have to turn towards me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to,¡± he whispered again.

    ¡°Then I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Could you please try?¡±

    ¡°Not if you don¡¯t look at me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to,¡± Renato repeated, his whispers growing ever more unstable. Where his voice trembled, his entire body began to follow suit.

    ¡°Renato, look at me,¡± Octavia pleaded gently.

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    Renato didn¡¯t respond. Instead, he shook his head violently. His shoulders heaved.

    His labored breaths were audible, and they gave way to rapid gasps in turn. Octavia¡¯s hesitant hands settled upon his shoulders. She expected him to pull away, somewhat. Instead, he only jolted in the slightest.

    She had enough space to claim his face by force, if she wanted. The gaps between the bed and nightstand allotted that much. She gave him the choice, if there was anything to choose. ¡°Renato, look at me or I¡¯m going to look at you myself.¡±

    Renato hesitated. It took several seconds for him to turn, every step agonizingly slow. She¡¯d expected it to be awful. She loathed that she¡¯d expected it at all.

    He¡¯d surpassed trembling. He was outright shaking, hyperventilating as glazed eyes flooded with suffering. The tears were eternal, rushing down his cheeks and staining the carpet. There were sobs in there, somewhere, and she could hear them crawling out of his throat. His wrists touched his chest. His wrists touched his head. His wrists touched his cheeks, his mouth, his shoulders, his forearms. His eyes touched his wrists, and Hell touched his eyes every time.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­look¡­at me,¡± he whimpered with great effort.

    The eyes that pooled with agony drifted to the box. Octavia did what she could to sever his line of sight, stepping between the boy and the bed. ¡°Renato,¡± she said plainly, desperate to keep his attention.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he wept.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be alright,¡± she murmured.

    She was lying. She knew that he knew.

    ¡°Help¡­me¡­put them¡­on,¡± Renato begged between rapid breaths.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea right now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­begging you.¡±

    ¡°I need you to calm down first.¡±

    ¡°Help¡­me.¡±

    Octavia entertained the idea of holding his wrists, for how there were no hands to hold and comfort. It would make it worse. It would make everything worse. She settled on his cheeks, reaching upwards to cradle either side of his face in shaking palms.

    ¡°You need to calm down.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    There was nothing to say. She had nothing to offer. Platitudes were useless, and every ¡°it¡¯ll be alright¡± was a scathing falsehood. She knew his reaction, just as she knew the personal Hell in his eyes. It was the same personal Hell that strangled her every Sunday.

    He was taller than her. Octavia improvised, pulling him down to her level. Renato didn¡¯t resist, and she gave him what she often wished for herself. It took mild effort to still his violent shaking as she delicately tapped her forehead against his. Her braids trailed along her hands, brushing against his damp cheeks in turn. He didn¡¯t avert his eyes, nor squeeze them shut. Instead, he clung to hurried breaths alone, and she feared he¡¯d faint. Ideally, he wouldn¡¯t get that far. She locked onto his petrified gaze.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he begged, ¡°help me. Help me, please.¡±

    ¡°Renato, this¡¯ll pass,¡± Octavia whispered. It was absolutely not the time for her own voice to crack. It took immense effort to hold herself together as he crumbled to pieces.

    ¡°Octavia, it¡­hurts.¡±

    ¡°I know, Renato.¡±

    ¡°Everything¡­hurts¡­so bad.¡±

    ¡°I know, Renato,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­want¡­this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to be upset, Renato.¡±

    ¡°I hate¡­this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to hate it, Renato.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he wept. Only her name. Nothing more.

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    In just the slightest, his breathing was slowing. He was catching on, maybe.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he repeated, labored sobs touching every syllable.

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. Renato draped his arms over her shoulders as he trembled, pressing his forehead harder against her own. It didn¡¯t particularly hurt. ¡°Octavia,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    For a moment, he submitted to silence in their embrace. Octavia, too, offered nothing. Their volume was low, his panic sealed off from the world. It did nothing to alleviate the ruthless rush of emotion that poisoned the air. There was the tiniest part of Octavia that feared Madrigal would kill her, should she defeat a locked door right now.

    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be over it already,¡± Renato said with surprising coolness, his tone wavering in the slightest. His shoulders still shook on occasion, his breath hitching in time with residual sobs.

    ¡°No one expects you to be,¡± Octavia comforted.

    ¡°Everyone does.¡±

    ¡°Did someone say something to you?¡±

    His eyes cracked open slowly, stray tears set free as they splashed against her fingertips. ¡°I can feel their eyes on me.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°I¡¯m the only one looking at you right now.¡±

    Literally. Their distance was painfully intimate. She knew what she meant. He knew what he meant. It didn¡¯t make it look any better to a third party.

    ¡°Madrigal¡­would kill me,¡± Renato breathed.

    It took everything in her power not to laugh. Octavia was thankful that the thought was at least mutual. Still, she couldn¡¯t fight the tiny smile that crept onto her face. ¡°You know what I mean. Don¡¯t worry about them. It¡¯s just us right now.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t judge me, right?¡±

    ¡°I mean, sometimes you make it a bit difficult. You kiss girls you just met.¡±

    ¡°It was just her hand.¡±

    ¡°Still kissing.¡±

    ¡°You jealous?¡± Renato teased. Even devoid of a smile on a face utterly drained, the vigor behind his jokes was sincere for once. It felt good to hear again.

    ¡°You wish.¡±

    ¡°Right here, right now, this is the best chance you¡¯ll ever get. All you gotta do is ask.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a taken man.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. This was a test. You passed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m too good for you,¡± she joked.

    ¡°You¡¯re damn right.¡±

    Octavia blinked. That wasn¡¯t the answer she¡¯d expected. ¡°Do I dare ask what that even means?¡±

    He shrugged, his shoulders finally still. ¡°You shine too damn bright for the rest of us. Sometimes I can hardly look at you.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the blush that crept onto her cheeks, either. So close to him, inches from his face, there was no hiding it. ¡°My God, are you flirting with me?¡±

    Renato smiled. It was soft, genuine, and beautiful. It was enough for her heart to sing. ¡°I mean what I say. I¡¯m a man of my word. Take it as you will.¡±

    It took Octavia a moment to find her words. ¡°T-Thank you, I think.¡±

    ¡°Are we, uh, ever letting go? I¡¯m serious about Maddie killing me if she sees this.¡±

    Octavia flinched, untangling from him as quickly as possible. Her leftover blush was born of embarrassment alone. She smeared her palms on the skirt of her dress, Renato¡¯s residual sorrow just barely soaking into the fabric. ¡°I mean, door¡¯s still locked.¡±

    He wiped at his damp eyes with one wrist. ¡°Yeah, but Maddie¡¯s got so much magic stuff goin¡¯ on that I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she¡¯s, like¡­psychic or something at this point.¡±

    Octavia laughed, settling down onto the bed. ¡°I can¡¯t even argue with that.¡±

    ¡°How, uh¡­how the hell did you know what to do? With¡­all that mess that just¡­you know?¡±

    ¡°Mess?¡±

    He averted his eyes. ¡°I mean, damn, sometimes I feel like you can read me like an open book.¡±

    ¡°You are an open book.¡±

    Renato raised an eyebrow playfully. ¡°Explain.¡±

    ¡°You always look away when you¡¯re embarrassed, no matter what. You¡¯re doing it right now.¡±

    ¡°Everyone does that.¡±

    ¡°When you run, you always kick off with your left foot. You put two sugars in your coffee when you¡¯re alone, but when you have company, you drink it black. You always wear pine-scented cologne unless you¡¯re going somewhere with Madrigal. When you are, you switch to this one that¡¯s hard to describe, kinda smells like a river. You sing when you bathe, but you do it quietly enough that you don¡¯t think anyone can hear you. That¡¯s why you only take baths after everyone else bathes, probably. You never sleep without three pillows, and you actually write with your left--¡±

    She stopped, biting her tongue at the last possible second. Octavia looked for the consequences on his face. In place of hurt, she found only a sparkle. He gazed at her incredulously.

    ¡°You¡­do that to anyone else?¡± Renato asked.

    She shrugged. ¡°Kinda. I see you guys every day, nonstop. Hard not to notice.¡±

    ¡°So you have that and the thing with figuring out the damn wood on sight. You¡¯ve got some weird talents, braids, you know that?¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ve still got a talent for giving people annoying nicknames. Can¡¯t wait to hear what you come up with for Josiah.¡±

    ¡°Hey, about the wood thing,¡± Renato muttered. It was only when his attention fell to encompassing birch that she realized he¡¯d earned his line of sight. There was little point in concealing it anymore.

    ¡°What wood thing?¡± Octavia asked. She had a very vague idea of what he might¡¯ve meant.

    ¡°Cherry oak,¡± he answered, his voice low. ¡°Only one I recognize now. You taught me how to love it. Was that your idea?¡±

    Dark topic or not, she was somewhat flattered by his words. ¡°I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. I didn¡¯t even know you were getting them. Genuine coincidence. I didn¡¯t find out until after everyone brought them back.¡±

    Renato sighed deeply. ¡°Can I sit next to you?¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s your room,¡± Octavia offered, patting the soft sheets beside her. He obliged, comfortably close in a way she didn¡¯t quite mind.

    ¡°Do you think I should try them on?¡± Renato finally asked. She¡¯d wondered how long it would take to come up.

    ¡°Do you want to? There¡¯s absolutely no rush. No one expects you to right away.¡±

    ¡°I feel like everyone expects me to,¡± he answered, repeating an earlier sentiment.

    ¡°If they do, to hell with them. I¡¯ll give them hell if they say a word about it to you, either.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you are bein¡¯ extra nice to me today,¡± Renato jeered. ¡°I feel spoiled.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get used to it. Special occasion. The minute I leave this room, we¡¯re back to¡­whatever we¡¯ve usually got going on.¡±

    ¡°No forehead-touching in public?¡±

    ¡°I know with 100% certainty your girlfriend has the literal capability to kill people.¡±

    ¡°It was¡­nice,¡± he continued. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to mean that.¡±

    Octavia blushed. ¡°You are reading a little too much into this.¡±

    Renato turned his attention back towards the prosthetics. ¡°Do I actually need help to put these on, anyway?¡±

    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°You choose to ask me that now? Isn¡¯t that why you brought me in here?¡±

    He paused, his eyes drifting to the floor. ¡°Not¡­necessarily.¡±

    Octavia took a deep breath. ¡°If you¡­ever want to talk, all you have to do is ask.¡±

    Renato delicately laid one of his wrists atop the back of her hand, and she jolted beneath his sudden touch. Even so, she reciprocated the soft eye contact he offered. ¡°You too. I mean it.¡±

    For a moment, he gave her silence. ¡°You¡¯re not okay. I know you¡¯re not okay. We¡¯re not okay, either of us. Nothing is okay,¡± he continued. ¡°So let¡¯s be not okay together.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t find the words to respond. She didn¡¯t get the chance, and he filled in the gaps. ¡°What does it for you?¡±

    ¡°Does what?¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t your first time, was it?¡±

    ¡°First time with wha--¡±

    ¡°You know what,¡± Renato answered sharply.

    Octavia shifted uncomfortably on the bed, tangling her fingers together. ¡°Sundays.¡±

    His initially-puzzled expression gave way to wide eyes and sorrow. ¡°When the--¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Look at me,¡± he demanded for once.

    Octavia obliged. Renato''s gaze was just as sharp as his words, his eyes loaded with something she couldn¡¯t quite place.

    ¡°Every Sunday from now on, every single damn one. I don¡¯t care what time it is, I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m in bed or not, you come get me. You find me, and we stay together until it¡¯s over. Don¡¯t you dare sit in your room like that alone. Please. Got it?¡±

    She nodded, fighting the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. ¡°I¡­got it.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t give silence the chance to sneak between them again. ¡°And yes, to my understanding, they¡¯re designed so that you can put them on alone. You seem like you¡¯ve got the general hang of¡­using your wrists, for the most part. So, I mean, if you want me to, I can help, but it¡¯s up to you.¡±

    Renato chuckled. ¡°I think that might be the most intimate thing you could do for me right now. I¡¯m a little overstimulated. You¡¯re gettin¡¯ a guy flustered.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Then put them on yourself. Don¡¯t make this weird.¡±

    ¡°Not to say I¡¯m not a bit¡­scared. I dunno what they¡¯ll feel like. I know it won¡¯t be the same, and I know they¡¯re not the real deal, but I¡¯m still nervous. All of this is happening so fast.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°That¡¯s why I told them it was a stupid idea to rush you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m on a time limit, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    Octavia froze. ¡°For?¡±

    Renato¡¯s eyes wandered to the nightstand. She regretted following along, her gaze settling upon Mistral Asunder in time with his own. As to how long either stick, in turn, had rested uselessly out of reach, Octavia didn¡¯t bother trying to count the days. Were she to ask Renato, he might know anyway. He could turn his head and double-check, and still they would languish so near. Two slivers of cherry oak were the sickest of reminders, close and distant all at once. Octavia had almost succumbed to the same fate, if not worse. Today was rapidly becoming one of the days where she didn¡¯t regret drawing blood.

    ¡°They switch Maestros. Viola has a big mouth. I heard somethin¡¯ like that before, too, forgot from which one of us. Probably Vi, who, again, has a big mouth. You people sure can shout when you feel like it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that. It doesn¡¯t necessarily mean--¡±

    ¡°How can you tell when they¡¯ve given up on you?¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know,¡± Octavia answered feebly. ¡°The only one who would know is Viola¡¯s grandmother. Silver Brevada switched Maestras when she got too old to play anymore. I don¡¯t know how she formally found out.¡±

    ¡°Do you think if I go to play them, even with those fake hands, they¡¯ll still give me a chance? Do you think they¡¯ve¡­already decided I¡¯m not worth it?¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to rest her touch atop Renato¡¯s wrists, curling her fingertips around the clinging cloths. ¡°Maestro or not, you¡¯ll always be worth it. You¡¯ll always be important to me.¡±

    He smirked. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but notice the way you left out the ¡®you¡¯ll always be my friend¡¯ part.¡±

    ¡°Stop reading into it.¡±

    ¡°Are we ever doing that again?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Octavia deadpanned, peeling herself off the bed. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Stradivaria.¡±

    ¡°You think Stradivaria watched that whole thing?¡± he teased, watching as she urgently gathered the violin into her arms once more.

    ¡°He definitely did not, and if he did, it means nothing to him. Leaving.¡±

    ¡°What are we now, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Leaving!¡± she repeated, fighting a grin she couldn¡¯t erase from her lips.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    She stopped in her tracks, one hand wrapped around the doorknob. She didn¡¯t answer, nor did it matter. She could feel his smile pressing against her back.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he murmured.

    She closed her eyes, leaving the Maestro in her wake. ¡°Any time.¡±

    Ideally, there wouldn¡¯t be another. She knew better, for how she knew herself just the same.

    <hr>

    No one pressed. For that, she was grateful, although she doubted she would¡¯ve been honest with them to begin with. A smile had been enough to satisfy them, and the apologies she earned in turn were abundant. Her ire had largely eased, the moment since passed. In a perfect world, it wouldn¡¯t be back. She was used to trading sorrow for anger, and the opposite exchange was jarring. She was sorry enough, and yet she skipped apologies of her own. The violin in her arms offered another type of atonement altogether, should she follow that path.

    They weren¡¯t happy to be in the foyer again.

    ¡°Can¡¯t we go, like, anywhere else?¡± Harper whined. ¡°I feel like enough has happened in here for one day.¡±

    ¡°I need to talk about something serious.¡±

    The severity of her tone hit instantly. The four she¡¯d dragged into a unit gave their sincere attention, and she didn¡¯t let one nervous gaze go to waste. She took one deep breath.

    ¡°I know the past few weeks have been a mess. We went through a lot. I don¡¯t¡­blame anyone for trying to process that. Even so, there¡¯s still too much left. There¡¯s too much that doesn¡¯t make sense, and too much stuff that none of us understand. Maestros, my sister, all of it. What happened, happened. I hate it. I can¡¯t ignore it. None of us can, but we¡¯re still here. That¡­has to mean something.¡±

    She earned no response. It was a loaded sentiment, adorned with yet more. She could hardly give it form in the first place, every buzzing emotion stumbling and snagging in her throat. There was more, and always would be. If she truly tried to give a voice to distress, she¡¯d never speak normally again.

    ¡°Viola,¡± Octavia offered, ¡°do you¡­still want to defeat the Dissonance? All of it?¡±

    Viola¡¯s head snapped upwards so quickly that Octavia feared she''d break her neck. ¡°I¡­of course I do. I¡¯ll...find a way to make it happen. I know we haven¡¯t really gotten to--¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria has a way.¡±

    Every word on Viola¡¯s lips died instantly. She stilled, wide eyes matching perfectly with hitched breaths. For more than a moment, Octavia wondered if she was breathing at all.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± Josiah asked. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°What did he say to you?¡± Madrigal added.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know the details yet. He just said we have to be together for whatever this is. Honestly, even I don¡¯t know what this involves yet, and I¡­won¡¯t know until everyone agrees.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°That¡¯s¡­horrifying. We¡¯re agreeing to mystery terms?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°You don¡¯t have to.¡±

    To her surprise, he grinned. ¡°You must be crazy if you think I¡¯d have it any other way. You¡¯re not getting rid of me.¡±

    ¡°Or me!¡± Madrigal exclaimed. ¡°We¡¯re gonna fight the darkness together!¡±

    ¡°We are literally living in the same house. I think we¡¯d all end up in this, anyway. You¡¯re not the only one with questions,¡± Josiah added.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola finally breathed. ¡°I¡­I¡¯ll do whatever it takes. I¡¯ll do anything. I¡¯ll follow you to the ends of the earth, if that¡¯s how far I have to go.¡±

    Her words meant the most. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down,¡± she answered softly.

    It was enough, and consent to her whims was fourfold. It was easy. It was almost too easy, enough that the slack in her heart felt off. If they¡¯d continued to care all along, then her doubts left her the most toxic of all. She kicked herself several times over. She¡¯d cope with it later. Action came first, well within her grasp. Under her breath, she made her routine plea. For once, she felt positive about the outcome.

    ¡°Is that enough for you now?¡± she whispered to the violin in her arms. ¡°Four is plenty.¡±

    Five, it would seem.

    ¡°God, why are you people always so damn loud?¡±

    Twice today had his voice brought the same room to a screeching silence. His footsteps echoed, quicker and lighter by comparison. He was physically okay, granted. It didn¡¯t necessarily negate any aggravation of his own, should he still harbor any. Again, she was holding her breath. Even casual as his approach was, she feared for what awkward atmosphere his presence alone risked dragging in. She did what she could to stop it before it started.

    ¡°Renato, we¡­need you. There¡¯s something we have to--¡±

    ¡°Maestro stuff?¡± he asked.

    She blinked slowly. She nodded. ¡°Maestro stuff.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°That was easy,¡± Josiah muttered.

    ¡°But I didn¡¯t even tell you what¡¯s going on yet,¡± Octavia pressed.

    Renato shrugged. ¡°You don¡¯t need to. If you guys are involved, I¡¯m involved. That¡¯s how that works. We doin¡¯ this now, or what?¡±

    Usually, the eyes that fell to him in passing were hesitant and wary. He was delicate, handled with fragile words and uncomfortable fear. For once, hesitation was absent, traded on every side for wide-eyed surprise. It wasn¡¯t quite shock. It got close enough. Octavia didn¡¯t mind, nor could she battle the beaming smile that erupted onto her lips when her eyes raced down his arms. ¡°I mean, I¡­don¡¯t see why not.¡±

    With one cherry oak thumbs-up offered to her, he flashed Octavia the most wonderful grin she¡¯d seen in a long time. ¡°Then let¡¯s get to it.¡±

 [EXTRA] 30.5. Rush and Recoil

    Of the two things someone would choose to gamble, one made much more sense than the other. Money was a given. Whatever exactly had come afterwards was still exceedingly confusing.

    Granted, he was grateful for the financial aspect. It was enough to secure somewhere warm last night, by which he hadn¡¯t been forced to sleep outside again. It wouldn¡¯t have been the end of the world. Still, a bed was preferable, as was reprieve from evening breezes that often dipped into annoyingly-low chills. He celebrated one small victory, although he¡¯d done enough of that last night.

    It was their fault for underestimating him. Age was irrelevant. He knew his way around their games well enough. Even with eight peaceful hours in his hands and sunlight blessing him through warm glass, he¡¯d still made off with more than enough to afford the trip to Coda. He¡¯d be set for a while.

    It left the sticks.

    He¡¯d been fidgeting with them up until he¡¯d fallen asleep--and for the majority of the morning, really. He mostly just enjoyed the smooth texture of the wood in his hands as he organized his thoughts. They were shockingly comfortable between his fingers, and he¡¯d already taken to spinning them absentmindedly. The feeling was far more satisfying than he¡¯d expected it to be. Renato indulged it.

    He¡¯d already inspected them at every conceivable angle, and still he was no closer to understanding exactly what warranted their establishment as a reward. If they were simply unwanted, embellished behind honeyed words to appear otherwise, he at least now owned something slightly amusing. They were pretty, if nothing else, for as pretty as two literal slivers of wood could be. The color was nice. He raised one aloft, stretching his arm just enough to capture the sneaking sunbeams that crossed his bedsheets. It didn¡¯t quite leave the wood glistening, but he very much respected the glow.

    Under the right light, it was almost red. He liked it. The little pattern pressed into the base was equally admirable, ensnaring the same sunshine with much the same splendor. Renato trailed his thumb along it carefully, quietly admiring the way it dipped beneath his touch.

    What he¡¯d seen of Whitebrook had been nice. Coddled by nature as it was, he could understand its namesake. He was lucky he¡¯d gotten as far as he had with anything slightly more exciting than greenery, and he¡¯d had enough surprises in the past few days to leave him satisfied. He could cross it off the list, then.

    He hadn¡¯t had the chance to mess around in the eastern side of Mezzoria yet. He¡¯d get to all of it, eventually. He¡¯d get beyond it, maybe, if he could figure out how. For now, this was an extremely solid start. From what he¡¯d been told of Coda, it sounded flawless. The picture that had been painted for him was lively, thriving, fast-paced, and ever-changing. For the capital, it made sense. It made for an excellent next stop, and he¡¯d relish taking his time. He had as much of it as he wanted, after all.

    Renato sighed, crossing his legs comfortably as his eyes kissed the ceiling. Coda was far enough from Selbright. If he liked it enough, maybe he could stay someday. It wouldn¡¯t be any time soon. There was still too much left to do.

    Again and again, he twirled one little stick between his fingers playfully. It was almost a reflexive motion, and he kept catching himself doing it without realizing. The mildest hint of nerves that came with the thought of Selbright were blunted by distraction, and he offered gratitude to the tiny slice of wood. Renato smiled weakly, stilling his hand just as quickly with a sharp flick of his wrist.

    He was suddenly extremely grateful the inn only had one floor.

    The boom that followed nearly killed him. It would¡¯ve surely killed whoever was directly above him, had there been anyone in the first place. He jolted fiercely, left to do little more than helplessly drink in the showering flakes of paint and brick that steadily crashed to his bedsheets. Entire bricks followed, as did wood. He wasn¡¯t immune to shingles, nor was he immune to the full splendor of blue skies brought inside. Renato curled up into a ball reflexively, swearing sharply as what had once been the ceiling rained down into his room. What peeking glances he could steal through fingers guarding his face found symmetry. It was perfectly round, a uniform blow that left the building wounded precisely and neatly.

    He peered up at the open sky endlessly, more than disoriented in the wake of the blast. Only one hand had come to his face. The other lay extended still, his wrist angled outwards and the stick still more than secure in his rising fingers. The gash in the masonry lay beyond its rounded tip, and he blinked with immense confusion. For a moment, he didn¡¯t dare move. The rest of the building would explode next, maybe. This would be a weird place to die. It¡¯d be unexpected, at least.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Someone was shouting. The pounding followed, although every bang upon the door was much more natural. He hadn¡¯t locked it. They figured that out soon enough.

    ¡°I, uh, I¡¯m good!¡± Renato called, clearing his throat uncomfortably. ¡°I think!¡±

    The innkeeper took it less positively. What fear and concern he¡¯d shirked hit her tenfold instead, and her eyes went wide with horror as she entered the room. ¡°What the hell happened? My God, are you alright?¡±

    Renato clasped both sticks in one hand, waving the other dismissively. ¡°No, seriously, I¡¯m fine! Don¡¯t sweat it. Have you guys, like¡­needed repairs or something recently? Because that just kinda¡­happened.¡±

    He pointed accordingly. He probably didn¡¯t need to. She was already staring.

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t¡­did something fall?¡± she stammered. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±

    Renato rose to his feet slowly, dusting bits of broken bricks and splintered wood from his vest. ¡°Look, I was already heading out in a bit, so you¡¯re more than welcome to¡­check it out, do whatever you¡¯ve gotta do, all that fun stuff. I paid last night, so we¡¯re cool, right?¡±

    The innkeeper eyed him with confusion. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±

    Already, he¡¯d slipped behind her, more than halfway out the door with moderately-hurried steps. He flashed her the smoothest grin he could toss together. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m alright, I mean it. Nice meeting you. Thanks for everything. Good luck with that, sorry it happened, wish you the best.¡±

    He didn¡¯t stay to see her reaction. Already, people were prying, curious visitors gravitating in the direction he¡¯d just left. He didn¡¯t sprint, even if he wanted to. It took effort to temper his steps, disoriented as he was. Renato moved down the hallway as quickly as was possible, clinging to what aura of composure he could exude. For now, he stuffed the little sticks into the inner pockets of his vest. It was the safest place he could think to stash them.

    The one and only suspicion he had was a massive reach. He was probably going insane. Still, the split second by which his blood had burned was scathingly unsettling. At the very least, he doubted they¡¯d blame someone his age for whatever brutal damage had been done. It solved exactly one half of his problems.

    <hr>

    Most of his interest in Whitebrook had been for the city proper, as was typically the case. For once, the splendor of nature had its benefits. He was more or less running the moment he was out of view, trading cobblestone streets for abundant grass and greenery as he dove past beaten paths. There was no shortage of foliage, towering and clustered enough to shade him in full. He¡¯d get lost in it, maybe. He was always lost. It was nothing new, and it was exactly how he liked it.

    He avoided the side with the river, although he could still hear it from here. He had enough sunshine to spare him from utter darkness, and yet enough darkness to spare him from wandering eyes. He doubted anyone would actively press this far into a forest well beyond the outskirts of the city. The place he settled on wasn¡¯t condensed, and he had more than enough room to move around. If he was wrong--which he probably was--then at least he¡¯d taken steps to ensure his safety. If he was right, then it would¡¯ve paid off. At that point, his greater issue would¡¯ve been that he was right at all.

    Renato sighed. With the distant trickle of the flowing river as his one companion in silence, he withdrew two wooden sticks from the interior of his vest. This was ridiculous.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The irritation he¡¯d had at himself for entertaining the idea melted, somewhat, the moment they were in his hands again. Once more, it was a comfortable feeling that left his skin warm. Renato flexed his fingers around either stick slowly, satisfied again with the sensation of the material in his palms. Beneath the open sunshine, they were perhaps even more resplendent, glowing with just the slightest hint more of red. For a moment, he was satisfied with just that. The urge to simply savor them in his touch again was mildly pressing. Still, it wasn¡¯t what he was here for. He wasn¡¯t exactly sure what he was here for, really.

    He fixed his eyes forward upon nothing, his absent gaze falling mostly useless onto the open air. One stick came outstretched in his steady hand, level with the horizon as he slid his foot backwards. He had no idea what he was doing. He had little frame of reference, for how strikingly fast the moment had come and gone. He hadn¡¯t hated the way it burned, nor was he even certain it had really been a burn at all. He needed it again.

    He was still in that manner for more than a moment, unmoving as he speared the tip at distant greenery alone. Waiting was fruitless, and only the breeze came to greet him. The soft rustle of leaves on every side was louder than his tiny groan of annoyance. Renato gave up on waiting entirely. If he couldn¡¯t recall the sensation, he could at least recall the movement.

    Whether or not the result would be identical was debatable. If nothing else, it was worth a shot. He thought to twirl the little stick between his fingers for good measure, if he truly wanted to retrace his steps. Still, he forewent the concept. Instead, with as much of a swift and controlled motion as he could muster, Renato raised his leveled wrist aloft slightly. He gave a sharp flick forwards, and his blood exploded.

    Boom.

    So did the rest of him.

    He didn¡¯t scream. Shock and confusion set in first, as did prioritizing the pain that accompanied impact. Renato was airborne instantly, hurtling backwards at a speed that left him tumbling again and again. He didn¡¯t hit his head, at least, although his back didn¡¯t take the blow much better. The tree that broke his fall wasn¡¯t kind about it, and he groaned in pain as he crashed to the soft earth at last. His ears were ringing fiercely. It took time for him to pry himself off the ground, fingers flexing instinctively in search of two halves of wood once nestled between. They were still there. He wasn¡¯t quite sure why that was his greatest relief right now, compared to what new flavor of concussion he could¡¯ve just unleashed on himself.

    Where he¡¯d expected his head to be throbbing, it came from his blood instead. It wasn¡¯t overwhelmingly obvious, and he first thought he was simply overreacting. Still, each heartbeat--racing as they were--felt stronger. The steady, rhythmic pulsing in every vein was all-encompassing, radiant from his head to his toes. By no means did he hate it. It felt warm. With care and effort, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the mild ache that accompanied the movement.

    He made for the same spot, hallmarked by scattered grass and splattered sod. It hadn¡¯t punched deep, and yet still left more than a mess. He found his footing, steadying himself once again as he leveled the wooden tip beyond. Renato took one deep breath, lowering his body to the ground slightly. If he was careful, he could maybe stay on his feet.

    Again, he offered up the same fluid motion. He arose, he flicked, and he exploded.

    To his immense credit, he came exceedingly close to keeping perfect balance. The boom that erupted from the little stick was deafening, and he didn¡¯t have the luxury to cover his ears at such a range. Again, they were ringing viciously, although he never quite passed the threshold of true pain. The recoil was incredibly strong, and it was his one bane as he staggered and stumbled. It knocked him off his feet, and he fell to the ground once more. Freed of airborne repulsion, at least, he could drink in the hurtling sod and savor the now-prevalent sensation.

    It was definitely unmistakable the second time around, and Renato was outright staring at his occupied palms as he rested in the grass. His blood was absolutely pulsing, hot and burning in its own right. In time with every last rhythmic heartbeat that ebbed and flowed, he was nearly vibrating. He could swear his blood was rippling, blighted by the repulsive shock in a way that left him resonating from within. It didn¡¯t hurt. He liked it. He squeezed either stick tightly, somewhat disoriented as he rose to his feet beneath the chronic throbbing.

    He adjusted his hat and braced once more. He definitely wouldn¡¯t fall this time.

    He offered up both rather than one, extending his wrists in tandem towards distant foliage. It might¡¯ve been more dangerous, given his inability to withstand even one blow. He was impatient. He had all the time he wanted, anyway. Renato raised them higher than before, the red tint of the wood just barely gleaming beneath the sunlight as he brought his wrists swiftly down.

    If he wanted to stay on his feet, that, then, was a terrible idea.

    The boom he earned was twice as loud, and he did genuinely near the threshold of audible pain this time. He was airborne again, sailing relentlessly in reverse with little more than a yelp of surprise to show for it. At the very least, he missed the trees, and it was soft grass that caught him with thud after tumbling thud. It didn¡¯t feel pleasant regardless. When he raised his eyes, he found plenty more dirt where he¡¯d already upturned enough. It was definitely getting messier. That was irrelevant. His blood was more important.

    The feeling had already been palpable and strong, by which he¡¯d observed it in every conceivable part of his body. He was electric on the inside, his veins thrumming and searing in time with the blood that continued to pulse. Everything was on fire. Everything was burning, and the hands so effortlessly clinging to the little sticks throbbed most wonderfully of all. His heart was a metronome, and the steady vibration he was blessed with within again and again left him lightheaded for a moment. He wasn¡¯t overexerted at all, nor was he in any intolerable amount of pain. Still, he was having trouble catching his breath. Renato grinned. He couldn¡¯t help it, breathless or otherwise.

    It felt good.

    It felt really, really good.

    He was back on his feet again. At this point, it hardly mattered if his balance was stolen anymore. If it earned him more of the same feeling, it was worth it. He didn¡¯t shy away from his two-handed approach, nor did he raise them with quite so much hesitation. Once more, his wrists were aloft, and once more did beautiful red steal the sun. He was getting used to it. Renato found one deep breath this time, coming down hard against the open air with one more boom to show for it. Under no circumstances was his balance to be kept, even if he¡¯d been aware of the recoil to come. Still, it was utterly delightful, and it vibrated throughout every inch of his body in a way that gave him chills. He embraced it, knocked well in reverse and staggering in the process. It took time for him to actually lose his footing in full. That was new.

    It gave him a chance to bear witness to the innocent earth he¡¯d assaulted, grass flattened and dirt scattered. The fanning marks carved not-so-subtly into the ground spoke to pressure he unleashed time and again. Isolated as he was, he didn¡¯t particularly regret the mess. He augmented it the moment he was upright. With little more than adjustments of his hat and sleeves to precede his ministrations, he experimented.

    He forewent using them both. The little sticks took turns, and it took significant effort to brace accordingly. The delay was nearly nonexistent, and yet the recoil was growing familiar. It absolutely did not hurt. He could take it. He very much wanted to take it, and it left him with zero fear. A brilliant grin took its place, and Renato flicked one extended wrist upon the open air. If it sent him crashing to the ground again, he wasn¡¯t even particularly sure he¡¯d mind.

    The boom left erupting outwards was by no means soft, nor was the recoil any more gentle. The grass suffered, the air wobbled, and his ears rang. The latter wasn¡¯t quite as severe as before, although the former were both every bit as violent. Renato was standing. It wasn¡¯t by much, and he was forced to steal at least two steps in reverse. The support he found was enough. Every burst was part of him, echoing throughout his soul and exploding through his fingertips. If there was recoil, then so, too, was he part of that. His blood was throbbing permanently, at this point, and he was mildly convinced his veins were going to melt. It felt absolutely phenomenal. He did it again.

    And again. And again. And again, and again, by which he was annihilating the open air with explosive boom after boom. If someone heard him, he very much did not care. He was running out of grass, thoroughly displaced as it was. Where he¡¯d banished the tranquil sounds of a distant river and the gentle breeze, he was vaguely aware of his own laughter. He couldn¡¯t help it.

    Every ounce of his heart felt divine, and his hands were full of bliss. If he could melt into every burst, sudden and powerful as they were, he probably would. Already, the little sticks were part of his hands, two extensions of his touch meant to live between his fingers forever. They were natural. As to why they hadn¡¯t always been there, he couldn¡¯t imagine. He loved it.

    There came a point when he stopped fearing simultaneous usage altogether, and Renato embraced both in tandem as he brought his wrists crashing down once more. It went far. It went much, much further than he¡¯d intended, well beyond the imaginary stopping point he¡¯d drawn on the horizon. Where he¡¯d previously claimed only untimely earth as his victim, his explosive prowess carried to foliage beyond.

    One singular boom was every bit as impossibly loud, a force unseen leaving wood splintering in every direction. It was living wood left in his wake this time around, live maple splintered with an incredible crack that left leaves sailing and branches hurtling. The tree lay more or less obliterated, gnarled fragments of roots and crumpled bark raining upon the earth. With arms extended, he was still. He blinked exactly twice before it hit.

    Renato grinned so brightly he could¡¯ve sworn his face would split in half. He didn¡¯t need to know what they were. All that mattered was how far they could take him, in every conceivable way. He had time. He had all the time he wanted, and never had he been so grateful. His heart was aflame and his blood was identical. He¡¯d never come down again, and there was more than enough room to fuel his wonderful fire.

    He cracked his neck. Coda could wait.

 31. Luminous

    Octavia had earned new stressors lately. One came in the form of processing how her companions had agreed to collaborate so quickly, given both the stipulations and the languishing timeframe prior. Where she¡¯d hoped to find it sweet, she hadn¡¯t fully processed the bitter aftertaste. The stipulations themselves were of equal concern, and she had absolutely no idea what she was getting into. She had no clarity to offer, and no one would offer it to her in turn. The extent of her current actions came down to whatever the magical talking violin wanted. As such, going insane was a stressor of its own.

    Stradivaria was straightforward, granted. Still, his guidelines were as strict as they were cryptic. Instruments at the ready. Total isolation. An open space, ideally, and minds just as open. For how indirect she¡¯d learned him to be, Octavia half-expected him to curse her with additional restrictions. She¡¯d find out at the most inopportune time, probably. Where she couldn¡¯t doubt her faith in his whims, she could at least doubt her competency to live up to his task. She could doubt the validity of dragging the others down with her. She could doubt whatever had possessed her to listen to Renato in any capacity.

    ¡°It¡¯s a good idea. It checks off every single box you¡¯re asking for. Quiet, lonesome, open, nature all around, no one¡¯s gonna pass by, everything.¡±

    ¡°Do you even remember where it is?¡± Octavia groaned. She was learning about the well-adored recent sunshine first-hand today. The spontaneous voyage was absolutely not helping.

    ¡°How could he forget? He made an absolute mess,¡± Viola hissed. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been nearly long enough for anything he destroyed to grow back again.¡±

    Renato rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°You are never gonna let me live that down, are you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nostalgic,¡± Madrigal gushed, hands pressed delicately against her own cheeks. ¡°It¡¯s where we first met.¡±

    Harper gave a single nod. ¡°Ah. We¡¯re going to the Renato Crater I¡¯ve heard so much about.¡±

    Renato¡¯s grin dripped with far too much satisfaction. ¡°Damn, we gave it a name?¡±

    ¡°You gave it a name,¡± Octavia corrected, spearing one sharp finger in Harper¡¯s direction. When he only shrugged playfully in response, she bristled somewhat. ¡°We¡¯re not calling it that.¡±

    ¡°Any of this making sense, Josiah?¡± Harper called over his shoulder.

    Josiah shook his head with a smirk. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    The unfortunately-named ¡°Renato Crater¡± in question was about as distant as Octavia remembered. At the very least, she wasn¡¯t sprinting towards explosions this time. Regardless, it still took considerable effort to pry her way through downed branches and assorted floral debris. The forest had earned some mild opportunity to recover, despite Viola¡¯s insistence as to the contrary. Moss had reclaimed stumps, somewhat. Weeds once blasted to pieces had battled past stray sticks, now climbing towards the sun once more. That didn¡¯t make it any less of a complete and utter mess. Renato spoke of his own natural disaster with excessive pride. Octavia hadn¡¯t decided if it was a testament to his incredible prowess or his unmatched talent for being unfathomably annoying.

    He was onto something, to be fair. True to his words, the handmade catastrophe fit the criteria. Octavia strongly doubted they¡¯d be intruded upon so deep into the forest, provided one Maestro didn¡¯t opt to throw the world into chaos again. At this point, she took what peace she could get. Given the specific combination of people at her back, she doubted it would last. The tree branch that nailed Viola in the face didn¡¯t help.

    Still, Renato¡¯s subsequent laughter did her good. Octavia had been trying not to stare at the prosthetics. So, too, had she been failing just as phenomenally. He wore them well. The way by which he touched them to one another repeatedly was perhaps absentminded, given how often it happened. The joints hadn¡¯t been for show alone, and careful pressure had left him capable of skilled positioning. He could grasp, if he wanted, and he could bear weight much the same. The thought put into the concept was impressive, and doubly so, for how well it succeeded. His smile was of far higher priority.

    And still, newly blessed with an adjusted grip or not, he¡¯d banished Mistral Asunder to the inner confines of his vest instantly. Octavia had expected sentimentality, somewhat. It might¡¯ve been her fault alone.

    ¡°Behold, my masterpiece,¡± Renato declared, spreading his arms wide across what effectively amounted to nothing. ¡°The Renato Crater at last.¡±

    The epicenter was worse. It was horrific, really, cursed with splintered oaks and scattered leaves that spoke to a bursting storm. His annihilation had endured in the worst way, and Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she recognized specific felled trees on sight. If nothing else, it handed her the worst of tripping hazards. Viola exhaled sharply. Madrigal clapped her hands with delight. Josiah physically recoiled.

    ¡°Oh, absolutely not. I¡¯m moving the sticks, this is gonna drive me insane,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Harper asked.

    Already, Josiah was gradually snatching up every splintered fragment he could stack in two arms. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly a ¡®mess¡¯ kind of guy.¡±

    Harper smiled, emulating his actions one stick at a time. ¡°We¡¯ll at least try to keep your sanity intact.¡±

    There came chaos even weeks later in the form of an emotional mess, splattered about the clearing in turn. Viola replaced fallen debris with raining obscenities. Madrigal¡¯s sparkle left behind debris of its own, born of Renato¡¯s every flirtatious reminder--Octavia wished she¡¯d missed the ¡°where my princess and I first met¡± line that crossed her ears. Two boys did a good enough job with the sticks. She did a good enough job generating a headache. They hadn¡¯t even started yet.

    She slipped Stradivaria¡¯s case from her shoulder, gently tugging at every necessary zipper as she indulged in quieter company within. He was the most normal companionship she was going to get right now. ¡°This good enough?¡± she murmured under her breath.

    It will suffice.

    ¡°Are you planning to explain whatever this is to everyone, or am I supposed to be your interpreter or something?¡±

    Do you mean to ask if they will hear my voice?

    Octavia paused for a moment. ¡°Can they?¡±

    Do you wish it to be so?

    There was the briefest moment of greed where she entertained rejecting his offer, confusing as it was. Stradivaria was her partner, after all. His voice, too, was perhaps her right alone. That wasn¡¯t the point. ¡°What happens if I say yes, exactly?¡±

    It was Stradivaria¡¯s turn to pause. Gather them.

    ¡°Could we collectively pull ourselves together, please?¡± Octavia called with the slightest touch of annoyance, cupping her hands over her mouth.

    To the credit of the boys, she could see the grass. It wasn¡¯t perfectly tidy, and yet speckled splinters had given way to walking room. Josiah didn¡¯t seem pleased at being told to stop, regardless. The other three were easy enough. She was still learning new words from one of them against her will. The moment she¡¯d earned five sets of eyes, she had no idea what to do with them. Her fault. She tensed.

    ¡°What, uh¡­what now?¡± she whispered aloud.

    At least two tilted their heads, their squinting noticeable from afar. If they were reading her lips, it was all the more awkward. She¡¯d claimed their full attention, and yet she offered her voice only to the one in her head. She stifled the creeping embarrassment that slowly snuck under her skin.

    Octavia.

    She sighed, unable to dispel the touch of irritation in her words. ¡°Yes, Stradivaria?¡±

    What do you imagine me to look like?

    Octavia blinked. Of everything he¡¯d asked of her, nothing could¡¯ve caught her more off guard. The words on her tongue felt ridiculous already. ¡°You¡¯re¡­a violin. You look like a violin.¡±

    When he fell silent, she felt like an idiot. ¡°Is there a right answer to this?¡± she whispered once more.

    Again, the amusement she caught in his voice was striking--if not fleeting at the most humiliating time. Were I not tethered to this vessel, then, how would you perceive my soul? In what manner would I present?

    Five people were absolutely staring at her debating with herself. It was only the second most embarrassing problem at the moment. ¡°Vessel? What does this have to do with--¡±

    Answer. Answer from the heart. You will not be incorrect.

    It took intense effort to bite back questions that came with questions. She threw her eyes into the cleansed grass, entertaining the next of his inexplicable tasks. This entire venture was getting abnormal by the second. For him and him only, she still tried. It still felt weird.

    ¡°You¡¯re probably an interesting guy. Tall, maybe. Not that you sound tall--I¡¯m not even sure what it means to sound tall, but you get what I mean, I think? Your voice is kinda deep, so maybe an older-ish man? Not too old, obviously, but definitely a strong adult. You might--¡±

    You mean to say a human.

    Octavia''s words trailed off to a half-hearted stop. ¡°I mean, yeah, what else?¡±

    Is this your choice from the heart?

    She dug the tip of her boot into the dirt absentmindedly. ¡°You told me there were no wrong answers, right? I can¡¯t really see you as anything but. What else would it even be?¡±

    Once again, he made a soft sound of amusement--granted, no longer in the company of her embarrassment. Indeed. There are no wrong answers, he repeated.

    She was so enamored with her silent sod harassment underfoot that every contrasting thud made her jump. Her eyes chased the noise, and they caught Silver Brevada¡¯s case in the gravel. So, too, did Royal Orleans¡¯ own follow along. Madrigal shuffled through her bag softly. Octavia tilted her head.

    Discards came with embraces. Silver, brass, and gold shimmered beneath the kind sunshine in abundance, confused gazes coming to rest upon silent partners in turn. Settled neatly into three sets of arms, not one Maestro shed a speck of confidence at their actions. Neither did Octavia, raising an eyebrow as she hugged Stradivaria to her chest.

    ¡°You guys good?¡± Octavia asked

    ¡°I, uh¡­I don¡¯t know?¡± Harper stammered, gripping Royal Orleans slightly tighter.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I just¡­felt the need to take it out. I¡¯m not sure why. Something felt¡­off.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s smile was a constant. The befuddlement was new, and it still laid splashed clear across her face. ¡°Lyra wanted to come say hi to everyone, maybe.¡±

    Josiah, too, could do little but raise an eyebrow, cursed with empty hands as he was. ¡°This is¡­new,¡± he offered plainly. ¡°Has this happened before?¡±

    Viola shook her head once more. ¡°Never. At least, not that I can remember. Octavia?¡±

    Octavia nodded in return, peering down at the violin in her embrace. His presence was always comforting, and that much was expected. The warmth was constant. The needy urge at the back of her mind was fresh, inexplicable, and irresistible. She didn¡¯t particularly dislike it. She stared at him for far longer than she¡¯d intended to.

    ¡°H-Hey.¡±

    There was precisely one person whose grasp was just as barren as Josiah¡¯s. He had options, by comparison, nestled near to his heart even now. Cherry oak fingertips ever so slowly inched towards the home of yet more, trembling along the way. His eyes drifted downwards just as slowly, tracking every tiny movement of his false hands as they crawled along the air.

    ¡°You alright?¡± Octavia asked.

    Renato shook his head, watching in silence as his own fingertips breached the fabric. Octavia was granted the privilege of witnessing his newly-blessed grip firsthand, by which two sticks born to explode snuggled into his palms once more. The contrast of cherry oak upon cherry oak was striking. In any other circumstance, it would¡¯ve been enough to warm Octavia¡¯s heart. At the moment, she was primarily baffled.

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing this,¡± he breathed.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t doing it either,¡± Harper reassured.

    Viola nodded in agreement, her eyes briefly flickering down to the flute. ¡°Same.¡±

    ¡°Just go with it,¡± Madrigal said.

    The silence that followed his grasp was almost painful, collective as it was. Tiny beads of sweat plagued his skin, and his breaths hastened in the absolute slightest. He stared at either stick with eyes far wider than were necessary. Octavia couldn¡¯t catch the glass inside this time. That was one relief. It was still enough of a cause for concern, and she briefly wondered if he would panic again. She wouldn¡¯t blame him if he did, given how long it had been since the instrument had called its Maestro home. She was guilty of staring, much the same.

    ¡°Stradivaria? What¡¯s happening?¡± she whispered.

    Your sister actually chose cats.

    She didn¡¯t get the chance to process his words. What followed almost instantly was the most brilliant and beautiful light she¡¯d ever witnessed in her life, birthed from the bridge of the violin. It wasn¡¯t hot, and yet was still radiant enough to send one shielding hand rushing over her eyes. It took immense effort to peek through the gaps between her fingers. On every side, she was assailed by spectacular rays of white and wispy gold, stars born inches from her skin. She couldn¡¯t look directly at it. She didn¡¯t dare look away, even so. Whatever the others saw, at that moment, was completely irrelevant. Whatever she was experiencing was beyond comprehension.

    The inexplicable luminescence that erupted before her didn¡¯t obscure her peripheral vision in full. She wasn¡¯t immune to royal sapphires, striking scarlets, and gentle viridians that blossomed into brilliant fireworks beyond her eyes. She couldn¡¯t believe her eyesight in the first place, and she¡¯d perhaps never trust it again. She might never be complacent with natural-born colors for the rest of her life, after this. There was nothing more beautiful, and of that, she was certain.

    Eternity was bliss, and she didn¡¯t mind the time it took for the radiance to settle. Gorgeous brilliance coagulated into shapes over uncontrolled hues, spindly and expansive all the same. It stretched, fanning and morphing in manners that were initially far more disorienting than even the flash that had preceded. She was grasping for patterns in the face of the aimless, for how she caught dripping rays and shifting curves.

    If she squinted, she could playfully guess at unraveling appendages. She could guess at sloping shoulders. She could guess at spindling luminescence that grew into frames, round and featureless as they rose in height. There came a point where she was no longer guessing. There came a point where she was left in awe, dazzled by heavenly glows that greeted her with ethereal grace. Before her eyes, a person was born.

    She blinked. She blinked again. She blinked thrice over, and still, she found the same. She repeated it within, nonsensical as it was. A person was born, right where she could see.

    The dimming gleam was manageable, easing the strain on her watery eyes. The floating afterimages blighting her retinas were only mildly annoying, for how the divine scene was of far more interest. Of the outline, unmistakably human in every way, she couldn¡¯t blame an afterimage in turn. She couldn¡¯t dismiss it, try as she might. It was there, it waited, and it glowed even now. With certainty, it was no human she¡¯d ever seen.

    The lack of facial features was jarring, initially, although not so severely as she¡¯d expected. The radiant visage observed her from above, levitating almost three full feet at minimum from the useless grass below. There were no eyes for her to meet, and yet she offered up her own with every speck of wonder she could find. There were no ears that could hear her inquiries, nor a mouth that could give her answers. Her heart should¡¯ve been racing. Instead, she was calm, and that, too, was inexplicable. She faced her stranger without fear, the distance not so distant at all. She hesitated to ask, and her singular fear came with being incorrect.

    Still, there were no wrong answers.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± Octavia tried, her voice tiny.

    Her luminescent stranger nodded what she¡¯d conceived to be a head. Her heart skipped far too many beats in a row. ¡°You are correct.¡±

    To hear him aloud was perhaps the most jarring of all, and she physically recoiled at the sound. His words were meant to live inside her mind, and the audible cadence of his response in her ears felt surreal. The rich, deep tones of his masculine voice were no longer hers to claim, for how they surely touched five sets of ears around her. That wasn¡¯t important right now. More than anything, he was lovely, cloaked in milky brilliance that belonged in the night sky. It was all he was, aglow with the softest of yellowing whites as he met her adoring gaze. Just the same, it was all she could ever desire.

    ¡°You¡¯re beautiful. Like a star.¡±

    When he expressed the same soft hum of amusement she¡¯d begun to appreciate, she smiled. His voice was as warm aloud as it was within, if not more so. Asking him to talk more would be weird, probably. She resisted the urge.

    ¡°So you¡¯re a person, then? I don¡¯t¡­understand,¡± she continued timidly.

    ¡°Is that not what you imagined me to be?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not like any person I¡¯ve ever seen, you know.¡±

    ¡°You dislike this form, then?¡±

    Octavia shook her head, beaming in earnest. ¡°I love it.¡±

    ¡°Flattery will get you nowhere.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t him. It was far from his warmth, sharp and yet paved with smooth masculinity all the same. ¡°Nor will clinging to those foolish nicknames you¡¯ve grown fond of.¡±

    Octavia cast her eyes to the right, and she traded gentle stars for vivid blues. Crystalline hues were striking, and the second presence more so. It wasn¡¯t Stradivaria alone who clung to luminescence, light incarnate blessing her twice over. Gorgeous in every way all the same, the additional visage was more than enough to flood her with surprise once more. If the look on Viola¡¯s face meant anything, she wasn¡¯t the only one stricken with shock. Silver Brevada was aloft, utterly still as its Maestra refused to blink. At the very least, Octavia had adopted wonder. Viola had settled on horror, apparently, more than petrified.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°There is no need for hostilities,¡± Stradivaria chided gently. Scolding or not, Octavia still adored the tones of his reproach. She could get used to this.

    Glowing golds were elegant. Abrasive cerulean wasn¡¯t. She could¡¯ve sworn this one was crossing its arms, if she interpreted the motion right--let alone the extremities. She still wasn¡¯t fully certain she was interpreting the silhouettes correctly at all. Either way, it wasn¡¯t nearly as imposing. The green one was.

    The angelic luster that crowned Madrigal from behind was resplendent in every way, shaming Stradivaria in a manner borderline impossible--impossible as their existences already were. The features didn¡¯t match the former two, supple and soft. They curved, delicately rounded around smooth edges at multiple angles. That which cascaded in earnest down what could pass as a back spoke to glimmering streams, rippling rivers that insulted the nature around them. It was vibrant, lovingly viridian. She couldn¡¯t envision it as masculine, try as she might.

    ¡°That you would still be so brash in the face of liberation is unsurprising. Temper your tongue,¡± it spoke with mild disdain. Octavia had been exceedingly correct about the femininity, gentle and pleasing as it came.

    She didn¡¯t get to cling to the comfort. She¡¯d heard this one before. She couldn¡¯t place where, immediately. When it clicked, it was still just as nonsensical, for as recently as it had touched her ears. Yet more clicked with it. She kept her mouth shut and watched.

    ¡°And you, do you decline to use yours? Oddly silent for what I would¡¯ve expected,¡± the azure specter spat.

    Octavia initially believed the harsh words to sting femininity alone. She was half-correct, although the color was notably different. Crimson was smaller, equally aglow and notably petite. It was silent, vibrant, and still lovely enough to excuse complete peace. Harper was taking it well, somehow, calm eyes raised in silence much the same.

    ¡°You were only now born unto this form, and yet you have already grown bitter. Have you no shame?¡± Stradivaria scolded once more. ¡°Quite the first impression.¡±

    ¡°I need impress you not,¡± the blue one said. ¡°For you would not be easily impressed, would you?¡±

    Of every response he could¡¯ve given, Octavia could sworn she heard Stradivaria sigh. It was enough for her to stifle a laugh. Human as he appeared and confused as she was, the concept of him emoting not dissimilar to herself left his visage all the more convincing. She got more out of it than she should¡¯ve.

    ¡°Lyra.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s voice was enough for every Maestro¡¯s head to snap in her direction. Her eyes were aloft with a different flavor of wonder altogether. The namesake of her singular statement lay cradled in her arms with love, and the melting smile on her lips spoke to utter bliss. Octavia held her breath, straining for the slightest syllable of confirmation.

    Glistening green nodded. Octavia¡¯s hypothesis settled neatly into place. It was simultaneously enough to warrant a sigh of relief and the skipping heartbeats that came with it. Her revelation was threefold, for how three more observers wore open shock upon their faces.

    ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t believe it,¡± Viola breathed, her voice trembling. Even now, the flute was still shimmering relentlessly beneath pouring sunlight, extended and stilled forever. ¡°Are you serious?¡±

    Harper never once tore his eyes from his personal scarlet stranger. ¡°Then¡­wouldn¡¯t that mean¡­¡±

    Josiah was less subtle. He flicked one pointed finger slowly between each of the four luminous interlopers. ¡°Are you¡­all of you?¡±

    Stradivaria only nodded, unfazed. ¡°I suppose introductions are in order.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Introductions?¡±

    When Stradivaria lowered himself to her level, she couldn¡¯t fight the blush that crept onto her face. Their distance already hadn¡¯t been significant. Now, so near to him, he wasn¡¯t as otherworldly as she¡¯d made him out to be. He really, truly did resemble a human--intangible, luminous, or otherwise. It did wonders for her heart. In a way, she was meeting him all over again.

    ¡°You know me by Stradivaria,¡± he began. ¡°Would you still remember my true name?¡±

    It took her a moment.

    It took her another, prior, simply to figure out what he¡¯d meant. She¡¯d heard the alias exactly once. The moniker was not hers to claim, possibly, gracing her ears in passing alone. Blurred and ominous words upon the lips of a white-clad child were all she could keep. Her memories were blurred in turn, left to languish somewhere beneath warm sands long abandoned. Of the girl, she couldn¡¯t scrape together the name at the moment. Of him, if she fought for it, she could do her best.

    ¡°Stratos,¡± Octavia tried. ¡°Right?¡±

    He hummed in satisfaction--honest to God satisfaction--that made her heart sing. ¡°Very good.¡±

    Praise for her, in his voice, was making her feel much warmer than it should¡¯ve. ¡°I¡¯m¡­Octavia,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°And for the second time, it is a pleasure to meet you, Octavia.¡±

    Octavia beamed. She offered him a deep curtsey, pinching the edges of her dress. ¡°Do you want me to call you Stratos from now on?¡±

    For a moment, he was motionless. When he bowed in return, it was enough for her heart to race yet again. She couldn¡¯t help it, left to watch as his radiant hand came to settle over a radiant heart of his own--unseen as it was. ¡°You may call me whatever brings you joy,¡± he offered, his tone as pleasant as his actions.

    ¡°You will call me by my true name, only, then,¡± came a brazen voice she was beginning to grow used to.

    The blue one was talking to her, for once. She was distracted enough by her own partner that she almost didn¡¯t notice. His bow was nothing if not dramatic, by comparison. ¡°You may address me as Brava. It would do you well to remember.¡±

    His gaze fell abruptly to Viola. Only then did she finally pull Silver Brevada close to her heart, her skittish body language betraying her poor attempts at exuding a calm demeanor. Octavia could swear she saw the Maestra begin to sweat beneath his eyeless gaze, summer sun be damned.

    ¡°As to my partner,¡± he spoke confidently, ¡°would you return the favor?¡±

    Viola cleared her throat with the most pitiful cough Octavia had ever heard. She managed a surprisingly-steady curtsey of her own regardless, and it was impressive. ¡°V-Viola Vacanti,¡± she stammered, her voice cracking. ¡°A pleasure to work with you.¡±

    The deep hmm Viola¡¯s partner returned lacked the warmth of Stradivaria¡¯s--Stratos¡¯, rather--in a way that came somewhat unsettling. The introduction was still good enough for him, apparently. ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Not once had Octavia ever seen Madrigal in such absolute bliss, even in her most adoring moments with Renato. Her voice oozed pure happiness, sweet and overflowing. ¡°Lyra,¡± she murmured dreamily, ¡°you know who I am, right?¡±

    Her lovely partner gave a gentle laugh, a beautiful and graceful sound laced with love in its own right. ¡°My Magical Madrigal, of course. And you would know me in turn.¡±

    Madrigal nodded fervently, one hand cast skyward towards her companion above. ¡°Madrigal and Lyra, together at last!¡±

    The gesture of Lyra, ultimately fruitless as it may have been, tenderly cupping Madrigal¡¯s hand between two radiant appendages warmed Octavia¡¯s heart. She enjoyed her own smile, warm on behalf of a different partner entirely.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    Harper¡¯s soft voice paired well with the silence of his partner, still holding fast to salutations of their own. Were it herself, Octavia would¡¯ve been intimidated. She knew Harper¡¯s heart better than that.

    It took several seconds of gentle eye contact to encourage a response. When his luminescent companion did so at last, Octavia was impressed by the way her voice practically mirrored Harper¡¯s own in volume and intent. The cadence, too, was delicate and feminine in a way that stood apart from Lyra¡¯s own.

    ¡°You are¡­unique,¡± she spoke, her voice somewhat monotone. Still, her words were touched by something tender.

    Harper¡¯s eyes widened somewhat. His soft smile never wavered, regardless. ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡±

    She was silent for a moment before continuing. ¡°What would you like me to call you?¡±

    Harper beamed in earnest. ¡°Harper,¡± he replied simply.

    The petite figure bowed, muted by comparison to her radiant companions. A simple downward tilt of her head and folded fingers were enough. ¡°I am called Orleanna.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lovely name,¡± Harper praised.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± came her flat answer. Even so, her monotone expressions didn¡¯t conceal just the slightest hint of satisfaction that crept into her words.

    ¡°And as to you two,¡± Brava began, his voice plagued by dissatisfaction, ¡°will you inconvenience us all ever further? Let us simply complete our pleasantries at last. Your selfishness becomes you.¡±

    His pointed words fell to no one, at first. It wasn¡¯t until words equally pointed erupted in aggravation that Octavia found a fifth brilliant being, and yet more disorientation that came with it. She found a sixth shortly after. She raised an eyebrow.

    Renato didn¡¯t have one partner, apparently. He had two, and neither would face him.

    ¡°Man, what the hell is going on anymore?¡± he nearly shouted, throwing his arms high in exasperation. With one stick still tightly entangled in five respective cherry oak fingers, Octavia was pleasantly surprised he hadn¡¯t outright launched them in the shock of the moment. ¡°You two are supposed to be my partners? Can we confirm or deny that, please?¡±

    There were two silhouettes born of light before him, and that was the first surprise. They were odd in other ways, mismatched with four luminous companions bound to calmer Maestros. Milky brilliance was of a different style than Stradivaria¡¯s own, the gentlest of ivories traded for stark whites in turn. Where he was a glowing star, they were the most patient of comets, sleek and marred by hints of silver.

    They were small, and Octavia could hardly perceive them as adults--provided she was supposed to be assigning them ages at all. If the others were expressive by body language alone, then those that floated aloft outdid them tenfold. Of what humanity their company had missed, they made up for in excess with every movement. They didn¡¯t offer many in the first place. Really, they didn¡¯t offer Renato anything but their backs.

    He winced, his eyes darting to each surrounding radiant presence pleadingly. ¡°Hey, you guys, are they supposed to be ignoring me? Everyone else got a warm welcome.¡±

    ¡°Cease your impudence,¡± Lyra snapped, casting her harsh gaze towards the pair. ¡°Show respect for your partner.¡±

    ¡°In regards to what?¡± one asked, a timbre simultaneously shrill and smooth. Octavia could sort the others neatly, slotted into variable masculinity or gentle femininity. Right now, she couldn¡¯t choose either one.

    ¡°There is little to respect,¡± came the other silhouette aglow, each word tinted by a pitch slightly higher.

    ¡°Nice to meet you, too,¡± Renato grumbled. ¡°Yo, Harper, can we trade?¡±

    Harper chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m partial to mine, sorry.¡±

    ¡°Do as you will, then. Your introductions will not be your own,¡± Brava said, his voice laced with irritation.

    ¡°Mente and Aste. Forgive their foolishness,¡± Lyra apologized, bowing to Renato in turn.

    Renato crossed his arms, the tips of both drumsticks just barely snagging the edges of his vest. ¡°Seriously? What the hell is their problem?¡±

    ¡°He is hardly worth calling our own,¡± one answered. Whether it was Mente or Aste, Octavia was unsure.

    ¡°How, uh¡­how can you tell them apart?¡± she asked aloud.

    Stratos sighed. ¡°The higher tone is that of Aste.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®your own¡¯?¡± Renato muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t belong to anyone, least of all you two.¡±

    ¡°You are arrogant,¡± one spoke again. Lower as it came, Octavia dismissed it as Mente.

    ¡°And brash,¡± Aste added.

    ¡°Stubborn.¡±

    ¡°Reckless.¡±

    ¡°Ignorant.¡±

    ¡°Ill-mannered.¡±

    ¡°Good God, you guys have some big mouths,¡± Renato spat. ¡°No, seriously, anyone wanna switch?¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± Lyra comforted. ¡°Their words are empty. If they truly refuted your touch, you would know not their alias.¡±

    Renato relaxed his arms somewhat. ¡°Alias?¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have told you their name,¡± Josiah offered. He seemed comfortable enough, lounging on the remains of a tree stump with surprising poise. Granted, he was more or less uninvolved, left to watch calmly.

    The irritation on Renato¡¯s face melted into something smug. He settled on a small smirk. ¡°Oh. They¡¯re shy, then? Talkin¡¯ big to cover it up?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of the sort,¡± Mente growled.

    ¡°Ahh,¡± Renato teased. ¡°You really do like me.¡±

    ¡°Come off it.¡±

    ¡°Aww, you guys are kinda cute.¡±

    ¡°You are nothing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m ¡®your own¡¯, apparently.¡±

    ¡°Can we pause this for a second?¡± Viola groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°I already have a headache. What exactly is happening?¡±

    Again, Stratos seemed almost to sigh. ¡°It is your leader that has given us form and shared our voices with those she treasures.¡±

    ¡°L-Leader?¡± Octavia stammered with a wince.

    ¡°Our brave and fearless leader,¡± Harper joked, hands on his hips in jest.

    Viola, too, couldn¡¯t keep herself from teasing. ¡°¡®Treasures¡¯, huh?¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria!¡± Octavia hissed under her breath, more than embarrassed. His unresponsiveness only served to stress her further.

    ¡°She still uses his nickname,¡± Josiah said with a smirk. ¡°Cute.¡±

    Octavia tugged violently at her braids. Fighting the blush was impossible. She wanted to curl up and die.

    ¡°It is through her heart that we stand before you,¡± Stratos went on, oblivious to his partner¡¯s plight. ¡°Such is her gift.¡±

    ¡°Laying it on a bit thick, aren¡¯t we?¡± Octavia muttered, still clutching her braids for dear life.

    He shook his head. ¡°I mean as I say. You and I are one and the same.¡±

    Her puzzled expression was permission to continue, one hand sweeping over each Maestro in turn. ¡°As are you all, of each to whom your bond is true. From their own blood do you descend.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you guys, like, made out of light?¡± Josiah asked, crossing his legs comfortably. ¡°What blood?¡±

    Brava chuckled. ¡°I suppose ¡®blood¡¯ means not the same to you, boy, as to us. Just as well, do you truly think we would stand before you in this manner of our own accord?¡±

    ¡°Were it not for this child, perhaps it would not be light,¡± Lyra added. ¡°Although there is no precedent as to the contrary, nor would there be.¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°It¡¯s her light powers, then? That¡¯s why?¡±

    ¡°And to think we were this close to fire people,¡± Harper joked.

    ¡°¡®Light powers¡¯, did you say?¡± Brava asked. ¡°Is this truly the phrase you have chosen?¡±

    ¡°Now, Brava,¡± Lyra chastised. ¡°You could not expect otherwise.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Is there a name for them, then? The¡­things we can do?¡±

    ¡°I must have misheard, did you refer to them as powers of that child¡¯s own? I cannot help but laugh,¡± Brava continued.

    ¡°Brava!¡± Lyra snapped.

    ¡°Legacies,¡± Orleanna spoke softly. The sound of her voice, juxtaposed against her louder companions, was jarring.

    When she declined to continue, Renato reached out. ¡°Legacies?¡±

    ¡°You of the Strong,¡± Stratos offered, one finger pointed sharply at Renato. ¡°He who Orleanna calls her own, one of the Willful.¡±

    When Stratos¡¯ gesture shifted accordingly to Harper, the boy¡¯s eyes widened. Octavia was absolutely not immune to the same. The words were achingly familiar.

    ¡°She is of the Spirited,¡± he went on, indicating Madrigal in turn. ¡°Brava¡¯s own, she is--¡±

    ¡°Stop.¡±

    One flat palm was a plea for silence. Stratos obliged. Where Viola raised her hand, he lowered his own.

    ¡°What is it, child?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Before you tell me,¡± Viola began, ¡°is it, by any chance, something to do with souls?¡±

    She knew, too. It left nothing but Octavia¡¯s eyes cast high, tethered to Stradivaria in suspense.

    It took him far too long to nod. ¡°You of the Soulful, it is true.¡±

    And when he turned to face her at last, Octavia knew what was to come. She beat him to it, somewhere between confident and not.

    ¡°And me, it¡¯s¡­something to do with hearts, right?¡± Octavia asked timidly.

    He hummed in soft satisfaction once more. What anxieties she¡¯d had melted instantly, just as they had every time prior. ¡°My own of the Heartful. You know more than I would have anticipated. How is this true?¡±

    ¡°I may take credit for that folly, I believe,¡± Brava confessed. ¡°One from my past may have spoken of such. She was always one to hold her secrets close. I suppose something has changed, to that end.¡±

    Viola¡¯s grin was instant and explosive. ¡°Do you remember her?¡±

    Brava laughed, a hearty sound with a volume that initially startled Octavia. ¡°How could I forget, girl? Her size spoke to nothing of her skill. She was a fine one, undeniably.¡±

    The pride reflected on Viola¡¯s face was contagious, and Octavia couldn¡¯t battle a smile. It was the first true satisfaction she¡¯d seen from luminescence so boisterous. If it left Viola aglow in her own way, she could perhaps tolerate him after all.

    Renato, immune to the moment, scoffed. ¡°Took damn long enough to give it a name.¡±

    ¡°When you say it¡¯s Octavia¡¯s ¡®gift¡¯, then, what do you mean?¡± Josiah asked.

    Stratos crossed his arms. ¡°It is solely the gift of those of the Heartful that we may be shared with this world.¡±

    ¡°So let me ask something, then,¡± Harper began.

    When he paused for a moment, so did every voice around him. ¡°Who are you, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Sincerely, where did you even conceive of the phrase ¡®Harmonial Instruments¡¯?¡± Brava chided. ¡°The terms you children cling to are utterly asinine.¡±

    ¡°Brava,¡± Lyra warned, her tone sharp once more.

    ¡°We are Muses,¡± Orleanna murmured. Soft as she spoke, it again took effort for Octavia to catch her words. She was grateful for the echo Madrigal provided.

    ¡°Muses?¡±

    ¡°We who breathed life into all,¡± Lyra clarified. ¡°Perhaps you possess another term in your own tongue.¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°I have one idea, but I¡¯m gonna sound seriously stupid if I¡¯m wrong. Can you¡­clarify a bit more first?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Where once was none came all, and so, too, came we. From then, this world was born. It is by our touch that this realm should--¡±

    Exasperated, Josiah buried his face in his hands. ¡°Okay, apparently, I¡¯m right. You¡¯re gods.¡±

    Viola fell silent. Eventually, she raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡­doesn¡¯t even make sense. An hour ago, you were musical instruments. Why would¡­gods be spending all their time in flutes and violins?¡±

    ¡°It is¡­a tragic tale,¡± Lyra sighed.

    ¡°No, hold up, we¡¯re not letting that go,¡± Renato spoke, waving one drumstick back and forth dramatically. ¡°Gods. You¡¯re serious?¡±

    ¡°You chose that term yourselves,¡± Brava reminded.

    ¡°Like, gods gods? ¡®Creators of the world and everything in it¡¯ kind of gods? ¡®Heaven and Hell¡¯ kind of gods? You¡¯re full of it.¡±

    ¡°You do not believe us,¡± Orleanna spoke plainly.

    ¡°Kind of a big thing to drop,¡± Harper added. ¡°I mean, earlier today I was pretty sure you were a magical trumpet.¡±

    ¡°We are not truly the first,¡± Stratos offered. ¡°There is one above, our Lord of All.¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes, well beyond exasperated. ¡°Okay, so there¡¯s a¡­god god. On top of more gods. And that works¡­how, exactly?¡±

    ¡°I think you may be believing we are something that we are not,¡± Lyra said.

    ¡°So you¡¯re not gods, then,¡± Viola attempted to clarify.

    ¡°Again comes that phrase,¡± Brava spoke, agitation just barely beginning to touch his words.

    Viola was starting to match with her partner, in that way. ¡°Are you or are you not?¡±

    Stratos was grasping at what order remained. Octavia could hear it in his voice. ¡°Once again, we are Muses. We are all that is and all that will be. Although this is the form by which your leader perceives us, it is not our truth. We are the wind, the flames, the glaciers, and the storms upon this realm. We are the very sounds that grace those of this world.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± Octavia murmured, ¡°you¡¯re¡­sound? I don¡¯t understand. I can¡¯t wrap my head around what you are.¡±

    ¡°Need you know what I am to hear my words?¡± he asked softly. If she squinted, he almost sounded concerned.

    She shook her head. Ultimately, he was right. The sooner she stopped thinking about it, the better. It still bothered her, regardless.

    ¡°You will surely not be satisfied with whatever answers we offer you,¡± Brava scoffed. ¡°View us as you will, but do have the decency to call us what we are. Are you listening, girl?¡±

    His pointed gaze fell to Viola. She bristled. ¡°Why did you single me out?¡±

    ¡°Lyra is Lyra, and that¡¯s all that matters,¡± Madrigal said with a smile, still content to lock loving eyes with her partner. ¡°As long as she¡¯s with me, I couldn¡¯t be happier.¡±

    ¡°Wish I could say the same,¡± Renato grumbled, glaring at his two neglectful partners. Even now, they still shunned his existence aloft. ¡°It¡¯s starting to get a little less cute.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, are you overwhelmed?¡± Stratos asked.

    His attention drifted to her, the concern in his tone seeping directly into her heart. It was a phenomenal feeling, and she adored it. She shook her head fervently. ¡°I¡¯m okay. I can keep going. I¡¯ll take whatever you have.¡±

    ¡°And as to your companions?¡±

    She smiled. ¡°It¡¯s their fault for coming with me. They earned this, too.¡±

    He hummed again. ¡°Very good. You¡¯ve done well thus far.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, I--¡±

    ¡°But know this,¡± he warned, ¡°what is to follow is unpleasant. I would¡­not blame you if you wish to rest after hearing my words. For your own sake, I implore you to be honest. There is no shame in returning to this endeavor another day.¡±

    Octavia chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re building this up so much that I¡¯m starting to get curious.¡±

    He made no acknowledgement of her jest. The faceless stare he gave her instead was more uncomfortable than it should¡¯ve been, bound to a moment equally loaded. She didn¡¯t especially like it.

    ¡°To all,¡± he announced, his smooth voice both broad and composed, ¡°I implore you to listen. To the Soulful child, more than any.¡±

    Viola quickly raised her head, stiffening silently beneath his words. He continued.

    ¡°That which pervades this realm, suffering that should never have tainted your world. It can be cleansed. Know this to be true.¡±

    Her face was wonderful. Her happiness was contagious, preceded by shock or otherwise. Her mouth was agape, her tears almost instant as they fled down her cheeks. They were excessive, and Octavia couldn¡¯t blame her. Four smiles flanked her, coupled with their own shock and surprise. They were immediately irrelevant by comparison. Viola was wordless, shaking with such vivacity that Octavia feared she¡¯d collapse. She considered running to catch the Maestra. She considered running to embrace her in general. She¡¯d spoken of Stradivaria¡¯s claim by proxy before. To hear it from his own lips was different. To see the sheer relief in her eyes was worth it. That, alone, was nearly enough for Octavia to cry, too.

    ¡°Even so, know that there is a price to pay.¡±

    It was an eternal smile. Octavia could cling to it for just as long. For the affirmation alone, given the salvation of Viola¡¯s heart, it was all she could do to thank Stradivaria. She turned to him with words of gratitude on her lips, her own grateful sparkle outdoing even the radiance that he was.

    Octavia never made it that far. He turned to her first.

    ¡°And it will fall upon you.¡±

 32. The Task at Hand

    It was the worst way for him to crush her joy. Octavia thought she¡¯d misheard, initially. Each word was vague, just as she¡¯d long since learned him to be. She was almost afraid to press. It was her fault for diving this deep in the first place, and she¡¯d pressed him for far longer than this. There were eyes on her, human in nature or a luminous lack thereof. She didn¡¯t care. Her confused gaze was for Stratos alone.

    ¡°It¡¯ll¡­fall on me?¡± she asked meekly.

    He nodded. ¡°If it is your wish to heal this world, then that price is yours alone to pay.¡±

    ¡°You tell an incomplete truth,¡± Lyra interrupted. ¡°The burden falls on all.¡±

    Stratos declined to face her, his attention meant only for his partner. ¡°A singular toll is nothing in the face of such sacrifice.¡±

    When Lyra didn¡¯t respond, Stratos continued. ¡°If you choose, and I must emphasize that it is not your burden--¡±

    ¡°Cease your foolishness,¡± Brava spat. ¡°We have not the time to find another.¡±

    ¡°I will speak as I must!¡± Stratos snapped. His raised voice was more unsettling than his actual words.

    ¡°Then tell all! Your cowardice shows,¡± Brava retaliated, throwing his arms into the air.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she murmured. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±

    His tone was soft and pained. ¡°Octavia, if you undertake this task, we, too, would be saved from our own suffering. I would¡­like to preface that.¡±

    ¡°Coward,¡± Brava called again. ¡°Will you next beg? Will you grovel and plead to a child? Say it!¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± Octavia repeated firmly, ¡°what do you want me to do?¡±

    Silence threatened to strangle her. Distressed or not, Stratos¡¯ heavy inhale was a relief. ¡°It is the sole gift of the Heartful that they may bear witness to our pains. Such is decreed by my Lord of All. There may be only one.¡±

    Her confusion was enough for him to continue. ¡°Without one of your legacy to bear this burden, we cannot return.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Return¡­where?¡±

    ¡°For all that is good, Stratos, pull yourself together and speak your mind! You speak in circles like a fool. If you do not say what you mean, I will do so myself!¡± Brava shouted.

    For the briefest of moments, Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she saw a flash of sorrow on Stratos¡¯ featureless face. ¡°To the place from which we came.¡±

    ¡°Heaven?¡± she asked softly.

    He shook his head. ¡°Above.¡±

    She didn¡¯t enjoy the word. She had a distaste for ¡°below¡±, much the same. She¡¯d avoided them as much as possible in the last several weeks. The smooth tones of his voice, even for how she¡¯d come to enjoy them, couldn¡¯t block out the poison that came with the phrase. Octavia¡¯s hands grew clammy. Focusing on him was difficult.

    ¡°Are you¡­not supposed to be here?¡± she tried anyway.

    Wordlessly, he shook his head once more. It was enough for her heart to ache, whether or not she understood in full.

    ¡°You sincerely believe we chose to walk upon this world of our own accord?¡± Brava said. ¡°Who among us would be so foolish, save for Sh--¡±

    ¡°We,¡± Lyra interrupted sharply, ¡°through a sequence of tragic events, cannot return on our own. The benefit of the Witnessing is twofold. It would¡­do us a great service. We would be forever indebted.¡±

    ¡°The Witnessing, huh,¡± Josiah murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering,¡± Madrigal began, resting her head delicately against the top of Lyra¡¯s Repose. ¡°How did you all get here in the first place? Why are you here?¡±

    Complete silence, even from Brava, was enough to leave a chill trickling down Octavia¡¯s spine. Stratos didn¡¯t let it last.

    ¡°To each of our¡­I suppose you would call them ¡®Maestros¡¯, correct? To each of our own, they¡¯ve their respective burdens to bear. It pales in comparison to that which you would undertake, and yet still would weigh upon each in their own way.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re also screwed, basically,¡± Renato interpreted.

    Viola stung him with a sharp glare. ¡°Shut up.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s something we can do to help,¡± Madrigal offered, ¡°then we¡¯ll do whatever we can. It¡¯s not fair for everything to be Octavia¡¯s burden.¡±

    Ominous clarification or not, it left Octavia with a smile. She gave it to Madrigal, and Madrigal returned one far brighter. It was a warmth not so luminescent, for once.

    ¡°Each will pay the toll,¡± Orleanna added quietly. ¡°No less than one. The sacrifice is not to be forsaken.¡±

    ¡°H-Hey, I¡¯m not exactly a huge fan of that word,¡± Harper stammered. ¡°Where is this going?¡±

    Lyra shook her head. ¡°Fret not. From what I have gathered, you children have already done what is necessary.¡±

    ¡°Not all of them,¡± Brava muttered. ¡°Your own has known only peace, of this I have no doubt.¡±

    ¡°Have you no shame, nor sense as to when to temper your ignorant tongue?¡± Lyra spat. If she could scowl, radiant features be damned, Octavia imagined she would. ¡°On the contrary to what lies you have led yourself to swallow, you do not know all that is to know.¡±

    ¡°I kind of like it when they fight,¡± Josiah mumbled. Even given the situation, he at least managed to fish a snicker out of Harper.

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®what is necessary¡¯?¡± Viola pressed. ¡°What did we do, exactly?¡±

    ¡°At the very least, I could speak to the Willful one and the Heartful one. That much is true without question,¡± Brava went on. ¡°My own, as well. As to the others, it is not so.¡±

    ¡°Do not make haste,¡± Stratos warned. ¡°Octavia, I will clarify. To pay the toll is to--¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± came Aste¡¯s long-silent, shrill words, ¡°was the Apex¡¯s own not enabled by her interloping ways, she, too, would have paid her toll long ago.¡±

    ¡°I would not have allowed it to be so,¡± Lyra growled. Even in her anger, shoulders hunched and hands curled into fists, Octavia found her every bit as beautiful.

    ¡°One could not call it a loss to this world. Now, rather, her chance has been wasted in favor of frivolous and material joys,¡± Mente continued.

    Renato blinked. ¡°The hell are you two talkin¡¯ about?¡±

    ¡°Nothing you deserve to hear, child,¡± Lyra answered, her voice still tinged with aggravation. ¡°I suggest you give no thought to their venom.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s an Apex?¡± Josiah asked. He earned no answer.

    ¡°We are not two to speak, when our own bears no fruit himself,¡± Aste spat. ¡°If you would squander the chance to claim ours, perhaps we should claim yours instead.¡±

    In Lyra¡¯s brief moment of silence, the simple aura of her ire was enough to choke Octavia from afar. ¡°Were you to harm one hair on this child¡¯s head, I would destroy you.¡±

    ¡°Wait a damn minute,¡± Renato growled. ¡°If you two are talkin¡¯ about Maddie, I¡¯d kill you myself!¡±

    In the split instant that he found himself face-to-face with Mente, their bodies mere inches apart, he sparsely had time to jump in surprise. ¡°If she did not feel the same, then, what would you do? In the face of her resolve, would you possess the fortitude to fight back, oh he of the Strong?¡±

    There was the slightest moment in which his deadly glare faltered, and it took extra effort to keep his composure. ¡°Maddie wouldn¡¯t. You two don¡¯t know anything about me, or her, or any of us. I¡¯m gettin¡¯ real sick of this already.¡±

    ¡°I would never hurt him!¡± Madrigal cried, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

    ¡°What the hell is a toll?¡± Octavia exclaimed, curled fingers aloft in frustration. No amount of flexing them into fists was calming in any way.

    Her outburst was enough to earn a momentary silence, somewhat more of a relief than she¡¯d expected it to be. She was well aware of her racing heartbeat and rising aggravation, and yet both were impossible to taper in full. She didn¡¯t bother breaking the peace herself. It was a collective surprise when Orleanna took the initiative over Stratos.

    ¡°Blood must be shed,¡± the Muse murmured. ¡°Touched by the mistakes we brought to this world, we will atone by claiming those who have suffered at our hands.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, perhaps this is enough for today,¡± Stratos interjected.

    ¡°We have to kill people?¡± Viola whispered, just barely loud enough for Octavia to catch her breathless terror.

    Josiah, once calm, sported eyes no longer immune to the same. ¡°Wait a minute, they just said some of you already ¡®paid the toll¡¯, right? And none of¡­¡±

    He trailed off. Wandering gazes flickered, split-second motions touching her skin in a manner impossible to conceal. If they¡¯d tried to hide it, they did so horrifically. Octavia knew. She didn¡¯t dare return a single one, nor count exactly how many had stung her in succession. She wanted to run. She wanted to throw up. If she couldn¡¯t forget, then she wished that they would.

    To his credit, he tried to salvage what he could. He failed. ¡°That¡¯s¡­not the case for¡­I mean¡­¡±

    ¡°How can our tolls be paid if we¡¯ve never¡­killed anyone?¡± Harper asked tentatively. Direct as he was, he was at least gentle about it.

    If the solemn atmosphere was contagious, Orleanna didn¡¯t seem fazed. ¡°It need not be by your own hands. The toll need simply be by virtue of malicious influence.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°The darkness?¡±

    When Brava raised one hand in anticipation--to chastise the Maestra¡¯s terminology, probably--Orleanna cut him off instantly. ¡°Sequential events birthed from a single true encounter with the Dissonance.¡±

    Josiah leaned backwards onto his palms, shutting his eyes to spare himself from the fiery sun above. ¡°Guess we have the same word for that, at least.¡±

    ¡°Like a¡­cause and effect sort of thing?¡± Viola attempted to clarify. ¡°Am I understanding that right?¡±

    Orleanna nodded, her petite figure bobbing in the slightest. ¡°It need not be an execution. The toll may simply be an untimely demise, unnatural at the hands of that which should not be.¡±

    ¡°People who died¡­due to Dissonance, in some way,¡± Octavia interpreted.

    Renato again crossed his arms defiantly. ¡°And everyone¡¯s gotta give one up?¡±

    In tandem, Orleanna again nodded. ¡°There is no limitation.¡±

    ¡°Is there a benefit? To having more than one, I mean?¡±

    ¡°On the contrary,¡± she answered. ¡°There is a detriment.¡±

    ¡°Where does Octavia come in with all of this?¡± Viola asked. ¡°She¡­you said she¡¯s got something different to do?¡±

    Stratos didn¡¯t offer his attention to the Maestra, instead fixating on his own partner once more. Lowering himself to her level again, Octavia relished the feeling of his warmth so near to her skin. For whatever heavy words he could lay upon her, his presence alone was enough to assuage her fears.

    ¡°Octavia, my child, I will remind you that this is no¡­simple burden.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Witnessing. I heard Lyra say it. What is it?¡±

    He paused for a moment before continuing. ¡°It is a fate I would not wish upon any. You must see each toll through to its end.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    He did what he physically could to wrap two hands around one of her own. The benign heat that tickled her fingertips was not unwelcome, and she didn¡¯t recoil beneath the contact. Slowly, she curled her fingers inward, clinging to the tingling warmth.

    ¡°You, who would see through their eyes, would alone bear witness to their demise,¡± he uttered.

    Still, she could only shake her head. ¡°I still don¡¯t get what you mean.¡±

    ¡°This is what it means to bear witness, to perform the Witnessing. You alone are tasked to witness their pain.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t clicking, no matter how she tried to swallow his words. ¡°Stradivaria, I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­don¡¯t get it. I know you¡¯re trying to explain, but--¡±

    ¡°You have to watch them die.¡±

    Octavia hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d yanked herself out of Stradivaria¡¯s warm touch until long after her eyes had locked with Viola¡¯s. The Maestra¡¯s words were equally as foreign.

    Stratos, too, had surrendered his attention. It left only Viola¡¯s labored breaths to fill the weighted air, each one rattling on the way out. The voice that followed, too, was shaking in their wake. Viola ripped her harsh gaze from Octavia, pinning it to her partner instead. ¡°Octavia¡­would have to watch them die. Am I correct?¡±

    When Stratos only nodded, his gestures silent as ever, Viola¡¯s eyes narrowed. Gone was her makeshift calm. Disgust took its place. ¡°You¡¯re sick,¡± she spat.

    ¡°I¡­apologize,¡± Stratos breathed. ¡°I truly do.¡±

    It sank in for Viola quickly. It wasn¡¯t as contagious fourfold, and the revelation spread like poison. There was no repulsion to match Viola¡¯s own, granted. Even so, there still wasn¡¯t a shred of acceptance offered in its place.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­all of them?¡± Harper murmured. ¡°Every single one?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head fervently, her curls bouncing against her shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s horrible!¡±

    ¡°So what, like, go back in time and rewatch them or something? Like a film?¡± Renato asked, unable to halt the waver in his own voice.

    ¡°There is a process,¡± Orleanna said. ¡°Nonetheless, they are memories to be relived, up until their final breaths.¡±

    ¡°Relived,¡± Josiah echoed. ¡°So it¡¯s not just watching, she¡¯s gotta stand in their freakin¡¯ shoes? That¡¯s¡­disgusting.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t a fan of the idea of dying already. To do so multiple times was a petrifying concept. She still hadn¡¯t fully come to terms with the idea that he wasn¡¯t joking. He was playful enough with her as it was, subtle about it or otherwise. It would be morbid, for him, granted. Luminescence wasn¡¯t all that was floating right now. It wasn¡¯t voluntary. Even if she kicked and struggled, she doubted she could touch the ground. The first words out of her mouth were a reflex born of disbelief.

    ¡°How many times?¡± she asked under her breath.

    Stratos didn¡¯t respond. Silence wasn¡¯t an answer.

    ¡°How many times?¡± she repeated, battling the rising bubble of panic in her throat.

    Lyra''s words weren''t a comfort. ¡°There is no way to be certain. One is not restrained by any number of tolls, and would--¡±

    ¡°At minimum,¡± Octavia breathed heavily. ¡°At bare minimum, how many times?¡±

    Even Orleanna, for as honest as she¡¯d been thus far, hesitated momentarily. ¡°You must account at least once for each of us.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s efforts to cling to composure were failing. She was agitated, and her voice quaked. Every syllable was strained and sharp. ¡°How many times?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Stratos averted his faceless gaze. Something about his stolen attention was more shattering than any of his sick truths.

    ¡°Ninety-six.¡±

    She wanted to vomit. She almost did.

    Viola and Renato were nearly in unison with their subsequent exclamation of shock. ¡°Ninety-six?¡±

    Josiah leapt to his feet immediately. ¡°One for each¡­there¡¯s ninety-six of you?¡±

    ¡°Octavia, Stratos said you don¡¯t have to,¡± Madrigal offered, her voice nearly pleading. ¡°Right?¡±

    It was too much. It was too fast. Her head was spinning, and the world came with it. The number was a minimum, by which the end could chase her for far longer. As to what it entailed, she didn¡¯t want to know. As to what it looked like, she didn¡¯t want to know. As to what it felt like, she didn¡¯t want to know. She didn¡¯t want to know. She didn¡¯t want to know. He was definitely joking.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡± Octavia murmured, her voice trembling. She didn¡¯t know why she asked. She already knew that she didn¡¯t want the answer.

    Only now did Stratos find the heart to comfort her, once more rushing to her side with concern. ¡°I assure you, it will not be painful to your body. No harm will come to your physical form.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t say anything about my mind,¡± she whispered.

    ¡°I¡­Octavia, this is my greatest concern. I know all too well that no one could wish for this role. It is for those reasons that I offer you the opportunity to step away from this path.¡±

    She watched him with empty eyes, her heart racing in the worst way. ¡°What¡¯ll happen to you if I don¡¯t? To all of you?¡±

    He didn¡¯t match her gaze, fearful as she knew it to be. The hurt in his words spoke for itself, a far cry from the radiant guardian she¡¯d imagined him to be. ¡°We will remain as we are. We will await the next of your legacy who would lay down their peace so that others may be freed--whether of this world or not.¡±

    ¡°And if no one comes?¡±

    ¡°Then no one comes.¡±

    ¡°Forever?¡±

    ¡°It is true.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°But that¡¯s¡­not fair to you, either.¡±

    ¡°Then would you take on the burden, child?¡± Brava asked, his bold voice in stark contrast with Stratos¡¯ own broken tone.

    Her roaming eyes caught only equal helplessness, every Maestro frozen and hesitant in their own right. For how much attention fell to her, plagued with anticipation, she offered her attention to one alone. Her expression was an indiscernible mess. Octavia had a vague idea why. Behind the distressed gaze, she hunted for validation. When she didn¡¯t earn it, she pried for words bearing the same.

    ¡°Viola.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± the Maestra whimpered.

    ¡°It¡¯s the only way.¡±

    ¡°We can¡­find a different one.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think there is a different one.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t choose because of me.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this what you wanted?¡±

    ¡°Not at the cost of you!¡± Viola cried. ¡°I didn¡¯t want this!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no other way. This is¡­how we can fix everything. We could save people.¡±

    ¡°But what about you? Who¡¯s going to save you?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands trembled. She couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­need anyone to save me. I can do it. I can do this.¡±

    Whether she was talking to herself or to Viola, she wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°I just¡­need to hear you say it,¡± she pressed.

    ¡°Say what?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Say that this is the right thing to do.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a choice I can make for you,¡± Viola snapped. ¡°You need to do that for yourself.¡±

    It hurt. Her heart ached, and she only trembled more. If there was one person who would¡¯ve understood her hesitation, it was the one who wanted this more than she did. For more reasons than one, this entire endeavor was painful. She hadn¡¯t even started yet.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola began again, her voice hardly more than a murmur.

    Wordlessly, Octavia raised her head. Viola¡¯s eyes shimmered. Every word that followed her subtle sorrow was startlingly level.

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯ll follow you wherever you go,¡± she said. ¡°All of us will. If this is really what you want, we¡¯ll¡­support you however we can. You don¡¯t have to do this alone.¡±

    She already knew she wasn¡¯t alone. She found her proof on every face and in every supportive gaze. She found it in quiet nods of encouragement and the tiniest of smiles. She, too, could¡¯ve cried. For what reason, she still hadn¡¯t fully decided.

    ¡°Stratos, you are cruel in your ways,¡± Brava spat, his guarded posture a testament to every judgmental word on his lips. ¡°Would you not offer to her the sweetest truth of the matter? How disappointing.¡±

    ¡°I beg pardon for my blunt phrasing, but it would do you well to hush,¡± Lyra hissed.

    ¡°I was¡­planning to do so,¡± Stratos answered, his tone nearly shameful. ¡°There is another matter of importance.¡±

    Octavia sighed. Slowly but surely, her head was beginning to throb. This was the most draining conversation she¡¯d ever had, and she still wasn¡¯t fully certain it had actually happened. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know if I can take anything else today. You told me to tell you when I was overwhelmed, right? I think this is it,¡± she admitted.

    ¡°I believe you may benefit from listening one last time to this matter in particular,¡± Orleanna said. It was enough for Octavia to stifle her objections.

    ¡°I¡­you would follow in her path,¡± Stratos murmured.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    A faceless gaze that had eluded her for too long suddenly snapped to her once more, every word dipped in astonishment. ¡°How?¡±

    Octavia embraced the faint smile that crept onto her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t forget the things you say. When you first told me there was something I had to do, you mentioned her. Besides that, you were her precious partner. If I know, I¡¯m sure she knew, too.¡±

    Her smile brightened. If not for Priscilla, then it was for him. ¡°And something about cats, right?¡±

    Again, he hummed. For the briefest moment, in the midst of her distress, it was enough to make Octavia¡¯s heart happy. ¡°Your sister was nothing if not creative.¡±

    ¡°Will you seek to finish the task she began, then?¡± Lyra asked.

    Priscilla was a deterrent for fear. Still, she wasn¡¯t a full shield against hesitation. It could¡¯ve been worse. It could¡¯ve been much, much worse. Octavia had seen enough films in her time, flimsy reels and shaky sepia speaking to far less than death itself. They¡¯d been a comfort, sparse as they¡¯d come in Silver Ridge along occasional mounted canvas. Were it so simple, it would be tolerable. It would be disgusting, granted, ninety-six times over--at minimum. Josiah¡¯s phrasing was all she could cling to, and it eased her racing heart. It really, truly, sincerely could¡¯ve been worse.

    She wondered if Priscilla would¡¯ve been proud. It was one more reason to nod.

    <hr>

    The headache that followed was, in turn, one more reason for her to collapse the moment she returned to her room.

    Ten minutes wasn¡¯t nearly enough for her to do more than close her eyes, ignore her frazzled braids, and do what she could to hide from the setting sun. The ambience of a darkened room was the closest she could get to crafted peace. She didn¡¯t get to keep it. She never got to keep it, for how her life was anything but peaceful to begin with. No amount of pulling the covers high above her head was stifling the chronic knocking at the door. She groaned. If she really wanted to try, she had a one in five chance of guessing the perpetrator correctly. She took her chances.

    ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°Let me in.¡±

    She¡¯d been betting on Renato, actually. Viola wasn¡¯t usually annoying. ¡°I¡¯m sleeping,¡± she called.

    ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± Viola called back.

    ¡°Yes I am.¡±

    ¡°You have to open the door. It¡¯s my house.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my room. I live here now. This is where acts of kindness get you.¡±

    ¡°I want my kindness back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sleeping,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°I want to talk for a bit.¡±

    Octavia groaned. ¡°We just talked for hours. That was enough talking for the rest of my life.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk to the glowing people in the musical instruments, I want to talk to Octavia.¡±

    ¡°I cannot stress this enough, but Octavia is asleep right now.¡±

    ¡°Octavia is about to not have a door to her room anymore. Just for a little while, please.¡±

    Octavia sighed. Sitting up took notable effort, and the feeling of her braids untangling into a complete mess along the way was surely symbolic of something. Her headache was overstaying its welcome.

    Viola hardly even waited for Octavia to turn the knob, more or less inviting herself in. Unblemished darkness was slain by opened curtains, and Octavia rolled her pained eyes. She¡¯d worked hard on making that. Part of her wanted to scream.

    ¡°This seriously couldn¡¯t have waited until like, I don¡¯t know, dinner?¡± Octavia muttered, more than irritated.

    Viola winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­I have a lot on my mind right now. All of that was a lot to take in.¡±

    Octavia gestured dramatically to the bed. ¡°This was literally my solution. Thinking about it more isn¡¯t going to help right now. Trust me, I already tried that.¡±

    ¡°Have you spoken to Stradivaria? Since we got back, I mean?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. His starry visage had left a miniature supernova in his wake, a momentary burst of brilliance every bit as beautiful as his arrival. If she''d blinked, she would¡¯ve missed it. She almost did, and she hadn¡¯t pressed him on it since. His explanation was already confusing enough.

    They are but a physical vessel, much like your own, born for this world alone. It is only through your eyes that you may behold our true selves. Do you understand?

    It was a strange time for her to acknowledge his body, if that was how he meant it. Octavia had been half-correct about that much. She¡¯d spent more than enough nights stroking, touching, and cradling the violin in her arms, borderline excessively on occasion. He¡¯d been in there. He¡¯d felt it, maybe. The blush that followed the revelation had lasted for ten straight minutes, at the time. She still hadn¡¯t completely gotten rid of it.

    ¡°Have you talked to Brava, then?¡± Octavia asked.

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to sigh. ¡°I tried. He got annoyed with me asking questions, I think. He¡¯s¡­a lot to handle.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he definitely struck me that way,¡± Octavia said. ¡°Sorry to say this, but your partner is kind of arrogant.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m inclined to agree with you. He¡¯s my partner, though. We¡¯ve been through a lot together, and I respect him.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°Nothing wrong with that. He seems to like you, at least. Better than whatever¡¯s going on with Renato¡¯s partner. Partners, I guess.¡±

    Viola faked a gag. ¡°All three of them are idiots. They¡¯re a match made in Heaven.¡±

    ¡°You are so mean to that boy,¡± Octavia mumbled with a smirk.

    ¡°In all seriousness, I have no idea why his partners are so horrible to him. Mente and Aste, right?¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. I don¡¯t especially get along with him, but I can¡¯t deny he¡¯s a really good Maestro. He seems like he takes good enough care of them, too.¡±

    ¡°So who¡¯s your favorite?¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°Favorite¡­what?¡±

    ¡°Favorite¡­you know, Harmonial Instrument. Except, like, as glowy people.¡±

    ¡°Muses? They have a name.¡±

    ¡°Gods, according to Josiah.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°You heard Stradivaria, they¡¯re not gods.¡±

    ¡°What are they, then?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola shrugged. ¡°I mean¡­Muses. That¡¯s what they said, whatever being a Muse entails. Ask Stradivaria.¡±

    ¡°You dodged my question, by the way. About favorites.¡±

    She sighed. ¡°You¡¯re under the impression I¡¯m gonna pick anyone except my partner?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m 100% certain you¡¯re going to pick anyone except your partner.¡±

    For a moment, Viola was quiet. ¡°Lyra,¡± she finally deadpanned.

    Octavia grinned. ¡°Good choice.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even need to ask yours,¡± Viola scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s written all over your face. You spent hours making lovey-dovey eyes at Stradivaria. Is he your type?¡±

    The blush that smacked into Octavia¡¯s face was instant, blood rushing to her cheeks quickly enough to leave her dizzy. She thought she¡¯d gotten rid of it, by now. ¡°Excuse me? Of course not!¡±

    Viola smirked. ¡°Oh my God, he¡¯s your type.¡±

    Octavia shook her head desperately. Whatever tangled mess was left of her braids at last unraveled into strands that whipped her skin. ¡°It¡¯s not like that, I swear! He¡¯s just¡­something about him is so warm. I can¡¯t explain it. I feel safe around him, and comfortable.¡±

    ¡°I mean, he¡¯s your partner. That¡¯s not particularly unbelievable,¡± Viola answered, flopping in reverse onto the bed. Positioned as she was, she took up precisely half the mattress. It was still enough to get another eye roll out of Octavia, the motion bouncing her in her seat uncomfortably.

    ¡°You¡¯re uninvited from my room, by the way,¡± she muttered.

    ¡°Did Stradivaria tell you why he¡¯s called ¡®Stradivaria¡¯ yet?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    Viola stretched, unhurried arms cast at her leisure above. ¡°I mean, Brava¡¯s real name is Brava. Apparently he chose the name ¡®Silver Brevada¡¯ himself. It¡¯s like an alias while they¡¯re down here.¡±

    ¡°They¡­chose them?¡±

    ¡°Nicknames, I guess. If it took us until today to learn their real names, I¡¯d guess that not a lot of Maestros know them by any names except the ones the Muses want them to.¡±

    ¡°What about Madrigal?¡±

    Viola handed her a blank stare. ¡°Think really hard. Use your big brain for a few seconds.¡±

    Octavia immediately regretted asking. There was nothing subtle about Lyra¡¯s Repose.

    ¡°So¡­why ¡®Silver Brevada¡¯, then?¡±

    ¡°Stupid reason that effectively boiled down to ¡®sounded cool¡¯. I don¡¯t remember his wording, nor do I care, but it was definitely a lot more grandiose than that. That being said, some of the Harmonial Instruments we¡¯ve seen have interesting enough names that I¡¯m curious about their origins. I doubt all of them just ¡®sounded cool¡¯.¡±

    Octavia had more or less resigned herself to sharing the bed against her will. Further rest was beyond her, the unfortunately-visible sun dipping ever lower beyond the horizon past her window. She embraced the waking world with regret, falling without grace onto the covers herself with a thump.

    ¡°Ninety-six, huh,¡± she murmured beneath her breath.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Viola answered, her tone equally hushed. ¡°A lot.¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s how many Muses there are.¡±

    ¡°And, by extension, how many Harmonial Instruments.¡±

    The silence that served as her blanket wasn¡¯t as awkward as she¡¯d expected. It was still heavy all the same. Octavia settled into it, for a moment.

    ¡°I think I know who my toll is,¡± Viola finally whispered.

    Octavia nodded, the pitiful remains of her braids shuffling against the sheets. ¡°I know with certainty who mine is.¡±

    Viola closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. ¡°I¡­think I have more than one.¡±

    Octavia turned her head. The pained expression she found on Viola¡¯s face was contagious. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, I might have more than one, too. I¡¯m not sure yet. I haven¡¯t figured out how this works, entirely.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t want you to have to see that. I don¡¯t even want you to have to see one of¡­those, let alone three.¡±

    Whether or not Viola could see it, Octavia shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. You¡¯re not gonna be the only one, you know. I¡¯m¡­aware there¡¯s probably gonna be more than ninety-six.¡±

    ¡°I wonder how many more.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to sigh. ¡°I¡­wonder if it¡¯d be better not to know.¡±

    ¡°Do you think everyone else has a toll already? Has it, paid it, whatever?¡± Viola asked.

    Octavia shrugged, the crumpled sheets beneath her shoulders accompanying the motion. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Harper, I assume.¡±

    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s what Brava said, too, but I don¡¯t think he knows the circumstances. What happened to Harper¡¯s parents was wholly unrelated to Dissonance, Maestros, any of it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    When Viola didn¡¯t answer, Octavia pushed. ¡°Have you¡­talked to Harper about it or something?¡±

    It took the Maestra a moment to find her quiet words. ¡°A little. I didn¡¯t press him about it much. He¡­it wasn¡¯t talked about much in the news around Coda, but apparently it was arson.¡±

    Octavia propped herself up onto her elbows, eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡±

    Viola shook her own head in turn, her bow scraping the mattress in the process. ¡°I wish. No one knows much more than that. He said there were a few leads as to a suspect, but nothing solid.¡±

    Octavia cringed. The sudden pain in her stomach matched her head. ¡°That¡¯s¡­awful. I seriously thought it was an accident this whole time.¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s how he¡¯d prefer people to see it.¡±

    ¡°And he opened up to you about all of this¡­why, exactly?¡±

    Viola scoffed half-heartedly. ¡°We¡¯re both good at having family issues. We¡¯ve been going back and forth about it a bit lately. Getting it off our chests. It¡¯s nice that he understands.¡±

    When she cracked her eyes open, whatever confusion touched Octavia¡¯s eyes made her stammer. ¡°I-I mean, not that I don¡¯t think you understand, of course.¡±

    Octavia thought to smile. Hollow as it would be in the wake of her words, she feared it would be insulting. ¡°No, no, I get it. I completely understand. It¡¯s helpful if someone¡¯s¡­been through the same thing as you. Not exactly the same, but I get it.¡±

    She had her blanket of silence back. It was awkward, by comparison. Ideally, whatever would follow had nothing to do with parental crises--let alone unforgiving flames. There was a twisted amusement that came with the revelation of isolation. Viola and Harper¡¯s situations weren¡¯t even slightly identical, and yet overlapped closely enough. By comparison, she couldn¡¯t find a confidant who¡¯d committed murder.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if Madrigal or Renato paid their tolls,¡± Viola offered, shattering the weighted quiet once more.

    Octavia didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°I¡¯ve never really asked about their personal lives much.¡±

    ¡°Do you know anything about either of them?¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°My God, you¡¯re nosy today.¡±

    Viola flushed. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to be insensitive! This is important stuff. If we know if something in their pasts counts as a toll, we can figure out how many we have to worry about for each.¡±

    Octavia thought for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t know about Madrigal. She seems like she has a good home life, I think. Lots of siblings.¡±

    ¡°Friends? Acquaintances?¡±

    ¡°Dead ones? Not that she¡¯s ever talked about. I honestly don¡¯t know. You¡¯d have to ask her. This is a pretty big thing to speculate about--and a personal one, at that.¡±

    ¡°And Renato?¡±

    The instant she heard his name, Octavia knew she¡¯d have to lie.

    ¡°Nothing there either. I haven¡¯t really talked to him much about personal stuff. You know how he is.¡±

    She knew she was absolutely lying through her teeth. Octavia was almost positive Viola would catch her in the process. If Viola knew, she didn¡¯t say a word. It was one relief.

    Under no circumstances did she have Renato entirely figured out yet. He was loud. He was cocky. He was vibrant, sassy, and unique in ways somewhat questionable. He wasn¡¯t immune to pain. If his own words were to be believed, he¡¯d already struggled long before. Should his toll have been paid somewhere already, Octavia wouldn¡¯t have been particularly surprised. For how much Viola loathed his company, she could find another confidant in terms of fatherly difficulties. It wasn¡¯t something Octavia ever planned to share in the first place.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola began, her tone strikingly dark.

    The knots in Octavia¡¯s stomach were immediate. She¡¯d figured it out, maybe. ¡°Yes?¡±

    Viola took a deep breath before continuing, her silence painfully long. ¡°The Muses definitely need a toll to go back where they came from, right? What happens if¡­someone hasn¡¯t paid a toll yet?¡±

    For a moment, Octavia couldn¡¯t process her words at all. They didn¡¯t settle. When they tried, they fell to her skin rather than her ears. It came with chills, and chills were enough to clot her blood. It took effort to keep it from sinking in, let alone chasing the lines of thought that splintered in turn. They raced. She couldn¡¯t keep up, and battling the seeping concept was useless.

    Viola was calling out to her as she violently shoved her way past tangling covers and sheets. Viola was showering her with apologies as she made for the door, her footsteps utterly muted. Viola was in her wake as she drowned herself in the only four words that had saved her for weeks. She didn¡¯t think they¡¯d be useful outside of the usual context, given what they were meant to strangle. She hadn¡¯t tried much. Here, dragging herself underwater and pulling the world to a screeching halt, it was a surprisingly effective deterrent.

    They followed out of the room. They followed down the hall. They followed wherever she was expected to go, company or not. They followed her often enough, anyway. It was nothing new. For what they gave chase to, in turn, Octavia let them follow wherever they liked.

    Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

    In retrospect, she wondered how hard she¡¯d slammed the door.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

 33. Toll

    Her mantra had gotten her through to another day. That was all that mattered.

    The walk back to yet the same convenient clearing--of which she''d grown even more averse to calling the ¡°Renato Crater¡±--was surprisingly peaceful, mentally. Octavia had expected more emotional turmoil on the way to what she assumed would be a dramatic and traumatic experience. With the amount of eyes on her, watching with wary concern, she wondered if anyone would hold her hand if she asked.

    The thought left her feeling like a child, and it was embarrassing the moment it crossed her mind. If nothing else, Octavia appreciated their efforts to maintain a semblance of normality, well aware of what genuine Hell would await as the day progressed. It possibly explained why Renato opted to walk so close to her. She could''ve sworn he was more annoying than usual, somehow.

    ¡°Day one of seeing dead people begins. Give it up for our fearless leader,¡± he jeered, his volume a bit too much for comfort this early in the morning.

    ¡°Please, please shut up,¡± Viola pleaded. ¡°Please. Just once.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t enough to keep Madrigal from clapping. ¡°Yay, Octavia!¡±

    Octavia groaned. This might''ve been more miserable than dying repeatedly.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take things one step at a time,¡± Harper reassured gently. ¡°No need to rush. If you get overwhelmed, we can stop and try again on a different day. They''ve already waited this long. What¡¯s a little more patience?¡±

    His words were the only ones that brought her any semblance of comfort. She gave him a weak smile. He sounded like Stradivaria.

    ¡°So, who are you starting with?¡± Josiah asked.

    The kick to his left ankle that Harper delivered was swift, instant, and--if the look on Josiah¡¯s face meant anything--painful. Octavia was mildly impressed. ¡°Learn a little tact,¡± Harper growled.

    Octavia waved her hands defensively. ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. I haven¡¯t decided yet. I don¡¯t know who¡¯s¡­eligible and who isn¡¯t.¡±

    Viola raised one hand aloft, adjusting Silver Brevada¡¯s case with the other. The way by which the sling kept snagging against her hair seemed mildly agitating. ¡°Me. Almost positive.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°That¡¯s one. I know it isn¡¯t a pleasant thing to admit to, but we¡¯re gonna have to be honest here. If anyone¡¯s got Dissonance baggage that could maybe, even possibly count, this is as good a time as ever to speak up.¡±

    When Josiah¡¯s eyes fell to Harper, the Maestro¡¯s own narrowed. ¡°Nope. I know the rules, thought about them long and hard. My circumstances wouldn¡¯t count. Bet on it.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes flickered to his next victim. ¡°Madrigal?¡±

    She shrank under his pointed gaze, eyes wide. Harper aimed at the other ankle. He was, as expected, dead-on.

    ¡°Man, you can¡¯t just ask people stuff like that. If they wanna talk about it, they¡¯ll talk about it. It¡¯s none of our business.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be Octavia¡¯s business in a minute,¡± Josiah argued. ¡°No hiding from that.¡±

    The mention of her name alone was enough for Octavia to wince. Her discomfort wasn''t lost on Harper, and he bristled.

    ¡°Octavia¡¯s business, not yours. Look, no one¡¯s obligated to tell you their life story. You¡¯re not the one calling the shots here, anyway.¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re more suited for the job?¡± Josiah spat.

    ¡°Fearless leader, remember?¡± Viola added, visibly aggravated with his words--and the apparent discomfort of leather snagging against satin repeatedly. ¡°Stand down, idiot.¡±

    ¡°Guys, don¡¯t fight!¡± Madrigal whined. It was a useless plea.

    Octavia rubbed her temples. The sky was still pink, the clouds were still giving way to the morning rays, and she still wasn¡¯t fully awake. It was much, much too early for this. She waited uncomfortably for Renato to cheer, agitate them further, or do anything to contribute to the chaos--as always.

    When he offered only a soft chuckle, she wondered if the world was coming to an end. At her side, he walked slowly, his own footsteps falling in time with hers. The four troublemakers ahead of them were a world away, wrapped up in a verbal mess of their own making that their respective Muses surely overheard with interest. She watched his calm face, his muted expression a stark contrast from the Renato she¡¯d grown so accustomed to. Recently, she felt like she¡¯d seen two different versions of him altogether.

    Her eyes fell to his sides, and she shifted her attention to the way his prosthetics lazily flanked either side of his slacks. Again, she couldn''t stop herself from admiring the craftsmanship. Were it not for their rich coloring, she could easily mistake them for the real thing from a slight distance. Up close, the lacquer and finish broke the spell, somewhat. Still, they shimmered beautifully against every touch of light that graced the gentle red. She wondered how long they¡¯d taken to make--the joints in particular.

    ¡°You¡¯re staring.¡±

    His sudden accusation was enough for her to jump. The red tint of discomfort on his face only served to bring an embarrassed blush to her own. It was probably insensitive. She kicked herself.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Octavia mumbled.

    Renato coughed awkwardly against the back of one false hand. ¡°I, uh, if you wanna see, you just gotta ask. At least get to know a guy first,¡± he joked.

    Octavia shuffled her fingertips against the hem of her dress absentmindedly. Against her better judgment, she surrendered the question she¡¯d been swallowing for days. ¡°How do they feel?¡±

    Renato smiled faintly, casting his eyes downwards into his upturned palms. ¡°Not as weird as I expected. They¡¯re kinda weighted. Not too much. I sorta thought they¡¯d feel more¡­unnatural, I guess. They¡¯re not the real thing, obviously, but I figure this is as close as I¡¯m gonna get. I like them.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but return his smile, no matter how delicate. ¡°I¡¯m glad. Let me know if you need anything, okay?¡±

    He grinned in earnest. ¡°Same to you, because you¡¯re about to need everything you can get. And to think, you brought these idiots along as moral support? You brought a guy like me with you for whatever the hell it is you¡¯re about to do. Good luck with that decision.¡±

    Her dubious circle of moral support in question was still arguing, growing louder every second. Octavia could only laugh. By now, Viola had lapsed into the colorful vocabulary she typically reserved for Renato alone. ¡°Not the worst decision I¡¯ve made,¡± she countered. ¡°Make sure you¡¯re storing them properly when you take them off, okay?¡±

    He was silent.

    ¡°I mean, they were made with a lot of care, from what I can see, so you¡¯ll have to maintain them pretty well. You don¡¯t want them getting scuffed too badly or anything. Put them back in the box if you have to.¡±

    Still, Renato didn''t speak. When he averted his eyes, Octavia raised hers in return.

    ¡°You¡­are taking them off regularly, right?¡±

    He overtook her wordlessly, his steps a bit too fast for her liking. What she couldn¡¯t catch from his face, she was left to wonder at his back. Her heart skipped a beat. She thought to press. She didn¡¯t get to.

    Are you prepared, Octavia?

    She¡¯d been waiting all morning for that question. Stradivaria¡¯s voice still startled her anyway. Distraction hadn¡¯t done her any favors, and she jumped ever higher. His newfound form born unto the world hadn¡¯t negated the warmth and safety of their own mental communication system. Octavia found out the hard way. ¡°Yeah,¡± she murmured under her breath.

    Her boots met with the tamped dirt and dust of the clearing all too quickly, her thoughts carrying her far further than she¡¯d paid any mind to. The backdrop of petty arguing that had become a running theme lately had helped to lessen the lengthy voyage in its own way. Logically, it wasn¡¯t that long of a walk. In reality, she¡¯d expected being alone with her racing thoughts to add--at bare minimum--an eternity or two to her travels. Octavia hesitated to get to work. No one else did.

    This time, at least, cases didn¡¯t clatter so much as lower gently to the soft earth. Harmonial Instruments were gathered into open arms with less confusion. Whether intentional or otherwise, the four Maestros flanking Octavia had fanned themselves out into a haphazard semicircle at her back. Carefully stationed as they were between messy masses of upturned weeds and shattered sticks, she wondered if the outright hole in the forest was ever actually going to grow back.

    Josiah, at least, benefitted from the comfort of the same tree stump once more, which he seemed to be quickly growing fond of doing nothing on. With Stradivaria nestled against her chest, Octavia rolled her eyes at the world.

    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± she murmured, her voice touched by uncertainty. She did what she could to cherish the brief moments before her heart burst from her chest, bile burnt her throat, and her breakfast met the dirt. Already, her head was fuzzy enough that she couldn¡¯t recall exactly what the latter had consisted of in the first place. It was a film. It couldn¡¯t have been more, and she swallowed the lie time and time again. If she prayed hard enough, it could perhaps be the truth. She knew better.

    The second time Stratos greeted her, the blinding pulse of luminous light was as rapid as the manner by which he¡¯d disappeared the day before. If she blinked, she surely would¡¯ve missed it. Even so, she didn¡¯t, and she earned the nuisance of floating spots before her eyes as a compensation prize. Her peripheral vision wasn''t safe from the same speckled plight. Given the sudden onslaught of vibrant color that dotted her surroundings, she doubted the others escaped the same fate. One moment, he was gone. The next, he was there. It was as simple as that.

    ¡°Credit where credit is due, your own returned, Stratos,¡± Brava spoke, his volume unnecessary.

    Octavia sighed. She¡¯d forgotten the manner by which there was exactly one person--if she could use that word loosely--that had the potential to be louder this morning than Renato.

    ¡°Speak what you mean,¡± Stratos said, far quieter by comparison.

    ¡°Why, I had half a mind to expect that she would take flight. Who would blame her? She does not take after your cowardice, it would seem,¡± Brava hissed.

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. Something about hostility towards Stradivaria snuck beneath her skin much faster than she would¡¯ve expected. ¡°He¡¯s not a coward.¡±

    Brava laughed once, a singular and bitter sound that startled her at the same obnoxious volume. ¡°Oh, you would not know, and how could you? Now there is a story to be told.¡±

    ¡°There is much to be done,¡± Orleanna interrupted softly, lowering herself to match Harper¡¯s stature. ¡°Focus is imperative.¡±

    ¡°Is it okay if we take breaks? Like, if Octavia needs a minute?¡± Harper asked, casting his eyes to his partner.

    She nodded. ¡°I see no rush. The Ambassador may do as is necessary.¡±

    ¡°The Ambassador?¡± he repeated.

    When Orleanna raised her gaze to Octavia, the Maestra was equally as confused. With one arm awkwardly wrapped around Stradivaria¡¯s body, she raised one pointed finger to herself. A nod from the scarlet Muse did nothing to alleviate her befuddlement.

    Renato put his hands on his hips, the tail of each drumstick propped against either of his pockets. ¡°That, uh¡­that¡¯s what we¡¯re calling it?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been promoted,¡± Josiah joked.

    ¡°The Ambassador alone may perform the Witnessing, and none other. They are the key to our mutual salvation,¡± Lyra offered gently.

    ¡°The Ambassador will always be born of the Heartful alone,¡± Orleanna continued. ¡°Octavia will play the part.¡±

    Renato¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Damn, that¡¯s actually pretty cool. She¡¯s like¡­chosen. What¡¯s it like to be a hero, braids?¡±

    ¡°We can be heroines together!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, beaming brightly. ¡°We¡¯ll be untouchable!¡±

    Octavia never earned the chance to respond to their praise, embarrassing or otherwise. Brava¡¯s boisterous voice came crashing down on her first. ¡°Come off it. It could be any of the Heartful. The manner by which you, a most available Heartful, have crossed our path first and foremost is nothing short of coincidental, and nary more. You, child, are not special.¡±

    ¡°Brava,¡± Lyra hissed, "curb your tongue. Show gratitude towards she who would aid you.¡±

    ¡°I am not incorrect,¡± he growled back. ¡°She is not special. Do not think otherwise, lest your ego be a distraction from your task. You are a means to an end. Do you understand?¡±

    His words were biting. What little pride she could¡¯ve found slipped through her fingers almost instantly. For what she was to endure, praise was a weak compensation. It was tangible, if nothing else. Part of Octavia wondered if Priscilla had to withstand the same verbal abuse. Brava wasn¡¯t her partner. It shouldn¡¯t have mattered. Still, despite her best efforts, she couldn¡¯t fight the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

    Silver Brevada flying halfway across the clearing terrified her.

    Viola didn¡¯t seem the type to possess a solid throwing arm. At this point, Octavia was open to any surprise that life could plague her with. Judging by the recoil of every Maestro in her vicinity, she doubted she was the only one with the same thought.

    ¡°You are nothing!¡± Viola shouted, throwing her gaze high towards her hypercritical partner. ¡°Compared to her, you are absolutely nothing, and you never will be! It¡¯d do you some good to shut your mouth every now and then, you know that?¡±

    Where Octavia expected ire, if not at least irritation, she found only pompous amusement. Brava, too, quickly ended up on her level, face-to-face with only several feet of comfortable safety between himself and his partner. Even devoid of facial features, she could imagine the expression on his face that surely would¡¯ve infuriated Viola further.

    ¡°You would show such hostilities to your own partner? Perhaps you are not so innocent and well-mannered as you would lead the world to believe, girl.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to be anything for anybody,¡± Viola answered bitterly, ¡°and I¡¯m not gonna let you sit here and talk to Octavia like that. If you want her help, act like it. If you want to be stuck here forever, then go ahead. Keep complaining.¡±

    ¡°Then we stand at a stalemate, girl. Should I stay, so, too, does the Dissonance. Would you allow your pride to stand in the way of that, as well?¡±

    Viola fell silent. Her eyes spoke on her behalf, glaring daggers into the brilliant cerulean Muse that endeavored to anger her. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly like where this was going.

    ¡°Viola, it¡¯s fine,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Just¡­drop it.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°But he--¡±

    ¡°Believes himself to be superior to all who would dare exist in his presence,¡± Mente interrupted casually. Apparently, they were uninvested enough to settle for lounging upside-down several feet away from Renato¡¯s head.

    ¡°Arrogant words without action, as could be expected. Pay him no heed,¡± Aste added. The way by which Renato¡¯s partners both lingered so near to his hat, specifically, was somewhat amusing.

    Of everyone present, Mente and Aste were the last Muses Octavia would¡¯ve expected to stand up for her. She opted to shelve whatever expectations she had left in favor of focusing on the entire reason she was here at all--Brava¡¯s gaze on her back be damned.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± she began, ¡°how do I do this?¡±

    It took him a moment to gather his words. ¡°With whom will you begin?¡±

    She briefly locked eyes with Viola. Her attention returned to Stratos almost immediately. ¡°Wait, I¡¯m still not entirely sure what my options are. Can we¡­go over this again, one more time? I wanna see if I¡¯m understanding this right.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°As you wish.¡±

    Octavia hesitated, piecing her words together carefully. ¡°If someone paid a toll, I have to watch it. Watch, witness, whatever. I have to see how somebody died. Right?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°If they have more than one, do I have to watch--witness, I mean, do I have to witness all of them? All the tolls that person paid?¡±

    ¡°That, too, is correct.¡±

    ¡°And to count as a toll, and tell me if I¡¯m wrong, it has to be a death--no, someone had to be killed by Dissonance? Or, like, in some way related to Dissonance?¡±

    Stratos nodded once more. ¡°To answer your question, it must be that which would not have occurred had the Dissonance not poisoned this world.¡±

    ¡°So if there was no Dissonance, they wouldn¡¯t have died somehow. Right?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± he repeated.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to nod her head, albeit slowly. She paced the words that followed, torn somewhere between grace and memorization. ¡°How will I know if someone paid their toll or not?¡±

    ¡°We will inform you ourselves,¡± Orleanna added. ¡°You need only ask. You will know the quantity, as well.¡±

    That solved one issue. ¡°If I¡­if I do this now, will I lose you afterwards?¡±

    In the moments before Stratos found his words, the suspense left her nearly ill. The simple thought of him disappearing from her life was nauseating. Several weeks had served as a lifetime, and their hearts were entangled. When he finally shook his head, the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°It is our duty to see your pursuit through, lest we could not call ourselves worthy of returning. We will await your success,¡± he reassured gently.

    ¡°Or your failure,¡± Aste muttered. The way Renato swatted at them had Octavia stifling a chuckle.

    ¡°It is by our own volition that we will choose to remain. That may not be the case for our counterparts,¡± Lyra said. ¡°It is not a decision we make lightly. However, we believe that this task would be far too treacherous without our assistance.¡±

    ¡°Good, because I don¡¯t want you to leave,¡± Madrigal whined, her eyes shining as she pulled the harp ever tighter to her chest.

    ¡°I mean, we really appreciate you guys sticking around,¡± Harper added with a smile.

    Octavia exhaled, her heart only now beginning to calm its rapid rhythm. It didn¡¯t make the nature of her task any easier. Still, knowing she wouldn¡¯t be abandoned by those who were most knowledgeable about her current circumstances was highly comforting. It was the only comfort she¡¯d get. She hated and loathed the question that needed to be asked, unavoidable or otherwise.

    ¡°In that case, who here has actually paid their tolls?¡±

    The very air around her screeched to a standstill. In its place came a tangible, notable, and universal discomfort that physically stung her skin. Not one pair of eyes in the vicinity showed the slightest tinge of confidence, let alone an aura of calm to begin with. Octavia was well aware that the question was loaded. She hadn¡¯t expected as vividly jarring of a collective reaction.

    Her eyes flickered to each Maestro in turn, and every single one was utterly frozen in place. Several fingers curled tighter around Harmonial Instruments. Several shoulders rose and fell with the weight of rattling, uncertain breaths. Even Josiah, for all of his earlier bluster, was equally silent. Without personal investment, his own roaming gaze spoke only to anticipation. He¡¯d long since asked the same question. He¡¯d get his answer soon enough. Octavia imagined not every truth would be comfortable.

    It was Viola who cracked the suffocating atmosphere, jutting one hand sharply into the crushing air. ¡°I have. I¡¯m sure of it. Tell them, Brava.¡±

    Her courage in being the first to volunteer didn''t go unnoticed, and several sets of weary eyes gradually shifted in her direction. Even so, the manner by which Viola¡¯s other hand, clutching a flute retrieved begrudgingly from the dirt, trembled against the silver was not lost on Octavia. Provided she understood the rules correctly, it was impossible for Viola to be wrong. Octavia didn¡¯t dare imagine the alternative.

    When Brava nodded in affirmation, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, Viola exhaled heavily towards the sky alone. Given the circumstances, there was no way Octavia could smile for the sickest of victories. Ultimately, it wasn¡¯t something to be celebrated. Still, it was one less thing to dread.

    ¡°Indeed. Viola Vacanti, your toll has been paid twice over,¡± Brava spoke.

    Viola¡¯s relief was short-lived. She stiffened, her hand only halfway lowered from the air. Her fingers twitched. ¡°Twice?¡±

    ¡°It is true,¡± Brava said.

    ¡°Not¡­thrice?¡± Viola asked slowly, her voice trembling.

    Brava nodded with confidence. ¡°I am correct. Twice over, your toll has been paid, and only twice.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened, a mixture of horror and confusion settling in behind her pupils. ¡°That¡¯s¡­that doesn¡¯t make sense. There should be three. There should be three, right?¡±

    When she turned her head towards Octavia, her question pointed along with it, Octavia could do little more than return her gaze. Octavia winced. She knew what Viola was getting at. It wasn¡¯t as though she could offer an answer.

    As such, when Viola poured the truth into the open, Octavia was forced to stifle a gasp. ¡°Vincent Vacanti killed three people while he was Dissonant, correct? Why doesn¡¯t the third one count?¡±

    Viola¡¯s words weren''t fully common knowledge, and it showed on each and every face around her. She didn¡¯t particularly seem to care about the five sets of eyes locked onto her with abject terror. If the panic on her face spoke to anything, the truth took priority. Even Octavia, dumbfounded as she was by Viola¡¯s open admission of familial guilt, was equally as baffled by the discrepancy.

    Brava took his time to respond, his voice as calm and collected as it was firm and serious. ¡°Know this to be true, girl. Two of our own may not carry the same toll.¡±

    Viola¡¯s tense shoulders fell. Collectively, each and every one of her muscles appeared to fall slack. Whether from shock or something else entirely, Octavia was unsure. The Maestra could only stammer, her words a tangled mess. ¡°T-That¡¯s¡­I¡­¡±

    Her reaction was not exclusive. In every direction, the revelation was the same. It wasn¡¯t subtle. It was well-understood. The implications were grand, as were the possibilities that spread like a splintering delta in each messy mind. It wasn¡¯t a rule that had been communicated before. It was a new obstacle altogether, both overarching and localized. Octavia resisted the urge to resort to her favorite phrase with all of her might.

    No one dared to steal the question from Viola¡¯s lips. The right was hers and hers alone, and it came when it came.

    ¡°Then whose is it?¡± she finally cried, her entire body trembling just as much as her voice.

    Brava only shook his head. ¡°I cannot say. It is only the Ambassador who may witness the true depths of each toll. That knowledge belongs to her, whether or not she wishes to harbor that burden.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t¡­tell me who each toll actually is? Like, who the actual people were that paid it?¡± Octavia asked, hesitant to impede Viola¡¯s highly-justified emotional turmoil.

    It was Lyra¡¯s turn to answer. Even the soft tones of her voice weren''t enough to ease the tension amongst the Maestros. ¡°We know only the tolls of our own. Even so, we are not at liberty to speak them aloud.¡±

    ¡°By choice?¡±

    ¡°By¡­virtue,¡± she murmured. ¡°It is not our place.¡±

    ¡°Even if it would help us?¡± Octavia pleaded. ¡°Even just one Maestro at a time would be a tremendous help.¡±

    ¡°It matters not,¡± Brava interrupted. ¡°You will witness each in turn, in time. You will know all, one by one. What difference would it make, even were it possible?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s words died on her lips. She couldn¡¯t counter the fact. Left only with a distressed Viola, there was little she could do to ease the Maestra¡¯s frustrations. If Brava spoke the truth, she¡¯d still find where Viola¡¯s third toll had ended up eventually--for better or worse. It wasn¡¯t necessarily a comfort.

    ¡°Does, uh¡­anyone else¡­want to know next?¡± Harper offered timidly, his own voice not immune from a slight tremble.

    When Orleanna turned to face him, Harper gulped. No amount of pulling Royal Orleans closer could shield him from whatever would follow.

    ¡°Do you wish to know now, then?¡± she asked.

    He was silent for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­really want to know, but I know I need to learn eventually. I don¡¯t think I have one. I¡¯ve lost a lot of things in my life, but I don¡¯t know what would meet that criteria. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary,¡± she said. ¡°Harper Reed, your toll has been paid twice over.¡±

    His reaction, while milder than Viola¡¯s, carried the same initial expression of astonishment and a subsequent total loss for words. What succeeded it was a puzzled look that spoke to the turning gears in his head.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± Harper said.

    For a brief moment, Octavia wondered if the answer was too obvious to be true. She couldn¡¯t have been the only one. Part of her, just the same, was left to wonder if Harper was in denial.

    Orleanna didn¡¯t respond. To Harper¡¯s credit, he didn¡¯t raise his voice. He didn¡¯t cry, nor scream, nor swear, nor struggle. ¡°That¡­doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± he repeated softly. ¡°It has to be someone else, right? It¡­wouldn¡¯t. It can¡¯t.¡±

    Once more, another Maestro raised their head to Octavia, confused eyes meeting her own. Once more, all she could do was return a gaze of pain. There was nothing else she could offer.

    ¡°To think, Apex, your own squandered an excellent chance at claiming a toll for herself,¡± Mente muttered.

    ¡°With ease, all that was to be done was the utmost minimum, and the prize would have been rightful to her alone,¡± Aste continued. ¡°The weakest of blows would have sufficed, for what had already come to pass.¡±

    Lyra¡¯s ire was unmistakable each and every time Octavia witnessed it. ¡°You are both cruel in ways I do not understand. Their lives are not rewards to be won, nor games to be played.¡±

    Her bitter words were lost on Mente. ¡°How nice it must be to have the choice even to decline, that you may face opportunity and turn away still. We cannot say the same for this fruitless fool.¡±

    With a pointed glare from the Muse to illustrate their point, the severity of Renato¡¯s grimace was enough to compete with Lyra. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of fancy words to say I don¡¯t have a damn thing, right?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You don¡¯t have a toll?¡±

    He shrugged, his palms outstretched as a drumstick hung between each set of wooden fingers. ¡°I mean, I figured there would just be one somewhere down the line. That whole cause and effect thing, right? Like, I had a cousin that died in an accident when I was a kid. Construction worker. Fell off a building. Really nasty stuff. That doesn¡¯t count?¡±

    Viola shook her head, the ongoing unraveling of their current situation somewhat shaking her from her stupor. ¡°It has to be related to Dissonance specifically.¡±

    ¡°Or something related to the Muses being here, right?¡± Octavia asked aloud to no one in particular. ¡°I¡­had a question about that.¡±

    It was Stratos who immediately came to her aid. ¡°What would that be?¡±

    ¡°When you say¡­related to you guys being here. Does that include things related to Maestros existing?¡± she asked slowly, her words tentative and small.

    With his singular, simple nod, something in her stomach twisted. ¡°That is also true. Solely the impact of one who borrows our strength may bring about the cause and effect that pays the toll.¡±

    Renato threw his hands up dramatically. ¡°Oh, great. We¡¯re just adding new rules now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a problem,¡± Harper said. ¡°That opens the door for all sorts of ways to pay tolls. Doesn¡¯t that mean a Maestro could pay a toll by--¡±

    ¡°Yes, they could.¡±

    Octavia wondered if they kept forgetting in earnest, or if their insensitivity was intentional. Either way, she was grateful when Lyra gave an answer before her own words of hurt could leave her lips. She was tired of being reminded repeatedly, accidental or not. It didn¡¯t stop the burning. It didn¡¯t stop the nausea.

    ¡°Hence their venom,¡± she concluded, her faceless gaze still aimed at the two milky figures orbiting Renato against his will.

    ¡°Then you shall surely languish upon this world forever, should that suit your fancy,¡± Aste hissed.

    ¡°Know that this child has paid her toll,¡± Lyra hissed back. ¡°Speak no further, lest you bring ever more shame to your legacy.¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t speak, she didn¡¯t blink, and she didn¡¯t breathe. She could¡¯ve passed as a statue, if she wanted to, for how her distant gaze bored holes in the horizon. Never before had Octavia seen Madrigal so motionless--or anyone, really. Her expression was nearly impossible to dissect, bordering somewhere between petrified and empty. It was almost intimidating. It took conscious effort for Octavia to entertain the idea of calling her name. She didn¡¯t get the chance.

    ¡°And what say you, boy? You watch on without a care, but you are not innocent to the same plight,¡± Lyra growled.

    When she turned in full, her back entirely to the two hostile Muses who blighted her, Josiah¡¯s cool expression spoke to something Octavia couldn¡¯t pinpoint. To his credit, he didn¡¯t flinch, content to continue his lounging with his legs crossed lazily over one another.

    ¡°What do you mean by that, exactly?¡± he asked with equal coolness, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Do you think me a fool?¡± Lyra spoke menacingly. Gone was the warmth of her usual speech. This was new.

    Josiah didn¡¯t answer, only tilting his head slightly to the right as he maintained his relaxed eye contact. How he stayed so calm in the face of her intimidation was beyond Octavia.

    ¡°Twice now you have brought him alongside you. Twice, as such, you believed I would not notice. Is this so?¡±

    Octavia side-eyed him. When Josiah remained silent, she took the initiative. ¡°What¡­is she talking about?¡±

    He never tore his eyes from the Muse. ¡°This, probably.¡±

    The silent stand-off between Josiah and Lyra was loaded with indescribable heat that only burned brighter as Josiah flipped the flap of his bag backwards. He ruffled one steady hand slightly within its canvas contents, every motion composed and unhurried. The thick, hollowed pipe of blackened rosewood he eventually withdrew was one which Octavia had briefly forgotten existed. Her thoughts matched the pace of her racing heart. With an unwavering grasp she never would¡¯ve been able to replicate, Etherion came to settle comfortably into Josiah¡¯s hand.

    Lyra didn¡¯t move. Neither did Josiah. The Harmonial Instrument between them remained aloft, bound comfortably to Josiah¡¯s palm. The boy hardly blinked, staring down the Muse with curious eyes as he awaited her next move.

    The endless and agonizing silence was equally intolerable to the Muses. Brava, in particular, was far from satisfied. ¡°Compose yourself, Apex. You do a disservice to your legacy with your pitiful¡­investments.¡±

    ¡°But it is certainly a shock,¡± Orleanna said gently. ¡°How strange it must be to see him again, by coincidence or otherwise planned.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not following. Josiah, why did you--¡±

    Even when responding, his eye contact never wavered. ¡°It¡¯s a Harmonial Instrument. I¡¯m not leaving it out of this. I have some¡­theories.¡±

    ¡°You will explain yourself. You will give him to me,¡± Lyra spat, balling her luminous fists.

    Josiah shook his head, his face devoid of amusement. ¡°I¡¯ll do one of those things. Tell me if I¡¯m wrong, and maybe I¡¯ll think about the other.¡±

    ¡°You are truly evil, boy, to dangle him before me in this manner. You know not the forces with which you trifle.¡±

    Her threats, seemingly, were lost on him. ¡°Answer this, then. Tell me if I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    She fell silent, watching helplessly as he rolled the clarinet between his fingers. When she refrained from interrupting, he continued, tilting his head ever so slightly in the other direction.

    ¡°Maestros can pay their own tolls, can¡¯t they?¡±

    There was no collective gasp, nor any widespread shock. Still, the idea alone was more than enough to prompt a visible ripple of discomfort amongst the Maestros as a whole. Harper winced. ¡°What do you--¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Josiah began, his head snapping in her direction. ¡°How many tolls do you have?¡±

    She froze. She knew the answer. Even so, she was almost afraid of asking Stradivaria again. It took all of her courage to cast her eyes upwards, trembling as she met his faceless gaze. Her only consolation was the manner by which she was positive he recognized her discomfort. At the very least, he made the effort to be gentle.

    ¡°Octavia Ellis,¡± he began, ¡°as I am sure you are aware, your toll has been paid twice over.¡±

    ¡°Twice,¡± Josiah repeated, cutting off any chance Octavia had to interject. ¡°I¡­figure the first one isn¡¯t very cryptic.¡±

    Octavia wanted to punch him. By the looks on some of her companions¡¯ faces, she wasn¡¯t the only one--even if he was correct. She opened her mouth to chastise his insensitivity. Once again, she never got that far. He pressed.

    ¡°So, think for a minute. What¡¯s the other one?¡±

    In truth, Octavia had thought about it already. For how much he was presenting the concept as a unique revelation, the idea wasn''t his alone. She was all but 100% certain who her other toll was. A Maestro¡¯s own death would suffice, if his--rather, her--hypothesis was true. Of all of the hidden rules that slowly seemed to be surfacing, not one was quite as damning. The thought made her blood curdle.

    Her discomfort still wasn¡¯t nearly enough to halt Josiah¡¯s theorizing. ¡°This one. It¡¯s been paid, hasn¡¯t it?¡±

    Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she heard Lyra growl. Nonetheless, Stratos interrupted before Lyra¡¯s venom could sting the boy further. ¡°While I cannot say of my own volition, I would suspect as much.¡±

    Only now did Josiah allow himself to blink, inhaling sharply as his shoulders relaxed. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of extra rules you guys are hiding from us. I don¡¯t like it.¡±

    Orleanna shook her head. ¡°We hide nothing.¡±

    ¡°Lying by omission is still lying,¡± he said calmly.

    ¡°I will not deny the complexity of this task,¡± Stratos offered. ¡°It is precisely for that reason that the...caveats of its execution may be more than we have initially disclosed. I can assure you, it is not intentional.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Josiah spat.

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Octavia hissed. His cynicism was unwelcome. If it was aimed at Stradivaria, it was worse.

    She wondered if he¡¯d ever look away from a furious Lyra. She found her answer in the form of his gaze versus her own fury instead. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but it¡¯s the truth. There¡¯s too much that isn¡¯t being said out loud. I¡¯ll support whatever you want to do, but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to like it.¡±

    Octavia cringed, fighting a headache born of stress that she was slowly growing accustomed to. She doubted Stradivaria would be of much assistance to that end. ¡°Can I witness Etherion''s toll, too, then?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°A bond is key. Only when bound to one of our own may the Ambassador bear witness to they who paid the tolls.¡±

    Josiah laughed, a single and uncomfortable exclamation that spoke only to bitterness. ¡°See? Another rule. Can¡¯t witness a damn thing without a Maestro, and we already know what happened to Etherion¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Man, what the hell¡¯s gotten into you?¡± Renato asked, more puzzled than angered. ¡°You¡¯ve been this little ball of negativity for a hot minute now. This isn¡¯t like you. At least, I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want Octavia to do this anymore.¡±

    His words made Octavia physically recoil, her fingers trembling around Stradivaria¡¯s body. Even as she gripped the violin tighter, the manner by which chilled blood pulsed through her fingertips only furthered her discomfort. This was heading nowhere positive.

    ¡°It¡¯s not up to you,¡± Harper replied sharply.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I have a really bad feeling about all of this.¡±

    ¡°Josiah, it¡¯s fine,¡± Octavia reassured, neglecting her distaste for the empty words on her tongue.

    She was half-lying. With every word out of the Muses¡¯ mouths, she, too, was gradually growing more unnerved. Ignorance was bliss. She¡¯d already chosen this path, and there was too much she didn¡¯t understand. Whatever other caveats--as Stradivaria considered them--applied to her messy task, she didn¡¯t particularly want to know.

    Even so, the look of hurt on Josiah¡¯s face when he cast his eyes helplessly into the dirt spoke volumes. She didn¡¯t blame him. Were she in his shoes, as hellish and unkind as the world had been to him in the past several weeks, she wouldn¡¯t be too fond of Maestro endeavors. Octavia entertained the idea of mentally trying on the shoes in question, and she still came up short in every fashion. There was absolutely no way. She left it be.

    No amount of ¡°trust me¡± would help, either. She¡¯d already offered him that before, and not with success.

    ¡°I just¡­let¡¯s just do this already. I don¡¯t want to dwell on it anymore.¡±

    Stratos¡¯ voice, once calming, now only felt intimidating--even with identical verbiage and tone. ¡°I ask once more, with whom will you begin?¡±

    ¡°Me.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t give Octavia an option. By the time the newly-crowned Ambassador had raised her head, the Maestra had advanced on her. Face to face, she clasped Silver Brevada in front of her tightly with both hands, stilling the flute upright. Her face was not fully devoid of fear, although it paled it comparison to Octavia¡¯s own. Viola¡¯s flats dug into the soft earth below as she stood at attention. Her bold and rigid posture brought at least some semblance of contagious confidence to Octavia herself.

    ¡°Let¡¯s do this together,¡± Viola said. ¡°You and me.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s fingers twitched against Stradivaria¡¯s neck. Part of her was afraid to let go, clinging to the comfort of the violin. ¡°Are you sure? You don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen--to you, to me, to both of us.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll find out together. Put Stradivaria down.¡±

    Even the suggestion made her uncomfortable. ¡°Viola--¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡± Viola repeated. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid.¡±

    It took extra strength on Octavia¡¯s part to uncurl her trembling fingers from Stradivaria, doing what she could to relax her vice grip on the violin. It was enough to return her circulation. She hadn¡¯t even noticed it was gone. More so, she was thankful for Madrigal¡¯s nearby assistance, by which she surrendered her partner¡¯s body with only mild mental distress. It didn¡¯t keep her from fleeting looks of fearful separation anxiety, her saving grace stolen from her arms. Viola was immune to her plight.

    ¡°Look at me.¡±

    Octavia did as she was told, meeting the Maestra¡¯s demanding gaze wordlessly.

    ¡°Whatever happens, happens. You¡¯re not alone. I told you I¡¯d follow you to the ends of the earth, no matter what. You¡¯re the bravest person I know. You can¡¯t go soft on me now.¡±

    Octavia wanted to cry. She almost did. She forced a weak smile, wiping wet eyes with the palms of her shaking hands. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±

    ¡°Stratos,¡± Viola began, raising her head to the Muse above, ¡°how do we do this?¡±

    Octavia sighed with relief as Viola took the lead, her heart pounding heavily. Stratos¡¯ words were muffled in her ears, nearly overpowered by the sound of her own blood rushing past. ¡°It is the responsibility of the Muse to carry out the rites. Octavia, you need only lay your touch upon the vessel at will, and you will bear witness to the toll.¡±

    ¡°A-At the same time? Both of them?¡± she stammered. Already, her throat was dry, and the words were a struggle to concoct.

    ¡°One at a time.¡±

    ¡°I have to do it twice,¡± she whispered anxiously.

    Even if Viola knew, she couldn¡¯t stop herself from repeating it out loud. It was the most terrified she¡¯d ever been. It was one thing to take a life. It was another entirely to lose her own.

    Brava¡¯s voice was sudden, loud and powerful with a vivacity to his words that came all too quickly. ¡°Viola Vacanti, your toll has been paid twice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.¡±

    His words were over as quickly as they began. There was no glow, no sparkles, no additional magic that she could perceive in any capacity. She had, frankly, expected more to preclude her sickening actions. The distance between her task and the precious moments she had to savor before her own death--or death itself, maybe--was all but gone. No amount of hesitant gazes towards Stradivaria helped. He only nodded his head.

    At your ready, he urged her softly from within.

    Octavia ran out of excuses. She gulped hard, her throat tight enough to stifle what little oxygen she could swallow. With violently-trembling hands raised aloft over Silver Brevada¡¯s newly-outstretched body, she regurgitated the same sentiment of panic over and over against her will. She was going to die. No amount of thinking it over was helping it sink in.

    She could still pull out. She could still step back and regroup. There was another way, surely. No one would fault her, surely. If it was any of the others, if they stood where she did, she wondered if they¡¯d have the courage to follow through.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve.

    You¡¯re the bravest person I know. You can¡¯t go soft on me now.

    If nothing else, for the outcome it would bring, she could do it for Viola, too.

    With one final look into Viola¡¯s unwavering eyes, loaded with determination and faith, Octavia plunged both hands downwards. Chilled metal stung her burning palms, and still her blood burned in the worst way. She blinked, she stumbled, and her world went black.

 34. Strangers Eyes

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Initially, Octavia thought that she''d fainted. Lightheaded and dizzy, it took time for her eyes to adjust to light once again. She repeatedly squeezed her eyelids shut as heavily as she could, desperate to blink away the fog that had settled over her retinas. The world felt blurry, blighting her with a variable cloud she couldn¡¯t dispel. She tried to blink, and yet her blinks were not her own--nor her breaths. Nor her movements, nor her words, nor anything but her own muddied thoughts and emotions that still hadn¡¯t quite adjusted to her current reality. She was a spectator to the world before her.

    Only briefly was she so much as able to recall the outside world--if it existed. It was a struggle to remember Stradivaria, her companions, and everything that came along with her life. Every part of her body felt heavy, too immobile and powerless to do more than float in an endless and unseen expanse of nothing. She was gradually becoming aware of the way by which her feet didn¡¯t touch the ground. She was supine in an inexplicable abyss, and yet not plummeting to what would surely be a gruesome end.

    Instead, she found colors she wasn¡¯t quite used to. There came blonde locks draped in front of her eyes, swatted away on occasion by slender fingers she¡¯d never seen before. There came an occasional laugh into a delicate palm that--for all intents and purposes--was placed where her own should¡¯ve been.

    This wasn¡¯t her. This wasn¡¯t her body. With how muffled her current existence was, the realization wasn¡¯t quite as jarring as it should have been. She was helpless to do more than watch through eyes that didn¡¯t belong to her.

    What greeted her were flashes of a life that, just the same, didn¡¯t belong to her, either. Snippets were strung together, a hastily woven tapestry of a world she¡¯d never experienced. Every thread was largely innocent. None were notably striking, although they were somewhat extensive at times.

    Were it truly a film, she might¡¯ve grown bored during the mundane flashes, by which kisses with a stranger were exchanged. Rings, too, traded hands. The train of an ivory dress snagged upon cobblestone, trailing in the wake of joyous footsteps. A baby¡¯s newborn cries. A child¡¯s smile. A happy, standard existence that didn¡¯t strike Octavia as particularly unique.

    Still, she couldn¡¯t fault the stranger¡¯s satisfaction. She did what she could to be happy on behalf of a life well-lived. If she squinted, she could recognize landmarks of a familiar city--buildings, architecture, and shops that she¡¯d passed by in Coda several times over. Granted, they were cleaner, sturdier. As to how long ago her stranger had walked the streets, she was left to guess. She recognized the flower shop. The florist waved, and the arm she borrowed waved back. He was lost from sight not long after. She couldn¡¯t fix that much.

    It was one more aggravating reminder that Octavia¡¯s eyes were not her own, limited only to the view shared with another. When her eyes flickered upwards to the bold brilliance of the nearly-full moon, so, too, did Octavia¡¯s. When they delved downwards to her uniform, sullied fingers swiping at grassy stains as she walked onwards, again came Octavia¡¯s with them.

    Even now, Octavia could make no sense of exactly what she was looking at. The sensation of immobility wasn¡¯t entirely uncomfortable, instead neutral in a way that she soon stopped registering altogether. The passage of time was muddied, both for herself and the scenes that crossed her stolen eyes. She had no idea how long she¡¯d been watching. It wasn¡¯t as concerning as she¡¯d expected.

    For all she¡¯d lost, she¡¯d kept her emotions in the void. The violent screeching was all too familiar, and her heart could¡¯ve stopped. Octavia couldn¡¯t run. Her stranger, to their credit, tried.

    There was no outrunning Dissonance. Her stranger couldn¡¯t see it in the first place. There was always the chance of outrunning one who¡¯d succumbed to the grasp of agony, by comparison. It was the first time since becoming a Maestra that Octavia had glimpsed the other side she¡¯d once stood on so long ago.

    The violet wisps typically born of either shoulder were absent, even with the unfortunate remainder of a horrible noise she¡¯d grown used to. Ultimately, it didn¡¯t matter. The speed of her assailant contrasted sharply with the sluggish demeanors she¡¯d come to expect. They were fast. For one so Dissonant, it was jarring. Now more than ever, she cursed the limitations of her stranger¡¯s eyes. No amount of effort could bring them level with the violent gaze that waited just out of reach.

    Octavia was so distracted by her desperate curiosity of the pursuant, treading upon every footstep left behind by her stranger, that it took time to realize they were fleeing at all. She earned several precious moments of confused calm before her heart caught up with her mind, pounding feverishly against her chest. Fear was contagious, and that of her forced companion was seeping into her blood.

    It took time to remember why she was here. It took more time to realize where this situation was going, more than likely. The manner by which the woman steered herself between darkened corridors and winding backroads of Coda was her folly. It was enough to make Octavia dizzy, even aloft in nothingness as she was.

    Her inability to reach out was torture. She couldn¡¯t jerk the woman¡¯s head, nor could she force her gaze over her shoulder. She couldn¡¯t catch sight of the pounding footsteps that had rapidly increased in pace and volume behind her. The only clarity Octavia earned came in the form of a face-first downfall onto hard cobblestone. Scrambling hands struggled to push her stranger to her feet. They weren¡¯t faster than those which came from behind.

    Octavia¡¯s vision rolled abruptly to the left, cast suddenly towards the place she¡¯d prayed for all along. It was a simultaneous blessing and curse. The fleeting silhouette of the man that she caught was vague, hampered by the meddling shadows of the weak moon. The long flaps of a suit. Neatly-cuffed sleeves. Stark-black locks that dipped messily over hiding eyes. Bolts of rippling blue fabrics that struck just the slightest chord of familiarity--though she¡¯d be damned if she could place it.

    Try as she might to commit them to memory, the knife handle clasped in both strong, steady hands drew her attention above all else. Every effort to ignore it in favor of other observations was impossible. It was simple enough, acutely honed as it stared her down. Level with her stolen eyes, Octavia could drink in the steel shimmer. She¡¯d seen similar knives in her own kitchen, and the plain methodology was almost striking. Logically, it probably took seconds. Right now, it took forever.

    With the slightest twist of his wrists, he plunged downwards without remorse. Octavia assumed it¡¯d be the woman¡¯s chest. She was incredibly wrong. It was her throat, and the useless scream that precluded the inevitable was garbled so soon after. Octavia recoiled in every way. Struggling, flailing, and screaming noiselessly did nothing. Sounds she wished she could unhear instead burned themselves into her memory. Her vision, shared as it was, didn¡¯t go dark quickly, even after the second attack jolted her stranger¡¯s entire body upwards. There came no end by the third. Nor the fourth. Nor the fifth.

    On the sixth, she found reprieve. Octavia blinked, and she found the scream she was looking for all along.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was instant. Octavia stumbled backwards, her hands shaking furiously as she collapsed. Soft grass offered at least some assistance with the physical impact. Her mental state, by comparison, was a disaster. She trembled forever, breathing so heavily she feared she¡¯d faint. Even as her vision returned, the blinding sun assaulting her dilated pupils, acclimation to her surroundings took far too long.

    ¡°Whoa, Octavia?¡±

    She didn¡¯t have the energy, nor the foresight, to so much as turn her head at the moment. Renato¡¯s words were at least enough for her to realize that she was still, in fact, screaming. It took effort for her to close her mouth, although stifling her panic was borderline impossible.

    When her eyes finally focused in full, she found Viola. The Maestra was still standing as calmly as she¡¯d last remembered. With Silver Brevada extended in two steady palms, only her expression moved, contorting with worry. Octavia watched the way Viola¡¯s fingers curled inwards instead, giving up a gasp. Octavia didn¡¯t have the coherence to be self-conscious about it. She did, at least, have the coherence to recognize five sets of eyes settling onto her burning skin. No one moved, momentarily. The silence was stifling, loaded only with her own desperate hunts for air.

    ¡°What¡­did you see?¡± Viola finally asked, her voice tiny.

    It took immense effort for Octavia to shake her head wordlessly. That wasn¡¯t enough.

    ¡°Octavia, what happened?¡± Viola pressed.

    Octavia looked for an answer. She failed. Pushing herself off the ground was somehow easier, although difficult in its own right. Her hands still shook so severely that she questioned her efforts to dust off her dress. She was left watching with great discomfort as the grit and grime simply smeared along the fabric instead. It was her dress, and they were her stains. They were her hands. She was moving them. It wasn¡¯t as grounding of a revelation as she hoped it¡¯d be.

    She couldn¡¯t bring herself to look at Viola. Octavia could only cast her dizzied gaze at Silver Brevada instead, still silent and glistening in its partner¡¯s palms as it awaited her second touch.

    She¡¯d almost forgotten. There was a second one.

    Only the thought of another identical experience was enough to unclog the words in her throat. ¡°I-I¡­I don¡¯t know. I¡­died.¡±

    Her answer wasn¡¯t enough. That much was clear to see on Viola¡¯s face, and it left Octavia feeling vulnerable. Even the meager words she¡¯d offered had been too much already.

    ¡°But what did you see?¡± Viola repeated, her tone pleading.

    Octavia¡¯s palms were clammy. She wished she hadn¡¯t seen anything, in truth. She still wasn¡¯t certain as to what she¡¯d actually seen at all. Trying to process it wasn¡¯t getting any easier.

    ¡°You¡­don¡¯t have to tell us if you don¡¯t want to,¡± Harper said gently.

    His words were appreciated. Still, the pain in Viola¡¯s eyes was impossible to ignore. Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to look away. Through her haze, it took a moment to place the urgency.

    ¡°The highlights,¡± Josiah suggested. ¡°Bits and pieces. Whatever you want.¡±

    Octavia exhaled deeply. Organizing her thoughts in full was impossible. Highlights were manageable. Finding her words was a trial all the same, as was stilling the eternal tremble in her voice. ¡°It was¡­I was someone else. A woman, I don¡¯t know who.¡±

    ¡°What did she look like?¡± Viola pressed.

    ¡°Blonde hair, light skin, I couldn¡¯t really see myself. I was seeing someone else¡¯s¡­life, I think.¡±

    ¡°How did it end?¡±

    ¡°Viola,¡± Harper warned. The Maestra winced.

    His scolding came late. She had her imagery back, largely composed of spilled blood and sounds she couldn¡¯t block out. The end was far more memorable than what happiness had preceded it. Squeezing her eyes shut provided the blank canvas her poisoned thoughts needed to come to life once more. She cast her gaze into a fixed point in the grass well over Madrigal¡¯s shoulder. She didn¡¯t particularly want to answer.

    ¡°I told you, I died,¡± Octavia spat, her tone harsher than intended. Given the hurt on Viola¡¯s face, she regretted it immediately. An apology would¡¯ve been just as hollow. She didn¡¯t bother. Viola mouthed a single syllable, and Octavia didn¡¯t need the full question to cut her off. She¡¯d been well aware that it was coming.

    ¡°Who--¡±

    ¡°You already know who.¡±

    Viola¡¯s lip quivered. Truthful or otherwise, Octavia had no idea how to avoid hurting her. This entire interaction was painful.

    The pressure of luminous gazes bearing down on her from above was crushing. She didn¡¯t have the heart to raise her eyes, nor to even look at Stradivaria. For more reasons than one, she felt small. ¡°How do I do the next one? There¡¯s a second one, right?¡±

    ¡°As you did before,¡± Stratos offered calmly. The warmth in his voice, ever present, was useless at the moment.

    ¡°Does Brava need to do his incantation thing again?¡±

    ¡°It must be done once, and only once. You may proceed at your ready.¡±

    Her fingers twitched uselessly, resisting whatever signals in her head urged them to inch towards Silver Brevada. Beginning with Viola¡¯s tolls was a terrible idea. For Madrigal and Harper, she wouldn¡¯t be as confident. That wouldn¡¯t have been a bad thing. Here, she knew exactly what awaited her touch yet again. A sick part of her was relieved over the lack of a third toll, however misplaced it may have been. She¡¯d find it someday, provided that was how this worked. Someday was not today.

    ¡°How long did it take?¡± Octavia murmured aloud.

    ¡°It was quick,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°Felt like I blinked. One moment, you touched Silver Brevada, and the next moment, you were on the ground.¡±

    The thought was almost laughable. Her experience had been anything but quick.

    ¡°Do you want to take a break?¡± Madrigal asked, worry seeping into her words.

    Octavia almost didn¡¯t bother with an answer. She was more than preoccupied with the return of her pounding heartbeat. ¡°No. I want to get this over with.¡±

    She left no room for objection. That included the thoughts that again pleaded with her to run, hide, or do whatever would spare her from the same fate twice over. With both hands once more quickly grasping the flute¡¯s body, she did what she could to steel her nerves as the blackened void swallowed her whole. She would take to the grave with her the manner by which, somehow, curiosity was its own motivator.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    The only thing that was instant in the way Josiah had described was the ¡°fall¡±--a phenomenon she hadn¡¯t been able to put into words the first time. Octavia could never pinpoint the exact moment she¡¯d fallen asleep, nor could she ever control the content of her dreams. The shift between consciousness and not was an ample comparison to the contrast between her feet on the ground and her presence in the dark.

    The fog and clouds in her head were still ever-present, and yet she could¡¯ve sworn they¡¯d cleared somewhat versus before. Her dulled senses were no longer as dull. Her body was somewhere between light and heavy, free-floating in nothingness unseen. That hadn¡¯t changed. Still, the rush of emotions that orbited her brain wasn¡¯t quite as overpowering. She was getting used to this.

    It didn¡¯t change the way her thoughts were muddied, the outside world a blur compared to the eyes she''d been assigned. She took mental notes through her haze. She couldn¡¯t grasp at her own concerns, concepts as simple as the names of the others fleeing her instantly. Temporary as she knew the dilemma to be, it was terrifying all the same. What was to come didn¡¯t ease her horror in any way. This stranger¡¯s story was worse.

    Her tale started off simple enough. Snippets of childhood took turns, painting a condensed and linear biography of a life cut tragically short. She found joyous family affairs, laughs with companions, occasions filled with love, and love that blossomed into romance. Octavia was happy for her, granted--again. Her most relevant memories seemed satisfactory enough as she aged.

    Octavia strained her borrowed gaze for what pieces of identity she could assemble. Initially, she only earned brown waves and bangs that bobbed over her eyes from time to time. It took effort to find more, although it eventually came. Substantially tan. Well-groomed. Fingernails peppered with bright splashes of color that slowly changed over the years.

    The presence of a mirror, for the first time, caught her off guard. She earned a brief second of clarity by virtue of vanity, and she scrambled for what she could steal. Freckles splattered above a dimpled smile. Barrettes lodged in a brunette sea. Sparkling bangles of radiant gold and sterling silver dangling from slender wrists. She found chocolate-brown eyes, big and round, that stared back at her. If Octavia looked hard enough, she wondered if she¡¯d see herself in there.

    It was the best opportunity she got. It was satisfying enough, and yet it still didn¡¯t put a name to a face. Versus the sudden abundance of glass bottles in every scene, it was only one problem. They were nothing if not suspicious, constant in every way. They weren¡¯t always full. Each time their tinted lips rose to touch her stranger¡¯s own, chaos followed in her words.

    Disagreements became arguments. Arguments became shouting matches. Shouting matches brought slammed doors, heavy footsteps, every building exchanged for the open air of the night. Frustration and pain was permanent upon recurring faces. The tavern was new, although it quickly became just as permanent.

    Octavia didn¡¯t enjoy where this was going. She didn¡¯t particularly want to see more. Skipping to the ending wasn¡¯t an appealing thought, and yet this was painful in another way entirely. Her last experience had already felt intrusive. This was worse by at least ten times over. Long-departed as this woman already was, she offered a silent apology for events not to be shared with the world.

    She was able to take a rough guess as to when the conclusion was approaching in general, and being correct was in no way a victory. A slammed door and staggering steps were nothing new, nor was the den of poor decisions she¡¯d more or less made her home. She was somewhat amazed this woman could navigate in any capacity in the depths of night, thoroughly inebriated as she was. Poorly-lit roads again took precedence, and the moon faltered once more. It was predictable enough.

    Octavia¡¯s stranger was devoid of companionship, painfully vulnerable, and wandering towards the end with a drained bottle to show for it. The fact that she¡¯d brought it along at all was somewhat pitiful. When the screeching came, she didn¡¯t run. Octavia loathed that she couldn¡¯t berate her. At the very least, Octavia was no longer cursed with fleeting puzzle pieces. Drunken confidence was lethal, and yet it handed her the visage she needed. She regretted it instantly.

    She already knew what she was supposed to be expecting in the depths of Viola¡¯s tolls. Still, the sight of the man with her own eyes--stolen or otherwise--was crushing. A hand meant to hold that of a loving little girl instead gripped the handle of a knife. Where steel had once been stainless, deep red now claimed its luster. Long before it approached her stranger¡¯s skin, it was already poisoned with violence past. Vibrant blues adorning a father once gentle were flecked with the same scarlet malice in turn. He¡¯d taken three lives in the grasp of violet agony. Of that, Octavia was aware. She¡¯d never known they¡¯d happened all at once.

    If she could move in her current state, the sudden sound of smashing glass would¡¯ve left her recoiling. The bottle in her stranger¡¯s hand was suddenly as sharp and jagged as the obscenities rolling off her tongue. Fear was as irrelevant as reason, in her stupor. Even in the face of the weapon that came level with her eyes, she didn¡¯t back down. Dripping, pointed glassy teeth met the man¡¯s gaze in turn, and her hostile intent matched his own. She never got far.

    Vincent Vacanti was relentless, if not calculated all the same. His methodology was identical, and his fleshy target was just so. A lunge, an extension, and a spearing blade aimed precisely at an exposed throat were all he needed. He hit his mark with sickening skill, whether augmented by unseen violet or not. For Octavia¡¯s peace of mind, she prayed it was Dissonance alone that gave him the talent.

    The finishing blow was a change, if nothing else. Gone was the thrusting, and the stabbing along with it. He slashed, carving through flimsy skin as he drew infinite blood. If he¡¯d hit an artery, it showed--intentional or otherwise. Octavia felt no pain. Her stranger was upright, somehow. It wasn¡¯t satisfactory for him.

    Where he¡¯d slashed left, he tore right. The diving knife ripped deep through wet viscera, clear in the opposite direction. Octavia couldn¡¯t see it, and yet she could hear it with nauseating clarity. She thanked any god that would listen that her stranger didn¡¯t have the physical capacity to look down. If she did, Octavia would more than likely never sleep again.

    As it was, the splattering and choking alone were enough to threaten her circadian rhythm for the rest of her life. They were worse than the first time, maybe. Only now did her stolen vision drift upwards, stealing one last look at the darkened sky as the world faded to black itself. Where the deep reds of wine had haunted her stranger so viciously, it was the splashing reds ripped from within that followed her out. With Vincent Vacanti¡¯s face burnt into her mind in the worst way imaginable, Octavia died for the second time that day.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She didn¡¯t regain her senses with a scream. Instead, she did so with her hands strangling her own throat.

    She¡¯d stayed on her feet this time, apparently, although not by much. It was by sheer luck alone that she didn¡¯t lose her balance as soon as she could move again, the sun once more assailing her poor pupils. The placement of her hands wasn¡¯t an immediate realization, coming to her only in tandem with an urge to scratch at sweat-pricked skin. Her palms covered as much as they could, her nails just barely clipping the soft surface as it bent. Only now did she find difficulty in breathing, and yet she resisted the urge to remove her hands altogether. Solely confused stares and uncomfortable glances of concern could convince her otherwise.

    The starving curiosity on Viola¡¯s face was as justified as it was infuriating. It was insensitive. She didn¡¯t want to give the girl a chance. More than anything, Octavia wanted this to be over.

    ¡°Oct--¡±

    ¡°Is that all of them?¡± Octavia asked openly, louder than intended.

    It took her a moment longer to give Stratos her attention. He responded in kind with a nod. ¡°Indeed, it is so. Well done, Octavia.¡±

    His praise meant absolutely nothing. It was still better than letting anyone press her on death itself. ¡°Does that mean Brava is free? Like, he¡¯s all done?¡±

    The subject of her questioning took the lead. ¡°It is as you say, Ambassador,¡± he said. ¡°Even as such, I will honor the terms of our agreement.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d better,¡± she muttered. For all she¡¯d just done, the ire that would come with the alternative would leave her reassessing more of her life than she would¡¯ve liked to. ¡°Can Viola still¡­will you still be partners?¡±

    ¡°Be at ease. I shall continue to lend her my strength so long as she bears her soul unto my own. I am gracious in this way.¡±

    Octavia sighed. Somewhere between irritation and exhaustion, she almost didn¡¯t have the effort to scoff inwardly at him.

    ¡°Who next will you choose?¡± Orleanna spoke instead.

    Harper and Madrigal stiffened in tandem. It wasn¡¯t subtle. Viola¡¯s gaze was laced with dissatisfaction, if not watery in a way that left Octavia deeply uncomfortable. Octavia closed her eyes, battling what lingering dizziness still cursed her. She¡¯d tried. This was too much.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°No one,¡± she answered. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m done for the day. That¡¯s enough.¡±

    ¡°So soon?¡± Brava asked incredulously.

    ¡°Now, Brava,¡± Lyra interrupted, ¡°peace was suggested. This was a first--and two in such short succession, at that. She has earned her rest. There is no hurry.¡±

    ¡°Among this circle, only three tolls remain,¡± Aste added lazily, their voice tinged with disinterest. ¡°Unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m really starting to think you two can¡¯t make it through a single sentence without takin¡¯ a shot at me somehow,¡± Renato hissed.

    ¡°We can stop,¡± Harper offered, forcing an awkward smile. ¡°Lyra¡¯s right. There¡¯s no rush. Today can just be a day to relax. We don¡¯t have to do every toll on the same day.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we can go out to eat,¡± Madrigal added, her own grin just as pained.

    Octavia at least appreciated the effort. ¡°I¡­just want to rest for a bit. Alone.¡±

    Watching them deflate felt uncomfortable. At the very least, she was grateful that they didn¡¯t push. Packing up was done in loaded silence, and Viola was perhaps the worst offender of all. Silver Brevada resheathed into its case wasn¡¯t the victory Octavia had been hoping for, freed of tolls or not. Even Stradivaria back in her arms was devoid of warmth, and she laid her partner to rest in turn with no relief to show for it.

    The second instance of the Muses dissipating before her eyes was less jarring than the first. Granted, Octavia was prepared for it this time. A wordless fizzle and a bright spark gave way to miniature bursts of brilliant color. Tiny supernovas burst into dazzling aftermath sixfold, flickering dust just barely present long enough for her to catch. Again, she could¡¯ve blinked and missed it. She had peace in another way entirely, and her companions let her cling to that which was already heavy. She hoisted Stradivaria¡¯s case onto her shoulders, doing what she could to tread carefully over the scattered floral debris underfoot.

    Do not be fearful of your tolls, for they are a necessary evil that must be acknowledged.

    Octavia froze, tilting her head. That wasn¡¯t Stradivaria. That was where he was supposed to be, at least, gracing her from within. Orleanna¡¯s voice was unmistakable, by comparison, and not a speck of glimmering scarlet touched the air. Her eyes flickered about the clearing. She checked.

    ¡°Orleanna?¡± she asked aloud.

    The others stopped, and it was Octavia to whom their eyes fell instead. Their gazes left her uncomfortable. Her own darted to Harper instinctively, and he returned it with equal confusion.

    ¡°Do you¡­need to talk to her?¡± Harper asked slowly.

    Orleanna was talking to her, actually. Octavia thought to specify, and yet held her tongue. Several strategic seconds allotted for the Muse to speak further were fruitless. She relented. ¡°Nevermind,¡± Octavia said at last, shaking her head.

    Four sets of roaming eyes set her free, fixated forward again. One didn¡¯t. Harper¡¯s own lingered for somewhat too long, and she was conscious of that much. He relented, eventually, and his steps slowed in turn. He fell behind her, trailing at her back as she walked. For how awkward the situation was, Orleanna¡¯s words were unsettling in and of themselves. The less she had to think about her tolls, the better. To chase that line of thought, here and now, could¡¯ve killed her.

    It is true, there appears to be an insect upon her braids. The left one, I see.

    Octavia recoiled. Slapping her braid was a reflex.

    Rather, a mistake, it is the one on the right.

    She nearly did so on the other side. Hurried fingers stopped short, and she grasped at the woven strands instead. She squinted. They were unblemished.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    Harper, instead, had come to a standstill. Again, she did the same, and the others weren¡¯t exempt. The volume of his exclamation, alone, was enough to make her jump. His expression fell just short of horror.

    She winced, still clasping one in two nervous hands. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°A-Are you¡­can you hear her talking?¡± he stammered.

    She tilted her head. The urgency in his tone was confusing. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s talking to me.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s not talking to you. She¡¯s talking to me.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What¡­do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Are you in my head?¡± he asked, his voice small and fearful.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Like, are you listening to what I¡¯m thinking?¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°No, no! Of course not! I just¡­I hear her, I don¡¯t know why! I swear, I thought she was talking to me. I promise it wasn¡¯t intentional.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m not particularly fond of the idea of someone listening to my thoughts,¡± he stammered once more, his voice wavering somewhat.

    ¡°Harper, I seriously didn¡¯t hear anything. I can¡¯t hear what you¡¯re thinking. I¡¯m just hearing Orleanna for some reason, and I don¡¯t know why. That¡¯s it, I swear!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the first time.¡±

    Madrigal was an instant magnet for five sets of eyes. Tangled fingers atop the skirt of her dress matched with calm confidence and a bright smile. ¡°You¡¯ve heard Lyra before, haven¡¯t you? Back then.¡±

    ¡°Back then¡± took a moment. ¡°Back then¡± was almost a guess, for how Octavia had to sift for an applicable ¡°back then¡± in the first place. She¡¯d known Lyra¡¯s voice before the blessing of ethereal viridian had ever graced her eyes. ¡°Back then¡± was in the depths of a different Hell, tethered to the cold walls of a bloodied institution and a grieving Madrigal. It should¡¯ve been private, a Maestra guided to salvation by her partner. It wasn¡¯t.

    Could you be the one?

    Neither was that.

    ¡°Lyra told me,¡± Madrigal continued. ¡°I heard her say it. She said you shouldn¡¯t be able to hear her unless you were special. Now we know that you are special,¡± she spoke with a soft smile. ¡°Maybe you can hear all of them.¡±

    It is true, came Lyra¡¯s voice in turn. This time, Octavia was fairly certain she was invited to the conversation. It is the gift of the Heartful that our forms, so long as the Ambassador has selected the form of manifestation, may be shared with others. However, it is the privilege of the Ambassador alone that they might observe our voices within. Indeed, in this way, there are no secrets to be kept.

    ¡°Can you guys hear each other? Like, for example, can Renato hear Stratos?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything,¡± Renato answered in Lyra¡¯s stead.

    You alone are privy to our words unspoken, Lyra continued. Beware what you choose to overhear, for your own benefit, and know that it is only our words to which you are entitled.

    ¡°There you have it,¡± Madrigal concluded. ¡°We can share, but you can¡¯t read my mind, so everything¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s get along with Lyra together, okay?¡±

    Harper let out a breath that Octavia wasn¡¯t aware he¡¯d been holding. Lyra¡¯s words had been localized to a party of three, and yet the context was visible enough. It was one piece of a puzzle born of crisis that clicked neatly into place. It left yet more, as everything always did. She¡¯d had more than enough crises for one day, to begin with. If nothing else, the privilege offered to her ears was far, far preferable to that which would curse her eyes for the foreseeable future.

    <hr>

    Dying was exhausting.

    Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to actually do anything of merit for the remainder of the day. In retrospect, that likely did nothing positive for her mental state. What space she¡¯d asked for was earned without issue, albeit paid for with wandering eyes and curious glances. She was fairly certain they were handling her with unnecessary care, and she wasn¡¯t fond of the idea. Murdered twice over as she¡¯d been that morning, it was irritating that she couldn¡¯t fault them for it.

    It wasn¡¯t particularly healthy to bind herself to her room, forgoing social comforts in full. At the very least, she skipped the sulking and self-loathing. Madrigal had recommended taking up a hobby. It hadn¡¯t been the worst idea she¡¯d pursued in several weeks. Technically, it was the third time today she¡¯d dealt with a knife.

    Granted, it came bundled with a wonderfully square block of balsa. She¡¯d never taken up wood carving at home, although the activity had been present enough in her household. Beyond Silver Ridge, it was nostalgic all the same, and pure little wood drifted with her through a sea of uncertainty. She made the first cut with more ease than expected. So, too, came the second, and the third in turn. The shapes she crafted were crude, although vaguely adjacent to the patterns she¡¯d envisioned.

    Octavia doubted her initial attempt would offer up a phenomenal work of art. It was still a better use for her hands than clinging to Stradivaria forever. She was no master artisan, and she surely couldn¡¯t fashion two masterpieces of cherry oak bound to either wrist. She could get there, one day. Following in her father¡¯s footsteps would¡¯ve been a solid life plan after conquering the burdens of her Maestra responsibilities.

    It¡¯d be easier than following in her sister¡¯s footsteps, at least. She cut deeper. Ideally, she could carve out every weighted thought that plagued her just as easily.

    Several hours of quiet comfort with soft wood and her two hands for company was pleasant. Still, what refueled peace followed her through sunset and into the night wasn¡¯t eternal. Her wet hair flat against the pillow was irritating, and peeking moonlight through gaps in her curtains did little to dry it. She would¡¯ve been restless either way. There was the slightest hint of fear that came with the idea of sleep, for how she might carry death itself into true darkness once more. Still, there was more. Pulling the covers over her head did nothing. Pacing did nothing. They usually didn¡¯t, to be fair.

    Talking was a crushing urge. Her options were limited. She straddled a wish for peaceful isolation and a plea for companionship. As to what she¡¯d do once she had it, she wasn¡¯t sure. Octavia had one idea. It required an uncomfortable combination. A nightgown, wet hair, boots, and a violin in her arms felt awkward in conjunction. She chose the second floor.

    It wasn¡¯t often that she went up there in the first place, nor did any of her companions. The upper story of the Vacanti household bore mostly stray artwork and barren rooms, somewhat mirroring those she could access easily below. She still wondered exactly how many of them were ever necessary in the first place, for how small the family who¡¯d called it home had been. The upper floor came with a balcony, and that alone was different.

    Octavia fumbled with the latches of glass doors with care, tentative steps leading her into the star-kissed night. The rush of cool air that greeted her skin was refreshing, if not somewhat chilling as it tangled with hair still damp. If she peered beyond the railing, she could claim Coda below with her curious gaze--asleep as it was. In the still of the silent night, with only the soft songs of insects for companionship, she had the world to herself. She had another song to herself, in turn.

    She played.

    She¡¯d stolen the idea from Madrigal. It had been painted as bonding, and she¡¯d somewhat envied it. The vast majority of times that Stradivaria touched her shoulder, it had been a byproduct of chaos and misfortune. In that way, she may have done him a disservice. Priscilla was a musician in every sense of the word, and he¡¯d been by her side in many moments far brighter. Octavia had little to offer but misery and hurt, given what she¡¯d dragged him through. She was a decent Maestra, ideally. She was an awful partner.

    ¡°Stradivaria,¡± Octavia spoke aloud, as best as she could manage with his body pressed to her cheek.

    What are you doing so late, Octavia? Do you not wish to rest?

    ¡°I want to talk.¡±

    We may always do so. Of this, I am certain you are aware. Why do you play?

    ¡°I just¡­want to.¡±

    He hesitated. Still, he didn¡¯t object. As you wish.

    She played onwards, her hands moving of their own accord. It was absentminded, as always, and she didn¡¯t recognize the song that she spun into the open night. Still, it came with comfort in place of panic. That was new. She closed her eyes as she savored every note, swaying gently. ¡°I have questions for you.¡±

    You always do.

    Octavia battled a smirk. He almost sounded sassy. ¡°I¡¯m¡­gonna try to keep them light. I¡¯ve had enough surprises for a while, but there¡¯s still things I want to know. Just¡­please don¡¯t drop anything massive on me again, okay?¡±

    Only now did his standard hmm of amusement finally bless her with warmth. I will endeavor to provide the answers you seek. No more and no less.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she murmured. With eyes still closed, she at least took solace in the feeling of her hair steadily becoming less congealed. Drying strands brushed delicately against her other cheek. With certainty, he wouldn¡¯t care. She was still self-conscious about having her braids down around Stradivaria, regardless.

    ¡°Can you¡­feel it when I touch you?¡±

    That which you hold in your arms, then?

    She nodded, an awkward motion in the midst of her song. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    In this manner, I cannot.

    Octavia breathed a far larger sigh of relief than she should¡¯ve. It excused the caressing. ¡°Does it ever hurt?¡±

    Elaborate.

    ¡°When I play you,¡± she specified. ¡°Or, like¡­anything. I know I¡¯ve been kinda rough with you sometimes.¡±

    This form cannot be harmed by mortal means. Fear not.

    She tried not to count how many times she¡¯d dropped him. She couldn¡¯t help it. That, too, was perhaps a symptom of an awful partner. ¡°Why do you call yourself Stradivaria?¡±

    He was silent for a moment. I believe you asked only for simple truths to simple inquiries.

    Octavia groaned. ¡°Is this not a simple answer? Seriously?¡±

    Perhaps for myself. On a grander scale, it is perhaps not so for you.

    ¡°Could you, like, sum it up? Give me the general gist? Short answer?¡±

    I could attempt.

    ¡°Then please attempt.¡±

    His pauses were always agonizing. Octavia was beginning to wonder if he was building suspense on purpose. An homage to craftsmanship unmatched, he finally answered. Before your time, in an age long prior to where you now stand. Knowing what I know of my own, you would appreciate that as well.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to pause. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    You are the daughter of a woodworker, are you not? With a fondness for the art, as such.

    ¡°No, not that. An age long prior, what does that mean?¡±

    I say unto you again, I believe you requested only simple truths.

    Her groan this time was far more exaggerated, and yet she never ceased her song. It was a relief that her annoyance didn¡¯t spill into her aimless melody. ¡°I did, but now you¡¯ve got me curious.¡±

    I warn you that this is a¡­sufficiently sizable truth. I would not fault your decision to defer to another evening.

    Octavia rolled her eyes behind closed lids. ¡°Out with it.¡±

    What do you recall of your encounter with Lord Ramulus?

    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Wait, who¡¯s Lord Ramulus?¡±

    I¡­apologize. You would know him by another name. Would it trouble you to remember Rani?

    It did trouble her. It troubled Octavia enough that she nearly stopped playing, the bow slowing to a crawl across the strings. She¡¯d clung to flashes of her encounter on surreal shores, mired in agony as they¡¯d been at the time. For once, they were accessible, and his words were the key.

    She fell. Violet claimed her. A child cleansed her pain, and a name was offered in a voice too different. There came a story, and a moniker for her partner in turn. She¡¯d awoken in Viola¡¯s arms, enraged and betrayed. What bloody crisis followed her waking dream had been far more urgent. There was, if she strained, a Rani. Never once had she heard the name Ramulus.

    ¡°I remember,¡± Octavia half-lied. ¡°A little.¡±

    To you, he told a story of great importance. Do you recall?

    This time, she shook her head. The violin bounced uncomfortably against her face in the process. ¡°I know there was one, but I¡¯d be lying if I said I remember it.¡±

    Eventually, it is imperative that you hear it again. So, too, is it imperative that you learn it well.

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve got the time. You might as well tell me now. Do I at least get to ask questions? Last time I was told to just stand there and take it.¡±

    You may ask whatever you would like, so long as you are prepared for the lengthy truths that you wished to avoid.

    ¡°You know, this is a lot of work just to explain where your name came from.¡±

    Then do you ask that I cease?

    Octavia sighed heavily. ¡°No, go on. Start from the beginning.¡±

    Stratos did as instructed, his voice soft and inviting. She took more comfort in the smooth warmth of his tone than she should¡¯ve. She kicked herself for it, given that she¡¯d asked the question in the first place. It took cognitive effort to focus on his actual words.

    Where once was none came all. From nothing, light cut through the black and brought life into being. He of all above spread his reach far, his legacy a mark upon the world he created. The spirited winds ravaged the mountains so carefully crafted. Upon the green, fire raged with a will untethered. Atop the highest peaks, ice born of the soul coalesced. The lightning struck the earth, its essence a testament to shining grace. When they who remained sang, the strength of their sound could move the earth. Above all, the light of the heart watched onwards. From his blessing came those who would guard they who existed below.

    That much was fine, almost. One part bothered her. ¡°I¡¯m taking a guess that ¡®he¡¯ is this Lord Ramulus guy? And this above and below stuff. If you guys live ¡®above¡¯, does that make us ¡®below¡¯?¡±

    You are correct in both of your assumptions. It is to our Lord that each of us answer.

    ¡°And the guarding part? Who¡¯s guarding what?¡±

    It is the Heartful who are destined to act as the bridge between the realms of ourselves and your own. Such is your burden most of all, oh Ambassador.

    Octavia nodded, her discomfort with the word ¡®burden¡¯ notwithstanding. ¡°And that consists of¡­what, exactly?¡±

    You already serve as a fine bridge. Fret not. Continue as you are.

    Blushing beneath his praise was a reflex. It took extra effort to stifle it in favor of focusing. ¡°There¡¯s more, right? Keep going.¡±

    He was quiet. Eventually, he relented.

    Man flourished. Man blossomed into a force of its own, walking upon his world. From the hearts of their own came love, thrust upwards ever higher. Peace settled upon all. But it was she who brought the world to ruin, enamored with the charms of man. Malice in the hearts of--

    ¡°¡®She¡¯? Who¡¯s ¡®she¡¯?¡± Octavia interrupted.

    Patience, he chided.

    His tone was somewhat sharper than she¡¯d expected. She winced, nearly blushing for a different reason entirely.

    Malice in the hearts of few dragged her from the throne above, clawed to earth with powers unfit for this realm. In her sorrow followed the agony of men, given form. Splintered, they above could not remain, tears beating upon the earth as they fell to mortal hands. The ninety-six took refuge within, until the chosen time should come.

    When he fell silent, the soft tones of her aimless melody felt out of place as she awaited his words. Octavia waited. And waited. And waited.

    You may speak now.

    Octavia cleared her throat uncomfortably.

    ¡°So, uh, I was asking, who is ¡®she¡¯? This person, the one who¡­brought the world to ruin?¡±

    Again, he hesitated, as he had so many times before. ¡®She¡¯ is--rather, was--one of our own, victim to an error of passion. In fewer words, this is¡­one who made a grave mistake. Now, in her stead, it is you and I alike who pay the price.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­not good. Who is she, exactly? Have I met her?¡±

    I assure you, you have not met her. Have you other questions as to the words of this segment?

    ¡°I mean, I figured out some of it awhile ago. ¡®The agony of men¡¯ is the Dissonance, right? ¡®The ninety-six¡¯ is you guys, and I¡¯m taking a wild guess that ¡®the chosen time¡¯ is now, if we¡¯re doing all this. You were¡­dragged here? Pulled? From ¡®above¡¯?¡±

    His usual hmm, even in affirmation, was utterly devoid of warmth. She didn¡¯t like it.

    ¡°And then¡­you still haven¡¯t answered me. Who is ¡®she¡¯?¡±

    Octavia, he answered softly. Her name alone, unaccompanied, was confusing.

    Octavia tilted her head, and the violin came with it. ¡°Yes?¡±

    There are pains that I know, with my heart pained in turn, that you do not wish to speak of freely.

    Her stomach twisted into a knot.

    There exists that which keeps you awake in the deepest hours of the evening. There is that which brings tears to your tired eyes. There are subjects you force into the depths of your soul, pressed into darkness where you pray prying gazes will not follow.

    Her fingertips trembled against her bow. She still battled to play, cobbling together whatever semblance of stability she could offer her eternal melody. ¡°Stradiv--¡±

    Know that ¡®she¡¯ is one such subject to myself. I trust you to understand.

    It was Octavia who fell silent. Curious words that had once eagerly clogged her throat now died on her tongue instead. She found no replacements. Instead, it was her violin alone that spoke on her behalf. Her song filling the gaps did nothing for her heart.

    I shall continue, he spoke unprompted. It was more of a statement than an offer. Octavia didn¡¯t dare object.

    But there are those below who would yet receive their grace. Upon them, the struggle may still meet its end. In time, their pain will be witnessed, and they shall return to the throne at last.

    That much was simple, particularly in light of recent events. ¡°No questions there,¡± Octavia said.

    With all I have said in mind, so much as it may be, I have not forgotten your earlier inquiry. I wish each day that passes upon this world that I alone could undo what wrongs have been done. Mortal destiny has so sharply drifted from the natural course it once carved. To you, if no one else, Octavia, my apology is true. Your world of old is not that of now.

    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    Were we not to interfere, your world would be far different, following the path upon which it was intended to travel.

    Octavia blinked again. It wasn¡¯t clicking in full. That was absolutely her fault, for how she¡¯d granted permission to heavy truths. She was starting to regret it. ¡°Stradivaria, exactly how long ago did all of this even happen?¡±

    By your own measurements, I could roughly estimate two hundred years.

    ¡°Y-You¡¯ve been down here for two hundred years?¡± Octavia stammered, nearly dropping the bow. ¡°All of you?¡±

    Octavia, you ask of my alias, and I answer to you that it is an homage to craftsmanship gone long before your time. I am not the only Muse to pay this tribute of regret and apology.

    She wouldn¡¯t have the patience to ask the same question ninety-six times. She¡¯d already given herself a headache simply asking the question once. She made a mental note not to ask him anything for a while, after this.

    Now, Octavia, I offer a question of my own to you instead.

    Her fingers stiffened against the strings. ¡°What is it?¡±

    When do you intend to open your eyes?

    She¡¯d forgotten that they were closed. For how long, she had absolutely no idea. His words triggered a reflex, and Octavia opened them instantly. It was to her detriment. The harsh moonlight and chilling breeze that beat down upon her dilating pupils was annoying. She was far, far more distressed about the interloper peering up at her from the doorsteps. Even one bouncy bow shorter and one plain nightgown richer, the silhouette was unmistakable. Octavia yelped, flinching as her absentminded harmony screeched to a halt.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to stop,¡± Viola spoke, cradling her chin lazily in both of hands. With knees tucked up to her chest, she looked much too comfortable. Self-consciousness settled in immediately.

    ¡°H-How long have you been there?¡± Octavia asked, her voice harsher than intended.

    ¡°Ten minutes? I don¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t count. I got up to get a glass of water and heard music. Went upstairs. Came outside. Stayed for the light show.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°The what?¡±

    One casual finger unfurled from Viola¡¯s hand, pointing just above Octavia¡¯s head. Octavia followed the gesture. It led to sprinkling stars, soft and abundant. Gentle, pulsing golds flanked her on every side, hovering aimlessly as they rebelled against the darkened sky above. They were warm, and the tiny balls of luminescence birthed a comfortable heat so close to her skin. How she hadn¡¯t noticed them was beyond her. The twinkling lights were as peacefully gorgeous as they were confusing. She hugged Stradivaria to her chest.

    ¡°How much did you hear?¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°Like I said, about ten minutes.¡±

    ¡°No, not the music. The other stuff.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°What other stuff?¡±

    Octavia blinked. If the question had to be asked, she wouldn¡¯t dare. ¡°Nevermind.¡±

    With only a raised eyebrow of her own offered in return, Viola dropped the subject in favor of a shiver. ¡°What are you doing out here? Aren¡¯t you cold?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice, actually. I don¡¯t mind it.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep? Why¡¯d you bring Stradivaria?¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°Madrigal gave me the idea a while ago. Worked pretty well. You should try it.¡±

    The look on Viola¡¯s face was disdainful enough to make her laugh. ¡°No,¡± she deadpanned.

    Even so, Octavia¡¯s laughter was a deterrent for continued disgust. A fatigued smile instead settled onto Viola¡¯s lips. ¡°Still not tired? We have warm milk, tea and honey, books, things that aren¡¯t freezing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s seriously not even that cold. It¡¯s only August.¡±

    ¡°I gave up a big, fluffy blanket to be outside in this flimsy little nightgown. It¡¯s cold. I promise.¡±

    Octavia sighed, albeit not without a smile of her own. ¡°I¡­think I got everything out of my system, at least for now. I¡¯ll come back inside.¡±

    Viola¡¯s head flopped forward against her knees. ¡°Oh, thank God, let¡¯s go. I miss bed.¡±

    Every step towards the doors left her haphazard stars crackling and bursting in her wake. At the very least, they were quiet about it. She was still somewhat embarrassed. Octavia never lessened her hold on Stradivaria, nestled closely to her heart as his accidental light fled the evening.

    Fatigue was a shield, if nothing else, from whatever inexplicable truths he¡¯d offered in return for one question alone. Overthinking was beyond her at the moment. Ideally, she was slightly less awful of a partner now. That would¡¯ve been the sweetest truth of all.

    Viola was swept up in the breeze, her clothes and hair in tandem rippling in the chill of the night. With her back alone given to the Maestra, she served to bar the path between exterior cold and interior warmth. Octavia waited for her to move. She was more or less blocking the way in altogether.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    Viola paused. ¡°You look good with your hair down.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t noticed the way one hand had left Stradivaria, tangling absentmindedly in her freshly-dried hair. There were more important things to overthink, anyway.

 35. Dont Think About It

    Octavia figured out it was Sunday the hard way.

    It was her fault for not keeping track of the calendar all week, instead ensnared in a million and one more prominent problems. The sound, like clockwork and on cue, pierced the fragile bubble of her dreams and jolted her from sleep. Her first instinct to throw herself out of bed was originally unavoidable. At the very least, it had mostly been downgraded to kicking and writhing. It had taken several weeks to stem the reflex, and it was absolutely not a point of pride.

    No amount of bashing her head against the pillow time and time again worked. No amount of curling into a ball and clasping her hands over her ears worked. No amount of burrowing into the useless sanctuary of the covers did anything to block the relentless assault on her senses. Her breath left her in droves, and with its flight came tears. Heavy, heaving sobs wracked her entire frame, and Octavia''s blood turned to lead.

    Church service was starting. If there was a God to worship there that day, she never ceased to wonder why he hated her.

    The one in Coda held a minimum of three services, if her agonizing math meant anything. She¡¯d counted, many more times than she would¡¯ve liked. She¡¯d never actually stopped to verify how many tormentors she had, aloft and ringing as they were. She¡¯d never go, and she¡¯d never check. Still, audibly and with certainty, there was more than one bell.

    They tolled in unison forever, and it was surely beautiful for anyone who wasn¡¯t her. Octavia had never maintained enough focus to successfully time them. The furthest she¡¯d ever gotten was two continuous minutes. It was definitely longer. For how long it truly was, it felt at least ten times longer than even that. No amount of bracing would prepare her for it.

    Suffering was scheduled. Suffering was predictable. It left Sonata¡¯s blistering hands, and the look on her face as she leapt to her death. It left Selena¡¯s dead eyes, blackened and hollow as she raged until her dying breath. It left two acolytes bent and twisted in one clump of viscera on unforgiving pavement, crowned only by blood spilled in part by her own hands. Sometimes the bells came with screaming. Today was one of the days where the motion of covering her ears was enough to make her sick. It would pass, eventually. That did nothing to fix the present. This was Hell. This was Hell, this was Hell, this was Hell.

    She was so used to the chorus of bells and her own sobs that the steady tap tap tap outside of her door initially didn¡¯t register. At the very least, it caught her attention as it grew in volume, rapidly becoming a rhythmic pounding against the hardwood beyond. Octavia didn¡¯t have any fear to spare. This was usually the point where dizziness settled in, for how quick every shallow breath came.

    She could, if nothing else, spare a crumb of surprise at the sudden bang against her door, blown wide open as it crashed against the wall. Renato gave absolutely no indication of the possible damage he¡¯d inflicted to the hinges, nor did he seem to care. Ignorant to the risk of a permanent indent in the wood from his violence, he hesitated on the threshold for a fraction of a second. It was long enough to cling to Octavia¡¯s gaze.

    Upon their teary surface, he found her fear. That was more than enough permission.

    Octavia didn¡¯t wince, nor recoil, nor so much as jolt at the way Renato threw himself onto her bed. The force of his full body weight flung suddenly against the mattress jostled the springs with noisy creaking. He cared little for the opened door behind him, his compromising position exposed to the world and any judgmental eyes who would pass him by. If the look on his face meant anything, nothing mattered at the moment. Deducing his singular exception should¡¯ve been comforting in a way that warmed Octavia''s heart and left her feeling safe. The panic that suffocated her and stole her breath away left no room for safety.

    ¡°Damn it, I told you to come get me!¡± Renato scolded softly, his voice firm and hurt all at once.

    Even if she had the capacity to answer him, given the agony strangling every thought she could muster, the labor of sucking in oxygen was far too painful to form a single word in response. Her one and only request, were she to scrounge up the ability to make it, would surely be beyond his power. Inches from his face, contorted with frustration and worry, she didn¡¯t bother to hide her distress. She fell apart before his eyes.

    Crowned with a brief moment of hesitation, Renato raised his hands to her ears, cupping them on either side. The cool cherry oak pressing against her lobes was refreshing. Regardless, it did little to block the endless tolling. The way by which she raised her own hands to the back of his prosthetics was somewhat reflexive, torn between pushing them away or holding Renato close. Frozen without the drive to resist, she surrendered to the latter.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he tried, tapping his forehead delicately against hers.

    Her response came only in the form of the same endless sobs. She couldn¡¯t help it. Every time she blinked, it got worse. That was sickeningly normal.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he attempted again, somewhat more frantically.

    His voice trembled, and she realized what he was searching for. It took every ounce of her strength to so much as murmur beneath the deafening noise choking her on every side. Even then, it was as haphazard as it was mired in helplessness.

    ¡°R-Re¡­nato,¡± Octavia wept.

    Validated, he didn¡¯t let up. ¡°Octavia.¡±

    Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t do it twice. Sonata had called her name so desperately, once. Four syllables had been enough to plead for her life. It was a wasted effort, in the end. In a perfect world, the acolyte would still treasure the Blessed City. In a perfect world, she would¡¯ve died instead. It should¡¯ve been her.

    ¡°What?¡± Renato asked, abruptly parting his forehead from her own in surprise. Ever so slowly, his own eyes were beginning to flood with their own unique flavor of panic.

    Oh. She¡¯d said it out loud.

    She could feel his hands begin to tremble against her hot skin. ¡°Oct--¡±

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    The speed with which Renato¡¯s head snapped towards the door was, finally, enough to startle Octavia. His hands stilled, pressed somewhat more firmly against either side of her head with renewed conviction against their intruder. It didn¡¯t hurt.

    ¡°Are you insane? Get off of--¡±

    Renato twisted his body at just the right angle for Octavia to peer over his shoulder. Viola, fists curling against either side of her nightgown, immediately fizzled out in the face of Octavia¡¯s unwavering distress. She watched the way Viola¡¯s expression of abject rage melted away, replaced rapidly with pain and confusion. Her hands, fuming of their own accord just moments ago, unfurled in turn. Their shimmering eyes were about to match.

    ¡°Either shut the damn door or do something!¡± Renato snapped, glaring daggers at the Maestra.

    Viola did neither. Instead, she darted, leaving the door opened wide and the room just as vulnerable. Octavia fell somewhere between relief and bereavement, for how her suffering had been so suddenly dismissed. It was one less person who¡¯d see her crumble. It was one of the worst people who could desert her, all the same. Her entire existence ached. The constant warmth of Renato¡¯s body heat radiating so closely meant little. Everything meant nothing.

    She loathed the way the room was spinning, her vision steadily blurring further and further with the bong of every bell. Logically, it couldn¡¯t have been more than a minute by now. Inside, it had been hours. It had been years. It had been Octavia¡¯s fourth eternity in the span of a month. With her eyes, futile as she knew the gesture to be, she hurled her usual plea at Renato. She wasn¡¯t used to sharing it, nonverbal or otherwise.

    Make it stop, she begged wordlessly. She knew he couldn¡¯t.

    Renato doubled down instead, huddling closer as he united their foreheads once more. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna leave ¡®til it¡¯s over, okay? I told you. Just hang in there, please, I¡¯ll--¡±

    For how intolerably every bell could ring, there came something louder, sudden enough to make both of them jump. The surprise movement left their foreheads colliding somewhat painfully, and she winced. The shrill sound that pierced the air took precedence, abundant and rich as it scraped every corner. It was crystalline, if not wildly disorienting. The noise stung her skin, and the sharp melody it came with tore through her heart. In every conceivable way, it was overwhelming. Each sense failed her at once.

    Her blurring eyes wandered. For what haze she could conquer, it left a stagnant bow and a glistening flute. Silver Brevada waged war against roaring bells, screaming back in its own right as Viola did the same. Even dizzy, Octavia didn¡¯t once look away.

    Renato¡¯s iron grip on her faltered, his arms falling loosely to his sides as he rested on his heels. She hadn¡¯t realized how tightly he¡¯d embraced her in the first place. He, too, could only watch as a raging song exploded from beyond relentless lips. Never once had Octavia witnessed the Maestra play so viciously before, her face splashed with red and her shoulders heaving.

    It didn¡¯t stop her fingers from flying along every key, her feverish song ravaging Octavia¡¯s eardrums almost painfully. Every sharpened note stabbed her in turn, and she didn¡¯t quite hate it. In a way, it was refreshing. She almost welcomed it. It kept the bells away.

    More than anything, that much was true. It kept the bells away. That was all that mattered, for how she found nothing else.

    Viola screeched into Silver Brevada for long enough that Octavia feared she¡¯d faint. If the vivid red staining her face meant anything, her concerns deepened by the second. It wasn¡¯t until the bells had surrendered that the Maestra, too, stemmed her song. It left her gasping, and she nearly stumbled in the process of steadying herself in the doorway.

    The bells would return, to be fair. She¡¯d have her acolytes back, twisted and mangled. Right now, she didn¡¯t. Right now, bitter tears traded pain for relief as they dripped onto the covers. Devoid of words and hunting for breath, Octavia found them mirrored in Viola¡¯s gaze. It was a different kind of hurt entirely, unshed or not as they shimmered in wait.

    Renato¡¯s eyes drifted upwards, initially. They fell leftwards, rightwards, downwards in turn. In every direction, he stared without words. It took the Maestras more than a moment to follow his line of sight. How they¡¯d completely missed the frost, splattered and clinging to every conceivable surface, was beyond Octavia.

    Opaque ice, newly-born and shining beneath the peeking morning rays, lay glossed over nightstands and windowsills. Just barely, scattered bits of flaking snow speckled the foot of her covers. It was a mess, and it took effort to keep from kicking at it. She could¡¯ve sworn the temperature had dipped, somewhat. Octavia burrowed into her blankets slightly more, leaning into Renato in a search for shared body heat. He didn¡¯t resist.

    He didn¡¯t keep his mouth shut, either. That much was expected. Renato lifted one pointed finger aloft towards crawling frost plaguing the ceiling. ¡°You, uh, meant to do that?¡±

    Viola winced, pulling Silver Brevada near to her heart. ¡°I¡­it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°You gonna be around for a while?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Definitely,¡± she answered without hesitation, her voice trembling somewhat.

    Oxygen was sweet, if not sparse. It didn¡¯t make finding words any easier, even as her heartbeat slowed to something tolerable. She traded panic for embarrassment, more than self-conscious and ill for another reason altogether. Renato, at the very least, she¡¯d seen at his lowest. To shatter before him wasn¡¯t particularly fun, and yet an even exchange all the same. Viola was another issue entirely, the door still thrown wide open at her back. She cast her eyes downwards, yet more leftover tears splattering against the covers.

    The firm touch atop her head startled her. Still, she settled into it, content to let Renato stroke her hair gently. It was comforting in a way she hadn¡¯t expected. Even with Viola watching, she didn¡¯t especially care. He smelled faintly of pine, a somewhat-amusing confirmation that he slept cloaked in cologne.

    ¡°You gonna be okay if I go?¡± Renato murmured.

    Her eyes widened in fear at the thought. ¡°You said you¡¯d stay with me.¡±

    He flinched. ¡°I-I know, but Viola can help you more than I can. I can¡¯t do a damn thing.¡±

    ¡°How long?¡± Viola asked, her tentative voice nearly a whisper.

    Renato shrugged, his attention still offered to Octavia alone. ¡°I dunno, a few more times in the next couple hours. Also, close the door already, geez.¡±

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to flinch. She obliged, at last sealing off seeping grief from the outside world. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Renato rolling his eyes at Viola, for once, surely confirmed that the universe had turned upside-down. In any other circumstance, Octavia might¡¯ve been laughing hard enough to choke. At the moment, she likely would¡¯ve choked if she spoke in more than one-sentence intervals.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he reassured gently. ¡°I¡¯ll stay. I just wish I could do more.¡±

    His words eased exactly one weight that crushed her. Viola was the last person who¡¯d bring her discomfort. Even so, she hardly had the strength to share her burden with another right now--let alone more than one. He knew. He¡¯d been there, and she¡¯d seen as much. If she had the choice, she¡¯d prefer him, poisoned as he was.

    ¡°We could¡­get out of the house,¡± Viola tried, her voice once more practically inaudible.

    It was a surprise when Renato didn¡¯t resist. ¡°That¡¯s honestly not a bad idea. We don¡¯t have to do anything tough today if you don¡¯t want to, but it won¡¯t be as loud if we go. Do you feel up to getting out of bed?¡±

    Octavia fell silent for a moment. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°I mean, we¡¯ve got like, what, at least two hours until the next one, right? Let¡¯s just¡­try.¡±

    Part of her didn¡¯t want to. Everything hurt, both mentally and physically. Still, their gazes were expectant. If she locked eyes with either one long enough, she doubted she¡¯d find ¡°no¡± as a viable answer. Reluctantly, she nodded.

    ¡°You want me to make you breakfast?¡± he offered, fighting to feign a grin.

    ¡°You can¡¯t cook,¡± Viola grumbled.

    Once more, Renato rolled his eyes, throwing his head back and groaning with great exaggeration. ¡°You have absolutely no knowledge of my cooking skills. I bet you can¡¯t cook.¡±

    ¡°I can cook.¡±

    ¡°Liar. Prove it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll prove it to everyone but you. I¡¯ll burn everything that touches your plate and your plate only.¡±

    ¡°Because you can¡¯t cook.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re an idiot.¡±

    ¡°You know what? Pick a damn dish,¡± Renato spat.

    ¡°Pancakes.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Pancakes,¡± he repeated. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    Viola ignored him altogether, her eyes cast well over his shoulders. She smiled softly, crossing her arms.

    ¡°Pancakes?¡± Viola asked Octavia alone.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t smile. Her thoughts were still a churning mess, by which she would drown if she didn¡¯t cling to the words of another. Emotion was too much of a trial. The degree to which she felt drained left her strongly reconsidering her agreement to begin the day. Still, it was almost an equal obligation to at least acknowledge their efforts.

    ¡°Pancakes,¡± she croaked hoarsely, her throat dry.

    Water, too, would¡¯ve been just as ideal. Regardless, the small satisfaction she felt with Viola remembering one of her favorite foods was offset strongly by a tiny, newborn fear of Renato absolutely annihilating it.

    <hr>

    He wasn¡¯t lying. He could cook.

    It was the first time in weeks that anyone besides Madrigal had stepped up to the pan. To Octavia¡¯s incredible surprise, Renato¡¯s skills with batter and an open flame almost stacked up to his girlfriend¡¯s talents. She was learning quite a few new things about him lately. Comfort food aside, anticipation was fourfold and smiling. Their expectations for a productive day were obvious, collectively.

    Octavia was simultaneously grateful for the encouragement to leave her room and distressed by the burden of--provided she was reading the room properly--continuing the soul-crushing work of yesterday. Fluffy, Selbright-style pancakes did little to alleviate the chronic knot that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. She had at least three tolls openly accessible, if she was counting correctly.

    Four, if she could figure out a loophole for Etherion. Six, if she wasn¡¯t a coward.

    Her involuntary habit of timing the lull between services did no favors for her growing anxiety. It left her fidgeting almost constantly as she waited for them to prepare for the lengthy day ahead. It took a long time. It took longer than usual, honestly, and she was getting frustrated. Every second wasted put her closer to agonizing tolling once more. Either they hurried, or she bolted. She¡¯d get her distance somehow, and they were running out of time to decide.

    When all five were finally gathered at the entrance, Octavia resisted the urge to berate them. She tried to appreciate their smiles in exchange, double-sided as they were. Every indiscernible concoction of genuine happiness and burning pity seeped into her skin, and she shied away from their bright eyes as soon as she¡¯d met them.

    She practically leapt from the threshold at the first opportunity, indifferent to those that paled in speed by comparison. For how she¡¯d been offered relaxation today, she¡¯d rejected it in turn. If she was going to leave, productivity was her only option. Dying was better than living through this.

    With the pink-tinted sun still climbing the horizon, the temperate weather was a glorious relief from the four stagnant walls of her room. Octavia''s initial vigor at actually making it out of the house settled into complacency to be led. She was fine with embracing what solace she could find as a follower, given that she¡¯d be chained by the shackles of leadership again soon enough.

    She trailed absentmindedly behind Harper and Madrigal, their own bright auras somewhat enviable. So, too, was she jealous of their delight. Their words were distorted, their voices murky at best. She was underwater, and she drowned in their wake. If she reached out, she wondered if one would turn and save her.

    What salvation she¡¯d find in the depths of sorrow strode parallel on either side. Renato and Viola weren¡¯t subtle. Her peripheral vision was more than enough to catch concerned peering and delicate observation. If she stared long enough, she¡¯d earn a wave. Sometimes, it was a smile. Fragility warranted surveillance, apparently, and it was her fault for craving support in the first place--fleeting and desperate as the need had been. In air unplagued by bells, she battled a different discomfort entirely. She found no words to snap at them. It wasn¡¯t even their fault.

    It left her eyes chasing the back of one person steeped in silence. His, at least, seemed tranquil. From what she knew of him, she wondered if it was a genuine silence. Either immune or ignorant to the loaded atmosphere, Josiah was content. His footsteps were predictable, and it was one distraction. Octavia fell in line with them, her eyes trailing the grass instead. It kept them away from her assigned guardians, if nothing else.

    She followed for too long, maybe. It took more time than it should¡¯ve to acknowledge the soft earth beneath her feet. What should¡¯ve been smashed deep into the dirt was instead fresh and undisturbed, devoid of debris altogether. Rich soil peppered with sprouts and buds spoke to little of explosive chaos, regenerating under the warm embrace of summer. They were still bound for the forest, and she was positive of that much. The maple trees were unmistakable, and she was certainly beyond Coda.

    Still, she could¡¯ve sworn it was further. The rosy splashes of morning had given way to blue skies overhead, and the sun had ascended between the fluffy clouds that remained. Renato led, usually, for how his unfortunate masterpiece lay at the end. If not him, then herself. Their current guides were new. They were probably lost.

    Her theory grew stronger with the advent of trickling water, distant as the sound came. The unofficially-titled ¡°Renato Crater¡± harbored none--lest it have become a lake, at that point. Every step forward left the noise ever louder, and not one of the five seemed to care. Her emotional exhaustion took precedence, in the end. Octavia kept her mouth shut. One of them would figure it out eventually.

    Eventually never came. What she earned instead was collective complacency, crowned by a clearing of another flavor altogether. It spoke to nothing of floral graveyards and cherry-flavored disasters. It came with a river, and a river came with tranquil, aquatic ambience.

    The riverbed itself was lovely in its own right. Splattered with stones, that which escaped beaming warmth was blessed with the looming shade of generous birch. Every passing breeze was a gift, her braids rustling in time with plush grass and delicate leaves. Abundantly green, gray, and blue in equal measure, it was a sweet view she could appreciate. Lost or not, she wouldn¡¯t have minded stopping.

    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Madrigal said, coming to a standstill.

    Maybe they were stopping.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Renato whistled. ¡°One hell of a view. Hate to say it, but this place puts my spot to shame a bit.¡±

    ¡°Literally anything would,¡± Josiah mumbled. ¡°Place was a hot mess.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s got shade,¡± Viola said with a nod. ¡°I was worried about that.¡±

    ¡°Have you tried learning how to tan?¡± Harper teased.

    ¡°I hate you.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± Octavia began, raising one hand hesitantly, ¡°where is ¡®here¡¯, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Josiah, put your crap down, let¡¯s go already,¡± Renato groaned, sliding his arms out of his vest with notable effort.

    Delicately, he withdrew each of his prosthetics through the holes, every motion sparing sleek wood from rough fabric. Why in the world he was in the process of undressing was far beyond Octavia. She wondered if she should look away.

    The gracelessness with which Josiah practically flung his messenger bag against the base of a helpless oak was startling. Every last one of his belongings jostled together in one uniform clink as they landed. He delved into the process of unbuttoning his shirt. ¡°Be patient, damn, I¡¯m working on it.¡±

    ¡°Work on it faster,¡± Renato answered instantly. By now, he, too, was crawling out of his undershirt with care.

    ¡°Also, what the hell are they doing?¡± Octavia hissed to no one in particular.

    Viola laid her own belongings alongside Josiah¡¯s with far more tenderness. Silver Brevada¡¯s case came to rest neatly amongst canvas and fabric, a pile slowly growing with each passing second. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, offering a shy smile devoid of eye contact.

    ¡°We thought maybe we¡¯d change things up a bit today,¡± Viola offered.

    ¡°Josiaaaaah,¡± Renato whined, tackling his belt with careful positioning of his fingers.

    He¡¯d gotten good at managing fine motor tasks recently, from what she¡¯d seen. Regardless, Octavia drew the line at pants. Shirtless Renato was tolerable. Pantsless Renato was too much for her to handle. She averted her eyes in embarrassment, growing more baffled by the moment.

    ¡°You¡¯re not even done!¡± Josiah yelled, balancing precariously on one foot as he slipped off a shoe.

    ¡°We thought maybe we could¡­take things easy, or work on tolls, whatever you wanted. Maybe both. We could do some tolls and then take a break afterwards, regroup, relax, anything. A change of scenery is always nice, right?¡± Viola continued.

    Octavia squeezed her hands together anxiously. ¡°Viola¡­I--¡±

    ¡°Are those my father¡¯s?¡± Viola suddenly shouted, her fingers curling into furious fists.

    Renato¡¯s eyes flickered down to his legs before he offered her the courtesy of his full attention. ¡°I mean, yeah.¡±

    ¡°Seriously? You¡¯re going through his closet again? Go out and buy your own clothes, idiot!¡±

    ¡°Your grandma said it was fine!¡± Renato exclaimed, throwing his arms high in exasperation.

    ¡°You can¡¯t just--Josiah!¡±

    Her eyes fell to a different boy entirely. Much the same, he bore his skin to the world in full, save for a similar pattern clinging to his lower body. Under the same judgmental stare, he could do little but shrug.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t remember to get swim trunks,¡± he confessed.

    Viola rubbed her temples. ¡°My father¡¯s room is not a shopping mall,¡± she growled, her voice shaking with the poor efforts of restraining ire.

    ¡°Okay, the man barely has any clothes, and you let Maddie take stuff from your mom¡¯s room all the time!¡± Renato argued.

    ¡°That¡¯s different!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not involved in this,¡± Josiah said with a sharp exhale, merging with the cool waters of the river. With little but a small splash, he effortlessly surrendered to the rippling current, dipping his head backwards as he wet his hair.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ignore me!¡± Viola snapped.

    ¡°As you can see,¡± Harper said gently, ¡°we¡¯re going swimming today.¡±

    His sudden appearance at her side was enough to make Octavia jump somewhat. His own doffing of his belongings had mostly completed the now-towering pile of Maestro-flavored possessions beneath the shady birch nearby. She was fairly certain there was room for a backpack and a violin, provided it wasn¡¯t already expected. Instead, all she could do was stare, more than overstimulated within moments of arrival.

    ¡°Viola made lunch, too,¡± he continued, smiling as one hand settled onto either hip. ¡°Muttered about ¡®knowing how to cook¡¯ most of the morning. God knows why.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s mouth twitched. She swallowed a tiny smile of her own. ¡°She planned all of this?¡±

    To her surprise, Harper shook his head, his bangs brushing against his cap. ¡°Actually, it was Madrigal¡¯s idea.¡±

    She followed his eyes. Another tree entirely guarded a stray Maestra, peeling her sundress carefully over abundant curls and buns. Haphazardly-discarded green gave way to stripes and frills, one singular piece of clothing that did justice to her grace at every angle. Madrigal carried her sandals with greater care, hooking either thong beneath her fingers as she poked the water with her toes. Touched by the playful sting of the chilled current, she yelped with a laugh.

    She caught Octavia¡¯s gaze, returning a brilliant beam. It came with a severed V upon her eyes in turn, two parted fingers a sight that Octavia hadn¡¯t caught in some time. When Octavia only continued to stare, Madrigal didn¡¯t shy away. Instead, her radiant smile softened into something sweeter. It was a different kind of warmth entirely. No attempts to offer a ¡°thank you¡± with her eyes were successful. Octavia settled on a smile of her own instead, scrambled as it was.

    ¡°Damn, lookin¡¯ good, Maddie!¡± Renato called, his own face split wide with a grin.

    That was enough to steal Madrigal¡¯s smile, at least. Infatuated giggles took its place as she swooned, her cheeks dusting scarlet and her eyes sparkling. It was equal parts excessive and endearing. The sight was enough to genuinely get a chuckle out of Octavia.

    ¡°Can I take your stuff for you?¡± Harper offered, arms outstretched and waiting.

    She thought to refuse, and yet relented anyway. Surrendering Stradivaria left her physically light, for how the absence of tolling left her heart light in turn. She heard nothing but happiness and tranquility, bells banished at her back. They¡¯d gone through this much on her behalf. It was the least she could do to take on the day, and she borrowed what warmth they radiated.

    ¡°Are you gonna swim, too?¡± Octavia asked.

    Harper chuckled nervously. ¡°Nah, not much of a swimmer. Fire and water don¡¯t exactly mix well, you know.¡±

    She, in turn, giggled at the pun. She debated addressing the actual agenda, for how its shadow awaited at her feet. Bright eyes or not, there was no way they¡¯d solely expected to swim. Given yesterday, they had to know. She had options. Two of them, in particular, sat squarely in her line of fire. One was in front of her. One was currently starstruck.

    If she peered over the water¡¯s surface, perhaps she could find yet a third trapped in a rippling reflection. The choice was there whenever she wanted--both of them. The thought alone still left her ill, Stradivaria¡¯s body a variable box of truths and secrets she feared witnessing. She¡¯d only witnessed two tolls ever, to be fair. ¡°Needing more experience¡± was serving as a solid excuse, at the moment.

    That left either the kind-hearted boy or the heroic girl to take the next hit.

    ¡°Do you¡­want to do your tolls today?¡± Octavia asked, more directly than intended.

    Harper stiffened. It wasn¡¯t subtle. ¡°I¡­we can. If you want, I mean. Get it out of the way.¡±

    The distress in his eyes was just as visible, and it stung her heart. ¡°We don¡¯t have to,¡± she said hurriedly.

    Again, he shook his head. ¡°We have to do it eventually.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re keeping the hat on? Seriously?¡± Josiah¡¯s voice came.

    From the riverbed, Renato stretched dramatically, loosening his limbs with great--if not exaggerated--effort. ¡°You can pry it from my cold, dead hands.¡±

    Josiah smirked.

    Renato flinched. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a sick man, you know that?¡±

    Dark or not, it was enough for something to click. Octavia¡¯s feet moved before her mouth, and she nearly slipped on the smooth stones beneath her boots as she ran. ¡°Wait a minute, Renato, wait!¡±

    He froze, thankfully, the confusion on his face notwithstanding. Not one drop of water grazed him. Wordlessly, he did as he was told.

    She took one wooden hand tenderly into her own, tracing each facet with careful fingertips. She turned, pushed, and pulled, bringing cherry oak near to her eyes in a search for cracks and crevices. She¡¯d already suspected the lacquer was high-quality, the finish equally so. On sight, it seemed sufficient to withstand moisture, if not submersion. Actually testing the hypothesis was concerning. She was fairly certain he didn¡¯t bathe with his prosthetics on--at least, he better not have been trying to.

    Up close, it satisfied her. Really, the craftsmanship was lovely enough that she would¡¯ve strangled him if he ruined them. She wouldn¡¯t bother trying to convince him to swim without the prosthetics. If nothing else, they¡¯d hold up against a streaming river.

    Octavia finally exhaled. ¡°Okay. I just wanted to see if the wood would be alright in the water. You have to be careful with the--¡±

    She looked up. He was blushing--hard.

    She found a different flavor of silence entirely in every direction. Four people were left to watch as she tenderly stroked and fondled Renato¡¯s hands, heads tilted and eyebrows raised. When her eyes flickered down, she was still clinging. Her fingertips pressed against the smooth wood of his false palms, her grip tight and unwavering. Why it never occurred to her to let go, she had absolutely no idea. It was definitely compromising. He wasn¡¯t the only one blushing.

    ¡°I-I, uh, I appreciate the inspection, Miss Expert,¡± Renato joked nervously.

    His playful, half-hearted shaking of either hand did nothing to loosen her grasp. He found no success, and she found no words.

    ¡°You good?¡± he whispered, just barely loud enough for her alone.

    ¡°Madrigal¡¯s gonna kill me,¡± Octavia whispered back. ¡°For real this time.¡±

    From her current angle, she couldn¡¯t see Madrigal to begin with. Frankly, she was afraid to. Her unwillingness to actually release the Maestra¡¯s boyfriend wasn¡¯t doing her any favors.

    Renato only laughed, lingering red still blossoming across his face. ¡°You keep holdin¡¯ on like that and I¡¯m pulling you into the water with me.¡±

    The threat was enough to make Octavia stumble, and she freed his hands at last. ¡°S-Sorry.¡±

    He grinned. ¡°I¡¯m good to swim, then?¡±

    ¡°Just be careful not to damage them. Try not to be too rough or bump into stuff,¡± she said with slightly more composure.

    That was enough for him, apparently. A subsequent shrug and a nod were the only precursors of him sprinting--and jumping, and splashing, and just barely missing her with the collateral damage of displaced water. He hadn¡¯t lost his acrobatic prowess, at the very least. She smiled.

    ¡°If you want to swim, I brought you a swimsuit, too,¡± Viola offered, shaking droplets of misplaced water out of her hair simultaneously. She, too, was doffing her flats one by one, her socks following suit shortly after.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna swim?¡±

    Viola leaned onto her shoulder in the process, the sudden and weighted burden of support briefly compromising Octavia¡¯s own balance. Asking first would¡¯ve been nice. ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m just putting my feet in for now.¡±

    Octavia sighed. It was an enviable thought. Still, the knowledge of the task at hand was an all-consuming itch that needed no reminding--prompted by Muses or otherwise. ¡°I should¡­probably do more tolls. You said that¡¯s what this was supposed to help with, right?¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell. ¡°I mean, yes, but we can always space it out. There¡¯s no rush.¡±

    ¡°Harper offered. Sorta. He said we can get it over with today.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna take him up on that?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°It¡¯s either that or--¡±

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    Every gentle tap against the stones below drew her attention instead. Devoid of sandals or not, Madrigal handled the slippery surface with impressive skill. Her arms were full, and it wasn¡¯t the water¡¯s surface alone that sparkled so resplendently. The chill of the drifting stream, too, contrasted with the warmth of her smile.

    ¡°Did you know this is the same river that runs behind the Talludo Inn?¡± she asked, cradling Lyra¡¯s Repose against her chest. ¡°It branches in the direction of Coda, and curves back out towards the north. You can follow it all the way to Whitebrook, if you really wanted to.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Where¡¯s Whitebrook?¡±

    She beamed. ¡°That¡¯s where my brothers live. Some of them.¡±

    Octavia nodded in turn. ¡°I¡­heard you picked out this place for today.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go put my feet in the water,¡± Viola said abruptly, patting Octavia¡¯s shoulder.

    Octavia never had the chance to object. Damp as the riverbed was, the Maestra didn¡¯t dare run. Still, she made for company yet more lively with surprising urgency. It left inexplicable discomfort, augmented only by inexplicable actions. It left Octavia with a heroine and vague suspicions. She fought the urge to call for Viola once more. It would delay the inevitable, if nothing else.

    ¡°This place is special to me,¡± Madrigal began. ¡°This river is special to me. We¡¯re closer to Minuevera right now than we are to Coda. I¡¯ve been here a few times to wash vegetables, although I usually only do that out back at home. Sometimes I need a change of pace, too.¡±

    As to where this was going, it no longer matched her guess. She folded her hands together, drinking in every word.

    ¡°This river brought me something special, just like that chest in Silver Ridge brought you something special.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You remembered about that?¡±

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t forget that. Stratos is my friend, too.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to smile. ¡°And¡­Lyra is my friend, just the same.¡±

    Madrigal was quiet for a moment. ¡°I figure¡­there¡¯s no better place to do this. If you would have me.¡±

    There it was. ¡°Do you mean--¡±

    She was dramatic about it, and that shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise. Lyra¡¯s Repose nearly hit Octavia in the chest, for how fast the Spirited Maestra thrust the glimmering harp before her. ¡°Mighty Ambassador, I, the Magical Madrigal Talludo, stand before you. I humbly beg your assistance to defeat the forces of darkness in tandem, and to free my Muse from the shackles of her toll. Together, we will do what must be done!¡±

    Octavia had to consciously resist the urge to laugh. ¡°I¡­yeah, of course. I¡¯ll witness your toll.¡±

    Lyra got the message. Apparently, Octavia didn¡¯t have to do anything.

    The Muse¡¯s sudden visage crowned Madrigal from on high, luminescent viridian shaming every speck of forest around them. A gorgeous view paled in comparison to an iridescent Lyra, showering her partner with grace just beyond two plush buns. Of them all, Octavia still considered her the most angelic. The outstretched arms and cascading brilliance along her back did little to impede the image. Madrigal never failed to embellish the Muse¡¯s splendor, and that helped nothing. It was valid, to be fair.

    ¡°Are the¡­do the others have to be here, too?¡± Octavia asked, her eyes cast just above Madrigal¡¯s head.

    ¡°It is not so. The toll is a burden shared solely between this child and yourself,¡± Lyra spoke, her tone gentle despite what was to come. ¡°Your companions need not attend.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s gaze flickered to the riverbed. If they were aware of Lyra¡¯s presence, they made no indication of such. Instead, they indulged in much the same enjoyment with blissful ignorance to her impending death. She was going to die--again. They were surprisingly okay with it. For more reasons than one, the thought was extremely confusing.

    ¡°We kinda agreed to do each person one at a time, unless you want us all to be here,¡± Madrigal clarified. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s¡­weird for all of us to be staring at you at the same time. This felt more intimate.¡±

    ¡°I meant the Muses, actually.¡±

    Lyra shook her head. ¡°The toll of my own concerns them not. Their duty is to care for each of their own, and nothing more. Even so, child, would it ease your heart to have Stratos by your side for the Witnessing?¡±

    Part of her voted instantly for a ¡°yes¡±. Part of her knew she was clinging to him. It was becoming hazardous. Against her better judgment, Octavia declined with a shake of her own head. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she lied.

    ¡°Are you prepared, then, Ambassador?¡±

    Absolutely not.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°We can do it, Octavia!¡± Madrigal cheered.

    Were it anyone else, the enthusiasm immediately prior to her death would¡¯ve been almost insensitive. Still, for what heroine believed in her, she found only warmth. Madrigal had been onto something, in terms of intimacy. Alone, she was comfortable. She smiled.

    ¡°We can do anything together, tolls or not! As long as we¡¯re a team, we¡¯ll get through it. Now that we have our fearless leader back, we¡¯re unstoppable!¡±

    Octavia blinked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­always been here,¡± she said.

    Madrigal¡¯s beaming smile softened into something delicate, Lyra¡¯s Repose still extended before her. ¡°But now you¡¯re back to the Octavia we know. We¡¯re all glad that you¡¯re feeling better!¡±

    Her heart cracked.

    ¡°I know we¡­went through a lot of stuff. I think everybody needed some time to think about what happened. It took longer for some people than others, and that¡¯s okay.¡±

    It splintered.

    ¡°We wanted to give you your space for a while.¡±

    It could¡¯ve shattered.

    ¡°But now we¡¯re here, and we¡¯re all back together again! No matter how hard things get, we¡¯ll always have each other. We can¡¯t do this without you, you know?¡±

    It did, somewhat.

    And when she beamed again, it was no longer packed with sunshine. It was aflame, searing, scorching in a way that burnt holes in her soul. It was unintentional. It didn¡¯t matter. ¡°We¡¯re happy that you¡¯re okay.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t.

    She wasn¡¯t.

    She wasn¡¯t.

    How could she be?

    ¡°Ready?¡±

    She meant the toll. It was a double-sided word regardless.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    As to how long five sets of patient lips had swallowed the question, she was horrified to ask. Four, for how one had shared in her suffering. Days, at best. Weeks, at worst. It was a new kind of pain altogether. She was collecting them lately.

    ¡°Oc¡­tavia?¡±

    It took far, far more than a moment to reacclimate to the world that was Madrigal¡¯s voice. She could feel the hurt that splashed her own face, strained and stiff. If she was lucky, she could feign anxiety. In light of a faltering smile on the lips of a heroine, she deflected. It was the best her breaking heart could do.

    ¡°D-Do you have any idea who your toll is, exactly?¡±

    They traded.

    The shift was instant and jarring. Where a smile had slipped, it now faded altogether. Dying eyes accompanied a loose grip around glimmering gold. Madrigal tilted her head, her hollow gaze never once parting from Octavia¡¯s own. Every breath rattled. If the warmth between them had already been tainted, then it now grew toxic in turn.

    ¡°Madrigal Talludo, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    Lyra didn¡¯t spare them. If she felt the same poison herself, she didn¡¯t show it. Permission granted from a Muse or otherwise, it was a Maestra alone from whom Octavia sought consent.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± Octavia offered. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­do this together, right?¡±

    The words almost burned on the way out, for how their context had been tainted. Still, Madrigal was of notable concern. At the very least, the Spirited girl had the capacity to nod, her hollow smile forced enough to leave her skin taut.

    ¡°Let¡¯s do this,¡± Madrigal said, her voice deceivingly vibrant. ¡°Together.¡±

    Octavia refrained from pressing further, confused or not. Her raised hands trembled, and not for fear of death alone. Madrigal¡¯s own did the same as they clutched Lyra¡¯s Repose in turn. Plunging was preferable to easing in, and it left Octavia¡¯s hands thrusting outwards to brush every copper string. Stumbling off the edge of the world, she nearly missed the whispered words that tumbled down into the dark with her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hate me, okay?¡±

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    For the first time, her stranger wasn''t a woman. Consciousness came with a masculine voice from her own throat. It accompanied rugged hands, physical labor, and hallmarks of masculinity she expected from rural life not unlike that of Silver Ridge. To inhabit such an unfamiliar body after ¡°falling¡± was strange. The man was unfamiliar. He held a name she didn¡¯t recognize, spoke a language she couldn¡¯t understand, and was born of a land she couldn¡¯t place.

    The landscape spoke little to Mezzoria--from what she knew of it thus far, at least. As to whether or not he truly exceeded its borders, she was unsure. Discrepancies in gender or otherwise, every fragment was almost nostalgic versus those she¡¯d seen before. She found childhood joys and the happier tribulations of young adulthood. She found a loving father, a gentle mother, and what adoring companionship came in between. He was a stranger all the same, and Octavia had little with which to empathize. It was a running theme. Still, from afar, she silently blessed his satisfaction.

    And he was, in every way, a true stranger. He didn¡¯t resemble Madrigal in any capacity--her hair, her skin, her linguistic fluency, and every last feature was forsaken. He wasn¡¯t a relative, and of that much, Octavia was certain. Whatever connected the two was beyond her. She would learn soon enough, to be fair. It hadn¡¯t stopped her from speculating both times before.

    As to the tolls of the others, Octavia had at least vague guesses. Viola¡¯s had been obvious enough upon entry. The untimely victims of Vincent Vacanti¡¯s Dissonant assault were sure to await within, and it had been no surprise. She had no solid proof of Harper¡¯s, although they were excruciatingly suspicious. She had a feeling, for what she knew of him, and that was enough--provided sickening violet had somehow plagued those he¡¯d cherished most. Etherion spoke for itself, all but confirmed. Renato was immune. It was another crisis for another time. The Ambassador¡¯s trial was outlined in blood, and that which stained Stradivaria in turn was all too obvious. So deep in the dark, she refused to think about either of them.

    This left Madrigal, and exclusively Madrigal.

    It wasn¡¯t that she knew nothing about the girl, for how they¡¯d conquered far too much in unison. She was The Magical Madrigal, hostess of the Talludo Inn and liberator of the darkness. She was Spirited, blessed with precious winds and a brilliant smile. In her arms came Lyra¡¯s Repose, just as beloved as Lyra herself. She utterly adored Renato, a hopeless romantic as she was. She spoke eight languages. She had siblings--brothers. Each member of her family bore buns. She liked cats. She hailed from Minuevera.

    That was it.

    Her toll was entirely a mystery. The uncertainty was agonizing, even if the revelation would come soon enough. His relationship to Madrigal was a nightmare to speculate upon, and she did so for far longer than she should¡¯ve. For every second her stranger¡¯s life unfolded in peace, her heart beat ever faster to compensate. Waiting for the puzzle pieces to click was the worst part.

    He lost his work. He did so twice, then thrice over. He fell short often enough to insult his craft, by which blacksmithing earned him nothing. Hard work was useless to provide, whether for himself or others. Were Octavia not a woodworker¡¯s daughter, she perhaps would¡¯ve envied his skilled hands. As it was, she pitied his crisis instead. His distress set the pendulum of misfortune into motion, and her racing heart cracked ever further. He had enough bad memories. Bad memories came with a problem. Ideally, this would go anywhere but there.

    The whims of fate left him wandering, failure to provide driving him far from home. It was just as unproductive, and Octavia ached more for her stranger with every flash. Each town offered nothing. Each day brought no success.

    So, too, was he luckless amongst greenery, betrayed by ripe produce that towered in his wake. The bounties of nature, cultivated and exported en masse, meant nothing to hands that cradled steel. He sought lodging. He found it. Kindness came with graceful maturity, abundant curls crowned by fluffy buns as the mature woman guided his way.

    Oh.

    The fragment that followed betrayed the warmth of an inn, traded for crisp air and rushing waters. Octavia knew the river. She even knew the adjacent hill, an instant reminder of a crisis she¡¯d never forget. She didn¡¯t need wispy violet, nor toxic pores to classify every unnatural movement. He had his dejection. He had his turmoil and suffering. She¡¯d caught enough of his memories, and she should¡¯ve seen it coming.

    Visible or not, it was her first time Dissonant through the eyes of another. He¡¯d be swallowed by it, maybe. How that tethered him to Madrigal was beyond Octavia. If nothing else, she could take a guess as to the girl¡¯s mother, visualized not long ago. They were the only threads she could string together.

    He never surrendered to personal agony. For the first time during the Witnessing, words of merit and meaning graced her stolen ears.

    You, who¡¯ve been swallowed by darkness incarnate, I am your liberator!

    She knew the voice, and she knew it well.

    Soft, crystalline notes blessed the air, breathing a rippling wind into the chilled depths of night. She knew the harp, and she knew it extremely well.

    Through blurring vision that steadily faded into the dark, the moon above left the scene nearly mirrored. There were differences, granted. The thought of liberation was horrifying, for how she knew the process to go. She knew what was coming, and the Ambassador was powerless to flee. Octavia couldn¡¯t flinch, nor turn, nor hide in any capacity from the roaring tempest that barreled down her stranger¡¯s throat. Her one blessing was the lack of sensation, and yet it didn¡¯t stem his struggling. It was a new kind of agony in place of violet.

    He flailed wildly, choking and gasping as he clawed at a throat unseen. Scraping fingernails drew blood. The Maestra had once insisted that gushing wind strangling suffering was painless, if not accompanied by amnesia. For Octavia¡¯s peace of mind, she better have been correct. This was borderline barbaric. As to how Dissonant he truly was, Octavia didn¡¯t want to know.

    Wait, stop!

    Madrigal¡¯s frantic voice erupted in time with more scarlet, albeit from within. He was coughing, every sputter excessive in a way that left him splattered with red. He couldn¡¯t cry out. He couldn¡¯t move. Even now, he could hardly see, his sight blighted by another agony entirely. His pain was twofold and inescapable, his desperate clawing at broken skin never once ceasing. The sound of screaming wind was unbearable, rushing through his ears and reverberating through his entire being.

    No, no, wait, wait, wait!

    His body jerked upwards, impossibly high to such a degree that he was lifted from the ground.

    Lyra, help me!

    And his vision, along with roughly one-third of his insides, came with it.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

 36. Trial By Fire

    Octavia once more managed to maintain her footing when she came to, this time utterly still and resisting so much as a stumble. It was the most oriented she¡¯d been coming out of the other side of a toll thus far. Were it not for the nature of the task, it could¡¯ve been a point of pride. Still, it didn¡¯t keep her hands from immediately darting to her throat, clutching at her skin in a vice grip as she choked and gagged.

    The momentary wave of nausea that came crashing down led her to fear that she might accidentally vomit on Lyra¡¯s Repose. She didn¡¯t, and it was an immense relief. The deep breaths she swallowed, praising any god who would listen for the existence of oxygen, weren¡¯t quite enough to erase the scarring imagery that put Vincent Vacanti¡¯s rampage to shame. Eyes wide and horrified, she couldn¡¯t so much as begin to imagine whatever Madrigal saw on her face at the moment.

    Don¡¯t hate me, okay?

    She could never. Even so, it was a sight she doubted she could divorce from the Maestra--any time in the near future, at least. Under no circumstances would she say so.

    She didn¡¯t need to, if the look on Madrigal¡¯s face was anything to go by. The bright smile burying dead eyes did nothing to fool her. Slowly, Madrigal withdrew Lyra¡¯s Repose, pulling the harp back into her own arms and away from the speechless Ambassador. The way by which that smile never faltered, empty as it was, was in and of itself highly unsettling.

    With the sound of her companions¡¯ happiness on the riverbed thousands of miles away, Octavia¡¯s racing thoughts settled into tangible camaraderie. It was every bit as disgusting as it was comforting. She was no longer the only murderer in her friend circle. In terms of brutality, she might¡¯ve even had competition.

    ¡°Madrig--¡±

    Any words pertaining to the thought, begging for affirmation or otherwise, were cut short by a finger pressed to her trembling lips. Madrigal¡¯s hand trembled in its own way.

    ¡°Everyone¡­makes mistakes. Let¡¯s keep this a secret between friends, okay?¡±

    When Octavia met Madrigal¡¯s eyes, light had finally returned to her hollow pupils. Still, too, came tears unshed, her gaze glistening and swimming dangerously. Octavia had one million questions, all bound behind burning lips with the press of a single, pleading fingertip. Preservation of love outdid validation of pain. For as much as it stung, she swallowed her words. If she made Madrigal cry, she wasn¡¯t sure how she¡¯d live with herself.

    She nodded, giving Madrigal apparent permission to lower her hand. ¡°I¡­yeah. Yeah.¡±

    With a soft smile of indiscernible emotion, Madrigal took several steps backwards, at last abandoning Octavia in silence. It was only seconds later that she was calling to the others, laughing and bantering in an atmosphere so unlike what had choked her moments before. Octavia couldn¡¯t move, unable to do more than drink in joy she couldn¡¯t reach.

    She wasn¡¯t sure what she disliked more--tolls she knew of and saw coming, or tolls she knew nothing of at all. That which was to follow sat somewhere in the middle, should her victim consent. She threw caution to the wind, opting to wash down the disgust of one toll with another. In the face of stolen camaraderie, it was the best she could do.

    With conviction that she was certain wasn''t genuine in the slightest, she clenched her fists, mustering heavy steps in the direction of company. The longer she stood alone, the more she risked a mental replay of her worst death so far. She wondered how many she¡¯d collect by the end, shelved within the sickest library in her head.

    ¡°Your hat¡¯s gonna fall off.¡±

    ¡°No it¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is. There¡¯s physically no way you can do it without your hat coming off. It¡¯s not possible.¡±

    Renato, hands on his hips and devoid of water, stood parallel to the riverbank. His eyes flickered upwards to his hat before returning to Josiah. ¡°If I go fast enough, it won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°At the very least, it¡¯s gonna get wet.¡±

    He flicked the rim of the hat playfully with one pointed wooden finger. ¡°It¡¯ll dry. It¡¯ll stay on, though, and I¡¯ll be right, as always.¡±

    Josiah scoffed, not devoid of a smirk, as he slowly drifted backwards along the current. With distance between himself and the shoreline, he cupped his hands over his mouth. ¡°Prove it, then,¡± he called. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Renato grinned as he took several steps backwards. With his toes digging into the smooth pebbles below, he pushed hard, throwing the full weight of his body downwards and sideways onto his hands. Then backwards. Then upwards, then skyward, and again, until he was an acrobatic blur rising high over the river. He came down hard with a fierce splash, the full brunt of his impact slamming into Josiah¡¯s face relentlessly. The boy sputtered, battling a sudden faceful of river.

    Octavia winced at the way Renato was getting a bit too comfortable with pushing the limits of his prosthetics, both functionally and relative to preserving their craftsmanship. At the very least, Josiah genuinely enjoying himself brought a smile to her face. For all of her own stress, she liked to imagine today would do him some good, just the same. It was what he deserved.

    ¡°I told you!¡± he exclaimed, one finger speared at a lonely hat floating aimlessly along the surface. Renato eyed the way it drifted lazily in the wake of his impact, seemingly nonplussed.

    ¡°I mean, if I really wanted it to stay, it would¡¯ve,¡± he explained with a shrug.

    From the riverbed came a soft chuckle. Octavia found Harper beneath the shade of a tree, the thick canopy of summer-flavored greenery peering over the water¡¯s surface and shoreline in equal measure. He lounged comfortably, one arm loosely draped over a propped-up knee as he watched on with contentment. Even if he didn¡¯t plan to swim, he¡¯d at least taken steps to roll his trousers halfway up his legs. It left him dry and mildly isolated. As Viola had done several yards to his left, perched casually against the riverbed, Octavia wondered if he¡¯d be at least putting his feet in.

    His mild sounds of amusement didn¡¯t escape Renato. ¡°What are you laughing at?¡±

    ¡°You,¡± he answered bluntly, offering a grin.

    ¡°Just admit you like me without the hat. Appreciate beauty when you see it,¡± Renato joked, tossing his saturated curls playfully.

    Harper rested his cheek in one hand, bearing the weight of his face against his knee. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid to admit what I like.¡±

    Renato¡¯s face filled with blood so quickly that Octavia wondered if he would pass out. Her own very nearly did the same.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna pull you into the damn water if you don¡¯t stop,¡± he muttered.

    Harper laughed. ¡°Seriously? You can dish it out, but you can¡¯t take it? That¡¯s kinda cute.¡±

    Renato hurled an ample quantity of water in Harper¡¯s general direction, scooping a chunk of the river into one hand and aiming squarely at the grinning Maestro. Retreating to the safety of Josiah¡¯s vicinity did absolutely nothing to alleviate the scarlet torturing his cheeks.

    Octavia laughed, too. She met Harper¡¯s eyes, and he briefly laughed even harder. He finally composed himself, patting a spot in the shade beside him. She obliged.

    ¡°You¡¯re missing out. They¡¯ve got so much energy.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have any energy?¡± she asked, settling down next to him. Octavia was pleasantly surprised by how dry the stones beneath her were relative to the aquatic assault Renato had repaid Harper with.

    Harper folded his arms against his knee, resting his head. ¡°I get sleepy when it¡¯s a really nice day like this. Shade doesn¡¯t help much. Strongly considering taking a nap.¡±

    Octavia sighed, tilting her head backwards. Her braids tapped lightly against the bark of the birch. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be opposed to a nap, either.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d what go?¡±

    ¡°You know, the¡­you know what.¡±

    Octavia winced. Her distress, subtle as she believed it to be, apparently didn¡¯t escape him.

    ¡°I-I mean, you don¡¯t have to tell me if you don¡¯t want to,¡± Harper added quickly.

    Octavia pulled her knees up to her chest. ¡°I¡¯m¡­getting used to it, a little bit at a time. Doesn¡¯t make it any easier, though.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine. I¡¯m sorry you have to deal with all of this.¡±

    He fell silent for a moment. She was fairly certain they were dodging the issue, although tackling it directly wasn¡¯t an appealing idea. She tried anyway. ¡°Do you¡­still want to do yours?¡±

    It was Harper¡¯s turn to wince.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°We do.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be today.¡±

    ¡°I think¡­logically, at least, I think the sooner we get it over with, the better. I can stop thinking about it.¡±

    Octavia dragged her fingertips along the cool stones below absentmindedly. ¡°Do you think about it a lot?¡±

    Harper tangled his fingers together, fidgeting somewhat. ¡°Can I tell you something?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Of course. Anything.¡±

    He hesitated before continuing, casting his gaze anywhere except adjacent to hers. ¡°There¡¯s¡­a lot that doesn¡¯t make sense about how my parents died.¡±

    ¡°Your parents?¡±

    Harper nodded in turn. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Do you¡­think they¡¯re gonna be your toll? Tolls, I mean?¡±

    ¡°Up until Orleanna said there were two of them, I never would¡¯ve thought so. That having been said, I can¡¯t think of a single other person, let alone more than one in my life, that would get anywhere close to meeting that criteria. I don¡¯t understand enough about Dissonance to rule it out entirely, either. It can possess people, right?¡±

    ¡°Kinda. You could call it that.¡±

    ¡°And make them do things they shouldn¡¯t do? To other people?¡±

    ¡°Or just make them hurt themselves. It¡¯s not always violent like that.¡±

    Harper paused. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there when my parents--when my house burned down, I mean. I was somewhere else that night. I hadn¡¯t come home yet. I didn¡¯t see anything that happened, how it started, who was involved, any of it.¡±

    ¡°Who was¡­involved?¡± Octavia asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°The authorities were pretty sure it wasn¡¯t an accident. I think someone tried to kill them. Did kill them, I mean,¡± he corrected uncomfortably. ¡°I just don¡¯t know for sure who burned my home to the ground, let alone why. I don¡¯t know what either of them did wrong to deserve that. I¡¯ve had to think about it every damn day for years.¡±

    He turned to face her with shimmering eyes that hurt her heart. ¡°I know you can imagine what that¡¯s like, to have the truth to something that¡¯s haunted you for so long just be¡­right there in front of you. I could reach out and touch it, and all of a sudden I¡¯d know everything that keeps me up at night. It¡¯s terrifying. Part of me wants to keep it hidden away.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have to tell you what I see if you don¡¯t want to know. I can keep it to myself. Is that what you¡¯re worried about?¡±

    Harper moved the slightest bit closer to her, their fingertips brushing together in the process. ¡°It¡¯s the opposite. I¡¯m scared out of my mind, but I wanna know everything. I want you to tell me everything you see, every little detail. I need to know what happened to my parents, no matter how bad it really was.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Octavia gulped. ¡°No matter how bad?¡±

    ¡°No matter how bad,¡± he repeated. ¡°I might not like it, but I need to hear it. I never thought I¡¯d get this chance, and it¡¯s a silver lining to a horrible situation--at least, for me. I don¡¯t¡­know if that sounds selfish. I¡¯m sorry to put this on you.¡±

    Hesitantly, Octavia tapped her fingers against the back of his hand, draping her palm atop his skin in a feeble gesture of comfort. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best. I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t do more.¡±

    He smiled softly, a shaky expression tinged with sorrow that wasn''t lost on her. ¡°I¡­want you to go at your own pace, too, you know. Don¡¯t burn yourself out on my account. You¡¯re sure you¡¯re okay doing this for me?¡±

    ¡°I have to see them anyway. It might make me feel better to actually talk about what I¡¯m dealing with, here,¡± she rationalized.

    ¡°I¡­have her,¡± he began, lifting his concealed left hand. Freed from the obstructed view of his legs, Royal Orleans glistened gold between his fingers as it captured each of the sun¡¯s straying beams in turn. ¡°If you still wanted to do this now, I mean. If not, we can wait. It¡¯s not a problem.¡±

    ¡°We can do it now,¡± Octavia answered, somewhat faster than intended. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    Harper watched her expectantly. When she didn¡¯t move, he faltered somewhat under her gaze. ¡°I-I mean, do you prefer sitting or standing for this?¡±

    ¡°Standing,¡± she answered, already rising to her feet beneath the birch¡¯s generous shade. ¡°And bring Orleanna.¡±

    ¡°R-Right,¡± he stammered, following her lead.

    For a moment, Harper closed his eyes, relaxing his muscles as he inhaled deeply. Whether related or not to the manner by which Orleanna, in all of her scarlet glory, fizzled into a luminous existence behind him, Octavia was unsure. Nevertheless, it left the small Muse adjacent to the two Maestros, her lower body rising just high enough above the ground to spare her from the damp stones below. Given her legacy, the irony drew a smirk out of Octavia.

    ¡°My presence was requested,¡± Orleanna spoke, her small voice as soft as ever.

    Octavia nodded in Harper¡¯s stead. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    Harper did his best to nod along, his visible nerves notwithstanding. ¡°Me, too. I think.¡±

    Orleanna didn¡¯t immediately grace him with an answer, or even a cue to start. Instead, her soft voice seemed to dim ever further. Are you positive?

    Harper hesitated to answer. With the trumpet resting upon two clammy hands, Octavia wasn''t ignorant to the sweat beading on the boy¡¯s forehead and the tremors besieging his fingers. She was tempted to ask him the same, whether or not she knew the answer she¡¯d get.

    ¡°Is there¡­any chance it could be someone else¡¯s? Like, could both of those tolls be from whoever your last Maestro was?¡± he murmured under his breath in lieu of an affirmation.

    A toll will be gathered during your lifetime alone.

    Harper sighed. ¡°I had a feeling it¡¯d be something like that. That rule sucks.¡±

    It took her a moment to realize Orleanna¡¯s words had rung for too long in her ears, devoid of vibrations aloud. She was eavesdropping, and she kicked herself for it. She did what she could to atone through action, at the very least, given the way anxiety was plastered eternally upon his face.

    Octavia rested her hands on either of Harper¡¯s forearms, doing her best to avoid the vicinity of Royal Orleans itself. ¡°What are you getting so worked up for? You¡¯re not the one who¡¯s about to die. Twice,¡± she teased.

    He chuckled nervously. ¡°I know, I know. I guess I should just¡­get it over with before I think about it too hard.¡±

    Octavia offered him a smile--true and genuine, loaded with as much warmth as she could summon at the moment. Carrying Harper¡¯s wishes into the dark would soften death¡¯s embrace, hopefully. She offered one fleeting look towards the others, oblivious as they were. Madrigal had long since melted into their happiness, and it was one saving grace. How she could bounce back so quickly was beyond Octavia. She didn¡¯t dwell on it. There was relief in the way by which the world had narrowed to herself and Harper alone. Prying eyes were absent, save for the interloping Willful Muse above.

    ¡°Harper Reed,¡± Orleanna began, ¡°your toll has been paid twice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.¡±

    Octavia inhaled sharply, gathering what breath she needed to dive into the dark. With tentative movements, one hand stretched in the direction of Royal Orleans. She never made it all the way to the brass.

    ¡°Octavia, wait a second.¡±

    Octavia nearly froze in place, her hand suspended awkwardly in mid-air. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°If you see a--¡±

    Harper cut himself off abruptly, literally closing his mouth the moment words fled him in full. When Octavia only tilted her head, he settled into a gentle grin instead.

    ¡°Nevermind. I¡¯ll tell you later. Do your best.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow playfully. Still, she returned his smile. With a leap of faith in the form of fingers plunging swiftly downwards, Octavia made the conscious decision to die for the second time in an hour.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She¡¯d skipped childhood, apparently.

    Whatever memories the man whose life she was intruding upon possessed, they didn¡¯t stand out to any meaningful degree until at least young adulthood. There were none of the typical outings and youthful celebrations Octavia was accustomed to seeing in her other tolls. Through the Ambassador¡¯s stolen eyes, the moments and memories that held enough merit to claim his heart began in the arms of another. She could hardly blame him. His beloved, seemingly, was wonderful in her own right.

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare make assumptions. Still, there were sandy blonde bangs. There were rippling blues of the softest sky reflected off her every gaze. Her dimples even curled and crinkled with unbridled happiness when she laughed so crystal clear. She was not only gorgeous, but the splitting image of her son in each and every way.

    She¡¯d forgotten to ask Harper for any indication of who she should be looking for during his tolls, any tells that his parents might reside adjacent to Orleanna¡¯s hands. She didn¡¯t need a voice, nor a birthmark, nor a grasp at identification that she otherwise would¡¯ve had to scrape every inch of the scene for. She found it in her stranger¡¯s arms, held close to her heart from the very beginning. The revelation was equally warming and damning, her heart sinking just as quickly as it had risen. There was little to celebrate, knowing the end that was to come.

    Her stranger, she could safely assume, was no stranger. From the brief glimpses she found in mirrors, pooling water, and flashes of lightning through storm-struck windowsills, the resemblance wasn''t quite as uncanny. Regardless, she found at least mild indicators--the same messy locks, even in their deepest brown, were a small victory for similarity-spotting.

    The verdict was out on that much, at least. Harper took far more after his mother than his father. In regards to personality, there was much to be debated. Vague snippets did little to shine light on much more than abundant displays of wonderful adoration and affection. They reminded Octavia of her own family, to a degree.

    They bore a child.

    It took long enough, in her opinion, for her not-so-stranger to reach a memory that at last felt somewhat tangible to Octavia. For the first time, she felt truly invested in the deepest secrets of another, her overwhelming sense of intruding upon something so sensitive be damned. She wanted to scream, to yell, to warn their innocent little universe of impending tragedy. She wanted to reach out and grab their child, to hold him close and implore he savor every moment while he had the chance.

    She would¡¯ve, had it been Harper.

    To her surprise and relative confusion, the baby cradled so lovingly in their arms, leaping with such confidence through memory after memory, didn''t blossom into the kind Maestro she knew. Instead, they bloomed into a stranger all their own. Year after year, in what may as well have been literal blinks of Octavia¡¯s foreign eyes, the child sprouted into a lovely little girl.

    Lively, energetic, and playful, she, too, was the splitting image of her mother. Every flash from this man¡¯s mind carried the child¡¯s visage with unwavering warmth, be it lifted aloft in the safety of his embrace or coddled with praise from himself and his beloved alike. They were a galaxy of three.

    Octavia found two options. Either she¡¯d been astoundingly wrong in concluding the identity of her stranger and his wife, or this toll was about to go one thousand times worse than she¡¯d originally anticipated.

    She fought the urge to speculate, her fear of the inevitable overpowering her curiosity. She found roughly six or seven additional snippets of happiness before she uncovered what she suspected could¡¯ve been the beginning of the end. It was impossible not to be biased towards scanning for flammable objects, of which she found dozens. She was fortunate the paranoid part of her hadn''t subconsciously stopped to count each and every one the entire time. The lanterns were a very unfortunate touch.

    They were pretty, granted, but unfortunate all the same. With the moon again bearing its own witness through glistening glass, unmarred by curtains, her stranger watched the peaceful night from the comfort of a warm abode. There was an odd irony to the manner by which every single toll she¡¯d witnessed thus far had happened at night, a mental note she jotted down for little reason of merit. He was alone, gifted the silence of a content home in the thick of the evening. Subsequent rustling in a distant room did away with that notion shortly after--blessed with a hint of satisfactory company, ideally.

    In the vicinity of the salon within which he stood aimlessly, his daughter was absent. If Octavia really, really tried, peering past the evening insects he watched idle by, she could spot the most translucent of smiles bouncing back through the pane. Even inside of his head, stealing his eyes and unraveling his deepest secrets, she was no closer to unpacking his thoughts. It left only speculation.

    When his head jerked forward, bashing heavily against the thick glass of the window, Octavia¡¯s sharp focus was so quickly shattered that her heart nearly burst alongside it. He staggered, and yet found no chance to turn. Once more, he was pinned with his face to the night. His forehead crashed against the pane twice, thrice, four times over.

    At an angle, flecks of red dribbled down onto the sill, scattered raindrops of scarlet painting a home recently pristine. With each attempt to face his assailant, he only found more facefuls of the same. To Octavia¡¯s dismay, the glass held fast, absorbing every blow with only the tax of blood in place of cracks.

    This wasn¡¯t right. This wasn¡¯t a fire. There was a non-zero chance she¡¯d gotten the wrong person after all. Her thoughts couldn¡¯t keep up with her heart, for how both raced in tandem. If she could reach out and rebel, she would go down screaming and fighting. As it was, for whose sight she supposedly stole, it would¡¯ve been an obligation. She couldn¡¯t move. It left only prayer. Turn around. Turn around. Turn around.

    He never got the chance. At the very least, he found refuge from glass as he collapsed. Sprawled out on the carpet, he groaned in agony, hands darting to clasp his skull as his vision swam. With blurring eyes, her stranger rolled over, finding his way onto his stomach with immense effort. It wasn¡¯t quick enough to stop the shattering, every loud, successive crack bursting inexplicably around him. Glass sprinkled to the floor, razor-edged raindrops speckling the carpet. Raindrops brought sparks. Sparks brought embers.

    Initially, Octavia thought the window had finally burst, giving way to the flurry of blows once disgustingly withstood. It wasn¡¯t until she spotted the littered path of lanterns, innocently decorating tables and fireplaces moments ago, haphazardly adorning the carpet that it clicked. Three were more than enough for a catastrophe. Spilling kerosene easily leaked into the soft, shag fabrics of the flooring below, seeping and spreading in every direction. From there, it was simple. The flames found their way, slowly but surely.

    They didn''t grow peacefully. They hungered, devoured, and consumed every inch of what had been a beautiful abode moments ago. In its own sick, twisted way, there was almost an aura of beauty to their rampage. Her stranger, disoriented and profusely gushing blood from his scalp in ample quantities, was front and center for the chaos of the fire. He didn''t scream, nor did he struggle. He did, however, fight his blurring vision long enough to grant Octavia a fleeting view of his likely assailant as they fled the rising inferno.

    The visibility of the room, smoke and fire stacked atop what was presumably far more than a concussion, heavily impeded her interpretation. The way by which his attacker offered only his back helped little, much the same. Still, the blue coattails contrasted sharply with the orange embers that licked at the ceiling. The blackest waves of disheveled hair were starker than even the thickest smog that choked the room. Her stranger¡¯s eyes slowly closed, surrounded by Hell on all sides. Two prayers were enough. Octavia prayed that the smoke got to him first, and she prayed that she was absolutely losing her mind.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia had half-expected her hands to cling to her head when she came up, for what had come to pass. At the very least, she expected phantoms of smoke to trick her seizing lungs. Instead, she was utterly still, trembling fingers aloft over Royal Orleans. It didn¡¯t last. Her blood rushed through her ears, and confusion traded places with fear. It didn¡¯t make sense.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    Harper¡¯s worried voice alone reached her. She never matched her eyes to his own, thrusting her hands back upon the brass almost instantly. She needed to be sure.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    This stranger, too, bore a child. She was identical in every way to the last.

    Octavia no longer needed to guess as to whose eyes she currently borrowed, her initial assumption more or less confirmed. Of note, the fragments of merit for Harper¡¯s mother were nearly uniform to those of his father--right down to specific occasions, events, and even exchanged platitudes of love. Still, for a second time over, she couldn¡¯t find Harper anywhere. Instead, she was provided with a narrative consisting solely of two adoring parents and their vibrant daughter.

    Given what she¡¯d seen moments ago, she was beginning to have guesses. Fears came soon after. She harbored sneaking suspicions that led only to places of pain for him, undeniably. After this, she doubted she¡¯d have the courage to ask exactly how many people Harper had lost. Maybe this was its own form of eavesdropping. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    Octavia was torn between the urge to skip to the gruesome end of this woman¡¯s life and the urge to relish every second of it on Harper¡¯s behalf. Her dilemma left little room for compromise, and she ultimately found it impossible to do the latter in fear of the former. It was unlike that of his father, but the scene was still set in much the same home. It was another room, granted, and yet the decor was unmistakable.

    Once more, a child so beloved was absent. With added context, Octavia could at least breathe a sigh of relief that someone had escaped tragedy that evening. If Harper only possessed two tolls, it was extremely possible that the girl was still alive. She tried to destroy the idea that the child¡¯s death might belong to someone else, instead.

    That left his mother, tidying. She¡¯d seen their kitchen a handful of times in flashing memories pertaining to hot family meals and tandem baking endeavors. Still, this was the first time she¡¯d seen every component to each wonderful recollection find its respective home. In any other instance, on any other night, the sight would¡¯ve been just as comfortable as the peaceful contemplation of the moon across the house. At least, she was fairly certain this was the same night. Harper¡¯s father, too, was out of sight.

    There came a knock at the door.

    Octavia begged, pleaded, and wished with every fiber of her being for this woman to go on with her evening. It would¡¯ve been so, so simple to ignore whatever lurked beyond. She would never be granted that peace. It was its own form of agony.

    You¡¯re home early. I just came back a little while ago. They kept me late.

    The second time she¡¯d heard spoken words of merit in a toll, trapped in her ears and echoing forever, they doubled as the last words Harper¡¯s mother ever spoke. Presumably, the rush of cool evening air that came with a turn of the knob wasn''t coupled with a face she¡¯d expected to see. What she found instead was a jolt of her body and a blade pressed deep into her stomach.

    She barely made a sound. A disbelieving breath that rattled on its way served as her only reaction. Her eyes slowly wandered down to the hilt of a knife Octavia had seen twice prior, the wood still steeped in scarlet stains that had seemingly since dried. Her hands trembled, floating uselessly in the general direction of her torso before falling limp and helpless at her sides.

    She raised her eyes to his, equal parts empty and wild as they were. With both hands gripping the handle, he yanked harshly upwards, nearly lifting her with it. The sound of viscera was agonizing, and Octavia was glad the woman blacked out almost instantly. In that way, at least, she was spared from the worst of Vincent Vacanti.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

 37. Remember

    Octavia came up screaming.

    She had no idea that she was wailing at all until her throat began to burn. She didn¡¯t remember emerging from the darkness, nor did she remember where she was. She hardly cared. She remembered the end, and that was what mattered. She clawed at her scalp, tangling her fingers violently into her hair as she lost her mind aloud.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± Harper cried, nearly dropping Royal Orleans. Two spent tolls were an indicator of their own. He shunned the trumpet beneath the birch in favor of both hands upon Octavia¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Octavia, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Viola exclaimed in turn, scrambling to her feet as she crawled out of the river.

    What happiness had bloomed around her now screeched to a standstill. Eyes were on her. Her name was born of several voices. Octavia¡¯s panic was a magnet for attention, and a tiny part of her loathed it. Still, there was nothing to do but scream. It was uncontrollable. In every conceivable way, it burned, and the revelation replayed in her head even now.

    She couldn¡¯t tell him. There was absolutely, with certainty, no way that she could tell him.

    ¡°Octavia, please, talk to me!¡± Harper shouted desperately, shaking her shoulders. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Octavia could only shake her head, her fingers still burrowed deep into her hair. ¡°No, no!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, it¡¯s okay, you can tell me! It¡¯ll be alright!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± she sobbed.

    ¡°Why not?¡± he cried, his own tone slowly growing more frantic.

    ¡°I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t!¡± Octavia repeated.

    ¡°Octavia, whatever it is, I can take it, I promise! I wouldn¡¯t have asked you to tell me if I couldn¡¯t! Please! What did you see?¡± Harper begged.

    ¡°Octavia, calm down, just talk to us,¡± Viola pleaded. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°It was them, right?¡± Harper interrupted. His grip on her shoulders tightened into something almost painful. Octavia wondered if she deserved it. For what, she wasn¡¯t sure.

    When she didn¡¯t respond, Harper didn¡¯t let up. ¡°Octavia, please, at least tell me that.¡±

    Octavia nodded, tears streaming down her face. His eyes shimmered with the same, albeit withheld by comparison.

    Harper cupped her cheek with one hand, gently brushing aside a stray tear with his thumb. ¡°I¡¯m the one who asked you to do this. I need to know what happened to them, I¡¯m begging you. I know it¡¯ll be bad. I¡¯m prepared for that. Please don¡¯t shut me out. Okay?¡±

    This was a bad idea. This was a really, really bad idea.

    Stradivaria.

    Yes?

    Stratos answered her prayer, the warmth of his voice in her head mildly calming. Even without him immediately present or her mouth moving, the knowledge that he could still hear her in the general vicinity was a relief. It didn¡¯t solve much by default.

    What do I do? Do I have to?

    The pains you bear witness to as the Ambassador are your own to carry. From there, it is solely your decision as to with whom, if any, such pains are shared.

    What do you think I should do?

    It is not my place to say. The choice must be your own.

    ¡°Octavia, breathe for a minute. We¡¯ll talk it out together. I don¡¯t know what you saw, but that¡¯s the last toll you have to do for now, right? We can take a break,¡± Viola offered softly.

    Viola¡¯s face was so like his. Where she thought of him, she thought of her. The words came out before she¡¯d even processed they¡¯d left her mouth.

    ¡°Vincent,¡± Octavia murmured.

    Two syllables were enough to drag the world to a halt. Viola stopped breathing altogether. Every last drop of color drained from her face as her blank gaze met Octavia¡¯s own. Ever so slowly, she turned her head towards Harper. His confusion was of a different flavor, visually. The name didn¡¯t click immediately, and yet the look on Viola¡¯s face was enough for him to tense.

    Viola¡¯s eyes flickered between Octavia and Harper wordlessly. Octavia wanted to run. For how white Viola¡¯s clenched knuckles were as she forewent oxygen altogether, she was confident there was one person who wanted to flee more than she did.

    Harper blinked. He blinked again. He blinked several times over, shaking his head slowly. There came a point where it was no longer slow. There came a point at which the moment it hit was visible in his eyes. There came a point at which the recognition of the name sent every pained emotion on earth flickering across his face. His hands trembled severely, and the rest of him followed soon after. Parted lips offered nothing but rattling breaths. Eventually, those, too, weren''t slow.

    His gaze snapped to Octavia¡¯s, and it was utterly indiscernible. Whatever plea lay beneath the agony in his pupils was useless. Octavia¡¯s heart was shattering in time with his soul, for what she could see in his eyes. She¡¯d already gone too far. She couldn¡¯t lie. She couldn¡¯t take it back. She couldn¡¯t change the way he¡¯d been so sickeningly wronged by the world. She sincerely feared she¡¯d faint.

    Viola reached out one trembling hand of her own, the white tint of knuckles once taut still painting her skin. ¡°Harper, I-I--¡±

    Fearful eyes, flooding with something unknown, stabbed her in the heart instead. With one scathing, painful glance, Harper turned on his heel. He ran.

    He was the one person faster than Octavia. Still, their gap in skill wasn¡¯t unfathomable. If she sprinted with all she had from this very moment, she could catch him. She was certain. Even so, once she did, she¡¯d have nothing to offer him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Viola murmured, her voice cracking.

    Her attention was torn between two of the heaviest burdens she¡¯d ever seen crushing the innocent. Nestling her face into the crook of Viola¡¯s neck, she offered what few platitudes she could find. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Viola repeated.

    The bitter tears that began to drip down her cheeks stung Octavia¡¯s own. She only clung to Viola tighter, with or without the Maestra¡¯s returned embrace. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. This has nothing to do with you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me,¡± Viola sobbed.

    ¡°You¡¯re not guilty of anything he did. I know you know that.¡±

    Joy was gone. Sorrow took its place in full. Their circle of bystanders to the sorrowful spectacle had drawn near, although with little support of their own to contribute. To be fair, Octavia had so little to give, just as well. She respected their attempts, and not once did she free Viola.

    ¡°Octavia¡¯s right,¡± Madrigal tried softly. ¡°Your father¡¯s actions are his alone. They¡¯re not Viola¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°But still, this is all sorts of messed up,¡± Renato muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­really understand. I thought you said there were three? People your dad killed, I mean?¡±

    ¡°And that was four people,¡± Josiah finished.

    ¡°Guys,¡± Octavia warned sharply. This wasn¡¯t the time.

    ¡°How did they die?¡± Viola whispered, nearly out of Octavia¡¯s earshot.

    She strongly debated answering. To be fair, they were already in this deep. ¡°His mother was stabbed. His father was¡­I guess a head injury. Got hit over and over. I haven¡¯t really stopped to piece it together, but I¡¯m¡­assuming his mother died first. The house only went up in flames after his father was left to die.¡±

    ¡°Left to die?¡± Viola asked, her wavering voice stabilizing somewhat. ¡°He didn¡¯t kill him?¡±

    ¡°He did. I just¡­don¡¯t know if he knew.¡±

    Viola was silent for a moment. She wriggled out of Octavia¡¯s grasp, wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands. ¡°Then I know why there were only three. I¡­we can talk about it later. I just want Harper to be okay.¡±

    ¡°Where do you think he went?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    Octavia cast her eyes towards the path of his hurtful flight. ¡°I have a few ideas, but I¡¯m not confident.¡±

    ¡°Should we give him some space?¡± Renato offered.

    Octavia paused. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m worried about him. I at least want to know he¡¯s somewhere safe.¡±

    ¡°Then we should go before he gets too far away. What¡¯s the first place you thought of?¡± Josiah asked.

    She had one suspicion. Granted, the distance was far enough and the location tricky enough that she risked losing his trail more every second. She was nearly bouncing on her heels in anxiety. ¡°It¡¯s far. I need to go now if I¡¯m gonna beat him there. I think I can catch up to him.¡±

    ¡°Then go!¡± Renato said. ¡°We¡¯ll check Viola¡¯s place.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯ll check the forest and the city, too,¡± Madrigal added. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    Viola was quiet. It didn¡¯t escape Octavia. Exactly half of her wanted to stay and hold the girl forever. Whether or not it would steal the guilt from her shoulders was debatable. In the end, it was her fault for putting it there in the first place. The thought tore her heart to shreds.

    She threw every regret beneath her boots, stamping each into the dirt one by one as she sprinted. Hurtling deep into the woods, blurring greenery and showering shade were enough to hide her tears. It was all she could do to hold them back, and she blinked away what she could as she ran. It wasn¡¯t the time. She could hate herself later.

    Her footsteps echoed, subtle as the sound came. She thought she was going insane, at first. Not once did it slow, nor did it overtake her. It took effort to glance over her shoulder as she dodged sharpened shrubbery and dangling branches ahead. At the very least, the ambience of pursuit was attached to something physical.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she cried between labored breaths, paced as they were.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Josiah called back, drawing ever nearer to her with impressive agility. ¡°Two sets of eyes are better than one, and I don¡¯t want you going alone. Besides, I¡¯m the only other person who can keep up with you.¡±

    So often did she forget. After all, he was the boy who¡¯d outrun devastation itself. They burst into the sunlight in tandem, frantic footsteps carrying them well across grassy fields on the path to Coda. Octavia kept her eyes forward and her sprint endless, single-minded as it was. It was easier than letting her thoughts run in every direction imaginable. She couldn¡¯t control it.

    Fields were easier than forests, for what obstacles left her alone. She could hit her full stride, and she didn¡¯t hesitate to do so. Whatever brought her closer to Harper was utterly necessary. It kept her from checking her path, just the same. It wasn¡¯t as though there was much to trip over, nor that they¡¯d left more than pain in their wake. There was no reason for Josiah to throw his eyes behind him that much. She didn¡¯t have the time to ask.

    <hr>

    Truthfully, Octavia didn¡¯t remember the exact direction of the camp. Twisting alleyways along the backroads of Coda were a maze only Harper himself had mastered, a puzzle that guarded orphans from the harsh judgment of the city. Her panicked sprint at the time had done little to solidify any directions she could¡¯ve committed to memory.

    She took her best guess, retracing her steps from a humble little flower shop to what winding corners she did recall. Josiah was silent for most of her navigational contemplation, by which he knew next to nothing of her final destination. It took far longer than she was willing to admit just to find the alley in the first place.

    ¡°Is this it?¡± he asked, peering down the narrow corridor. Snuggled between two shade-soaked, lifeless buildings, it was as good as she was going to get.

    Octavia tested her hypothesis with tentative steps. ¡°I think so.¡±

    Josiah was hesitant. It showed on his face. To his credit, he followed regardless. ¡°Where are we going, anyway?¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°How much do you know about Harper, exactly?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m learning a lot about him today.¡±

    She scoffed. ¡°You and me both.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s got¡­family on the far side of the city. Either he¡¯s with them, or they might have an idea of where he went.¡±

    ¡°I thought his parents were dead.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t wrong. It was still blunt, and Octavia winced. ¡°You¡¯ll see what I mean.¡±

    What began as a narrow corridor began to splinter, an array of sharp turns offering too many options. She¡¯d been worried about this part. Racking her memory was fruitless, and any attempts to assemble a valid route were a mess. Octavia threw caution to the wind and chanced a left.

    ¡°Is he mad at Viola, do you think?¡± Josiah continued.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be. He¡¯s not the kind of person to confuse people¡¯s¡­choices like that.¡±

    She was lying, partially. Harper was kind to a fault, and yet this was an absolute outlier. She knew him. She liked to imagine that she knew his heart. Under no circumstances had she expected this scenario, let alone could she predict his emotions in its aftermath. It didn¡¯t matter whether Viola was guilty of crimes not her own. She was a Vacanti. That might¡¯ve been enough.

    Octavia took a right.

    ¡°That¡¯s...most of the tolls now,¡± Josiah offered, changing the subject. The distraction would¡¯ve been nice. For the direction it risked heading, she feared that topic more.

    Octavia took a left. ¡°Uh huh,¡± she muttered.

    ¡°There¡¯s still three we can get to. Two right now, but technically three.¡±

    Another left. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°And¡­once we¡¯re done with those, we have to start looking for other Maestros, right?¡±

    She stole another right. It was a miracle that he¡¯d strayed from what could¡¯ve been a distressing conversation. ¡°I haven¡¯t thought that far ahead yet.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where we¡¯d even start to look. We don¡¯t know if there¡¯s more in Mezzoria. We don¡¯t know if we¡¯re gonna have to go off the continent. We don¡¯t even know if there¡¯s more in the damn city.¡±

    She went straight for once, trailing the path downwards. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. We all found each other, somehow. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a way to find more.¡±

    ¡°Between the six of us, there¡¯s six Harmonial Instruments. That¡¯s six Muses, even if we can¡¯t get to one of them. Ninety left to go. Ninety left to find in the first place, honestly.¡±

    Yet another left. ¡°We can figure it out after we find Harper.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he said softly.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    His footsteps faded. When she peered over her shoulder, he¡¯d come to a halt. His expression fell somewhere between blank and pained. ¡°There''s...actually two more that we¡­we know where they are.¡±

    It took her a moment. When it sank in, her heart could¡¯ve stopped. This wasn¡¯t the time or the place. It would never be the time or the place, probably.

    ¡°How are we¡­gonna get to them?¡±

    Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    It was easier to think about shuffling debris. It was a reflex, actually, distant down the corridor as it was. The sound came with a silhouette, and it was the first company they¡¯d encountered since breaching the alleyway. A wave earned her nothing, for how their back was turned. In tandem with the gap, she would¡¯ve gone unseen regardless.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she called.

    Only then did she earn acknowledgement, a sharp jerk of a distant neck offered in turn. Tethered hair whipped her shadow-clad stranger as they moved, and yet Octavia could make out nothing more. She could make out their escape, at least, darting behind a corner she hadn¡¯t curved around on her own.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Octavia cried.

    Her feet moved before her thoughts caught up. Josiah followed in her wake without question. Every turn she stole from the fleeing visage so distant was new. Some even came adjacent to those she¡¯d attempted, by which she feared she¡¯d lose her way yet more. Keeping up wasn¡¯t an issue. Still, they were swift, practically soundless as they dipped in and out of abundant shadows.

    Each corner was a reflex, and they didn¡¯t hesitate for a moment. Following them at all was a gamble. Frankly, at this point, stopping would leave Octavia more lost than she could ever undo alone. There would be no Harper to save her.

    One left came too quick, and she almost lost her faceless target altogether. Her eyes faltered for a brief moment as they dashed behind a wall. It took significant effort to lower her body, brace her muscles, and do all she could to round the bend in time. She feared outrunning Josiah. The alternative was scathing disorientation. With all she had, she kicked off, desperate to catch her escaping guide.

    All she caught was pain, instant and throbbing.

    The recoil was immediate, and Octavia crashed to the hard ground below as her hands rushed to her face. Ideally, she wasn¡¯t bleeding. Her immobile assailant had been softer than a wall, at least. They were immobile no longer, stumbling backwards in the wake of the graceless collision. It wasn¡¯t quite a mutual exchange of suffering. It was still enough for them to share groans of pain.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Josiah cried, dropping to his knees at her side. With care, he cradled her head in his arms. ¡°God, are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going, damn,¡± her obstacle growled, rubbing his hand against one reddened cheek.

    ¡°Move your hands,¡± Josiah ordered, already doing so himself. ¡°Let me see.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t bleeding, granted. Still, the lack of pressure left her face aching yet more. Looking upwards was a welcome distraction, if not confusing. If she squinted, she could almost recognize the messy curls. The bare feet were just as familiar. There was a violin attached to him, once, although the latter had been scathingly unfortunate. It took her a moment. When she found the name, it floated through her head in Harper¡¯s voice, splattered with aggravation.

    ¡°Domino,¡± she said bluntly.

    The boy raised an eyebrow, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ¡°Have we met?¡±

    She winced. ¡°I, uh¡­once. I think?¡±

    Recognition dawned on his face, and his eyes widened in just the slightest. He gave her a lazy nod. ¡°Oh, yeah. Harper¡¯s girlfriend. Right.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You know him?¡± Josiah asked. For the most part, he was still primarily fixated on inspecting her injuries.

    ¡°He knows Harper,¡± she answered.

    ¡°And I don¡¯t know you,¡± Domino added, tilting his head towards Josiah.

    He raised one hand in a half-hearted wave. ¡°Josiah, then. You know where Harper is?¡±

    Domino scoffed. ¡°You guys managed to lose him? I¡¯m not his owner. How should I know? He¡¯s with you people more often than he¡¯s with us.¡±

    Octavia chose her words carefully. ¡°He ran somewhere, and we¡¯re¡­trying to figure out where he went.¡±

    Domino shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s not with us, so he¡¯s probably off crying somewhere again like he always does. One of his moods.¡±

    When he earned only two confused gazes in unison, he gave an aggravated sigh, plucking at one stray curl. ¡°Look, he puts on this big tough guy act and runs away to sulk when nobody''s looking. If no one can find him, he¡¯s probably at home. He hasn¡¯t had one of his tantrums in awhile, though.¡±

    ¡°Home?¡± Octavia pressed. ¡°I thought you said he wasn¡¯t at the camp?¡±

    Domino stared blankly at her for a moment. ¡°His home. Or, at least, what¡¯s left of it.¡±

    Words escaped her. Josiah filled in where she faltered, and she appreciated that much. If her heart broke on Harper¡¯s behalf any further today, she wouldn¡¯t have one left by the time she slept tonight. She didn¡¯t particularly want to cry in front of Domino.

    ¡°It still exists? Where is it?¡± Josiah asked.

    Domino jutted one thumb behind him lazily. ¡°Take one left and one right, go past the camp, and go left until you hit another construction area. Head into the woods far enough to the north of that and you¡¯ll find abandoned houses. From there, you¡¯ll know which one.¡±

    ¡°How will we--¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll know, idiot. Use your head.¡±

    Josiah winced, swallowing what words he had left.

    ¡°Do you¡­want to come with us?¡± Octavia offered.

    Domino was silent. He didn¡¯t dignify her with an answer, instead gifting her nothing but dust as he turned on one heel. With his back to her, Octavia was left to watch his departure from the ground.

    ¡°Hey, did you hear me?¡± she called.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he called back.

    ¡°Do you want to come with us, then?¡± Octavia asked again.

    ¡°Why would I?¡±

    She blinked. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried about Harper?¡± she called louder, blighted by the growing distance.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    For the briefest moment, his steps slowed, and he nearly came to a halt. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, small shoulders rising and falling with the effort of a sigh. He found his way forward again, eventually, hardly gracing her with an answer.

    ¡°Why should I care about someone who doesn¡¯t care about us anymore?¡± Domino spat.

    He was out of sight before Octavia could so much as begin assembling a response, stealing into shadows her eyes couldn¡¯t dissect. She thought to follow, and yet she doubted it¡¯d be worth it--let alone productive. For a moment, it was all she could do to stare at where he¡¯d last stood, still bound to the earth as she was.

    ¡°We should go,¡± Josiah said. ¡°It sounds like a bit of a walk.¡±

    Octavia gave him a slow nod, slipping one hand into his outstretched own as she struggled to her feet. Her physical pain had weakened to a dull ache. In its place, her concern for Harper continued to curse her with new flavors of hurt.

    <hr>

    The walk wasn¡¯t quite as severe as she feared it would be. Morning had long since passed, the tell-tale heat of noon high overhead. She¡¯d been fortunate enough to stall her way through the remainder of the morning services¡¯ bell tolling--although the thought hadn¡¯t crossed her mind until now. Had she been roughly an hour earlier in performing the Witnessing, she would likely have returned to a shape just as poor as that in which she¡¯d awoken.

    The idea of panicking at all was deeply sickening. To panic in front of Josiah would be much worse. If she had to hazard a guess at another victim of the burnt blossom¡¯s far-reaching grasp, it would be him. She could confide in him, maybe. She still couldn¡¯t prove it.

    Domino¡¯s directions were legitimate, although the construction area was more difficult to locate than most other landmarks. The woods facing the north weren¡¯t visible from the camp, let alone the outskirts of Coda. They were even thicker and more opaque from afar than those she¡¯d previously considered abundant and lush. She settled on ¡°overgrown¡±, almost unnatural in the way mismatched flora climbed splintered wood and vines strangled unsteady bricks.

    ¡°Abandoned¡±, per Domino¡¯s words, wasn¡¯t a poor descriptor, either. He¡¯d neglected to mention the houses that dotted the cusp of the forest in turn, freed of the oppressive prison of shrubbery. They, too, were devoid of life. As to whatever was going on out here, she made a note to ask Viola later--once that situation was resolved.

    What houses called the woods themselves home were surprisingly intact, if not decrepit and deteriorating in their own right. Many had long since succumbed to mosses and molds, roofs bending dangerously under the pressure of creeping branches. Bricks had pitifully crumbled, and shingles had come with them. Far too many doors, so often dampened by storms long past, had either escaped their hinges or snapped in two. Still, unlivable as they were versus those freed of greenery at her back, the foundations stood strong. It was almost disorienting, by which she¡¯d stepped into a broken battlefield of decay.

    She had a feeling as to which one she should be looking for, along with its respective tells. For what he did know of Harper, Josiah seemed to realize the same. He pointed it out before she had the chance.

    ¡°That one. It¡¯s gotta be.¡±

    She followed his trailing finger with her eyes, and she agreed with him immediately. It was blackened, crumbling, and--with the context in mind--most definitely charred to a crisp. It was surely a less obvious fate, to a third party. Regardless, the building was an absolute testament to damage incarnate. Meddling vegetation was the least of its problems, cursed instead by wooden beams spearing through the ceiling. Walls on every side had long since earned gaping holes or outright collapsed, paving passages to the open forest beyond. The front door was so thoroughly damaged that it may as well have not existed.

    As to how the house was still standing to this day, clinging to mere scraps of annihilated brick and wood, Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to guess. It was every bit as resilient as the boy who¡¯d once called it home. A strong storm, or more, would undoubtedly do it in eventually. Knowing what she knew now, she prayed that day would never come.

    She was hesitant to step inside--if not for fear of being crushed by the collapse of a creaking roof, then for fear of confronting what lay within. She bit her nails. The gesture wasn¡¯t subtle, apparently.

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯ll be alright,¡± Josiah comforted. ¡°Just¡­talk to him. You¡¯re good at that.¡±

    ¡°I have nothing to say to him,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I shouldn¡¯t have told him.¡±

    ¡°You told him because he asked you to. You were trying to be a good friend.¡±

    ¡°A good friend is what I feel the least like right now.¡±

    Josiah paused for a moment. ¡°You go in and talk to him. I¡¯ll wait here.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°You¡¯re not coming in with me?¡±

    Josiah shook his head, offering a weak smile. ¡°Right now, he needs you, not me. I¡¯m not exactly the best at finding my words, anyway.

    ¡°Josiah--¡±

    ¡°Just try. If it doesn¡¯t work out, it doesn¡¯t work out. Do your best, okay?¡±

    Truthfully, she was getting sick of that phrase recently. Her best amounted to little, at this point. Still, motivation was threefold. She didn¡¯t have the heart to turn him down. Harper needed someone--her or otherwise. More than anything, it was the least she could do to heal a wound that she¡¯d opened.

    What tentative first steps she took into the scorched house scraped and squeaked, floorboards protesting noisily beneath her feet. Octavia treaded with caution, somewhat paranoid about outright falling through the floor. The wide holes blighting the masonry at least blessed her with flimsy sunlight, sparing her from the horrific task of plunging into darkened decay.

    She navigated around rusted nails and bits of broken glass as necessary. Several collapsed beams were so tightly condensed that squeezing past required excessive flexibility. The entire room was a tomb waiting to happen. It had already taken enough lives, to be fair.

    There was something sickeningly satisfying about the disfigurement, in a way. The wrath of time had disrupted memories she still couldn¡¯t stifle. Shards of Harper¡¯s tolls were present, even in the wake of the inferno that had swallowed the blood on Vincent¡¯s hands. Above all else, the ruthless flames had burnt cherished memories and love to utter ashes. Octavia regretted her moment of relief as soon as the thought crossed her mind.

    If she cared to look, she could pick out various aspects of a house so recently bound to two tolls alone. She found the salon, the kitchen, and even a window once untouched by spilt blood. Octavia liked to imagine the sprinkling crystal along the floor was divorced from the abused lamps that had started it all.

    There were rooms she hadn¡¯t seen, by which the hallway frayed. One was effectively obstructed in full, a protruding beam from on high barring a door long eroded. There was little decay behind it, and that much was aggravating. It was a poor time for curiosity. It left the far side of the hall, unburdened by interloping wood. If she strained, it came with sobs.

    Octavia resisted the urge to run, lest any sudden movement leave the house caving in entirely. There were no squeaking floorboards to announce her approach, and every step was quieter. Her own breaths were in contrast to the gentle weeping that grew ever nearer. She still had no idea what to say. She doubted she¡¯d ever find the words.

    She assumed it was a bedroom. Devoured by flames long ago, a guess was the best she could offer to a room without so much as a door. Walls were useless where wood crumbled to dust, and carpet underfoot had morphed into roasted ash. There¡¯d been a bed, once. It still clung to some semblance of shape, miraculously, charred remnants of a mattress gracing the frame. Rusted and protruding, the stray springs were somewhat of a hazard. If she tried, she could sit on it anyway. She¡¯d have to ask Harper to move over.

    With knees hugged tightly to his chest, he buried his face where she couldn¡¯t see. His bangs just barely peeked over his kneecaps, his cap shielding what little of his face Octavia had hoped to capture. In stark contrast with the low volume of his sorrow, his shoulders shook violently. Either he¡¯d gotten most of it out of his system, or he was holding back. Both were equally heartbreaking to consider.

    How long he¡¯d been there was beyond her. Her approach was quiet, for how his soft sobs still drowned out her footsteps. Octavia feared she¡¯d startle him, somewhat. She could call out to him, touch him, or let him grieve in peace. If nothing else, she knew he was safe. That was her own peace, by comparison. Still, to leave felt almost cruel--with or without Josiah¡¯s disapproval awaiting outside. She fidgeted anxiously, staring at his pain from a distance.

    ¡°Harper,¡± she finally murmured, ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±

    He hardly reacted. Even so, she caught the slightest movement of his head and the tiniest stifling of his sobs. She settled in beside him, lowering herself with care onto the creaking springs. Ideally, the frame wouldn¡¯t snap beneath the weight of both of them together.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Octavia offered softly. ¡°About everything. I¡­shouldn¡¯t have said anything.¡±

    Harper answered in audible tears alone, quiet as they continued to be. Octavia wrung the hem of her dress uncomfortably.

    ¡°I¡­know what it¡¯s like to want to know the truth. When you lose someone like that and you don¡¯t get your answers, it¡¯s one of the worst feelings in the world. I wouldn¡¯t wish it on anyone.¡±

    What sobs had been eternal calmed at last. Harper fell silent, shuddering inhales taking the place of deeper sorrow as his shoulders shook. He kept his head down all the while.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t been through the same thing. I know that, and I know our situations are a lot different, but I still know what it¡¯s like to need that closure. I know how it feels to stay up every night wondering what happened, and how hard it is to get through some days because you don¡¯t know the truth. I know how it can¡­ruin you.¡±

    Harper raised his head in the slightest, wide pupils just barely peeking out from between his bangs. His veiled gaze drifted to her, exhausted and pained as it swam with ever more tears.

    Octavia exhaled heavily, casting her eyes at her boots. ¡°I also know how the truth can kill you inside once you have it. For that, I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯ve known better.¡±

    ¡°I asked,¡± he whispered, his voice cracking. ¡°I thought I was ready. I just didn¡¯t think it would be like that.¡±

    ¡°Neither did I. No one did. How could they?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Harper said louder, trembling as he slowly uncurled from his ball. ¡°I just¡­don¡¯t understand. They didn¡¯t do anything wrong. Why them?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t understand a lot of what¡¯s been going on with that¡­situation.¡±

    Choosing her words with care didn¡¯t ease the knot in her stomach at all. Viola had been honest enough about the crimes of Vincent Vacanti, whether or not they were Octavia¡¯s business to begin with. The sickening privilege of the Ambassador was a curse, and yet the full context still eluded her even now. There was no good time and place for questions anymore. Every second left that particular wound growing ever more gaping.

    ¡°I just thought I was over it,¡± he whispered once more.

    ¡°It¡¯s not something you ever really get over,¡± Octavia said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I hurt Viola. I don¡¯t know how to feel around Viola. I know she didn¡¯t do anything. I know that, but¡­¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I get it. If you need time, you need time. I think she¡¯d understand, in her own way.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t ask anything more of him, for Viola¡¯s sake or otherwise. Sadness was more manageable than ire, if nothing else.

    ¡°What were they like?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°Your parents. What kind of people were they?¡± Octavia asked quietly.

    Harper folded his hands in his lap, his eyes still scraping the ruined floor. ¡°My¡­dad was gentle. He wasn¡¯t afraid to love, and he loved me and my mom harder than words could ever describe. He was funny. He always made me laugh, even when I was crying my eyes out about something silly or another. He spoiled me. Probably shouldn¡¯t have, but that¡¯s just how he was. If I wanted to do something, he¡¯d never stop me. He¡¯d be my biggest fan.¡±

    He paused for a moment before continuing. ¡°And my mom, she was¡­incredible. She could sing, she could cook, she could sew, she actually made most of my clothes. She was a tailor by trade, and the best damn tailor I¡¯ve ever seen to this day. Maybe I¡¯m biased, I think I deserve that. She was like my dad. She¡¯d let me be¡­well, me. If I really set my mind to something, she¡¯d always have my back. She loved teaching me little things about life. Just like my dad, her love was endless. We were so¡­happy. I was happy.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°They sound wonderful.¡±

    ¡°What was your sister like?¡±

    The smile she¡¯d found slipped from her face in an instant. Harper winced.

    ¡°I-If you wanna talk about it,¡± he stammered. ¡°You don¡¯t ha--¡±

    ¡°She was indescribable,¡± Octavia breathed. ¡°Nothing I say about her could do her justice. Harper, she was so beautiful. She was amazing, she was talented, and she taught me how hard I could love someone. I see her in everything. She is my everything. She always will be. She was what brought people together, she was the light in every room, she was the one who picked me up when the world knocked me down. I love her. I love her so, so much. She makes me¡­glad I was born.¡±

    Octavia met Harper¡¯s eyes, conscious of the tears welling up in her own. ¡°I miss her every day I¡¯m alive.¡±

    He smiled a true, genuine smile at last--weak as it was. ¡°Then we¡¯re in the same boat.¡±

    Octavia smeared her sneaking tears along her palms. ¡°You have¡­a lot of people who care about you, and are worried about you, and want you to be happy. I care about you, and am worried about you, and want you to be happy.¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, I also care about you, and worry about you, and want you to be happy. You¡¯ve got a lot of people still around who love you, too. And wherever your sister is, I¡¯m sure she still loves you just as much.¡±

    ¡°Just like your parents.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Harper was silent, for a moment, as was she. Quietly, his eyes found the charred flooring below, and his words along with it. ¡°This is¡­actually where I found her.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Who?¡±

    He smiled faintly. ¡°Royal Orleans.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°In¡­here?¡±

    Harper nodded, a muted motion that left his bangs brushing against his eyelashes somewhat. ¡°I¡­come back here a lot more often than I should. One time, she was just¡­here. It¡¯s ironic. It¡¯s really ironic, actually. I still think about it sometimes. It¡¯s the only good thing I ever got out of this place after everything that happened.¡±

    Octavia shifted in her seat with slight discomfort. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry. That¡¯s a silver lining, though, right? They have weird ways of finding their Maestros. You know that. I guess that was how she wanted to do it.¡±

    His smile brightened into something much more welcome. ¡°I guess I owe her a ¡®thank you¡¯, then. If she hadn¡¯t ended up in here, I don¡¯t think we¡¯d be together right now.¡±

    That, at least, was equally deserving of her own bright smile in return.

    For a moment, they were content to drink in each other¡¯s warmth, two beacons of light in the oppression of a ruined home. The silence didn¡¯t come to hurt, and yet it was weighted all the same. It was the first time she¡¯d been alone with him in awhile. Somewhere between spilt blood and ancient flames as she¡¯d been torn today, she had a third concern. It still bothered her more than it should¡¯ve, although whether it would curse him with yet more pain was debatable. Curiosity won. She took her chances.

    ¡°Hey, Harper?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Did you¡­have a si--¡±

    The words never left her lips in full. Her voice was overshadowed by one of the worst sounds in the world.

    It was nothing short of a miracle that she¡¯d escaped it for such a long time. It was a dream alone to believe she could¡¯ve outrun it forever, the ever-present screeching leaving her hands on a collision course with her ears. It couldn¡¯t be now. It couldn¡¯t be here. More than anywhere else, it couldn¡¯t be here.

    Harper did the same, recoiling at the sheer volume of agony itself. His eyes widened as he struggled to call above the sound. ¡°Is that--¡±

    ¡°Where is it?¡± Octavia cried, leaping to her feet.

    Harper, again, followed her lead, claiming her hand and tugging towards the hallway. ¡°We need to go, now. I don¡¯t know 100% how this works, but if it¡¯s messed-up memories, I¡¯m sure there were plenty of them in this house on the way out--if you know what I mean.¡±

    She fell into step behind him, surrendering to his panicked guidance as they sprinted down the hall in tandem. Her boots squeaked against the floor, their shoes collectively tormenting the floorboards with each step. The cacophony of suffering incarnate grew ever louder, and dizziness was inescapable. Keeping upright was a trial. Vertigo crashed down upon her, each movement forward leaving her stumbling.

    Harper wasn¡¯t immune to the same, his hurried steps wobbling in turn. Still, he gripped her hand tighter, pulling her onwards with yet more force regardless. Dissonance was every bit as torturous as she¡¯d remembered, even by sound alone. Octavia didn¡¯t remember the hall being this long when she came in.

    At the very least, untouchable malice incarnate wouldn¡¯t threaten a crumbling house. They finally burst into the salon once more. It took effort to navigate stray debris and beams barring their path, moving as swiftly as was possible given the situation. Her greatest fear had been plunging into the dark, and what luck had spared her from a dim fate faltered.

    Light once graciously granted through gaping holes in the masonry stood obstructed. It was obscured, rather, trickling sunshine swallowed whole by choking indigo she¡¯d come to loathe. Billowing violet climbed to scrape far past the ceiling, easily clearing the height of the building through every exit point above. The haze that claimed the structure from within was unrelenting, a variable wall to compensate for those that had weakened. Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. So, too, could she not escape.

    Harper squeezed her hand so tightly that she feared her circulation would halt. Even so, she couldn¡¯t keep herself from doing the same. She threw her other hand over her shoulder, fumbling for whatever zippers she could reach from this angle. Whether or not she¡¯d be able to withdraw the whole instrument like this was debatable. She couldn¡¯t reach it at all.

    Octavia tried again, stubborn as she was in clinging to his grasp. Desperate fingers fumbled for the thick material of the outer lining. She found nothing. She shifted her shoulder to shuffle the case. She found nothing. She tipped her head forwards, liberating interloping braids from her back. She found nothing.

    She tensed. For once, it was her iron grip that threatened his blood flow. She hardly needed the Dissonance to steal her breath away. With lead seeping into her veins, Octavia''s eyes slowly drifted over her shoulder. Of the violin that should¡¯ve called her home, she found nothing.

    It was her fault. In her haste to catch up with a grieving boy, she¡¯d forsaken her precious partner along the riverbed. This was what she deserved for being the worst Maestra in the world, maybe. Her heart tumbled lower than her stomach, coming to rest on the filthy floor where it belonged. If she fainted now, she wasn¡¯t sure if it¡¯d be the work of the Dissonance or her own infinite stupidity. Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one. It was the pure and utter opposite of a comfort.

    When her frantic gaze snapped to the right, the hand that didn¡¯t grasp her own was aloft and empty. Harper¡¯s palm was upturned and devoid of defense, wide eyes pooling with horror. The fingers brushing against hers trembled fiercely. She wasn¡¯t ignorant to the way his eyes flickered to her own before delving into the writhing indigo before them. She wondered if he was kicking himself just as hard as she was.

    ¡°Your room,¡± Octavia called, raising her voice above the wailing on every side. ¡°The walls, they¡¯re messed up. We can get out that way.¡±

    Harper shook his head, tilting his head sharply towards the hallway. The hazy smoke was fast, and it had trailed in their fleeing footsteps. A corridor once vacant was robbed of passage, replaced in turn by rolling violet that surged yet further. Octavia loathed the way that fate hated her.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes darted in each conceivable direction around the room, and still she was no closer to an escape route. Each time she found a dilapidated passage still touched by natural light, the Dissonance could practically hear her thoughts. Sickening indigo served to cut her off, and she was forced to start anew as agony plugged the gap. The world was practically shrinking, sneaking fog rising high and pressing them on every side. A house once painted within by crimson and orange was now splattered with nothing but violet. She¡¯d long since surpassed ¡°trapped¡±. She was ensnared in agony itself.

    ¡°What¡­do we do?¡± Harper asked, loud and soft all at once.

    Octavia gritted her teeth, grasping for oxygen in the face of panic. ¡°W-We could hold our breath and run through it, maybe. You know this house, right? T-There¡¯s holes in the¡­walls in certain places, are we c-close to one?¡±

    Her nerves, once iron, were rapidly crumbling. In that way, she matched her potential gravesite. All along, Harper had never once surrendered her hand. She only remembered the moment a second warm touch settled upon her fingers. Octavia initially jolted at the feeling, her eyes snapping downwards in alarm.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he offered, drawing nearer to her. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    She bit her lip. ¡°Don¡¯t mind what?¡±

    Harper smiled weakly, his shimmering eyes meeting her own. ¡°These are my parents¡¯ memories, right? They¡¯re all messed up, and I don¡¯t know where they¡¯ve been hiding all this time, but maybe they¡¯re here for a reason. I don¡¯t mind if this is¡­how I go.¡±

    Octavia recoiled, battling the urge to pull away. ¡°Absolutely not! I¡¯ll f-figure something out, I swear!¡±

    She was tired. She was dizzy. Her vision was blurring. Above all else, she was terrified. She couldn¡¯t fathom how Harper could forge a smile in the midst of suffering on every side. She couldn¡¯t fathom how he could manage every peaceful word that left his lips.

    Harper shook his head. ¡°I just wish you didn¡¯t have to come with me.¡±

    Octavia jerked her hand free from his touch, grasping his shoulders in tandem. Keeping her focus was a struggle, for how what miniscule light they still clung to slowly began to dim. ¡°If you give up, I¡¯ll kill you myself! You¡¯re better than that!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of things I wish I got the chance to tell you, you know,¡± he murmured. Were it not for the distance at which they stood, his faltering voice would¡¯ve been inaudible.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna run through it, okay? Don¡¯t let go of my hand,¡± she ordered.

    It was his turn to shake his head. ¡°I¡¯ll cheer you on if you try. Do your best. I believe in you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going without you, idiot! Don¡¯t let go of my friggin¡¯ hand, alright?¡± she cried, her voice trembling as fiercely as her fingers. She cupped either side of his face instead, glaring daggers deep into his defeated eyes.

    ¡°You know more about this stuff than me. What¡­happens now? What happens if you touch it? Does it hurt?¡±

    She somewhat knew the answer to this. Granted, her circumstances had been substantially different. From what she was aware, becoming Dissonant and succumbing to Dissonance itself were two varying flavors of agony. She¡¯d just barely conquered the former, and it had taken divine intervention to do so. She feared the latter with all of her heart, and the answer was completely out of reach. Octavia shook her head.

    ¡°Worry about that when we make it out of here, okay?¡± she shouted. ¡°Hold onto me if you need to! Do you need me to carry you? We need to go now!¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes closed gently, freed from the harsh gaze pinning him in place. ¡°Octavia, I¡¯m¡­really tired. I¡¯m gonna go to sleep for a bit, alright?¡±

    Drained and absolutely exhausted, dizzy and nauseous, lightheaded and battling double vision, Octavia could hardly stand. It took everything she had to keep her eyes open, and yet more so to keep her hands clasping Harper¡¯s face. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare go out on me! Stay awake! Please, Harper, you can¡¯t!¡±

    And somehow, surrounded by suffering, he still smiled for her.

    ¡°Thank you. For¡­everything.¡±

    What smoke-free circle she¡¯d claimed was all but gone, and rolling agony pressed harshly at her back. The sensation left her skin outright burning. She¡¯d never truly, in full, made physical contact with Dissonance. She¡¯d made it herself on an occasion she fought to forget, that much was true. Still, raw Dissonance hadn¡¯t once wrapped her up in its grasp. The smog against her body was searing and chilling all at once, sharp and soft in a manner as indescribable as it was confusing. It was an experience just as disorienting as the mist itself.

    Octavia could at least say, with certainty, that it hurt. It really, really hurt. She¡¯d resisted every blunting symptom, and she¡¯d perhaps made her pain worse on her own. Her senses were still too sharp, and she failed to block out the sting of agony incarnate. At the worst time, she could understand submission to a violet fate.

    To be fair, it wasn¡¯t as though a normal person could see it coming. To be assailed this way without a meaningful explanation was petrifying in concept alone. As to whether or not a visual would¡¯ve been more terrifying, she wasn¡¯t certain. She didn¡¯t particularly want to weigh the two.

    If it hurt this severely on the outside alone, she very much did not want any of it inside of her. She couldn¡¯t fathom the idea. She didn¡¯t want to. Of all the ways she¡¯d died so far, the worst possible option was surely the one so standard in her world. The moment the smoky haze coagulated, twisting into the most wispy of tendrils, she knew what would come next. She hadn¡¯t expected it to go for Harper first.

    It drifted towards his back in full with a tantalizing slowness, forgoing subtle flickers. It was offset only by the speed at which her heart struggled to outrace what was left of her murky thoughts. Harper was barely on his feet, his weight sustained only by her desperate attempts to keep him upright as he slipped into unconsciousness. When he finally slid to the floor with a soft thud, rolling sideways onto the charred hardwood, Octavia, too, threw herself down on top of him.

    Shielding Harper¡¯s body with her own was a reflex. Crawling towards the oncoming Dissonance was just the same as it advanced on him. Even inches from her face, she staggered to stand upright on her knees. Unflinching, she threw her arms wide on either side. Octavia gritted her teeth, narrowed her blurring eyes, and screamed over the intolerable screeching that rattled her eardrums.

    ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador, damn it! Come at me!¡±

    She could conjure all the bluster she wanted. It wouldn¡¯t change what was next. Regardless, she wouldn¡¯t leave his side for a single moment. She¡¯d already died five times. Legitimate or not, she could handle one more.

    Do you mean what you say, then?

    Octavia had never heard that voice in her life.

    It wasn¡¯t Lyra, nor was it Brava. It wasn¡¯t Orleanna, nor Mente, nor Aste. With certainty, it wasn¡¯t Stratos. Even so, loud and unmistakable, she heard it above the noise as it wove through every thought. Soft and firm all at once, smooth masculinity was clear in a way that gave Stradivaria competition.

    ¡°I do!¡± she shouted back. She didn¡¯t dare question it.

    You understand what such a decision entails, correct?

    ¡°I made my choice a long time ago!¡± she answered. Her darkening vision had left the Dissonance almost invisible, so near that she could feel its painful aura flickering against her face. ¡°I¡¯m not going back on that now!¡±

    Once you make your choice, you cannot rescind it. Do you accept those terms? This is my final warning of courtesy to you.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I love! Give me your strength!¡± she yelled.

    Then I will lend you my essence. Use it wisely, oh child who has seen agony.

    Octavia squeezed her useless eyes shut, turning her head away from the approaching Dissonance. It would earn her only a moment of distance, and yet it was a moment more all the same. She held her breath. She prayed for a miracle. If not for her sake, she would pray for the kind boy below her who deserved the world.

    Crackling overthrew the shrill screeching that had dominated a broken home forever. The air shifted, somewhat, the sound accompanied by a steady hum in turn. Dry and hot, the endless chill subsided, replaced by something Octavia couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. The feeling was uncomfortable, every hair she possessed rising beneath the fabric of her clothing. Her braids weren¡¯t immune to the same, and strands already frazzled grew more so as they stood high. She opened her eyes hesitantly. If this was her doing, she almost feared it.

    The lightning nearly scared her to death.

    The sound alone was enough to send her tumbling down on top of Harper¡¯s unconscious body. With a sharp crack, blinding golds struck far too close for her comfort. Octavia screamed, recoiling sharply. Even so, she was eternally grateful for the way by which it hit its mark, the cries of the stricken Dissonance far outdoing her own as it splintered.

    It coagulated again, healing its foggy wound. She¡¯d expected that much. It never had the chance to recover in full, cracked in half with much of the same by another ear-shattering strike. Every blasting bolt was still much too near to herself and Harper. Octavia cast her body over the boy¡¯s, doing what she could to guard him from the explosive electricity. The unbearable luminosity was, ironically, cursing her vision with the opposite of a problem she¡¯d had moments before. Her pupils hated her.

    Another. Another. Another. Lightning hailed around her, a thunderstorm devoid of rain fizzling to life from nothing. Rippling gold was born in the confines of the house that was rapidly beginning to feel far too small. Each strike cut sharply through deep violet as it wailed, the vicious smoke slowly beginning to dwindle. There was little at which to strike back, for how plasma from on high lay so far out of reach. Octavia was a fair target, by comparison.

    What Dissonance bore down upon her was excessive, twisting tendrils unwavering as they rushed towards two fallen Maestros. There was little she could do aside from stare down agony and pray, gripping Harper¡¯s shoulders for dear life. If she was making this happen, she wished with every fiber of her being for it to continue. If they were going to survive, it was all she could count on.

    She was blessed, then. Another sharp crack split as it crashed to earth, splintering into sizzling bolts that erupted forth instead. They were razor-edged raindrops, flickering jolts that speared deep into the smoke nearest the Maestros. It did so splendidly, and Octavia¡¯s sigh of relief was eclipsed only by the wails of repulsed agony.

    She could¡¯ve sworn it was dwindling. What remained of the Dissonance was lessening with each and every strike of violent electricity enveloping the humming room. The salon practically pulsed, the mixture of lingering hazy purple and scattering gold somewhat beautiful in its own right. Octavia hated herself for even entertaining the thought.

    It took at least two more minutes of the explosive storm for the last of the Dissonance to succumb with a shriek. In its wake came only sizzling wisps, smoky remnants fading and scattering sparks kissing the floorboards. Only once the steady electrical hum drew to a halt did Octavia rise to her knees, not daring to leave Harper¡¯s side. The vicious bolts had earned smoke where they¡¯d struck innocent wood--true, honest smoke, light gray in stark contrast to threatening indigo. That, too, took a moment to subside, obscuring the salon in its own right. It didn¡¯t conceal footsteps, at least.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure exactly what made her tense. Still, her hands tightened around Harper¡¯s shoulders once more. There was nothing to fear, ultimately. She traded her fear for relief. She traded relief for confusion, in turn--abundant as it was.

    She hadn¡¯t seen Etherion in a while. It wasn¡¯t since a hurtful threat had been made against Lyra that she¡¯d laid eyes upon the instrument. Now, the rosewood mouthpiece still dripped with the vestiges of blistering bolts, tiny sparks raining to the floor. The fingers draped skillfully over each key and hole spoke not to novice hands, particularly given the absence of any shaking or trembling to be seen. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. Sharper even than the spearing lightning of his song, there was one revelation that struck harder.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t talking to you, idiot,¡± Josiah said with a hint of aggravation. ¡°He was talking to me.¡±

 38. Double Standard

    Spontaneous violet was confusing. Unfamiliar voices were confusing. Her own poor choices were a crisis in and of themselves, and what led to them was confusing in turn. In the aftermath of bolts unleashed in a broken home, nostalgia almost outweighed yet more confusion. It was the second time in several weeks that the essence of lightning had stolen her breath.

    Octavia could only stare, her eyes flickering endlessly between Josiah¡¯s face and the Harmonial Instrument sizzling in his hands. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, ¡®I¡¯m¡¯. Don¡¯t¡­think about it too much, alright?¡± he said, his tone still touched by annoyance.

    Dazed and disoriented, Octavia could hardly scrounge for the words she was looking for. Instead, she was content to submit to a sigh of relief. The sweet silence around her, devoid of the horrid noise that had tormented every fiber of her being moments ago, was the greatest gift she could ever be granted. She wanted to collapse. It took all of her effort not to.

    ¡°Is he okay?¡± Josiah asked, his steps quickening as he darted to her side.

    Octavia nodded, half-hearted as the motion was. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. He passed out, I think.¡±

    Josiah dropped to his knees in an instant. He settled Etherion down onto the floor with enough force and disregard that, frankly, it made Octavia uncomfortable. He lowered his head to Harper¡¯s chest, two fingers pressed hard against his upper throat in silence.

    After a moment, he exhaled. ¡°He¡¯s just unconscious, yeah. What the hell happened?¡±

    Octavia cast her eyes down at the boy below her. ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure. It¡¯s just how he reacted to the Dissonance, I guess.¡±

    Already, Josiah had turned away in favor of rustling through his bag. ¡°Roll him this way, put his head on your lap, do whatever gets him facing upright. Also, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a stretch to assume people have different reactions to Dissonance at this point.¡±

    Octavia did as she was told, gently pushing Harper onto his back. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen that before.¡±

    From deep within the confines of the canvas, Josiah finally withdrew a small, scarlet satchel, tightly bound with a strand of twine. ¡°Yeah, well, how many times has he gotten that close to Dissonance before?¡±

    ¡°None, I guess.¡±

    With one swift flick of his wrist, the twine came neatly unwound, the knot slipping away from the little pouch in an instant. Josiah pinched the bag shut with his fingers. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out later. Back up a bit.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that, anyway?¡±

    Octavia released her iron grip on Harper¡¯s shoulders. In her place, Josiah leaned closer to the unconscious Maestro. ¡°I promise you, you really do not want to inhale this crap.¡±

    Ever so gently, Josiah unfurled his fingers just beneath Harper¡¯s nose, the cloth satchel parting in just the slightest. In an instant, the boy¡¯s closed eyes went wide, his body jolting as his muscles rapidly stiffened. He recoiled somewhat, gasping heavily with the effort of consuming whatever oxygen he could grasp.

    With his deep breaths came mild coughing and sputtering, at which Josiah withdrew his hand. ¡°There we go.¡±

    ¡°Harper,¡± Octavia murmured with worry. Her hands reflexively rushed to his shoulders once more as the waking world crashed down onto the Maestro.

    What started as disorientation quickly became discomfort. ¡°Oh, God, that was horrible. What even was that?¡±

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Octavia interrupted, shaking his shoulders with mild annoyance. Josiah¡¯s questionable medical practices weren¡¯t of the utmost importance, at the moment.

    Still upside-down, Harper peered past the brim of his cap, meeting Octavia¡¯s worried gaze. ¡°Hey. I¡¯m alright, don¡¯t worry. What, uh¡­what happened, exactly?¡±

    It was a solid question, and one she couldn¡¯t quite answer outside of the immediate vicinity of her near-death experience. Her eyes found Josiah, resheathing his somewhat-concerning mystery pouch. Harper¡¯s attention followed her own as he propped himself up on his elbows. Josiah, in turn, bristled under their gazes.

    ¡°Can we just, like, not talk about this right now? Let¡¯s get out of here before anything else happens,¡± he snapped.

    When Harper¡¯s eyes drifted to Etherion, settled upon the hardwood several feet away, Octavia could physically see the moment it clicked on his face. ¡°Josiah, did you--¡±

    ¡°Drop it,¡± he spat bitterly. ¡°I¡¯m serious. Last warning.¡±

    Harper winced. Octavia, by proxy, did the same. Largely confused, the two Maestros on the ground sat in uncomfortable silence as Josiah hurriedly donned his bag. Etherion was nearly an afterthought, snatched from the floor with far too much force. Stomping footsteps on the way out contrasted starkly with Josiah¡¯s gentle nature only minutes earlier on Octavia¡¯s venture inward. Of what exactly was off, she was unsure. She struggled to her own feet, pulling a staggering Harper along with her.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    Renato¡¯s voice from the entrance almost scared her, foreign as it was. Madrigal¡¯s echo of her name immediately behind it was not quite so jarring. Still, it carried its own flavor of surprise. The shuffle of grass, hastily parted beneath frantic feet, harkened their arrival. Even if she couldn¡¯t see them from the foyer, the two loudest people she knew were unmistakable.

    ¡°Are you guys okay?¡± Madrigal cried.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine,¡± Octavia called back, slinging Harper¡¯s arm over her shoulder preemptively.

    ¡°I can walk, you know,¡± he muttered with a gentle grin. Nonetheless, he didn¡¯t resist.

    ¡°How¡¯d you find us?¡± she asked from a distance, her voice softening as she neared the exit.

    ¡°We were walkin¡¯ around looking for you guys and saw this¡­big cloud coming from outside the city. Wasn¡¯t sure if it was Dissonance or what, but we took our chances. Came running, especially since you guys got a little absentminded,¡± Renato answered.

    ¡°You were able to see it from that far away?¡± Harper pressed. ¡°That¡¯s¡­pretty far. We¡¯re not exactly very close to the main part of Coda.¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°I mean, it just kinda¡­it was enough, you know?¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be able to see this place at all from Coda.¡±

    Renato winced. ¡°I mean, okay, to be honest, I didn¡¯t see it, I just¡­kinda figured it out as I went. Purple stuff helped a bit. Kinda played it by ear from there. Worked out.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a satisfying answer. Still, it was at least enough for Harper to stop eyeing him so sharply. Octavia didn¡¯t push. Renato had a penchant for finding trouble. There was nothing new there.

    When Octavia finally greeted daylight in full again, hindered only by the thickness of the forest that held it hostage, so, too, was she greeted with Stradivaria¡¯s case in Madrigal¡¯s arms. ¡°Please be careful next time,¡± the Maestra begged.

    Stradivaria¡¯s visage was all it took for Octavia to release Harper, immediately lunging for the case as relief flooded her heart. She wanted to cry, clasping the rugged material tightly against her body. She resisted the urge to throw one thousand apologies at Stradivaria right then and there, audibly or otherwise.

    With significantly less emotional weight at her side, Harper was reunited with Royal Orleans as Renato carefully lowered the case into his arms. It was enough to elicit a genuine smile, if nothing else.

    Renato put his newly-freed hands on his hips. ¡°How¡¯d you two even get out of that mess without--¡±

    Josiah no longer stomped angrily with each step, instead succumbing to slow and sluggish movements with empty eyes cast straight ahead. Empty, too, were his own hands, instead delegated to clasp only the strap of his bag across his chest. His path was nearly aimless. Octavia wondered if Josiah remembered exactly where he was going, if he intended to leave the forest. For a moment, no one dared to break his weak stride, silent as he walked alone.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on with you?¡± Renato finally asked uncomfortably.

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Josiah, please,¡± Octavia pleaded. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, just talk to us.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll talk when I¡¯m ready. I¡¯m¡­going back to Viola¡¯s place. Leave me alone for a bit,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± Madrigal spoke, her voice monotone.

    He came to a stop momentarily. ¡°Most of all, keep her the hell away from me. I don¡¯t want her anywhere near me in any way. Now is not the time. Leave me alone.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s lip quivered.

    Renato scowled. ¡°The hell is your problem? She¡¯s just worried about you, idiot! Don¡¯t talk to her like that!¡±

    He only walked onwards once more, his voice shaking somewhat as he offered his back to them collectively. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Madrigal.¡±

    Renato¡¯s face fell, his anger dissipating in an instant. No one argued further with the boy as he escaped their vicinity--albeit with a simple walk rather than a frantic run. At the very least, they could safely count on the place to which he fled in his time of distress. There was little to do but watch as he grew smaller and smaller, the depths of the forest swallowing him whole. Octavia seriously did pray he knew where he was going.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Viola?¡± she asked.

    Renato rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. ¡°She stayed behind. I think she needed some space for a bit. We kinda left her alone.¡±

    ¡°Should we leave Josiah alone for a while, too?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I think that might be for the best.¡±

    Renato sighed. ¡°You two comin¡¯ back to Vi¡¯s yet?¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly surprised when Harper shook his head. ¡°I think I might spend some time at the camp for a bit. Haven¡¯t been there in a little while. Might do me some good to go home.¡±

    Renato smiled. ¡°We ever gettin¡¯ introduced to any of these people?¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°A few of them are kind of weird about meeting new people.¡±

    ¡°Do you want your space, then?¡± Octavia asked.

    By comparison, Octavia was surprised when Harper shook his head with a grin. ¡°I¡­actually wouldn¡¯t mind having you come along and see everyone again. If you¡¯d like, I mean.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so Octavia gets special treatment,¡± Renato jeered, crossing his arms.

    ¡°I¡¯ve met them before,¡± she shot back, rolling her eyes.

    Harper chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do about giving everyone a formal welcome eventually.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll go home,¡± Madrigal offered, clasping her hands together behind her back. ¡°I¡­guess we¡¯ll try to give everyone their space.¡±

    Renato tilted his head. ¡°Seriously? We came all the way over here and we¡¯re already getting kicked out?¡±

    ¡°Renato,¡± Madrigal said softly, a single word of gentle scolding. Silently, she met his eyes. She flickered her own between him, Harper, and Octavia exactly once.

    It took him a moment to blink. ¡°I¡¯m guessin¡¯ we can¡¯t go swimming again, at least.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna be alone with Madrigal and going on a date hasn¡¯t occurred to you?¡± Harper teased.

    Renato¡¯s face exploded into a brilliant grin. ¡°Actually, that¡¯s a great idea! Sometimes I completely forget we¡¯re together.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a good thing,¡± Octavia deadpanned.

    ¡°You up for that, Maddie?¡± Renato asked, his voice bubbling with excitement as he elbowed Madrigal.

    Madrigal nodded with a nervous chuckle, smiling weakly. ¡°That sounds fun.¡±

    Even as she made off with Renato, the discrepancy between her standard attitude and her reaction was disorienting. Octavia raised an eyebrow as they departed, slowly growing more confused with more or less everyone as the day crawled on. It was Renato, in a twist of fate, who refused to stop talking as the two of them slipped into the depths of the forest.

    It left herself and Harper alone at the threshold, stagnant in the entrance to the decrepit remains of his home. She didn¡¯t feel comfortable turning to face it head-on for a second time. She was already distressed enough simply knowing the structure was behind her.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Guess we got our alone time back,¡± Harper joked quietly.

    ¡°I should smack the hell out of you,¡± Octavia spat.

    ¡°What?¡±

    With a moment of isolation at last, she turned to him at her side as she bristled. ¡°Don¡¯t you ever pull that ¡®giving up¡¯ crap on me ever again. If I tell you there¡¯s a way out, there¡¯s a way out.¡±

    ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m not allowed to give up, neither are you. I don¡¯t care how bad things look or how screwed we get. You¡¯re not allowed to take the easy way out. We go down fighting or not at all. Got it?¡±

    He was quiet for a moment. ¡°Is that an order from my fearless leader?¡±

    Octavia faltered briefly, but caught a smile on the tail end of a laugh. ¡°You know it.¡±

    Harper wasn¡¯t immune to her infectious grin. Still, his words still carried with them a weight far too heavy for her heart to withstand. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­I¡¯m pretty sure those were my parents¡¯ memories. It felt wrong to shut them out. If it was your sister, instead, would you have fought back?¡±

    With her once-confident grin slipping into oblivion, Octavia couldn¡¯t offer him an answer. She didn¡¯t want to entertain the idea, hypothetically or otherwise. She wouldn¡¯t need to imagine, ultimately. She¡¯d be burdened with the weight of Priscilla''s memories soon enough.

    <hr>

    Getting back was the easy part, given how Harper served as her extremely convenient guide. She wondered how long it had taken for the others to find their way back to their own respective destinations. The lengthy routes they¡¯d taken to the ruined remains of a home so distant made for no brief voyage. By comparison, her trip with an escort was supremely simple, freed from the wandering and aimless pointing that accompanied the one-way journey there. In what felt like an instant, Harper had returned her to the back entrance of the camp.

    The haphazard dotting of tents on the near horizon served as a tell-tale sign of his true home drawing near. Octavia hadn¡¯t been to the orphan camp since she¡¯d first been to Coda, let alone since she¡¯d met Harper. The colorful assortment of family members unbound by blood, much like Domino, were likely to second-guess her appearance--just as she was likely to second-guess their names, despite her best efforts. She still opted to don a smile, even in the wake of the millions of questions currently torturing her brain. She feared for her second impression.

    She would¡¯ve feared for it more, had there been anyone at the camp.

    Harper shared in her surprise. The camp was effectively deserted, even beneath the inviting warmth of the playful afternoon sun. Where children had once swarmed to their beloved guardian, magnetized by his presence alone, they instead found not one tiny soul. The silence was jarring, filled only by the rustling wind and the extremely distant sounds of true Coda on the other side of the city.

    ¡°Louise?¡± Harper called, cupping his hands around his mouth. ¡°Suzanna? David?¡±

    ¡°Are they¡­usually gone at this time of day?¡± Octavia asked.

    Harper¡¯s hands settled onto his hips uncomfortably. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t right. There¡¯s never this few people here. There¡¯s a lot of us, even if we¡¯re in different places during the daytime.¡±

    ¡°Is there anywhere they could potentially be?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest, I have absolutely no idea.¡±

    Something clicked in Octavia¡¯s head. ¡°I saw Domino earlier.¡±

    At the mention of the name, Harper¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You saw Domino? Hey, good job, you remembered which one was Domino.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me.¡±

    ¡°Where was he? Surprised you found him in the first place. He¡¯s usually a pain in the ass to track down.¡±

    ¡°On the way here, in that weird little alley maze¡­place¡­thing. The one you dragged me through that one time.¡±

    ¡°The one where you figured out how slow you run,¡± he teased.

    ¡°I changed my mind. Maybe I will smack you.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°That¡¯s how you found me, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    Harper smiled softly. ¡°He¡¯s got a big mouth. He told you where I went?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°He said he had a general idea.¡±

    ¡°It was supposed to be a secret,¡± he muttered, not devoid of the same smile tainting his lips.

    ¡°Could we ask him? Where everyone went, I mean?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°If we can find him a second time.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He was in that little alley maze pla--you know what I mean. I don¡¯t remember where he went after that, though.¡±

    Harper grinned. ¡°Then we can always start at the little alley maze place thing.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t make fun of me.¡±

    Harper laughed once more. Despite her best efforts, she couldn¡¯t help but do the same. If nothing else, this, at least, was familiar. She resolved to cling to it as best as she could.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    That, too, was familiar--so much so that she nearly broke her neck with the speed at which she turned her head. She hunted desperately for a voice she hadn¡¯t heard in what felt like far too long. In truth, it had only been several hours. It didn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°Harper?¡± it came again, softer and more unsure.

    Harper¡¯s reaction, while somewhat more muted, still carried with it a similar urgency. When his eyes followed Octavia¡¯s own in tandem, floating to a faded, orange-tinted canvas tent not so far away, they widened in turn just the same. It was not lost on Octavia the degree to which the delicate orange contrasted with the royal blues of the dress and bow. With such prim attire as always, her style was starkly out of place, given the environment.

    Viola threw her eyes deep into the gravel, her lip quivering not-so-subtly. Her hands, aimless, practically crushed her own fingers as they tangled together. Even relative to the size of Silver Brevada¡¯s case on her back, typically smaller than her general proportions by a longshot, it was Viola who seemed small instead.

    Her face, reddened and splashed with dried trails of tears long since shed in excess, broke Octavia¡¯s heart. The urge to race to Viola¡¯s side and gather the Maestra in her arms was irresistible. The urge to hand her the world in place of pain was much the same.

    ¡°I-I--¡± Viola stammered, her voice cracking.

    As had been the case so many times, Harper was once again a much faster runner than her.

    His arms were opened well before her own, his body weight carefully balanced as he threw himself against Viola. Harper pulled her close, nestling his face into her shoulder as his cap brushed against her reddened cheek. He squeezed tightly and never let go, motionless as she broke down in his arms.

    ¡°Viola,¡± he murmured softly. That was all. For now, that was enough.

    Octavia wanted to run, just as badly. Still, she granted her blessing to a moment that wasn¡¯t hers to interrupt. She watched on, battling tears in her own eyes instead. Viola openly sobbed, clinging to Harper with an embrace just as tight. Her bow, in contrast, bounced against Harper¡¯s cap with each soft, jittery movement of her head. She didn¡¯t pull away when he stroked her head gently, whispering things Octavia couldn¡¯t quite hear. She couldn¡¯t imagine standing in those shoes at the moment--either pair of them. She would never want to.

    When Harper finally pulled away, he cupped Viola¡¯s face in both hands with a soft smile. ¡°Am I seeing things, or is that a tan? Are you getting tan lines?¡± he teased.

    Viola giggled, fighting for a smile through tears that still dripped bitterly down her face. Just as he¡¯d done for Octavia several times before, Harper¡¯s thumb brushed delicately against her cheek, swiping every last stray tear away. Witnessing the gesture from afar was almost more tender than being on the receiving end.

    We¡¯re both good at having family issues.

    Octavia had nearly forgotten. Just as she and Renato had grown close through pain, so, too, had Harper and Viola in their own way. She couldn¡¯t imagine losing her confidant. There was, certainly, much left unsaid. It was, just as certainly, not her place to pry.

    Octavia was almost afraid to interject, by which she would shatter a moment not hers to break. Still, she couldn¡¯t stand it for a moment longer. Viola¡¯s smile blooming at last made her feel more protective than it should¡¯ve.

    ¡°I¡­missed you,¡± Octavia said gently.

    With a glance spared in her direction, Viola shared her smile. ¡°I missed you, too.¡±

    Above all else, for everything that had happened in the past hour, Viola¡¯s smile brought her heart peace. She beamed.

    ¡°How did you even find this place?¡± Harper asked, finally parting from the Maestra. ¡°It¡¯s¡­not exactly obvious. Have you ever even been here before?¡±

    Viola¡¯s smile didn¡¯t quite evaporate so much as it did slip into something more hesitant. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know how to explain it. I just¡­knew where to go.¡±

    Her answer was even less explanatory. ¡°Knew where to go? For what?¡± Octavia asked.

    Viola kicked at the gravel beneath her feet with discomfort, one flat digging into stray bits of rock absentmindedly. ¡°I was trying to find Harper, but¡­this is gonna sound so stupid. It was like I found something else. I followed that. Ended up here. Assumed this was the camp in question.¡±

    Octavia and Harper exchanged a puzzled glance. Viola wasn¡¯t ignorant to the gesture.

    ¡°I am well aware that it sounds insane. You don¡¯t have to sugarcoat it.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°Not the weirdest thing that¡¯s happened today.¡±

    When Viola raised an eyebrow, Octavia pursed her lips. ¡°We have a lot to talk about later. There¡¯s a bit of a bigger problem, first. Have you seen anyone around here? Like, at all? On your way here or otherwise?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Not a soul. Just kept following¡­nothing, I guess.¡±

    Harper blinked. ¡°Do you¡­want to keep following ¡®nothing¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Do you have any idea how stupid it sounds when you say it like that?¡± Viola groaned.

    ¡°We¡¯re looking for someone. Curly hair, no shoes,¡± Octavia began.

    ¡°I cannot stress enough that he does own shoes. He keeps friggin¡¯ insisting on taking them off,¡± Harper complained. ¡°Anyway, he¡¯s abrasive, confrontational, kinda hard to deal with. You¡¯d know him if you saw him.¡±

    Viola jabbed a thumb backwards. ¡°Renato went home already.¡±

    Harper choked. Octavia groaned. ¡°Shorter. Freckles. And he lives around here.¡±

    ¡°Renato wears shoes,¡± Harper muttered under his breath, still snickering.

    ¡°What color curls?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Brown,¡± Octavia answered.

    ¡°Shorts?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, actually.¡±

    ¡°Black shirt, ripped hem, holes in the lower left corner?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    With little hesitation, Viola raised one finger up and beyond Octavia¡¯s shoulder. Both Maestros followed in turn, the object of Viola¡¯s supposed description more or less dead-on to her wording. There were, in fact, holes in the lower left corner of Domino¡¯s shirt. Octavia had never actually noticed. Face-to-face, with his hands firmly settled into his pockets, she had all the time in the world to size him up.

    Harper¡¯s own hands, with or without his knowledge, mirrored the same motion. ¡°Hey,¡± was all he offered.

    Domino nodded exactly once. ¡°Hey.¡±

    Octavia waved. Domino didn¡¯t return her hospitality, and she lowered her hand uncomfortably.

    ¡°Where¡¯s everyone?¡± Harper asked, a weak smile settling onto his lips.

    ¡°No ¡®I missed you¡¯?¡± Domino muttered disdainfully.

    ¡°Of course I missed you. I always miss you. I miss everyone.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    Harper shrugged, hands still lodged in his pockets. ¡°You don¡¯t have to believe me if you don¡¯t want to, but it¡¯s the truth. Where is everyone?¡± he repeated.

    ¡°Loaded question,¡± Domino answered simply.

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°Okay, weird answer. What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    Octavia tensed. The silence of the camp and the awkwardly-large distance between the two orphans left the entire interaction uncomfortable. She blamed family dynamics. It did little to mitigate her discomfort.

    ¡°They¡¯re not usually this bad,¡± she whispered to Viola, her eyes still cast before her.

    The odd clicks and movements at her back were as inexplicable as they were unimportant. Viola was getting comfortable for drama not theirs to witness, maybe. The thought felt insensitive. It was better than the assumption that she was back to kicking gravel again. Octavia chose to drink in the scene rather than take questionable guesses.

    ¡°If you cared, you¡¯d be here,¡± Domino spat.

    ¡°You know why I¡¯m not here,¡± Harper said, his voice quiet.

    ¡°Barely.¡±

    ¡°I told you, I had things to take care of. I¡¯ll be back when I¡¯m done with them, I promise.¡±

    ¡°The kids keep asking where you went. The little ones.¡±

    Harper winced. ¡°I told them. You know I told them. I told you to tell them if they asked, too.¡±

    ¡°They know you¡¯re back in Coda. They know you¡¯re not visiting, let alone not staying here.¡±

    He bit his lip. ¡°I have to be away from here for a bit. It¡¯s not by choice.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re sleeping in a bed, in a warm mansion, with hot food and three square meals and a bath every damn day.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­not--¡±

    Domino scowled. ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    ¡°Domino, listen to me.¡±

    ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong, Harper.¡±

    Harper gritted his teeth. ¡°How do you even know about that? Are you following me?¡±

    ¡°And if I am? What are you gonna do about it? You don¡¯t even remember we exist.¡±

    ¡°Stop with that crap,¡± Harper snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll be back, I swear. My word is true.¡±

    Domino laughed--a single, bitter sound that cut sharply through the air. ¡°On the contrary. You¡¯re the biggest liar I¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    ¡°This is¡­extremely uncomfortable,¡± Octavia whispered to her back once more.

    Viola¡¯s lack of input was somewhat annoying. She chalked it up to enraptured interest, intrusive as it possibly was. The clicking, movement, and shuffling, at least, had stopped entirely.

    Harper sighed. ¡°I¡¯m gonna ask again. Stop making this difficult. Where is everyone?¡±

    ¡°This is my problem now, not yours. Can¡¯t trust you for a damn thing.¡±

    ¡°You are really getting on my nerves. If you wanna play around with me, fine, but don¡¯t get the kids wrapped up in it. Tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Domino inhaled sharply. ¡°I¡¯m dealing with it.¡±

    ¡°Dealing with what?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Not your problem anymore. None of us are your problem anymore. We¡¯re barely a friggin¡¯ afterthought to you.¡±

    ¡°Domino, dealing with what? Are you in danger? Talk to me!¡±

    ¡°Do you think we should do something?¡± Octavia whispered.

    When she, yet again, didn¡¯t earn a response, she ran out of patience. Octavia finally peered over her shoulder, expecting at least some form of input in any capacity. An eye roll, a sharp remark, or even being shushed would¡¯ve been better than being ignored.

    Silver Brevada, by comparison, was absolutely unexpected.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened in horror. ¡°What are you--¡±

    Her cry went uncompleted. With narrow, focused eyes, Viola exhaled sharply into the mouth of the flute. Shrill notes from swift fingers birthed sinfully-sharp icicles, fanning out parallel to her head. Coagulating on either side in a variable lineup of frosted artillery, all it took was several additional breaths and flicks of her wrist to send them spearing onwards. A perfect spiral of deadly crystal on all sides sailed through the air.

    Without remorse, they sliced past Octavia¡¯s head, sailed over Harper¡¯s, and locked with the utmost precision onto Domino. Her song was as true as her aim, and the speed at which she unleashed the simplest of attacks far outmatched anything Octavia or Harper could do to intervene. She was getting faster every day.

    Harper, too, had no time to scream. There was no time to shield Domino, to question Viola¡¯s assault, or to draw forth Royal Orleans and launch a self-defensive counterattack by proxy. He hardly had time to process the sight, either from behind him or before him. With eyes full of terror, ice was put to shame by fire that matched his own.

    The speed at which bright, vibrant flames echoed outwards in a gusting circle made Octavia briefly second-guess her own eyesight. Each icicle, in turn, was swallowed whole by the whirling inferno, crackling as they rapidly withered to pitiful crisps before dissipating forever. The heat was scorching, the sight was blinding, and Octavia¡¯s arms over her face did little to shield her from either. Everything occurred so quickly that she¡¯d hardly had time to process what she¡¯d witnessed. Only the wavering heat mirages seizing the air served as lingering evidence of the spectacle. The warmth of her skin, too, served as an ample reminder in its own way.

    There was a brief moment in which she feared relentlessly for Domino, her stomach twisting into a knot at the boy¡¯s sudden disappearance behind the blaze. She needn¡¯t have worried. She learned that fast enough.

    What remained behind the final dying embers were two bare feet braced firmly against the unforgiving gravel. What remained were furious eyes tinged with just a hint of hatred. What remained was a harmonica pressed to lips that, moments ago, had instead spoken words of malice instead of breathing songs of flame.

    Viola tilted her head, her gaze laced with razors. ¡°I knew it.¡±

 39. Confidence

    ¡°Viola!¡± Octavia screamed.

    ¡°Domino!¡± Harper shouted.

    ¡°What the hell was that about?¡± Octavia cried, gesturing wildly in Domino¡¯s direction. ¡°You could¡¯ve killed him!¡±

    ¡°I knew I wouldn¡¯t,¡± she insisted, pulling Silver Brevada close to her chest.

    ¡°What do you mean you knew? How could you possibly know?¡±

    Her tone was remorseless. ¡°Remember that ¡®nothing¡¯ I told you I was following? I think I might know what it is. I just don¡¯t know why.¡±

    When Octavia continued to stare at her, tugging at her braids out of pure stress, Viola exhaled sharply. ¡°It¡¯s the same feeling I had the night we met.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Do you mean¡­¡±

    Viola squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. ¡°Listen, I need to figure this out later. All I can tell you is that I knew, and I don¡¯t know how I know that I knew.¡±

    The methodology of the discovery was a mystery to be unraveled, at some point. That point was not now, and Viola¡¯s assault had shone light on a dilemma much larger. Truthfully, there was little else the Maestras could contribute towards solving the issue. That problem was someone else¡¯s.

    ¡°Are you friggin¡¯ serious?¡± Harper yelled. ¡°Where did¡­how?¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Domino said coyly. ¡°You know about it? She¡¯s got one, too? Does this have anything to do with where you¡¯ve been this whole time?¡±

    ¡°Where the hell did you get that?¡± Harper snapped. If his tone was anything to go by, Octavia assumed he¡¯d long since transcended ¡°angry¡±.

    ¡°You have one, too, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Domino,¡± he growled, his hands balling into fists.

    ¡°You do, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Harper was silent for a moment, inhaling slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He closed his eyes, his whole body shaking with what Octavia could reliably assume was abject rage. At the angle his body faced Domino, Royal Orleans¡¯ case on his back wasn¡¯t immediately obvious. Nonetheless, the likelihood of Domino not coming to a Harmonial realization was rapidly shrinking by the minute. Octavia bit her lip. Viola had already outed herself as a Maestra. Lying may have been fruitless, at this point.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he finally said, his voice trembling. ¡°I do have one.¡±

    Domino smirked. ¡°I figured.¡±

    ¡°Where did you get yours?¡±

    ¡°You already know.¡±

    Harper narrowed his eyes. ¡°There are two possible answers to this question that I ¡®already know¡¯, and I¡¯m not fond of either one of them. Spit it out.¡±

    Domino shrugged, rolling the harmonica between his fingers again and again. ¡°Stoooole it,¡± he sing-songed. ¡°Just like I know you hate me doing.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Harper mused with a disdainful chuckle. ¡°Is this a spite thing?¡±

    ¡°Not everything in our lives revolves around you, believe it or not. We can get by just fine without you. We can protect ourselves just fine without you. I can protect myself just fine without you.¡±

    ¡°You never answered my question,¡± Harper hissed. ¡°What do you need protection from? What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Domino was quiet for a moment, squeezing the body of the harmonica tightly in his palm. ¡°Harper, out of the bare minimum amount of respect I have for you getting me this far, I¡¯ll at least spare this much. There¡¯s been some freaks prowling around the camp recently during the daytime. Sometimes at night, not that often. Not sure who, not sure why. They¡¯ve broken things, ripped things down. I¡¯ve heard them yell threats before.¡±

    His eyes widened. ¡°What kind of threats?¡±

    Domino raised his free hand. ¡°Shut up. I¡¯m not done. They¡¯re not drunks. They¡¯re the kind of guys from the part of the city you don¡¯t mess around with. Like I said, I don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing over here. All I know is I don¡¯t want them anywhere near the kids.¡±

    Domino gestured widely around the camp with one sweeping motion of the same arm. ¡°During the day, I make sure everyone gets the hell out of here. They go play, some of them go find work, they just know to stay away from here. At night, they can eat here, they can sleep here, they can even sleep in a bit if they want to in the mornings, but then everybody¡¯s gotta go. They know the drill. It¡¯s been like this for a month.¡±

    ¡°Can I talk now?¡±

    Domino held up three fingers, tilting his head. ¡°You get three questions, and we¡¯re done.¡±

    Harper bristled. ¡°Is this in any way related to Ho--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sick and tired of you badmouthing my cousins. I don¡¯t owe you an answer about anything related to them. Leave them alone, Harper, so help me God.¡±

    ¡°Stay away from them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not kidding, Harper.¡±

    Octavia was only just now conscious of the way her hands ached from squeezing them together so violently. She wriggled her fingers, desperate for circulation as she prayed on Harper¡¯s behalf. Standing in his place would be miserable. Three questions wasn¡¯t enough. One million questions was already pushing it.

    Harper paused for a moment before raising his eyes to Domino¡¯s, his expression blank. ¡°What¡¯s that harmonica¡¯s name?¡±

    Domino raised an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Answer me.¡±

    ¡°Have you gone insane? That¡¯s the stupidest question I¡¯ve ever--¡±

    ¡°Now.¡±

    ¡°Broken Bliss.¡±

    The moment the words left his mouth, Domino¡¯s eyes went wide. His lips were left parted in abject shock in the wake of the name fleeing his tongue. Harper smirked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know a damn thing about that harmonica, do you?¡±

    Domino leveled him with a glare. ¡°You think you¡¯re better than me? You think you know something I don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know a lot of things you don¡¯t, and especially about this.¡±

    ¡°I know enough to use it, and that¡¯s what matters. Don¡¯t need anything else.¡±

    ¡°I get three questions, right? Here¡¯s my third question.¡±

    With empty eyes and the most neutral expression he could muster, Harper¡¯s breath rattled as he exhaled. ¡°Have you ever killed anyone with that harmonica?¡±

    His words immediately left Octavia stiff. She wasn¡¯t certain whether a ¡°yes¡± or ¡°no¡± was worse. One way or another, they needed a toll. In a perfect world, much like Etherion, it would have been paid long before it ever reached Domino¡¯s hands. In a not-so-perfect world, much like the one she tended to live in, it was extremely possible that the burden would fall to Domino. She bowed her head, hands clasped together in prayer. As to which answer she was praying for, she was wildly unsure.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Harper didn¡¯t scream, shout, yell, or any combination of the three. When tears sprung to his eyes, Octavia almost mirrored the same.

    ¡°How many?¡± he spoke with surprising coolness, binding his unshed sorrow with a willpower Octavia could never match.

    Domino was unfazed. ¡°Three.¡±

    Only now did Octavia feel sick to her stomach, clapping one hand over her mouth. They came with three tolls, then. It was the most she¡¯d ever seen tethered to one Harmonial Instrument, and in the hands of a child.

    ¡°Three?¡± Harper and Viola cried in horrified unison.

    Their sudden outburst made Domino recoil, taking several uncomfortable steps backwards. ¡°In self-defense, idiot! These people, they never got close to the kids, but they got close to me! Does that not matter to you?¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes continued to shimmer with pain. Slowly, he took one step forward. He took another, then another, until the gap between himself and Domino had closed by roughly half its original distance. With one hand extended before him, he came to a complete standstill.

    ¡°Give me the harmonica,¡± he said firmly, his voice unwavering.

    His words made Domino flinch, an expression of true hurt flickering over the boy¡¯s face for a moment. It was brief, and a bitter laugh took its place. ¡°What, I don¡¯t have the right to protect myself? Everyone else can be safe but me? That¡¯s how little you care?¡±

    ¡°Give it to me.¡±

    ¡°I finally have one thing to myself, one thing that¡¯s genuinely mine, one way I can keep myself and the people I care about safe, and you want to take that from me? Leave us to get hurt, leave us to die, and you get to keep yours? So you can go play around and live a nice comfortable life while the rest of us fight to survive?¡±

    ¡°Domino, I¡¯m not asking.¡±

    ¡°Holly and Ivy were right about you.¡±

    Harper straightened his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you never have to do something like that again. I¡¯ll protect you myself.¡±

    ¡°No you won¡¯t.¡±

    Despite his rhetoric, he still found the drive to smile--soft and true. ¡°I¡¯ll protect you.¡±

    Domino shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. You can¡¯t do a damn thing. You can¡¯t protect any of us, especially without your¡­whatever this is! I can barely protect anyone with mine!¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°Just to clarify, you¡¯re not gonna give me the harmonica?¡±

    Domino only glared. ¡°Obviously not.¡±

    He shrugged, turning back towards Octavia and Viola. ¡°Should I?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Should you¡­what, exactly?¡±

    All of the distance he¡¯d narrowed between himself and Domino was useless. He returned to the two Maestras, sliding Royal Orleans¡¯ case down into his arms. ¡°Can one of you hold this?¡±

    Octavia did as was requested, cradling the trumpet¡¯s home carefully. Viola lifted Silver Brevada nervously in the direction of her lips, hands stilling on their way up with hesitation. ¡°We¡¯re not¡­serious about fighting a kid, right? I know I started it, but isn¡¯t this a bit much?¡±

    Harper grinned. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna. Well, you¡¯re not. Trust me, okay?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°You¡¯re gonna fight him?¡±

    When he only fixed her with the same knowing smile, she extended Royal Orleans¡¯ case in his direction. He patted the case gently, pressing back against it instead.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°No,¡± Viola deadpanned. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot. Please tell me you¡¯re joking.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Octavia asked, lowering the case tenderly to the ground. She hoped Orleanna didn¡¯t mind a bit of gravel, even within the safety of her home.

    Harper paid Viola no mind, rolling up his trousers carefully and adjusting his sleeves. He did much the same for the rest of his clothes, firmly securing his cap. With several precise motions of his arms, he stretched each and every muscle he could with care. Octavia blinked. It clicked.

    ¡°You¡¯re serious? This is stupid.¡±

    Harper peeked over his shoulder mid-stretch, his arms aloft as he cracked his knuckles together. ¡°You don¡¯t think I can do it?¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get hurt. With your bare hands? Really?¡±

    He shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°I need to prove a point.¡±

    Viola growled. ¡°God, is this a masculinity thing?¡±

    ¡°All I need to hear to pull it off is that Octavia thinks I can do it. What do you say?¡± he teased.

    His grin was infectious. Even fearing for his safety, she had to fight to suppress the same. ¡°I think you¡¯re being cocky, I think you¡¯re being stupid, and I think you¡¯re gonna get seriously injured trying to fight a Maestro without a Harmonial Instrument. I think you¡¯re making a terrible decision, is what I think.¡±

    Harper only beamed harder. ¡°You didn¡¯t say no.¡±

    Harper had two notable advantages over Domino that were apparent the moment he took off--his speed and his general agility. It was no secret that Harper was fast, although whether or not he could outrun the flames of a Harmonial Instrument remained to be seen. As to agility, then, he was in full control of speed that otherwise would¡¯ve been rough and untamed. Octavia had never seen him stop so quickly before, skidding to sharp halts and shifting in the opposite direction with his body low to the ground. On occasion, his fingers brushed against the gravel like a rudder, steering him as needed.

    Octavia had seen him run in a straight line. She¡¯d seen him dart around corners, sometimes. This was on an entirely different level. Harper wasn¡¯t more agile than Renato by any means, and that much was a given. It didn¡¯t matter. He had his own physical talents.

    The gap that had taken ages to narrow before, plagued by slow, loaded footsteps rife with tension, was no more in mere seconds. If the look on Domino¡¯s face meant anything, the spontaneous implementation of Harper¡¯s essentially deranged plan was enough to leave him stunned. It took him a moment to raise the harmonica to his lips once more. Shaken or not, what came forth spoke little to his status as a novice Maestro. While his control over the flames themselves was unrefined at best, they were highly abundant in a way Harper¡¯s were not.

    Harper was far from a weak Maestro. It was the instrument, maybe. Octavia had never seen two Harmonial Instruments both born of the will of fire before. Again came the same spinning wheel of flames, ravaging the air as it blasted outwards in Harper¡¯s direction. It was more defensive than anything, broad and generalized in its attack. The difficulty came in dodging, for how few options Harper had to escape a scorching wall. More than anything, she feared he¡¯d be burned--horrifically. How he¡¯d sincerely thought this was a good idea was beyond her.

    His retreat was rapid, his skillful control over his speed serving him well. He changed direction entirely, eluding the rush of fire as it charged forward. With several yards stolen between himself and the wrath of Domino¡¯s song, the flames fizzled and died at last. Once more, only stray embers and scattered mirages stood in their wake. From a distance, even with his head down and his speed never faltering, Octavia could vaguely see his mouth moving rhythmically. She squinted. He was counting.

    Harper¡¯s eyes flickered upwards towards Domino, one hand readjusting his cap, and the cycle began anew. He dashed forwards for a second time, claiming an angle slightly more leftwards. The same attack followed, unforgiving flames fanning out and pressing onwards indiscriminately. The thick expanse of the opaque inferno swallowed its Maestro whole, his fiery melody the only offering from the eye of the burning storm. It was solely in the respite between bursts of the same repeated offense that Domino was visible. His expression behind the Harmonial Instrument raised to his lips was indiscernible, from afar or otherwise.

    Again, Harper neared the barrier of fire as it grew close enough to risk scorching his sandy bangs. Again, just the same, he quickly backpedaled as fast as he¡¯d come. His mouth moved once more, although whether words were spoken aloud over the roar of the flames remained a mystery.

    Octavia gulped. He was cutting it far too close. She prayed he knew what he was doing.

    When the same cycle of events happened thrice in succession, with Harper dashing in at an angle and greeting a fiery blockade, Octavia caught the pattern. So, too, did she catch the weakness. Whether relative to the success of his predictable assault thus far or otherwise, Domino¡¯s offense had consisted of one methodology alone. He offered up no variety. There came no alteration of his flames in any size, shape, or capacity. There was much to be done with fire, if Harper had been any indication after mild training.

    It wasn¡¯t that Domino didn¡¯t know what he was doing, for how the will of fire at his fingertips was already ruthless. Still, fire was complex, versatile, and somewhat lost in the hands of one so new to Octavia¡¯s world. The harmonica¡¯s name was a mystery until moments ago, and she was all but positive that Domino had very little idea of what was actually happening. Against a normal person, his power would surely be lethal. For more reasons than one, Harper was absolutely not a normal person.

    The second problem was his breath control. Harper had apparently figured that out.

    With each pulse of flame outwards, the steps Harper stole in reverse to widen the gap were decreasing. The raging fires pressed forward the slightest bit less each time. So, too, had Harper gradually gained the ability to advance further before being forced to retreat once more. He was his own vessel, much the same as his instrument. He had his limits, physically and otherwise. Octavia was no better.

    For herself--and likely for Renato and Madrigal, as well--it was when their muscles gave out and their stamina shut down. For Harper and Viola, it was when their lungs could take no more. For Domino, notably smaller and younger than Harper, the unrestricted blasts of flame time and time again spoke to a misuse of perfectly good oxygen. In that way, he¡¯d dashed straight into a war of attrition. Regardless, stamina was stamina. Running was different from playing. Octavia prayed Harper wouldn¡¯t tire out first.

    By the fifth time he encountered the flaming wall, Harper was actively chasing an opening. He¡¯d halved the gap via pressure alone, and that much was incredibly impressive. It didn¡¯t fully solve the issue of penetrating a fiery barricade. The flaming barrier stretched well over twice Harper¡¯s height, borderline impenetrable at every angle.

    Octavia prayed that her prior suggestion of ¡°just running through it¡±, proposed with confidence several hours ago, didn¡¯t cross his mind--violet-shaded as it had been at the time. To her immense relief, he didn¡¯t. He backpedaled, just as before, to whatever current flame-free stopping point he¡¯d identified.

    He didn¡¯t turn and sprint, as he¡¯d done all along. That was new. Harper reversed, claiming careful and calculated steps. With what power he¡¯d conserved, his sudden sprint forward left him hurtling towards the ground. With his whole body scraping the gravel, he slid clean beneath the flames, clearing the newly-fizzling fire by inches at best. Octavia audibly gasped. There was a non-zero chance he¡¯d just burned his face.

    ¡°He¡¯s screwed,¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°Why?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°I hope he thought really carefully about what comes after this part.¡±

    She understood Viola¡¯s point soon enough. When he rose to his feet--albeit, with extremely impressive speed and control--she realized he was effectively gambling. His dead sprint was relentless, faster than every approach to every flame he¡¯d managed thus far. For how much fiery wrath had erupted forth from his unrestrained song, Domino undoubtedly had little stamina management to show for it. He was, at the very least, impaired. If Harper could beat the boy to another scorching onslaught, confident in compromised breaths not his own, he won. If he was wrong, he was--quite literally--toast.

    Octavia winced. Ultimately, it came down to how well he knew Domino.

    ¡°You can do it, Harper!¡± she cried, the words erupting from her mouth before she even realized they were on her lips.

    When she spotted his brilliant grin, even from afar and even deep in concentration, she finally began to entertain the idea that his insane plan could actually work. It almost did.

    If Harper were the slightest bit faster, it might¡¯ve. If Domino were the slightest bit more fatigued, it could¡¯ve. Had Harper lunged, he would¡¯ve been left with two hands full of a burning harmonica. Still, with only several feet left between the two Willful Maestros, Domino found his breath at last.

    Precious oxygen became a weapon, and he poured every last drop of it into the instrument. Flames licked at the silver brass as they erupted far, far too close to Harper¡¯s body. Harper wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d identified Domino¡¯s weakness. For once, the boy went low, the flames went up, and he harnessed the will of fire in a different way entirely.

    By an utter miracle, Harper found exactly one window of opportunity. It was shorter than a second, and the thought of him missing it was horrifying. He jumped.

    Still in motion, the momentum of his body carried him forth. What remained was his feet kicking off hard against the shifting gravel, launching him clear over the fiery plume springing to life beneath him. Once again, the distance was far too close for comfort, missing him by only inches. Octavia was almost positive he¡¯d been burnt. Somehow, he pressed onwards, undeterred. That left him falling forward, inevitably, his entire body on a collision course with a Maestro that apparently despised him.

    Harper outright tackled Domino, not dissimilar to the scene Octavia had witnessed at their first meeting. Somewhere in the midst of her nostalgia, the two Willful Maestros tumbled several times over. The boy writhed and kicked futilely, surrendering to gasps for oxygen shortly after. With Domino pinned beneath him or otherwise, Harper did much of the same, sweat dripping in earnest down onto the gravel. Broken Bliss, gripped tightly in Domino¡¯s restrained hand, scraped against the ground below.

    The moment they made contact with the earth, Octavia, too, was sprinting. She left a protesting Viola behind her, burdened with the weight of Royal Orleans. Harper¡¯s safety took priority. It was a reflex.

    ¡°I bet you think you¡¯re real hot stuff, don¡¯t you?¡± Domino hissed.

    ¡°I told you,¡± Harper panted, ¡°I¡¯m a man of my word. I can protect you with or without this kind of power.¡±

    ¡°Why do you want this thing so bad?¡±

    Harper released Domino¡¯s wrists, rising to sit on his heels instead. ¡°They¡¯re dangerous. Not just in a ¡®shoots fire at people¡¯ kind of way, but in a different way. There¡¯s more to them than what¡¯s on the surface, and I don¡¯t want you getting dragged into that world. It¡¯s not right.¡±

    Octavia never fully made it to the boy¡¯s side, his heavy words slowing her in her tracks. Something stung. If that was how he felt about everything, it almost hurt.

    ¡°You¡¯re not the hero you think you are,¡± Domino spat, his fingers uncurling from Broken Bliss¡¯s body in defeat.

    For a moment, Harper didn¡¯t reach for the Harmonial Instrument. He was more than content to eye it solemnly, languishing among the gravel and grit. ¡°Never claimed to be one. Don¡¯t wanna be one, anyway.¡±

    ¡°This is your mess now.¡±

    He smiled, a tired gesture punctuated by a lazy swipe at the harmonica. ¡°Everything always is.¡±

    ¡°Harper?¡± Octavia asked anxiously. His words still bothered her. He was more important, and she kept it to herself. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    With a laborious grunt, Harper pushed himself to his feet. It took extra effort to avoid stepping on the surrendering boy below him. ¡°Never better. Did you watch me?¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Yeah, I watched you almost get hurt, idiot. Make better decisions.¡±

    His grin, in contrast to his exhausted smile, was far brighter. ¡°You¡¯re the good-decision-maker for both of us. My job is to look cool in front of you.¡±

    She managed to stifle a laugh and failed to stifle a smirk. He was hard to stay angry at for long.

    ¡°These people, then,¡± Harper continued, peering down at Domino. ¡°When did you say they usually show up?¡±

    Domino¡¯s anger, by comparison, never quite left his eyes. Regardless, he swallowed his hostility in favor of pushing his way off of the gravel. ¡°Daytime, mostly. Randomly. The most stressful part is not knowing for sure when they¡¯re coming next. They¡¯ve shown up at night a few times. Haven¡¯t seen them actually do anything at night, but you can¡¯t expect me to be awake all the damn time.¡±

    Harper offered one assisting hand. When the gesture was ignored, he winced. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­keep that in mind. I¡¯ll take care of it from here on out, figure out who¡¯s causing problems and all that. Get some rest for once.¡±

    Domino was silent, returning a harsh gaze where words should¡¯ve come instead.

    ¡°You did good,¡± Harper continued, his same gentle smile of comfort given to the boy yet again. ¡°Protecting everyone, I mean. Now, let me show you that I mean the things I say.¡±

    Reckless, flaming endangerment be damned, Octavia was satisfied enough with the outcome. She was still intruding on their personal business, maybe. In her defense, that had become her entire job recently. She absentmindedly reached for Stradivaria¡¯s case behind her, softly stroking the case¡¯s rugged material with her fingertips.

    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out together, Harper. Both of us. Viola, too, if she¡¯s open to it.¡±

    Harper nodded, beaming. ¡°I¡¯d love the company. No point in objecting, right?¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then?¡±

    When Domino¡¯s words, low and venomous, slipped from his tongue, whatever optimistic atmosphere they¡¯d pieced together darkened in an instant. He glared daggers into Harper, loathing eyes flickering between the Maestro¡¯s face and the hand that delicately enveloped Broken Bliss.

    Harper turned his head slowly, blinking much the same. ¡°What?¡±

    Domino exhaled once, his breath rattling all the way there. ¡°You come out on top again? Harper saves the damn day? Domino¡¯s a screw-up, Harper¡¯s perfect, absolutely flawless as usual?¡±

    Harper frowned. ¡°You can be mad if you want, but we¡¯re done here. I--we--need to get to work on figuring this out.¡±

    ¡°Right, right, because Harper knows best. Harper always knows better than everyone else.¡±

    Harper sighed, sliding the little harmonica into his pocket. Viola did well enough with carrying Royal Orleans and Silver Brevada in tandem, although the mild annoyance on her face as she rejoined them was more than evident. Harper eyed Octavia uncomfortably.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go. He¡¯s just trying to get under my skin,¡± he said.

    ¡°Harper¡¯s so above everything and everybody,¡± Domino continued with a shrug, ¡°that he¡¯s the only one who knows the correct way to be homeless.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. Harper shook his head, turning on one heel preemptively. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he repeated.

    ¡°Because everyone knows you¡¯re supposed to get lucky with favors, get pity from others, get connections from nice people with morals and everything else that makes you a good person. Not like those dirty, evil people who scrape the bottom of the barrel just to survive another damn day. Not Harper, no no no.¡±

    Even in the wake of his own dismissal, Harper¡¯s steps onward were sluggish and hesitant. Octavia winced, reiterating the words she¡¯d been fed. ¡°Let¡¯s just go, Harper.¡±

    ¡°You spend all this damn time going on and on about ¡®making¡¯ a family, about ¡®finding¡¯ people just like you that you care about, and then you run off with God-knows-who the minute you get the chance. These people don¡¯t know an absolute thing about you. They don¡¯t know you like I do, and they never will.¡±

    ¡°Watch your mouth,¡± Harper hissed.

    ¡°Let it go,¡± Viola requested quietly. With a tilt of her head, she gestured for the Maestros to continue in any direction except confrontation.

    Harper took one deep breath, clinging to whatever calm he could scrounge together. He closed his eyes. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t know the things you say about other people behind their backs. They don¡¯t know the lies that come out of your mouth all the damn time. They don¡¯t know the things you¡¯re afraid of or the people you¡¯ve hurt. I bet you¡¯ve never even told them anything more personal than what happened to your friggin¡¯ parents. I¡¯m willing to bet you¡¯ve never even told them you were bor--¡±

    That day, Octavia learned the striking contrast between the softness of Harper¡¯s heart and the sharpness of his right hook.

 40. Over the Line, Part I

    Whatever qualms Viola had about physically injuring Domino, Harper had thrown to the wind. Apparently, age was extremely irrelevant.

    Octavia screamed. Harper laid into the smaller boy far too ferociously relative to his stature. More striking was the way by which Domino hit back, shaking off the initial blast to his cheek with incredible resilience. The way they postured was the same. The way they leveled their fists was the same. The way they braced against the gravel, the way they balanced, their postures, their movements, the vibrant fury between earthen-brown and sky-blue glares, it was all identical. They didn¡¯t just fight the same way--they¡¯d done this before.

    ¡°My God, Harper, knock it off!¡± Viola shouted, her own eyes wide with terror.

    Her words were useless. Harper swung at Domino again and again. He twisted his body sharply sideways on occasion, sending one foot careening into Domino¡¯s torso. He went low. He went high. He went in every conceivable direction, and Domino followed just as effectively despite his size and age. Their brawl was as physically impressive as it was outright brutal to witness. It was doubly so, given the sounds of blows that left Octavia recoiling with each connecting strike.

    ¡°Do you ever know when to shut the hell up?¡± Harper yelled above the chaos. Not once did he cease his relentless assault.

    Domino cut upwards with his left fist, digging into Harper¡¯s abdomen. ¡°I hate you! I wish you¡¯d never come back! Get out of my life!¡±

    Harper staggered, gritting his teeth. ¡°I leave you alone for a month and you go right back into the same circle that convinces you I¡¯m the embodiment of friggin¡¯ evil!¡±

    Domino tensing his muscles did little to shield him from Harper¡¯s kick to his side. It wasn¡¯t enough, and the older Maestro skillfully twisted his body as he readied a second blow. ¡°I thought you were better than this! I really did! I wanted to give you a chance, and you proved them right! They were right about everything!¡±

    ¡°What the hell were they right about? You¡¯re talking about the same people who¡¯d ruin someone¡¯s life if it meant making their own better!¡± Harper shouted, landing the following kick with too much success. Domino coughed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily.

    ¡°This is¡­exactly what I¡¯m talking about! You think there¡¯s a right way and a wrong way! Everybody''s just trying to survive, idiot! Not everyone is as lucky as you!¡±

    ¡°You can survive without hurting other people,¡± Harper spat, shoving the knuckles of one hand deep into Domino¡¯s jaw from below.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a saint!¡± Domino screamed. One knee, lifted high, buried itself harshly into Harper¡¯s stomach.

    It was Harper¡¯s turn to cough. ¡°I know I¡¯m not! I¡¯m just trying to keep you safe!¡±

    Octavia was a horrified spectator, powerless to intervene not far from their battle. She was rooted in place, cursed to watch the two Willful Maestros tear each other apart. There was something incredibly ironic about Harper¡¯s words as he relentlessly attacked the young boy. She didn¡¯t exactly know Domino that well. Still, this seemed to be a far cry from keeping him safe.

    ¡°Octavia, do something!¡± Viola cried, gesturing wildly towards the brawl.

    Instead, Octavia only shook her head. When Viola reached for Silver Brevada¡¯s case, Octavia raised one hand in opposition.

    ¡°Don¡¯t. Let them¡­do what they¡¯ve gotta do,¡± she protested.

    Viola bit her fingernails, practically growling in aggravation. ¡°This is so stupid!¡±

    ¡°You honestly think I¡¯m safer with you than with them? At least with them, I know I can get by for the day! They don¡¯t even know I¡¯m coming here! I have to keep my mouth shut just to live in both worlds! Do you have any idea how hard that is?¡± Domino cried, his voice wavering.

    Harper wrapped his fingers around Domino¡¯s wrists, gripping hard enough that Octavia feared he¡¯d crush them into dust. ¡°You don¡¯t have to! You don¡¯t need either of them! Just stay with me, please!¡±

    ¡°Stop making me choose!¡±

    ¡°This shouldn¡¯t even be a hard decision!¡± Harper shouted, struggling to keep the squirming boy in place.

    Futile or not, Domino¡¯s flailing was ceaseless. ¡°See? You''re doing it again! They¡¯re not bad people, Harper, as much as you want to pretend they are!¡±

    Harper shook his head, physically shaking with the effort of maintaining his restraints. ¡°Holly and Ivy will get you killed one day,¡± he said, his low voice dripping with ire.

    His sharp words did nothing. Domino didn¡¯t hesitate. With one swift motion, the boy swung his entire body forward, bashing his head against Harper¡¯s. Harper cried out in pain as they collided, and he released his grip with such force that Domino stumbled. His hands raced to his forehead, clenching his skull in the aftermath of the crushing blow.

    Domino panted heavily as he staggered. One trickle of red trailed down his swelling lips. He swiped futilely at the stream with the back of a bruised hand. ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances,¡± he spat. ¡°It beats dying with you.¡±

    He was gone. Again.

    In the wake of Hell that had erupted in every conceivable way, Domino sprinted towards the twisting alleyway that Octavia could never hope to navigate alone. It was sudden enough that she could barely track him with her eyes. For a child, he was surprisingly fast. She kicked herself for forgetting that much. With two quick turns, he was out of sight. He would hardly be out of mind. In exchange for the absence of biting words, Harper¡¯s quiet groans of pain filled the gap. She could¡¯ve sworn there were aggravated growls in there, somewhere.

    ¡°Are you two always like that?¡± Viola snapped.

    ¡°Stop it,¡± Octavia chided, waving one hand dismissively. ¡°Harper, are you okay?¡±

    If she listened closely, she could hear him scrambling to catch his breath. ¡°He¡¯s done¡­worse than that before. He¡¯s¡­rusty as hell if that¡¯s¡­all he¡¯s got.¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°Just¡­get yourself together, please. Are we dealing with this stalking thing, or are you gonna keep picking fistfights with kids?¡±

    Harper chuckled disdainfully, content to let Octavia peel his own hands from his head. ¡°He¡¯s not that much younger than me.¡±

    ¡°How are we gonna catch these people in the act, anyway?¡± Octavia asked. She narrowed her eyes as she peered at his injuries, one by one. Blood dripped steadily from a gash just above his left eyebrow, and she winced.

    Harper shrugged. Whatever pain came with the movement was enough to make him wince for another reason. ¡°Wait around, I guess. Sounds like they just show up whenever. Be on our guard, hide if we have to.¡±

    Viola put her hands on her hips, shifting her weight onto one foot. ¡°The ¡®why¡¯ is pretty important, you know.¡±

    ¡°I think that comes with the territory,¡± he said. ¡°Figure that out once we get to it. Why the hell anyone would start a problem with a homeless camp full of kids is beyond me, but this whole city is a mess.¡±

    Viola scoffed. ¡°Preaching to the choir.¡±

    ¡°So, like¡­waiting here? For how long?¡± Octavia added. As delicately as possible, she parted the bangs veiling Harper¡¯s eyes. She could¡¯ve sworn at least one of them was blackening in the slightest.

    ¡°Honestly? Might need to stay overnight. I kinda wanna stay the night anyway, just to see the kids again,¡± Harper said. To his credit, he was doing well at tolerating Octavia¡¯s curious prying. Still, the way he recoiled beneath even fleeting touches across sensitive areas wasn¡¯t lost on her. The aching aftermath was probably starting to settle in.

    ¡°Do you¡­mind if I stay with you?¡± Octavia murmured, her question almost inaudible.

    Harper¡¯s smile was hindered by whatever pain came with curling bruised lips upwards. ¡°Both of you can, if you want. Can¡¯t guarantee the lodging is gonna be quite as comfortable as what you¡¯re used to.¡±

    Viola tensed. ¡°I-I mean, would we be intruding? This is your home.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to Viola instead. ¡°There¡¯s something you should¡­know about, actually, before you commit to staying here tonight.¡±

    When Viola raised an eyebrow, Octavia continued. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to kick you out or anything, but there¡¯s something that happened today that I think you should be aware of. It¡¯s kind of its¡­own problem, and he¡¯s--it¡¯s--currently at your place. You might wanna go¡­address it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being cryptic. Also, are you sure you¡¯re not trying to kick me out?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t stop the tiniest of smirks from crawling onto her face. ¡°Only slightly. I¡¯m not joking about the other thing, though.¡±

    For a moment, Viola only stared at her. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the ¡®other thing¡¯ entails, but you¡¯re not as subtle as you think you are.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to grin. She dropped Royal Orleans to the gravel unceremoniously, making for the alley instead. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what are you talking about?¡±

    With careful steps in reverse, Viola playfully flicked one finger back and forth between Octavia and Harper. Octavia gathered as much gravel as she could fit in one hand, launching the clumps of stone in Viola¡¯s direction. To her credit, she got fairly far. Several too-close-for-comfort pebbles were enough of a catalyst for Viola to run, the Soulful Maestra outright laughing as she escaped.

    ¡°You¡¯re so weird!¡± Octavia called after her.

    When she returned her attention to a blushing Harper, adjusting his cap uncomfortably, her best attempts to regain eye contact were in vain. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to be weird, either,¡± she chided.

    ¡°Does she even know where she¡¯s going?¡± he asked.

    Octavia shrugged.

    ¡°Also, why did--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­gonna sound stupid,¡± she began. ¡°She¡¯s¡­affluent. People know her. She¡¯s got a target painted on her back. If these people are anything like you or Domino said, she¡¯d be in more danger than any of us. I don¡¯t wanna risk it.¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°That¡¯s¡­fair. I didn¡¯t think about that. You don¡¯t think Viola can stand up for herself, though?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I mean, she can, but I just¡­I don¡¯t know. Just in case. We don¡¯t know who these people are, or what they¡¯re capable of.¡±

    ¡°So we can die, but Viola can¡¯t die. Got it,¡± he teased.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Octavia elbowed him in the ribs playfully, well aware of the way she''d earn a groan of pain for her efforts. She was entirely correct. She didn¡¯t feel particularly bad about it. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna die, stupid. If we die, I¡¯m killing you first.¡±

    Making the decision on Viola¡¯s behalf felt uncomfortable. Octavia kept that much to herself. For the most part, she was relieved that Viola had accepted her haphazard rationale and departed with grace. It wasn¡¯t as though she was lying about the lightning-flavored concern that awaited on the opposite end of Coda. She¡¯d cross that bridge when she got to it.

    For the time being, she was burdened with the responsibilities of a good-decision-maker. Granted, it wasn¡¯t the worst obligation she¡¯d been shouldered with as of late. Battered and bruised as her accomplice was, she hoped her new title would serve her better than him for the rest of the night.

    <hr>

    The sun took an eternity to free her of the day, dragging the chaos in her wake down over the horizon. She¡¯d hardly had a moment to breathe since sunrise, by which she¡¯d all but forgotten her bell-born torture that morning. Newborn night brought along the soft songs of insects, the twinkle of stars dimmed by city lights, and dozens of tiny smiles in a tented village. Their happiness was as abundant as it was contagious, and the return of a guardian so beloved was a cause for delight.

    Of the little orphans that embraced Harper dearly, Octavia recognized several. They, in turn, occasionally recognized her. Louise had remembered her name, somehow. The smile Octavia earned was far less vibrant compared to her protector, and yet still every bit as polite.

    Several weeks of absence hadn¡¯t shaken Harper in the slightest. He¡¯d held fast to his guardian crown, once more a blessing to those much smaller than himself. He cooked. He cleaned. He reclaimed his role with grace, even for one night alone. He brought stories of comfort to guide little dreams, collectively offered and softly told. Octavia was on edge for most of them, given what tales he came a bit too near to sharing.

    Per his words, every child had been made aware of his prior departure. She highly, highly doubted he¡¯d ever revealed the truth of his voyage, let alone the scorching prowess that called his hands home. The moment he began piecing together fragments of their travels, Octavia''s heart nearly stopped altogether. To Harper''s credit, he was careful, pruning the harrowing and destructive details away like wilting flowers. Riding a train was fine. Attending an auction was exciting. Witnessing the devastation of entire cities and abetting the murder of a conservator were stories best left unshared.

    It was all she could do to trust him with treading a fine line. If he painted a rosy journey suitable for bedtime, that was fine. If he spilled the secrets of the Maestro world to children too young to spell ¡°Stradivaria¡±, she really was going to kill him. He¡¯d hidden Royal Orleans for as long as he did, and she liked to imagine he¡¯d have the common sense to keep biting his tongue.

    The idea of sleeping in his tent was, truthfully, enough to elicit a blush. Octavia hated to admit it, although Harper wasn¡¯t immune to the same. Still, he¡¯d highlighted a lack of spare lodging. Octavia should¡¯ve known better, regardless. His canvas abode had always been sizable, anyway, and she had plenty of room to breathe. He gave her the cot. He took the floor, and she felt awful. Supposedly, one pillow and two thin blankets sufficed in tandem with what flimsy canvas passed as carpeting. For how sore he was going to be tonight, sleeping would be the least of his problems.

    She spent at least a full hour playing doctor, channeling her inner Josiah the entire time. She made due with what haphazardly-cobbled-together medical supplies the camp had collectively available. Octavia had no qualms about stemming blood with peppered cotton and coating a reckless Maestro in bandages. She did, at least, make doubly sure to remind him of how he¡¯d reaped what he¡¯d sown. There came a point when she did so nearly once per wound, and Harper only laughed in the face of her chiding. He didn¡¯t seem to disagree.

    Harper had, in fact, been burned. His right ankle hadn¡¯t been spared of his rash actions. Just above his sock, his skin had been charred in passing, graced by a flame cleared in a moment of hasty reflex. Octavia couldn¡¯t gauge the degree of the burn, necessarily. Even so, it blistered enough to leave her mildly recoiling at the sight alone. Her reaction, too, was enough to make Harper laugh. For that, she tied the bandage tighter than she should¡¯ve. He winced. It was a satisfactory punishment.

    Don¡¯t be mean, he¡¯d joked, beaming. I¡¯ll let you beat me up next time, instead.

    She¡¯d rolled her eyes, although not without a reluctant smirk. Don¡¯t tempt me.

    The cot was surprisingly comfortable. She cast her eyes high at the canvas ceiling, just as she¡¯d done once before. There were no embers to chase with her wondrous gaze this time. Within four soft walls, Royal Orleans had once sung so sweetly to her as searing rain ignited before her eyes. It was a nostalgic thought, and it kept her warm. For as worrisome as their current circumstances were, she felt at home in a home not her own.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not exactly Viola¡¯s house,¡± Harper apologized from below her.

    She closed her eyes, indulging in the songs of chirping insects outside. ¡°I¡¯m low-maintenance. You know that.¡±

    ¡°Oh? How low-maintenance are we talkin¡¯, here?¡± he teased.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the stupid grin she always had to battle around him. ¡°I could¡­probably get by with less than this.¡±

    ¡°Untie your braids.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a line to be drawn somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Medium-maintenance, then.¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± she scoffed.

    In the silence between them, she could hear him shuffling slightly on the floor. ¡°Today was¡­a lot,¡± he offered.

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°For both of us.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She rolled onto her side, one braid dangling over the side of the cot. Harper¡¯s head had settled into his arms, every sandy strand of hair scattering against his fingers. It wasn¡¯t often that she saw him without the cap. Tethered to what was almost the ground or otherwise, he seemed comfortable enough. He never met her eyes as he spoke, content to leave his own glued to the ceiling.

    ¡°Do you think I was too harsh?¡±

    ¡°To who? Domino?¡± Octavia asked.

    He nodded.

    Octavia trailed one fingertip along the fabric of the cot. ¡°I mean¡­I think I kinda followed along with what you guys were talking about, even if it wasn¡¯t really my business. I heard Holly and Ivy¡¯s names. I remember them. They¡¯re still an issue?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll always be an issue,¡± he said disdainfully.

    ¡°But I thought they were just two stupid girls. You made them sound so¡­silly the first time. And at the auction, the bickering. It was just that, right? You guys just¡­don¡¯t get along, right?¡±

    Harper paused for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m trying to think of a way to say this nicely.¡±

    She was silent. At last, he inhaled.

    ¡°I¡­lied a little. Well, not really, but they¡¯re a bigger problem than I wish I had to admit. They¡¯re a bad influence on Domino, that¡¯s correct. They¡¯re both idiots, that¡¯s also correct. Everything they do usually screws up in some capacity, and they¡¯re so blinded by greed that they have no idea how stupid they actually look when they slip up.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°That¡¯s more or less what you told me the first time.¡±

    ¡°They have gotten people put in prison before.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Lying about bounties, mostly. Painting the wrong people in the wrong light if it means claiming reward money for turning criminals in. Things along those lines. They have gotten people seriously hurt, they¡¯ve gotten people in serious trouble, and they¡¯ve put people in serious danger. They¡¯ll sell out anyone and anything that benefits them in some capacity. That¡¯s just how they are. They¡¯re selfish, and in the dangerous way.¡±

    He propped one knee up comfortably. ¡°They lie and steal like it¡¯s their religion. If they were two random people, I wouldn¡¯t give a damn, and they could screw themselves over as much as they wanted. The problem is that Domino cares about them, and I can¡¯t get him not to. I can¡¯t even really blame him. They¡¯re cousins by blood.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind my asking,¡± Octavia interrupted, ¡°how did he¡­end up with you?¡±

    Harper sighed. ¡°He never really ¡®ended up¡¯ with me. He technically lives at the camp, yeah, but he disappears a lot. I know he¡¯s with them, and I don¡¯t actually know what he¡¯s doing when he is. I hate that I don¡¯t believe him about the self-defense thing.¡±

    ¡°You think he killed people intentionally? With his Harmonial Instrument, I mean?¡±

    Harper squeezed his eyes shut tightly. ¡°God, I wish the thought didn¡¯t even have to freakin¡¯ cross my mind. I want to believe he wouldn¡¯t stoop down to their level. If he didn¡¯t care about other people, he wouldn¡¯t have stuck around to care for the kids. I¡¯m sure of it. He tries to help in his own way. It¡¯s just not the right--I mean, the¡­safest way.¡±

    Octavia hesitated to prod him. ¡°Do you know how he ended up¡­you know¡­?¡±

    His eyes flickered to her own for a moment, piercing and strict. She tensed. If it was a sensitive subject, she regretted the question immediately. Regardless, he continued.

    ¡°Mom got sick and died. Dad went down the alcohol route. He¡¯s not actually an orphan, he¡¯s a runaway. At least, he was, until we confirmed his damn dad actually did drink himself to death later. Holly and Ivy, their parents died in an accident. Out on a river and the boat capsized or something, I don¡¯t remember exactly what it was. Both of them and Domino ended up on the street roughly around the same time, by sheer coincidence.¡±

    He exhaled loudly. ¡°And then there was me. Dunno where I am in that little timeline, but Domino wasn¡¯t that wrong about me getting lucky. That florist you saw me with a while ago, he and I go way back. A family friend, before¡­you know. He couldn¡¯t take me in, but he gave me work where he could. Taught me a trade skill, paid me, gave me food. Gave me enough food that I could give others food. If I didn¡¯t have him¡­¡±

    Harper trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. ¡°I met a few of the kids before I met Domino. We all started kinda grouping up in one part of the city over and over. We met up a few times a day. Eventually, we just started sleeping there together. Safety in numbers kind of thing, kept us from going missing or waking up with everything we owned gone. Kept us waking up at all. We got tents, eventually, but it took longer than you¡¯d think. It just grew from there, and now here we are.¡±

    He laughed, an ironic sound devoid of joy. ¡°Domino actually stole from here. That¡¯s how we met him the first time. Kicked his ass that day, and he barely fought back. Almost felt bad about it. Taught him how to fight later.¡±

    ¡°Honestly suspected as much,¡± Octavia said. ¡°The way you two fought looked the same.¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t want him to go down this hole of¡­not caring about other people. Their lives, their safety, doing whatever it takes to scrape by at the cost of screwing others out of doing the same. Is that so ¡®evil¡¯ of me?¡±

    Octavia shook her head, her braids ruffling against the pillow. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s evil at all. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re a bad person in any capacity. You¡¯re one of the kindest people I¡¯ve ever met. I think he¡¯ll see that one day. You¡¯ve gone through way too much for anyone to make you feel like that, and I¡¯m sorry you¡¯re having to go through this on top of¡­everything.¡±

    Harper closed his eyes slowly. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°I mean, plus the weird people apparently sneaking around this place at random, can¡¯t forget that. Domino, the tolls, Maestro stuff, Orleanna, me dragging you into this whole mess, all of it.¡±

    With his eyes shut, he smirked. ¡°Some of it¡¯s fun.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s¡­on top of the stuff with your parents. For all of that, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s okay, really. It means a lot to me that you care, though.¡±

    She sighed, fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. ¡°And I¡¯m¡­Harper?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry about your sister.¡±

    His eyes popped open. ¡°What?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I know I probably shouldn¡¯t have seen it, and it¡¯s not really my business, but it was in your tolls, and I--¡±

    ¡°No, seriously, what?¡± Harper asked again, quickly rolling onto his side. He propped himself up on one elbow, peering up at Octavia with absolute befuddlement.

    She blinked. ¡°Your¡­sister? She was your sister, right? Was she, like, a different relative? I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯m wrong, I¡¯m just guessing based on what I saw.¡±

    ¡°My¡­sister?¡±

    ¡°It was at the¡­your¡­parents¡¯ memories?¡± Octavia offered nervously. This was becoming incredibly awkward.

    For a moment, he was quiet, staring at her blankly. Harper scoffed. Then, he grinned. He chuckled. He laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed so hard that Octavia thought he might throw up. Tears poked at the edges of his eyes, and he curled up into a ball against the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach. She blushed in fervent embarrassment, apparently incorrect.

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± he finally said in the midst of hysterics, ¡°that¡¯s how you took it?¡±

    Octavia winced in silence, her cheeks splashed with red.

    At last, he settled down somewhat, rubbing away his stray tears. ¡°God, you¡¯re so cute.¡±

    Now she was really red.

    Harper took several deep breaths, the same residual smile still glued to his lips as he averted his eyes. ¡°I never had a sister, but my parents had a daughter. That daughter¡­grew up to be someone else. Does that make sense?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. Harper tilted his own.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­hate her. She was a different child with a different name, but she was the only child they ever had. And I know they¡¯re gone, but¡­I just¡­¡±

    His gaze, even cast far away from her own towards the floor, still shimmered in a way that didn¡¯t escape her. ¡°I hope they can be proud of the son that child grew up to be, wherever they are.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s own eyes widened in just the slightest. Still, she returned his smile not long after. ¡°I have no doubt about it. Wherever they are, I know they love their son to pieces.¡±

    Harper raised his eyes to hers at last, entrusting their shine to Octavia. ¡°And I¡¯m¡­still the same Harper I¡¯ve always been. Right?¡±

    Octavia laughed. ¡°You¡¯re still the exact same bad-decision-maker you were ten minutes ago. And you¡¯re an idiot if you think anything¡¯s gonna change that.¡±

    He returned a soft chuckle, the glistening in his eyes ceaseless as he gazed at her with warmth unspoken. ¡°Like I said, you¡¯re supposed to be the smart one between the two of us.¡±

    In the past several weeks, she¡¯d been forced to don far too many masks, roles, shoes, and eyes--be they of the Ambassador, a leader, a stranger, or otherwise. By comparison, doing what she could to preserve fleeting joy was a responsibility she could handle. Octavia preferred it, much the same as she preferred Harper¡¯s smile over his tears. That, too, she¡¯d fight to preserve, for all he¡¯d seen and suffered through.

    Whether or not her decisions were as good as she could claim remained to be seen, given that her record very much spoke to the opposite. For now, indulging in his company was the best decision she could¡¯ve made. In every conceivable way, he deserved to be happy.

 41. Over the Line, Part II

    One hour of reflection was enough. They opted for shifts. Bi-hourly intermissions were deemed sufficient, with one at rest while the other secured the night. Whether or not the light of day saw a heightened risk was irrelevant. Domino could hardly offer more than a timeframe, motives and suspected identities beyond him. In tandem, the Maestros harbored little certainty of anything anymore. Harper volunteered to keep watch first, Royal Orleans in hand beneath flickering starlight. Octavia earned her precious hours of sleep within the warmth of the tent. Crisis or not, she slept peacefully. She slept too peacefully, really.

    When he finally awakened her, softly rustling her shoulders in the most weary hours of the morning, she stirred to find him almost asleep on his feet. Octavia rubbed her eyes as she sat up, blinking away what fatigue she could. Two hours had done her far better than expected, in truth.

    ¡°My turn?¡± she murmured groggily.

    Harper nodded in silence.

    ¡°You look exhausted. You alright?¡±

    He did what he could to stifle a yawn. ¡°Tried to let you get a bit more sleep. Did you get to rest okay?¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°How long have you been out there?¡±

    ¡°Five hours.¡±

    ¡°Did you forget how to count? Do you know what the number ¡®two¡¯ means?¡± she muttered, swiping his Harmonial Instrument out of his hands. She surrendered the cot in an instant, and he didn¡¯t resist when she shoved him onto it instead.

    ¡°Bed. Now.¡±

    Harper pulled the warm blanket up to his chin without protest. ¡°You gonna be okay by yourself?¡±

    With or without his concern, Octavia unzipped Stradivaria¡¯s case. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. Don¡¯t worry about me, you just focus on getting some rest. God knows you need it more than I do.¡±

    He gave her a sleepy smile, closing his eyes. ¡°Be careful. I didn¡¯t see anything, but wake me up if anything happens, please.¡±

    With only one soft sound of affirmation, Octavia took both halves of the violin into her hands. She tugged the heels of her boots firmly into place with a free finger. ¡°Got it.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t give him any more opportunities to do anything but sleep, sneaking out of the tent as quietly as possible. Exhausted as Harper was, he was more than lucky to have stayed out of trouble. He could¡¯ve gotten seriously injured. It wouldn¡¯t have been the first time in the past day--or even the second, technically.

    The rush of night air against her skin, in contrast to the warm comfort of Harper¡¯s tent, was initially chilling and unwelcome. Still, after a moment, it settled into something refreshing, a gentle companion amongst deserted gravel. Fires that had once stoked hot meals and warmed cold hands had largely flickered and died, clumps of wood and stone seared to cinders. It was only the stars that illuminated the darkened night for her, for how the glow of the city proper was far too distant.

    With every child asleep, true company was out of the question. That was a good thing, given whatever hypothetical crossfire was a possibility in the depths of the evening. Ideally, they¡¯d sleep through it. She didn¡¯t want a single one involved.

    She cast her eyes skyward. The moon had begun to dull and descend, somewhat. Morning wasn¡¯t far off. Octavia silently cursed Harper for his sacrificial commitment. She had, at most, slightly more than an hour before peeking dawn would try to chase the stars away. Granted, that timeframe matched more closely with Domino¡¯s descriptions.

    She settled on circles. Octavia rounded the perimeter of the camp on every side for long enough that she lost track of time. The haphazard settlement wasn¡¯t enclosed, although it was surely difficult to stumble upon. She doubted the average stranger could find their way here--without the guidance of a certain flower boy, she would¡¯ve been no exception. Their faceless interlopers, then, were far from average.

    She traced quiet steps around fencing that divided gravel from grassy fields. She recalled the vague path to the adjacent construction site, should she amble slightly further to the right. She spent the most time slowing her cautious movements before the shadow-clad alleyway, each twist and turn cloaked in darkness. One of the three was compromised. She wasn¡¯t sure which, and she didn¡¯t stop in front of any of them long enough to find out. She kept to her steady rotations.

    This is kind of creepy.

    Are you afraid?

    Stradivaria¡¯s voice within was calming, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Company was company, aloud or not. Maybe ¡®afraid¡¯ isn¡¯t the right word. Just¡­unsettled. Guess this beats tolls, at least.

    You have done marvelously thus far. Know this to be true.

    Even tense as she was, an uneasy smile crossed her lips. Thanks, I guess. I mean, there¡¯s more of them now, right? Domino, for one, but Etherion, finally. That¡¯s¡­a lot, between the two of them.

    And yet more at your leisure, remember such.

    She winced. I¡­don¡¯t want to do those yet. Please.

    He paused for a moment. As you wish.

    She almost wanted to apologize to him for her cowardice. For how many times she¡¯d rejected the same tolls, Octavia wondered if it was disrespectful. She prayed he¡¯d understand her sincerity. She still hadn¡¯t fully processed the idea of witnessing those two lives at all. At this rate, she wondered if she ever would.

    Clang.

    It was so soft and distant that Octavia almost missed it, lost in thought as she was. She snapped her head so quickly in the direction of the sound that her neck ached. Her eyes darted around the vicinity, and she found no culprit of the sudden noise. It took effort to suppress her instincts to flee. She traded them for movement. Cautious footsteps fell forward, and a violin rose to her shoulder. At the very least, one of those was a reflex.

    She was on the right side of the camp, her circling steps bringing her near to lush greenery once more. The sound was on the left, by comparison, long since faded either way. She had little visibility more than roughly ten feet ahead of her, marred by the veil of the evening. A violin would resolve her problem immediately, although she¡¯d be trading stealth for a bright song. It was to say nothing of waking up the entire camp.

    Relying on her poorly-dilated pupils was annoying, by comparison. Of the area she could trace the fleeting noise to, she vaguely remembered Louise¡¯s tent. She wondered if the girl had awoken, somewhere in the middle of the auditory surprise.

    It took effort not to trip on the way there, tangled in darkness as she was. She made it to the little triangle of gray eventually, still safely sealed off from the outside world. Octavia didn¡¯t dare disturb its singular inhabitant--resting comfortably, if silence was an indicator. Her inspection did little to alleviate her concerns, and she wondered if she¡¯d trailed in the wrong direction entirely.

    She stepped in something wet. The slosh of liquid against her boots wasn¡¯t quite so abundant as to warrant the label of ¡°puddle¡±, and yet still enough that the sensation against the leather made Octavia recoil. Glancing down revealed little, an indiscriminate stream of fluid trickling along the gravel. It moved slowly, pushed onward by the short-lived gravity of uneven ground.

    With her eyes, Octavia followed the scattering paths as they flowed, branching along the tiny pebbles. One crawled upwards, soaking into the canvas of Louise¡¯s tent. What poor fabric scratched against the ground had succumbed to absorbency, and the liquid lazily climbed ever higher. It had spilled from inside, maybe.

    Curling one arm around Stradivaria¡¯s body and bow, Octavia wriggled one of her sleeves slightly above her wrist. With hesitation, she extended two fingers in the direction of the wet gravel. Up close, she flinched. The smell was pungent, a sweet and oily scent that stung in the slightest. It was almost familiar. She couldn¡¯t place it, and that much was irritating.

    Clang.

    Octavia never made contact with the fluid, her hand still extended aloft. She jumped sharply at the sudden noise, far louder and far closer. This time, the orientation was unmistakable. She was on her feet in an instant, her boots briefly skidding against the wet gravel as she scrambled for her footing. With Stradivaria¡¯s body in one hand and the bow clasped tightly in the other, she sprinted in the general direction of the alleyway. Night be damned, she grasped for what little bearings she had in the darkness.

    The sound was almost identical, if not somewhat metallic. The entrance to the winding corridors of the alley was once more bathed in shadow, creeping darkness threatening to swallow her at every turn. To plunge into the darkness would inevitably leave her lost. Were she to charge forth, she¡¯d be sickeningly vulnerable in unfamiliar territory. Were she to stay behind, she¡¯d be surrendering the closest opportunity she¡¯d earned for a true pursuit. She had no time to wake up Harper. She went with her instincts, and her instincts led her into the dark.

    Octavia didn¡¯t run so much as she jogged, her steps quick and quiet around the curling depths of the back alleys. This was already disorienting enough during the day. At night, the urban maze was far, far more intimidating. If Harper were in her place at the moment, this would¡¯ve been handled by now. She made a mental note to learn the proper routing in here, at some point. Instead, as it was, she was left to guess as she fumbled around in the dark. She strained for whatever sounds she could find, whether or not they were the same as those she¡¯d heard before. Silence was terrifying.

    She struck a deal with herself. Playing was out of the question, and yet her risk of stumbling or cornering herself in the dim lighting was growing too severe. She gathered Stradivaria¡¯s bow beneath his body, one hand delicately cupping the underside of the violin. Raising the mahogany to her shoulders, she lifted shaking fingers to the bridge, plucking away cautiously and quietly at the strings. To her immense surprise, it worked.

    She¡¯d never tried this method before. The pinpricks of light that skittered from her fingertips left radiant debris peppering the air. Her scattering stardust wasn¡¯t nearly as brilliant as her luminous ribbons or her entourage of scorching stars, and the assistance of a bow would¡¯ve outdone her pitiful plucks tenfold. Still, her gentle touch sufficed, and flickering debris graced her way.

    Had she not known better, she¡¯d fear a breeze would steal each miniscule mote away. Ultimately, their soft, yellowing luminosity was more important than their presentation, and Octavia¡¯s desperately-dilating pupils found something to cling to. She could only pray she was being quiet enough.

    Regardless, having light at her literal fingertips did little to restore her bearings. She was once again burdened with navigational distress, thick walls suffocating her with each intersection she reached. For how much she¡¯d desired companionship before, the idea of company in here was deeply distressing. For the sake of her safety and sanity alike, she needed to get what she came for and leave as soon as possible. Her eyes darted around every corner, and she spared time to peer over her shoulder out of paranoia.

    Could you, like, watch my back for me?

    As I am now, I can only see that which you can. However, know that I am with you.

    She groaned. Stradivaria¡¯s words were only partially comforting, for once.

    Any advice? she asked, her nervous eyes still scanning each inch of cold ground.

    Be on your guard. That is all I may offer.

    That¡¯s not very helpful.

    Whatever retort he could¡¯ve offered, positive or negative, never came. She initially believed the shadow she¡¯d spotted to be a trick of the light--what little she maintained, at least. The window she had to double-check was a bit longer than she¡¯d anticipated. When she confirmed a silhouette, outlined and distant along the furthest wall, her feet didn¡¯t wait. If it weren¡¯t for cursed corners that required her to turn with caution, she was confident a full sprint would¡¯ve sufficed to close the gap. Still, obstacles or not, she had to try. Surprise meant nothing if she had little to pursue.

    The visage, veiled in shadow, was vague. From afar, it was small, touched by petite femininity and streaming twintails. She couldn¡¯t make out a face, although the shape spoke to the shadow she¡¯d found upon entry yesterday. Granted, in the dark, her confidence was even weaker. The moment Octavia took flight, so, too, did her darkness-clad stranger. Octavia¡¯s heavy footsteps echoed, and they stole whatever stealth she could¡¯ve clung to. No amount of ¡°stop¡± or ¡°come back¡± would¡¯ve been worth it. She put her efforts into maintaining her breath instead.

    Plucking the strings while she ran wasn¡¯t feasible. Sprinting as she was, by comparison, a proper song was an option. It was perilous to play while running, and yet she took her chances anyway. Octavia angled Stradivaria unconventionally against her lower shoulder, forsaking her chin altogether. With the violin cradled in the crook of her arm, she did what she could to tear the bow horizontally.

    Haphazard as her technique was, it sufficed, beams of radiance bursting to life with stylish violence as they outran her. Spurned rapidly onwards by what steady movements of the bow were possible, the volley gave chase of its own accord. Octavia still hadn¡¯t quite learned how to steer them in mid-air. For now, she could at least be proud of the way by which her light could curve with precision. Practicing in here didn¡¯t seem like a terrible idea--beneath the sunshine, ideally.

    Given the speed at which they eluded her, there was no way to track their trajectory. So, too, was she ignorant as to whether or not they¡¯d hit their mark. She could hear explosive bursts of impact as they rattled the rocky walls and ground below. From here, glowing auras bled around corners she hadn¡¯t yet turned. It took additional effort just to confirm she was still in proper pursuit, and her only confirmation was auditory.

    She earned the clang of metal, just as before. Granted, it came far louder and significantly more hollow. Footsteps not so unlike her own, heavy and frantic in their own right, drew nearer. Octavia was positive she heard panting, desperate and exhausted. That, too, was foreign, her own breath steady and measured. She could run forever.

    Octavia had no idea where she was. It didn¡¯t matter. She had a shadow in her sights, not immune to the widespread glow of the rays upon her shoulders. Time was on her side, the turning of day fresh underway as the stars slowly dipped from the sky. Morning inched ever closer, and with it, the veil of night was torn free. Twintails, parallel and symmetrical. Of that, she¡¯d been correct. Blonde. Small, petite. Again, correct. Delicate, effeminate clothing that spoke to deceptive innocence.

    ¡°Leave me alone!¡±

    A shrill, high-pitched voice that Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d heard at least once.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she shouted anyway, her better judgment tossed in the wake of her footsteps.

    ¡°Get away from me!¡±

    ¡°What do you want from us?¡± Octavia pressed, undeterred.

    She was gaining. Her song was at the ready. If she so desired, she could take them out right here and now. She opted to hold back her light.

    They turned a corner in tandem. The girl before her spread her arms, a frantic touch capturing towers of garbage with malicious intent. Flailing served her well, and Octavia almost stumbled in the face of the waste downpour. Still, the initial surprise was all that shook her. Octavia kicked as hard off the earth as was necessary, propelling well over every obstacle that crashed down around her feet. Each haphazardly-spilled box, bag, and bucket failed to trip her up.

    It didn¡¯t matter how many buckets. There were a lot of buckets, really. Every last one rolled to a noisy halt against the opposing wall with a respective clang, piling into a hollow cacophony of metallic chaos.

    Oh.

    Still, it made her raise an eyebrow.

    ¡°We weren¡¯t actually gonna do it!¡± the girl cried. Her stamina was gradually failing her, and it showed.

    Octavia had no idea what she was talking about. ¡°Stop where you are!¡±

    ¡°I said leave me alone, please!¡±

    Octavia vaguely entertained the idea of adding a threat. With one swift jerk of the bow across the strings, she intentionally missed. A single precious ray, perched so precariously above her shoulder in wait moments ago, careened forward. Its path was unhindered, and it crashed into the wall just above the girl¡¯s right arm. As expected, she shrieked, covering her head as fragments of masonry crumbled to the ground.

    ¡°One last chance! Turn and face me!¡± Octavia growled.

    She almost obliged. Octavia watched the way the girl began to turn, parting hair slowly giving way to fair features. All too soon, her head snapped forward once more. The peeking light of day approached rapidly in excess, abundant and spilling at her front. Octavia came to two possible conclusions--either they¡¯d made a full circle, or they¡¯d reached Coda proper.

    The latter came with an extreme problem. Her fleeing stranger could easily slip away into the city, and Octavia would be hard-pressed to make the same pursuit twice. In that case, she was left to pray for the former. She didn¡¯t dare shelve her light. Even now, the dangerous radiance of her song still awaited guidance mere inches from her skin.

    She was lucky. It was, in fact, the former. It didn¡¯t make the scene any less confusing.

    The girl screeched to a halt so quickly that Octavia didn¡¯t think to restrain her--physically or otherwise. Logically, she was confined by the encirclement of tents and the inhabitants who¡¯d bear witness to her crimes. If necessary, Octavia had dozens of prying eyes to back her up. Were it not for the second girl, one ponytail shorter than her counterpart, her work would¡¯ve been over far sooner. As it was, instead, the bucket was far more befuddling.

    The other one was somewhat more reserved than the frantic blonde who preceded her, motionless just feet from the entrance. Two slender hands were wrapped around the handle of a well-used metal bucket, dented and beaten accordingly. It was just large enough to tap against scuffed knees and jut into a fraying skirt, sloshing with each tiny movement. It looked heavy. It smelled strongly. Octavia blinked.

    For a moment, the three girls exchanged stares in tense silence, trading wordless hostility. Octavia still claimed the pressure of her radiance, sneaking starlight pulsing on either side of her head. She couldn¡¯t choose where to start--¡°who are you¡±, ¡°what are you doing¡±, or anything in between were all viable options. She was conflicted enough that she forgot to choose at all, only glaring daggers twofold amongst the girls.

    The clouds, while not quite freed from the touch of night, were slowly beginning to blush. With it came the first natural rays of light to contrast against her own. Every speckle of peeking sunshine caught the droplets of dew that pricked the ground and gravel below. There was a lot of dew, evidently. If she looked, ample amounts of gravel spanning the length of the camp were saturated and sparkling. In awkwardly-traced patterns and patches, something lay splashed beneath. It hadn¡¯t rained recently. To Octavia¡¯s knowledge, there was no adjacent groundwater well near the camp. She stared.

    Her eyes chased every last sparkle she could find, extensive as it was. It was more dispersed than she¡¯d expected, on a second inspection. The edges of almost every tent resembled Louise¡¯s own--soaked and soggy along hems that kissed the gravel. It wasn¡¯t quite wet enough underfoot to breach her soles. The overpowering scent on every side was enough to breach the rest of her, and she resisted the urge to flinch.

    In turn, her eyes finally crawled to the bucket. She raised Stradivaria to her shoulder properly.

    ¡°What is that?¡± Octavia shouted.

    Her prior prey jumped in surprise at the sudden volume of her voice. By comparison, the girl with the bucket remained calm. Rather than dignify her with a response, she flipped the entire container upside-down, splattering its liquid contents onto the gravel at her feet. The splash peppered her flats with much the same. If she cared, she didn¡¯t show it. With a dramatic flair, she freed the bucket from dainty fingers, pulling her hands apart as it violently clattered to the gravel.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she said. Her voice, while not quite as shrill, was its own flavor of high-pitched. ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡±

    ¡°Are we¡­actually doing this?¡± the twintailed girl whispered sharply, wringing her hands together.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    The clash of metal against gravel had apparently been enough to wake Harper. The flaps of his tent parted rapidly, and the sound of shoes crunching against pebbles preceded Octavia¡¯s backup. She felt really, really bad for waking him up. She felt worse for disturbing him than for inviting him to the current crisis at all.

    He skidded against the gravel, pressing his cap to his head firmly. It was a miracle that he didn¡¯t slip, saturated as it was. With one hand around Royal Orleans, he was only several steps from her side when he came to a complete and total halt.

    His mouth parted, and yet he was devoid of words. He flexed his fingers around his instrument, alternating between a relaxed grip and the whitest knuckles Octavia had ever seen grace his skin. Unceremoniously indoctrinated into their square of malice, he fit his tense role admirably. Either girl eyed him with far, far more hostility than what had been offered to Octavia. She gulped.

    ¡°What,¡± Harper began, his entire body shaking, ¡°are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Ivy, forget it, let¡¯s go,¡± the fleeing girl pleaded, wrapping two hands around the calm girl¡¯s arm. ¡°This is enough, right?¡±

    ¡°Answer me,¡± he growled. Rage was pooling in every word, and Octavia watched as his face almost grew red to match.

    The quiet girl only tilted her head, unfazed by his harsh words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, were we not invited?¡±

    ¡°Harper?¡± Octavia asked softly, Stradivaria readied upon her shoulder.

    He gave an empty chuckle, his eyes just as empty in turn. ¡°I¡¯m almost afraid to ask the details. And here I thought Domino was talking about an actual threat.¡±

    The girl returned his hollow glare. ¡°I¡¯m open to delivering on one. Watch your step.¡±

    It took a moment. When it clicked, it still made no more sense. ¡°Holly¡­and Ivy?¡± Octavia finally tried, exceedingly confused.

    Harper nodded, never tearing his wrathful gaze from either one. Octavia narrowed her eyes, much the same. Where this was going was beyond her.

    ¡°You two wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything about whoever¡¯s been threatening Domino, would you?¡± he spat.

    Octavia vaguely remembered the difference. It was Ivy who scoffed. ¡°No one¡¯s threatening Domino, idiot.¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re full of it. Someone¡¯s been trying to hurt him. He¡¯s with you two half the damn time when he¡¯s not with me, even if he¡¯s not supposed to be, so spill it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the hell you¡¯re talking about,¡± Holly said with venom. ¡°Talk whatever trash about us you want, but we don¡¯t do a damn thing to him. That¡¯s a low blow, even for you.¡±

    ¡°Then who''s been trying to get into the freakin¡¯ camp, huh? Who¡¯s been trying to hurt him every time he beats them back?¡±

    Holly¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way you two don¡¯t know he¡¯s in danger. He talks to you loud-mouths about everything. Someone''s trying to hurt these kids, and he¡¯s over here nearly killing himself to make sure they''re safe. You¡¯ve seriously got the nerve to pretend you don¡¯t know? Start talking. What¡¯s going on with him?¡±

    Holly and Ivy exchanged a glance touched by confusion. There came a point where both of their faces fell, eyes widening ever further in unison. They winced, locking eyes and refusing to come unhinged.

    Harper followed their silent surprise with his own gaze, audibly aggravated. ¡°What? Say something!¡±

    Ivy¡¯s fingers curled into fists. ¡°Are you kidding me? Is that why they all--¡±

    ¡°Ivy, shut up!¡± Holly hissed.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s true! That little brat!¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± Harper growled.

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, we need to go!¡± Holly pleaded once more, pulling on her sister¡¯s arm for a second time.

    Ivy didn¡¯t budge. ¡°We¡¯re already in this deep. We need to deliver.¡±

    ¡°Talk!¡± Harper shouted, his voice booming. Octavia jolted at his side. If anyone was still asleep, she doubted they¡¯d be for long.

    Holly was silent, her face brimming with horror. Ivy, conversely, obliged, one hand on her hip.

    ¡°You really wanna know that bad? He screwed over both of us, apparently, so take that with you to sleep tonight. Someone really, really wants this place gone. We knew that he knew. We thought he was helping. Isn¡¯t that why you were gone? He said he sent you away.¡±

    Harper blinked. ¡°I¡­what?¡±

    ¡°And someone¡¯s willing to pay a lot of money to make sure the job gets done. Like, I mean, a lot. Probably more money than you¡¯ve ever seen in your broke little life. Hell, ours too. So why the hell would he sabotage that? I just don¡¯t understand.¡±

    For the briefest moment, Harper¡¯s eyes flickered to Octavia. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­what is all this? Who are you talking about? Who wants this place gone? You mean the camp? For what?¡±

    Ivy shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t care. They have money, that¡¯s all that matters. Couldn¡¯t figure out why it was taking so damn long, though. Worked out, I guess. Someone else got the chance instead. Tell you one thing, though, they were very specific about how they wanted it gone.¡±

    ¡°Domino wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Harper spat, his breath quickening. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t¡­hurt these kids.¡±

    Ivy scoffed once more. ¡°Apparently not, little coward.¡±

    ¡°Ivy, please, isn¡¯t this too much? They¡¯re just kids!¡± Holly begged. ¡°They¡¯re still here! At least wait until they¡¯re gone!¡±

    ¡°If they¡¯re gonna leave, they better do it now,¡± she snapped. ¡°All they specified was the property. That being said, I wouldn¡¯t mind if Harper sticks around, if you know what I mean.¡±

    Harper raised Royal Orleans to his lips at last. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna put one finger on my family.¡±

    Ivy rolled her eyes. ¡°A trumpet? Seriously? You gonna play us to death, idiot? Now you¡¯ve really lost it.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t play!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s shout was enough to make Harper freeze, his hands utterly still with the mouthpiece still pressed to his lips. Ever so slowly, he pulled away from the brass, turning his head in her direction.

    She, too, was still, her thoughts racing as rapidly as her heart. Her cry had shocked Holly and Ivy into equal stagnation. She didn¡¯t care. Her eyes flickered back and forth between Harper¡¯s own and the gravel below. Everything clicked.

    ¡°Gasoline,¡± she said at last, her voice shaking.

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°All of it,¡± she added, every word soaked in terror.

    It took far longer than she would¡¯ve hoped to finally place the smell, given how often she¡¯d been forced to tolerate it in her father¡¯s workshop. More terrifyingly came the implication that the substance had been spread at all, her patrolling rendered useless. She¡¯d heard the sounds that precluded the splashing chemical, metallic and distant as they¡¯d been.

    Someone had been behind her, stepping in her shadows and treading on her footsteps. As to how long, Octavia didn¡¯t want to know. She didn¡¯t want to consider. If she¡¯d stayed behind, she wondered if it would¡¯ve gotten so severe. As it was, there was nothing left to do but kick herself forever.

    ¡°How did¡­¡± Harper began, trailing off almost immediately.

    His eyes drifted to Royal Orleans. He drew the same conclusion, if the shock on his face spoke to anything. It wouldn¡¯t take the full strength of his song. One note would be all he needed to set the camp ablaze. For how close they still stood to an overturned bucket, still idling in the gravel, a singular breath could very well kill them both.

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t,¡± Harper said instead, his eyes pooling with fear.

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Ivy answered coolly.

    ¡°Ivy, listen to me!¡± Holly begged. ¡°You said it was a threat!¡±

    Ivy snatched her arm away from her sister¡¯s constant pulling, sending the girl stumbling in reverse. ¡°If we don¡¯t do it, someone else will! What then? There won¡¯t have been any point to all of it! This is finally it, and now you want to back out?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just kids!¡± Holly cried yet again.

    ¡°We¡¯re just kids!¡± Ivy answered. ¡°What about us?¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Harper said, his anxious voice rising dangerously high.

    Octavia could hear her own blood rushing through her ears. Of her light, she¡¯d never stopped to contemplate the composition--let alone the temperature. It could burn skin, and she¡¯d learned that the hard way. With certainty, it was hot. Whether or not it could rival Harper¡¯s flames remained to be seen. If she played, there was a possibility that she, too, would be putting lives at risk. It was a gamble she was terrified to take, and her hand shook around the bow.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t feel right,¡± Holly whimpered. ¡°There¡¯s other ways! Even with this, there¡¯s definitely a different answer to--¡±

    ¡°No there isn¡¯t!¡± Ivy screamed, her voice cracking. ¡°You sound like him!¡±

    When she pointed one finger sharply at Harper, the boy in question could only flinch. Still, her attention was on Holly alone. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes as she shouted.

    ¡°We¡¯re never going to get a chance like this again! You wanna talk about Domino? This is how we help Domino! This is how we help ourselves and whoever the hell we want! This is how we survive, and this is how we thrive!¡±

    Harper shook his head, his voice hoarse. ¡°Please, you don¡¯t need to do this.¡±

    The glare Ivy gave him dripped with the intent to kill, livid in a way that sent chills down Octavia¡¯s spine. Slowly, she slid one hand into the pocket of her skirt. When her fingers came up, they carried the smallest of boxes, cardboard settling neatly into the palm of her hand.

    ¡°Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.¡±

    She flicked her thumb upwards. With the motion slipped the contents of the tiny box itself, unleashed from the safety of their drawer. The sight alone left Octavia dizzy.

    She was dizzier than she¡¯d expected to be, terrified as she was. She chalked it up to fear, at first, overwhelming and all consuming in every way. Still, logically, fear didn¡¯t come with screeching that left her eardrums crying out in pain. Fear wouldn¡¯t account for violet, wretched and deep as curling wisps streamed from Ivy¡¯s shoulders. Octavia¡¯s stomach twisted into knots, her blood ran cold, and the revelation of tiny hands parting canvas flaps around her threatened to steal her breath.

    She¡¯d never seen it actually happening before--not from a third-person perspective, at least.

    ¡°You,¡± Ivy growled, ¡°have no idea what it¡¯s like to walk a day in our shoes. You¡¯ve had luck, and you¡¯ve been blessed. You have no idea what we¡¯ve seen. You have no idea what I¡¯ve been through. You don¡¯t have the slightest idea of the danger we¡¯re in every single...¡±

    ¡°Whatever you¡¯re thinking about, stop it!¡± Octavia pleaded. ¡°Stop thinking about it! Don¡¯t remember it, please!¡±

    She couldn¡¯t prove her theory. Regardless, everything she¡¯d learned of Dissonance had led her to that hypothesis. Her own harrowing experience, sand-tinged and ethereal as it was, spoke to much of the same. Bad memories were bad memories. Foul as she was, her heart ached for Ivy. She didn¡¯t dare guess what was in there, nor what was that bad. If it led this far, it was surely undeserved. As with so many things, all she could do was pray.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know a damn thing about me!¡± Ivy cried. With zero hesitation, her fingers plunged into the matchbox.

    Holly grabbed at her skirt. ¡°Ivy, stop it!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡± Harper shouted. It was an empty threat, loaded only with terror as he stayed perfectly still.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take everything you love!¡± Ivy screamed.

    Her eyes were hollow and dead. One swift flick of her wrist set the match alight. Violet outdid orange, rolling as both were in tandem. A humble, wavering flame was matched only by thick plumes of smoke, billowing from the girl¡¯s shoulders in earnest.

    It was a lot more than Octavia had expected.

    ¡°Ivy, don¡¯t!¡±

    Holly¡¯s words were useless, as were her tears. Distracted by the incredible abundance of Dissonance, Octavia was almost too late. She tackled Harper to the ground and out of the path of glistening gravel. She had no time to breathe, and everything crumbled in an instant. Their bodies collided, the matchstick slipped from Ivy¡¯s fingers, and Harper¡¯s entire world went up in flames.

 [EXTRA] 41.5. Domino Effect

    Most of his dreams were black. Those were preferential to orange, let alone crimson, let alone any combination of both. It didn¡¯t happen often anymore--in the unconscious world, at least. It was miserable when it did.

    Being exhausted helped minimize the risk. It was for that reason that he didn¡¯t mind working until his hands were numb or giving all the energy he had to those with far less. It surely wasn¡¯t healthy to burn himself out on a regular basis, and yet it served more purposes than one. Survival was a must. He had that covered. Whatever kept his dreams non-flammable was a secondary benefit.

    He got unlucky tonight. It was the first time in awhile, and it came more as a flickering puddle of colors than anything. For how little he still had to go off of, it was a morbid guess from his subconscious every time. He hated it, experimental as every expression and word and action was. Juxtaposed against an imaginary background, he couldn¡¯t control the hypotheticals. It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d been there. It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d heard them, seen them, felt one single ember sting his skin. Some days, he wished he had. On worse days, few and far between as they were, he wished he¡¯d been part of it.

    At least they weren¡¯t screaming this time. He didn¡¯t have to deal with their faces, although their voices were there. His name clung to their lips, and he could piece together the revised syllables in their tones. It was sweet, for how he¡¯d never have the chance to hear it aloud. It was the only comfort deep in flames, imagined or not, and he was left to burn in another way entirely. They called for him without panic, and still he was powerless to grasp their hands. It was agonizing.

    ¡°Harper.¡±

    He awoke to small hands on his shoulders, shaking gently. He jolted, sparing a moment to catch his breath. It was unsteady, and he hoped it didn¡¯t show. He couldn¡¯t help it, just barely short of gasping as his heart raced painfully. He blinked several times over, flooding his eyes with the gray of the canvas overhead rather than the scarlets still lurking behind his eyelids.

    ¡°Harper,¡± the little voice repeated, every bit as soft.

    His eyes drifted left, and he rolled onto his side. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    She hadn¡¯t bothered to put her glasses on, let alone her shoes. He wasn¡¯t the only one with labored breaths, at least, although hers came more so in shuddering inhalations than anything. She was shaking. If the dried streaks of tears draping her cheeks spoke to anything, he had suspicions as to her distress. It was a reflex to swallow his pain. Flames could wait. Louise was more important, new as she was.

    Harper pushed himself upright fast enough that it nearly made him dizzy, his opened arms extended to her instinctively. Fatigue was irrelevant, and he fought to forge a smile. ¡°Come here. Are you lonely? Do you want to sleep in here? You can stay with me, it¡¯s alright.¡±

    She shook her head. He tilted his. Her little hands trembled at her sides, balled into fists. She cast her eyes over her shoulder exactly once, aimed squarely at the languishing flaps of canvas behind her.

    ¡°There¡¯s someone outside,¡± Louise whispered, her voice trembling just as fiercely.

    Harper¡¯s eyes widened, and he rescinded his offered embrace immediately. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Even with his volume level, she didn¡¯t dare raise her own. ¡°There¡¯s somebody walking around outside. I don¡¯t know who they are.¡±

    It was enough for him to leap to his feet almost instantly. For how often the children had teased him about sleeping almost fully dressed, it had served its purpose more times than he would¡¯ve liked. It didn¡¯t take long to pull himself together in full, frantic and swift as his motions were. ¡°Stay in here,¡± Harper commanded, pressing his cap against his head.

    ¡°Are they gonna hurt us?¡± Louise murmured, fearful eyes threatened by tears once more.

    He at least had time to bend to her level. He cupped her cheek gently, stroking her skin with his thumb. ¡°Not at all. I won¡¯t let anyone hurt you, okay? No one¡¯s gonna get hurt. I promise.¡±

    She nodded, leaning into his touch somewhat. He hated having to rescind it. He hadn¡¯t quite figured her out just yet, and he couldn¡¯t gauge her trust in him at this point. Harper stroked her hair on the way out, his fingertips lingering against her wavy locks as he left her at his back.

    ¡°Please be safe,¡± she whispered.

    Harper left her with a soft smile for company. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. Wait for me here, alright? I¡¯ll be back soon. Everything will be fine.¡±

    She nodded. He dove past the canvas flaps, the contrast of the night air and the warmth of the tent not lost on his skin. Moonlight was better than flames, distant as it was and more gentle by comparison. The milky glow spilling onto the gravel was a decent guide, and he was thankful for at least one thing on his side in the dark.

    Staying safe was easier said than done. By no means was he going to tell her that.

    Isolated as they were, it wasn¡¯t often that threats came to them directly. What few he¡¯d encountered had been largely born of coincidence and unveiled to be benign. If they could make it through the alley, they were usually lost to begin with. If they came from the green outskirts so far behind, they were usually curious. If they wandered in from the neighboring construction site, they were usually drunk. He still hadn¡¯t exactly wrapped his head around the fact that that situation had occurred more than once--let alone whatever circumstances had led up to it.

    Every single time had been in the comfort of daylight. They¡¯d never had an intruder at night, and it was significantly more unsettling than usual. Darkness itself was a risk. It always had been. For all of his insistence as to utter safety in the dangers of dusk, Coda was unforgiving. Harper was unarmed, and even the florist had chastised him at least once over his lack of a weapon. It didn¡¯t quite make him powerless.

    Ideally, what he did have would be enough. It usually was. It was enough last week, and the week before that, and the week before that. Still, if he were to fight in the dark--whether on behalf of himself or otherwise--he hadn¡¯t expected to do it here. He was lying if he said he wasn¡¯t afraid at all, for how poorly this often went in Coda proper. Given what was at stake, he¡¯d still gladly take the fall without a second thought.

    Louise was astute, from what he knew of her thus far. She hadn¡¯t been the type to jump at every sound, nor to forget familiar faces. If she hadn¡¯t recognized an interloper, they were genuinely out of place. Young or not, he trusted that. He moved with as much silence as was possible, both for the sake of preserving a fragile peace and maintaining whatever edge he¡¯d probably need. Ideally, he didn¡¯t want to fight in front of the children. He didn¡¯t want to fight at all, really. He was still clinging to the idea that it could¡¯ve been a true coincidence. He didn¡¯t let his guard down, inhaling deeply and assuming the worst.

    There was little to be found in the shadows of every tent, nor in the open at large. The gravel crunching underfoot was the only sound left in his wake, and Harper fought to soften his footsteps as much as he could. The moon was high enough overhead that the hour was of concern, and uncertainty was stressful.

    If someone was still out here, they moved with a startling amount of stealth themselves. That would¡¯ve been no coincidence, and the concept left him on edge. He stole what streaming moonbeams he could, chasing every darkened corner with his eyes from both near and far as his advances slowed. On at least several occasions, his gaze drifted over his shoulder cautiously.

    Rustling canvas caught his attention, and his eyes snapped to the source instantly. He almost broke his neck in the process. Restraining the urge to run felt awful. The orange-tinted tent nearest the alleyway was absolutely occupied, and Harper had initially assumed its little owner was conscious. The face he expected never stirred, although he planned to speak with them in the morning--gently--regarding leaving their belongings outside again. The carelessly-languishing backpack left beyond the stakes was open, notably, very unzipped and very vulnerable to the cool air of the evening. He doubted it had started that way, particularly given the scattered items littering the gravel.

    The single hand that slipped carefully between the flaps of the tent, parting the entrance in the slightest, was one Harper had never once held. The face that peered beyond the canvas and into the warmth was scathingly unfamiliar, calm and inquisitive as it was. He was different, truly out of place as asserted. His clothing spoke not to curiosity, nor disorientation, nor intoxication. He was small. He didn¡¯t look so dissimilar to some of them, really. As such, this was suddenly a different kind of problem altogether.

    Harper would¡¯ve debated his method of approach, maybe, had it not been for the way by which a third party was involved. If there was a tiny face of interest in a flimsy home he¡¯d sworn to protect, that took priority. Prying hands were a danger. That was enough. For how many thoughts had raced by in an instant, their safety was the one that left his blood burning.

    ¡°Stop!¡±

    He didn¡¯t mean to shout, given the proximity of so many small sleepers. He hoped it didn¡¯t wake any of them. He hadn¡¯t exactly had a choice, particularly given the way his newest stranger had inched closer to full intrusion with each passing second. Harper got their attention immediately, and wide eyes fell to his in an instant.

    He didn¡¯t have them for long. Amongst whatever he¡¯d already sought to take, the boy stole back his gaze just as fast. He turned sharply away, skidding against the gravel as he fought for traction. It was enough of a start, and he bolted.

    The curls were a solid beacon. Gravel, bare feet, and notable speed were an impressive combination, and the moonlight overhead did him favors. It wasn¡¯t enough, and Harper¡¯s one lament was the manner by which he had to pray his sprint left little dreams undisturbed. His pursuit was instinctive. The boy was by no means invisible in the dark. To his credit, his escape was just as silent, and he didn¡¯t scream or struggle to intimidate. He fled. Harper wouldn¡¯t let him.

    Every hurried footstep left gravel crunching underfoot, and the traction had always been mildly uncomfortable. It was no true deterrent, nor was it enough to actively compromise his speed. Of much greater concern was the way by which the boy was fast himself. A gap he¡¯d sought to quickly close was more steady than Harper had expected. The boy bolted left, and the shadows of the alleyway swallowed him whole. That was either a benefit or a detriment. Harper would have to find out the hard way. At the very least, the solid ground was far easier to run on than the loose stones that sought to trip him up.

    Harper plunged into much the same darkness, enveloping as it was in the depths of night. By no means was it safe. There was the tiniest pang of fear that stabbed his skin the moment he¡¯d submitted to narrow walls and winding turns. At the very least, he wasn¡¯t alone in here--in a good way, for once.

    Not for a moment had the boy left his sights, for as much as he surely intended to. His breaths were more level than anticipated, even if Harper could actively hear them from here. He didn¡¯t bother shouting, nor demanding slowing steps. He was content to give chase beneath the starry sky, dangerous as he knew the urban landscape to be. It was better than the alternative, if the alternative left them compromised.

    Of more concern was the way by which the route came naturally. It took Harper a moment to notice, and yet longer to verify. He gave him two more experimental turns for the sole sake of confirming the pattern, and was unsettlingly correct. The boy knew the way to the heart of Coda, shockingly. It was no simple path to memorize on sight, let alone one so quickly obvious on a new voyage. Harper¡¯s stomach sank. If he¡¯d been to the camp before, this was suddenly a much larger problem. As to what else this boy had done, the thought was enough to make his blood boil.

    Still, it gave him an idea. They were roughly halfway. One look over his shoulder verified about as much. This was enough, and he doubted the children would hear him from such a distance. It had worked out fairly well. He was lucky it was dark. With mild effort, he came low to the ground, pressing harder and sprinting ever more fiercely. He was faster. That much was a given.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    The boy had made for a worthy enough rival in that sense--for some time, at least. By no means was he anywhere near on Harper¡¯s level. For his size, he got close enough. Harper¡¯s heavy footsteps were audible, apparently, given how frantic eyes crashed into his own from afar. It was less distant every second. For every one step the boy took, Harper took double. He bore down on the boy with speed unmatched, and he bore down with a different flavor of ferocity much the same.

    The added momentum didn¡¯t feel good, probably. Even at a standstill, he was aware he had a solid right hook. He hit his mark beautifully, and it was nearly enough to send the boy hurtling to the ground. The fact that he stayed on his feet at all was admirable, stumbling and staggering in a desperate attempt to regain ample balance.

    The moment he turned sharply on his heel, his bent knees speaking to yet another evasive flight, Harper struck a second blow. Identical in every way to the first, it, too, sent the boy reeling. This time, he didn¡¯t try to run. With gritted teeth, it was all he could do to raise his fists in return. His eyes were razor-edged and venomous. It was all he had, and every last part of him was open. He swung. He missed. Harper didn¡¯t.

    It wasn¡¯t so much that it was easy as it was straightforward. Again, to his credit, he did at least try. Not once did he stand down, nor did he try to flee a second time. He went after Harper with what little he possessed, sloppy strikes at his torso and face mostly unsuccessful. A few connected, and yet hardly did more than leave Harper wincing. Not one carried enough force to knock him back, nor shake him. It spoke to nothing of the boy''s stance. Harper didn¡¯t necessarily count, and yet his guess was no more than thirty seconds.

    He almost--almost--felt bad about it, twisting his body swiftly as one foot laid waste to the boy¡¯s side. The boy coughed, once more staggering beneath the blow. It left room to follow up, and Harper was upon him with fists to fill the void. He buried blows in the boy¡¯s stomach, just as he blighted him with the same in the face. Harper never drew blood, although it was largely an unintentional salvation. It wasn¡¯t as though he was holding back by much. His stranger had started it, after all. It was technically a form of self-defense. If it involved the children, he deserved every bit of it.

    When he finally did fall, it came on the heels of stolen footing. It wasn¡¯t particularly difficult for Harper to exploit his poor stance. One solid sweep of his leg beneath poorly-braced ankles sent the boy crashing to the hard ground below. He hit his head on the way down, crying out in pain. Harper thought to deal yet more damage while he had the chance, and one well-placed kick to his head would¡¯ve surely knocked him unconscious. At the absolute least, instead, he could pin him down.

    He hesitated, still well on guard with his eyes locked firmly on the boy below. Harper earned the same hostile gaze back, if not tinted with slightly more fear. It was somewhat disarming. Holding fast to his burning blood was difficult.

    The boy twisted away from him, tossing together a poor attempt to scramble to his feet. He didn¡¯t get far, and not solely secondary to the rough ground cursing his skin. The moment he was anywhere adjacent to prone, even for the briefest moment, Harper cursed him in his own way. This time, he really did pin him. He likely didn¡¯t need to lunge, and yet did so anyway.

    Harper caught one small arm in his tight grasp, twisting sharply as he jerked it high behind the boy¡¯s back. The bent angle he claimed as he pressed down was undoubtedly painful, and the yelp of distress he earned in return was confirmation of such. He shouldn¡¯t have felt as bad as he did. Still, his interloper was just small enough for the sound to sting him. He relaxed his grip in the slightest, and the sensation of unwinding tension beneath him eased his heart somewhat.

    There was still resistance, feeble as it was in the wake of his relentless assault. The boy squirmed and writhed weakly in his grip, and Harper could¡¯ve sworn he was outright growling. He claimed the other wrist the moment he had the chance, opting solely for strength over efficiency. He could¡¯ve twisted. He knew how to make it hurt. At the moment, it didn¡¯t feel right.

    ¡°Get off me!¡± he heard from beneath him, every word soaked in poison. ¡°Let go!¡±

    If he couldn¡¯t make it hurt, then, he¡¯d at least compensate with his voice. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± Harper demanded.

    ¡°I said let go!¡± he heard yet again. It came with more writhing, easily resisted.

    ¡°Answer me!¡± he snapped. ¡°Who are you? What the hell were you doing back there?¡±

    ¡°Leave me alone!¡±

    His voice rose with every word. The tiniest hint of desperation lay splashed upon every syllable. For the additional squirming it came with, Harper suspected fear. It was simultaneously a victory and a cause for remorse. Up close, he was young.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot of nerve to be messing with other people and thinking you can just get away with it! I don¡¯t know what you think you¡¯re trying to pull, but it¡¯s not happening!¡± Harper growled anyway.

    With mild effort, the boy turned his head. One cheek, flat against the cold ground, still left wide eyes locked with Harper¡¯s. There was, in fact, fear in there somewhere. The ire drowned it, somewhat. ¡°You¡¯re insane! What the hell is wrong with you? Let go of me!¡±

    Harper leaned closer in the slightest, his grip never faltering. ¡°You stay away from them, you hear me?¡±

    ¡°Get off!¡±

    ¡°Do you understand me?¡±

    It came out much harsher than he¡¯d meant it to, loud and violent. His proximity didn¡¯t help, and the way the boy flinched was enough to make him regret his volume. Once again, it was simultaneously helpful and not. He got silence for his troubles, at least, and stillness in his grip much the same. He found only distress in place of melted venom, wide eyes glued to his as shaky breaths came to match.

    ¡°Do you understand me?¡± Harper repeated, far softer by comparison.

    The boy nodded slowly, his curls scraping the ground with every muted motion.

    Harper sighed. He relaxed his grip in the absolute slightest, never quite freeing the boy in full. ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked once more.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    His sharp words didn¡¯t match his gaze, nor his immediately-faltering volume. It didn¡¯t deter Harper entirely. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you around before. Are you¡­new?¡±

    ¡°Why do you care? Who the hell do you think you are?¡± he spat. Only now was he back to squirming, pitiful as the effort continued to be.

    Harper pushed harder against the boy¡¯s arm, still awkwardly pinned against his back as it was. It made for a solid deterrent, and what little fight he¡¯d put up ceased once more quickly enough. ¡°Don¡¯t mess with that place. You wanna screw around anywhere else, go right ahead. Not there.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡±

    He should¡¯ve expected that, at this point. Still, it made him much more defensive than he would¡¯ve preferred. ¡°Or you¡¯re going to have to deal with me.¡±

    The boy laughed, a bitter sound splattered with disdain that betrayed his age. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so scared. I bet you think you¡¯re real hot stuff, don¡¯t you? I¡¯m not afraid of you. I can go wherever I--¡±

    He made it hurt this time. He still felt bad about it. Harper shoved the boy¡¯s arm swiftly upwards into an angle ever more uncomfortable, borderline unnatural in a way that left muscles visibly straining. This time, the cry of pain he drew was far louder and far sharper. He hoped the regret didn¡¯t show on his face, let alone seep into his low voice. ¡°You talk a lot. Has anyone ever told you that?¡±

    Once more, there was fear. It ebbed and surged like waves, trading off with deceptive ire. He was starting to get used to it, let alone understand it. ¡°You don¡¯t even know me! Don¡¯t act like you do! I¡¯m not afraid of you!¡± the boy reiterated.

    ¡°Swear to me, right now, that you¡¯re not gonna go back there.¡±

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡± he challenged.

    His words were shaky, his breaths unstable. Every ounce of body language betrayed the boy¡¯s false confidence. It took Harper a moment to decide whether or not he¡¯d be going too far. He pressed downwards on the same twisted arm slightly, hardly enough to draw a wince of pain. It sufficed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll break your arm.¡±

    He wouldn¡¯t. He prayed he wasn¡¯t called on it.

    To his immense relief, he wasn¡¯t. There was no particular joy in threatening a boy this young, particularly with violence. He didn¡¯t enjoy it, and yet it was sickeningly necessary. He still didn¡¯t have a solid motive. Eyes pooling with terror left his bluff successful, and he breathed an inward sigh of relief long before he got formal confirmation.

    ¡°I¡­won¡¯t go back. Please don¡¯t¡­hurt me.¡±

    He¡¯d only hoped for the first part. The second part burned. It slipped out.

    ¡°How old are you?¡±

    The boy was quiet for a moment, his uncomfortable gaze drifting to the ground. ¡°Nine.¡±

    Harper flinched. Maintaining at least some kind of restraint was still necessary, and yet he loosened his grip as much as was possible. As quickly as he could, he let the boy¡¯s pinned arm unfurl into a position far more natural. The relief that washed over his face left Harper almost nauseous. This was still too much, maybe.

    ¡°If I let you go, are you gonna run?¡± he tried.

    He¡¯d given too much leeway. He got his venom back. ¡°What, are you gonna chase me down? I said I won¡¯t go near that place anymore. That¡¯s not enough for you?¡±

    Harper paused. ¡°What were you doing there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do it again, so it doesn¡¯t matter. Got it?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s kids there. That place is full of children. They¡¯re younger than you.¡±

    His face fell. The razors in his eyes were blunted immediately, and his words were stolen. Harper chose his words carefully, lest his anger be misplaced.

    ¡°They already have nothing. There¡¯s nothing left to take from them. If you¡¯re gonna steal from somewhere, do it anywhere but there. That¡¯s sick,¡± he said bitterly.

    The boy was silent for a moment. ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t know,¡± he murmured at last.

    Harper sighed. ¡°I know.¡±

    The silence that settled over them left two boys in the dark of the night, buried in shadows and robbed of security. Moonlight was a poor savior. It was unsafe. It took time to dawn on Harper in general, by which discomfort prickled his skin as his eyes drifted over his shoulder. He¡¯d lost track of how long they¡¯d been out here, wide open as they were in the dark.

    ¡°Do you have somewhere to stay?¡± he asked quietly.

    The boy hesitated. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­with anyone?¡±

    Again, he hesitated. His shrug was muffled by his awkward angle, and the ground made for a strange deterrent. ¡°Sorta. I don¡¯t¡­know where they are tonight. I¡¯m on my own for a bit.¡±

    Harper released the boy¡¯s wrist with caution. When he was still, it was a relief. ¡°Have you eaten today?¡±

    For a third time, he hesitated. It took longer than before, and his answer was softer. ¡°No.¡±

    It was the most damning combination, and an instant trigger for words he couldn¡¯t restrain.

    ¡°Come stay with me.¡±

    The boy raised an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    Harper released his other arm in turn, and the confusion he¡¯d bestowed was its own restraint. The boy propped himself up on his elbows instead, eyeing Harper warily. He didn¡¯t run. That was immense progress.

    Every word was instinctive and uncontrollable. It didn¡¯t make them any less true. ¡°That place is¡­safe. Nothing will happen to you there. I¡¯ll make sure of it. I¡¯ll make sure you always have what you need. You¡¯ll always have something to eat, and you¡¯ll always have somewhere to sleep, and no one will hurt you. I¡¯ll protect you. I¡¯ll¡­keep you safe.¡±

    His offer was met with infinite befuddlement, at first. The boy simply stared up at him as he leaned back onto his heels. Then, he earned a scoff. He earned a chuckle, then a laugh, somewhere between condescending and genuinely amused.

    ¡°God, what are you, a saint? There¡¯s no way you¡¯re that much older than me. Get over yourself. You are weird as hell.¡±

    Somehow, it was enough to make Harper smirk. He didn¡¯t hate the feeling. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say it if I didn¡¯t mean it. It¡¯s not safe for you to be out here right now, and especially not here.¡±

    The boy rolled his eyes. ¡°Obviously.¡±

    Carefully, Harper untangled himself from the boy, rising to his feet with mild effort. ¡°At least for tonight, stay with me. You¡¯ll be warm. I¡¯ll get you something to eat. If you don¡¯t want to stay there after that, then that¡¯s your choice.¡±

    The boy tilted his head from below, straightening up somewhat. ¡°What is that place to you, exactly?¡±

    Harper smiled. ¡°They¡¯re my family. That place is¡­mine. I guard it with my life.¡±

    The boy scoffed. ¡°You really think you¡¯re that good?¡±

    Harper lowered one gentle hand to him. ¡°For them, I will be. Whatever that takes.¡±

    It took more than a moment for his offer to be accepted. Cautiously, a smaller hand wrapped around his own. Harper pulled swiftly, and the boy staggered as he fumbled for balance. He was quiet for a moment, his hands slipping into his pockets as the moonlight snagged on his curls.

    ¡°What¡¯d you say your name was, again?¡± the boy asked.

    His own hands were just as comfortable in his pockets, and his soft smile was just as natural. ¡°Harper.¡±

    The boy simply nodded, forgoing words altogether.

    ¡°And you are?¡± Harper asked in return.

    There was no fear nor venom left over in his eyes. For once, he was as genuine as the stars above, the gentle glow of the moon crossing the faint smirk upon his lips.

    ¡°Domino.¡±

 42. Up in Flames

    Today was the day, for better or worse, that Octavia pieced together how Dissonance was born. It didn¡¯t take Stradivaria¡¯s help. It didn¡¯t take the Muses¡¯ guidance. It didn¡¯t take Viola, or even Eleanor Vacanti. It was a string of events, based on too much experience, that led to puzzle pieces clicking into place at the worst of times.

    She could partially owe her revelation to Ivy¡¯s rapid descent into violet Hell being externalized in turn. She¡¯d seen a similar case exactly once prior, albeit on an extreme scale. The girl¡¯s surrender to internal indigo was accompanied by the birth of Dissonance itself, vile and billowing as it spouted forever from her fragile body.

    Like a fountain, she served as a vessel, generating an abundance of agonizing fog that spread from her being. Gushing as they were, every cloud moved slowly. That, at least, was in sharp contrast to the rapid onslaught she¡¯d observed with Selena. Ideally, Octavia would forget that observation altogether. Don¡¯t think about it.

    It was a simple enough hypothesis. More bad memories, more Dissonance.

    Good memories touched by poison and plagued by malice were an option. Memories inherently born of hatred and pain were feasible. All were a catalyst for agony, and all were bound to one person alone. Octavia had once opted to label Selena a ¡°walking bad memory¡±. Given the acolyte¡¯s past, she would surely always serve as the shining example of suffering. Whatever Ivy carried, if nothing else, spoke to tainted memories all her own.

    It didn¡¯t explain why Dissonance didn¡¯t always come from those ruined within. As to where that division lay, Octavia didn¡¯t have as much time to contemplate as she would¡¯ve liked. She had as much Dissonance to study as she could ever ask for. So, too, was it difficult to ignore the inferno.

    The scorching heat that erupted around the two Maestros was instant, punctuated by screams of terror and cries of panic. It took a moment for Octavia to raise her head, rolling off of Harper¡¯s body and into the gravel. She feared standing, let alone moving, her heart threatening to burst as she struggled to reorient. It was Harper who acted without hesitation, pulling her to her feet and yanking her into his arms.

    Locked in his iron grip with her face pressed against Harper¡¯s chest, Stradivaria dug into Octavia¡¯s shoulder. He was shaking, perhaps uncontrollably, as he cast wide eyes only forward. Their assailant was stationary.

    Ivy didn¡¯t move, scream, or do anything that would speak to her Dissonant state. Her physical appearance and her blank, toxic stare served as the only tells. Surprisingly, she didn¡¯t so much as flinch beneath Holly¡¯s initial assault, by which the girl beat upon her sister relentlessly with two closed fists in panic. She stopped soon enough, stumbling into the cusp of the alleyway. With hands clasped over her mouth, what few cries of fear she could¡¯ve emitted were stifled. She sank to the gravel with her back to the wall, trembling as she curled in on herself.

    Restricted as she was in Harper¡¯s arms, Octavia could do little to move. Still, if the screaming in every direction was anything to go by, she grasped the severity of the situation quickly. The morning had blessed them with abundant lighting, contrasting starkly with the boiling darkness that so often plagued their lives. Dawn had left every child gathered in one place, caught in the midst of both flame and malice uncontrolled. It was too awful to look. She didn¡¯t have a choice.

    ¡°Harper,¡± she began, casting her gaze upwards.

    He was pale, his breathing ragged and eyes empty. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Octavia snapped. She was so, so sick of that question. ¡°I¡­we can¡­fight the Dissonance, one of us, and the other one gets the kids out?¡±

    ¡°Gets them out of this?¡± he cried, gesturing with one arm to the raging flames surrounding them. With the wavering heat clouding their vision and the smoke--true smoke, born of flame--beginning to roll, they themselves were just as ensnared. ¡°Octavia, I don¡¯t even know if we can get out of this!¡±

    ¡°Well, we have to at least try! I¡¯ll just¡­maybe I can make us a shield, or something? I¡¯ve done that before!¡±

    ¡°A shield of light! You have light! I have fire! What the hell are we supposed to do with either of those right now? We can¡¯t even see the freakin¡¯ Dissonance!¡±

    Granted, she¡¯d never tested it against fire before. ¡°I can disperse the smoke, maybe, and give us a path?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s too much, your light won¡¯t last that long, and that doesn¡¯t deal with the fire!¡±

    ¡°Maybe you can make an updraft, somehow, if you angle your flames correctly?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t fight fire with more fire!¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just give up!¡± she snapped. ¡°We have to try! We have to do something! What did I tell you about giving up?¡±

    ¡°Why did it have to be fire?¡± Harper cried frantically, gripping her shoulders.

    She fell silent for a moment. The cacophony of crackling flames, screaming children, and screeching Dissonance fell to the background of his impossibly-loud breaths and perilously-quick heartbeat. His wide eyes met hers with agony.

    ¡°Why did it have to be fire?¡± he repeated, softer.

    ¡°Har¡­per?¡± she murmured, motionless as he held her in his grasp.

    One deep breath turned into gasping, and his shoulders heaved in the slightest. Tears pooled in his eyes in excess. ¡°Why does it always have to be fire? Why does God hate me so much? What sick force of fate in the universe had to make sure that this is what I got?¡±

    Only when he released one of her shoulders, shaking Royal Orleans for punctuation, did she notice the pain of the instrument jutting into her previously. ¡°This? After what I went through? It couldn¡¯t be wind, or ice, or anything else but freakin¡¯ fire? And now I¡¯m about to lose everything, for the exact same reason, and I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m¡­¡±

    His voice cracked, and his eyes gave way to bitter droplets of pain upon her dress. ¡°I¡¯m useless. Again.¡±

    Octavia held her breath, and not solely secondary to the strangling smoke closing in. She couldn¡¯t help the way she wrapped her hands so tightly around Stradivaria, apologizing mentally for her vicious grip. Her whole body shook. With what emotion, she was unsure.

    ¡°You are not useless,¡± she spoke firmly, her own voice at risk of cracking. ¡°You¡¯re not. This is my fault, they got in behind me. I-I don¡¯t even know where they got that much gasoline, but Harper, someone was trailing my footsteps. I have no idea for how long. I wasn¡¯t paying attention, and it was my fault, not yours! All of it!¡±

    ¡°None of this is your fault!¡± he cried, teary eyes wide with a different flavor of horror. ¡°Don¡¯t say that!¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯re not allowed to, either!¡± she snapped.

    For a moment, Harper was silent, catching his breath as he smeared his tears against his palms. Octavia¡¯s eyes watered much the same. Once more, she couldn¡¯t pinpoint if the catalyst was smoke or sorrow.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t choose Stradivaria, just like you didn¡¯t choose Royal Orleans. Orleanna chose you, and that has to mean something. I know you and fire don¡¯t¡­go well together. It¡¯s cruel, and for that, I¡¯m sorry. Still, what you and Orleanna have is different from everything else the world has ever hurt you with. That¡¯s your fire. No one can¡­take that from you.¡±

    Pain settled in beside the shimmer in his eyes, and his hurt was almost contagious. Harper let her speak. Octavia pulled Stradivaria close to her chest, the scroll of the violin just barely pressing against her heart.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let anyone take anything else from you,¡± Octavia breathed, ¡°no matter what I have to do.¡±

    Harper squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Whatever stray tears still pricked at the edges were stifled by a deep breath. When he met her gaze once more, suffering had given way to something else. Gently, one trembling hand found her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­do whatever I have to do, too. We¡¯ll do this together.¡±

    She gave him the most resolute nod she could muster. Regardless, it didn¡¯t change the situation. No matter how much composure she could offer up, it didn¡¯t quell the Dissonance steadily sprawling across the expanse of gravel. It didn¡¯t ease the sweat dripping down her cheeks, nor the searing heat of uncontrolled flames scorching the earth and air.

    It was starting to hurt, and inhaling was becoming laborious. Every idea she¡¯d concocted had been declined, and with fair enough rationale. Her eyes flickered to Stradivaria. She found nothing. Her eyes flickered to Royal Orleans. She found nothing. Her heart raced. She felt sick, and not from poor oxygen flow alone.

    Panic was bubbling in her throat. There was a worst-case scenario option, by which she¡¯d already entertained the same plan at Harper¡¯s house. Running, granted, would likely kill her. It would kill both of them. She was running out of options. Whatever radiant barrier she could craft would have to suffice, experimental as it was. It was all she could think of.

    She turned to Harper, her pounding heartbeat overshadowing the sound of her scrambled thoughts. She didn¡¯t need to open her mouth to offer up the gamble--for as commonplace as betting their lives had become recently. Simply thinking it was already enough to leave her kicking herself over pushing him this far. It took conscious effort for her to swallow whatever half-hearted apologies rushed to her lips first.

    Her words never made it to Harper, anyway. Her words never made it out of her mouth at all. Neither the Dissonance, nor the roaring inferno, blocked them out. In lieu of a louder sound, it was one singular snowflake alone that brought every thought screeching to a halt.

    Octavia thought it was a mirage, at first, a singular and beautiful sight born of anxiety. Almost immediately, there were more. The flurries that followed somehow outdid the fires that threatened their lives. Unrelenting and fearless, they drifted onwards, their refreshing chill skirting past Octavia¡¯s cheeks. The flickering frost traded innocence for quantity.

    Its ranks doubled, tripled, grew larger still. The whoosh accompanying the weaving stream of snowflakes encircling the two Maestros was audible. Every last one sparkled brilliantly in the face of the fearsome flames looming high. So, too, did their flight strengthen rapidly, fragile snow snagging on something far sharper than a breeze.

    Harper¡¯s eyes touched upon each snowflake in turn, baffling as they were. ¡°What are--¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t let him finish. With Stradivaria still squeezed tightly against her chest, she threw herself against the Maestro. It was all she could do to flatten her body against his as the chilling vortex embraced them in full. The speed was relentless, by which her braids whipped against her face almost painfully.

    She slammed her eyes shut in a desperate effort to dodge the blasting cold, stinging whatever skin failed to escape the frozen aura. The feeling of Harper¡¯s arms wrapping around her in turn, his head low to her shoulder as he stiffened, led her to believe he felt much of the same. Versus ruthless flames, the sensation wasn¡¯t wholly uncomfortable.

    As quickly as their localized storm had come, it dissipated just as fast. She hardly registered the absence of gushing winds in her ears. When next she blinked, uncurling herself from Harper, the same bitter chill was absent. With hesitation, she turned her head. On closer inspection, the flames that had licked at the searing air and fought to choke her out were further than she remembered. She could move. She could breathe, and the nearest steps she could take would no longer burn. The lingering breeze that still teased her hair was still tinged with the slightest icy flavor.

    It was not a circle alone that was spared of fiery wrath. The line of peaceful, flameless freedom that had been cut clean ahead was nearly straight. When Octavia chased it far with her eyes, it was Viola¡¯s visage that she wished more than anything to chase instead.

    So, too, came Madrigal¡¯s. Renato¡¯s. Josiah¡¯s, even.

    ¡°Viola!¡± Octavia cried, her voice nearly cracking with relief alone.

    Part of her didn¡¯t want the girl anywhere near this Hell. Part of her wanted to collapse beneath the sudden alleviation of stress. At her side, the look on Harper¡¯s face spoke to a similar sentiment. In no way could she blame him.

    If the Maestra had heard her desperate cries, she made no indication. Silver Brevada stayed glued to her lips as she pressed forward, lurching dangerously close to the flames without hesitation. That, by comparison, was enough to annihilate Octavia¡¯s relief. She wanted to scream, to beg for the girl¡¯s retreat from scathing orange and sickening violet alike.

    Even so, Madrigal following in Soulful footsteps eased her heart in the slightest. They cast their unified song well above the roaring crackle of the inferno, the painful screeching of the Dissonance, and the frantic cries of children yet unseen. The sound of a flute and harp in tandem was one of the most beautiful Octavia had ever heard.

    Madrigal matched each and every movement Viola made--whether with her lips, hands, or her body itself. Gravel crunched lightly beneath her sandals with each and every measured step. Her fingers flew along the strings of Lyra¡¯s Repose, and her song wove the most spectacular of gusts.

    The Spirited tempest hugged Viola¡¯s every angle, the Maestra¡¯s own shrill notes and trilling melodies spawning spearing shards of hail and sleet. With swift strums and sharp eyes, a vicious gale hurried precious frosts along. Upon every strip of fire came a shower of cold, conquering the untamed heat of the blaze.

    They fizzled, surrendering, even emboldened by the gasoline ocean below. Octavia relaxed muscles she didn¡¯t realize were tense, watching in awe as the two Maestras gradually beat back plume after plume of flame. For how vast the inferno truly was, they had their work cut out for them. Still, the fruits of their labor were more than visible. It was nothing short of a miracle.

    Madrigal, somewhere in the midst of her stormy song, still managed to flash Octavia a brilliant smile. ¡°Sorry we¡¯re late!¡±

    ¡°What the hell happened?¡± Josiah shouted.

    Renato whistled dramatically, settling his hands onto his hips. ¡°Can¡¯t say this is the best first impression of this place. We go through all the trouble of finding it, and this is what we get?¡±

    Harper could only stare at the boy, momentarily lost for words. ¡°I¡­how did you¡­¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t,¡± Josiah answered. ¡°He did.¡±

    One Maestro outdid the shock of snowflakes and gales. One Maestro outdid the strength of sound and the newborn essence of lightning. Curly hair and bare feet challenged a raging fire with equal will. His steps were undaunted by the heated gravel below, nor by the slick substance that threatened his skin. By comparison, the eyes that met Harper¡¯s were plagued with something beyond the defensiveness Octavia knew. She¡¯d never seen them that soft. He tensed, fists clenched at his sides.

    Harper¡¯s eyes narrowed. Octavia¡¯s stomach churned.

    ¡°You knew,¡± Harper said.

    He didn¡¯t need to shout from afar. Of his own accord, Domino approached, his light footsteps in stark contrast to the noisy world around him. Octavia held her breath. Harper held his ground.

    ¡°I-I¡­yeah,¡± Domino stammered.

    ¡°And you still stuck around them.¡±

    ¡°Harper, listen,¡± he began.

    ¡°The kids are in danger because of them.¡±

    ¡°Harper, please.¡±

    ¡°You were--are--in danger because of them.¡±

    ¡°Harper, listen to me, alright?¡± Domino begged, his face contorting with pain.

    ¡°And still, even knowing that, you--¡±

    ¡°Harper, please, just listen!¡±

    ¡°Look at me.¡±

    Harper¡¯s words were sharp. They were bitter, pointed, three firm words snapped in a way that gave Octavia chills. Domino didn¡¯t dare do anything but.

    ¡°Harper,¡± he said, his gaze momentarily drifting downwards, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Shut up and look me in the eyes. Now.¡±

    His words were too sharp, really. The unbroken concentration on his face was unidentifiable. Octavia had never seen razors so deadly in his gaze before. She wanted to blame it on rage, and he would¡¯ve been justified. Even so, she¡¯d seen his anger. This wasn¡¯t like him. It was all she could do to watch.

    Abnormal or not, it hardly mattered. Domino¡¯s eyes quickly snapped upwards to Harper¡¯s own, terrified in their own right. He fell silent, his apologies lost.

    ¡°Are you serious about protecting these kids?¡± Harper asked, his steady voice betraying the unsettling look on his face.

    It took Domino a moment to find words at all. Eventually, they came with a single, resounding nod, his curls bobbing up and down gently. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Harper didn¡¯t dignify his humbled answer with a response of his own. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. One hand delved into the pocket of his trousers. When he withdrew his fingers, they came with a metallic rectangle. Sparkling relentlessly as it was, the violent flames on every side did an instrument just as aflame beautiful justice.

    The knot in Octavia¡¯s stomach was surely permanent, at this point. She watched Harper loft it high, a singular and precise throw sending Broken Bliss sailing into the air. Domino stumbled to make the catch in both palms, his eyes equally as wide as Octavia¡¯s own.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± she murmured. ¡°You don¡¯t think he could be with them?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth,¡± Harper said plainly.

    Octavia tilted her head in the slightest. ¡°How do you¡­know?¡±

    He paused. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Well, well, well, what do we have here?¡±

    Given the circumstances, Renato had more enthusiasm than was necessary. That wasn¡¯t new. He more or less jogged to Domino¡¯s side, taking every bit of excitement along with him. For Harper¡¯s sake, Octavia liked to imagine the prior conversation had been at least somewhat private.

    Domino eyed the Maestro up and down. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡±

    Renato waved, bending down just enough that the gesture was mildly condescending. ¡°I¡¯m best friends with the flute girl--the one you brought here, remember? She and I go waaaay back. Come on, let¡¯s get you some on-the-job training.¡±

    When Renato suddenly threw his arm around the boy¡¯s shoulders, Domino recoiled. It took effort to wriggle out of his grasp. ¡°What ¡®training¡¯? And don¡¯t touch me!¡±

    One cherry oak hand was back on his hip. Renato raised a pointed finger above the flames, speared outwards towards the rolling clouds of deep violet. Fixated on the fire as she¡¯d been, Octavia had nearly forgotten about the other equally-severe problem the situation came with.

    ¡°Scary purple stuff. Really nasty. You don¡¯t wanna get tangled up with it,¡± he explained casually.

    Domino followed the path of his gesture, his eyes wide with shock upon his first glance at pain incarnate. Words escaped him. ¡°What¡­¡±

    ¡°That puts you on clean-up patrol, new guy. Let¡¯s go,¡± Renato ordered, his arm once again back around Domino¡¯s shoulders.

    Domino stiffened in terror. ¡°Wait, what? Are you saying I have to fight that thing? That?¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°I mean, obviously.¡±

    Apparently, Renato¡¯s size and strength outdid Domino¡¯s by a longshot. There was little the smaller Maestro could do to avoid being dragged clean across the clearing. Any resistance he could offer was more so verbal than physical.

    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m gonna listen to you?¡± he spat.

    Even with his back turned and his pace quick, Octavia could practically hear the devilish grin dripping from Renato¡¯s sly voice. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re sassy. I like you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do this myself! Get off me!¡±

    ¡°Alright, then, what¡¯s that thing in your hands called?¡±

    She watched the way Domino¡¯s head flopped downwards briefly, two hands cupping Broken Bliss in his upturned palms. ¡°A harmonica, idiot.¡±

    ¡°Wrong! Try again,¡± Renato teased, absolutely oozing satisfaction.

    ¡°B-Broken Bliss?¡± Domino stammered uncomfortably.

    ¡°Wroooong,¡± he sing-songed. ¡°If you don¡¯t even know what a Harmonial Instrument is, we¡¯ve got a lot of work to do. That means you have to listen to me, don¡¯t you know?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re getting to the far side of the camp,¡± Josiah called to the playful Maestro. ¡°I¡¯m gonna start trying to get the kids out. Make sure they¡¯re okay and all that.¡±

    ¡°Hey, man, don¡¯t forget to use what you¡¯ve got, okay? You¡¯re one of us now. Don¡¯t be runnin¡¯ around like you usually do. I¡¯m gonna train you up real good, too,¡± Renato called back.

    Octavia didn¡¯t need to see Josiah roll his eyes. She could hear it in his voice, just the same. ¡°You are the last person on this earth I¡¯m taking orders from.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Renato?¡± Harper finally shouted, his tone touched by hesitation.

    He didn¡¯t turn around, one hand still strongly occupied with a struggling Domino. Instead, he raised his free hand aloft, high above his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. ¡°We¡¯ve got the yucky stuff, don¡¯t sweat it!¡±

    The arrival of support had been so rapid that Octavia hardly had time to process the shifting situation, let alone soak in the atmosphere. What had been a one-sided Hell quickly evolved into a war. Two Maestras drove a deep offensive into the heart of a raging inferno, while three more--two of whom, granted, were extremely new to their roles--followed in their wake.

    The flames that engulfed the camp were still widespread and prominent. Regardless, she was confident that they were dwindling, notably lessened compared to their all-consuming grasp mere moments ago. It wouldn¡¯t be long before the Dissonance would be assailed by flames of another will entirely.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t see the children. Should their little faces come into view, they would be a magnet for Harper¡¯s desperate and reflexive attention. Even so, she trusted the others. She trusted him to trust them, in turn. She trusted whatever god she could pray to that they hadn¡¯t been too late, and she still prayed for the same.

    That left one singular obstacle, unmoving and unflinching.

    Harper tightened his grip around Royal Orleans. ¡°Should we--¡±

    ¡°Ivy,¡± Octavia said.

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Leave the rest to them. We¡¯ll deal with her,¡± Octavia continued.

    ¡°I¡¯ll follow your lead.¡±

    The exchange was the most she was willing to offer. She traded words for action, clutching Stradivaria as she sprinted through whatever flameless paths met her first. It only took mild effort to hunt for cool footing and safe ground upon which to tread. She was lucky Madrigal and Viola had delved as far as they had, offering a silent prayer for a passage devoid of deadly flames. Still, balancing quick glances at her feet and keeping her eyes forward was a challenge.

    Her one saving grace was Harper¡¯s deliverance on his words, by which he followed her lead effortlessly. She needn¡¯t have worried about leaving him behind. He sprinted behind her, so near that she could practically feel him catching her tailwind. It spared her the burden of looking back. She trusted his stamina.

    Ivy was motionless, as she¡¯d been all along. Dissonance poured from her body still, erupting in endless plumes from her small shoulders. For all intents and purposes, her soul may as well have been fleeing from her skin. Glazed and hazy eyes hardly processed the scene. If they did, there was little sympathy to be had for the destruction she¡¯d unleashed.

    The sight of the girl¡¯s empty expression alone gave Octavia chills, marred by venom as it was. Even now, she wondered what memories were in there. They were out here, now, hatred and pain oozing into the open air. That was all that mattered at the moment.

    Holly sobbed, trembling on the ground as she pressed herself flat against the alley wall. Even partially obscured in the shadows, her bitter tears were plain to see. She didn¡¯t run, nor did she fight back. With certainty, she would never forget what she witnessed today. Octavia doubted she¡¯d forget what she was about to see, too. She gave a silent apology.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go left, you go right!¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°Got it!¡±

    Her unspoken assumption had been correct. With an approaching threat, Ivy didn¡¯t stay still for long. In motion, at least, the billowing Dissonance born of her body slowed. A dripping trickle took the place of a gushing wave. Grotesque, debilitating violet instead clung to the girl, plaguing her very skin in the most toxic of veils. Her eyes narrowed. The emotion behind them was irrelevant.

    Her outfit served as no deterrent for her movement, simple flats doing nothing to slow her rapid steps as she lunged. She wasn¡¯t even slightly as fast as a fallen Selena. Still, her sudden increased velocity was concerning. It was an abnormal speed for a girl of her size and build. Octavia made her millionth mental note.

    Ivy plunged one hand into the pocket of her skirt. It took a moment for Octavia to identify the switchblade. Relative to how quickly slender fingers found their positioning, she doubted Ivy was clueless as to what to do with it. Octavia resisted the urge to flinch.

    It didn¡¯t matter. Resistance was expected. Still, she had to consciously shelve whatever sparking connections were growing between Dissonant people and knives. Octavia gritted her teeth, raising Stradivaria to her shoulder as she slowly drifted to the left. That, too, hardly mattered. Apparently, she wasn¡¯t Ivy¡¯s target at all.

    ¡°Hit her from the side! I¡¯ll get in close!¡± Harper shouted.

    He never slowed for a moment, setting a full collision course with the Dissonant girl. The moment Octavia saw him lower Royal Orleans, she wondered if he was going insane. She almost asked him.

    ¡°Be careful!¡± Octavia cried instead.

    Her fingers moved on instinct. She hadn¡¯t even realized she was playing, her sleek notes eluding her own ears. It was the radiant heat around her face that gave her notice, her skin echoing much of the same as her blood pulsed and burned. She embraced the sensation, content to arm herself ever more with a galaxy of vicious light. Wispy, scathing stars ambled above her head, their trailing tails dangerously hot as they grazed her hair. She became the sun of her own solar system, hot and brilliant with the light of the world at her fingers. Even her leveled breaths, she was convinced, were equally ablaze.

    It was the most light she could safely maintain at once, distributing her movements evenly along the violin¡¯s strings. She wasn¡¯t used to clinging to it for so long, and her concentration was threatened somewhat by her concern for Harper. She trailed him with her eyes, studying his every step for whatever openings she could seize.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Stopping Ivy wasn¡¯t the hard part at all. Saving her life, if that was the objective, was.

    Harper took Royal Orleans in both hands as he drew inches from Ivy¡¯s face. He left his flames by the wayside entirely, nearly propelling himself off the ground as he came down hard with the instrument above her. Octavia winced at the sight of Orleanna¡¯s body weaponized, shining brass crashing down on a human being.

    For that, a tiny, regretful part of her was thankful when Ivy raised one arm in a futile attempt to block. The flat end of her switchblade just barely caught the bottom valves in the process. She stumbled. Harper didn¡¯t. His brutal new style of wielding his Harmonial Instrument was far from shelved, and he speared the trumpet into her stomach. His foot followed suit.

    It was the Domino situation all over again, albeit with much higher stakes. Harper beat upon Ivy, blow after blow, with his bare hands. He twisted his body with just as much finesse as he had yesterday, slamming the flat end of his shoe directly into her side. With his right hand empty, a newborn fist burrowed into Ivy¡¯s cheek with such force that Octavia could hear it from afar.

    She was, at least, cognizant of the way Harper staggered backwards with each kick, shifting one ankle awkwardly. She hadn¡¯t forgotten about the burn. The lack of sleep, recovering injuries, and switchblade inches from his face didn¡¯t help. For lack of better words, he was playing with fire right now.

    The blade in question was brushing a bit too close to him for comfort. Ivy didn¡¯t tolerate his assault. She, too, fought back, her attempts to block startlingly more accurate when unmarred by surprise. She stabbed and slashed, often colliding with the ringing brass of Royal Orleans. Every clang of the blade against the makeshift shield of Orleanna¡¯s body was, too, audible from afar.

    Harper¡¯s punches and kicks were gradually growing less heavy, and Ivy in turn was adapting at an alarming rate. To his credit, Harper dodged as many of her stunningly-precise swings and slashes as he could. Still, the way by which the tip occasionally snagged the fabric of his sleeves or brushed against his bangs was sickeningly worrying.

    Octavia was done waiting. She inhaled deeply before slashing the bow across the strings. Her fingertips touched upon each fret, and her light was finally granted permission to fly. The drifting radiance that had encircled her so dearly stretched and sharpened into the blinding, spearing rays she¡¯d grown so fond of. In careful tandem, she enlisted their aid, setting them free with great force as they sped relentlessly towards Ivy and Harper. She tilted her head, her face pressed painfully hard against Stradivaria¡¯s body as she began to sweat.

    Of the five she¡¯d chosen to offer up, aiming would leave her threading a needle. She knew he knew, for how his eyes had caught hers at least once. Apparently, he didn¡¯t care. Harper¡¯s reluctance to retreat, by which he only took three steps backwards, was simultaneously flattering and ignorant. His trust was, in and of itself, dangerous--particularly given that she wasn¡¯t sure where she should be aiming. If his hesitation to use Royal Orleans properly was any indication, hurting Ivy was a concern. Octavia chose the gravel.

    In a uniform volley, each ray met its ambiguous mark. All five crashed hard into the ground, bursting into luminous golds that left Harper shielding his eyes. Divided between Harper and Ivy, the impact was enough to startle the Dissonant girl. She recoiled, her own arms raised to futilely impede the brilliant light. Octavia wouldn¡¯t give her the chance to recover. With her residual light in tow, outburning the sun on every side, she, too, closed the gap.

    She aimed again. This time, she opted against the ground. Pulling this off while leaving Ivy utterly unscathed was next to impossible. She¡¯d do what she could to mitigate the damage. Two pulsating stars, morphed with more unforgiving, wavering notes, were made malleable by her song. Once more, they were transfigured and reborn, bent into the same white-hot beams yet again.

    Octavia cocked them like the brilliant arrows they were, jerking her bow back against the strings. She sent them sailing, offering another silent apology as she hit her mark. Ivy¡¯s feet fell victim to the sting of her light, and the girl screamed in pain as she stumbled backwards. Stifling her luminous prowess had been a futile effort, apparently.

    ¡°Leave her alone! Don¡¯t hurt her!¡± Holly cried, her voice wobbling.

    ¡°Trust us!¡± Harper called back. Never once did he tear his eyes from the Dissonant girl. Given who he was talking to, Octavia wondered if he could hear himself right now.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna pin her down,¡± Octavia said, willing her voice to remain steady. Part of her still hadn¡¯t fully grown accustomed to her light hurting innocent people--Dissonant or not. She tried not to dwell on it. ¡°Don¡¯t let up.¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°Got it.¡±

    Ivy recovered quickly, pained or not. She found her footing and her stance in turn, hostile eyes already locked onto Harper once more. Octavia nearly missed her chance to impede the girl¡¯s movement, rushing to fire off yet more scorching brilliance in place of stolen steps. She aimed for Ivy¡¯s kneecaps this time, and she found them without difficulty.

    The sound of her agony was substantially sharper, particularly relative to the blistering that settled in almost immediately. By comparison, that was difficult to ignore. This time, unshielded by any clothed protection, Ivy did scrape the ground when she stumbled. Burnt skin digging deep into the gravel only doubled her distress, and she cried out.

    Harper had little empathy. The opportunity was there, and he seized it. With a cry of effort, he twisted his entire body, bringing his foot crashing hard across Ivy¡¯s face as she fell. The force of the impact nearly sent her flying, her limp body tumbling in mid-air before she careened to the gravel. She, too, cried out in pain yet again, outright clawing at the ground as she growled. The injuries to her knees were enough. Octavia watched as the girl struggled to push herself to her feet, arms and legs trembling all the while. This was probably the most she could do without causing serious harm. She went with it.

    Whatever light she¡¯d had left over went upwards instead. Sailing high into the hazy sky, every vivid note from careful fingers sent radiant spears raining to the earth. They outdid her brilliant arrows in thickness and sheen, glowing almost intolerably as they stretched in turn. Each luminous pillar punched deep into the gravel, encircling the Dissonant girl in a blinding prison.

    Unrelenting heat and burning radiance caged her without reprieve. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut. A biting blade had long since surrendered to distant gravel, languishing beyond her brilliant enclosure. Desperate hands clawed at her scalp, her fingernails digging sharply into fraying hair. The oppressive heat alone should¡¯ve been paralyzing, if the luminosity didn¡¯t stun her in full. Octavia still felt bad about it.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Harper began.

    Her concentration with multitasking took priority over acknowledging his words, as rude as she knew it to be. She¡¯d already confirmed her ability to balance multiple applications of her light. It took effort to steady her heart and song with conscious care, granted. By comparison, she hadn¡¯t confirmed her ability to offer up her light and purify all at once. She still hadn¡¯t confirmed that she could do the latter at all. Even now, with Stradivaria upon her shoulder and Ivy awaiting her radiant salvation, Octavia hesitated. Her fingers trembled. The rest of her followed soon after.

    Once upon a time, her inexperience had led to two precious lives lost too soon. Yet another, her perversion of an act meant to heal had reduced a sinner¡¯s soul to ash. Twice, she¡¯d done a disservice to Stradivaria¡¯s light. For the sake of a girl who¡¯d seen such suffering, she couldn¡¯t afford to fail a third time. She was well aware. Even so, Octavia was more than conscious of the way her breath fled her throat with every desperate gasp. Her hands had surpassed trembling, shaking violently as she struggled to consider the deed alone.

    She couldn¡¯t fail. She couldn¡¯t fail. She couldn¡¯t fail again.

    No amount of internal repetition was erasing the visages of two forsaken girls who¡¯d torn each other to pieces. It wasn¡¯t removing the face of the man who¡¯d razed her heart to its core. She could still remember the exact manner by which her hands had burned, the exceedingly specific radiance that had coursed through her blood and spilled onto the strings. It was unique. It was tailored, special in the sickest way. It came with sights. It came with sounds, scents, experiences that dragged her soul to dark places. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    She would fail.

    Should she still try?

    As Ivy was now, would it not be better to grant her a swift death?

    She was going to fail.

    She was going to fail.

    She was going to fail.

    Ivy was going to die.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    It took her a moment to even register Harper¡¯s voice, let alone recall his existence. He¡¯d traded parallel companionship for a blocked path, severing her line of sight with Ivy. With his back to her eyes, he barred her way, unmoving. He spoke nothing more, content only with her name on his lips.

    ¡°H-Harper?¡± she tried, cognizant of the way her voice trembled with every word.

    No amount of mental scolding was enough to stem the shaking, radiating through her blood until every inch of her vibrated in fear. It took all she had to cast her eyes onto his back instead.

    ¡°Let me do it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened, her heart sinking into her stomach. She¡¯d already felt sick, and her nausea worsened twofold. It left her clutching at Stradivaria¡¯s body in a panic as she struggled to maintain what was left of her song. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I want to¡­be the one to do it,¡± he said. Even now, with his attention offered to the Dissonant girl alone, she could see Royal Orleans rising to his face.

    ¡°Harper!¡± she cried. For what, she wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°You¡­you don¡¯t--¡±

    With the mouthpiece inches from his lips, he hesitated. Instead, he turned his head, and she caught a hint of the softest smile cast over his shoulder.

    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to make the good decisions,¡± he said gently. ¡°My job is to look cool in front of you.¡±

    She found no words to gift him in response. In their place, she stole what warmth she could find in his voice. It was all that battled her tremors, racing thoughts be damned. She could do nothing but stare, holding her breath as he hunted for his.

    ¡°All I need to hear is that you think I can do it, okay?¡±

    Octavia found her voice, feeble as it was. ¡°I¡­you can do it. You can do this.¡±

    His gaze wasn''t meant for her, locked onto Ivy instead. Once again, Royal Orleans brushed against his lips.

    ¡°Orleanna,¡± he spoke, firm and confident as she¡¯d learned him to be.

    I hear your words.

    The Muse¡¯s own weren¡¯t meant for her. Octavia couldn¡¯t help it.

    ¡°Show me what the hell I¡¯m doing!¡±

    It will be done.

    When he finally exhaled, raised brass valiantly capturing the sunlight of morning, the differences were striking. Harper¡¯s song was not his own, vastly unlike anything Octavia had ever heard from the instrument. Vibrant and powerful, the ballad he wove resonated through her skin in a way that warmed her inside. Far, far more notable was the rich shift in color upon every ember, sparking into wild flames in their own right. Of all things, they were blue.

    The mesmerizing fires that erupted from the bell came splashed with a stark, incredible sapphire, stealing every ounce of oxygen in the air. Octavia had never once seen blue fire in her life--born of a Maestro¡¯s song or otherwise. Every steady movement of Harper¡¯s fingers against the keys breathed life into a spiraling trail of vividly azure flames. Much like her own light, it called him home, encircling him in full with great precision and balance.

    Octavia watched the way he spread his feet apart, tilting his head slightly higher. With forceful notes of a scorching song, his carefully-crafted cerulean blaze escaped him. Instead, its flight was rapid, barreling forward at speeds that Octavia struggled to follow. Without mercy, Ivy fell into its path.

    His beautiful inferno left speckled embers behind, audibly crackling as it bore down on the Dissonant girl. With incredible care, the rushing flames wove between the pillars of Octavia¡¯s radiant prison. The resulting display as they hugged the circumference of the trap was almost beautiful, wavering cyans and sapphires entangling with blinding golds. The thought of the scorching heat that surrounded Ivy at every conceivable angle was the one downside that threatened Octavia¡¯s satisfaction. The manner by which the girl was, again, scraping her fingernails against her own scalp was supporting the theory of discomfort splendidly.

    Harper found his opportunity in the split second Ivy fought to breathe. Where she searched for oxygen, she would find nothing--and, Octavia prayed, no pain in its place. To swallow wind was one thing. To be besieged from the inside out by light was a question of incredible risk. There was no uncertainty to be had with the concept of fire licking at a human soul.

    She¡¯d promised that she believed in him. It was all she could do, yet again, to pray.

    The spinning flames were unfathomably fast, diving deep past Ivy¡¯s lips and writhing down into her body. They burned with such vivid luminosity that Octavia could physically see the royal blues glowing through her chest. In stark contrast with the thin veil of putrid violet clinging to her skin, this, too, was somewhat lovely in its own horrifying way.

    There Ivy remained, fire swirling down her throat as she was bound to the gravel below. She resisted, scratching desperately at her own neck and clutching at her chest. No amount of shaking her head or battling to pull away was enough to deter Harper¡¯s flames. To his immense credit, they remained steadfast and fueled.

    Whatever was going on mentally was between him and Orleanna. It took conscious effort for Octavia to tune out that interaction. She couldn¡¯t ignore the way his hands trembled violently with effort, nor how he¡¯d been forced to brace harder against the ground. She assumed he¡¯d reached the difficult part.

    ¡°You can do it, Harper,¡± Octavia whispered to herself alone.

    Harper¡¯s notes rose ever higher. With the slightest turn of his body, she could see his reddened cheeks and the sweat dripping in earnest down his face. He played with everything he had, the flames inside of Ivy glimmering brilliantly as she squirmed against their assault. Octavia nearly forgot to continue her own song, and what little light she contributed was threatened by her wandering eyes. Drowned out by the volume of his desperate melody, it hardly mattered. She, too, was desperate. Her heart threatened to explode, and she filled it with faith instead.

    And when the flames burst, at last, they birthed a spectacular display of cerulean and poisoned indigo. From beyond Ivy¡¯s lips erupted a plume of smoky violet, tinted by fantastic blues that incinerated the smog to a crisp. For what seemed like far too long, Ivy¡¯s mouth remained parted, her small body betraying the brutal volume of evacuating Dissonance.

    Up and into the hazy sky above came thick, unforgiving clouds of purple that danced with the conquering fires. Ivy nearly collapsed, heaving silently and uselessly as tears streamed in excess down her cheeks. Even doubled over, hands wrapped around her stomach, each cough only served to expel more of the same.

    A rough estimate led Octavia to guess approximately one minute¡¯s worth of Dissonance. It was continuous, escaping the girl before succumbing in full to raging flames high aloft. Ivy, at last, did crumple to the ground, her scorched knees failing as she collapsed onto her side. Tiny, shallow breaths were Octavia¡¯s only indicator that she''d survived the ordeal. Only now did she release the breath she¡¯d been holding all along.

    Harper, too, fought for his own breath, tearing Royal Orleans from his lips with a gasp. He panted heavily, his entire body shaking as he staggered backwards. Several steps were too many, and he doubled over. Octavia ceased her song instantly, the fizzling radiance of her luminous prison utterly unimportant. She nearly dropped Stradivaria with how quickly she rushed to Harper, poised to catch him if he stumbled in full.

    To her surprise, he didn¡¯t. With one hand on his knee and the other still choking Royal Orleans, he hunted for his breath forever. Somehow, even now, he squeezed out words in between his desperate pleas for air.

    ¡°Did you¡­watch me?¡±

    Octavia forewent a response, embracing him as she nestled her face into his shoulder. ¡°Yeah. You were amazing.¡±

    Flames still lingered and scorched around them. Residual Dissonance still screeched and writhed in the vicinity. Chaos still reigned, audible on every side. For a moment, it didn¡¯t matter. It was one victory, and Octavia indulged in it with her entire heart. Octavia turned her head slightly against Harper¡¯s shoulder, casting her peripheral gaze towards Ivy¡¯s motionless body in the gravel.

    Holly had found her way to her sister¡¯s side, looming over the girl as she continued to sob. Time and time again, Ivy¡¯s name rolled off her despairing tongue. Her eyes briefly flickered to Octavia¡¯s before finding Harper¡¯s, somewhere between infuriated and sorrowful.

    ¡°You--¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll be okay,¡± Harper offered, his breaths slowly steadying. ¡°I promise.¡±

    Holly didn¡¯t argue, tears quietly slipping down her cheeks in place of hostile words.

    Octavia released Harper, straightening up as she pulled Stradivaria into her arms. It took time to find the drive to scan the camp with her eyes. It took additional time to recognize the way by which she could do so at all, blessed with sweet clarity in place of obscure gray.

    Minutes ago, there had been little in the tent-speckled home aside from smoke, flame, and hatred. From here, she could see the silhouettes of the Maestros, still fighting for the salvation of tiny lives that needed them most. A song equal parts Soulful and Spirited was forever beautiful, distant as it conquered the last bastions of flame.

    That left two newly-blessed Maestros and one questionable mentor. Collectively, they were loud. From here, Octavia was torn between appreciating their charisma and wishing that they would stop talking.

    ¡°You gotta hit it harder than that! And look happy about it, while you¡¯re at it!¡±

    ¡°What the hell is there to be happy about with any of this?¡± she could hear Domino growl.

    ¡°I mean, a little smile or two never hurt anybody! Makes other people feel more confident in you, y¡¯know? If someone else sees you smilin¡¯ while you beat the crap out of this stuff, you¡¯re gonna look way cooler!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to look cool, you idiot, I¡¯m trying to keep everyone safe! How the hell did you even become a Maestro like this?¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Charming, good looks, what else could I need? Keep your eyes on your right!¡±

    Domino groaned, Broken Bliss rising to his lips as he eyed the wispy violet approaching his ankles. ¡°Do you ever shut up?¡±

    ¡°How you doin¡¯ over there, Josiah?¡± Renato called instead, his words carried on the wind to a face unseen.

    It took Octavia a minute to chase down the boy in question with her eyes. She finally settled on a tent she¡¯d noticed hours prior, stained by gasoline as it was at the time. Beyond it, Josiah thrust one hand past the canvas flaps.

    ¡°You¡¯re okay. It¡¯s safe, come on,¡± he offered softly.

    His hand quickly filled with one far smaller. Octavia had been correct about the tent¡¯s owner, and she watched as wobbling steps left Louise almost stumbling into the boy¡¯s arms. She trembled, her glasses lopsided and her hair frazzled. Splotchy cheeks spoke to prior tears, and she swiped at what was left as she clung to Josiah. He smiled.

    ¡°Are you hurt?¡±

    She shook her head. With a gentle touch, Josiah guided her out from the tent in full. ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± he said.

    ¡°Dude, pay attention!¡±

    In Josiah¡¯s defense, it would¡¯ve been extremely difficult to see the Dissonance cresting over the height of the tent. The sweeping fog that descended upon them rose high above his head, and his eyes would¡¯ve caught it far too late. Octavia raced to raise Stradivaria to her shoulder. It never made it there, and panic left her outright fumbling the bow as it fell to the gravel below. Ultimately, Josiah didn¡¯t need her help--nor Renato¡¯s, nor Domino¡¯s. He released Louise¡¯s hand, and that which he held in the other sufficed for salvation.

    Octavia kept needing conscious reminders of the boy¡¯s newfound bond with Etherion. The sleek rosewood in his grasp hummed and crackled with every breath, his motions somewhat more skillful than she would¡¯ve expected of a novice. She still wasn¡¯t certain if the lightning bolts were a personal preference or a mandatory manifestation. Either way, they were absurdly loud and ridiculously jarring each time they struck.

    When the Dissonance splintered and writhed beneath his assault, she jumped in surprise. She felt bad for Louise. At a much closer proximity, the child outright screamed in terror, casting her palms over her ears as she nearly dropped to the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± Josiah called back to Renato. ¡°I can take care of myself, I promise.¡±

    ¡°You scare me sometimes,¡± he answered uncomfortably.

    Renato didn¡¯t have his attention for long. Louise¡¯s whimpering was enough to steal it back, and Josiah lowered himself to the girl¡¯s level. One hand settled delicately atop her head as she cowered, his voice softening yet again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Did I startle you?¡±

    She blinked, her eyes filled with fear. ¡°What¡­was that thing?¡±

    He paused. ¡°What thing?¡±

    Louise raised a quivering finger towards the roof of the tent, once home to a haze of violet. ¡°The smoke.¡±

    Only now did Josiah¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°You can see it?¡±

    Even from afar, Octavia had heard the same, and her reaction was nearly identical. She¡¯d misheard, maybe. That wasn¡¯t right.

    She threw her eyes back to the boy beside her at last. ¡°Harper--¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s something I need to know.¡±

    His words, let alone his focus, didn¡¯t belong to her. He glared at Holly, who had since risen to her feet with her sister¡¯s arm around her shoulder. Ivy, in turn, had found her footing, along with her consciousness and breath. Ragged and unstable as it was, she was still standing in some capacity. Weary eyes just barely summoned the strength to acknowledge Harper at all. Whether or not she was in any condition to speak was debatable. Whether or not she could understand Harper¡¯s words was just as much of a mystery.

    ¡°If I let you two leave, will you swear never to take one step here again?¡±

    ¡°Harper,¡± Holly began, her voice wobbling.

    ¡°Because I will kill you if you ever try. Both of you.¡±

    He raised Royal Orleans in one hand, tapping his fingernails against the brass threateningly. Holly gulped.

    ¡°You can¡¯t¡­keep Domino away from us.¡±

    He was silent for a moment, staring her down with utter malice.

    ¡°Please,¡± she begged. ¡°He¡¯s¡­we love him, too.¡±

    Harper narrowed his eyes, his expression unfazed. Instead, he tensed ever further. ¡°Do you promise to never harm my family again? To never so much as try?¡±

    ¡°Do you mean--¡±

    ¡°Answer me!¡± he shouted.

    Octavia winced, as did Holly. The girl quickly nodded her head, whimpering as her pained gaze swam with tears. ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    Harper closed his eyes. ¡°Then get the hell out of here. Now.¡±

    Holly gave no further resistance. Ivy, ever silent, was complacent to be pulled along. Holly moved in reverse towards the alleyway, never turning away from Harper and Octavia. Given the disaster in their wake, she lacked the capacity to literally flee, duty-bound to her ailing sister. Quietly and slowly, she shrunk into the shadows with tentative steps.

    ¡°Holly,¡± Octavia called.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the girl answered. ¡°For¡­saving my sister.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart burned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for whatever she¡¯s been through. Both of you.¡±

    While she couldn¡¯t see Holly¡¯s face any longer, she could still catch the emotion in her voice as it wavered. ¡°I¡­thank you," the girl repeated.

    Octavia watched her depart, their visages merging with the crevices of shadowy paths forsaken by the emerging sun. She pitied Harper first and foremost, and she always would. Still, this hurt in a different way. The tiniest part of her offered up a silent wish for their safety in tandem. So, too, did she spare a plea for their happiness, should the world be kind enough.

    Harper fixed her with a mixed look that she couldn¡¯t discern. ¡°What¡¯s¡­going through your head right now?¡±

    Octavia only gazed at the empty alleyway. ¡°Dissonance has to come from somewhere, right? It doesn¡¯t just¡­show up.¡±

    He averted his eyes, his voice soft. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She peered up at him. ¡°Do you think we should help with the--¡±

    Something crashed into her from behind. She stumbled forward, nearly falling onto her face. It was a miracle that she didn¡¯t, saved only in part by hands ensnaring her waist and a flute pressing into her stomach. Against her spine, she was fairly certain a face was pressed between her shoulder blades. Her initial shock robbed her of a smile that she didn¡¯t think to don.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re safe!¡± Viola cried. ¡°You scared the hell out of me! Both of you!¡±

    Octavia finally found her smile, gently rubbing one of Viola¡¯s clinging hands with her fingertips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe, too. I saw you putting out the fire. You looked really cool.¡±

    She accentuated her words with a surveying glance. Natural colors of a happier world had replaced flame and Dissonance. Only frightened children and stray tears served as souvenirs of a Hell that reigned just moments ago. She couldn¡¯t attest as to injuries at a first glance, although she didn¡¯t hear any true panic. Of those she did find, most were minimal, bound to scrapes and smoke-born complications. It was the first time her pounding heart began to slow. So, too, could she finally breathe a true sigh of relief.

    She lost Harper altogether. Speed once used for offense found purpose in adoration, and he rushed directly into the arms of each and every child in turn. From afar or otherwise, he radiated worry, and Octavia watched as he took turns smothering them in personal attention and reassurance. He was surely exhausted. He was surely aching fiercely. Even so, love came first. It was so like him.

    ¡°I¡¯m so, so confused,¡± Viola continued, unwrapping herself from Octavia¡¯s waist. ¡°I leave for one night and the whole place goes up in flames. What in the world happened?¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a story, for sure.¡±

    ¡°Also,¡± Viola hissed under her breath, ¡°you didn¡¯t think to tell me about that? Seriously?¡±

    When she jabbed one hostile thumb in Josiah¡¯s direction, Octavia stifled a smirk. ¡°I told you there was something at the manor you should know about.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty big ¡®something¡¯ to not clarify! How the hell did that happen?¡±

    ¡°We¡­definitely have some stuff to talk about. A lot of it, actually,¡± Octavia answered.

    ¡°You think?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s something I need to do first, though,¡± she said.

    Of all places for her eyes to wander, roaming the expanse of charred canvas, they settled upon a harmonica in hands too small for its burden.

    Viola didn¡¯t stop her when she tenderly settled Stradivaria into her arms, nor when she made for the boy empty-handed. Why in the world she felt timid around Domino, of all people, was beyond Octavia. She blocked out every lively sound around her, folding her nervous hands together in front of her dress. Every step was equally as anxious.

    ¡°You know, for a novice, you weren¡¯t half bad! Keep it up, and maybe someday I¡¯ll consider taking on an apprentice. No need to thank me,¡± Renato said with a wink, ruffling Domino¡¯s hair.

    The exasperated child buried his face in his hands, the steel of Broken Bliss pressing against his forehead all the while. ¡°You are the absolute most annoying person I¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    ¡°Domino?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s wavering voice betrayed her best attempts at exuding confidence. Domino, too, tensed, his shoulders stiff as he lowered his arms to his sides. The moment he met Octavia¡¯s eyes, he fell silent.

    She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. ¡°You did¡­great today.¡±

    For a brief second, she could¡¯ve sworn she saw the slightest of sparkles in his eyes. Even so, he quickly averted them, his gaze drifting down into the gravel. ¡°Just did what I was supposed to. Nothing special.¡±

    Renato found her searching gaze before she found his. Octavia nodded, and so did he. Quietly, he backed away, making for the others on the far side of the camp. She wanted isolation. He gave it to her.

    ¡°Do you like being a Maestro? So far, I mean?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Domino said. ¡°I think so. I like having this¡­power to myself. I like feeling strong. I like being able to protect people.¡±

    He raised his head, his face tinted with pain. ¡°I didn¡¯t like whatever the hell all that was, though. I hated it.¡±

    Octavia smiled weakly. ¡°That¡¯s part of being a Maestro, sadly. If you¡¯ve got one of those instruments, that¡¯s your job. It always will be.¡±

    His face fell. ¡°I gotta do that forever? Fight that stuff, over and over?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Not all the time. Ideally, that doesn¡¯t happen, but there¡¯s no promises. You never know when you¡¯ll need to. It¡¯s the price we pay for having that kind of power.¡±

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to do this anymore? Then what?¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t find the words to answer. No amount of attempts to string a sentence together were successful. She cleared her throat.

    ¡°I need to talk to someone. This is gonna be really weird. Keep an open mind, okay?¡±

    Domino raised an eyebrow. ¡°O¡­kay?¡±

    ¡°Could you¡­hold out the harmonica? In your hands, like this?¡± she asked, emulating a cupping motion with her own palms.

    He obliged, although not without narrowing his eyes. ¡°Sure.¡±

    Face-to-face with Broken Bliss, nearly at eye level, the Harmonial Instrument was even more beautiful up close. The Harmonial Crest burnt into the corner of the top plate was subtle, and yet shone brilliantly beneath the morning sun. She almost regretted what she was entertaining the idea of doing.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re in there,¡± Octavia said as confidently as she could. ¡°Come on out. I want to meet you.¡±

    In the few moments that nothing happened, Domino¡¯s expression was valid. She could very much understand how deranged she looked. When the light came, majestic and luminous as it burst into something far greater, the roles of insanity might¡¯ve been reversed. Octavia couldn¡¯t blame him, given the gorgeous display of spectacular scarlet that sprung to life before his eyes. Radiance once more pooled into the shape of a human, memorable and unmistakable.

    Just as she¡¯d come to expect, a stranger born of light graced her presence, as brilliant as a star and equally as lovely. With a blinding spark, she was greeted with a crimson aura not unlike Orleanna¡¯s own. Even so, the stature was far different, notably broader and visibly masculine. In stark contrast to Orleanna¡¯s petite and delicate existence, the firm presence and build of the Muse was striking. He was more like Brava, if she really squinted.

    ¡°You are the Ambassador, are you not?¡± the Muse spoke, his voice deep and smooth.

    She nodded, devoid of the initial surprise that would¡¯ve caught her off guard so long ago. ¡°My name is Octavia. I¡¯m the Ambassador. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    He bowed his head low, a gesture of presumed respect she still didn¡¯t quite feel she deserved. ¡°Call me Breileneth. It is a pleasure to meet the Ambassador at last.¡±

    Octavia had expected Domino¡¯s face to fill with shock, confusion, or perhaps horror. Instead, when she found his shining eyes wide with honest awe, something in her heart felt warm in turn. He blinked slowly, his mouth agape. It took him far longer than expected to find any words at all.

    ¡°Can¡­anyone else see this?¡± he finally murmured, briefly peeking over his shoulder at the other children.

    Before Octavia could answer, Breileneth took her place. ¡°My visage belongs only to those who have touched upon our burden.¡±

    Octavia breathed a silent sigh of relief. She¡¯d thought to give the same answer, albeit with half-certainty. Explicit confirmation from a Muse helped.

    Domino nodded slowly. ¡°And have you¡­been in there the whole time?¡±

    It was Breileneth¡¯s turn to nod. ¡°I have, indeed.¡±

    Domino turned to Octavia instead. ¡°And do¡­do all of the--¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Octavia answered with a soft smile. ¡°Everyone has a partner.¡±

    ¡°A partner,¡± he repeated aloud, testing the words of his lips. ¡°It¡¯s¡­nice to meet you, then, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Likewise,¡± Breileneth spoke gently. ¡°You show promise for one so young.¡±

    Domino peered up at him. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Even at such an age,¡± he continued, ¡°you bring great honor to the legacy of the Willful. Be proud of the fire which runs valiantly through your blood, child.¡±

    For the first time since they¡¯d met, Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the way Domino¡¯s lips curled upwards. Soft and genuine, it was beautiful. His smile made her heart sing.

    ¡°Breileneth,¡± she interrupted, much to her own dismay. ¡°I¡¯m¡­here to set you free.¡±

    ¡°You would bear witness to the pains I carry, then.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°The toll. It¡¯s been paid, hasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Of this, you are correct. Do you stand firm in your choice?¡±

    She spared a glance at Domino. Of all things, she hadn¡¯t expected to find his eyes shimmering. With what, she wasn¡¯t immediately sure.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± he asked. ¡°¡®Set him free¡¯?¡±

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°These instruments¡­aren¡¯t supposed to be here. Our partners have a home. It¡¯s my job to help them go back to where they belong.¡±

    ¡°I already have to say goodbye?¡± Domino murmured sadly. The hurt in his voice, let alone his general wording, stung.

    ¡°I¡¯ll say goodbye to my partner someday, too. All of us will. When all of them go back to where they came from, though, that terrible purple stuff will never come back again. This is something we can do together to help protect everyone.¡±

    His forced smile this time was pained, marred by the subtle pinpricks of tears at the edges of his eyes. ¡°I really thought I finally had something special all to myself. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s too late to change my mind, huh?¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but cup her own hands beneath his. Her fingertips brushed against his own, and they carried the weight of the harmonica in tandem. ¡°You¡¯re still just as special, with or without this thing.¡±

    ¡°How am I supposed to protect this place without it?¡±

    Her own forced smile was perhaps equally as empty, although not without genuine effort. ¡°You¡¯ve done it before, I¡¯m sure. You¡¯re smart, and you¡¯re resourceful, and I know you¡¯ll find a way. If worse comes to worst, there¡¯s always people who you can rely on.¡±

    His fingertips curled inwards in the slightest, almost defensively encircling Broken Bliss. Dragging this out would only hurt him further. With as much determination as she could muster, Octavia did what she could to refocus her attention on the Muse above them.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready. I¡¯ll perform the Witnessing.¡±

    ¡°As you wish,¡± Breileneth spoke calmly. ¡°You have my gratitude, Ambassador.¡±

    She already knew what was to come, granted. Still, the haunting words that preceded her death never failed to make Octavia¡¯s heart pound. For Domino¡¯s sake alone, she did everything she could to quash her anxiety--at least for now. Her fake smile was the only weapon she had against darkness far more true.

    ¡°Domino Kresh,¡± Breileneth began, ¡°your toll has been paid thrice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.¡±

    At the mention of his name, Domino¡¯s panicked eyes snapped upwards. It took Octavia¡¯s voice to drag them back down.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay. This is where I come in. You don¡¯t have to do anything. Just hold the harmonica for me, alright? Trust me.¡±

    Despite the obvious fear splashed upon his own eyes, Domino nodded, his curls bouncing with the tiny movement. His hands trembled with the effort of remaining steady as Octavia withdrew her own. Carefully, she positioned her palms above the innocent piece of metal.

    Keeping calm when she came up was going to be exceedingly difficult. It didn¡¯t help that she wasn¡¯t confident about what she was about to see, for all that she knew of the circumstances. Still, panicking would only hurt the boy. There was a very good chance that this would be her hardest toll yet, and for a different reason than she¡¯d expected.

    Octavia didn¡¯t give him anything more than the same smile, desperately filled with as much truth as she could squeeze behind false confidence. She had nothing else to offer a child who¡¯d already lost everything. With closed eyes and a downward motion, she stole yet another precious piece of Domino''s life. For how little he still had to claim, it hurt worse than any death could ever.

 43. Secretary

    The way she¡¯d made it through all three tolls not only consecutively, but while remaining emotionally stable and standing, was a victory in and of itself. Regardless, Octavia did what she could not to let her momentary pride be marred by the severity of the horrors she¡¯d seen. It spoke to nothing of the additional emotional pain she had yet to inflict on the poor child--a child who¡¯d seen enough, if his tolls were anything to go by. She almost didn¡¯t have the heart to look him in the eyes after the fact. It was a blessing that he knew not the exact nature of her task.

    Octavia didn¡¯t feel bad for the victims in the slightest. Each and every one led an unmemorable life marked by a memorable end, well-deserved for those seeking to lay their hands upon a child. One came with a blade, two attacked with blunt objects, and all harbored the intent to kill. She hadn¡¯t expected to be quite so shaken, even after the third time she¡¯d burnt to a crisp. It was one of the most gruesome ways to die that she could imagine, and at the hands of the youngest killer she¡¯d ever seen. It wasn¡¯t quick.

    Perhaps most remarkable was the utter lack of any light shed upon the nature of their situation. True to Holly and Ivy¡¯s words, each of the men led her no closer to a face or name that would match their violent contractor. So, too, were there no leads of which to speak towards a motive. The task of laying siege to the camp was hardly communicated in any capacity on the three separate occasions she¡¯d inspected.

    Their silence was baffling to such a degree that she likely wouldn¡¯t have known of an interloper at all, had the context not been provided by the sisters before. Perhaps it came by word-of-mouth. Perhaps she¡¯d somehow blinked and missed it. Perhaps, horrifyingly, the scale of the crime was perceived as so unimportant that the memory wasn¡¯t worth witnessing. Octavia was no closer to an answer after three separate murders, and the lack of compensation for her troubles was incredibly frustrating.

    Still, nothing stung quite so severely as the worry and pain in Domino¡¯s eyes when she was through. He seemed to recognize when her task had been finished--if not by the strain on her face, then by the way her breathing was slowly returning to a reasonable pace.

    ¡°You good?¡± he asked quietly. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Octavia lied. How could she possibly tell him?

    She didn¡¯t want to give him the opportunity to press her on it. Regardless, her knowledge on where to go from here was nearly nonexistent. For the tolls of the Muses in her inner circle to which she''d borne witness, she¡¯d been bound by the virtue-exclusive promise of continued partnership throughout the duration of her task. Breileneth was not, and would not, be abiding by the same rules. It left her stuck. With her lack of experience, the actual process of liberating him was still a mystery.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Octavia began, peering up at him anxiously.

    To admit to that much would be humiliating, as the Ambassador. Part of her was already embarrassed at the idea alone of taking pride in the title. She kicked herself for not having planned this part through with Stradivaria when she¡¯d had the chance.

    If he thought the same, he made no attempt to show it. He spoke to the opposite entirely. ¡°You need not fret. Have you released one of my own from this world before, child?¡±

    She shook her head in misery. She was, at least, relieved when he didn¡¯t laugh at her.

    ¡°It is quite alright. There is an incantation to be spoken aloud, such that the Ambassador may build the bridge between this realm and that Above. In doing so, that vessel will be no more, and I will return to the place in which I belong.¡±

    He briefly raised one finger towards the harmonica, still cradled delicately in Domino¡¯s clammy palms. Domino winced. Octavia nodded.

    ¡°¡®I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡¯ Ambassador, you will rest your touch upon that vessel, and repeat these words at your ready.¡±

    Octavia took one deep breath, resting her trembling fingers on the cool steel of Broken Bliss as her heart pounded.

    ¡°I have--¡±

    ¡°Goodbye,¡± Domino interrupted softly. ¡°Safe travels and¡­all that. It was nice meeting you.¡±

    When her eyes flickered to him, his unshed tears weren''t subtle. Her heart ached. Octavia considered holding him tightly, if that was something that would bring him any semblance of comfort.

    ¡°And you as well, Domino,¡± Breileneth replied. ¡°You have my blessing. Live a prosperous life.¡±

    Octavia never had the chance to repeat the incantation. ¡°To you, Ambassador,¡± the Muse continued, ¡°I have one final question, if you would permit me.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°O-Of course.¡±

    ¡°What Muse serves as your guide?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head ever so slightly. ¡°My partner?¡±

    He nodded. She couldn¡¯t stem the smile that came with her answer, her heart warm with his name alone.

    ¡°Stratos.¡±

    Breileneth hummed softly, a tiny sound of affirmation that vaguely reminded her of Stradivaria. ¡°Interesting. He would serve as a fine guide, indeed. Please give him my regards.¡±

    Confused or not, Octavia still nodded, ceaseless smile and all. ¡°I will."

    When she found no further input from neither Domino nor Breileneth, their silence served as permission. Once more, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she steadied her racing heart. She wasn¡¯t sure if this was something she could truly mess up--that remained to be discovered the hard way. With as much confidence as she could muster, she gave him the words he had surely sought for far longer than she could imagine.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain,¡± she spoke firmly, ¡°and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

    What followed wasn''t quite the instant disappearance that came with Stratos and his kin surrendering their visible forms. Instead, it was muted. In a slower, softer display that was far kinder to her eyes, Octavia watched as shredded sparkles of that beautiful scarlet were shed in earnest. Breileneth unraveled, every aspect of his glory sprinkling the air with crimson dust. His own disappearance was gentle, and every sparkle seeped into Octavia¡¯s heart.

    Just as she¡¯d borne witness to the worst he¡¯d had to offer, she soaked in every moment of his luminous departure without words. From what would have been his lower extremities--had he truly bared the form of a human--each and every atom of brilliance parted ways, shimmering and dispersing into nothingness from whence it had come. Up and up the chain reaction rose, devouring his torso, fingers, and shoulders. It felt like far too soon that each speck of radiance comprising his head began to twinkle and fade amongst the sunshine.

    Identically, so, too, did his body--the vessel she¡¯d called Broken Bliss. Still resting tenderly upon Domino¡¯s palms, the harmonica disintegrated in the exact same fashion, devoured by an unseen void from every angle. Each metallic inlay surrendered, as did each glimmer beneath the sun. Even the Harmonial Crest itself wasn''t immune to the reckoning of the end, an eternal presence finally granted peace. Where the harmonica slowly and ultimately faded, Domino¡¯s fingers curled inwards beneath the sudden weightlessness in his hands. Octavia, too, twitched at the feeling of much the same, her fingertips brushing against empty space alone.

    In his last moments where she could see Breileneth, his departure was lovely in its own way. He was a dying star, fizzling to a delicate and glorious end aloft. It was no true end, and of that Octavia was well aware. Rather, he was bound for that where he was meant to be. It was a wonderful feeling. Even now, Octavia still hadn¡¯t pinned down exactly what a Muse truly was--sound, light, or something else entirely. For at least a moment, in the wake of his departure, it didn¡¯t matter. Wherever Above was, she wondered if Breileneth could see them from there.

    It was worth a try. Octavia raised one hand aloft, offering a quiet and half-hearted wave to the open air. That was one. It left ninety-five. If that was genuinely all it took, she wondered if he¡¯d be lonely when he got there.

    When she found the strength to tear her eyes from where Breileneth had awaited moments ago, they came to rest upon Domino instead. Willing or not, he''d openly set free his unrestrained tears. They slid down his cheeks, and he gazed at that empty spot much the same with twinkling eyes.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Octavia asked softly.

    Her words were enough to make him jolt, and he smeared his tears hastily against the back of his hands. Domino cast his eyes at the ground, his face stolen from her view in an instant. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°You did great,¡± she offered, just barely managing to summon a smile. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you.¡±

    He sniffled. ¡°You don¡¯t even know me.¡±

    ¡°Domino?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the opportunity to reassure him, let alone find an answer at all. Harper beat her to it.

    His name, particularly in that voice, made the boy flinch. Domino buried his newly-emptied hands into his pockets, just barely turning his head. ¡°What?¡±

    Harper, it seemed, had completed his rounds of attending to each and every tiny victim of the fire. Given the lack of panic on his face, Octavia could safely and miraculously assume that no casualties had occurred. Still, his eyes were flooded with worry, Royal Orleans nowhere to be found in his own naked hands. He didn¡¯t press any further, content to stare wordlessly at the young boy instead.

    Domino shrunk under his gaze, his eyes narrow and his fingers curled into fists. ¡°What do you want from me? What are you expecting me to say?¡±

    Harper took one step towards him. He took another, and another, firmly and quickly in silence.

    Domino took several steps backwards in turn, gritting his teeth. ¡°How many times do you want me to say I¡¯m sorry?¡± he growled. ¡°What else do you want me to--¡±

    His lips met Harper¡¯s shoulder, because his head just barely rose past the boy¡¯s chest. His words screeched to a halt, because the sudden warmth around him served to blunt his pain. His eyes went wide, because Harper¡¯s own swam with tears.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Harper whispered, embracing the boy tightly.

    Domino didn¡¯t move, nor speak, for several seconds. Instead, he began to tremble in just the slightest, his face still buried against Harper¡¯s shoulder. His ragged breaths were audible, and he stiffened.

    ¡°No,¡± he finally answered, his voice cracking.

    Harper rested his forehead against Domino¡¯s hair, the brim of his cap sandwiched between his own skin and the boy¡¯s abundant curls. ¡°You were fantastic. I¡¯m so proud of you.¡±

    Even if Octavia couldn¡¯t see Domino, she could hear his muffled sobs. He raised his shaking hands in the slightest, tentatively returning Harper¡¯s embrace as he settled them upon the Maestro¡¯s back.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe,¡± Harper breathed. ¡°And I love you.¡±

    Domino almost seemed to sob harder, his fingernails digging gently into Harper¡¯s clothes. ¡°I love you, too,¡± he whimpered.

    Octavia didn¡¯t notice her eyes were watering until she felt her cheeks grow wet. She beamed through it all.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡± Viola asked from behind her.

    Had Harper¡¯s return not reminded her of the presence of other Maestros, Viola¡¯s sudden approach would¡¯ve likely stopped her heart. Instead, she managed to nod long enough to stem her interloping tears. ¡°Yeah. We¡¯re all good.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t immediately offer Stradivaria to its rightful owner, continuing to cradle the instrument against her dress. Octavia didn¡¯t mind. In Viola¡¯s arms, in particular, Stradivaria was surely comfortable enough. ¡°Did you¡­you know¡­?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°¡®You know¡¯?¡±

    Viola winced. ¡°Tolls?¡± she tried.

    Octavia scoffed in the slightest. ¡°I, uh, did a little more than that.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°The¡­the next part. After the tolls.¡±

    ¡°The next¡­¡± Viola began, trailing off. When her eyes suddenly went wide, Octavia was torn between whether to shrink under her glare or laugh about it.

    ¡°Harper has people stalking this place,¡± Viola hissed, ¡°someone lights it on fire, there were two new Maestros in the last twenty-four hours, I had a¡­you, you just¡­¡±

    The growl of aggravation that followed landed one of Viola¡¯s hands in her hair, her agitated fingers slowly tangling their way into her locks. This time, it was enough to get a mild laugh out of Octavia.

    When Viola pointed Stradivaria¡¯s bow at her threateningly, it was no longer mild. Even when she was angry, she was fun to watch.

    ¡°We need to talk. All of us. Now.¡±

    <hr>

    Viola had come to label the sudden summons an ¡°emergency meeting¡±, although it seemed casual enough. Ultimately, it wasn¡¯t much different than their usual faire, by which they finally returned to the manor after one of the longest days Octavia had suffered through in a while. With no offense to Harper, being back within four safe, warm walls and with the promise of a bed to sleep in tonight was reassuring. It was only noon by the time they¡¯d returned, and yet Octavia could¡¯ve easily slept for hours. She absolutely couldn¡¯t imagine how Harper was holding up, at this point, nor how he wasn¡¯t completely falling asleep in the chair next to her. She assumed it was the coffee.

    ¡°That¡¯s like, what, your fifth cup?¡± Octavia hissed.

    He smirked. ¡°And, in the event of an emergency, there will be a sixth, if you want me to be conscious for it.¡±

    She didn¡¯t protest when he simply sipped at the teacup in lieu of additional sass. The tableware was somewhat too fancy in contrast to the unrefined nature of the person who drank from it. In his defense, he wasn¡¯t the only one who didn¡¯t routinely fit in with the elegance of Viola¡¯s dining room.

    ¡°These actually aren¡¯t that bad,¡± Renato said, his elbows resting comfortably on the mahogany. In one hand was a perfectly-triangular sandwich slice, his fingers carefully adjusted to accommodate soft food. ¡°Do you have salt? It¡¯d be a bit better with some salt.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly fine the way it is,¡± Viola snapped. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I fed you at all. Just eat the damn sandwich.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Hey, I said it¡¯s not bad, I¡¯m just sayin¡¯ there¡¯s room for improvement. From one chef to another, you know? This is cooking, right? Technically?¡±

    Still in the process of serving food, her hands full with a well-balanced tray, she had little room to physically reprimand him in any capacity. Regardless, she was passing by much too close to him on her way to Josiah. ¡°I can and I will dump this whole thing on top of you. I said eat.¡±

    Renato grinned, raising his hands in mock defeat. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Josiah was largely quiet as he received his small meal, holding his cup steady for Viola to fill to the brim with piping-hot coffee. ¡°Thank you,¡± he muttered.

    The look of disinterest on his face was somewhat unnerving. It stung Viola the moment she caught it. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± she answered a bit too quickly.

    Across the table, the sounds of shuffling and clinking tableware drew Octavia¡¯s attention instead. Madrigal¡¯s focus was of a different nature entirely. Octavia watched as the Maestra delicately and precisely divorced each browned, crusted strip of soft perimeter from both of her sandwich slices in turn. With thick, flaky crumbs raining down onto the porcelain below, it was a miracle she somehow managed to keep the entire inch-thick line of bread intact in the process.

    ¡°You don¡¯t like the crust?¡± Renato asked.

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°Not on this kind of bread. Any other kind of bread is fine.¡±

    Viola lowered the tray down onto the table, the excess coffee and sandwiches surprisingly steady with her gentle movements. ¡°Do you want me to make you something else? I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Madrigal beamed at her instead, two happy hands now comfortably filled with Viola¡¯s culinary creation. ¡°It looks delicious. I¡¯m excited to eat anything you make for me. I love cucumbers, too!¡±

    Viola returned her smile, albeit softer. In lieu of returned words of appreciation, her attention instead fell to more stray noise--this time, the subtle rustling of paper, leafy and muted all the same. It was the first sound Josiah had offered up in some time.

    ¡°Wha¡¯ ah ya do¡¯in?¡± Madrigal asked in between bites of her sandwich, either blissfully unaware or unfazed by her mouthful of food.

    ¡°Keeping an agenda. If it¡¯s a meeting, someone should jot down whatever¡¯s important, because I have a feeling it¡¯s gonna be a lot. I¡¯m playing secretary, I guess,¡± he answered with a tired sigh.

    ¡°A man of many talents,¡± Harper joked, finally giving his concerning coffee consumption a momentary rest.

    Renato smirked. ¡°Damn, do you think he''s single?¡±

    Harper snickered. Octavia, too, would¡¯ve likely found the quip humorous, were it not for the way Josiah didn¡¯t. He stared blankly at the fresh, naked pages of his open journal, fiddling absentmindedly with his pencil instead. Not a hint of a smile or the slightest grin crossed his lips, nor did any joy tint his eyes in passing. Even if Renato was infinitely annoying, it wasn¡¯t like him to just ignore the boy¡¯s jeering. Octavia shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get started, I guess,¡± Viola said, the moment lost on her. She settled down into the remaining chair beside Octavia, her own self-served food and drink awaiting her presence.

    ¡°What did you want to talk about, exactly?¡± Octavia finally asked. She¡¯d been meaning to for hours, in truth.

    Viola groaned, her hands already making a straight path for her head once more. ¡°I have absolutely no idea where to start.¡±

    ¡°Start with the guy whose whole camp place caught fire,¡± Josiah suggested, lazily spearing the eraser end of his pencil at Harper.

    At the mention of his situation, Harper pursed his lips. ¡°Is there that much to say about it? I think everyone kinda got the picture first-hand.¡±

    ¡°Context,¡± he clarified.

    Octavia had forgotten that only she and Harper knew the full story behind the catastrophe. Harper sighed. ¡°Two people I have a very poor relationship with were, apparently, paid to burn the camp down. Don¡¯t know if it mattered if people were there. Don¡¯t know why it was specified that it had to be burned down instead of just destroyed.¡±

    ¡°Paid by who?¡± Renato asked.

    ¡°I¡­honestly have no idea. Haven¡¯t figured that part out, and I¡¯m getting a bit frustrated at how no one seems to actually know. It sounds kinda like a word-of-mouth thing. ¡®This person said this person will pay you¡¯-type of deal,¡± he continued, gesturing with his hands. ¡°There were people before them, too. Multiple. This was going on for weeks, just a bunch of people trying to destroy the same place.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°And all of them were trying to burn it down, specifically?¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know if all of them had the same idea, but the last two definitely did.¡±

    ¡°How did everyone stay safe?¡± Madrigal tried, finally free of sandwich-flavored interruptions.

    ¡°Am I justified in taking a shot in the dark, here?¡± Viola interjected, eyeing Harper from several seats away.

    Harper nodded. ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s a kid that lives with me--kind of. You guys met him. You¡­already know where this is going, probably. He got his hands on a Harmonial Instrument, and he spent basically a month dealing with this whole¡­situation.¡±

    ¡°He kill anyone?¡± Josiah asked coolly.

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Viola hissed.

    ¡°You know exactly why I¡¯m asking.¡±

    Viola¡¯s glare was somewhat dulled by Harper¡¯s reassurance. ¡°It¡¯s fine. He did, yes.¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°Three.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s sharp eyes flickered to Octavia. ¡°And did you already¡­¡±

    She nodded uncomfortably. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The room was silent as he scribbled in his journal, the scraping of his pencil impossibly loud in the tense atmosphere. It was almost awkward. Octavia winced.

    ¡°I did a bit more than that,¡± she murmured under her breath.

    It wasn¡¯t quiet enough to elude Viola. ¡°Can we talk about that part? Whatever ¡®that¡¯ is? Did you actually--¡±

    Octavia raised her palms in front of her defensively. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest with you, I think I want Stradivaria here before I get into that mess. I need to¡­clarify some things.¡±

    Madrigal blinked. ¡°Stradivaria? Why do you need Stradivaria?¡±

    ¡°You think our meeting could benefit from a few more attendees?¡± Harper offered.

    ¡°That depends on if I have to make more sandwiches,¡± Viola muttered. ¡°I know it¡¯s a big room and all, but this place is about to get pretty crowded pretty quickly.¡±

    When Octavia fixed her with a just-barely pleading glance, Viola sighed. She relented, leaning over to unbuckle Silver Brevada¡¯s case tucked beneath her chair. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°Instruments at the table? Seriously? You people have no manners,¡± Renato scolded.

    It had more or less worked out that the violin hadn¡¯t left her side yet. Taking great care not to hit her head against the edge of the table, Octavia, too, slowly unzipped Stradivaria¡¯s case beneath her feet. ¡°It¡¯s not our fault yours are so small. Anyway, out with ¡®em.¡±

    Renato rolled his eyes playfully, not immune to the tint of a grin that snuck onto his face. With a dramatic flourish, he withdrew Mistral Asunder from the interior of his vest, setting the instrument before him with a bit too much force.

    Cognizant of the others doing much the same, Octavia gazed into her cup of coffee, watching the way it rippled with each motion every Maestro made against the table. She wasn¡¯t quite sure how to start this conversation once he was here.

    ¡°Do you seek my assistance?¡±

    The bright flash of the softest gold out of the corner of her eye was her only warning of his presence--more than likely behind or above her. Still, she didn¡¯t look up immediately, content with his voice from here. It was rare that he spoke to her first, and she partially wondered to what she owed the occasion.

    ¡°Did I do it right?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°What is it you have done, Octavia?¡± Stratos asked calmly.

    She¡¯d completely forgotten. During her entire ordeal with Domino, he¡¯d been snugly in Viola¡¯s arms, distant from the scene. She had no formal way of saying the truth out loud in a way that wouldn¡¯t spark controversy from the myriad of onlookers in the room. She was particularly concerned about the glowing ones who had gradually, in brilliant bursts, flickered into the loaded conversation waiting to happen.

    ¡°I let him go,¡± she nearly whispered. ¡°Breileneth.¡±

    ¡°Breileneth?¡± Lyra and Brava practically exclaimed in tandem, their shocked voices loud enough to make Octavia wince.

    ¡°You have met with Breileneth?¡± Stratos asked, his own quieter voice still tinged with its own flavor of surprise.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He says hi, by the way.¡±

    Stratos hummed as always, a short and curt sound that carried tension in place of its usual warmth. She didn¡¯t particularly like it.

    ¡°And as to you,¡± Brava snapped, turning his head sharply towards Orleanna. ¡°Were you aware of his presence? Have you known it was he, all along?¡±

    Orleanna, clinging close to Harper¡¯s seat, nodded solemnly. ¡°I could not be mistaken. Be that as it may, our own take precedence over our emotions. We must focus on what is necessary. He, too, would have concluded the same.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola interrupted, ¡°what are they talking about, exactly?¡±

    She blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­actually know.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, do you mean what you say?¡± Brava asked, his volume just a bit too much for her to handle. ¡°Have you truly guided his path?¡±

    ¡°Guided?¡± Octavia repeated. That was new.

    ¡°Am I correct in assuming that was the nature of your action?¡± Stratos tried in his stead. ¡°You have ¡®let him go¡¯, have you not?¡±

    Octavia nodded, albeit highly confused. ¡°I¡­think? He showed me how. It was the tolls, like always, and then I just had to touch the actual instrument and say something he told me to. I don¡¯t remember all of it. Then he just¡­disappeared, but slower?¡±

    Her description was not solely shocking to the Muses who surrounded her, their vibrant glows speckled with iridescent wonder and aghast of their own accord. The room had practically frozen over, breaths bated and words absent. Eyes were wide. At least two people had become utterly still, sandwich slices still aloft in their hands in an almost comical display. She could see it sink in.

    ¡°You¡­freed one of them?¡± Viola finally asked, her voice shaking in the slightest.

    Octavia was aware that the discussion would be awkward. She hadn¡¯t been expecting it to be quite this severe. She shrunk in on herself, resisting the urge to curl into a ball under dozens of eyes. ¡°Was I¡­not supposed to?¡±

    ¡°This is¡­wonderful,¡± Lyra breathed. ¡°Ambassador, take no shame in your actions. Rather, be proud of the service you do not simply to your legacy, but to our kind as a whole. We are in your debt, as is he most of all. He has returned to his rightful place. He now sees this world from Above, as was meant to be.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, you freed one of them,¡± Viola repeated.

    Renato whistled. ¡°That¡¯s¡­wow. Good God, Tavi, you¡¯re killin¡¯ it. Keep it up.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re amazing!¡± Madrigal cheered, hands high in the air with a sandwich slice in tow. So quickly did she raise them that a slice of cucumber nearly hit Renato in the face as it slid out of place. ¡°At this rate, we¡¯ll be all done before we know it!¡±

    Harper ran one hand through his bangs, his eyes glued to the table alone. ¡°That was¡­Domino¡¯s, then?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Octavia answered plainly.

    ¡°Is he defenseless now? Against the Dissonance, I mean?¡±

    When Harper lifted his eyes to hers, loaded with concern, Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. She knew the consequences of erasing Broken Bliss in terms of resisting mortal threats, at least. Of that, there was always an alternative, gruesome or otherwise. Safety from Dissonance was a separate concern. There was a singular option, and she¡¯d ripped it straight from his young hands without a second thought--immediately after the ordeal with Ivy. Her heart could¡¯ve stopped. She¡¯d made a mistake. She couldn¡¯t undo it.

    Slowly, in abject terror, she raised her head towards Stratos. She wanted to vomit.

    To her incredibly immense surprise, he shook his head. ¡°That is not necessarily so. Above, we are restored to the grace we once possessed. We are strong together, this is true. Even so, there is still something to be done by the hands of one alone.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°Breileneth will play his part in salvaging what has been damaged,¡± Stratos clarified. ¡°To what he can offer, he will serve to protect that which his own holds dearest within.¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°He¡¯s going to stop the Dissonance by himself?¡±

    ¡°That which besieges only what the boy treasures alone,¡± Brava added. ¡°Such is our apology, upon which we have agreed for the sake of the Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°A¡­pology?¡± Viola asked tentatively.

    Octavia knew the word. She had a vague suspicion of the downward spiral it led to. If she was trying to dodge opening chaos-filled boxes, Stradivaria¡¯s--rather, Rani¡¯s--story was meant to be sealed and stuffed in the deepest recesses of her to-do list.

    ¡°Is that the case for every Maestro?¡± she asked instead, desperate to change the subject.

    Brava nodded. ¡°To each of our own, we will endeavor to defend that place which each carries closest to their heart.¡±

    His wisdom was interrupted, yet again, by the incessant scratching of pencil against paper. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure what Josiah was taking note of, at this point. Even so, she vaguely wondered what it was that Domino held most dear. It wasn''t immediately obvious where she would choose, should she be given the choice. She roughly suspected, in the former case, that the boy might¡¯ve opted for the camp. In her own instance, she wondered if she¡¯d be granted permission to choose where those she cherished were. She wondered if she¡¯d be able to choose at all. It was a concept more troubling than comforting.

    ¡°Is he gonna keep seeing Dissonance forever?¡± Harper asked nervously. ¡°I know it sounds like it won¡¯t really be a problem for him anymore, but if it¡¯s ever near him again¡­is he gonna have to see that for the rest of his life?¡±

    ¡°It is¡­an inescapable curse,¡± Orleanna offered. ¡°What has been awakened cannot be taken away. It pains me to say so, but the boy is afflicted with the burden of sight he will never shed.¡±

    Harper¡¯s face fell rapidly, his hands balling into fists with or without his knowledge. Octavia found herself pressing her palms to the tabletop with more force than she¡¯d anticipated.

    ¡°T-Then we¡¯ll get rid of the Dissonance as quick as we can, so there¡¯s nothing left for anyone to see.¡±

    ¡°A task easier spoken than undertaken,¡± Mente muttered.

    She¡¯d completely forgotten they existed, frankly, finding the two Muses of Mistral Asunder afloat adjacent to Renato¡¯s hat--always the hat. Renato didn¡¯t particularly seem to mind, for once. The remaining half of his sandwich was doing a solid job at distracting him.

    ¡°Speaking of Dissonance,¡± he began in between bites, ¡°that was an awful lot for one tiny camp. Where the hell did all that come from?¡±

    If Octavia was wincing before, she was now outright cringing so hard that she risked giving herself a headache. She squeezed her eyes shut, weighing the best words for an answer. She wondered if Harper would beat her to it. She was half-right.

    ¡°Ivy?¡± he offered weakly, his tone unsure. ¡°But it was¡­a lot. It was like she was making it herself.¡±

    ¡°Because she was,¡± Octavia added. By now, she¡¯d given in to hugging herself tightly, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her dress. ¡°I haven¡¯t figured it out yet, but¡­I think some Dissonant people can make more Dissonance. I just don¡¯t know why it¡¯s not all of them.¡±

    She knew the exact example she could give. It was sitting right on her tongue, and it would complete the puzzle beautifully. She didn¡¯t dare use it, especially not with the boy casually jotting away at his journal in peace across the table. She couldn¡¯t.

    It was the way he stopped writing to lock eyes with her, his head rising slowly from the paper rather than snapping upwards, that sent a chill down her spine. Octavia couldn¡¯t tell if Josiah was daring her to utter the name or simply waiting to see if she brought up Selena at all. She swallowed all three syllables on her tongue.

    ¡°That girl, she made all of that?¡± Viola asked with surprise. ¡°Everything we saw?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°She¡¯s been through something. I mean, I think all Dissonant people have, right? That¡¯s how they get that bad. If Dissonance comes from bad memories, then they¡¯ve gotta be really bad to make them¡­act like that. Maybe the extra Dissonance is more memories?¡±

    ¡°Let me offer something,¡± Josiah interjected, barely raising his voice beyond the same monotone level it had been at all along. Again, his chilled eyes ran her through as he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s just a theory, but I wonder if a person can only handle so many bad memories because they start spilling over.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°You mean, like¡­the Dissonance is residual?¡±

    ¡°What fits, fits,¡± he continued. ¡°What doesn¡¯t, doesn¡¯t. If too much hits you at once, who¡¯s to say you can deal with all of it at the same time? And the worse--the more you¡¯ve got in there, the worse you make. Makes sense, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly once more. Beside her, Viola did the same. She didn¡¯t much like the implications. Still, it was the best explanation they had.

    ¡°Explains a lot, doesn¡¯t it?¡± he added, his gaze so icy she wondered if she might freeze. Throwing up was also an option. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    Whatever cold aura he was emitting, even from across the table, was enough to make Harper shudder in turn. ¡°I know Ivy and I don¡¯t get along in the slightest, but I don¡¯t think anyone deserves that. I imagine being Dissonant isn¡¯t very fun.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the way Viola pursed her lips. She, herself, had to consciously fight to keep the sassy tell me about it off her tongue. ¡°You didn¡¯t really seem to have too much fun just getting close to Dissonance, you know.¡±

    He winced. ¡°Yeah, that¡­wasn¡¯t exactly a blast, either.¡±

    ¡°Josiah thinks maybe some people have to develop an immunity to Dissonance,¡± Octavia clarified for the table--and for the onlookers above it. ¡°Maybe the first time they¡¯re around it is the worst. Maybe¡­some people have different reactions, too.¡±

    Renato scoffed. ¡°Like a damn disease.¡±

    ¡°It kinda is,¡± Madrigal said sadly.

    ¡°Was this earlier?¡± Viola whispered to Octavia alone. ¡°I thought he was fine during the fire.¡±

    She shook her head, strongly considering pruning several pieces of the events that preceded the blaze. She wasn¡¯t particularly certain that Viola would react well to the ¡°forgetting Stradivaria and nearly dying¡± part. ¡°We, uh, ran into some trouble yesterday while I was looking for him, and he passed out. He¡¯s fine now. He¡¯s just never been that physically close to Dissonance before.¡±

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    It didn''t stay that quiet, apparently. Renato shrugged. ¡°I mean, you looked alright earlier at the camp. Everyone did awesome, even with the Dissonance, and we all made it through okay. No one died. I love it when no one dies.¡±

    Octavia forced a smile. ¡°You guys are lifesavers. We were really in a tight spot. I don¡¯t know what would¡¯ve happened if you hadn¡¯t all shown up.¡±

    ¡°Thank your friend, remember?¡± Madrigal added, her bright smile true by comparison. ¡°He knew where Viola lived, somehow.¡±

    ¡°It was kinda creepy,¡± Renato muttered.

    Harper chuckled. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t put it past him to be keeping tabs on me. Probably not Viola.¡±

    ¡°You speak as though you have put up a fight worth merit.¡±

    Aste¡¯s words, shrill as they were, were sharp and biting in a way that made Renato stiffen. Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted upwards to the Muse above him, unfazed by his reaction as they continued.

    ¡°How long will you drag out this charade? Doff your mask and speak the truth.¡±

    Renato remained utterly silent, his face blank. Octavia tilted her head. Most eyes in the room that had clung to her were slowly shifting their target, little by little.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Octavia asked, aiming her own gaze a bit higher.

    ¡°The abject foolishness, of this we were aware,¡± Mente continued in Aste¡¯s place. ¡°The cowardice, this was new. The boy speaks as though he, too, fought valiantly. In truth, he did naught for your cause.¡±

    Octavia stared at Renato instead, his head tilted downwards. The brim of his hat blocked his eyes, much to her dismay. She couldn¡¯t pin him down.

    ¡°You¡­didn¡¯t fight?¡± Viola pried.

    For a moment, he didn¡¯t answer. He finally shrugged, returning the pointed looks encircling him with false confidence of his own. ¡°I mean, you guys should¡¯ve seen Domino if you didn¡¯t get to. Spent the whole time with him. He was awesome. Kid can really fight, even if he was brand new to Maestro stuff.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t fight, then,¡± Harper concluded, his voice soft.

    There were no accusations, hostilities, or anything adjacent to slander, whether born of Maestros or Muses. Mente and Aste¡¯s words had clearly stung hard enough. Octavia doubted anyone would¡¯ve berated him, regardless. Renato was loud. He was, on occasion, very annoying. He was cocky, hot-headed, sassy, and strong. He wasn¡¯t a coward, and he would never flee from a fight. It wasn¡¯t in his blood.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Madrigal stole the question from everyone¡¯s lips. It didn¡¯t garner an answer any faster. Renato crossed his arms, his elbows resting against the tabletop. They gave him all the silence he needed, fishing for words that wouldn¡¯t come. He was quiet for what felt like far too long--and far too unlike him. Octavia watched the way his shoulders rose and fell just the slightest bit faster.

    ¡°Renato?¡± she said softly.

    He raised his head for her and her alone. His eyes met hers, and Octavia recognized the expression on his face. She hadn¡¯t seen it in a while. The pain she found behind his glassy gaze was as clear as it was unmistakable. Very slowly, she followed the way his eyes drifted downwards to the cherry oak clinging to his skin. They rose back up to her own, then again. She hoped the hurt on her face didn¡¯t serve to sting him further.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Aste mused, close enough to his ear to make Renato jump. ¡°So that is why.¡±

    Renato¡¯s sudden scare had him swatting at the Muse futilely. ¡°God, mind your own business!¡±

    Mente, too, had circled him from the opposite side. ¡°You truly are a fool, then.¡±

    ¡°Not once have you called upon us since that time. I assure you, boy, if we deemed you to be useless, we would take our leave,¡± Aste murmured.

    Renato, usually confident enough to withstand their razor-sharp hostilities, was breathing heavily enough that Octavia feared for his mental stability. ¡°I-If you¡¯ve got nothing positive to say to me, then you can just shove off!¡±

    ¡°On the contrary,¡± Mente offered. ¡°We invite you--rather, implore you to take hold, once again, of the strength that befits your legacy.¡±

    ¡°If you deny us even this,¡± Aste hissed, ¡°then there will be a different matter of which to speak.¡±

    For whatever reason, Renato¡¯s eyes darted back to Octavia¡¯s. Even with nothing to offer him, the pang of obligation that bit her was impossible to ignore. The silent room was, otherwise, giving him absolutely no mercy.

    She had one idea, made possible only by the way he¡¯d already given her his panicked gaze. Octavia drew lines with her eyes. She darted them left and right, briefly touching upon each Muse adjacent to his body. She came back to meet his own gaze once more, tapping her forehead with one gentle finger twice. It took him a minute. Eventually, his eyes widened in the slightest with realization. After a few moments, they found the table just beyond his false fingers instead of her.

    There was nothing, briefly. It took honest effort for her to consciously remember to eavesdrop, particularly given her prior efforts to block out words not meant for her. Even now, part of her questioned if he¡¯d genuinely want her there. She opted to beg for his forgiveness rather than ask for his permission. Scraps of conversation, alternating between shrill and not, finally floated where she could catch them.

    You must at least attempt.

    Do as you have always done. The rest will come from our guidance, as has been the case.

    Surely your body has not forgotten the motions. Your muscles have not forgotten their purpose, and you have not forgotten your strength. There is naught to fear but your own hesitation.

    Such power transcends the limitations of any vessel, organic or otherwise. It matters not.

    If that is your concern, then we will see to it that it is so. All will be as it was when you are adjacent to our strength.

    Come, let us prove that you have no excuse to stay your fury in battle.

    Yes, now. I will not repeat myself.

    The suddenness with which Renato scooped one half of Mistral Asunder into his right hand and flicked his wrist forward nearly scared Octavia to death. The burst of sound that followed did her no further favors. It was a miracle that, somehow, his aim had eluded the in-use tableware currently settled in front of each respective Maestro. Still, that didn¡¯t offer any protection to the spare teacups on Viola¡¯s leftovers tray.

    It was a further miracle that he¡¯d managed to only hit one. The blast was centered and precise, the elegant ceramic piece shattering into a dozen shards with a startling crack. Octavia gasped, as did Harper. Madrigal outright screamed, thoroughly startled by the jarring sound so near to her.

    ¡°Unnecessary!¡± Viola shouted, gesturing wildly in the direction of the poor cup¡¯s remains.

    ¡°And you felt the need to do that¡­why?¡± Josiah asked.

    Renato didn¡¯t dignify either of them with a response, nor was he so much as acknowledging the broken cup to begin with. Rather, his left hand had since filled with Mistral Asunder¡¯s other portion, both slices of cherry oak carefully cradled amongst more of the same. His hands shook. That much was both obvious and expected. More than that, Octavia couldn¡¯t tear her eyes away from each of his fingers flexing, curling inwards and outwards without his personal intervention.

    Fluidly and naturally, he moved each joint with no manual interference, as she¡¯d otherwise grown used to seeing him do. He closed his hands in full around each drumstick, squeezing tightly before relaxing his grip once more. He repeated the motion at least two more times, eyes glued to every minimal movement of his extremities. Octavia was guilty of the same.

    ¡°Renato,¡± she murmured.

    Only now, in acknowledgement of her voice, did he look up. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    Even with his expression neutral, his face mostly tinged with surprise and wonder, the tears that dripped delicately from the corners of his eyes weren''t subtle. They plopped, one after another, down onto the same cherry oak he¡¯d been inspecting in so much detail moments ago--still flexing and moving experimentally. He was otherwise completely calm, and she only stared for a moment. So, too, did her companions, although with substantially more confusion.

    So much focus rested upon the shattered cup that Octavia had to wonder if anyone noticed the quiet movements of his joints besides her. The tremendous gravity of the moment and its incredible implications were, perhaps, completely lost on them.

    ¡°That¡­that was pretty cool, huh?¡± he chuckled half-heartedly, his words wobbling in the slightest as he fixed Octavia with a grin.

    She returned his smile, albeit softer. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    When his tears continued to fall unknowingly, she tapped her cheek with one finger. His eyes widened.

    ¡°Oh, crap,¡± he muttered, swiping at his eyes with his newly-flexible palms. It took effort not to stab himself in the eye, still clinging to Mistral Asunder for dear life. Octavia giggled.

    ¡°Those are expensive,¡± Viola hissed. ¡°What the hell is your problem?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t cry,¡± Madrigal murmured, gently patting Renato¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We can get a new cup.¡±

    He held fast to his grin regardless, weak as it was. ¡°Not my fault you guys are boring me to tears. We ever gonna talk about anything more fun than Dissonance or lighting stuff on fire? Tryin¡¯ to liven up this meeting a little.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­got something else,¡± Harper offered, raising one hand tentatively.

    When he didn¡¯t continue, Octavia did what she could to nudge him. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna sound really weird,¡± he added. ¡°Putting that out there right now.¡±

    He shifted in his seat, resting his cheek against one hand before he continued. ¡°I had this¡­weird experience back at the camp. Twice, actually. I¡­don¡¯t know how to put it into words.¡±

    ¡°Spit it out as best as you can,¡± Josiah tried. ¡°General gist of it, no matter how crazy.¡±

    Harper bit his lip. ¡°I asked Domino something to see if he¡¯d lie to me. He didn¡¯t. I asked Holly something, too. Same reason. She didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Octavia asked. She''d been there, and she still didn''t understand.

    ¡°Can you try something with me really quick?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Sure?¡±

    ¡°I need you to lie to me.¡±

    She stifled a smirk. ¡°If you know I¡¯m lying, how is that gonna help anything?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll¡­see what I mean. The thing is, I need you to look at me for it.¡±

    Shut up and look me in the eyes. Now.

    Octavia had absolutely no idea where he was going with this. Still, the look on his face back then was jarring enough to stay with her even now. She was almost afraid to oblige. It took effort to meet his eyes willingly, knowing what she¡¯d find.

    To her immense surprise, the look on his face wasn¡¯t nearly as sharp as she¡¯d expected. There was much less hostility by comparison, and she chalked it up to the nature of the prior situation. Even so, his gaze still held an edge to it, somewhat piercing and restrictive. It didn¡¯t quite give her chills. It still left her feeling vulnerable enough that this whole exercise was suddenly mildly uncomfortable. It wasn¡¯t a look she¡¯d seen him wear before.

    ¡°What month is your birthday?¡±

    For the sake of ending things quickly, she almost instinctively blurted out the correct answer. It took conscious effort on her part to give a false reply.

    ¡°October,¡± she answered as firmly as she could. She usually considered herself to be a pretty decent liar. Even so, her voice wavered somewhat beneath his gaze. Keeping her composure in full was impossible, unsettled as she was.

    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± he responded softly after a moment. ¡°Keep going.¡±

    He never took his eyes off hers. She didn¡¯t particularly want to keep going. She doubted she had a choice. ¡°July.¡±

    ¡°Lying.¡±

    ¡°April.¡±

    ¡°Lying.¡±

    ¡°January.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still lying.¡±

    ¡°September.¡±

    He blinked slowly, tilting his head in the slightest. ¡°You¡¯re telling the truth.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t remember telling you about that.¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°That¡¯s the thing. You never did.¡±

    Viola, too, seemed baffled. ¡°Did someone else tell you? That¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Neat party trick,¡± Renato said with a smirk. ¡°Read her like a book.¡±

    Harper shook his head, finally freeing Octavia of his oppressive gaze. At last, she could breathe. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s it,¡± he said. ¡°Again, I can¡¯t¡­explain it.¡±

    ¡°Do me next!¡± Madrigal pleaded, raising her arm high as she waved. ¡°I wanna try!¡±

    Even given his serious prior request, Harper still couldn¡¯t help but smile softly. ¡°Alright. You have to look at me, okay? In my eyes.¡±

    ¡°¡®Kay,¡± she said, leaning with great exaggeration over the table to oblige.

    ¡°What¡¯s your favorite color?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Red,¡± Madrigal answered happily.

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie.¡±

    ¡°Yellow.¡±

    ¡°Lie.¡±

    ¡°Blue.¡±

    ¡°Lying.¡±

    ¡°Green.¡±

    ¡°Alright, that one¡¯s the truth, but I feel like I should¡¯ve picked a harder question,¡± he muttered.

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°That¡¯s Lyra¡¯s color.¡±

    ¡°Hey, listen,¡± Renato interrupted, ¡°my birthday is in March, my favorite fruit is peaches, and I was born left-handed. Which one of those is true?¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°Wait, you were born left-handed?¡±

    Both Octavia and Renato, in turn, exchanged a glance of surprise. ¡°Wait a minute, seriously? He¡¯s three for three,¡± Renato said with shock. ¡°This is kind of scary.¡±

    ¡°Is this¡­new?¡± Viola asked, still perplexed in her own right. ¡°Did you just find out this was a thing that you could do?¡±

    Harper sighed. ¡°I have absolutely no idea what¡¯s going on. This just showed up yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Test me.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s request was perhaps as sharp as Harper¡¯s eyes. Really, it was more of a demand than a request. It was Harper, instead, who seemed hesitant to meet his icy expression, still equally disquieting in its own right.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve got a trick to it or what, but you¡¯re asking things that are too easy to figure out on people who show way too much emotion on their faces. Test me.¡±

    Octavia winced. Still, he had a point. Harper didn¡¯t resist any further, angling himself at the table to face the skeptical boy.

    ¡°Alright. Look me in the eyes, then,¡± Harper asked tentatively.

    The look Josiah fixed him with was simultaneously hostile and hollow enough that Harper recoiled for a moment. He steeled his own gaze with a deep breath before continuing. Somehow, it was Josiah who had come to order him instead.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna tell you something, and you tell me if I¡¯m lying or not.¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°Go for it.¡±

    ¡°I was born in December.¡±

    He steadied his breathing once more. ¡°You¡¯re telling the truth.¡±

    ¡°I met Selena when I was six.¡±

    At the mention of the name alone, the atmosphere froze over to such a degree that Octavia¡¯s blood could¡¯ve clotted. The point was valid. She still didn¡¯t like where this was going in the slightest.

    ¡°Y-You¡¯re lying,¡± Harper replied. Apparently, he, too, was not immune to the incredibly uncomfortable questioning.

    ¡°Seven.¡±

    ¡°Lying.¡±

    ¡°Five.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    Josiah paused for a moment before continuing. ¡°My mother¡¯s name is Felicia.¡±

    ¡°True.¡±

    ¡°And my father¡¯s name is Isaac.¡±

    ¡°Lie.¡±

    ¡°Isaiah.¡±

    ¡°True.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± he murmured, his words devoid of any true praise. Again, he hesitated, inhaling slowly.

    ¡°When I was eight years old, I fell down the steps of the church while I was playing, rolled all the way to the bottom. I was mostly fine. Broke one of my fingers. My left thumb, my right thumb, my left index finger, my right index finger, my left middle finger, and my right middle finger were all okay. I broke the ring finger of my left hand.¡±

    By now, he was no longer simply looking into Harper¡¯s eyes. He was glaring daggers into his entire being, daring him to falter. If Octavia could feel his hostility from here, she had absolutely no doubt that Harper was suffering tremendously under the pressure of his gaze. Still, Harper¡¯s composure was admirable, his voice calm as he answered.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t break your left ring finger,¡± he spoke softly. ¡°You broke your right index finger.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s chilling glare thawed almost instantly, replaced with something indescribable. Wordlessly, his eyes fell back to the journal before him instead, cast down towards the fervent notes he¡¯d made throughout the duration of their lengthy conversation.

    ¡°Well?¡± Renato pressed. ¡°Was he right?¡±

    Josiah nodded slowly, never raising his head. ¡°He¡¯s right. Every single one.¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Well, that¡¯s kinda terrifying.¡±

    ¡°Do we have¡­any actual explanation for this?¡± Octavia murmured aloud. ¡°Is this a Maestro thing?¡±

    ¡°Anyone else have any ¡®weird experiences¡¯ lately?¡± Josiah asked, his voice still sharp despite the absence of his gaze.

    Viola pursed her lips. ¡°I¡­might¡¯ve had something. When we met Domino, I just got this¡­feeling, like something was different. Actually, I had it before I even saw him for the first time, when I was looking for Harper. I felt this¡­¡®something¡¯, I guess, for lack of a better word, and I followed it all the way to him.¡±

    Her eyes flickered to Harper. ¡°When I got there, I had a really strong feeling he was a Maestro. I was right. I don¡¯t know how I was right.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why you attacked him?¡± Harper asked.

    Viola nodded. ¡°No offense to him, but I had a pretty strong feeling he¡¯d be fine.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°You knew he was a Maestro without asking him?¡±

    ¡°I know it sounds ridiculous. The weirdest part is that it¡¯s not even the first time that particular¡­¡®something¡¯ has come up before.¡±

    Viola turned her head towards Octavia at her side, her voice soft. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s the same feeling I had the night I met you. It¡¯s¡­what I followed to Silver Ridge.¡±

    Even in the midst of what was, objectively, a serious conversation, Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle the smile that crept onto her lips. For whatever strange forces had led Viola into her life, she was grateful.

    ¡°Explain,¡± Josiah snapped.

    Viola blinked, flinching beneath his harsh tone. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. I was told my best bet with finding more Maestros was heading outside the capi--¡±

    ¡°Not you. Him.¡±

    It was only then that Octavia noticed Josiah¡¯s piercing eyes cast well above her own head, far from Viola and herself alike. Rather than either of the Maestras, it was instead Stratos who rested squarely in Josiah¡¯s visual line of fire. For reasons she couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint, Octavia noticed her heart gradually beginning to beat just a bit faster.

    ¡°You ask something of me, then, child?¡± Stratos offered calmly, his smooth voice in stark contrast to Josiah¡¯s sharp hostility.

    ¡°I know for a fact that this has something to do with you guys. I¡¯m positive about that. Explain.¡±

    ¡°You are both brave and foolish to take such a flippant tone with a Muse,¡± Brava scolded. ¡°The boy knows not his place.¡±

    ¡°You owe us that much,¡± Josiah argued, undeterred.

    ¡°You are¡­your capacity to wield such strengths befitting of your legacies grows beyond the speed of our expectations each day--each of you,¡± Lyra spoke. ¡°Know that we did not expect such to come about so soon.¡±

    ¡°It could very well be the influence of the Ambassador,¡± Mente said.

    ¡°Implausible,¡± Aste countered, ¡°but not entirely impossible.¡±

    At the mention of her title, Octavia couldn¡¯t help but interrupt. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Quit playing games and spit it out,¡± Josiah hissed.

    His aggression, while enough to stun every human in the room into uncomfortable silence, did little to faze the Muses who absorbed his disdain with only mild annoyance. Orleanna, at the very least, used her small voice in what few ways she could to keep the peace.

    ¡°To each legacy,¡± she began, ¡°there is a gift blessed upon the blood. They are unique, much as we are the same. Know, though, that such power was never intended to grace the hands of men, and it has been twisted in your grasp as such. It is through our bonds alone that our blood, too, may be shared.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°Each legacy has a¡­¡®gift¡¯. Am I understanding that correctly?¡±

    ¡°You said something about that awhile ago, right?¡± Octavia asked, her eyes aloft towards Stratos above her. ¡°When we first met face-to-face the other day, I think. Something about a gift?¡±

    At the time, she¡¯d taken his phrasing to carry a much-too-strong compliment. Now, in context, the word was impossible to ignore. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder, particularly when he saw fit to offer her a nod in return.

    ¡°You have found yours long ago,¡± he said. ¡°Even now, as we speak, it is here in his very place that you wield the gift of your own blood. Such is the manner by which we stand before you.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Once the Ambassador alone has given rise to the image of our forms upon this world,¡± he clarified, ¡°it is the gift of any of my blood that such visions become plain to see.¡±

    ¡°Translation,¡± Viola tried, rubbing her temples, ¡°Heartful people are the reason we can see you guys in the first place? And¡­Octavia¡¯s somehow involved in that?¡±

    Stratos nodded once more. ¡°Without the blessing of the Ambassador, the bridge between Above and this realm cannot hold--narrow as it may be. It is the burden of the Ambassador to create such a path, much the same as it is the burden of our own to maintain it.¡±

    Harper crossed his arms. ¡°No Ambassador, no glowy light people.¡±

    ¡°Viola, then. And Harper,¡± Josiah demanded, his glare still sharp as ever.

    ¡°My blood, then,¡± Brava spoke firmly. ¡°It is as Orleanna has stated, in that such a gift should not be¡­manifesting in this manner. In the hands of a human, then, what is found is somewhat different than what was intended.¡±

    His own gaze drifted to Viola, who returned it in earnest. ¡°What was meant to bond our brethren alone has become distorted in your hands. We share a common trait, then, in our clarity of sight. This is to say, in plainer terms, that you may sense those much the same as yourself.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I can sense other Maestros?¡±

    Octavia had to resist the urge to leap to her feet in surprise. ¡°That¡¯s¡­incredible.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s insanely helpful, isn¡¯t it?¡± Harper asked. ¡°That would make this whole thing way easier, if that¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Viola found all of us,¡± Madrigal spoke happily.

    The Maestra in question blushed under the praise. ¡°That was a coincidence, actually. Blame Octavia. She had a bad habit of stumbling across Maestros left and right for a while.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°You now have at least one on your record, aside from me. Here¡¯s to many more.¡±

    ¡°Harper¡¯s gift,¡± Josiah continued sharply, changing the subject in an instant, ¡°I figure is pretty straightforward at this point. Is it exactly what it looks like?¡±

    It was Orleanna¡¯s turn to clarify. ¡°There is little that eludes the illumination of the most brilliant flame. Much as we of the Willful see through falsehoods to their core, so, too, has such a gift seeped into his blood. I stand both impressed and proud.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to feel about the fact I can never lie in front of this guy again,¡± Renato grumbled.

    ¡°Can you always tell if someone¡¯s lying, then?¡± Octavia asked, tilting her head slightly.

    Harper shrugged. ¡°If I¡¯m not looking in their eyes, it feels fuzzy. It¡¯s like something¡¯s blurring my vision, but not¡­literally, if that makes any sense. When I look into your eyes, though, everything is crystal clear, and I can tell.¡±

    Renato smirked. ¡°That¡¯s kind of romantic,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Harper hissed through his teeth, his cheeks tinted with the slightest hint of a blush.

    ¡°Oh, what¡¯s my gift, then?¡± Madrigal pleaded excitedly, waving one hand in Lyra¡¯s direction. The Muse couldn¡¯t help but chuckle.

    ¡°You have already wielded the blessing of the Spirited,¡± she said. ¡°Do you remember not? In such a dark place, you have brought healing and saved what was to be lost.¡±

    The Maestra¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°Am I a healer?¡±

    ¡°Back then!¡± Viola exclaimed, springing to her feet. ¡°That¡¯s how you saved Renato! It has to be!¡±

    Renato threw his hands into the air dramatically. ¡°Alright, three cheers for magical healing powers! I remember almost none of this!¡±

    ¡°When you were hurt,¡± Harper explained, ¡°she saved your life. You would¡¯ve bled out. I don¡¯t know how much of it you do remember, but it was incredible.¡±

    He smiled, a grin absolutely aglow. ¡°I learn something new about this girl every day.¡±

    ¡°No offense to anyone else, but that might be the most amazing gift of them all,¡± Viola breathed. ¡°The¡­the things you could do with that kind of power are unimaginable.¡±

    ¡°Tell them the other part.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s words, harsh as each one out of his mouth had been thus far, shattered the satisfaction of the moment with the grace of broken glass. He glared daggers into Lyra, hands balled into fists against the table.

    ¡°I do not understand,¡± she replied calmly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb. You know exactly what I¡¯m talking about. You think I don¡¯t know about it? Because I do. Tell them.¡±

    ¡°Child--¡±

    ¡°Tell them!¡± he shouted.

    Whatever sharp, icy glare had settled into his eyes had since been replaced by one of unmistakable rage. His breath audibly rattled with each inhale and exhale alike, his fists clenched tightly enough to dye his knuckles a brilliant white. Octavia bit her lip. This wasn¡¯t like him. This hadn¡¯t been like him.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Viola asked hesitantly, a hint of irritation touching her voice. Octavia, too, wasn¡¯t overly fond of the way Josiah was raising his voice to the Muses.

    ¡°Madrigal¡¯s gift specifically,¡± he began, his voice shaking with ire, ¡°has a drawback. Lyra won¡¯t say it.¡±

    At the mention of her name, Madrigal¡¯s face fell. The hostility towards Lyra in the same sentence didn¡¯t help. With eyes turned upwards, she folded her hands in her lap, fidgeting uncomfortably. ¡°Lyra?¡±

    The Muse was silent, avoiding the girl¡¯s gaze. Madrigal winced, her expression pained.

    ¡°Lyra, what¡¯s wrong? Please talk to me. I won¡¯t be mad, I promise,¡± she pleaded.

    ¡°Stradivaria?¡± Octavia asked quietly, flicking her own gaze aloft.

    ¡°It may not be my place to say,¡± the latter answered. ¡°Even so, she may not speak at all.¡±

    ¡°And how could you attest to such, boy?¡± Brava practically growled.

    ¡°This is your last warning,¡± Josiah breathed. ¡°Either you tell them or I will.¡±

    ¡°Josiah, you¡¯re really makin¡¯ me nervous, here,¡± Renato muttered. ¡°You¡¯re hyping this up pretty hard.¡±

    ¡°Lyra, what is he talking about? Is there a¡­drawback to Madrigal¡¯s gift?¡± Viola asked, her own voice small and uncertain.

    Orleanna raised one hand in the slightest, extended just barely in Lyra¡¯s direction. ¡°Would you¡­wish that I should--¡±

    ¡°My Magical Madrigal,¡± Lyra spoke at last, her voice hardly above a whisper. ¡°At that time, I warned you that your choice to save that child would not be without consequence. Do you remember this?¡±

    Madrigal nodded in silence, her curls bouncing delicately.

    Lyra paused, her next words slow and precise. ¡°The boy speaks the truth. Know that there are¡­limits to what may be done. There is a balance that is to be maintained. The gift of the Spirited in the hands of a human is far different than its blessing within our grasp, and must be acknowledged as such. It, too, could be seen as¡­different than even those of your companions.¡±

    Harper blinked. ¡°Where are you¡­going with this?¡±

    To Octavia¡¯s surprise, Lyra seemed to glance briefly at Josiah before continuing. The latter showed no mercy, pinning her relentlessly with a gaze born of hate.

    ¡°Where something has been unnaturally restored,¡± Lyra murmured, ¡°something, too, must be claimed to compensate. It is for this, my beautiful child, that I apologize from the bottom of my heart.¡±

    Madrigal offered a weak, wobbly smile, her voice trembling much the same. ¡°W-Whatever you could take from me, I still love you just as much, and I always will.¡±

    Lyra nodded. ¡°Your words are kind. I--¡±

    ¡°She stole your lifespan!¡±

    Josiah¡¯s fists hit the table hard enough that Octavia wondered if he¡¯d left a dent. With a booming voice packed with unbridled rage, he finally snapped. Four words exploded with such venom that Octavia herself wondered if she¡¯d be poisoned from afar. The boy¡¯s breaths were labored, his shoulders heaving with the impossible effort of attempting to remain stable. With his enraged eyes level with Lyra alone, he didn¡¯t bother to gauge the reactions of the others--Madrigal included.

    The former could hardly move. The latter couldn¡¯t move--nor breathe--at all, her expression falling blank as she froze completely still. What breaths Octavia could salvage of her own were impossibly loud in her own ears, each and every other inkling of noise in the dining room absolutely lost. It was all she could do to raise her head to Lyra, forcing her dry tongue to manifest what few, confused words she could remember existed.

    ¡°How much?¡± Octavia murmured.

    Lyra, too, refused to meet her eyes, turning away altogether. With her attention cast somewhere far from any place meaningful, her once-confident voice, gentle and smooth as it was, now came meek and humble.

    ¡°For what wounds were healed, and the severity of their pains,¡± she spoke ever so softly in return, ¡°approximately two years.¡±

    There were no words more that could be scavenged by any Maestro in the vicinity. Even the Muses, for all of their usual bluster, were silent in tandem. The room ground to a complete halt as the suffocating atmosphere strangled them collectively. Madrigal, most of all, was broken, her head tilted downwards as she stared aimlessly at her feet dangling from the chair. Her eyes were wide and hollow, her expression as listless as she was. Her steady breaths were simultaneously remarkable and unsettling, unhindered by the wandering eyes in the room that settled upon her in unison. She was practically lifeless.

    ¡°That¡¯s not possible,¡± Viola attempted to say, her whispered voice cracking almost instantly.

    ¡°Maddie?¡± Renato murmured, his own voice trembling. His empty inquiry was fruitless.

    ¡°You never told her,¡± Josiah growled, low and vicious. ¡°Just like you never mentioned these ¡®gifts¡¯. How much are you lying about? What else are you lying about?¡±

    Brava faced him unflinchingly. ¡°Curb your tongue, boy. There is naught about which we have refrained from speaking the truth--¡±

    ¡°Lying by omission is still lying!¡± Josiah yelled, leaping to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re hiding something, all of you! You¡¯ve been hiding things since the start! These rules? These extra little tidbits and detriments that keep coming out one by one? You¡¯re vague, and you¡¯re unclear, and you¡¯re doing it completely intentionally, because you think no one can tell that you¡¯re covering something up!¡±

    When his eyes suddenly shot to Harper, the boy practically jumped, flinching under a gaze so hostile. ¡°Harper!¡± Josiah demanded. ¡°Look at them and tell me if they¡¯re lying!¡±

    ¡°You will not use the gifts of our blood against us,¡± Orleanna spoke firmly, her voice sharper than average. ¡°Nor could you do so, even should you desire.¡±

    ¡°Screw you!¡± Josiah snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t need a damn thing from you to know you¡¯re full of it!¡±

    The sight of Josiah berating his partner served as Harper¡¯s breaking point. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Josiah!¡± he shouted, narrowing his eyes.

    ¡°They¡¯ve got all of you fooled!¡± he shouted back, sweeping his hand in one accompanying, illustrating motion across each Maestro. ¡°I don¡¯t know what, and I don¡¯t know why, but they¡¯re hiding something! Don¡¯t you get it? Haven¡¯t you felt like things aren¡¯t adding up?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being paranoid,¡± Viola scolded firmly.

    ¡°You¡¯re being naive,¡± he snarled.

    Viola leaned over the table in the slightest, her words jagged. ¡°If you wanna take your new situation out on someone, that¡¯s your problem. You¡¯re aiming at the wrong crowd.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that what you think this is about?¡±

    ¡°We can circle around it aaaaall damn day, but it doesn¡¯t change anything. You¡¯re a Maestro now. I don¡¯t know what the hell is going on with you that¡¯s making you sulk about it, but leave other people out of it.¡±

    ¡°You really, truly think that¡¯s what¡¯s important right now?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re deflecting!¡± she shouted. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna just brush it off! Acknowledge that you¡¯re a Maestro now, for better or worse! It isn¡¯t something you can just ignore! You didn¡¯t even have the decency to bring out your own partner with everyone else? Have you even talked to him yet? Have you even cared enough to do anything besides sit around and feel sorry for yourself, for whatever reason? You. Are. A. Maestro. Deal with it.¡±

    For a moment, he stopped, his brutal words evaporating from his lips. It didn¡¯t stop his voice from quaking with ire, his chair screeching with a deafening squeak against the floor as he shoved it against the table.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve spoken to him. And I¡¯ll tell you what, he knows a lot more than any of you do.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t give room for retaliation, verbal or otherwise. Visibly radiating rage, he stormed out of the dining room, flinging his bag over his shoulder haphazardly. He was out of sight quickly, rounding the corner down the hallway until all that was audible was a distant, distinct slam. Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to follow up on his words, pointed and ominous as they were. The silence that followed, all too familiar, continued to pain her ears in its own unique way.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Mente began, ¡°that would clarify the situation somewhat, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°He has never been one to keep his mouth shut,¡± Aste continued, crossing their arms.

    Brava shook his head. ¡°Perhaps the Descent has made him bitter.¡±

    ¡°Such is not like him,¡± Lyra murmured sadly. ¡°Of this, I am certain. He is not himself.¡±

    ¡°You think too highly of him, then,¡± Brava retorted. ¡°Of this, little has changed.¡±

    ¡°Hush!¡± Lyra snapped.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Octavia said, unable to resist the urge to implore Stratos with her eyes.

    Even so, it was Brava who stole what words Stratos could¡¯ve given her. ¡°He who claims that arrogant boy as his own is¡­somewhat eccentric in his own right. He is skeptical and cynical, his legacy no less than the same on average.¡±

    ¡°Those are harsh words,¡± Stratos countered. ¡°His legacy is irrelevant, undefinable as such. Still, Brava stands somewhat correct in his¡­description of this Muse alone. He is one to question, to encourage curiosity beyond that which is natural.¡±

    ¡°And now he enables the boy,¡± Brava added disdainfully. ¡°What foolish motives press him to speak of matters that would only confuse and distress elude me.¡±

    ¡°Did you really take two years off my lifespan?¡±

    Madrigal hadn¡¯t moved. In truth, she¡¯d grown ever more still, glued to her seat as her whole body trembled. She didn¡¯t have the capacity to look at Lyra--or anyone, really, her eyes instead boring holes into the table. Lyra¡¯s gaze upon her did nothing to reassure her in any way. The Muse¡¯s words were equally useless, much the same.

    ¡°I¡­I apologize. In the heat of battle, with crisis imminent, there laid no time to clarify the consequences in question. I could¡­only warn of the pain to follow in more uncertain terms. You must understand, I meant no harm--nor would I wish harm to befall you, my beloved child.¡±

    ¡°I forgive you,¡± Madrigal whispered. Even so, her hollow voice was haunting, particularly given her continued lack of expression. ¡°I don¡¯t regret it at all.¡±

    Renato didn¡¯t bother with words. Swiftly, he rose from his seat as well, not bothering to push in his chair as he made for the hallway himself. With a flash that stung Octavia¡¯s eyes in the slightest, Mente and Aste were no more, forcibly dismissed by his hurried exit. Madrigal, nor anyone, made any attempt to stop him. Loaded emotion was audible in every distant footstep, with or without his stolen face. It burned.

    ¡°I¡­think we should stop for now,¡± Harper murmured. ¡°That¡¯s enough. I¡¯m¡­tired. This was a lot.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly inclined to disagree. Her singular regret was the bitter taste left splashed upon her tongue as they parted. ¡°You should¡­get some rest, for sure.¡±

    He didn¡¯t bother with a smile, rising to his feet quietly. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go lay down for a few hours. Wake me up if you need me, okay?¡±

    She nodded. He hadn¡¯t waited for a response, verbal or otherwise, before turning away. Her answer mattered little, and something about it stung.

    ¡°Ugh, what is wrong with him?¡± Viola growled, burying her face in her hands with immense aggravation. ¡°Who does he think he¡¯s talking to like that? What an idiot!¡±

    Octavia winced at the sharp edges of her words, trailing the girl uncomfortably with her eyes as she paced. ¡°Viola?¡±

    When the Maestra freed her face from her own grasp, she was no less agitated. ¡°I just¡­he¡­he¡¯s so¡­ridiculous! I mean, did you hear him? And he¡¯s got the nerve to talk to the Muses like that? He¡¯s awful! He¡¯s probably in his room sulking again right now! Am I supposed to feel bad for him or something?¡±

    When her words finally calmed somewhat, her breaths following suit, Octavia weighed the idea of laying a comforting hand upon Viola¡¯s shoulder. She ultimately decided against it. ¡°Do you¡­want me to talk to him?¡±

    Viola pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. ¡°No, I just¡­I¡¯m¡­gonna go talk to my grandmother. I need to calm down, I¡¯m sorry. I need something that isn¡¯t this.¡±

    There was something almost hurtful about the implication that she wasn¡¯t enough to ease Viola¡¯s pain. She kept the feeling to herself. Octavia nodded slowly, against her better judgment. ¡°I¡­yeah. I get it. Tell her I said hi.¡±

    Viola, at least, had the decency to give her a nod in response--curt or otherwise--before fleeing the room. She was the only Maestro to venture in the opposite direction as those who had opted to return to the solitude of their rooms. Octavia couldn¡¯t particularly blame them, burdened as they were with much to process in their own ways.

    The dining room was as suddenly imposing as it was dim, for how each Muse had long since surrendered their radiant hues and glows. It left her with only awkward silence and crushing discomfort to fill the void. She wondered if they¡¯d since learned how to properly read a room. She doubted it. Octavia, too, initially thought she was isolated. The illusion was shattered only by a lone Maestra, still unmoving in her chair.

    Madrigal, much the same, was utterly silent, her gaze cast downwards at a plate littered with discarded crust. The scattered crumbs and residual aspects of what had moments ago been a comfortable meal amongst friends now served as melancholic signs of life. They bothered Octavia tremendously, and her stomach twisted into a thicker knot than she would¡¯ve liked. The absence of joy--or emotion at all--from Madrigal at any given point in time always carried a somewhat similar effect.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly.

    Madrigal didn¡¯t so much as bother to raise her head, eyes firmly glued to absolutely nothing. ¡°I think I¡­want to be alone for a little while. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Octavia sighed heavily. ¡°That¡¯s okay.¡±

    There was nothing else the Maestra offered to her, immediately returning to her bubble of quiet. Being shut out felt almost as awful as being left behind. That, too, stung.

    She wanted to talk. She needed to talk. The urge to doff the crushing weight from her chest was agonizing, and every opportunity for relief had been stolen. Talking to the Muses--Stradivaria included--was absolutely not an option at the moment. Crying was an option instead, miserable as it would¡¯ve been. Her anger at her companions was misplaced. Octavia was aware of that much. She couldn¡¯t help it, and it followed all the way to her room.

    She had to pass Josiah¡¯s own room on the way there. His shouting was impossible to ignore, and her footsteps stilled of their own accord. The eavesdropping, too, was natural in more ways than one. Muffled by the sanctity of a presumably-locked door as it was, at least half of the dialogue was somewhat too clear. She¡¯d heard the other voice once before, albeit in a moment of only panic and pressure.

    ¡°What is even the damn point? I feel like I¡¯m going friggin¡¯ crazy! Maybe I am! Who knows?¡± she heard, capturing his padded cries of anger. Octavia wondered if anyone else could hear the same. She doubted it. It was her fault for practically pressing her ear to the door.

    I assure you, I gain little from speaking falsehoods.

    There. She knew that voice, masculine and silky as it was.

    ¡°But can I even be sure of that?¡±

    You are not wrong to doubt me. I do not fault you for such. Your experiences speak to your worries in excess, and rightfully so.

    ¡°I just¡­this is insane! Why doesn¡¯t anyone listen to me? No one has any qualms about this crap?¡±

    It is as I have stated. There is much that was not intended to be shared, particularly with your kind.

    ¡°So the solution was just to lie forever? To keep stringing us along?¡±

    There is a reason.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±

    There is far more that I risk through honesty than that which I gain through lies.

    ¡°Then tell me!¡±

    In due time.

    The sound of something slamming inside his room startled Octavia fiercely. She jumped, nearly banging her head against the door in the process.

    ¡°Damn it!¡± she heard Josiah yell.

    Calm yourself. Consider this a promise, one upon which I tread a difficult path by making to you.

    ¡°You owe me! You owe me for even giving you a chance!¡±

    I am of my word. Should I lie, do as you see fit. I will do what is within my ability.

    The sound of Josiah¡¯s heavy footsteps moving a bit too close for comfort to the door led Octavia to back away rapidly. If he caught her eavesdropping, the icy glare she¡¯d witnessed previously would perhaps be the least of what he¡¯d curse her with. He never did end up exiting the room, and yet the shock was enough of a deterrent.

    As to the content of his conversation, she didn¡¯t dare begin to attempt to unpack a single sentence. It was her fault for overloading herself with information today. Once more, she lamented her inability to verbally process her overstimulation with any of the five who would listen--Viola, if she had the option. She¡¯d be a solid candidate for rational processing in tandem. The sound of her voice would be of equal benefit to Octavia¡¯s pained heart.

    As such, when she did spot Viola ambling through the foyer, her back turned to the Maestra, she wavered between blessing her good luck and hesitating with apprehension secondary to atmosphere. The girl¡¯s steps were slow and aimless, her bow bobbing in the absolute slightest with every tiny shuffle forwards along the tiles below. So delicate were her movements that her feet hardly made a sound against the floor, not so much as a simple clack greeting Octavia¡¯s ears.

    Octavia resisted the urge to run to her, desperate for some semblance of human interaction in the midst of her despair. She ended up settling on the ¡°good luck¡± conclusion, particularly if Viola was involved. It took effort to walk slowly, the heavier sounds of her boots against much the same tile serving in contrast to Viola¡¯s silent shuffling.

    ¡°Viola?¡± she offered.

    Viola didn¡¯t budge, aside from her continued forward movements. Octavia winced. Being ignored was beginning to make her feel ill. If it was Viola, it was perhaps worse.

    ¡°Viola, what¡¯s up? Do you want to talk?¡±

    Still nothing. Octavia drew closer.

    ¡°Did you¡­talk to your grandmother?¡± she tried.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Monotone and devoid of any semblance of emotion, Viola tossed one singular word behind her. It was unaccompanied by so much as a glance, and her gaze fell strictly forward. She made no attempt to turn and face Octavia. If the latter so chose, she could reach out and claim her attention by force, shaking her shoulders or spinning her around violently. She wouldn¡¯t dare.

    ¡°Do you feel any¡­better? Compared to before?¡±

    Only now did she grace Octavia with her own eyes. Slowly, she faced the Maestra, quietly offering an empty gaze. Between her slender fingers, motionless and stable, rested the thin, white edges of a flimsy envelope long since opened. Hastily stuffed--at least, given appearances--Octavia could spot the outline and shading of neatly-folded paper behind the translucent confines of the envelope itself.

    Viola did little in the way of speaking, let alone emoting in any capacity. She made up for it, somewhat, with the labors of her breathing, rattling in the slightest on every exhale. If Josiah¡¯s behavior today had been unlike him, then this, too, was far unlike the Viola that Octavia had long since grown accustomed to.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes barely flickered to the envelope, content to do so one simple time for the sake of acknowledging its existence. Instead, they couldn¡¯t help but be sucked into the black hole that was Viola¡¯s hollow gaze instead. The sight was disorienting enough that it took her a moment to find her words. Even then, the one word she did find was as predictable as it was necessary.

    ¡°Viola?¡± she tried.

    Viola blinked slowly, the emptiness in her eyes unchanging when they reopened. Even with her shaking breaths, the steadiness of her words far, far betrayed the gravity of their content.

    ¡°My father,¡± she answered quietly, ¡°they changed his sentence. They¡¯ve sentenced him to death.¡±

 44. How Do You Plead

    It wasn¡¯t overly difficult for Viola to keep a straight face in front of Octavia--at least, not right now. There was little need for tears, screams, or anything in between. Instead, the numbness that came with the surprise was almost welcome. She¡¯d come to embrace it since receiving the news, bundling up in a warm blanket that she knew to be dangerously close to denial. She wondered when it would sink in. She wondered if this was how it was sinking in.

    The way Octavia looked at her carried enough emotion for the both of them.

    ¡°Why would--¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    She knew the question would come, perhaps almost immediately. She hadn¡¯t quite formulated a solid answer yet. She didn¡¯t have the energy. Today was too much.

    ¡°When does--¡±

    ¡°Four days.¡±

    In some twisted way, Viola appreciated the way Octavia¡¯s horror and panic compensated for what should have been her own. She wished she had the capacity. This was the reaction she knew she should¡¯ve had fifteen minutes ago, squandered in favor of abject silence.

    ¡°Four days?¡± came an echo of terror.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°So soon? Just, like, out of nowhere?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    There was nothing more to say.

    Octavia folded her hands together over her heart, a meaningless prayer to no one for a situation so far beyond her control. Were it truly a prayer, Viola at least appreciated the gesture. For the brief period of time that Octavia fell speechless, Viola couldn¡¯t blame her. There really, truly was so little to say.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­you just found out?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°From your grandmother?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She had half a mind to wonder if Octavia expected more of a reaction from her. She doubted she was delivering a performance that spoke to the severity of the loss she was about to encounter. Some curious, sadistic part of her wondered if Octavia would be required to go back and witness a new toll for Silver Brevada. This one, in some twisted way, would probably fit the criteria--provided that was how that worked. Contemplating it was easier than absorbing the horrified look on Octavia¡¯s face right now.

    ¡°Should we¡­we should talk about this, right? Let¡¯s figure something out together. There must be a mistake.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a mistake.¡±

    ¡°What if it¡¯s someone playing a really sick prank?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a joke.¡±

    ¡°We can definitely¡­do something to fix this. We have to try!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not something I can fix.¡±

    ¡°Not by yourself!¡± Octavia cried, her eyes glimmering dangerously.

    Viola knew that look. Usually, she had nothing but appreciation and admiration for it. Right now, it wouldn¡¯t do her much good. ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°Let¡¯s call everyone back together again. Let¡¯s talk this over!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, please.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t we at least try?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve talked enough for one day. We¡¯ve done enough for one day. Everyone¡¯s either burned out, upset, or angry.¡±

    ¡°If they know one of us has a problem, you know they¡¯d drop everything to help! You know that!¡± Octavia argued.

    Viola inhaled deeply. ¡°This is my problem. No one else¡¯s. If it¡¯s to be dealt with, I¡¯ll deal with it myself. If there¡¯s nothing to be done, I¡¯ll cross that bridge on my own, too.¡±

    ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°This,¡± Viola interrupted, ¡°has always been my problem. This will always be my problem, and this is a problem I won¡¯t surrender to anyone else--for better or worse. This problem is mine.¡±

    She wouldn''t let Octavia respond. She did her best to dash that opportunity immediately, turning on her heel and making for any direction except for here. Sound traveled faster than she did.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let it be,¡± came a murmur from behind.

    Even from Octavia, the words meant nothing. Empty resolution in a soul of ice swallowed them whole. Viola had no plan, and maybe that was for the best. If she had her selfish way, the end would come on her own terms. Of this, and of him, it was the first time she''d get to choose.

    <hr>

    Octavia didn¡¯t spare her at dinner.

    She was amazed that all six Maestros congregated at dinner at all. Viola had been completely confident that, at the absolute least, one of them would be a no-show. She declined to offer the person in question an apology, and would continue to do so. She didn¡¯t particularly expect one in return. That, too, was maybe for the best. He wouldn¡¯t so much as look at her, content instead to fixate on his food. She liked to imagine it was simply the joy brought about by Madrigal¡¯s cooking. In truth, she wondered if he now hated her.

    She was surprised their chef had mustered the energy to cook at all, even relative to her regular routine. Madrigal enjoyed cooking with such notable fervor that the act was hardly a chore--from an outside perspective, at least. Even so, the shock of their prior conversation, had Viola instead been on the receiving end of such a revelation, would¡¯ve been enough to bind her to her room for days. For her ability to bounce back, Viola held nothing but respect for the girl. It didn¡¯t erase the glassy glaze that coated her eyes.

    The discomfort visible on both Harper and Renato¡¯s faces was, perhaps, equally as unsettling. Really, the only thing more shocking than seeing the latter shut his mouth for more than ten seconds was the world-ending image of him in any state short of enthusiasm. She rarely wished for him to be annoying. Tonight was an exception.

    Harper, by comparison, hurt to look at. His soft, wandering eyes were offered in turn to each and every occupant with concern that stung her heart. When they landed on herself, Viola had to resist the urge to reach for him. Even a gentle, wordless brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand would¡¯ve been enough. Any form of individual attention from him would be enough to ease her soul in the slightest. She knew she wouldn¡¯t get it.

    This left her pinned somewhere between the rising steam of the baked potato inches from her face and the pressing eyes of a stubborn Maestra across the table. It was the first time in a very, very long time that Octavia had opted to sit anywhere except directly beside her. Her absence and subsequent new placement were, respectively, equal parts lonesome and jarring. The only thing she disliked more than the lack of Octavia at her side was the harsh, indiscernible look she¡¯d been fixing Viola with since they¡¯d sat down.

    Viola had at least a vague guess as to what was expected of her. Even so, for all of her rash behaviors, Octavia was absolutely not the kind of person to pressure her into doing something she didn¡¯t want to do. Usually, that role was reversed. She''d never felt particularly proud of it.

    That left an intolerable silence, more agonizing than the prior chaos in every way. It took everything in her power to shatter it, even if it wasn¡¯t with the words Octavia hoped for.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Viola murmured to Madrigal at her side. ¡°For making dinner. It¡¯s¡­really good.¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t grace her praise with words. A solemn nod was all she earned, her curls bobbing twice in tandem just above an empty expression. Viola¡¯s heart sank. On closer inspection, the girl hadn¡¯t so much as attempted to touch her own food.

    On even closer inspection, Renato seemed far more occupied with staring at Madrigal than actually eating. The way his eyes flickered back and forth between his meal--usually devoured without issue--and Madrigal¡¯s face weren''t subtle. He propped an elbow up against the table, resting his cheek lazily in one hand. For the extent to which Renato poked the Maestra with his sporadic gaze again and again, he might''ve been just as uncomfortable.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­not hungry?¡± he finally tried.

    Once more, Madrigal was wordless. She shook her head.

    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Renato said softly. ¡°Maybe I can¡­make you somethin¡¯ later. Or now. Do you want anything else?¡±

    She shook her head again.

    ¡°Lemme¡­know if you change your mind, okay?¡±

    Madrigal gave one single, silent nod.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    This was agonizing.

    ¡°Anyone else extremely stressed out right now?¡±

    Harper said more or less exactly what Viola was thinking--albeit with wildly surprising coolness, composure, and bluntness. There was some sick irony in the nature of his words relative to her closely-guarded situation. He seemed perhaps the least stressed out of everyone, his attention offered solely to his food as he continued his meal with little hesitation. It didn¡¯t spare him from the multiple sets of eyes that immediately snapped to him. He wasn¡¯t ignorant to them, shrugging.

    ¡°I¡¯m just being honest. That was a lot. No pretending otherwise. I started this morning with my lungs full of smoke, and it got followed up by a thousand more bombs. Today has been insane. Whatever we¡¯ve got going on--any of this--can wait until tomorrow.¡±

    In the most generalizing way possible, he waved his fork in equal measure amongst the Maestros. Viola tensed. There were multiple different levels of ¡®this¡¯, some of which were manifesting almost immediately. She knew she was a part of several of them. She knew he didn¡¯t know one of them existed.

    ¡°I think we should handle some of it now.¡±

    She was going to strangle Octavia.

    Harper¡¯s eyes fell to her, still tired as they were. Even with the desperately-necessary few hours of sleep he¡¯d finally gotten, she doubted it had been enough to make up for what he¡¯d been through over the past few days--particularly if Octavia¡¯s prior description of his injuries was anything to go by. ¡°You don¡¯t think we should all just¡­simmer down a bit?¡±

    Octavia shook her head, her braids gently brushing against her cheeks with each movement. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes met Viola¡¯s own, resolute and stubborn as always. She wasn¡¯t forcing Viola to speak with a knife at her back. She was, however, doing her best to drive her to the edge of a cliff. Against her will, Viola¡¯s heart was beginning to beat just the slightest bit faster.

    Harper was sharp. That much wasn¡¯t new. As such, when his eyes followed the path of Octavia¡¯s and trailed all the way to Viola, the latter began to sweat.

    No amount of saying ¡°don¡¯t¡± with her gaze, no matter how aggravated or desperate, was working. She opted for mouthing it instead, as subtly as she could, to the Maestra forcing her hand. It was useless, and that, too, didn¡¯t slip past Harper in the slightest. His eyes darted to the recipient of every worthless plea instead.

    ¡°Drop it¡±, no matter how carefully emulated with wordless motions of her lips, also meant nothing to Octavia--nor did ¡°please¡±, ¡°knock it off¡±, or ¡°stop¡±. Only the sharp stinging beneath her nail beds clued Viola in to the degree to which she was digging her fingernails into the tabletop.

    She made the fatal mistake of looking at Harper. He tilted his head at her, his eyes narrow.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on with you?¡± he whispered, just barely out of earshot of Madrigal--let alone everyone else.

    Viola didn¡¯t quite feel sick to her stomach. Still, a general discomfort that killed her appetite had taken up residence in some capacity. She didn¡¯t dare make eye contact. ¡°N-Nothing.¡±

    Harper was silent for a brief moment. ¡°Look at me.¡±

    She almost did. It was halfway through turning her head that something clicked. The moment it hit, her eyes darted in a random direction far from his own. ¡°I¡¯m not falling for that.¡±

    To her surprise, he chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what I was gonna ask.¡±

    Viola balled her fists in her lap, her gaze still as distant as she could will it to be. Any glance to her left, at this point, would be fatal.

    ¡°You realize avoiding answering is just as incriminating, right?¡± he said gently.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need you prying things out of me that I don¡¯t want to share,¡± she grumbled.

    His soft tone never faltered, even in the face of her harsh words. ¡°Everything I ask, I ask out of concern, not because I¡¯m trying to mess with you. Trust me, okay?¡±

    In an instant, Octavia had gone from making this a two-person problem to a three-person problem. It was a problem that was only ever intended to be a one-person issue in the first place--her issue, exclusively. This wasn¡¯t anyone else¡¯s business. She very rarely felt any semblance of anger towards Octavia. As with so many things, today was rapidly becoming an exception. For once, Viola was beginning to get aggravated.

    ¡°Wait, what are you talking about?¡±

    The words that followed Harper¡¯s pleas for trust were so disconnected from the prior discussion that Viola initially thought she¡¯d misheard. It was only when she felt the sensation of her mouth slightly ajar that she realized something had slipped out. As to which line of thought it had been, she was unsure. If it was regarding her anger towards Octavia, she suddenly felt bad.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­no one¡¯s business?¡± he continued softly.

    Now she felt sick to her stomach.

    ¡°Nothing. Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± she muttered.

    Out of the corner of her eye, Madrigal¡¯s head turning in her direction didn¡¯t elude her. She didn¡¯t even want to know if Josiah and Renato were following suit, and she didn¡¯t dare check. On her way up to Octavia¡¯s gaze, she hardly had a choice. The Maestra hadn¡¯t changed her expression in the slightest, still as unflinching and determined as she¡¯d been since they¡¯d sat down. Part of Viola wanted to scream. Throwing something might¡¯ve helped just as much.

    ¡°You, uh, you good over there?¡± Renato asked hesitantly.

    She winced. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. He was the last person she wanted to hear it from. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she lied, her voice notably strained.

    ¡°Look, we kinda already laid everything out earlier. If there¡¯s anything left, you might as well just¡­add to the pile. Otherwise, none of us are gonna be able to sleep tonight,¡± he offered. ¡°Get it off your chest. You¡¯ll feel better.¡±

    Given their speaker, his words were surprisingly reassuring--under normal circumstances. Her hands were still curled into fists, pressing harshly against her knees beneath the table. ¡°I¡­appreciate it, but this is something I should keep to myself.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Respect that. I won¡¯t force ya. We¡¯re all ears if you need us, you know that.¡±

    She must¡¯ve visibly been far worse off than she¡¯d thought if Renato, of all people, was being so kind to her. Surely the universe was collapsing. Octavia¡¯s fervent nodding immediately after his reassurance was, in its own way, more irritating.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t going to let this go. Worse still, everyone¡¯s eyes were on Viola. She rested her face snugly upon her palms. Two elbows propped against the table served as the only thing separating her from the urge to smash her forehead against the mahogany. If she couldn¡¯t escape, a singular mention would hopefully be enough to placate Octavia. Acknowledgement didn¡¯t necessarily mean dragging them all to Hell with her. She weighed the decision as carefully as the words that followed, bringing one deep breath to show for it.

    ¡°They sentenced my father to death,¡± Viola said plainly.

    There were no immediate exclamations of surprise, nor did any of them leap to their feet in shock. There was, somewhat humorously, at least one person who¡¯d dropped their utensil of choice, the silver clattering noisily against their plate. She didn¡¯t care enough to check who.

    The moment the words were out of her mouth, she gave Renato credit--for once. It was most definitely off her chest, for better or worse. Getting Octavia off of her back was of higher priority and sweeter relief. Viola wasn¡¯t looking forward to the questions that would follow. It was one more thing she could curse Octavia for.

    ¡°Your dad? Why the hell would they change that all of a sudden?¡± Renato finally asked, arms spread wide with animated confusion.

    ¡°Viola, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Madrigal murmured, laying one hand upon the Soulful Maestra¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Like, I know the guy screwed up, but I didn¡¯t think they were gonna kill him!¡±

    ¡°Renato!¡± Octavia hissed through her teeth.

    He winced. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°They can just change sentences like that? Halfway through someone serving one already?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice genuinely startled Viola, even calm and neutral as it was. She¡¯d expected any words out of his mouth aimed at her to be hostile, should they come at all. She feared he¡¯d mock her, or perhaps make the discussion more difficult in general. Cynical as he was, she doubted he¡¯d choose emotional tact over whatever cold logic he¡¯d been hunting for lately. She really, really didn¡¯t have the energy to deal with him right now.

    ¡°They¡¯re not supposed to. This isn¡¯t normal,¡± she answered quietly.

    ¡°Is there a precedent for this? Like, has this happened to someone else before?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I imagine not.¡±

    Josiah paused, raising one hand to his mouth as he organized his words. ¡°What¡¯s the sentencing process here?¡±

    ¡°In Coda? What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°When you get arrested. For anything.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡­get arrested, you get a fair trial, you get one solid sentence, and you serve that sentence. When you¡¯re done, they let you go. If it¡¯s the death penalty, you die. That applies literally everywhere. Have you not¡­seen that before?¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Josiah blinked slowly. ¡°I didn¡¯t exactly grow up in a place with a sparkling criminal justice system.¡±

    Viola gulped. She forgot.

    ¡°Do they have new evidence or something? Something that would change their minds on what they already decided?¡± Octavia asked instead.

    ¡°I mean, they shouldn¡¯t. The whole¡­ordeal with him happened when I was little. Maybe eight years ago. There¡¯s no way they found anything--no way they could have found anything to change their minds. They already know the damage that was done.¡±

    ¡°Maybe they figured out there was a fourth person.¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice was so quiet that she almost didn¡¯t hear him. When his words finally hit, their gravity threatened to suck her into a black hole and crush her into pieces. Viola didn¡¯t dare entertain the implications. She didn¡¯t dare look at him at all.

    ¡°The only people who would know that,¡± she began, her voice shaking in the slightest, ¡°are sitting at this table right now. So, unless one of you went to the authorities to report that after we found out, they have absolutely no way of knowing. And I¡­really, really like to imagine that¡¯s not what happened. If I¡¯m wrong, whoever did it is more than welcome to speak up.¡±

    Renato rested his forehead against one palm. ¡°You guys got the whole sentence appeal system here? We¡¯ve got that in Selbright for the death penalty.¡±

    Viola was quiet for a moment. ¡°I didn¡¯t think about that. Yes, we do.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°The what?¡±

    ¡°Hypothetically, in Coda, you could appeal a sentence on a few different grounds. In this case, it wouldn¡¯t be unfeasible to argue that they¡¯d require a whole new trial to come to this sort of conclusion. If they didn¡¯t have one, you could ask for one,¡± she explained.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think they had one behind closed doors?¡± Josiah tried.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Not allowed in Coda. All trials have to be public and transparent. Family of the accused has to be notified, too.¡±

    ¡°How long does he have?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Viola didn¡¯t particularly want to answer. ¡°According to the notice we got, four days.¡±

    ¡°Four?¡± Renato exclaimed. ¡°God, what the hell is the rush? That¡¯s four days until they kill him, right?¡±

    ¡°Could you at least try to choose your words better?¡± Octavia growled through her teeth.

    He squeezed his eyes shut, hands aloft before him in defeat. ¡°Sorry, sorry!¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m following this right, then,¡± Josiah offered calmly, ¡°that still gives you a few days to file an appeal, right? If that¡¯s¡­how that works here? Then what?¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°If they accept that appeal, Coda would grant the rights to a retrial. They¡¯d stay the execution so a full trial could be prepared and held. The odds of getting him out of a life sentence are pretty slim, so it would just have to come down to avoiding the death penalty. Figuring out what exactly made them change their minds would help, or how that law got skirted in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Could he plead insanity?¡±

    Viola fell silent. It took a moment to gather her words. Even then, they were sparse. ¡°What?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°If you could prove your father wasn¡¯t aware of what he was doing, could his sentence not be cut even further?¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Viola stammered, initially speechless. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­resentencing trial. I don¡¯t know if his entire plea could be changed. He¡¯s already been established to be guilty, and¡­getting the defense on board with that would be difficult.¡±

    Renato scoffed. ¡°Seriously? You¡¯re gonna try to explain friggin¡¯ Dissonance to a jury?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have to,¡± Josiah continued, shaking his head. ¡°Don¡¯t even need to mention it. Plenty of other ways to insinuate insanity.¡±

    ¡°Like?¡±

    ¡°We have a witness now.¡±

    When his words abruptly halted, it took a collective moment for their implications to sink in. The implications in question drew all eyes to the one person for whom the term ¡°witness¡± usually carried a far different connotation. Viola didn¡¯t particularly enjoy where this was going. She assumed Octavia didn¡¯t, either.

    ¡°M-Me?¡± their innocent target stuttered.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve seen every one of his crimes in full. You¡¯ve seen every single detail. You¡¯re the one and only person in the entire world who knows what happened that night. You¡¯re the perfect witness that he never had. If anyone can secure an insanity ruling for him, it¡¯s you.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°But¡­after all these years? They¡¯re not gonna randomly believe a new witness that shows up out of nowhere, are they? How would they even know my testimony holds any merit in the first place?¡±

    ¡°Because the details you can give are so specific that they can¡¯t be argued. I wasn¡¯t there. None of us were there. Octavia, you have literally breathed the last breaths of every one of these people. I told you that I won¡¯t push for more than the highlights, but I know you know what you saw, for better or worse. Ironically, that¡¯s what¡¯ll save him.¡±

    Usually, his blunt wording was borderline disrespectful, casting Octavia¡¯s feelings to the wayside in pursuit of logic. For once, Viola doubted that was his intent. She never thought she¡¯d be grateful for his phrasing, even given the look of discomfort that plagued Octavia¡¯s face.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s¡­something I need to ask first,¡± Octavia interrupted.

    Josiah let her speak. Even so, it was Viola to whom Octavia¡¯s eyes fell. This was heading nowhere positive.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been¡­trying not to ask this for a really, really, really long time, because I sincerely thought it was none of my business. That being said, if this is something you want me to do, and if I¡¯m supposed to stand up for a Dissonant man I¡¯ve never met before, this is my business now. I can¡¯t keep avoiding it, and it¡¯s been getting more and more complicated.¡±

    Viola inhaled sharply. She had a very faint idea of where this was going. She was sweating.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer this if you don¡¯t want to,¡± Octavia reassured softly. ¡°I won¡¯t push you, and I know it¡¯s¡­personal, but it would help a lot. If this is gonna work, it would really, really help if I--we--knew.¡±

    Octavia was right about that much. Viola, with certainty, didn''t want to answer. She¡¯d somewhat seen it coming. That was how they¡¯d ended up here, after all.

    ¡°What exactly¡­happened with your father?¡±

    The moment the question left Octavia¡¯s mouth, the feeling of all eyes on Viola was unbearable. She strongly considered leaping from her chair and running forever. Finding a different solution alone was still a possibility. It would keep her from prying into things best left sealed and silenced, by comparison.

    It wasn¡¯t a simple question. It was loaded. It was overloaded, really. It was explosive. It wound through facets of her life she hadn¡¯t yet dared to address with them. If she asked Octavia to let her give the answer in private, she wondered if the Maestra would oblige. Even so, Viola strongly doubted she¡¯d ever be able to summon the energy to tell the story twice.

    She closed her eyes. She inhaled. She exhaled. She wondered what she was even doing here. In the words of Josiah, she¡¯d stick to the highlights.

    ¡°My mother and father got along poorly, even before I was born. They liked each other well enough when they got married, but they started to drift apart at some point. They fought over everything from the direction of the art trading business to the way one another dressed. They fought more than they spoke, at some point. When they fought, they fought. My mother threw things at him. She berated him constantly, and she called him horrible things. I¡­don¡¯t think either of them ever actually hit each other. I don¡¯t know what they saw in one another the first time around.¡±

    She paused, tensing. ¡°When I was born, they changed for a while. My father adored me, and I loved him to pieces. We were inseparable. Most memories I have as a child are with him at my side. I spent time with my mother, too, but not as much. She didn¡¯t dote on me and spoil me even slightly as much as he did, but she was still good to me. I think she loved me, too. Around me, they behaved. When they thought I was out of sight and earshot, they went back to what they usually did. They fought more and more as I got older--multiple times a day. I¡¯ve never seen two people with so much disdain for each other.¡±

    Viola considered opening her eyes and gauging their reactions. She ultimately decided against it. If she did, she risked losing the drive to continue altogether. ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t know this next part until I got a lot older. My grandmother had to tell me. When I was about seven years old, my mother finally filed for divorce. She stole money from our family account to bribe the judge regarding¡­me. She tried to get full custody of me, to keep my father from having the rights to so much as visit me, and she made up all these awful lies about him. I think she wanted to use me to hurt him one more time. That¡¯s¡­that was the breaking point, I¡¯m pretty sure.¡±

    It took everything in her power to keep her voice steady. ¡°The night he found out was the night it happened. You¡­know the rest. My grandmother found him just outside of the city, in one of the outer residential districts near the woods. She got him back to normal. She didn¡¯t turn him in, but there was enough eyewitness testimony that the authorities were able to catch him shortly after that. By that point, he barely remembered anything. I didn¡¯t even know until the next day. I was safe and asleep in my bed the entire time while my father was out killing people. They found two bodies outright. He confessed to killing a third person. They took his admission as truth. They tried him, found him guilty on three counts of murder, all by the same method. Gave him a life sentence. Two days later, my mother left all of her things behind, gave some choice words to my grandmother, and walked out of my life forever. I never saw her again.¡±

    Viola opened her eyes at last, content to drink in the deeply uncomfortable silence for a moment. ¡°And that¡¯s¡­that.¡±

    There was little meaningful response she could earn. Madrigal at least tried. ¡°Thank you for sharing that with us,¡± she said gently.

    Octavia hesitated to speak. She found her words eventually. ¡°I thought you told me he didn¡¯t remember anything. How did he remember he killed anyone to begin with?¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°Supposedly, in the trial, he said his memory was extremely hazy. Even so, he still had bits and pieces. He remembered enough to know the gist of what he did.¡±

    ¡°And these were just random people?¡± Josiah asked.

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to hesitate. ¡°Up until very recently, I would¡¯ve said yes. That being said, I¡¯ve kind of wondered about something lately. You¡¯re¡­rational. Tell me what you think about this idea.¡±

    At her subtle praise, he raised an eyebrow. Still, his silence acted as permission.

    ¡°There¡¯s been a kind of¡­trend I¡¯ve seen with a few of the Dissonant people we¡¯ve dealt with. They go after specific people sometimes--people they were already on poor terms with when they were lucid. I¡¯ve been starting to wonder if their actions aren¡¯t as indiscriminate as I thought they were.¡±

    Briefly, Josiah¡¯s eyes widened. When his expression returned to something more composed, it contrasted starkly with the horror of Octavia¡¯s own beside him. Viola was aware that her statement was loaded. Even so, it was hardly worth that much of a reaction.

    ¡°I can see where you¡¯re coming from. I think I know what you¡¯re talking about, from what I¡¯ve seen, too. And even recently, right?¡± he said.

    It was Octavia who answered him, initially tripping over her words. ¡°A-At the camp, when she was Dissonant, Ivy still only ever went after Harper, not me.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°What I¡¯m trying to say is that I¡¯m¡­not sure if it was random anymore. Octavia, the women you saw in my tolls, what did you say they were like again?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°What did they look like?¡± she specified. ¡°How did they act?¡±

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°One had blonde hair, and her skin was kind of pale. She had a--¡±

    ¡°She sounds like my mother.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn for wide eyes. ¡°You mean¡­¡±

    ¡°What about the other one?¡±

    ¡°Uh, brown hair, tan, a lot of makeup.¡±

    ¡°What else?¡±

    Octavia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. ¡°Argumentative. And a¡­really heavy drinker.¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°That sounds like my mother, too.¡±

    Renato shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Hold up, you think your dad was intentionally going after women who reminded him of your mom? That¡¯s¡­seriously messed up.¡±

    Harsh wording aside, he was entirely correct. ¡°Dissonance in general is seriously messed up,¡± Viola replied.

    ¡°So what did my parents do wrong, then?¡±

    Harper¡¯s words were neutral, emotionless, and as unsettling as the look on his face that she made the horrible mistake of seeking. At her side, he¡¯d since curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his knees as he sat perched atop his chair. He spared her from eye contact, at the very least. Viola didn¡¯t need it to see how empty his eyes were in the first place. Her blood froze over.

    She¡¯d completely forgotten he was there. She¡¯d completely forgotten he¡¯d been forced to listen to this conversation, along with all that came with it. Assumption or not, frozen veins or otherwise, she couldn¡¯t avoid giving an answer.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­not completely confident,¡± Viola began, ¡°but if I had to guess, I think it might be because he found a family full of love. Real love.¡±

    Harper didn¡¯t respond. It was for the best, maybe. She feared the many, many different possible words that could¡¯ve left his lips right then and there.

    ¡°I¡­think the reason he didn¡¯t confess to killing your father is because he didn¡¯t even know he did it. From what Octavia told me, he just¡­left him.¡±

    Harper nodded weakly. ¡°Right.¡±

    Viola kicked herself for even including that part.

    ¡°We don¡¯t need to communicate anything that could indicate actual intent,¡± Josiah clarified. ¡°Otherwise, we¡¯re putting our insanity plea in jeopardy, even if we know the truth behind it. We put in the sentence appeal, wait for the retrial confirmation, bring Octavia as our witness, and try to see if we can retroactively change his plea to insanity. If they give us a hard time about Octavia, we¡¯ll say she only recently came forward with her story, or something like that. Cross that bridge when we get there.¡±

    ¡°All of this seems a lot easier said than done,¡± Renato grumbled.

    Josiah sighed. ¡°Obviously. But it¡¯s a framework we can start with. We¡¯ve got to try.¡±

    ¡°Just to clarify, we can¡¯t break this guy out of prison? Like, cut out the tough stuff and just get him out of there now?¡± Renato offered. ¡°Dead serious.¡±

    Viola rolled her eyes. ¡°No.¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Worth a shot.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s all of us together, we can do it,¡± Madrigal said. Again, her gentle touch made its way to Viola¡¯s shoulder. This time, the latter was far less resistant to the feeling. ¡°We¡¯ll always be there to help, no matter what.¡±

    Her smile, kind as it was, paled in comparison to Octavia¡¯s. The silent ¡°I told you so¡± on her lips, plucked straight from Madrigal¡¯s words, was as sassy as it was genuine. Viola simultaneously hated the sentiment and loathed the way it warmed her heart. She couldn¡¯t decide whether to slap the Maestra or hug her tightly enough to break every bone in her body. She was angry. She was relieved. At the very least, she had something slightly more to go off of than she did several minutes ago.

    The loud squeak of chair legs torturing the floor made Viola jump. At her side, Harper had risen to his feet, his quiet movements in stark contrast to the volume of his ascent.

    ¡°I¡¯m sitting this one out,¡± he said, his voice monotone. ¡°Good luck.¡±

    When he made to turn his back to the table, Josiah didn¡¯t give him the chance. ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    ¡°Away from here.¡±

    His blunt words were unlike him. Viola winced. Octavia stole her concern.

    ¡°Is¡­everything alright?¡± she asked hesitantly.

    Josiah was more direct. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna help?¡±

    Harper exhaled with far too much force. ¡°You guys seem to have this all figured out. You don¡¯t need me.¡±

    ¡°But we always need an extra helping hand,¡± Madrigal murmured sadly.

    Even with how slowly Harper¡¯s eyes drifted towards Viola¡¯s own, the weight they carried was still crushing enough to make her dizzy. If just being within sight of his lie-detecting gaze was disorienting, then this expression might¡¯ve been lethal if she locked eyes with him for long enough.

    ¡°Viola,¡± he began, his voice low and rough, ¡°you know you¡¯re important to me. You know how much you mean to me, and how much I treasure you as a friend. You know I would do almost anything for you. If you don¡¯t know that, now you do.¡±

    It was only upon inhaling again that his breath rattled notably. ¡°I will not, under any circumstance, help the man who stole my family from me. I know you understand.¡±

    His words were a near-instant trigger for tears, caged behind her eyes only by sheer willpower. Her voice barely held steady in tandem. ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°I respect that he¡¯s your father,¡± Harper continued. ¡°I know he didn¡¯t do it on purpose. I know he doesn¡¯t remember. It doesn¡¯t change the fact that it happened. I can¡¯t look at his face and be impartial to that. If you push me, if you force my hand on this, I am prepared to get on my hands and knees, right now, and beg you to leave me out of this. I wish you the best. I¡¯m not doing this.¡±

    Her sorrow, set free, meant little. She didn¡¯t dare attempt to persuade him. Harper, who would always rush to her with arms outstretched and a gentle touch ready to battle the tears on her cheeks, didn¡¯t so much as budge. Instead, his only movement came in the form of departure. He, at the very least, had eaten. Heartbroken as she was, a tiny part of her hoped he physically felt better soon.

    From the others, there was no scolding Harper. There was no berating, nor harassment. His logic was clear. Were it any of them, Viola doubted the choice would¡¯ve been different. In the sickest way imaginable, he¡¯d earned the right to decline.

    Any of the words of comfort that followed meant nothing, no matter from whom they came. Even Octavia¡¯s gentle sentiments were muffled. Viola could do little but stare at Harper¡¯s empty seat, his refusal looping in her head infinitely. So many times since they¡¯d met had she been reminded that the sins of her father were his alone. Even so, she had never in her life felt more guilty for crimes that weren''t her own than tonight.

    <hr>

    The caveats of the retrial nearly made her vomit on the confirmation letter.

    Equally as unprecedented as the sudden change of sentence were the restrictions of the retrial itself, granted within a day of submission. The wait of one full day had been excruciatingly tense, by which Viola had done all she could to distract herself in every conceivable manner. What had been granted to her as a prize for her patience was another letter. At the very least, she intercepted it herself this time.

    The approval speed of the sentence appeal, let alone the retrial that followed, was incredibly abnormal. She blamed it on the speed of the sentence change, in turn. Far more distressing was the execution date, still unhindered and firmly scheduled for three days away. No stay was granted, and the retrial was tomorrow--two meager days prior to the death of Vincent Vacanti. It should¡¯ve taken weeks. Instead, her entire scramble to save a man¡¯s life left ninety-six hours of panic and zero explanation.

    More waiting was one crisis, and that came bundled with agony. Ninety-six hours stole her chances at proper preparation, and she earned a second crisis as compensation. Lawyers were out of the question. A professional case was beyond her reach to build. Whatever attorney Coda would provide for her father by default would hardly matter. For all intents and purposes, they were completely on their own.

    Ultimately, as with so much else, everything fell to Octavia once more. Part of her was remorseful for yet another burden she¡¯d placed upon the Maestra, particularly one so far removed from the responsibilities of the Ambassador. It was her one wish that Octavia wouldn''t be crushed by the weight of a human life upon her shoulders--again.

    She entertained the idea of visiting her father. She threw out the concept immediately. She entertained the idea of apologizing to Harper. She threw out that concept as well, albeit with a bit more hesitation. She entertained the idea of speaking with her grandmother again. The fear of being told to step back and let fate have its way, as she¡¯d been told many times over of so much else, was a deterrent. She entertained the idea of going insane. That one was easy. She was already halfway there.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I yelled at you.¡±

    The apology Josiah offered to her initially didn¡¯t register. It took her an additional moment to drag her eyes away from the inky, repeating lines of the confirmation letter. She raised her head, her fingers clasping the flimsy paper slightly tighter than she¡¯d intended to.

    ¡°I¡­it¡¯s okay.¡±

    The distance between them in the foyer was notable by several feet, either Maestro perfectly still and stagnant in an uncomfortable staring match. Even so, the noxious silence that kept settling between them wasn''t entirely unwelcome. Viola had almost forgotten the entirety of yesterday. The letter in her hands had ruined her, by comparison.

    ¡°It¡¯s not. I shouldn¡¯t have taken all of that out on you. I¡¯m not mad at you. I¡¯m mad at some...circumstances. I don¡¯t do well with being lied to.¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°Who¡¯s lying to you?¡±

    Josiah opened his mouth, closing it just as quickly. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna get into it right now. This isn¡¯t the time or the place. Just know that whatever I had going on yesterday, it wasn¡¯t aimed at you. I¡¯m sorry if it seemed like it was.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was, honestly. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong, and I¡¯m not gonna pry, but I¡¯m sorry for whatever you¡¯re going through.¡±

    Josiah nodded once. ¡°Thanks. You doing alright?¡±

    She scoffed. ¡°Not really, no.¡±

    He averted his eyes. ¡°Alright, stupid question. I kind of deserved that one. If you need to talk, I¡¯m here. I¡¯m not exactly the greatest person for it, but I¡¯ll do my best.¡±

    ¡°I feel like everyone¡¯s being a bit too nice to me lately. What¡¯s the occasion?¡±

    He smirked. ¡°Did you want us to be mean to you?¡±

    Viola rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve already got one chronic pain in the ass. Don¡¯t need four more. Even he¡¯s on a nice streak.¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s not actually that bad of a guy. I want to strangle him at least 50% of the time, but he¡¯s got a pretty good heart. Solid listener. Questionable morals, though.¡±

    Viola gagged. ¡°The stories I could tell you.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t actually hate him. You paid for his hands.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t, actually. I just¡­went to pick up the order. I¡¯m pretty sure my grandmother ordered them. Never asked her. All I did was follow the address on the letter.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°That was nice of her.¡±

    ¡°Well, she knows that we''re all close. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me. You¡¯re all¡­really, really good to me.¡±

    He smiled softly. ¡°We¡¯re like a messed-up little family. Trust me, I¡¯ve got a lot to appreciate, too. And we¡¯ll figure out this mess together, okay?¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell. She threw her eyes to the floor, tangling her fingers together. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m gonna do if this doesn¡¯t work. If Octavia¡¯s testimony isn¡¯t enough, is he¡­actually gonna die?¡±

    Josiah paused. He approached, laying one hand carefully and calmly upon her shoulder. It was enough for her to meet his eyes. The gaze he fixed her with was equal parts serious and gentle.

    ¡°I have a backup plan. This¡¯ll work out, one way or another.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°If I tell you, it won¡¯t work.¡±

    She blinked.

    ¡°I know that sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. Please.¡±

    Viola exhaled heavily. ¡°Fine. Just don¡¯t do anything that¡¯ll get anyone hurt, please.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± Josiah continued, ¡°after all this is over, we¡¯re still gonna have to figure out exactly why this happened in the first place. You might wanna start thinking about that now, even.¡±

    Viola tensed. She hadn¡¯t headed down that mental avenue yet. Logically, it would be a better use of her energy than worrying. Truthfully, she wasn¡¯t completely certain that she had the psychological clarity to do so, at the moment. She entertained the idea of recruiting him for a brainstorming session. She eventually dismissed the concept. He¡¯d done enough.

    Instead, Viola repaid his kindness with a smile. ¡°Thank you. For all of your help.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°Hang in there. We¡¯ll get through it.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t ¡°getting through¡± her emotions that was going to be the hardest part--although that was going to be miserable in and of itself. The worst part was going to be getting through the next eighteen hours. The worst part was going to be getting through the voyage to the front steps of the courthouse. The worst part was going to be seeing Vincent Vacanti¡¯s face for the first time in eight years.

 [EXTRA] 44.5. Soulless

    He didn¡¯t deserve this.

    Running was impossible, for how everything hurt in the process of trying. She did it anyway. She didn¡¯t have a choice, and the silent glow of the stars above was her only guide. She¡¯d already stumbled several times over, gasping for breaths so difficult to cling to with oxygen so sparse. There was no alternative. The breeze was minimal, the air sickeningly stagnant. It left little to swallow, and her skin burned.

    He didn¡¯t ask for this.

    She was losing time, by which she shunned her eyes in favor of her ears. Starlight or not, darkness was a flood she couldn¡¯t escape. Coda was ensnared in the same at every angle, blanketed in the night and more than enough to drown her. Her senses were already weakened as it was. Her footsteps echoed where no sound could challenge them, and only her own labored breathing served as a contrast. She wouldn¡¯t cry. It wouldn¡¯t help.

    He didn¡¯t need this.

    She¡¯d checked the city. She¡¯d scoured what of it she could, trailing alleyways and roadsides with strangled fear. She was his echo, in a way, for how she caught the faintest of screeches time after time. They were distant, and frustratingly so. Where he could run so freely, she could hardly hope to do the same. She cursed herself, over and over, as he slipped through her grasp. She didn¡¯t want to know. She didn¡¯t want to imagine. She already had a solid idea.

    Every time she had it, she lost it just as quickly. Coda was sickeningly sizable, and he could pass her by time after time. She was more or less guessing as to his rationale and directive, provided he had any of either right now. She doubled over at last, enveloped by climbing stone and veiled corners. Mortal threats in the alley meant nothing. Right now, she feared for one thing alone, and he was nowhere to be seen. Silver Brevada speared sharply into her knee as she came to a panting halt, and she winced in pain.

    Calm yourself.

    She gritted her teeth. ¡°I¡¯m trying.¡±

    Panic will not serve you in any manner.

    ¡°I know,¡± she murmured through heavy breaths. ¡°I just¡­can¡¯t figure out¡­where he would go.¡±

    Would he walk no more than this place? You should know him better than I.

    Eleanor straightened up, grasping oxygen and a flute in tandem. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m not certain. I¡¯ve gone everywhere I could think to go. I¡¯ve tried to follow the sound, and still I¡¯m no closer.¡±

    Of those places you would not consider, then, I suggest you entertain the thought.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Discern his motive, perhaps, and pursue the unexpected.

    She had suspicions of a catalyst, at least. A motive was simple enough on the surface, reflexive as it surely was. To elude her for so long spoke to outward hostilities rather than the alternative. In the sickest way, it was the only blessing she could count on. He wasn¡¯t dead yet, if nothing else. It left no mercy for those caught in his line of fire, let alone himself if he was satisfied with the deed. For all intents and purposes, he wasn¡¯t safe. She couldn¡¯t lose him. She absolutely could not lose him.

    ¡°I believe I know what led him to suffer,¡± Eleanor said, every word shaky as it touched the night air. ¡°I would¡­assume his motive to be violence, then. If there is more to it, I wouldn¡¯t yet know of that.¡±

    Then trail to where he would strike, perhaps.

    ¡°Coda is vast. Coda is not silent by night. He would have options all over the city, horrific as it is to say.¡±

    Pursuit is unproductive. You will have no choice but to anticipate his decisions.

    ¡°He¡¯s not rational,¡± Eleanor argued. Stifling tears was a struggle, and she knew Brava would chide her for it. For that reason alone, she blinked what she could into submission. ¡°I¡­doubt he¡¯d be acting on anything but impulse.¡±

    Were he a Maestro, this would be over in an instant. She cursed her gift in silence, for how she would never dare express her frustrations to her partner. Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, gripping the flute tightly as she steadied what breath she¡¯d caught. Running was difficult. She didn¡¯t have a choice, directionless as it was. Brava didn¡¯t scold her.

    She hadn¡¯t tried the outskirts yet, although she knew Vincent was largely unfamiliar with the area. The world beyond the borders of the city was new to every Vacanti, really. She feared losing her way just as much as she feared losing him in turn. He was possibly lost already, had he opted to breach the city limits. She knew the path to greenery unseen. The outer residential districts were just as much an option, still afar and yet more recognizable. Her directional choices were split. If he sought violence, he sought the innocent. With a sinking heart, she went with the latter choice.

    She¡¯d never been to the outer districts regardless, and that, too, made navigation difficult. The fire helped.

    Where she¡¯d chased down the screech of agonizing smoke with desperation, it was true smoke that guided her way. Even before she¡¯d breached the narrow walls of the cramped alleys in full, she found a clouded beacon. Whether it was related was debatable, although her soul screamed in affirmation. Hurried footsteps, aching or otherwise, left her bursting into the open night.

    Beyond the stone walls, Eleanor nearly stumbled the moment her shoes tangled with rising grass. It took effort to keep her balance, and she only clung to Silver Brevada harder as she ran. Where her breath would soon be frozen, her blood was aflame. It didn¡¯t outdo the house in the distance, granted.

    It took her time to recognize it as such. She had to squint to make out a structure through the roaring flames at all. Unforgiving orange rose high into the darkened sky, streaming embers challenging the stars in turn. It grew brighter by the moment, one distant spark aglow in the depths of bountiful nature. She would be amazed if it didn¡¯t spread, capturing an unfortunate forest in its scorching grasp.

    The screams that plagued her ears were mortal, although it took time to classify them at all. They were ample enough. Those, too, were distant, and she had enough sickening context to unravel an inferno. She prayed they weren¡¯t coming from inside. If she¡¯d seen it from here, she doubted she was the only one--nestled between yet more occupied abodes as it was.

    It was exactly half of her priority. It was too perfect, and her instincts were crying out.

    Eleanor.

    She¡¯d been staring, helpless to witness the very sun descend upon one little home. It was her fault for keeping quiet. Brava knew her soul inside and out. ¡°I¡­can¡¯t prove anything.¡±

    Do not lose focus, lest you lose him entirely.

    Whether he meant it literally or figuratively was irrelevant. Either thought burned just as violently as the roaring Hell on the horizon. ¡°I know. I just¡­I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s--¡±

    She¡¯d been confident in the grays of rolling smoke, vicious and abundant as it crashed against the cool air. It was surely of this world, grotesque in another way entirely. If nothing else, then, she knew of the violet by sound alone. Eleanor didn¡¯t need to see it. The direction took her more than a moment to pin down, the far-off glow of ruthless flames her one source of luminescence in the dark night. The stars were of little aid, and she feared for what was to come.

    Still, her safety meant nothing. He was all that mattered. He wouldn¡¯t get away again. Eleanor pivoted sharply on one heel, nearly losing her balance a second time over. The moment she made to run, let alone hunt down the vicious agony she knew to greet her ears, she found no need. She uncovered it in the worst way.

    He did her the favor. Where absent moonlight missed, only the glittering stars above weakly speckled his visage. So, too, was rippling violet crowned by a glow she could mistake for candlelight. He was cloaked in more than one flavor of darkness, wrapped in suffocating agony that besieged his body and poisoned his skin. Misery was his shroud, billowing in earnest from heaving shoulders. Agony called him home. Vincent was venomous in every way, down to the veil of suffering clouding his eyes.

    She loathed the way they touched her own. They weren¡¯t those she¡¯d come to adore. The deepest sea, so carefully cultivated and beautifully loved, rested beneath polluting violet that shattered him in every way. He was broken and taken. If absolutely nothing else, he was alive.

    ¡°Vincent,¡± Eleanor called to him, her wavering voice cracking instantly.

    He was wordless in return. His hands were more than occupied--one alone, really. The violence he clasped between unhesitant fingers twisted her stomach into permanent knots. Scarlet graced steel in excess, glistening with every subtle shift of his wrists. It was undoubtedly fresh, and her eyes pooled with tears. She didn¡¯t dare question who, let alone how many. She didn¡¯t dare kick herself eternally, as much as she wished to in the moment. She¡¯d have all the time in the world to do so later. In a way, she was responsible by virtue of failing speed alone.

    ¡°Vincent, please, stop this!¡± Eleanor pleaded.

    She knew better. Why the words exploded from her mouth regardless was beyond her. It was wishful thinking, and she¡¯d never wished harder for anything in her life. His grip hadn¡¯t relaxed. She had a vague guess as to what would come. It was a nightmare she needed to awaken from immediately, lest her soul shatter to irreparable pieces. She couldn¡¯t do this.

    Shimmering steel rose to greet the stars with painstakingly-slow movements. It never made it all the way up, content to level with her eyes from afar. It wasn¡¯t as far a distance as she would¡¯ve hoped. It was a simultaneous blessing and a curse, by which she could¡¯ve thrown her arms around him and never let go. Vincent could run. Eleanor couldn¡¯t. Only her soul would spare her, and the concept threatened to split her in two.

    You cannot hesitate.

    She¡¯d given up on suppressing her tears. The trembling fingers draped over every hole of Silver Brevada caught her sorrow as it fell. Brava would be directly privy to her labored breaths soon enough. She doubted they escaped him in that moment regardless. Stammering was inevitable, her voice wobbling fiercely. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    If you wish to save him, steel your soul. There is no other option. He has already drawn blood, and to falter is to endanger the innocent. If not for yourself, Eleanor, then battle for what must be done.

    ¡°Brava,¡± Eleanor murmured, simple and pained.

    I say unto you again. You cannot hesitate. I will be at your side, and it will be done. Show me your resolve, and you will have my soul.

    Where violet stared her down, it was silver that rose to her lips. The far-off flicker of a horizon alight was much too little light by which to track his every move. The starry sky was weaker still, and the darkness plaguing the grassy outskirts was as literal as it was symbolic. Agony screamed where Vincent was silent. Eleanor screamed on the inside in turn.

    Logically, it would work. As to whether she wept for his suffering, his catalyst, his actions, or his consequences, she was unsure. Even now, stealing a deep breath she lamented taking, she prayed to whatever god would listen that he would escape agony of his own accord. It was a fruitless prayer. Still, she clung to it, her hands shaking around Silver Brevada as she hunted for what life surely rested behind his veiled gaze.

    Eleanor found none. Vincent lunged. So, too, came flashing steel.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Fresh as it was, every fleck of crimson spilt so remorselessly splashed to the ground between hurried steps. In Vincent¡¯s wake was left red and violet alike. He was horrifically fast, and she¡¯d long since deduced he would outdo her significantly. It was all she could do to stand her ground, even as an experienced weapon drew a straight path to her throat. For the briefest moment, she wondered if he¡¯d already struck the same spot upon another tonight. She wondered if he¡¯d done so more than once.

    She surrendered her aching soul to Silver Brevada. Where her body failed her with age, her lungs were still strong. It was the one thing she could count on, even as her hands grew weaker each day. To move so quickly along the keys was borderline painful. In that moment, her heart hurt worse. Eleanor traded every exhale for an inhuman chill, frost born of her breath gracing every shrill note. She didn¡¯t dare wound him in full, and it took time to settle on a methodology. Piercing was out of the question. She settled for that which was rounded, heavier, blunt to a safer degree. It wouldn¡¯t make it less painful.

    The glittering hail that crackled beneath her icy song was still undoubtedly lethal, should her aim fail her. She had no alternatives. Already, she¡¯d mentally strung together the only path to salvation she could conjure. It began with violence, and she loathed the fact. Vincent bore down upon her with such speed that she audibly caught the whoosh of a blade slashing the night. She held fast to her frozen offenses, screaming in the only way that mattered. She, too, bore down upon him.

    Hail once level with her shoulders tore through the air, barreling into his soft body with unbearable force. He physically recoiled as weighted ball after ball of frosted violence beat upon him, the sound of every strike against flesh enough to leave Eleanor wincing. She heard him grunt in pain several times over, and yet was powerless to do more than blight him with the same.

    Vincent didn¡¯t back down, surging forth with a knife poised to cut her down at the first opportunity. She hated the way that she had to go for his knees. The noise that came with heavy chunks of ice crashing down onto his bones was abhorrent. Given how he cried out, it was possibly worse. She was beginning to wonder if a piercing approach would¡¯ve been less cruel, after all.

    Vincent staggered, at least, more than susceptible to the pain of her frozen assault. It was never enough to deter him in full, and the bloodied weapon rose to meet her again and again. No less than once, he nearly met his mark as she caught her breath. It was solely by luck that the tip of the blade collided with Silver Brevada, one clang erupting as metal met metal. Eleanor, instead, was the one to cry out, stumbling in reverse as she scrambled for distance. It was all she could do to deflect, then, a different cry entirely seeping into the flute.

    The deepest blues that burst from the grass underfoot were her one saving grace, climbing high and severing her line of sight. The crack that came with the birth of her crystalline barrier spoke to endurance. It served her well in the worst way, and she had suspicions he¡¯d rebelled against it instantly. Every subsequent crack after crack that followed left flecks of flaking frost speckling the earth, abused and discarded. Her heart threatened to burst, solid defenses or not. Close as he was, she hesitated to doff her haphazardly-assembled safety. She didn¡¯t have a choice.

    It still hurt to let her fingers trail along the shimmering keys, and of that, too, Eleanor had no choice. Her frozen melody, shrill in every way, grew to be explosive in turn. A shield so hastily crafted splintered and crackled, deep fissures sprawling amongst the chilling glacier before her. It was enough to work with, despite her pledge of avoiding that which would pierce. If she planned to pin him down--literally--she was running out of options. With sharp notes in place of sharper shards, an icy song gave way to a delicate crash and shattering glass.

    Her glacier crumbled and burst, repelled well in reverse and well beyond her. It left Vincent squarely in her line of fire, and he endured the full force of a soul of ice at once. Every jagged shard that sailed through the night air smashed into his body in the worst way, large and bulky as they were. It left them no lighter and no less of a threat.

    The range was more than enough to steal his balance, let alone his proximity to the ground. He was knocked clean off his feet with a gruesome thud, tumbling no less than thrice over in the plush grass below. Eleanor was fairly certain he¡¯d hit his head on the way down. Not once did the stained knife leave his iron grip, and he slashed innocent sod as he rolled to a quiet halt.

    It was the only chance she¡¯d get. She didn¡¯t need Brava to tell her that much.

    It left him on his back, disoriented and reeling from the collision. As much as she lamented his harsh landing, it was just as much of a blessing in turn. Where Eleanor had crafted weighted crystal, she now turned to creeping frost. Her piercing song that cut clear through the still evening was in stark contrast to her soft ice. In terms of speed, it was a deceptive melody. The delicate whites of newborn snow that burst to life upon the ground moved rapidly. She avoided his skin, at least, claiming his wrists with the most chilling of shackles. So, too, did his ankles follow along, and his torso in turn.

    Vincent was tethered to the world below by sorrowful cold, unyielding even as he struggled weakly. Where he fought with futile motions, Eleanor left her song shimmering harder. So, too, did her icy bindings grow thicker. They were heavy in their own way, undoubtedly, his extremities encased in the smallest of glaciers. She didn¡¯t dare let up. Holding him down was far, far preferable to beating upon him.

    And when she was satisfied, by which he could do little more than writhe in the slightest, she feared for the remainder of his salvation. She¡¯d had to do it before. It was muscle memory, at this point, and she had no qualms about the action. She simply feared what would follow in its wake, by which he would be left to face what tragedies were left behind. At least now, he was numb. They were two different kinds of curses entirely.

    Eleanor inhaled deeply, adjusting her fingers once more as she braced against the earth. If absolutely nothing else, Viola needed a father. That was enough.

    Even if her lungs were strong, it was still always the worst part. The flickering snowflakes that kissed the air with each rapid note were in stark contrast to a different flicker blazing beyond. It left each one aglow in an unsettlingly splendid display. Wrathful frost dyed in brilliant aquamarines swirled viciously above, and she nurtured it with sorrow. She loaded her song with every ounce of love and desperation she could muster, resplendent blues painting her steady blizzard as it roared to life.

    Crystal aloft was as deceiving as it was delicate, the temperature dipping rapidly as she played. The biting chill stinging her face meant so, so little. Vincent alone took priority. Solid as she knew her ice to be, she had no fear for his escape. Even now, as she blessed the world with scattering snowflake after snowflake, he was powerless to do more than struggle. She still wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

    She lacked a steady opening. It left her counting every ragged breath as he flailed, his strength no longer blunted by what had been a fierce blow. That, too, was simultaneously a gift and a curse--she prayed he¡¯d have no lasting damage. Some breaths were deeper than others. It took effort to steal one, fast as she was forced to be in the wake of his wordless resistance. It paid off in the worst way. Her spiraling snowstorm rushed forth without mercy, more than targeted and more than true in its flight.

    Where words failed him, he was blighted by ice--choking, suffocating, and all-consuming as the coldest of blizzards filled his throat. Every last drop of Silver Brevada¡¯s frozen tempest surged deep into his body, pooling in his soul and challenging agony unseen. If he was weeping from distress alone, Eleanor couldn¡¯t see from here. It was probably for the best. She¡¯d always disliked this part, regardless. It didn¡¯t matter if his pain would be forgotten--she didn¡¯t like the idea of seeing Vincent¡¯s face as he lost his breath.

    Eleanor tensed every muscle that was necessary, rationing her breath as she cried out into the flute. A storm once fluid and malleable erupted into a glistening glacier, sparkling under the chill of every note. From her end, it stretched to him, rapidly solidifying as each twisting snowflake burst into something far more sturdy. Tangled and encased, every last shred of dancing frost was left to glimmer all the way into the depths of Vincent¡¯s soul.

    The surge of frosted air that blasted her in full was in stark contrast to her burning blood. Resplendent aquamarine sparkled yet more under the weight of her frosted harmony, crackling and hardening. His writhing was stifled, and still his distress was palpable. His angle was more than dangerous. He surely had less breath than usual. Flat on his back, she counted the seconds. She¡¯d never taken longer than fifteen. Granted, it had been some time. She couldn¡¯t remember how well Vincent could hold his breath.

    Every note was a prayer, and the ache in her muscles was a distraction. It was her lungs alone that held on, and her hands struggled to keep up. It hurt in two ways. The physical blight meant nothing--her frail body would survive the night. The pain in her soul meant everything. The song was a reflex, and she was perfect. Eleanor screamed, she sparkled, and she froze in every way as she captured violet in the deepest recesses of his body.

    As to what she was supposed to do the moment light touched his eyes once more, she couldn¡¯t imagine. As to what Hell he¡¯d unleashed tonight--let alone upon whom--she couldn¡¯t entertain the mental image. As to what she was supposed to tell Viola, she couldn¡¯t begin to fathom. Her sorrow flooded her pure melody. Brava felt it, surely. He said nothing. She offered her silent gratitude, by which she grieved for one she fought to save.

    And when it ruptured, it did so viciously. Her heart came along with it, maybe. The shining glacier that besieged his soul shattered with astounding force, spearing shards bursting freely into a night made cold by a song and suffering alike. With gleaming blue came poisonous violet, salvaged in the grasp of a bursting blizzard. Ice once iron brought with it infinite agony as it gave way, erupting from Vincent¡¯s throat with such force that his head bashed against the ground once more.

    Screeching pain incarnate was ripped from his soul, exploding towards the starry sky above. It was disgustingly abundant, billowing smoke that did injustice to the tranquil night. It was still yet another contrast to smoke yet more natural that burned so far away. Clouded violet tore its way through the still air, chilled as it was, fleeing the cursed man for far too long. There came a point when concern led her to count. It was well over ninety seconds, continuously. Each passing moment left her heart breaking ever further. She gave up on stemming her tears. Where agony rose, her own flavor of agony fell.

    He coughed heavily, choking and gagging on the grotesque fog that escaped his body. When only ambling wisps of trailing indigo were left to rise, he gasped for oxygen. Tears of distress leaked and spilled down his cheeks, perfectly clear as they graced his skin. A stilled song freed him of his icy bindings, and flakes of fallen frost rained feebly from his clothes. Not once, even now, had his fingers unfurled from the knife. The hilt in his hands was a fixture. Eleanor wondered when he¡¯d notice. She feared, above all else, the moment it would hit.

    Their eyes met. Two different types of tears mingled from afar, glistening under the glow of the scalding inferno beyond. He propped himself up on his elbows, still hunting for his breath in full. Her distress was more than visible, surely, for how his tone echoed the same.

    ¡°Mother?¡± Vincent murmured.

    His voice was every bit as beautiful as she¡¯d remembered it to be that morning. It was a trigger for yet more tears, and she swallowed what sobs she could. ¡°Vincent,¡± Eleanor returned simply.

    Rising to his feet was a trial, by which he staggered and stumbled all the way there. It didn¡¯t occur to her to aid him, rooted in place forever by crushing grief. He still hadn¡¯t let go of the weapon. ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on?¡± he asked, his voice shaking in the slightest.

    She had no answer for him. There was no answer to give, really. It was all she could do to meet his gaze and offer her silent tears.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Vincent tried.

    Keeping her composure was a nightmare. She¡¯d already been through one tonight.

    ¡°Mother, please. I don¡¯t understand. Where¡­are we?¡±

    Eleanor''s eyes drifted to the knife. It was involuntary. It fit so neatly in his hand, the hilt perched so skillfully between his fingers. She wasn¡¯t aware he knew how to wield one, frankly. He¡¯d always found ways to amaze her, incredible as he was. She wondered where he¡¯d gotten it from in the first place.

    Vincent followed her gaze. It still took him a moment, his eyes crawling over every last splash of scarlet and every stain of the same tinting his fingers. Some had made it to his wrists, peppering blues once crisp and pristine. He stared. He stared, and stared, and stared, a hand closed around a bloodied weapon trembling violently. The anguish that fell over his face was unbearable to simply witness. Even as he unfurled his fingers at last, it did little to alleviate his immense distress.

    The blade dropped to the frost-speckled grass below with a weak thud. Once more was he staggering, although not from physical suffering alone. His shoulders heaved and his breaths grew labored yet again. When his gaze met Eleanor¡¯s a second time over, it burned in a way that incinerated her soul.

    ¡°Vincent--¡±

    Her broken words never made it far. He, too, was just as broken, the shadow of sin splashed across his face in the worst way. Eyes once glassy now pooled with utter horror. Fingers once wrapped so confidently around the hilt of a dirtied blade now tangled desperately into night-black locks she so loved. Vincent¡¯s shattered gaze snapped to the glowing flames that rose to meet the sky even now. He, too, was ablaze in another way entirely. Where she wished with every ounce of her being to hold him close, he eluded her yet again.

    He took no violet with him, stealing onto deep gasps of panic and despair as he turned sharply on his heel. Discarded frost found its way underfoot, and he nearly stumbled in the process of sprinting. The knife was her sole souvenir, abandoned and staining the green upon which it rested. He fled with pounding footsteps into the darkness. Where he sought to run was beyond her. To give chase was useless.

    Viola was still asleep, maybe. She doubted he¡¯d return home, his hands covered in the blood of the innocent as they were. Eleanor¡¯s eyes fell to the sparkling weapon before darting to his afterimage. Her tears were eternal, and the urge to fall to her knees was overwhelming. It was sheer exhaustion alone that kept her still, weeping silently as her sorrow dripped onto the silver instrument in her palms.

    Will you pursue him?

    ¡°There¡¯s no point,¡± Eleanor whispered hoarsely. ¡°There¡¯s already blood on his hands. He will face whatever is to come. I don¡¯t¡­know what he¡¯s done. In that way, I can¡¯t protect him.¡±

    You have spared his life.

    It was of no comfort. She couldn¡¯t even be grateful for Brava¡¯s attempts at easing her pain, direct as he often was instead. Tearing her eyes from the isolated weapon was impossible. Devoid of Dissonant hands, it was harmless. It was a sickening thought that did little good now.

    Even now, she wondered whether or not she¡¯d done him a favor. To face the consequences of his actions was perhaps worse than succumbing to agony. If it left Viola somewhere in the middle, she couldn¡¯t stand to imagine the suffering in his heart. Where the most horrid violets had led Vincent down the path of the most ruthless red, it was in lucidity that he found true agony. In that way, alive or not, Eleanor was left to mourn until her soul fell to pieces.

 45. The Sins of Vincent Vacanti

    Octavia usually didn¡¯t mind going to new places. If it was within the boundaries of Coda, it was all the more exciting. There was always something fascinating about uncovering exactly how large the city truly was. It was almost fun to see how many landmarks lay beyond the eyes of the average tourist. The courthouse would¡¯ve been fine in passing. As an attendee, it was horrifying.

    Knowing what awaited inside was the worst part. At a crisp eight o¡¯clock in the morning, the sun overhead had just begun a modest, ambling ascent. Pink clouds drifted lazily above, and she was floating just as high. Coming back down was difficult. The stature of the courthouse, coupled with its many steps towards judgment, was just as imposing as the backdrop upon which it had been placed.

    There was a silence that spoke in contrast to the Hell beyond its doors, organized and uniform as it would be. The judge, jury, and all others involved had surely beaten her there. She¡¯d never actually attended a trial, let alone set foot in a courtroom. Silver Ridge was peaceful enough. Silver Ridge was hardly populated. She couldn¡¯t even remember if Silver Ridge had a courthouse in the first place.

    Each step upwards, even in tandem with the others at her back, was terrifying. Anxiety pooled in her wake. She couldn¡¯t help it. Stradivaria¡¯s case jostling against her shoulders was her one saving grace.

    Viola had added a new rule in light of recent events, of which Octavia was partially responsible for sparking the idea. In an ironic contrast to advice she¡¯d once been given before a certain auction, they were now not to part from their instruments at all. Every case would be bound to every back, and every partner would be within arm¡¯s reach at all times. Octavia didn¡¯t resist the idea in the slightest, lest agony blight her in the ruins of a burnt home once more. She was still kicking herself over it days later.

    She appreciated Renato, Josiah, Madrigal, and Viola accompanying her to her own possible death sentence in the form of the witness stand. She would still very much have adored Harper¡¯s support, were it possible. It was the first time in a long time that the boy had been wholly absent from her side for longer than several hours. She wouldn¡¯t dare start a problem by proclaiming that she missed him. It didn¡¯t stop her from thinking it all the same.

    Halfway up the steps, her heart was beating quickly enough to leave her lightheaded. It had nothing to do with exertion. ¡°What am I supposed to say when they call me up there? How do I admit to knowing all this stuff?¡± she asked, panic seeping into every word.

    ¡°First of all, you need to relax,¡± Josiah said. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay. You¡¯ve got this, even if you don¡¯t feel like you do. Second, you¡¯re a witness who never had the opportunity to come forward during the initial sentencing. That¡¯s all you have to say. From there, the story you provide will speak for itself.¡±

    Octavia did what she could to take deep breaths. ¡°What else?¡±

    Josiah raised one hand aloft, counting on his fingers. ¡°Don¡¯t indicate any kind of intent on her father¡¯s part. Don¡¯t mention Harper¡¯s father at all. Don¡¯t even bother bringing up the Dissonance. That¡¯s basically it.¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly. ¡°Okay. Okay.¡±

    ¡°Are they gonna let all of us in there?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Viola nodded in turn. ¡°It¡¯s a public trial. They¡¯re not advertised, necessarily, but in Coda, you can literally just¡­walk in. You just need to be quiet.¡±

    Renato winced. ¡°Eww, so random people can watch you get sentenced for personal stuff like it¡¯s entertainment? That¡¯s creepy.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t do that in Selbright?¡±

    ¡°Hell, no. You try to sneak into someone else¡¯s trial, you¡¯re gonna end up in one yourself later--provided the defendant doesn¡¯t kick your ass first. Rightfully.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Josiah interrupted. ¡°None of us are going inside.¡±

    The resounding exclamation of surprise that followed was collective and startling, particularly given that they¡¯d already reached the entrance. Even here, cresting the top of the stairs, the exterior was deserted. Had Octavia been alone, her lack of understanding of both legal proceedings and navigational skills would¡¯ve led her to wonder if she was in the correct place. Above all else, entering alone was a horrific concept.

    ¡°What do you mean? We¡¯re all allowed to go in. That¡¯s¡­how this works,¡± Viola insisted.

    ¡°I told you about my backup plan. This is part of it,¡± Josiah said calmly.

    At the mention of his scheme, puzzled eyes instead pooled with apprehension. ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±

    ¡°Let me restate that,¡± he began. ¡°None of you are going in. Octavia and I are.¡±

    Renato groaned. ¡°Man, where the hell are you even going with this?¡±

    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± he asked Viola alone, his gaze equally soft and firm.

    Octavia watched the way Viola pursed her lips, hands curling into fists at her sides. Still, she met his eyes with false confidence.

    She nodded. ¡°You better know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°I know exactly what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    He turned to Octavia instead, that same gaze of gentle firmness settling onto her. ¡°We can¡¯t wait much longer. I won¡¯t leave you. Ready?¡±

    Absolutely not.

    ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    At the very least, he shouldered the pressure of opening the doors.

    Octavia made the fatal mistake of looking over her shoulder at the three exiled supporters in her wake. She was more engrossed in their confused and distressed expressions than the rush of cool, interior air that had blasted her in full. Madrigal waved half-heartedly. She waved back. Renato gave her a lazy two-finger salute. She returned the same.

    Viola only stared, eyes full of fear and hands clutching the hem of her dress. The smile Octavia cobbled together was compromised at best and false at worst. Even so, she poured into it what little confidence she knew she should save for what awaited. It was worth it anyway.

    The doors creaked shut noisily at last, sealing her off from the outside world. Already, she craved the sun. This was going to be miserable.

    It took effort to will herself to turn around, soaking in the grand splendor of the front lobby. Simple as it was, the sheer scale of it was just as intimidating as the outside. Crowned more or less only by a singular desk and yet another set of alabaster doors, the plain environment still found a way to pressure her. Marble was abundant and sprawling underfoot, and she was plagued with the illusion of a variable marble blanket draped over the room in earnest. It offered a dizzying sight that contributed to her lightheadedness just as much as the task at hand. Dying was much easier than even considering doing this. In the worst-case scenario, after all was said and done, she wouldn¡¯t be the one to die.

    ¡°I think I¡¯m gonna be sick,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got this,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°Just breathe.¡±

    ¡°Tried breathing. Not helping.¡±

    When he gently took her hand into his own, the surprise of his touch was substantial enough to blunt her nausea and fear. Her eyes flickered to his, and his smile was its own surprise.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go together. If this is set up the way I¡¯ve been led to believe it¡¯ll be, you¡¯ll still be able to see me at all times. If you get scared, just don¡¯t take your eyes off me. I¡¯ll be here for you.¡±

    She wished she had the confidence to return a smile, let alone any inkling of gratitude. She settled for the weakest nod she¡¯d ever produced. If nothing else, her heart was grateful.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think it¡¯s gonna look¡­I don¡¯t know, like something¡¯s up if we¡¯re staring at each other the whole time?¡± she asked, content to follow his lead onward.

    He shrugged. ¡°If anyone asks, just pretend I¡¯m your boyfriend.¡±

    Octavia laughed a genuine laugh. She didn¡¯t know she could make one in the first place. ¡°Eww. No.¡±

    Josiah smirked as he pulled her along. ¡°Pretending, idiot. You¡¯d make a terrible actor.¡±

    What little peace and relief she found in the form of a solid giggle was threatened by halted steps before the guardian alabaster before them. Squeezing his hand was a reflex, her fingers trembling from the concept of entry at all. He could read her mind, maybe, for how one of his palms came to rest flat against the leftmost door.

    ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, I¡¯ve never been to one of these, either. Like I said, we didn¡¯t exactly have them down there. We¡¯ll play it by ear.¡±

    She gulped. ¡°We do that a lot.¡±

    His chuckle surprised her somewhat. ¡°This¡¯ll work out. I¡¯ll make sure it works out.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow, her attention briefly torn from the door. ¡°Wait, what exactly do you have in mind?¡±

    Josiah inhaled slowly, declining to acknowledge her directly. ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge if we need to. For now, just stick to what we discussed. Ready?¡±

    No.

    ¡°No.¡±

    It slipped out this time.

    He laughed. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    It took significant effort for him to push with one hand, and Octavia lamented the way she selfishly clung to the other. It was the most anxious she¡¯d been in weeks, even given that she¡¯d died eight times recently. She¡¯d never admit it aloud. When the double doors gave way to her fate, whatever nerves ate away at her instead fought to devour from within.

    No longer were they alone, although she wouldn¡¯t quite have rushed to call the room ¡°populated¡±. The cast of actors in a play to weigh the value of a man¡¯s life weren''t as numerous as she¡¯d been led to expect. Even so, they were more than enough to drag her back to the Hell of relentless nausea under prying eyes. The creak of the doors wasn¡¯t exactly subtle.

    Most had already taken up their respective positions, and she initially feared she was late. She could vaguely assume their particular roles relative to both manners of dress and placements--secondary to what she¡¯d seen once in a book, at least. It would be her sole frame of reference for the next several hours. Given what she was expected to do, that was absolutely not a good thing.

    The semicircular seating on the furthest side of the courtroom numbered ten individual places, each slowly growing occupied by strangers in monotone attire. The remainder of the chamber was largely cleaved in two down the carpeted center, halved on either side of the divisive maroon aisle. The hardwood oak comprising every remaining bench welcomed a stray, speckled assortment of yet more strangers. They, too, were clad in their own respectively-dull clothing. Some hugged the left side. Others, the right. They didn¡¯t mingle, converse, or hardly exchange more than a passing glance.

    For a publicly visible trial, then, the abundance of empty seating was a shock. Vincent Vacanti wore a poisonous name, surely, for the blood that stained his hands. The horrors of his deeds surely warranted a crowd, if not at least splattered interest. The opportunity was prime. Instead, including Josiah and herself, the occupants of the courtroom numbered, at most, twenty-five.

    ¡°Do you think no one knew this was going on today?¡± Octavia whispered.

    Josiah shrugged half-heartedly, still drinking in the settling scene of his own accord. ¡°This all happened so quickly that I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it didn¡¯t become public knowledge. I think Viola said her family was obligated to find out, but that¡¯s it.¡±

    She, too, did what she could to study the foreign atmosphere. If she were to face her own death sentence in here, she¡¯d cling to all she could garner first. The semicircle of proceedings did, in fact, harbor a stand--a literal stand, nearly identical to the mental image she¡¯d conjured. The angle was excruciatingly unfortunate, the pedestal facing rightwards as it was. It left a sea of hardwood seating and foreign faces in sight, should she take her place behind it. It would leave her showered with gaze upon unfamiliar gaze, just the same. A toll would¡¯ve been a phenomenal alternative right now.

    ¡°I-Is that where I have to testify?¡± she stuttered.

    Josiah squeezed her hand gently twice over. Feeble or not, she appreciated the effort of reassurance. ¡°Do you know what a cross-examination is?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. She wasn¡¯t certain she enjoyed the word alone.

    ¡°This is a weird situation, so I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll actually happen, but there¡¯s a chance both sides might press you on whatever you give them. No matter what, you have to be confident in what you say.¡±

    She was dizzy. The pressure was unbearable. She had no idea what she was doing.

    ¡°I have no idea what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    Involuntary.

    Josiah sighed. ¡°If you really get stuck, I have a backup plan for that, too. Just remember, I¡¯m not the one who¡¯s seen the things you have. There¡¯s certain things I can¡¯t help with, even if I wanted to.¡±

    Her curiosity was at war with her nerves. She had little time to entertain either one, for how her attention was kidnapped by yet more shuffles and murmurs. Those who still stood instead settled into their respective places, whether that equated to speculatory benches or the proceedings circle she dreaded. Still on her feet, she was out of place in more ways than one. She was collecting different flavors of panic, at this point.

    ¡°Where exactly are we supposed to--¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­go to the left for now. We¡¯ll figure out if we¡¯re wrong pretty quickly, I think,¡± Josiah offered, dragging her along accordingly.

    Octavia was content to surrender to his guidance, nearly stumbling in the process of settling at his side on the bench. Even now, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to free his hand. He didn¡¯t make her. If he weren¡¯t here, she¡¯d already have fallen to pieces.

    In the midst of draping silence, Octavia¡¯s final survey of the room brought her eyes to a vacant seat. It was higher, imposing, opposite to the pedestal she feared. It came to accommodate a stranger in turn, oozing confidence with every step. Blackened robes just barely spared plush maroon at her feet, the blows of spearing heels softened in turn. She took her rightful place, fiery locks bouncing with every controlled movement. The contrast of tethered, flaming red upon flowing, darkened night was striking. She was gorgeous.

    Oh, God, she almost looked like Priscilla.

    Why did she have to look like Priscilla?

    ¡°Not so tight,¡± Josiah hissed in pain, wriggling his fingers in Octavia¡¯s own. She quickly unfurled an iron grip she didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d cursed him with.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Octavia muttered. This whole situation grew more miserable every second.

    She was so thoroughly distracted by the woman¡¯s exceedingly-familiar looks that she outright didn¡¯t register the first ten seconds of speech stinging the air. It took conscious effort to refocus. For how little she truly understood of the environment, it might not have mattered to begin with.

    ¡°Trial is now in session for the resentencing of the defendant on three charges of murder in the first degree,¡± she spoke, her voice projecting about the courtroom spectacularly. If nothing else, Octavia was impressed.

    ¡°Will the prosecution please provide their opening statement?¡± she continued.

    Josiah winced. ¡°Damn, they¡¯re not messing around.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Octavia whispered.

    ¡°They¡¯re getting straight to the point. Not sure what the rush is.¡±

    One splash of gray in the form of another stranger rose to his feet from the distant right, and it took ample squinting to make him out in full. He was less intimidating, granted, and it was an immense relief that no further actors resembled Priscilla. If his carrying words were anything to go by, he, too, harbored years of experience in the field.

    ¡°Your honor,¡± he began, ¡°having served eight years of his life sentence, the defendant is no stranger to the criminal justice system. It is true that his reign of terror can no longer proceed behind bars, and he can never again inflict harm upon another. Even so, it is after careful reconsideration of the circumstances that the city of Coda finds his punishment too lenient relative to the barbarity of his sins. This is a man who acted with ill will and premeditation, a man who stole away three innocent women from their loved ones and their ambitions.¡±

    Octavia scoffed under her breath. She¡¯d already counted at least four incorrect statements in the span of several sentences. If only he knew.

    ¡°There can be no justice for these families while he still yet draws breath and lives another day. Your honor, what this man deserves is what should have been handed down upon him to begin with. The city of Coda argues that Vincent Vacanti should be put to death to atone for his heinous crimes. No further argument.¡±

    The mention of his name aloud was enough to leave her burning. For how she¡¯d eternally caught it in hushed whispers and treaded razor-thin lines to acknowledge him, this was wrong. He was a solemn secret not meant for the open air, and yet his truth was set free without care. It was sacrilegious. For others to know his crimes was jarring. For others to know of him at all was jarring. It was only by the grace of the sickest privileges that she could guard what secrets remained, and--for once--she was grateful for the gruesome burden she carried. She¡¯d have to share it soon enough.

    ¡°Harsh,¡± Josiah muttered.

    ¡°Defense.¡±

    One powerful word from the woman¡¯s mouth was enough to banish the man Octavia assumed to be the prosecutor--provided she was understanding this correctly. They were puzzle pieces she hardly wished to assemble, slowly falling into place on a board she hated maintaining. The judge handled the room with grace, trading one bland stranger for another entirely. He, too, was unremarkable and well-projecting, differentiated by his positioning alone. From the left, he rose to his feet.

    ¡°Your honor, there is little denial as to the nature of the defendant¡¯s actions. He has accepted and acknowledged them, including recognizing their heinous nature. It serves as a testament to his character that, despite his inability to meaningfully recall the events of that fateful night, he has served his sentence thus far with no resistance. Within the prison walls, the defendant is a model prisoner himself, with no infractions or incidents to speak of. He carries no prior criminal history, and his actions that evening do not speak to his character. ¡®Mistake¡¯ is too loose a term to describe what the defendant did to those women that night. Even so, to bestow the death penalty unto a man who does not so much as remember his own choices is a cruel perversion of justice. The defense argues that Mr. Vacanti should maintain his current sentence of life imprisonment to atone for his deeds. No further argument.¡±

    ¡°So they at least know he doesn¡¯t remember,¡± Octavia whispered.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯ll help.¡±

    ¡°Prosecution,¡± the judge began anew. ¡°Do you have any witnesses?¡±

    The prosecutor was once more on his feet, rising from the right with a nod. ¡°Yes, your honor. The prosecution calls Vincent Vacanti to the stand.¡±

    Oh, God.

    The miniscule wave of whispers that drifted past paled in comparison to the blood rushing through Octavia¡¯s ears. If she would see him, then he would perhaps see her in turn. At least one of those was unavoidable. She wasn¡¯t sure which of them she feared more.

    ¡°Geez,¡± Josiah groaned, recoiling with disgust. ¡°They can do that? And this is all happening way too fast. I¡¯ve never seen one of these before, but I¡¯m fairly certain this isn¡¯t how it¡¯s supposed to go.¡±

    Octavia barely even registered his words. She was too busy drinking in Vincent Vacanti¡¯s visage as he rose into the light. He¡¯d been distant, and yet there all the same, shielded by an angle that had spared her heart. Eight years had been kind to him, even by his back alone. Caged behind cold walls, his composure had endured--slandered or otherwise. Gone were the lovely hues of royal blues that had adorned his body, elegant fabrics replaced with restrictive attire. Still, its dull shades paled in comparison to rich, jet-black locks that she¡¯d witnessed so many times in so many tolls.

    He moved slowly, and her eyes found his wrists bound by glistening metal. Harmless and untainted by agony, his treatment spoke to the opposite. Flanked on his left by a man she presumed to be law enforcement--if his outfit was anything to go by--he was never alone on his shuffling voyage to the stand she dreaded.

    When he turned at that vulnerable angle to face the room at large, Octavia caught the way his eyes lingered upon every gaze in turn. Her opportunity to match his own was fleeting, miniscule, and--for him--ultimately meaningless. For her, it was everything. Deep, brilliant cerulean met her with gentle sorrow, and Octavia could hardly breathe. That was enough. He was the absolute splitting image of Viola.

    ¡°Mr. Vacanti, do you agree to tell the truth upon this stand and to this courtroom, under penalty of perjury?¡± the judge asked.

    He nodded, the long waves of his hair rustling in just the slightest. They, too, were scathingly familiar. His voice was raspy, soft, and delicate--nothing Octavia would associate with a killer. ¡°I do.¡±

    There was zero hesitation. The prosecutor didn¡¯t spare one moment, just as he didn¡¯t dare spare Vincent. Any closer and he would¡¯ve stolen that hollow sorrow from the rest of the room, the broken man¡¯s view narrowed to him alone. ¡°Mr. Vacanti, you stand here today to answer once again for the terrible sins you have committed. To take a life is to--¡±

    ¡°Can I say something?¡±

    Vincent¡¯s interruption was as sudden as it was gentle, his words powerful and soft all at once. Where Octavia expected ire on the part of the prosecutor, she instead found surprise. The leeway that followed was equally shocking.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± the man granted.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Vincent murmured. His shoulders rose and fell once with the labor of a deep breath.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°I don¡¯t deny any of the things I did. Whether or not I remember them is irrelevant. I know what happened. I know what these hands of mine have done. For that, I know I can never truly be forgiven. I will accept whatever punishment comes to me. I have no regrets in saying so.¡±

    His statement draped the courtroom in silence. Octavia squeezed Josiah¡¯s hand once more, her heart threatening to burst.

    ¡°Well, let me correct myself. Of the regrets that I have, there is nothing that can be done. I will take them to my grave without struggle,¡± he continued. ¡°Do as you will. I am indifferent as to where this verdict takes me.¡±

    Collective murmuring, once dulled, again besieged the room. Josiah gritted his teeth. ¡°Idiot,¡± he hissed among scattered whispers.

    ¡°Can you blame him?¡± Octavia murmured sadly.

    Josiah closed his eyes, forcing several deep breaths of his own. ¡°No,¡± he said at last, ¡°but it just made your job a lot harder.¡±

    The craftsmanship of the hardwood benches was lovely. Octavia appreciated it. It was a shame that the butterflies in her stomach were going to stain it with her breakfast.

    ¡°T-The prosecution rests,¡± the prosecutor stammered.

    Even the judge wasn¡¯t immune to raising an eyebrow. ¡°Defense, do you wish to proceed with your cross-examination of Mr. Vacanti?¡±

    When Vincent challenged the defense with empty eyes alone, the man shook his head. ¡°No, your honor.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Prosecution, do you have any other witnesses?¡±

    ¡°We do not, your honor.¡±

    ¡°As to the defense?¡±

    The man shook his head. ¡°We do n--¡±

    ¡°Now!¡± Josiah whispered harshly.

    A tight, sharp squeeze of Octavia¡¯s hand was the only thing that returned her to reality. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly where she summoned the strength to speak. Shouting was even more of a surprise.

    ¡°I volunteer as a witness!¡± she yelled, leaping to her feet. Her volume, truthfully, was enough to startle even herself. With one hand cast high and the other still firmly secure in Josiah¡¯s, both were trembling in equal measure. Adrenaline wasn¡¯t helping.

    Whispers and murmurs were no longer whispers and murmurs. An uncontrolled commotion had taken its place, in turn. Octavia had seen that kind of gavel, specifically, depicted on paper once. Today, she figured out how it worked.

    ¡°Order!¡± the judge called, her eyes narrow and vicious.

    She didn¡¯t get what she wanted for at least another ten seconds. That much was enough for Octavia to second-guess why she was here at all.

    ¡°And¡­who are you, exactly?¡± the judge asked, her cold tone enough to hurt.

    Octavia gulped. She¡¯d rehearsed this part exactly once. She prayed she could remember the wording.

    ¡°I was¡­there. That night, as a child, I was there. Eight years ago, I never got the chance to speak up. I¡¯ve been waiting. Please, let me tell you what I saw, with my own eyes.¡±

    It sounded good in her head. She crossed her metaphorical fingers.

    The judge blinked. She turned her head sharply towards the man eyeing Octavia, tethered flames jerking in the wake of her motions. ¡°Defense?¡±

    For a moment, the defense didn¡¯t answer. ¡°What¡­is your name?¡± he finally spoke.

    She hoped her voice was louder than the ringing in her ears.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± she answered, her words dangerously unstable. ¡°Ellis. Octavia Ellis.¡±

    The man nodded. ¡°The defense calls Octavia Ellis to the stand.¡±

    There was no going back.

    Letting go of Josiah¡¯s hand was the second-hardest part, short of actually willing her feet to shuffle forward and into the aisle. Each step forward in the direction of the semicircle left her lightheaded. It was a miracle she remembered how to walk at all, given how the wrong words leaving her lips could cost a man his life. Octavia soaked in only silence as she moved, and that was somehow worse. Their eyes, scattered and honed all the same, sliced painfully into her skin. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    Stradivaria¡¯s case brushed against her shoulders, the rugged material snagging her hair in the wake of erratic movements. She strongly contemplated mentally begging for his companionship. If her own words were to determine a man¡¯s fate, then she desperately needed those that would comfort her in turn.

    This boy never ceases to surprise me.

    That wasn¡¯t him.

    The voice that graced her from within was far from Stradivaria¡¯s. She¡¯d caught it yesterday, in the heat of an argument not meant to be shared. The way by which her footsteps slowed in the slightest was involuntary. It took conscious effort to press forward, particularly with dozens of eyes pinning her on every side.

    Who¡­are you? she asked instead. She wasn¡¯t sure if this should''ve been her focus right now.

    Your interpreter, as it would seem. I do not necessarily appreciate being used as such, but the concept is amusing enough that I will humor him. Perhaps, in one of his better moods, he will permit me a formal introduction to you, oh Ambassador.

    She blinked, her slogging footsteps practically endless. She entertained the idea of making them slower. Etherion?

    I will speak on his behalf. Know my words to be his. Have you something for him, I will relay it as such. What next you hear will be from his lips alone.

    Madrigal had done the same, once, brief as it was. For how Lyra had been shared between them, the Maestra had assembled a party of three bound only by the privilege of the Ambassador. It was an odd time to at last hear the Muse''s voice in full. Still, she thanked him silently. When Josiah said he wouldn¡¯t leave her side, he¡¯d meant it. It was so like him.

    If you get stuck, do what I tell you, and exactly what I tell you.

    The voice that came to her was not Josiah¡¯s proper. Instead, she was blessed with the smooth, soft tones she¡¯d come to associate with his presumed partner. When she stopped briefly to peer over her shoulder, Josiah¡¯s crossed arms confirmed the origin of those words once and for all. This was going to take time to get used to.

    She pressed on. Right.

    Penetrating the semicircle once and for all was painful. Still, it wasn¡¯t as awful as she¡¯d feared. She chalked up the relief to the bubble of isolation popped by the person-and-a-half in her head. Vincent had since returned to his own seat, taking his place beside the defense. Moving past each set of prying eyes was vividly uncomfortable. Moving past him, in particular, was agonizing. Octavia couldn¡¯t help the way their gazes touched, mingling for what felt like far too long. The bottomless sea in his eyes threatened to swallow her whole. She struggled to hold her breath.

    She¡¯d been correct in her assumption that the witness stand afforded a view of the full room at an accommodating angle. From where she stood, every face was visible with relative clarity, even of those who¡¯d opted to sit in the back. At the very least, despite the incredible intimidation that came with each gaze and glare upon her, the sight of Josiah¡¯s reassuring smile from afar warmed her heart. He even gave a playful little wave, just barely peeking over the head of the hardwood backing in front of him. She regretted her inability to return it.

    Do your best.

    She couldn¡¯t nod, let alone draw attention to herself through non-verbal expression. Even a smile was out of the question, given the circumstances, as badly as she wanted to offer one. As long as I know you¡¯re there.

    I¡¯m not going anywhere.

    ¡°Octavia Ellis, do you agree to tell the truth upon this stand and to this courtroom, under penalty of perjury?¡± the judge demanded.

    That was out of the question. As Josiah would say, lying by omission was still lying. Knowing everything that she knew, and dodging what was dangerous to say? She was about to lie her heart out.

    ¡°I do.¡±

    If Harper were the judge, she¡¯d already be in prison.

    The defense approached her podium, the man¡¯s steps heavy even against the plush carpet below. Octavia did her best to breathe. It was useless. Still, an attempt was an attempt.

    You can¡¯t admit to being in three places at once. You¡¯re going to lose your credibility immediately, came Josiah¡¯s words, hastily-interpreted and far more audibly pleasing than his usual voice. Talking about Harper¡¯s mother is dangerous. There¡¯s no real safe way for you to have been there and gotten out. You¡¯re gonna have to choose one of the other two and lean hard on that.

    She hadn¡¯t considered that part. There went her all-seeing Ambassador privileges. As quickly as possible, she mentally weighed which of Viola¡¯s two tolls she recalled best.

    ¡°How old are you, Octavia?¡± the man began, his voice a bit softer than she¡¯d expected.

    It made sense. Technically, they were on the same side. ¡°F-Fifteen,¡± she stuttered.

    He nodded. ¡°At the time of the Vacanti murders, you were seven years old?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes.¡±

    ¡°Tell us where you were that night.¡±

    She closed her eyes. She mentally flipped a coin.

    ¡°I-I was walking back home from playing with friends. We were out for a few hours. It got dark. I was late. I got scared, and I got a bit lost. I don¡¯t¡­actually remember what side of the city I was on. It was so long ago.¡±

    That took care of the ambiguous location, hopefully. With her limited eyesight and flashing snippets, combined with her poor knowledge of Coda geography, guessing her location would¡¯ve been dangerous. She prayed it was enough of an excuse.

    ¡°Even so, I-I still remember what I saw, and I¡¯ll never forget it as long as I live.¡±

    Granted, that wasn¡¯t a lie.

    ¡°I came around a corner, trying to find my way back to a road I knew, and there was this woman with¡­long blonde hair, a-and fair skin. She had a work uniform of some kind on. I think maybe she worked with plants? It had a lot of green stains. It doesn¡¯t matter. She was walking, and¡­¡±

    Octavia embellished her words with actions, aiming one regretful finger at a sitting Vincent across the semicircle. Simply implicating him felt awful. ¡°That man, he was chasing her. She fell, and she landed on her face really hard. She tried to get away, but he wouldn¡¯t let her. And then he¡­stabbed her. In the throat, over and over, until she¡­¡±

    She paused for emphasis, doing what she could to let the obvious point sink in around the room. She went so far as to fix the defense with the most sorrowful look she could muster. Ideally, he wouldn¡¯t confuse it with something far more anxious.

    ¡°She stopped moving. And breathing,¡± she concluded, forcing her voice to wobble.

    The defense nodded. Internally, Octavia praised her own performance. She dared Josiah to call her a terrible actor again.

    We¡¯re here to argue on behalf of insanity, remember? You¡¯re not done.

    Octavia winced. I was getting there.

    ¡°But he was acting weird,¡± she interjected suddenly.

    ¡°Weird in what way?¡± asked the defense, the man tilting his head as he eyed her.

    This entire testimony was going to be a nightmare to manage without mentioning Dissonance. Octavia racked her brain for every smokeless symptom she could recall, rapidly doing what she could to interpret them to the average eye. No one could counter whatever claims she could make, regardless.

    ¡°He was¡­it¡¯s hard to describe. At first, I thought maybe he was drunk, but it was different. He was moving strangely. He was kinda¡­stumbling around, making these jerky movements every few steps. He wasn¡¯t paying attention to where he was going. He was running, but he could barely run in a straight line. He kept saying weird things under his breath. I couldn¡¯t make out what, but I remember that part really well.¡±

    She didn¡¯t remember that part at all, actually. She¡¯d completely made up the last one. It wasn¡¯t as though they¡¯d know.

    ¡°Most of all, his eyes were all¡­glassy. It¡¯s like he wasn¡¯t even there. Even when he was¡­done, he barely reacted. He just got up and walked away. He just left her there. It¡¯s like he didn¡¯t even know what he was doing.¡±

    Octavia was well aware that she was pushing the angle hard. Striking a balance between planting the seed and remaining impartial was a struggle.

    Again, the defense nodded. ¡°And what did you do after Mr. Vacanti left the scene?¡±

    Lying was getting easier. ¡°I was scared. I didn¡¯t want to get hurt, so I ran away. I know it was wrong, and I think about it every day. I found my way home. I cried. I never told anyone, not up until today. I regret leaving that woman there that night.¡±

    ¡°And, Miss Ellis, if I might ask, what drew you here today? How did you learn of this trial, specifically?¡±

    That was a problem. The trials were public, granted. Still, they didn¡¯t seem to be advertised, let alone specified by defendant. To stumble across Vincent¡¯s, in particular, would be nothing short of a miracle. ¡®Coincidence¡¯ was a dangerous argument.

    She tried anyway, casting her better judgment aside. ¡°Coincidence. I really¡­think it was fate. I¡¯ve never sat in on a trial before. I planned all week to come by today and see one, just to see what it was like. When I heard his name, I couldn¡¯t believe it. It was like¡­destiny. It was like God was giving me a second chance.¡±

    Really laying it on thick.

    Shut up.

    Even with a raised eyebrow to meet her honeyed words, they were apparently enough. ¡°I see. It certainly is an extraordinary stroke of luck that you would find yourself here, again, face-to-face with the man who drew blood before your eyes that fateful evening. And you¡¯re confident that the killer was the defendant?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten his face. I¡¯ll never forget his eyes, even if they¡¯re not the same empty ones I saw that night.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare look in his direction. The way the hairs on her skin were slowly rising were at least a slight indication that those eyes had settled upon her, for better or worse.

    ¡°As to the woman whose life he took, had you ever seen her before?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°No, sir.¡±

    ¡°So, Miss Ellis, just to reiterate, you believe with confidence that Mr. Vacanti¡¯s behavior that night was abnormal?¡±

    ¡°I know something wasn¡¯t right. I¡¯ve never met him personally, but I¡¯ve never seen someone act like that before. I feel like ¡®insane¡¯ is a really mean word to use, but it¡¯s the first one I can think of. He was just¡­off. I really, really don¡¯t think he knew what he was doing.¡±

    There. She¡¯d at least put the word out there. If nothing else, she doubted anyone would¡¯ve suspected she had a motive. She was getting good at this.

    ¡°That is all of the questions I have. The defense rests.¡±

    Nicely done, Josiah praised as the man returned to his seat.

    Octavia tilted her head. I kinda expected him to ask more questions. Was that really enough?

    ¡°Prosecution, you may proceed with your cross-examination.¡±

    She had completely, totally, and utterly forgotten that that was a risk at all.

    When the prosecutor in question stepped a bit too close to the stand for comfort, by which she could study the threads of his suit, her stomach twisted into knots. Whatever confidence she¡¯d cobbled together rapidly slipped through her fingers. The pine of the stand was nice, too. It made for another unfortunate target of her breakfast.

    Apparently, it showed. Calm down. Keep your story straight. Don¡¯t change anything and don¡¯t go in any direction you haven¡¯t already gone. Don¡¯t let this guy screw you over.

    ¡°Miss Ellis,¡± he began firmly, ¡°first of all, I would like to commend your bravery in coming forward after all of these years. I imagine it wasn¡¯t easy to dredge up all of those awful memories again, especially after bottling them up for so long.¡±

    Don''t think about it.

    ¡°You state that you witnessed the defendant behaving¡­erratically that evening, during the course of his crimes?¡±

    She had most definitely witnessed the defendant. She did what she could to shelve a chuckle over his poor choice of words. ¡°Yes, sir, like I stated. He didn¡¯t seem¡­all there.¡±

    The man crossed his arms. ¡°And what would you consider to be ¡®all there¡¯? What would lead you to believe his actions to be unsound?¡±

    He was going in circles. It was annoying. ¡°It¡¯s like I said. He looked disoriented--and he acted disoriented, too. He almost fell every time he moved, he was muttering all this nonsense to himself, he was breathing really heavy and ragged, and the look on his face was so out of it. He wasn¡¯t drunk. I¡¯ve seen drunk. That wasn¡¯t it.¡±

    ¡°And this is different from Mr. Vacanti¡¯s usual behaviors?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°It¡¯s¡­different from anyone I¡¯ve ever seen. I¡¯ve never seen someone--¡±

    ¡°Pardon my bluntness, Miss Ellis, but at the age of seven, there was still much to be seen in the world. It is not unfeasible that the behaviors you witnessed that evening weren¡¯t as unique as you were led to believe.¡±

    ¡°Objection!¡± the defense called, rising hastily from his seat. ¡°Speculation!¡±

    From her own position, the judge narrowed her eyes. ¡°Sustained. Prosecution, please watch your wording.¡±

    Octavia dug her fingernails into the edges of the stand. What do I do?

    Relax. Don¡¯t let him throw you off.

    ¡°In that case, Miss Ellis, you stated you¡¯ve never met the defendant before, correct?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Not on a personal level, no. Today is the first time I¡¯ve ever seen him.¡±

    ¡°At the age of seven, were you aware of his social standing in Coda?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°At the time, no. I know who he is now--who he was, at least. Not a lot, but a little bit. Art trade, I think.¡±

    ¡°So you knew nothing as to his personal character, then?¡±

    Damn it.

    What?

    I think I know where this is going.

    ¡°Miss Ellis?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s words were distracting enough that it took effort to acknowledge the prosecutor. ¡°N-No, I didn¡¯t know him personally.¡±

    ¡°Then how could you, at seven years old, be certain that Mr. Vacanti¡¯s behaviors were so unlike him?¡±

    I need you to stall for time for as long as you can. Now.

    Distant shuffling and a fierce bang drew Octavia¡¯s attention. So, too, did most eyes in the room snap to the exit. Whoever had departed left excessive noise in their wake, the door slamming open just as loud as it shut. Even if she couldn¡¯t see him from here, Octavia knew. It was enough for her to panic.

    Josiah?

    Stall!

    ¡°Miss Ellis, please.¡±

    She struggled to blink the fear out of her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s true I didn¡¯t know him then, but I know him now, and I know he wasn¡¯t acting like himself. Doesn¡¯t that count for something?¡±

    ¡°Miss Ellis, you yourself have said that you still do not know the defendant on a personal level. You¡¯ve stated today is the first time you¡¯ve ever seen him in full. Is that still the truth?¡±

    She gritted her teeth. ¡°I know of him. I know his legacy.¡±

    Probably Soulful, if Viola¡¯s bloodline was anything to go by. Maybe her choice of words wasn¡¯t much better.

    ¡°You admit, then, that you do not know the real Vincent Vacanti, the man behind the mask of proper business and morals?¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± she stammered.

    ¡°Could you testify as to his character? As to the man he is behind closed doors?¡±

    Keeping calm was agonizing. ¡°You guys said it earlier. He¡¯s been great in prison. He hasn¡¯t given anyone any problems. He¡¯s peaceful right now, even in the face of being threatened with his own death. That¡¯s the kind of character I believe him to have, and it doesn¡¯t match with what I saw that night.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, Miss Ellis,¡± the man nearly growled, ¡°¡®beliefs¡¯ do not count for much within the walls of the courtroom. The defendant you see before you, the defense has argued, is a changed man. Even if that were to be the case, from what has he changed? From whom has he changed? What kind of man was he that evening? Before that evening, even?¡±

    Octavia wanted to scream. It took immense effort not to do so. Stalling was getting difficult, and not just in terms of generating content. ¡°Has no one ever testified to his character before? In the last trial?¡±

    The man shook his head. Either he was losing his patience, or this was part of his job. She believed either one. ¡°The details of prior cases are not to be disclosed without proper clearance.¡±

    ¡°Prosecution,¡± the judge warned sharply, ¡°do you have any more questions for the witness?¡±

    She was being rushed. Once more, panic was setting in. There was no Josiah to guide her this time.

    The prosecutor sighed. ¡°No, your honor. The prosecution re--¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± Octavia cried, gripping the stand for dear life.

    ¡°Restrain yourself, Miss Ellis, or I will have you removed from this courtroom!¡± the judge snapped.

    She had exactly one idea. Whether or not it would work was debatable.

    ¡°If I can get someone to testify about his character, would you accept that testimony?¡± she practically pleaded.

    The prosecution scowled. She was most definitely making this man¡¯s job difficult. ¡°You intend to procure a witness with such credibility so late into this trial?¡±

    She nodded. Ideally, no one could see her sweating.

    ¡°Do you understand, Miss Ellis, that such a witness would need to be able to provide a testimony as to the defendant¡¯s character as of and prior to the night he committed his crimes?¡±

    Again, she nodded. ¡°I would just need someone who could testify about the kind of person he was eight years ago, right?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± he hissed.

    Idea or not, she was making empty promises. Josiah needed to hurry. ¡°There¡¯s a witness I can provide who fulfills all of that criteria. They¡¯re readily available. They¡¯re so close that I could go outside and get them.¡±

    The judge raised an eyebrow. ¡°Miss Ellis, this trial is not to be extended. We¡¯ve got no time to waste hunting for additional witnesses. You, as a witness yourself, should not be referring more witnesses in the first place. That responsibility should only lie with the defense. You are setting up a potential conflict of interest, and I must respectfully--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll testify to his character!¡±

    The tell-tale bang of the innocent and abused alabaster doors, thrown wide yet again, was twofold, for once. On either side, a door nearly collided with the wall, hurried and desperate hands slamming into the wood with greater force than was necessary. To Octavia¡¯s immense relief, Josiah had assaulted one.

    The equally beautiful sight of equally beautiful eyes, resolute and glorious, nearly brought Octavia to her knees. A confident voice, clear as crystal, brought the tense atmosphere grinding to a halt. Five powerful words from the mouth of one young Maestra served as the catalyst for a loaded silence.

    Viola didn¡¯t lock eyes with Octavia, nor Josiah, nor the prosecution or defense. She declined even to search for, let alone acknowledge, Vincent. Instead, she trained her harsh, challenging gaze on the judge¡¯s own, fire and ice waging wordless combat. Where Octavia¡¯s face had been plagued by only fear, she found zero upon Viola¡¯s own. The courage she wore was iridescent.

    The silence didn¡¯t last. The commotion that followed spread like wildfire, resistant to desperate calls for order. It was a miracle Octavia could still hear her own thoughts over the uproar. The judge was nearly forced to shout over the ceaseless cacophony to be heard at all.

    ¡°State your name and purpose! There is to be order in this courtroom!¡±

    With one hand pressed firmly over her heart, the Maestra was wholly unfazed. ¡°I will testify to his character,¡± she repeated. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything you need to know about this man, up until that night.¡±

    ¡°Your name,¡± the judge snapped, quieter as the noise dimmed at last.

    ¡°Viola,¡± she spoke confidently, pausing for a moment. ¡°Vacanti.¡±

    Three syllables was enough to undo the peace. In an instant, what calm had been restored was shattered, surprise erupting from wide eyes and astonished lips. Participants and onlookers alike practically leapt to their feet in every direction. Nearly every gaze darted back and forth between Viola and the judge, still deeply engrossed in a lethal staredown. Where one Vacanti clung to determination, another Vacanti entirely was stricken by shock. He, too, was on his feet, his eyes plagued by such shimmer that they matched his sea.

    ¡°Viola?¡± he asked aloud, his soft voice just barely audible amongst the chaos around him.

    Octavia held her breath. Not once had Viola¡¯s eyes fallen to Vincent. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly what would happen once they did.

    ¡°Viola,¡± she watched Vincent breathe once more, syllables mouthed in disbelief. Borderline tearful as he was, her heart was breaking on his behalf.

    He gazed at her with abject wonder and an unbroken line of sight. It took him time to raise his shackled wrists to his forehead, lowering his head in what Octavia assumed to be a silent prayer. His long, somewhat-unkempt bangs had fallen over glistening pupils, waves of fraying black obscuring both her view and his own. She really, genuinely, pitied a man whose shoulders began to tremble in the slightest. Soon enough, they shook violently, wracked with sobs.

    The same shoulders were not meant to breathe violet. Even so, sobs gave way to spindling fog, streaming parallel as it climbed into the open air. Deep and nearly blackened as every rising wisp was, they matched closely with the threateningly-dark shades of his hair. One was far more lethal than the other.

    For a moment, it was all she could do to blink. She thought to rub her eyes. Of the place, it was improbable. Of the situation, it was impossible. Of the man, it was absolutely unthinkable.

    She was wrong. Denial took far too long to conquer. He wasn¡¯t unlike a suffering Ivy she¡¯d encountered days prior. Harmless wisps that trickled aloft evolved to crash in a sickening stream, blanketing his body like the sickest of toxins along every pore. He steeped in malignance incarnate, thickening with each passing second and labored breath. When he lifted his head from his hands at last, even his exhales were tinged with the same congealed clouds, rolling menacingly as they snowballed ever larger.

    And like Ivy, he, too, became a fountain.

    There were differences between the first time and the second time. His Hell was no longer within, for one. Instead, out it came, equally free and equally deadly. It moved slowly, a thick, bubbling haze of smoke that drifted outwards in every direction. It spread in far too many directions, really, given the quantity of people vaguely adjacent to him. Even at a slower pace than Ivy, there was still a lot. It was still coming. It was still bound to be overwhelming, if not deadly.

    The deep sea of a gaze not unlike Viola¡¯s had dried up. What now claimed the whites of his eyes was the worst violet had to offer, wisps of smoky tears trailing down his cheeks in excess. His shackles didn¡¯t hold, and one singular, metallic crack was all it took for the straining metal to snap clean in half. Whether the material had grown weaker or he had grown stronger, Octavia was unsure.

    She couldn¡¯t reach for Stradivaria fast enough, eyes wide with panic. She couldn¡¯t stifle denial, much the same. ¡°No, no, no, no!¡±

    It was only via her frantic cries that Viola and Josiah noticed, the onset of awful screeching finally besieging their eardrums in turn. With one look, Josiah recoiled. With her own glance, Viola¡¯s world shattered into pieces. Her eyes, in turn, had flooded with fear, if not more. Every anguished emotion in the world flickered past her pupils in sequence, her breath rattling. She was speechless. She was motionless. She was left to watch as the Dissonance grew, billowing purple doubling and tripling in quantity. So, too, had the vicious fog begun to swell horrifically near to those who knew nothing of agony.

    Still, even now, her fingers moved instinctively towards Silver Brevada. Lightning struck twice, history repeated, and Vincent Vacanti¡¯s personal Hell began anew.

 46. Guilty

    There had been a time, long ago, when Octavia had been cautioned to hide the Maestro world away from prying eyes--and with good reason, if her later experiences were anything to go by. As such, pulling her Harmonial Instrument out in the middle of a semi-crowded courtroom in a densely-populated city seemed like a horrific idea. She had no choice. The alternative was death for all involved.

    The first pull of the bow against the strings, followed immediately by the blasting beam of light that speared forth directly after, drew instant cries of fear and surprise all around. Some were angry, some were amazed, and some were terrified. She had little time to wince beneath the attention, let alone acknowledge the calls to stand down from whoever was shouting.

    Her attention was on the bubbling mass of Dissonance alone, far too near to a law enforcement officer. Her strike was of utmost importance, and violet was left bursting into thin air with an agonizing shriek. This was going to be absurdly difficult to do without collateral damage. It didn¡¯t help that she was surrounded by those who couldn¡¯t comprehend the circumstances.

    At the very least, some aspects of Dissonance were universal. The screeching was enough to bring hands to ears around the room, confused and panicked as they were. Some people stumbled. Others braced themselves flat against walls, generally disoriented. Still, others had the energy to protest, disgruntled even now by the interruption of proceedings. Octavia was tempted to put her honed aim to use and ¡°accidentally¡± hit the prosecutor instead.

    As to Vincent himself, his current locale brought a double-edged problem. He¡¯d been escorted from a prison, and surely fell devoid of a weapon in turn. The thought of Round Two with Vincent and a knife in tandem was enough to make Octavia shudder--Round Four, technically. His fourth kill was the most concerning, in truth. Circumstances be damned, Vincent was more than violent with his hands alone. As to whether it was necessity at the time or the curse of sheer violet-blessed physical ability, Octavia couldn¡¯t guess. She was grateful when he didn¡¯t stop to search the officer for any additional modes of lethality. Instead, he vaulted over the table, clearing the mahogany desk he¡¯d settled behind in one swift motion.

    Where he was headed, barreling out of the semicircle and in the direction of the front doors, she had absolutely no idea.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let him get away!¡± Josiah cried, breaking into a full sprint.

    Rushing footsteps left him bearing down on the ring of proceedings. Octavia tensed. If he kept up his current path, he¡¯d be on a direct collision course with Vincent. It didn¡¯t help that he was utterly empty-handed, declining to embrace Etherion altogether.

    ¡°What are you doing? Get Etherion out!¡± she pleaded, balancing Stradivaria on her shoulder carefully. She had one idea as to how to oblige his demand. Executing it would be a trial by fire.

    ¡°Trust me!¡± he called back instead.

    She usually did, but Maestro matters were different. With her eyes set on the doors that had already caused so much commotion, Octavia inhaled sharply. It took effort to strain her muscles enough to accommodate the quantity of light she was about to make. Starlight burned and seared her blood, inner brilliance breaching her fingertips with each motion of the bow. That much was familiar.

    What initially erupted forth was a hard, coagulated mass of radiance--not dissimilar to a blinding pillar she¡¯d ensnared a Dissonant girl in all too recently. This time, all it took was one, her true aim successful in blocking both doors simultaneously. Hypothetically, it was possible that this might¡¯ve been enough, had the issue solely consisted of a Dissonant man alone. She vowed not to let a single wisp of agony escape.

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut, straining as she pushed her fingers down hard against each string. There was a non-zero chance she''d pay for this with calluses later. The slight pain that came with her endeavors paid off slowly, and she watched with successful surprise as her singular pillar of luminescence gradually flattened against the alabaster doors.

    Mere inches from direct contact, it stretched endlessly, fanning out into a glowing ring that gradually crept around the expanse of the room. Pulsing light rose high enough to lick the ceiling, drifting along the plush carpeting and sealing over two dozen people within its grasp--a semicircle now clasped tightly inside of a circle. She didn¡¯t dare move, her song ceaseless as she struggled to strike the right balance of effort for maintaining her brilliant barrier.

    There was a certain aura of safety that came from envelopment within her protective wall of luminosity. There was another, more bitter tint of regret that came with the realization that she¡¯d just locked everyone inside of a cage with the most malicious force in the world--and its current generator, unhindered. Octavia¡¯s heart raced, and not solely from the effort of sustaining her light. She wondered if this was what Josiah had in mind.

    The boy still, even now, had forsaken his partner. He drew dangerously close to Vincent, whose own sprint had slowed somewhat in the face of radiant entrapment. That left his eyes to fall to Josiah, the latter seemingly unbothered by his vicinity. Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched.

    ¡°Look out!¡± she screamed.

    Vincent lunged. Somehow, he missed. Rather, Josiah dodged, side-stepping his outstretched hands at the last second as they brushed the hem of his shirt. He didn¡¯t so much as seem fazed by the attack, his bag jostling against his side with every unimpeded step. Even devoid of a weapon, the mental image of Harper¡¯s father succumbing to Vincent¡¯s brutal beating was unshakable. If Josiah were to fall prey to the same, Octavia would never be able to live with herself.

    Vincent didn¡¯t let up. Even with Josiah indifferent to his attempted assault, he resumed his pursuit, making a full turn solely to pursue the boy up the aisle once more. Dissonance still erupted from his every pore, crowning each movement of his extremities. Where he ran, it trailed behind, an afterimage not dissimilar to a wake in his swallowed sea. He was faster than Josiah, and the gap between them closed rapidly. With the size of the aisle relative to the placement of the benches, there was no way Josiah could dodge twice at this angle.

    He didn¡¯t need to. Vincent¡¯s path earned a frozen deterrent--sharp, speared, and slicing violently into the carpet before him. He stumbled, splintering shards flaking against his pants and shoes as he drew too close. Even uninjured, the warning shots were enough.

    A shrill song that had birthed vicious crystal already spoke for itself. Octavia¡¯s eyes wandered. The conflicted look on Viola¡¯s face broke her heart.

    The Maestra pulled her lips away from Silver Brevada, offering pained eyes in return. ¡°This sucks,¡± she said.

    Josiah had sprinted to the area of proceedings, much to Octavia¡¯s confusion. She assumed he was searching for her, initially. He could¡¯ve planned on attacking from afar--if he found the drive to take hold of Etherion, for once. It was possible that he thought of evacuation, although that contrasted with the presumed point of her brilliant barrier still encircling the courtroom. Fixated on its maintenance as she was, there was nothing she could offer in the way of combat. It left Viola to stave off both agony and her father at once. Josiah was shirking his essence, and it was growing irritating.

    He was still running. She had absolutely no idea why he was still running. He¡¯d fight the Dissonance with his bare hands, maybe.

    ¡°Josiah, what are you doing?¡± Viola snapped, catching her breath.

    He didn¡¯t bother answering. Octavia watched in utter confusion, more than anything, as he made no effort to go anywhere near the abundant Dissonance. Instead, he vaulted over one of the mahogany desks that had been so quickly vacated moments before. With careful balance, his speed hardly slowed, his shoes pounding against the innocent wood as he darted even across the table itself. She was amazed he didn¡¯t slip.

    He didn¡¯t jump so much as lunge, although the forward distance of his movement in one leap was still incredibly impressive. In the time it took her to blink, Octavia watched as Josiah closed in on tight robes and flaming hair, one open palm extended flat in her direction. With an effort far too calculated relative to the simplicity of his movements, Josiah brushed his fingertips along the exposed skin of her hand. He didn¡¯t stop running. He didn¡¯t so much as make an effort to slow down. One fleeting, hurried touch was all he offered, the path he now intended to follow becoming wildly unpredictable.

    She screamed.

    It was more of a singular noise of shock, one quick and strangled sound that erupted from the judge¡¯s throat with no control. Her eyes had launched far beyond Josiah, the personal confusion that had accompanied physical contact giving way to unbridled fear. Octavia followed her gaze to Viola, first, still more than immersed in laborious combat. It wasn¡¯t the correct path, apparently. If she squinted, the same line of sight trailed to billowing, rolling violet, inching ever closer to Viola¡¯s right flank.

    Thankfully, Viola saw it. Somehow, she wasn¡¯t the only one.

    Octavia quickly threw her head to the left, ignoring the discomfort that came with rugged strings jutting sharply into her skin. Josiah wasn¡¯t done. He repeated the same erratic ministrations, one by one, upon every innocent soul who¡¯d been caged by her light. In an unbroken sprint, the path he wove was almost calculated, threading around and between every facet of the proceedings ring. With each step past another person, jurors and onlookers alike, the same fingers delicately brushed against their bodies. He went for arms, hands, shoulders, sides, and every applicable inch of extremities that he possessed the capacity to reach. Where he touched, the screaming followed--relentlessly.

    Each and every time, each and every set of non-Maestro eyes darted frantically around the room, locked onto swirling purple with unrestrained horror. The vast majority had frozen in place, not daring to move in the face of the unknown. Some drew ever closer to one another, or to the far edges of Octavia¡¯s light. Octavia would¡¯ve felt a bit worse, had her own eyes not been so wide.

    Josiah continued to enact the same inexplicable behavior outside of the semicircle, gracing those cowering behind hardwood seating or lingering in the far corners of the room. Viola, too, had picked up on the situation. Much the same as Octavia, she possessed eyes that spoke in excess to equal disbelief.

    ¡°What¡­did you do?¡± she finally asked, her voice shaking. Whether it was from the sustained efforts of wielding Silver Brevada or from abject awe, Octavia wasn¡¯t certain.

    Josiah was seemingly satisfied, allowing himself reprieve at last. He came to a standstill just before the semicircle, panting somewhat. He flexed the fingers of a hand previously outstretched, hunting for his breath before offering up an answer.

    ¡°I figured out my gift.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Viola and Octavia exclaimed in tandem.

    Oxygen had blessed him at last, and he inhaled deeply. ¡°If I touch them,¡± he began, ¡°they can see it.¡±

    ¡°The friggin¡¯ Dissonance?¡± Viola nearly shouted, gripping Silver Brevada tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.

    He nodded. Octavia froze.

    ¡°Louise,¡± she breathed.

    Even above the screams and screeches, he heard her. Josiah smirked. ¡°It goes a bit deeper than that.¡±

    ¡°Why would you do that to them?¡± Viola shouted, somewhere between anger and panic.

    At last, Josiah finally occupied that same empty hand with something of merit. Thrusting his palm deep into his bag, the blackened rosewood he withdrew let Octavia breathe a sigh of relief. ¡°I told you to trust me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re seriously pushing it!¡±

    ¡°Talk about this later!¡± he called, already raising Etherion to his lips.

    Sliding his left foot forward, he braced against the carpet. When Octavia heard the same humming, crackling buzz taint the air again, she knew what was coming. She lamented her inability to cover her ears in advance, her hands still more than occupied. Seeing lightning bolts in a courtroom was somewhat amusing. It more than likely was not fun for the already-horrified people suffering in excess behind him. If nothing else, he was contributing.

    His aim was true, and Octavia counted at least three square feet of Dissonance that was quickly annihilated by his swift melody--loudly. It was progress.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the excess,¡± he shouted above the noise. ¡°Octavia needs to keep up her barrier!¡±

    At the mention of her name, Octavia nodded. It occurred to her that he hadn¡¯t mentioned a third Maestra at all. By comparison, her task was unspoken, and it was cause for alarm. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Octavia very much hoped that Josiah wasn¡¯t going to say what she thought he would.

    ¡°Viola,¡± he called, somewhat softer.

    She, too, seemed to know what was coming. When Viola turned her head, the hurt in her eyes was contagious. ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the only one. I¡¯m too new to this. I don¡¯t know how to fix him. Octavia has to keep up her light. That leaves you.¡±

    ¡°Josiah--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to do this to you, but you have to.¡±

    Viola shook her head, that same pain suddenly sharp. ¡°I was going to do it anyway.¡±

    Her words were surprising, in truth. It showed on both Octavia¡¯s face and Josiah¡¯s alike. ¡°I¡¯ll back you up once I clean up over here,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°When it¡¯s more manageable.¡±

    Once more, Viola shook her head, Silver Brevada already on its way back up to her lips. ¡°This isn¡¯t your fight. It¡¯s mine.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t find the words to argue. In his place, Octavia wouldn¡¯t have done any differently. Viola didn¡¯t offer her eye contact, nor did she gift the same to Josiah. The only person in the room worthy of her attention was the one whose face mirrored her own, twisted as it was. The collateral of her assault against the scattered Dissonance had served as enough of a deterrent to keep him away from her--let alone any bystanders he may have opted to prey upon. Even so, with the sudden stilling of her attacks, his new freedom of movement didn¡¯t go unnoticed. If there was a time for sentimentality, Viola wouldn¡¯t find it now. Apparently, she had little want for it, regardless.

    She stiffened her muscles, her body a shield between the proceedings circle and the aisle¡¯s end. She stared him down, and his dead eyes fixed her with the meaningless same. If she was miserable, it didn¡¯t show on her face. If she was fearful, it didn¡¯t show in her eyes. If she was hesitant, it certainly didn¡¯t show in her body language.

    ¡°No matter what happens,¡± Viola demanded, ¡°stay out of it.¡±

    He rushed. She stood her ground. Vincent was as quick as he¡¯d been just moments before, his strength unimpeded. Agonizing fugue and haze be damned, his Dissonant eyes were still cognizant. They could remember, somewhat. They could carry the sights up with them, and they could attest to hints of suffering in the grasp of malice. It was how he¡¯d made it this far, after all. As such, the sight of Vincent Vacanti raising his arm high to bear down on his daughter was equal parts sickening and heartbreaking. How far gone was this man?

    If Viola had the same thoughts in any capacity, she made absolutely no indication--nor did they show in her actions. She dodged swiftly, side-stepping his predictable attack with mild effort. He was substantially larger than her, petite as she was. Combined with her physical frailty, close-range confrontation was incredibly dangerous. Viola had limits. Octavia crossed her fingers that she wouldn¡¯t exceed them.

    It left Vincent far too close for comfort. Viola breathed sharply into Silver Brevada, weaving a hasty song that sent her fingers--and her father--flying. From beneath their feet, spikes of crystal erupted, jutting sharply skywards in a precise row between the two Vacantis. The way by which they caught the residual light of Octavia¡¯s barrier, shimmering in earnest, was simultaneously beautiful and disorienting. Viola, too, stumbled, her footing compromised by the sudden movement of the earth so close to her. She gritted her teeth. She couldn¡¯t let him get that close again.

    Vincent¡¯s recovery time wasn¡¯t the most impressive Octavia had ever seen in a Dissonant individual. Still, there was a standard, and Vincent didn¡¯t deviate from it. He was back on his feet shortly, charging at Viola once more without hesitation. This time, his best attempts to reach for her--whether to grab, scratch, punch, or otherwise--were interrupted by unforgiving shards of ice unleashed upon him. In a full-frontal assault, Viola had spared no mercy. Spearing icicles hovered aloft, neatly aligned on either side of her head in abundant reserve. If Octavia was a solar system, then Viola was the eye of a blizzard, crowned by frozen wrath in wait. Octavia somewhat wondered if that idea had been entirely Viola¡¯s own.

    The same jagged fragments were, thankfully, blunted in just the slightest upon each tip. If nothing else, it was enough to spare Vincent from a hailstorm of gory blows. Regardless, they were no less vicious. Every last one spiraled violently into his chest, his shoulders, his thighs, and his stomach. They didn¡¯t break skin, although they pierced through fabric with ease. Most importantly, they were debilitating, sending him crashing to the floor without grace. Each time he pushed himself to his feet, Viola had more of the same in wait. She rained icy Hell on him with each forward movement, her reddened cheeks speaking to her efforts.

    There was relative safety that came with ice, even if Octavia had never stopped to consider it. Were she to unleash a similar assault upon a person with her own light, she would surely incinerate them--a tried and true theory, at that. Harper, Josiah, and even Renato possessed raw powers that carried a certain degree of lethality by default. Madrigal, she knew, was unhindered by the limitations of wind. Unfortunately, Octavia had discovered that much in the worst way imaginable.

    Under no circumstances was the legacy of the Soulful to be underestimated. Still, there was almost a sense of relief that came with Viola taking charge. Restraint was unnecessary. Unlike what had been the case with Harper, herself, and Ivy, Viola could go all-out against her father. Octavia could only hope that Viola knew those limits, too.

    The backdrop of Josiah¡¯s deafening bolts exploding around the proceedings ring was both atmospheric and jarring in its own right. He, too, was captivated by the conflict in a way that was almost detrimental to his efforts. He nearly missed his mark outright on several occasions, the size of his strikes be damned. Octavia wondered if he was tempted to turn his power towards the aisle, despite Viola¡¯s pleas to the contrary. Seeing the Maestra slowly growing breathless, even now, was leaving her longing to do the same.

    Viola was doing what she could, to her credit, particularly relative to her physical limitations. She wasn¡¯t content to stay in one place, her feet moving in tandem with her fingers as she circled Vincent¡¯s position. At any given time, she was moving, desperate to maintain the gradually-shrinking distance between the two of them. With each lunge forward, Vincent was greeted with much the same assault of crystal rain and glistening hail from on high. Still, his tolerance was increasing.

    What blows had brought him to his knees moments before were now absorbed with growing ease, brutal and bruising as they were. Beneath the rippling flaps and scratched threads of torn clothing, Octavia could spot red welts beginning to raise upon his skin. Viola¡¯s onslaught was absolutely doing damage. That was a given. Regardless, it wasn¡¯t enough to pin him down.

    That was an option.

    Viola¡¯s shoulders heaved, her pale face blasted instead with bright, splotchy reds. She was gasping for air, and her lungs were at last beginning to fail. Her frozen onslaught was weakening. Her circling was growing slower, and her limbs were growing sluggish. The gap between herself and Vincent, once maintained, was rapidly degenerating. Each push forward by her father, his unforgiving grasp extended towards her neck, was just barely repelled with ice that grew more feeble by the moment.

    Viola¡¯s prior attempts at repelling the Dissonance alone had their consequences, and they were catching up to her body at the worst possible time. She briefly lost her balance, stumbling several steps backwards. One of her flats collided with a stray, discarded icicle fragment with a sharp crack.

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. With certainty, she¡¯d gotten the same idea.

    Octavia¡¯s overpowering urge to intervene, if Viola had the energy left to make this work, would be unnecessary. Viola was, much to Octavia¡¯s chagrin, straining her lungs to the absolute limit, her body shaking each time she raised the flute to chafing lips. Still, even now, she didn¡¯t back down. The next time the gap between herself and Vincent sufficed, she claimed the opportunity. She aimed down, eyes cast towards the carpet instead of at her father¡¯s face, and breathed a prayer into the mouth of Silver Brevada.

    More precisely, it was his knees she was after. While her aim wasn¡¯t quite as true as Octavia¡¯s upon Ivy, the ice she had left worked splendidly. Even from afar, the glistening tips of each icicle spoke to more lethal points, sharpened anew to a worrying degree. If that was what it took, so be it--although Octavia wasn¡¯t certain she wanted to see exactly where this was going.

    Given Vincent¡¯s growing ability to withstand the blunt force of Viola¡¯s assault, increased violence was all she had left. Watching each icy spear, small as they were, sail relentlessly into his thighs and kneecaps alike was still vividly unpleasant. He didn¡¯t scream, at least. The grunts and groans of pain were distressing in their own way, pairing well with the trickling blood that trailed the newfound homes of each jagged tip.

    In a display somewhat too grotesque for a Maestra attacking her own parent, Viola at least found some hint of success. Vincent was robbed of his forward momentum, crashing to the ground face-first. The way by which he curled in on himself spoke to the harsh pain he undoubtedly endured. If his agony fazed Viola, she didn¡¯t show it. Whether that was secondary to her present emotional barrier or her dangerous exhaustion remained to be seen. Her focus, either way, was sharp and uninterrupted. His legs were next.

    Bound to the earth as he was, she started from his feet. The squeaking notes that followed, crafted hastily from tired lungs and burning lips, breathed to life a trail of creeping frost upon the carpet nearest his ankles. It moved rapidly, enveloping his shoes in full from the tips upwards. It was unbending and undeterred, climbing ever higher up his body as the sneaking frost swallowed his ankles on either side. So, too, came his calves, and the frozen trail halted abruptly just below his bruised and battered kneecaps. It hardened.

    Abruptly, what had been feeble, speckled splinters of ascending snow and frost solidified into something tangible. Swift notes were all it took for thick clumps of uneven crystal to weigh heavily upon his skin. So frigid was Viola¡¯s ice that it had even frozen solid against the innocent, bloody carpet below. Each and every fiber it grasped as collateral only served to tighten the frozen bindings. Even in pain as he was, Vincent fought in vain to writhe. His lower extremities didn¡¯t budge by so much as an inch.

    Viola wasn¡¯t done. She moved to his wrists, just barely skirting the floor. On either side, the same frost was unforgiving and indiscriminate, besieging the cuffs of his shirt with identical crystalline bindings. Her ice was well-placed, precise and chilling as it was. Octavia made the assumption that she was at least attempting to spare Vincent the woes of excruciating frostbite. Here, too, desperate jerks of his arms were fruitless. There was an irony to be found in his restraints, unnatural as they were by comparison to mortal metal. This time, it was his own daughter who held the man in captivity.

    He couldn¡¯t move. The Dissonant man was utterly bound to the floor, his struggling useless. Viola had halted her song enough times to gasp desperately for air between equally-desperate notes. Her ice had withstood all the while, and Octavia assumed it would continue to do so. Light needed attention. In that way, they differed. Still, how long it could survive on its own was debatable, even for how it withstood Vincent¡¯s resistance. Viola doubled over, hands on her knees as sweat dripped onto her socks.

    ¡°Brava,¡± she panted harshly.

    I am here, girl.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never done this before, so you better make sure I get it right.¡±

    Even from afar, and even not aloud, the hum that the Muse gave inside her head reminded Octavia of Stratos¡¯ own--if not sassier. Oh? Where is the confidence I have come to expect from my own?

    At last, blessed with air to a mild degree, Viola managed to straighten up. With her shoulders still heaving somewhat, she coughed. ¡°I have bad lungs. I can¡¯t afford to mess this up. I need your help.¡±

    Heed my words. I have long borne witness to the strength of your drive, despite the limitations of your frail body. I will reward your efforts, befitting of my legacy. Come, then.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she breathed, the same breath rattling with the effort of carrying words at all. With her eyes fixated upon Vincent alone, Viola was both at the complete edge of her limits and the apex of her focus.

    Octavia wanted to cheer, to offer up every ounce of faith and strength she could offer from afar. Instead, she was silent, and she opted to steal with her eyes alone. She¡¯d long forgotten her own song, ceaseless as her callused fingers moved of their own accord. The barrier hardly mattered. Josiah, the Dissonance, even the context to the situation in the first place, all were all wildly irrelevant. She swore not to take her eyes off Viola, long before the first note of her healing melody ever left Silver Brevada.

    Finding her opening was the hardest part. Even with Vincent pinned to the ground, his constant flailing and movement made lining up the shot difficult. His messy bangs dripped down over his eyes, still stained by smoky tears in turn. Viola readied herself regardless, clinging to what little oxygen she¡¯d been able to salvage in her brief reprieve. Again did the flute touch her lips.

    ¡°Brava,¡± she spoke firmly--as firmly as she could, given her soft hunting for stronger breath.

    I am here.

    ¡°Guide my song.¡±

    It shall be so. Show me the depths of your resolve, girl.

    ¡°Vi¡­ola.¡±

    Octavia had heard, on one extremely specific occasion, words from the tainted throat of a Dissonant person. Twisted and distorted as they were, she''d understood them all the same. In that situation, as much as she loathed to recall it in any capacity, those words had been loaded with hatred and agony. Here, the three syllables that left Vincent¡¯s mouth were sorrowful, full of hurt that outmatched his physical condition.

    Were it not for the dead, blackened shades of fog that blotted out his light, Octavia was certain she would¡¯ve found the same hurt in his eyes when he raised his head. For the most fleeting moment, she could¡¯ve sworn she caught it in Viola¡¯s. It didn¡¯t stop her from seizing the one opportunity she had, pouncing on the very end of her own name from beloved lips.

    Her sharp exhale and subsequent screeching brought with it snowflakes, crackling in the air aloft as they glistened the most crystalline blue. While significantly softer and more muted of a shade compared to Harper¡¯s healing flames, the delicate aquamarine was anything but. The blizzard¡¯s onslaught was rapid, barreling forward with a swirling rage that startled Octavia with its sheer speed. It wasn¡¯t quite as fast as her own light. Regardless, given its composition, it was as swift as it could be.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the storm to reach Vincent. The singular plea of Viola¡¯s own name was granted only an icy answer that choked him from within, pushing past his lips with great and chilling force. He hardly choked, his head instead violently jerking backwards with the impact of the frigid sensation inside.

    Viola¡¯s eyes narrowed, her grip on the flute strengthening as she pushed her fingers down harder onto each key. Her fingertips flew across the sparkling silver, her knees bent as her flats dug firmly into the carpet below. Already, if not a byproduct of her earlier efforts alone, her face was a vivid red. So, too, was her entire body shaking. Sweat, having beaded on her forehead, occasionally trailed down her cheeks and dripped onto her sleeves. She¡¯d only just begun. Her bitter-cold squall was just now squirming down into the depths of Vincent¡¯s very being, and she was already running on fumes. Nearly an empty shell, fueled only by sheer determination, Octavia prayed from the bottom of her heart that Viola wouldn¡¯t faint.

    The gusting snow and swirling frost, a neat line drawn between Silver Brevada and Vincent himself, reminded Octavia of a similar radiant ray she¡¯d once constructed. The legacy was different, and Octavia wondered what the resistance felt like. While Vincent shook his head somewhat in protest at the predictably-uncomfortable sensation, he wasn¡¯t fighting back nearly as much as Octavia had expected. His submission wasn''t solely secondary to his frozen restraints, still unbending and unbroken as they tethered him to the carpet. He seemed almost resigned to his fate.

    There are consequences to the legacy crowned by ice itself, came Brava¡¯s voice, loud and clear above Viola¡¯s song. You are a clever child. Surely you have come to realize by now. You feel it, do you not?

    Ever so slowly, her song endless and her concentration unbroken, Viola nodded once.

    You will have exactly one chance. Do you understand?

    She hesitated. Then, she nodded twice.

    Then you have my blessing. At your ready.

    For a moment, there was nothing but more of the same. Viola¡¯s frozen ballad still assailed Vincent from the inside out as the Dissonant man¡¯s eyes fell shut. Perhaps for her own reasons, Viola, too, closed her own eyes, sliding one foot backwards as she lowered her body to the ground. She squared her shoulders, tensed her muscles, stole as much air as her weakened lungs could handle, and screamed everything she could into Silver Brevada.

    A blizzard once so beautiful froze in full.

    It wasn¡¯t quite unlike the creeping line of frost that had crawled along Vincent¡¯s extremities previously. That which had once been semi-fluid and versatile grew completely solid, suddenly freezing into uneven chunks. Beginning from her end, the spiraling tail of the frigid storm nearest to her lips coagulated into jagged glaciers in their own right. Not dissimilar to the spark of a flame upon brush, the chain reaction was instant.

    Snowflakes that had swirled so viciously seconds before were encased in an icy prison, their brethren beside them caged in much the same manner all the way down into Vincent¡¯s soul. Unlike what had been the case with both Octavia and Harper, there was no notable glow that came with Viola¡¯s purification--to be expected, given that her legacy offered up no luminescence in the first place. Still, as the only Maestra with a legacy of tangible phenomena, the sight of the icy arch suspended above the floor was enough of a spectacle for Octavia.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Only now did Vincent resist, not quite struggling so much as recoiling. Unable to move his head in the slightest, the reflexive tears that streaked his cheeks in vivid violet spoke to incredible discomfort. Restrained as he was, there was no clutching at his throat--although his curled fingernails scraping the carpet beneath desperately illustrated much the same concept. His whole body trembled, his shoulders heaving with what was likely a futile attempt to catch a breath so suddenly snatched away. The problem with a tangible legacy finally hit. The one thing worse than Dissonance ruining the man from the inside out was him asphyxiating in the midst of salvation.

    Viola hadn¡¯t stopped playing, her song accentuated by stray notes that touched upon her melody. Every shrill addition augmented her frozen bridge, by which portions hardened, glistened, and even grew. It was only after approximately eight more seconds that she seemed satisfied, her song trailing off abruptly as she yanked the flute from her lips. Vincent¡¯s chest heaved with the futile effort of coughing. He was surely running out of air. Viola was surely running out of time. As was all she could do, Octavia prayed ever more.

    With three shallow, gasping breaths the only reprieve she could gather, Viola raised Silver Brevada once more. She offered one singular note, dreadfully loud and unmistakably sharp. So, too, did she sustain it for far too long. The only sound that came anywhere near to its volume was the shattering that followed.

    With the explosive vivacity of breaking glass, blasted by an unseen force, the carefully-crafted trail of crystal that had burrowed so deep inside of Vincent was no more. The frosted bridge between them shattered into thousands of splintered pieces, raining down onto the floor in excess. It was a miracle that their radius had been contained enough so as to not send them flying.

    The innocent bystanders in the room--with two Maestros included--were, somehow, spared from the stray threat of icy shrapnel. At close range, not every fragment missed Viola. Even she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut as stray flakes, pointed or otherwise, splashed against her hands and clothes. If contact with her skin was an issue, then the greater concern came with exactly what happened inside of Vincent himself.

    Octavia¡¯s heart initially raced over the idea of such a violent burst, razor-lined as it was, occurring literally within Vincent¡¯s body. As such, when the ice that had claimed his innards blasted outwards instead, she was immensely relieved. It practically rebounded, the cracked and spearing aquamarine erupting from his throat just as it had come. In excess, he was finally able to move his head, recoiling as his shoulders shook. The residual ice that burst forth from his lips went far past the carpet. It went high, exploding skywards as his head snapped backwards from the force alone.

    What followed it outwards, mingling inseparably from the inverse hailstorm, was the vicious and rumbling violet smoke that had besieged Vincent from within. It traveled forever upwards, gushing aloft until it finally scraped against the ceiling. Where fleeing shards of jagged crystal surrendered, fizzling into thin air at last, so, too, did the smoke, screeching feebly in a dying cry. Just as before, the display was almost dazzling.

    Pained as he was, it took a full thirty seconds before Vincent¡¯s body was fully vacated of the hazy agony. The toxic veil of much the same laid upon his skin followed shortly after, gradually dissipating as his hands reclaimed their pale coloring. He coughed harshly again and again, his eyes falling shut.

    Viola stumbled several steps backwards, Silver Brevada falling to her side in tandem with tired arms. The flute slipped from her fingers, crashing to the carpet below. She, too, followed suit. Her eyes closed, and she went down, hitting her head with a thud far too audible. She hyperventilated, every wheezing breath as desperate as it was rapid. Her face was aglow with scarlet alone, and she coughed with such fervor that Octavia feared she¡¯d vomit. The sight was nearly enough for Octavia to do the same.

    ¡°Viola!¡± she cried, her fingers stilling instantly. She ripped Stradivaria from her shoulder, breaking into a full sprint towards the downed Maestra.

    ¡°Octavia, wait!¡± Josiah called.

    The moment she turned her head, her frantic steps stifled in the slightest, her mistake hit. A luminous wall once so carefully maintained now surrendered to nothing, releasing a room ensnared in radiance. The dulling glow gave way to lights far more mortal overhead, and its absent warmth preceded the annihilation of violet. Every dissipating twinkle left her ill, for how her cage faltered amongst agony. Josiah had gotten most of it. He wasn¡¯t done.

    By the time she¡¯d realized, there was nothing she could do. The Dissonance that remained was more swift than she¡¯d expected, boiling mists squirming between the cracks of the main doors. It was more than enough to leave her panicking, her eyes darting back and forth between Stradivaria and the exit. If she ran, she wasn¡¯t certain she could catch it. The distance from the courtroom to the front steps wasn¡¯t massive. That was a bad thing.

    ¡°Oh, no, no, no, no!¡± she lamented aloud.

    Josiah sighed. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It won¡¯t get far.¡±

    Her eyes snapped to him, and his neutral expression eased her worries somewhat. Still, she tilted her head as Etherion settled into his bag, the bell of the clarinet still oozing smoke. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°My backup plan has a backup plan,¡± he said plainly.

    She was incredibly tempted to press him on whatever had been going through his head for the past several hours. It was getting progressively more difficult to bite her tongue. Regardless, Viola took priority. Violent coughing from afar stole every ounce of her attention, and Josiah became the least of her concerns. Once more, she was sprinting, nearly stumbling over the carpet as she raced to the Maestra¡¯s side. Her footsteps echoed close behind, and she assumed worry was not hers alone.

    Octavia dropped to her knees, hastily discarding the violin on the carpet below. She was almost afraid to touch Viola at all, deep in the throes of respiratory distress as she was. Even so, her hands still hovered uselessly above the girl.

    ¡°Viola, are you okay?¡± she asked frantically, well aware of the answer.

    Josiah, too, was on his knees. With a different haste altogether, he unslung his bag from his shoulder, setting it close beside him. ¡°Did I hear you say you have problems with your lungs?¡±

    Viola couldn¡¯t answer. She could only nod weakly, still gasping for air.

    ¡°Do you take any medicine for that?¡±

    She shook her head, just as weak.

    Josiah hooked one arm beneath her shoulders, pulling her upright slowly. ¡°Sit up. It¡¯ll help. Take deeper breaths.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t resist his touch, leaning into his support. She did what she could to oblige his second recommendation, although with little notable success. Even so, her breaths were definitely steadying. Octavia, against her better judgment, copied Josiah¡¯s lead, half-embracing Viola from the opposite side.

    ¡°That was incredible,¡± she praised. ¡°You were amazing.¡±

    Given the girl¡¯s laborious breaths, Octavia hadn¡¯t meant to prompt a response. She earned words regardless. ¡°Did¡­I do it?¡± Viola panted.

    It was Josiah who smiled. ¡°You nailed it.¡±

    Viola¡¯s head flopped backwards, the tiniest of smiles gracing her exhausted lips. Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted to a man newly liberated of Dissonance, involuntary as the act was. Prone against the carpeted aisle, Vincent lay nearly motionless. The rise and fall of his shoulders, soft and even as it was, served as his one true sign of life. On occasion, his fingers twitched. At some point, ice that had once kept him tethered had fled, evaporating in its own right. Flecks of residual frost clinging to his clothes were his only souvenir.

    ¡°Is he¡­okay?¡± Viola breathed, her half-lidded eyes slowly flooding with fatigue.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He¡¯s fine. I promise he¡¯s fine.¡±

    Josiah pushed himself to his feet, taking his bag along with him. ¡°Everyone else is fine, too. All things considered, this could¡¯ve gone a lot worse.¡±

    ¡°Viola?¡±

    A voice that had called for her before, in the depths of agony, did so twice over. Spared from the pains of Dissonance, untwisted syllables were clear and true. From Vincent¡¯s lips again came Viola¡¯s name, spoken with such tenderness that Octavia wondered how fragile it was.

    With notable effort and trembling muscles, he¡¯d regained his footing, staggering in the process. His hair was unkempt, messy bangs still bothering sorrowful eyes that were clear to see once more. His body was blighted by a frozen assault, either oozing red or caked with the same in any number of places. Beneath tattered fabrics and threads, welts thrived and bruises blossomed in the wake of pelting aquamarine. Even so, wounded or not, his face was aglow. His gaze shimmered. His shoulders were shaking once more.

    Viola hardly needed to motion for assistance. Her nonverbal request made enough sense, and Octavia guided her to her feet. Her name upon his lips was enough to leave her eyes wide. Vincent offered her eye contact, and she reciprocated with trembling fingers. Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the way by which Viola¡¯s eyes flickered to Silver Brevada, still languishing helplessly on the carpet.

    He broke into a sprint. She wasn¡¯t fast enough. Weak and disoriented, the instrument would¡¯ve eluded her anyway. It was all Viola could do to brace as her father rushed for her once more, tears plaguing him yet again. Viola''s face flooded with fear, and her opened mouth never managed a scream.

    Octavia was equally as slow. She was equally as distant from Stradivaria, equally as surprised, and equally as horrified. Even if she lunged for the violin, the amount of time it would¡¯ve taken to raise the instrument at all would¡¯ve left her much too late. She couldn¡¯t so much as dash between the two Vacantis.

    Her only contribution was a cry. ¡°No!¡±

    Josiah, to his credit, tried his best, turning sharply on one heel as he readied a dash of his own. He gritted his teeth. ¡°I thought she got him!¡±

    Viola¡¯s hands curled into fists, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her father collided with her in full. It was the most gentle assault Vincent Vacanti could offer.

    He threw his arms around her, embracing the girl tightly. One tender, shaky hand came to rest against her hair. Vincent pulled her head close to his chest, pressing his lips against her scalp. His own hair brushed against her bow on the way down, and his shoulders continued to shake. He wept.

    ¡°Viola,¡± he murmured, again and again. ¡°Viola, Viola, Viola.¡±

    For a moment, Viola didn¡¯t emote. She was utterly still in his embrace, hands useless at her sides. Her fists unfurled, and she did what she could to raise her head in his endless embrace.

    ¡°Father?¡± Viola croaked.

    Her words left him sobbing ever harder, bitter tears painting her forehead and cascading down her cheeks in turn. ¡°How I¡¯ve missed your beautiful, beautiful voice so.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t speak. Even so, Octavia saw the way her blinks quickened, the way her lip wobbled and her face contorted with pain. Her eyes began to water, slowly filling with tears to match his own.

    ¡°My daughter,¡± Vincent breathed. ¡°My sweet daughter.¡±

    ¡°Father,¡± Viola answered, her voice cracking instantly.

    At last, she returned his love, burying her face in his chest. She tossed her arms around his neck, rising to the tips of her toes to hold him ever closer. He bent down to her level, kissing her forehead tenderly as she cried.

    ¡°To have you in my arms again is all I¡¯ve ever dreamed of,¡± Vincent said, cradling her head. ¡°There is nothing more.¡±

    ¡°I missed you,¡± Viola wailed, clinging to the collar of his shirt. ¡°I missed you so much.¡±

    ¡°You never came to visit. Were you furious with me? I wouldn¡¯t have blamed you, if so. I thought you hated me.¡±

    Viola shook her head, her face still buried against him. ¡°I couldn¡¯t see you like that. I didn¡¯t want to see you in that place. I could never hate you! I¡¯m so, so sorry! I was trying to think of a way to get you out, all this time! A-And after that, I would¡­I¡¯d¡­¡±

    He pulled her away for a moment, untangling from their eternal embrace delicately. With his hands on her shoulders, he matched her tearful gaze. ¡°I¡¯m not accusing you of anything, my love. I must atone for what I¡¯ve done. Even so, know that no matter what walls separate us, my love for you will never be far.¡±

    Bitterness ran down her reddened skin, dripping onto her shoes. ¡°I wanted to save you.¡±

    Vincent rubbed her head, his fingers rustling the hair that matched his own. He smiled through his tears. ¡°As you have done, my love. I couldn''t be more proud to call you mine. Your grandmother has told me you¡¯ve followed in her footsteps.¡±

    ¡°You talked to her?¡± Viola asked, sniffling.

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said softly. ¡°She¡¯s told me of the incredible Maestra you¡¯ve become. Someone has to keep me company.¡±

    Even through her sorrow, Viola couldn¡¯t stifle a giggle. Vincent smiled.

    ¡°There¡¯s that gorgeous laugh. You¡¯ve grown so splendidly. When did my daughter become such an extraordinary and beautiful young lady?¡±

    ¡°I really, really miss you,¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯m never far,¡± he murmured back, his voice laced with love. ¡°I want to hear all of your stories, all of your passions, the things that make you laugh and cry. I want to hear of all the people who¡¯ve made your life what it is.¡±

    She gave her eyes, once entrusted to her father, to Octavia instead, coupled with a smile. Octavia hadn¡¯t even noticed she was in tears until it was too late, and the revelation was almost embarrassing. She did what she could to smear them with haste against her palms, waving from afar.

    ¡°This is Octavia,¡± Viola began quietly. ¡°My best friend.¡±

    The title alone made her heart sing. Not crying harder was a challenge. ¡°I-It¡¯s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Vacanti.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for standing up for me, Octavia,¡± Vincent said. ¡°More importantly, thank you for taking care of my daughter.¡±

    ¡°She does not take care of me,¡± Viola grumbled, never doffing her smile.

    ¡°Yes I do. She makes me cook all of her meals and tuck her in every night. Sometimes I have to feed her.¡±

    ¡°I lied. She¡¯s not my best friend anymore. I don¡¯t know her.¡±

    Vincent laughed--a beautiful sound that, too, reminded Octavia of Viola. ¡°You¡¯ve surrounded yourself with such wonderful people. I hope the bonds you¡¯ve made take you far. I look forward to hearing about them, as well. I¡­want to be a part of your life, too.¡±

    Viola rested her forehead against his. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I left you out of it. I¡¯ll do better. I¡¯ll come visit, I promise.¡±

    The second embrace, at least, wasn¡¯t enough to bring Octavia to tears again. To her right, Josiah seemed immune to the same sorrowful plight. Still, he wasn¡¯t quite immune to a smile, soft and delicate as it was. For a moment, he shared it with her, too. Eventually, it slipped from his face, and she lost what comfort she¡¯d found in his expression. It sharpened. It shifted. His eyes drifted in turn, and they were no longer meant for her.

    He turned his attention to those she¡¯d forgotten existed, still helplessly coagulated in a forsaken area of proceedings. Dozens of eyes, confused and bound to silent lips, fell to one boy alone. The pressure in every anxious gaze was palpable as they crashed down onto him. Still, he didn¡¯t waver, his confidence aglow.

    ¡°It¡¯s a disease,¡± he spoke loudly, projecting his voice with surprising skill. ¡°It¡¯s uncontrollable. It¡¯s mysterious, it¡¯s lethal, and we¡¯re still learning how it works--how it comes to be. It can¡¯t be treated, it can¡¯t be stopped, and it can¡¯t even be seen under normal circumstances. We are the only cure.¡±

    Josiah paused to drink in their reactions, wide-eyed and horrified in equal measure. The sight was satisfying enough, apparently, and he continued. ¡°Now, you¡¯ve seen it with your own eyes. It¡¯s the same as it was those eight years ago. It can¡¯t be reasoned with, and it can¡¯t be explained. When you¡¯re sick, you¡¯re not rational. When you¡¯re afflicted, you can¡¯t help but do horrible things. The agony breaks you.¡±

    He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. ¡°You¡¯re not immune to it, either. You¡¯re not safe. Someday, this could be you. Look at this man and ask yourself if he¡¯s the same sick person you saw just moments ago.¡±

    If it was a request, it came off as a demand. Every set of eyes flickered between Josiah and Vincent, and Octavia followed along. Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets.

    ¡°When it¡¯s over,¡± he said, ¡°you don¡¯t remember. If you do, it¡¯s not by much. It¡¯s like a trance you can¡¯t come up from. Stay under long enough, and you¡¯ll die. No matter for how long, when you¡¯re sick with this disease, you have no control over yourself. If you can¡¯t see it, though, people will just think you¡¯re insane. In that moment, you are insane.¡±

    He shifted his weight to his other foot, cocking his head. ¡°I¡¯m no doctor, but take this as a testimony. You know what you saw. You can¡¯t deny what you just witnessed with your own eyes. Keep that in mind when you make your decision. We¡¯ll wait.¡±

    Octavia winced, particularly given his fixation upon flame-kissed hair and trailing robes. Even relative to the broken order of the courtroom, he was being bold. You¡¯re gonna sass the judge? Seriously?

    She was glad Etherion was paying attention, even if the tones of his voice were still jarring. I think we have the leverage for it, at this point. We did just save her life. I¡¯ve earned the right to sass.

    You fight Dissonance three times and suddenly you think you¡¯re on top of the world.

    Octavia watched the way Josiah struggled to stifle a laugh, just barely finding success. I am.

    To her credit, disoriented or otherwise, the judge eventually found her words. ¡°D-Does¡­does either side have any additional witnesses?¡±

    The prosecutor and defense shook their heads in tandem, more than unsettled as they practically clung to the wall. ¡°N-No, your honor.¡±

    ¡°U-Uh,¡± the judge stammered, dreadfully opposite of her prior composure, ¡°in that case, the jury may begin their deliberation.¡±

    Josiah smirked. Are they even going in order anymore?

    Octavia rolled her eyes at him playfully. Would you, after that? I¡¯d just want to go home.

    I¡¯ve wanted to go home for the past hour and a half.

    The discussion was hushed, if not overwhelmingly informal. Ten people once so distant throughout her testimony now deliberated of their own accord, words of judgment cast beneath hurried breaths. Not once did Viola or Vincent depart one another¡¯s arms, nor did Octavia stop biting her nails. In truth, two minutes to determine the value of a man¡¯s life was horrifying.

    The entire process was equally as rushed as the rest of the proceedings, and it was one more strange aspect of a trial that already made so little sense. In the same way, she was relieved that the agony of suspense was so quickly dashed. Josiah glaring at each juror in turn the entire time was somewhat comical. Intimidating as he was, Octavia was surprised that the judge didn¡¯t call him on it.

    One of the ten, just as unremarkably clad as all others, raised her voice at last. The first syllables alone were enough for Octavia¡¯s stomach to twist into a knot. A brief glance at Viola found apprehension that matched her own. Josiah, confident as he was, still continued to glare. By this point, leveled with the woman reading the verdict, it was a challenge.

    Remember, he offered, everyone already knows he¡¯s guilty. This is about how guilty.

    Octavia nodded. Right.

    ¡°We, the jury,¡± the woman began, her voice wobbling, ¡°having ruminated upon both circumstance and all available evidence, cannot in good conscience recommend that the defendant be put to death.¡±

    Octavia could¡¯ve screamed. She nearly did. The grin that erupted on her face threatened to split her in half, and she cast it at Josiah. His bright smile was a wonderful compensation prize.

    I told you to trust me, didn¡¯t I?

    Viola and Vincent weren¡¯t immune to the same joy. Viola¡¯s smile far outmatched Vincent¡¯s own. It was beautiful. She clung to him ever tighter, and he did the same back. If she could cry out with happiness on their behalf, then, Octavia would¡¯ve.

    ¡°Furthermore.¡±

    Octavia blinked. That should¡¯ve been it.

    ¡°After consideration of multiple factors, we of the jury also recommend that the defendant¡¯s sentence be adjusted accordingly to fifteen years, by reason of mental disease. This jury also recommends inclusion of the defendant¡¯s time previously served in consideration of an amended sentence.¡±

    Octavia almost fainted.

    Josiah seemed to expect it, albeit not by much. He darted to her side, quickly throwing his arm around her shoulder. Only now did he mirror the explosive grin she¡¯d worn moments before. ¡°There we go,¡± he said.

    ¡°You knew?¡± she asked incredulously.

    He nodded, his beaming smile never faltering for a moment. ¡°I figured it might happen. To my understanding, insanity is a hell of an argument. It was a secondary goal. Worked great.¡±

    Embracing him was a reflex, and she ignored the way Josiah recoiled under her touch. She was ecstatic by proxy, breathless as her eyes fell to the Vacantis once more. They were outright on their knees, openly sobbing in tandem. They clung to one another so tightly that Octavia wondered if their souls would merge. Tears once bitter upon eyes so similar grew sweet and pure, their unrestrained happiness spilling to the world below. From afar, she could hear their love, so wonderfully affirmed in words of adoration breathed time and time again. They deserved this. Viola deserved this.

    The girl¡¯s smile, eternal and unhindered, pierced Octavia¡¯s heart. It was the happiest she¡¯d ever seen Viola. With everything she had, she fought to capture the sight with her eyes forever.

    <hr>

    Prying Vincent and Viola off of one another was an agony that broke the spell of a reunion eight years in the making. Insane or not, he had seven more years with which to atone. Where Viola had exited through the front, safety concerns led Vincent through the back. Strangled by Dissonance as he¡¯d been, the return of shackles wasn¡¯t entirely unwarranted. He took it with grace, and he left a smile in his wake. Viola swore to visit. That was enough to keep him warm on the way out.

    Josiah¡¯s parting comments, calculated as they were, still nearly sent Octavia into hysterics.

    By the way, he¡¯d addressed the uncomfortable courtroom, that disease. We¡¯re still learning about it, like I said, and we¡¯re still learning how it shows up. We do know talking about it in any way is enough to manifest it, though, so I¡¯d be careful about that if I were you. Really mysterious stuff. Of course, that includes bringing up the people who can fix it. Let¡¯s all play it safe, okay? We don¡¯t want anyone getting sick, now, do we?

    They¡¯d all shaken their heads with extreme fervor. She couldn¡¯t believe that actually worked, especially given exactly how much fun he¡¯d seemed to have while saying it. Josiah had a point. The sight left little to disbelieve. At the very least, she hoped his logic held up over time.

    She finally figured out the backup plan to his backup plan, violet-free as the outside steps were. The stray Maestros standing guard beyond the courthouse had completely slipped her mind. Their faces alone left her smiling.

    ¡°Oh my God, finally!¡± Renato groaned as the doors swung open, arms thrown skywards dramatically. ¡°So? Are they gonna kill him?¡±

    That smile didn¡¯t last long. Octavia scowled. ¡°I¡¯m gonna kick you down the stairs.¡±

    He cringed. ¡°Sorry! I keep forgetting!¡±

    Sharp wording or not, Viola was still elated. The soft grin dusted across her lips was permanent. ¡°He¡¯s safe. They¡¯re¡­gonna let him out.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Renato and Madrigal exclaimed in tandem.

    Viola nodded. Madrigal beamed. ¡°Right now?¡± she asked excitedly.

    Viola giggled. ¡°Not right now. He still has to serve another seven years, but they¡­the insanity idea worked. They changed his sentence for the better.¡±

    ¡°Josiah¡¯s plan went awesome,¡± Octavia praised, her bright smile pointed at the boy in question.

    ¡°Yeah, what the hell happened in there, by the way?¡± Renato asked. ¡°We were hangin¡¯ out on the steps, and all of a sudden there¡¯s just¡­whoosh. Purple stuff.¡±

    Given the delicate nature of the situation, Octavia hesitated to answer. It wasn¡¯t her place. She left it to Viola.

    ¡°It¡­happened again,¡± the Maestra clarified. ¡°He became Dissonant a second time. I don¡¯t know why.¡±

    Again, the exclamation of surprise was twofold and simultaneous. It was somewhat comical.

    ¡°Your father was swallowed by darkness again?¡± Madrigal cried.

    ¡°Were you guys okay?¡± Renato echoed her cries. ¡°Was everyone okay?¡±

    ¡°It was fine,¡± she offered with a dismissive wave. ¡°Josiah had this¡­deranged plan that somehow worked. I think he made it up as he went along. It was kinda scary. It worked a bit too well, actually.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve still got questions about that,¡± Octavia asked, turning to face the boy in question. He only smirked.

    ¡°Wait, so¡­who got him back to normal?¡± Renato asked.

    When Octavia and Josiah¡¯s eyes floated to Viola in unison, the other two Maestros repeated the exact same exclamation routine once more. This time, Octavia really did laugh.

    ¡°Viola, that¡¯s incredible!¡± Madrigal praised, outright applauding the girl.

    ¡°Whoa, but like, with ice? Doesn¡¯t that hurt? I feel like that would hurt.¡±

    Viola, too, laughed. ¡°I¡¯m just glad everything worked out.¡±

    It took a moment for her laughter to settle. She turned to Josiah, averting her eyes for a moment before summoning the strength to meet his own. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry I doubted you. You and your backup plan, I mean. Whatever you had in mind, it worked out really well. You¡¯re¡­really good at thinking on your feet. And you¡¯re a great Maestro.¡±

    He rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t think I earned that much praise.¡±

    Octavia clasped her hands together comfortably behind her back. ¡°What was your plan anyway? I know you said it wouldn¡¯t work if you told anyone. Your main plan, the backup plan, all your plans. I¡¯m really curious. It sounds like you really thought this through.¡±

    He sighed. When his expression fell blank, it was almost unsettling. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re gonna like at least one of these answers.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    The eyes of every Maestro in unison fell upon him, and he shuffled his feet against the steps awkwardly. ¡°I want to preface this with the fact that I¡­knew it would work.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°What, did you kill someone for this or something?¡± she joked.

    He ignored her. ¡°I really did intend to have Octavia testify. That part was true. If that worked, that would¡¯ve been the end of it. If it didn¡¯t work, that was the¡­backup plan. And that¡¯s what ended up having to happen.¡±

    ¡°You wanted me to testify to his character, right?¡± Viola asked.

    He hesitated for several seconds. It was just barely long enough for his eyes to grow cold and hard. ¡°I never intended for it to get that far. I just needed everyone to see something.¡±

    Viola blinked. Josiah continued. ¡°I said that talking about Dissonance wouldn¡¯t help at all. Seeing is believing, though.¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell. ¡°What do you¡­¡±

    ¡°Actually seeing Dissonance up close is much different than hearing about it. From there, it was just passing the sight along,¡± he clarified, flexing the fingers of one hand for emphasis. ¡°Then I just had to rub it in a bit, and there¡¯s our insanity argument. That¡¯s the gist of it, at least. None of this would¡¯ve worked if I hadn¡¯t figured out the--¡±

    ¡°How did you know?¡±

    Viola¡¯s interruption hardly fazed him. Josiah tilted his head slightly, hands sliding back into his pockets. ¡°How did I know what?¡± he asked, his voice low.

    ¡°How did you know he¡¯d become Dissonant?¡± Viola murmured. Her voice shook slightly with every word.

    Distance be damned, the icy gaze he fixed Viola with was radiant. Even from afar, it left a chill seizing Octavia¡¯s spine in turn.

    ¡°Not seeing your beloved daughter for eight years will do that to you,¡± he said coolly.

    Viola¡¯s hand moved before her mouth did. She struck him sharply across the face, one open palm smashing against his cheek in an instant. His neck alone jerked to the side, the remainder of his body motionless. He never so much as took his hands out of his pockets. Madrigal gasped.

    ¡°Hey, chill!¡± Renato shouted.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t immune to the same. ¡°Viola!¡± she warned.

    ¡°You¡¯re horrible,¡± Viola growled, every syllable dripping with ire.

    To Octavia¡¯s extreme surprise, Josiah only gave her a soft smile. ¡°I know. I¡¯m not a good person. I deserved that.¡±

    Viola hadn¡¯t lowered her violent hand, five fingers still splayed wide aloft. Her breath rattled with each exhale, her eyes narrow as she glared venom into his soul. ¡°But you¡¯re smart,¡± she muttered at last. ¡°You¡¯re clever.¡±

    He pressed one palm against his cheek, slowly reddening from the force of the blow. ¡°Again, I wouldn¡¯t have done it if I didn¡¯t know it would work. I did this for you. I¡¯m sorry to have put you through that.¡±

    Viola closed her eyes, reclaiming her arm at last. ¡°Thank you. For¡­doing all this for me. I¡¯m¡­really happy to have you as a Maestro by my side.¡±

    He stiffened somewhat. ¡°Really?¡±

    Aggravated or not, she somehow still found a smile. ¡°You¡¯re already a natural. You¡¯re gonna be great. You already know all of your strengths, and you complete our little legacy set. Your gift is¡­kind of terrifying, but it has its uses, apparently. It¡¯s a huge help having you around. I¡¯m looking forward to seeing you grow.¡±

    He paused. Then, he returned a smile far weaker. ¡°I¡­appreciate it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you guys for sticking around, too,¡± Octavia offered sideways, her attention given to two different Maestros altogether. ¡°Sorry to put you on clean-up duty again.¡±

    Madrigal saluted dramatically. ¡°The forces of darkness will never roam free in this city, so long as we¡¯re here! Or anywhere, really!¡±

    Octavia laughed. When her amusement passed, curiosity was a reflex. She couldn¡¯t help the way her eyes drifted to Madrigal¡¯s left in slow silence. Prying eyes descended into cherry oak hands in search of more of the same. She did, in fact, find one slice on either side. She didn¡¯t bring it up aloud, and yet she enjoyed the warm smile that bubbled to her lips.

    ¡°Stariiiing.¡±

    Renato¡¯s voice was more or less in her ear. She hadn¡¯t even noticed he¡¯d leaned in so close. Octavia jumped in both surprise and embarrassment alike, crossing her arms defensively.

    ¡°S-Sorry,¡± she stammered. ¡°I just¡­was wondering. Did you¡­you know¡­this time?¡±

    His brilliant grin gave the answer her heart was hunting for. ¡°Hell, yeah, I did. And it felt good. Real good.¡±

    She wished she could match him with a grin just as bright. Even if she couldn¡¯t, she still did her best. ¡°I¡¯m so happy for you. I mean it.¡±

    ¡°Felt awesome to be back in action again,¡± Renato went on. ¡°Sucks that Maddie and I didn¡¯t get it all to ourselves, though.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t come up the damn stairs. He¡¯s bein¡¯ shy.¡±

    One drumstick, lazily pointed towards the bottom of the steps, trailed all the way down to a visage forsaken for far too long. She earned his back instead of his face, recognizable all the same. Octavia resisted the urge to rush to him, by which she¡¯d steal the steps two at a time to offer him nothing at all. Whatever she had would be awkward, if not devoid of merit.

    He was a magnet for her by his presence alone, and she¡¯d already begun the descent. She¡¯d figure it out when she got there. Viola echoed her every step with equal haste the moment her gaze fell to the same place. Her steps might¡¯ve been faster. Neither Maestra had the courage to call out his name.

    It wasn¡¯t until their feet touched the street once more in unison that either one made an attempt. Octavia beat Viola to it.

    ¡°Harper.¡±

    He didn¡¯t budge, momentarily. ¡°Is he with you?¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If I turn around, am I gonna see his face?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Viola answered. ¡°They¡­took him out through a back exit. He¡¯s headed back to the prison.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± the boy breathed. Only now did he offer them his face, turning in full. It hardly helped. His eyes were empty, his expression blank.

    ¡°How did it go?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    Octavia winced. ¡°It¡­uh¡­it was a lot. We didn''t--¡±

    He raised one palm in a plea for peace, stifling her words. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I already know something happened in there. You don¡¯t have to tell me if it¡¯s too much.¡±

    Instead, he turned to Viola. ¡°What did they decide?¡±

    She stiffened. ¡°They¡¯re not gonna give him the death penalty. And they¡¯re¡­going to let him out in a few years.¡±

    The tiny hum of disconnected surprise that left Harper¡¯s throat didn¡¯t match with his stagnant eyes. ¡°Really,¡± he said, hardly a question.

    Viola nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia watched him struggle to turn the corners of his mouth upwards. He was just barely successful, the absolute faintest excuse for a smile ghosting his lips. Once more, it didn¡¯t pair well with his hollow gaze. ¡°I¡¯m happy for you.¡±

    Viola fought to give him a genuine smile back, strained as it was. ¡°Thank¡­you.¡±

    ¡°They said you helped,¡± Octavia interjected quickly. ¡°Renato and Madrigal, they said you helped with the Dissonance that came out of the courtroom.¡±

    Harper nodded, every trace of a false smile gone. ¡°Yeah. I¡­came to check in. Wanted to wait for you. It showed up. I helped. Nothing special.¡±

    Viola drew closer to him. ¡°It¡­means a lot to me. That you helped, I mean. You didn¡¯t have to do that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here for you,¡± he said suddenly, stronger. ¡°Not for him. I told you, I¡¯ll do whatever I can for you. I¡¯m¡­glad you¡¯re safe.¡±

    Those words, if nothing else, sounded like him. When Viola reached for him, he didn¡¯t resist. He pulled her close, pressing his face to her hair much like her father had done with love just minutes before. Harper really did smile--a true smile, muted as it was.

    ¡°I don¡¯t deserve you,¡± Viola murmured. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Harper stroked her hair softly with his fingertips, running them through the thick, black waves she¡¯d stolen from Vincent. ¡°Let¡¯s go back. Let¡¯s put this behind us. It¡¯s done and over with.¡±

    Viola nodded against his shoulder, pulling back at last. When she freed him from her embrace, she answered with a nod. ¡°Yeah. I¡­wanna go home. Together.¡±

    He nodded in turn. Viola went first, and a glance beyond her shoulder confirmed a Maestra in her wake. Octavia, too, cast her eyes up the stairs. A Soulful departure had left yet more Maestros descending to the street below, unhurried as they were. She took her time. So did Harper. Harper took more than her, really, and every attempt to walk at his side left him lagging behind with hushed footsteps.

    ¡°You okay?¡± she finally asked.

    He smiled softly, nodding. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯ll¡­be fine.¡±

    She was quiet for a moment. He was still slow. Viola was ahead of them by a notable margin, the slight exuberance in her step more than visible. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°What''s up?¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t have to answer if you don¡¯t want to.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted with the hem of her dress anxiously. ¡°Did you¡­really want her father¡¯s sentence to be changed back?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer her at all. She didn¡¯t need to be concerned about his walking speed anymore, at least, for how he overtook her altogether. In moments, she was at his back. Octavia feared she¡¯d offended him, at first. She was halfway towards fumbling the apology bubbling to her lips when he beat her there, his face stolen from her.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    She tensed. ¡°Yes?¡±

    Harper paused. Even beyond her, Octavia caught the softest of sighs.

    ¡°Sometimes I¡¯m really glad our gifts weren¡¯t switched.¡±

 47. Spider Web

    Collectively, the Maestros now had two major, inexplicable concerns--the harassment of a homeless camp and the changed conviction of an accidental killer. Both had gone, and continued to go, unsolved, with few leads to pursue. Octavia had long since stopped trusting in her ability to chase ¡°leads¡± in any capacity, really. While there had been saving graces to both situations--the release of Breileneth and the promise of Vincent¡¯s eventual freedom, respectively--they¡¯d still made for an exceedingly overwhelming week. Truthfully, this was the second time this week alone that Octavia had been forced to do battle with Dissonance before ten o¡¯clock in the morning. She missed sleeping in.

    Regardless, the last several days had not been kind to their abilities to investigate anything at all. With the efforts of preparing for Vincent¡¯s trial, there¡¯d been little time to focus on anything else of merit. The one person who¡¯d opted to stay out of it all was Harper, who¡¯d disappeared for long periods of time in between every scrap of paperwork and planning.

    Octavia had a feeling she knew where he¡¯d gone for the last several days repeatedly. She was surprised he wasn¡¯t staying there longer, finding him back in his bed at Viola¡¯s abode every evening. She planned to at least ask him how the children were doing, let alone if they¡¯d recovered well from the fire. She tried to skirt the topic of whether or not the damage from the flames--ablaze where there was already so little to preserve--was meaningful in the first place. She¡¯d hardly needed to bite her tongue. The conversation steered in a different direction altogether.

    ¡°Someone paid them.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean? Who?¡±

    They¡¯d hardly made it through the door before he¡¯d plopped himself down on the couch, arms and legs crossed in tandem. ¡°Holly and Ivy. Someone gave them the bounty they were promised.¡±

    Octavia settled down beside him hesitantly. ¡°The¡­one for burning down the camp?¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°Yeah. That one.¡±

    ¡°Even though they¡­didn¡¯t actually do it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you find out?¡±

    ¡°Domino told me.¡±

    ¡°Was it a lot?¡±

    ¡°It was exactly what they were promised. Which was a lot, yes.¡±

    Octavia cast her eyes into her lap. ¡°Should we be¡­happy for them? That means they can take care of themselves more, and¡­not hurt people in order to survive, right? And help Domino, too.¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°If it lasts. Trust me, it¡¯d be nice to see them get their act together.¡±

    ¡°Do you think the person that paid them is the same one that told them to do it?¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°Dunno. Maybe they paid any other guys who tried, too. Who knows. Compensation prize.¡±

    ¡°Do you...think they don¡¯t realize Holly and Ivy didn¡¯t actually succeed?¡±

    Harper rolled his eyes playfully, not devoid of a teasing grin. ¡°Camp¡¯s still there.¡±

    Octavia winced, embarrassed. ¡°O-Oh. Yeah. Good point.¡±

    He chuckled. If nothing else, it was nice to see him laugh again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it, though. How do you get paid and have no idea who paid you? Someone had to hand them the money, right?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Someone did, but it wasn¡¯t anyone of note, from what I heard. Just some person who was told to pass it along, like a delivery boy. Who they got it from is anyone¡¯s guess.¡±

    With that much, he was back on his feet, battling his way out of the couch he¡¯d already partially sunken into. Octavia lamented, somewhat, that the conversation didn¡¯t stretch just a bit longer. It had been several days since she¡¯d gotten to spend time with him. Even so, with the emotional distress he¡¯d likely been through today, she didn¡¯t push.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Octavia asked anyway.

    ¡°Very strongly entertaining the idea of going back to bed,¡± Harper answered bluntly, stretching his arms. ¡°You should try it. Definitely worth it.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t at all opposed to the idea. She smiled. ¡°I might. Thanks.¡±

    With a grin, he was gone, abandoning her and her couch-blessed comfort zone in favor of yet more comfortable mattresses. Octavia entertained the concept of sleeping on the couch instead, resistant to the notion of getting up in the first place. With Stradivaria¡¯s case on the table before her, she¡¯d more or less already made herself comfortable. There was no harm in closing her eyes for a bit. She did.

    ¡°Can we talk for a bit?¡±

    So much for that.

    It was a good thing that she hadn¡¯t yet progressed to the ¡°laying down¡± phase of her couch reprieve. If she had, she was fairly certain she would¡¯ve outright refused Josiah¡¯s request. Octavia reluctantly opened her eyes, resisting the urge to ignore him regardless. She patted the cushion beside her own.

    He shook his head. ¡°Not here. I¡­kinda wanna take this outside.¡±

    She could¡¯ve killed him.

    ¡°It¡¯s that private?¡± Octavia groaned.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty private.¡±

    There was no joking in his voice, nor any smirking or smiling to be found. It wasn¡¯t quite cold, but it was enough for her to raise an eyebrow. She suddenly felt bad for giving him a hard time, doing what she could to push herself off the couch--with extreme effort. With a stretch of her own, she reached for Stradivaria¡¯s case.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bring Stradivaria.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If something happens, I¡¯ll take care of it, so don¡¯t worry. Just¡­leave it here.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t a fan of where this was going, for more reasons than one. ¡°Why?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°I know I say this a lot, but I¡¯m usually right about it, so just trust me.¡±

    She hated her inability to argue with that sentiment. With one fleeting, pained glance at Stradivaria¡¯s case, she began the mental process of coping with being separated from her partner--again. Octavia thought about at least taking the Harmonial Instrument to her room first. Still, it was surely safe enough inside the manor in general that she could get away with leaving it where it was. Given the ¡°no separation from instruments¡± rule, she really hoped Josiah was serious about keeping her safe. She didn¡¯t particularly anticipate Dissonance showing up here, of all places, and yet she¡¯d learned to expect the unexpected recently.

    ¡°Outside¡± in question wasn¡¯t the front yard that Octavia enjoyed stealing the sunshine from on clear days. Instead, he opted for the back. Josiah led her past every room she was used to--and many she wasn¡¯t--out through a door so rarely used on the far side of the manor. Viola¡¯s backyard was splendid in its own right, although not quite as ornate as the front courtyard. Still, it saw cobblestone paths to lovingly-maintained bushes of carnations and peonies--the latter matching with the feline of the same namesake inside. Speckled milkweed between stone crevices lured stray butterflies, and maple benches splashed with coats of creamy white left plenty of places to drink in their beauty.

    Relative to the height of the manor behind them, shade was abundant. The one gazebo in a similar creamy color offered its own contribution to the same. There was even a fountain, although small and more suited for delicate trickles than roaring sprays. With the morning sun once more blessing her warmly overhead, the combination of a softly-clouded day and the serenity of nature was at least compensation for her voyage outside. It still didn¡¯t keep her from missing her bed.

    Josiah held her hand once more, pulling her gently through the peaceful yard and towards a zone of notable shade. Towering shrubbery, uniformly rectangular, served as a natural fence around the perimeter of the yard. It was somewhere near to this extreme rear of Viola¡¯s property that he finally came to a stop. Even then, he was still slow to release her hand. He¡¯d been holding her hand a lot lately, really.

    ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s a¡­habit.¡±

    Josiah''s grip quickly unfurled, and her hand was set free. Octavia hadn''t realized the words had left her mouth. She winced. ¡°No, no, there¡¯s nothing wrong with it. It was just an observation.¡±

    ¡°I can stop doing it if it makes you uncomfortable.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°No, seriously, it¡¯s fine. If you want to hold hands, we can.¡±

    He averted his eyes, opting instead to shove that same hand into his bag. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­worry about it. Let¡¯s just get to the point.¡±

    ¡°What did you want to talk about? What was so important that we had to¡­do all of this, I mean?¡±

    Josiah answered her with his actions, somewhat. When he withdrew Etherion, the rosewood shimmering somewhat underneath the soft rays of the sun, it only partially satisfied her curiosity. She still had no actual idea where he was going with this.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t actually seen him face-to-face yet,¡± he began. ¡°I can¡¯t, unless there¡¯s¡­someone of your legacy there, if I understood right the other day. You¡¯re like a little catalyst. I need you to help me out.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°You could¡¯ve said hi to him any of the times I¡¯ve been around everyone else. Why now?¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°I wanted us to be alone. I wanted you here for it, too.¡±

    She tilted her head uncomfortably. ¡°Here for¡­what?¡±

    ¡°Just¡­you¡¯ll see. Help me get him out, whatever that involves.¡±

    In truth, that wouldn¡¯t take much effort. She hadn¡¯t yet met a Muse who was reluctant to see her. From the extremely brief contact she¡¯d had with Etherion, he seemed nice enough, regardless.

    With two fingers, Octavia tapped delicately against the rosewood. ¡°Hey, you said you wanted him to let you have a proper introduction, right? He¡¯s giving you one.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°He said what?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t get a chance at clarity. Yet again, the pulsing radiance and coagulating rays that Octavia had come to associate with a luminescent birth greeted her eyes. This time, the stark, stimulating shades of yellow that assailed her were somewhere between ferocious neon and glittering gold--vivid enough to contrast with the far softer hues of Stratos.

    Much like the lightning that Josiah brought down with each and every vicious note, the flashing brilliance that accompanied Etherion¡¯s manifestation was almost too bright to handle. Whether it was simply the shading of the light or something else entirely, Octavia was unsure. Still, she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut for at least a moment.

    What greeted her seconds later upon opening them was, expectedly, the tell-tale shape and visage of a Muse. Aloft well above both herself and Josiah by several feet, the figure that awaited her was built somewhere between the statures of Orleanna and Stratos. With a sleek, slender build somewhat smaller than Stratos¡¯ own, he was far from intimidating. Still, she¡¯d heard his voice before, along with all of the smooth and cool composure that came with it. Octavia hadn¡¯t expected it to belong to a body the slightest touch tinier than her partner''s. It didn¡¯t make the Muse''s existence any less starry and awe-inspiring, as usual.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t know your real name,¡± Octavia offered, raising her eyes to where his own would¡¯ve been. ¡°I figure I can¡¯t just keep calling you Etherion.¡±

    He bowed to her politely, the slightest nod of his head accompanying the gesture. ¡°I am known as Ethel. It is a pleasure to see your face at last, Ambassador.¡±

    Apparently, she¡¯d underestimated how nice his voice was. Her suspicions that he could give Stradivaria competition were now undeniably confirmed. Even so, hearing him aloud was somehow more pleasing than hearing him in her head. The smooth, low tone that dripped from every word he spoke gave her chills in the best way--especially with her title in those same lovely sounds. She was suddenly glad Stradivaria wasn¡¯t here, lest she¡¯d have to compare them once and for all.

    Octavia hardly remembered to curtsey back, as was slowly becoming a custom. ¡°I-It¡¯s really nice to meet you, too. I¡­know it¡¯s been a long time coming.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± he spoke. ¡°Far too long.¡±

    ¡°I keep forgetting exactly how long you two have been acquainted, if you could call it that,¡± Josiah murmured.

    ¡°To you, boy,¡± Ethel addressed him, turning his attention away from Octavia, ¡°I have many words, and you surely have many questions in turn. For now, as it is, I offer you my salutations--even given the circumstances.¡±

    Josiah waved, his expression neutral. ¡°Good to meet you, too.¡±

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Did you¡­call me here because you wanted me to do the Witnessing?¡±

    Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets. ¡°Partially. Not right now. There¡¯s something I need to get out of the way before we touch that.¡±

    Ethel hummed, a sound Octavia couldn¡¯t divorce from amusement. ¡°Even now, you cling to ultimatums. Do you not believe my word to be true?¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not you specifically. General precaution. If you know me as well as you think you do, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already figured that out.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Octavia whispered.

    Josiah didn¡¯t bother keeping his volume low in turn. ¡°If he wants to go home, then he needs to tell me some things first. That¡¯s how it¡¯s gonna be.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You can¡¯t just hold him hostage!¡±

    ¡°I can,¡± he hissed, ¡°when it involves us.¡±

    Octavia had no words to argue. She didn¡¯t get a chance to press him further. It was Josiah¡¯s turn to press instead, his narrowed eyes solely locked onto the Muse before him.

    ¡°Talk,¡± he demanded.

    ¡°You are free to ask,¡± Ethel offered calmly, ¡°and I will do what is within my power. However, I implore you to remember our discussion.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°I remember.¡±

    ¡°Tell me this, then,¡± he asked softly. ¡°Is Stratos with you?¡±

    At the mention of his name, Octavia stiffened. It was Josiah who shook his head on her behalf.

    ¡°No. He¡¯s not anywhere near here. I made sure.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Octavia really didn¡¯t like where this was going.

    ¡°For what you can tell me, then,¡± Josiah began, ¡°what are you hiding from us?¡±

    ¡°Myself?¡± Ethel responded gently.

    ¡°All of you.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I kindly ask that you be more specific, boy.¡±

    ¡°There are things you¡¯re not telling us. A lot of things. These¡­these little ¡®rules¡¯ that keep coming out--about you, about us. Now, some of it is putting us in physical danger. You told me about Madrigal. None of us had any idea. How can we be sure there¡¯s not other¡­stuff like that going on? Why isn¡¯t everything being communicated? What are we being kept in the dark for, especially when we¡¯re going through all this mess for you guys?¡±

    Josiah practically growled the last portion of his question. Octavia had half a mind to tell him to stand down. Even so, this wasn¡¯t her partner. Judging by the conversations she¡¯d heard simply walking past his room, she doubted this was the first time he¡¯d spoken to Ethel this way. The Muse took his harsh interrogation in stride, regardless.

    ¡°I would like to make you aware that this question does not have a simple answer,¡± he answered peacefully.

    ¡°There are no simple answers to anything.¡±

    Ethel nodded. ¡°Where we have touched, such is unfortunately true. I will not ask whether you wish to hear such an answer, elaborate as it may be. That much is clear to see in your eyes.¡±

    Sharp as they were, piercing the golden light in a manner cold and calculated, Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly inclined to disagree. She¡¯d had her own tangle with difficult answers to difficult Muse-flavored questions--simply asking about the origin of Stratos¡¯ alias had landed her in a mess with somewhat horrific implications. Given the gravity of Josiah¡¯s questions, she braced for worse.

    ¡°Assist me in this, then,¡± Ethel said. ¡°I am¡­searching for a manner in which to phrase this that you might understand.¡±

    Josiah tilted his head in the slightest. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°What is¡­something of your world that is delicately crafted? Something fragile, made by your own hands? Something around which one must take care, lest it tear to shreds or fall to pieces? Something that must be¡­maintained organically, something not to be trampled upon?¡±

    Josiah threw his eyes at the ground for a moment, trading interrogation for contemplation. Octavia did the same. The example she found made her feel somewhat silly, at first. She debated even offering it, given that whatever Josiah came up with would likely be more sensical if she gave him time.

    ¡°A spider web,¡± Octavia finally tried, her voice soft.

    Josiah side-eyed her, although not with malicious intent. When he nodded, she felt both pride and relief. ¡°Yeah. A spider web. That works.¡±

    Ethel nodded much the same. ¡°A fair comparison. In that case, I say unto you, boy, that your world is much the same as a spider web.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°You have my attention.¡±

    ¡°It is no simple task to bring an entire world into being, and no more simple to fill it with life. There are ''rules'' that govern creation, limitations mandated by the hands of those who would craft all from none. Permit me to ask, and correct me if I do not speak the truth, but are there not limits and restrictions to your own world from within?¡±

    It took Josiah a moment to respond. ¡°You mean, like¡­physics? I guess so, if you put it like that.¡±

    ¡°Then compare such to your¡­spider web. Every thread, you could believe, is a restriction put in place to preserve what has been created by our hands. Whether or not such a thread seems relevant or meaningful is perhaps in the eye of the beholder. Could one be expected to count every unique thread of such a web?¡±

    Josiah crossed his arms. ¡°Where are you going with this?¡±

    ¡°These ¡®rules¡¯ which concern you so,¡± Ethel continued, ¡°compose a spider web that must be maintained at all costs. Such ¡®rules¡¯ were not ours to make, such ¡®rules¡¯ were not ours to disclose, and such ¡®rules¡¯ must absolutely not be broken.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying Madrigal has to give up part of her lifespan every time she wants to use her gift, for the sake of the spider web? Is that seriously what I¡¯m hearing right now?¡± he spat.

    ¡°I assure you, boy, not a single restriction of our own exists without reason. In the case of the¡­gift of the Spirited, for example, it was never intended to grace the hands of a human. Of this, I know you are aware. As such, our blessings were not meant to interfere with this world. If they are used to leave a lasting mark upon this earth, then there must also be a price paid.¡±

    Ethel¡¯s tone darkened as he continued. ¡°The Spirited child would not have sacrificed her lifespan had she not resisted the natural laws of this world to save that boy. I do not fault her, for she did not know the true cost. The burden for such is solely upon Lyra. Of that, I am certain she is aware. We are not meant to be here. I cannot speak to that truth enough.¡±

    ¡°So now that you¡¯re here, you¡¯re just gonna make up all these extra rules about being here?¡± Josiah argued.

    Ethel shook his head. ¡°I will say this as succinctly as possible, within the terms we have agreed to use.¡±

    Josiah gave him a moment, shifting his weight to his other foot in aggravation. Octavia was lost. She did her best not to show it.

    ¡°Our Lord of All created a spider web,¡± Ethel finally spoke, his voice soft, ¡°and there existed one of our own who walked directly through it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. Josiah didn¡¯t quite do the exact same, although the look of surprise on his face still spoke to at least some degree of shock. He didn¡¯t press, nor did he question. Instead, he gazed expectantly at Ethel, awaiting elaboration.

    ¡°Our Lord has worked to¡­weave the threads of this spider web once more, crafting new threads from what can be salvaged. We were never meant to touch the spider web with our own hands, and our entanglement has brought great harm. Our Lord has carefully created¡­threads upon which we may find our freedom. Even so, they are closely intertwined with more threads we are still not to breach. Does this make sense?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t respond for a moment. ¡°I think so. I already know you¡¯re not supposed to be here, but¡­what do you mean someone ¡®walked through it¡¯?¡±

    Ethel sighed, a tiny sound that didn¡¯t escape Octavia¡¯s ears. ¡°Not so long ago, you referred to us as gods, did you not?¡±

    Josiah stared blankly. ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re not about to say I was right this whole time.¡±

    ¡°It is not so. Are you aware of the difference between a god and a creator?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°There¡­isn¡¯t one, really, if you mean on a divine level.¡±

    Ethel shook his head again. ¡°On the contrary. Where a god is meant to govern, a creator may breathe life into a work of passion before setting it free of his touch. That was his spider web. It was to be admired, to be watched and loved with eyes far off as it blossomed--for better or worse. We did adore it. We were content with the care we had provided in its infancy. Our worlds were not to meet, and there was one for whom this single restriction was not satisfactory. The consequences of her rebellious deed cannot be granted enough damage by words alone.¡±

    ¡°She Who Brought the World to Ruin.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s words instantly drew both Josiah and Ethel¡¯s gazes to her, the former accidentally stinging her with the cold stare he¡¯d worn all along. He seemed to realize quickly enough, and his eyes softened--albeit with great confusion left behind.

    ¡°Who?¡± he asked.

    ¡°He has told you that much, then?¡± Ethel breathed, his voice much more gentle towards Octavia than his own partner. It was almost flattering.

    Octavia nodded in the slightest, squeezing her hands together anxiously. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know who she actually is. Stratos won¡¯t tell me. I just know she exists, and I know she made a mistake. That¡¯s why everyone¡¯s here, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°A mistake,¡± Ethel murmured. ¡°Is that how he phrased it?¡±

    ¡°Is that¡­not what it was?¡± she asked.

    ¡°There are those who would argue that ¡®mistake¡¯ is far too lenient a term for her error. Yes, it was surely unintentional. However, Ambassador, you will meet with many who do not have the same lenient views as your own partner.¡±

    Octavia gazed downwards, fixated on the grass rippling quietly around her boots. She couldn¡¯t ask Stratos more about the mysterious mistake-maker, regardless. She¡¯d already tried once, and she¡¯d nearly upset him in the process.

    ¡°What¡­did she do, exactly?¡± Octavia tried. This might¡¯ve been the only chance she was going to get any time soon.

    Ethel tilted his head ever so slightly. ¡°So captivated was she by this spider web that she wished to tread upon it, to walk through its threads and improve it ever more. It was not with negative intent, of that I will grant her. She sought to bless the world further. She sought to share her love with those who called the web home. It was here, though, that she was besieged by ideals that betrayed the beauty she had believed in. Where she had once offered her heart, she instead found it crushed by corruption. When she pleaded for forgiveness, for a chance to spectate once more, she could¡­not be untangled from the spider web. Her agony annihilated what had been made.¡±

    Octavia recoiled. One hand rose to her mouth in horror. ¡°Did she¡­she couldn¡¯t have, right?¡±

    ¡°Is that even possible?¡± Josiah asked in equal shock, withdrawing his hands from his pockets. ¡°For a Muse to¡­to¡­¡±

    Ethel nodded. ¡°She was the first. The throes of her pain reached high Above, and were unlike what had ever been fathomed. It was unstoppable, as was she. There was naught we could do to resist. We, too, fell into the grasp of the spider web. It was only by the hands of our Lord of All that her agony was brought to an end, her fate much the same as ours. Her ¡®mistake¡¯ has poisoned the threads of the spider web.¡±

    ¡°She¡­that¡¯s the reason we have Dissonance,¡± Octavia breathed. ¡°It was her.¡±

    ¡°From here, we cannot ¡®cleanse¡¯ the spider web in full. We must return to our realm rather than further affect what we were never meant to touch. I apologize, oh Ambassador, but we plead for your help because we are not meant to touch this web.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re working¡­from the inside,¡± Josiah muttered, one hand raised to his mouth in thought. ¡°You¡¯re...using Maestros as vessels for your power, because you can¡¯t do it yourselves. Am I onto something, here?¡±

    ¡°You are correct. You are, after all, descendants of our own legacies. We are compatible, and we have chosen those with whom we feel a connection for a reason. We offer to you the blessings of our legacies, by which our aims may be mutual. It is not, of course, with every bond that we are so...productive.¡±

    Octavia winced. Cadence was surely a special case. She couldn¡¯t help but feel sorry for Ethel, given all of the time he¡¯d likely spent ignored.

    ¡°There¡¯s a question I¡¯ve had for awhile,¡± Josiah confessed. ¡°Why musical instruments, anyway? There had to be dozens of other forms you could¡¯ve taken, right? It¡¯s so¡­specific.¡±

    ¡°Stradivaria said the Muses were more like ¡®sounds¡¯ than anything,¡± Octavia answered instead, her own explanation hesitant in and of itself. ¡°At least, that was¡­how I took it. It almost makes sense, right?¡±

    The questioning aspect of her half-hearted answer was cast not at Josiah, but at the applicable Muse above. He nodded somewhat. ¡°You are correct. Upon this world, this was the manner by which our Lord opted to most efficiently interpret our existence. I implore you to recall that the ¡®rules¡¯ of our realms are not the same. It is through these methods that we came nearest to a physical manifestation of our presence.¡±

    Octavia returned his nod, even if his response was somewhat convoluted. The idea of Stratos as a metaphorical violin rather than the one that graced her hands was difficult to wrap her head around.

    ¡°I know you said you have to go back to...Above, right? You have to go back to Above to get rid of the Dissonance, but the other Muses said you each can do it a little bit at a time. For one Maestro individually, I guess. Is that right?¡± Josiah asked.

    ¡°Indeed. It is all the strength we are afforded, but even this is a contribution to which we are obligated--not by our Lord of All, but by what our brethren have wrought upon this world. It would take all of us in tandem to fully purify what has been unleashed, and the hands of our Lord most of all. This second ¡®spider web¡¯ would not have overshadowed that which was to be, were it not for the careless actions of one alone.¡±

    Josiah fell silent for a moment, his eyes as blank as his face. ¡°What¡­is that supposed to mean?¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth. She knew the answer to that one. She wondered if he¡¯d hate her, should she admit to not telling him sooner--or not telling anyone sooner. She still couldn¡¯t fathom it in the first place.

    ¡°It is we who have ruined the path of fate itself. It is we, too, who must atone. To each of our own, we have endeavored to--¡±

    ¡°Not that,¡± he interrupted sharply, shaking his head. ¡°Is there a¡­first spider web?¡±

    Ethel paused. Octavia could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

    ¡°There was, once.¡±

    Even now, Josiah¡¯s face was equally emotionless, skeptical and disbelieving. ¡°What was the difference?¡±

    If Ethel noticed the look on his partner¡¯s face, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Due to the decisions of one so misguided, there are those who would never be born. There are civilizations which will never rise, and lands which will never flourish. There were those who led this world, those who enriched its culture, those who raised the spider web into something beautiful, and all are no more. All will never be as it was. The threads have been severed. The false titles we took upon our capture by the spider web, many chose as to the feelings that shattered them so. Some spoke to the strength which they still strive to carry with pride. Others¡­apologize. They pay homage to what once was, and what will never be again.¡±

    Octavia stared deep into the grass tickling her boots. ¡°That¡¯s what Stradivaria said, too,¡± she spoke sadly.

    ¡°You guys really ruined everything, huh?¡± Josiah muttered with disdain.

    ¡°There is little to offer besides my deepest apologies, to which I will speak time and time again.¡±

    When Josiah stopped speaking, the silence stretched on for far longer than was comfortable. It strangled the air for long enough that Octavia took the lead.

    ¡°She Who Brought the World to Ruin,¡± she murmured. ¡°What was her legacy?¡±

    It was Ethel who hesitated. ¡°That of your own.¡±

    Octavia loathed the pang of guilt in her heart. Logically, she knew that the sins of the Muses were not her own. Still, she couldn¡¯t suppress the feeling, nor could she muster the strength to summon another question. Even with a Muse willing to divulge everything she could desire to know in front of her, she found nothing else. More uncomfortably, she didn¡¯t enjoy the sinking feeling that came with his prior rejection of Stratos. Of that, too, she was afraid to press.

    ¡°Are you satisfied, boy?¡± Ethel asked of a quiet Josiah.

    He sighed. ¡°I know if I say yes that I¡¯m gonna regret it later. I got the gist of what I needed, I think. I¡¯m gonna kick myself when I think of something else in the future. Even now, I feel like I¡¯m forgetting something I wanted to ask.¡±

    Octavia tapped his shoulder twice. ¡°He didn¡¯t mean it nicely, I don¡¯t think, but Brava said the Muses from Etherion¡¯s legacy are¡­more open to talking. Maybe you could talk to one of them, when we meet another one? If you have any questions by then, I mean.¡±

    Ethel made nearly the exact same hum of amusement she¡¯d grown to expect from Stratos--and she still hated how lovely it sounded from him instead. ¡°Yes, I am not particularly surprised he would say such. There is much to be spoken of him alone. Still, I cannot necessarily confirm nor deny the willingness of my brethren to speak on such matters in detail. To indulge the fervent inquiries of this boy was my own decision, be there consequences or otherwise. I can only pray this knowledge served as enough to satisfy his curiosity. In that way, it is true that even a human may remind me of myself.¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°It doesn¡¯t help much that he kinda held you hostage, I¡¯d assume.¡±

    ¡°I do have one last question, then,¡± Josiah spoke suddenly, his tone darker than usual.

    Despite the mild change in his partner¡¯s voice, Ethel was unshaken. ¡°I will oblige to the best of my ability.¡±

    When Josiah met Ethel¡¯s visage with his eyes, their piercing glare was unnerving and accusatory. Even from his side, spared of their direct line of fire, Octavia¡¯s blood felt startlingly cold. She still wasn¡¯t fond of that look.

    ¡°Why haven¡¯t the other Muses told us any of this? Why won¡¯t anyone else talk, or be entirely honest with us up front? Why do we keep having to pry things out of them? And what...¡®consequences¡¯ are you talking about?¡±

    Ethel didn¡¯t speak. He took Josiah¡¯s icy glare with surprising coolness of his own, his eventual words low and unnerving.

    ¡°That is, perhaps, the one question I cannot answer. I¡­cannot tell you.¡±

    Josiah growled under his breath. ¡°I had a feeling you¡¯d say something like that.¡±

    ¡°Know that in answering your inquiries, detailed as they were, I have committed an act that has already¡­¡±

    He trailed off, his words replaced with softer ones. ¡°Should you seek to discover the truth of your own accord, I pray for your success--even at my own risk. However, of this inquiry, I absolutely can say no more. I truly apologize.¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes, exhaling with notable frustration. ¡°I guess I should be grateful for what I did get.¡±

    Abruptly, it was Octavia he turned to instead. ¡°I know I¡¯ve been asking a lot of you, but there¡¯s still more things I need help with. There¡¯s a¡­¡®step two¡¯, if you know what I¡¯m getting at.¡±

    She tensed. ¡°Are you asking me to¡­¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°If you¡¯re willing.¡±

    He didn¡¯t hesitate to thrust Etherion¡¯s body in her direction, the rosewood already dangerously close to her. She resisted the urge to take a step backwards, hesitant herself instead. ¡°W-Wait,¡± Octavia pleaded.

    Josiah stopped, his eyes softening.

    ¡°You¡­know what¡¯s probably in there, right?¡± she said, unable to conceal the fear just barely touching her voice.

    Those soft eyes widened briefly, and he sighed. ¡°I forgot for a minute, honestly. I¡­it¡¯s probably her, like I said before. Can you still do it?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s gaze flickered between Josiah¡¯s own and the beautiful clarinet in his outstretched palm, still shimmering with falsely-enticing innocence in the light. ¡°I don¡¯t really have a choice, but it¡¯s gonna be rough. I don¡¯t know a lot about her, but I¡¯ve never done one for someone I¡¯ve actually¡­met before.¡±

    Josiah nodded empathetically. ¡°Take it slow. It¡¯ll be over before you know it. I¡¯ll be here when you get out, whatever happens.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t much option to take anything slow, particularly given the sneaking sensation that he was rushing her. In truth, Octavia hadn¡¯t expected to do this today. To be fair, it had to be done eventually, and she hadn¡¯t witnessed a toll in several days. She supposed she should be grateful for her extended reprieve. Aside from that, she somewhat owed him for his immense assistance at Vincent¡¯s trial. It didn¡¯t make her any more thrilled to do this. She raised her eyes anyway, her permission to Ethel silent.

    ¡°Josiah Eleison, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    The pressure was only one of several, less important reasons her hands shook as they approached the clarinet. Josiah¡¯s gentle gaze of reassurance was lost on her. There was a part of Octavia that prayed she was wrong, by which she wouldn¡¯t find Cadence within after all. The rest of her knew her wish to be completely and utterly useless with almost absolute certainty.

    By association with Drey, she¡¯d done what she could to push the girl out of her mind in full. Even if it wouldn¡¯t, hopefully, be quite as severe as the inevitable toll for the man himself, she dreaded what she¡¯d find in the dark just as much. She feared she wouldn¡¯t escape unscathed, cursed to witness the visage of Priscilla¡¯s killer once more--even in passing.

    Dwelling on it was doing far, far more harm than good. Octavia held her breath as she took the plunge, thrusting her palms downwards onto the warm rosewood with too much force. She hoped she didn¡¯t hurt Josiah¡¯s hand on the way into the dark.

 48. Rosewood

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    There was no warmth to be found in the girl¡¯s origins.

    It didn¡¯t surprise Octavia in the slightest that she¡¯d been correct. Hallmarked by the same impaired eyesight and subsequent necessity of glasses, her stranger¡¯s eyes were rimmed by peripheral rectangles--the first time something more had clung to the vision she shared. Her stranger was no stranger at all, even sans the corrective lenses. This toll saw fit to grace her with the gift of mirrors on multiple occasions, even in childhood. For that, she praised her luck at the worst of times.

    Cadence¡¯s hair, it seemed, had always been equally short and equally bobbed all the same. For who she was, the style she¡¯d donned as a young girl was colorful enough to shock Octavia. Gone was the dull grays of the girls¡¯ academy that the Ambassador had witnessed Cadence cling to throughout each encounter. Instead came pinks, yellows, and baby blues, adorned with playfulness and glee. Octavia believed each lovely shade to be born of a doting family, at first, draping their daughter in cute fineries that accentuated her happiness to the world.

    They hardly acknowledged her in every fragment that the Ambassador intruded upon.

    She could¡¯ve sworn Cadence¡¯s memories were flashing more slowly than those of her predecessors. In all other tolls, Octavia had hardly seen so much of every stolen life. Maybe she had. Maybe it was her own fault for not paying attention. She¡¯d fought to disconnect through several unfortunate instances, fearful of gruesome ends to come. She¡¯d battled to honor Harper¡¯s parents, at least, and even that had been a struggle between brave acknowledgement and horrified dissociation. For what exactly had befallen Cadence--and for her partial role in the girl¡¯s downfall--she resolved to give her full attention. The severity of Cadence¡¯s circumstances was already captivating enough, unfortunately.

    The time it took her to escape her childhood memories was surely nothing compared to the time it took to live them. In complete contrast to love bestowed in utter excess upon Harper, Cadence¡¯s parents hardly so much as looked at her. To summon an ounce of adoration, let alone offer a moment of their time, was rare and fleeting. What little of their acknowledgement did flash by was practically milliseconds in length compared to the rest of her agony. It made sense. Remembering the bad was easier than recalling the good. Given the Hell of a silent home, the confinement that followed was almost a blessing.

    It wasn¡¯t true confinement, and yet it may as well have been. The flash that followed the torture of neglect was that of, presumably, the one place Octavia associated with Cadence in any capacity.

    The abundance of gray, alike in every fashion as its quiet victims treaded hallways and dormitories, left her hazarding a guess at the Solenford Girls¡¯ Academy. Cadence¡¯s footsteps throughout the establishment were heavy, her eyes eternally bound to the floor. Really, Octavia spent an inordinate amount of time taking in every facet of Cadence¡¯s flats--shining buckle, material, shade, and all. So much time did Cadence spend looking down that Octavia hardly had the chance to view the academy at all. The rare occasions on which she raised her head were crowned only by faces from which she shied away. The words that would follow were unkind, usually. At the very least, they were unwelcome.

    I want to leave.

    I¡¯m sorry, Miss Allegra, but you know the stipulations of your enrollment. This was the contract your parents agreed to.

    How can I terminate it early?

    You would need to fulfill all aspects of the contract immediately. That includes financial obligations.

    Then this isn¡¯t a school at all. It¡¯s a prison.

    I¡¯m sorry to hear that you feel that way. I assure you, that is not at all our intent.

    How much would I need to pay to get out?

    I beg your pardon?

    To terminate the contract, the financial part. How much?

    You¡­you would need to repay your accumulated and future tuition simultaneously. Your contract is valid until you reach your eighteenth birthday. As such, given the time you¡¯ve already been enrolled, in addition to all other costs attributable to your lodgings and care, you would need to repay a lump sum of 30,000,000 Gold.

    Are you serious?

    As a lump sum, mind you. No staggered payments would be acceptable.

    30,000,000. Is that solid? It won¡¯t change?

    It is a fixed price, yes.

    Not all sentiments she earned were orderly. Each flash wounded decorum once labeled prestigious, if Cadence¡¯s own words long ago had meant anything. They were ruthless. They were unforgiving. They were cold.

    You shouldn¡¯t be alive.

    Just die already.

    Why are you still here?

    Get away from me.

    Get away from me.

    At some point, they were no longer words alone. They became black. They became blue. They became red, splashed upon her body one vicious mark at a time. It didn¡¯t matter how they got there. There were more than enough ways.

    Get away from me.

    Get away from me.

    Get away from me!

    Given the methods that tended to entail, far from voluntary on Cadence¡¯s part, Octavia was once again thankful that the laws of a toll spared her physical pain. That made it absolutely no easier to watch. Sometimes her not-so-stranger screamed. Sometimes she didn¡¯t. Sometimes she bothered with bandages. Sometimes she didn¡¯t. Never did she look her harassers in the eyes the next day, the crime of her shy existence more than enough to paint an all-too-tempting target upon her back.

    One flash conflicted heavily with the ultimate destination of the dark.

    Devoid of light, freed for one moment from joyless giggling beyond a door so hastily locked, Octavia¡¯s stolen gaze found familiarity in Hell. It was a strange place to find it, although she knew of odder methods. Gorgeous rosewood crowned the shelf of a storage closet, of all places. For all the later shirking of responsibility, for all the complaints and expressions of disdain, the instrument sheltered in Cadence¡¯s makeshift refuge fit so comfortably in bruised hands.

    Rotated, turned, and inspected at every angle, the care with which she handled the Harmonial Instrument was almost heartwarming. The way by which she traced the Harmonial Crest with one broken fingernail was equally breathtaking. Each delicate touch was emotional, and Octavia briefly wondered if this was the same girl she¡¯d met not so long ago.

    It didn¡¯t last long.

    Get out of my head!

    Why do you detest me so, child?

    I said stop talking to me!

    Is there anything I could do to ease your pain?

    Leave me alone!

    That was new.

    Ethel¡¯s voice in a toll, of all places, would¡¯ve made Octavia flinch. She compensated with a skipping heartbeat. It made sense, in theory--if Cadence earned it, so would she. The implications were unfortunate, if yet more forsaken Maestros would someday submit to the Ambassador¡¯s touch. Octavia had come to greatly enjoy Ethel¡¯s smooth voice, and yet the current circumstances were extremely uncomfortable. She wondered if he knew she¡¯d be intruding upon hostility. She wondered how he¡¯d feel about it, at that.

    An excursion?

    For educational purposes. Here¡¯s my rationale letter.

    Category?

    Business and Economics Education.

    Where, exactly?

    Coda.

    That is¡­significantly far. You were here before asking about the contract termination fee. Do you understand we would have to add extra to this fee for excursions, regardless of the quantity? Of course, travel costs would be taken into account, and you would need to prepare in advance for any missed coursework.

    I¡¯m fine with all of that. How much extra?

    A voyage to Coda is a lengthy eleven days. That would be another 3,000 Gold, as would the return trip.

    That¡¯s fine.

    What¡­exactly would you be doing there?

    Trade and bartering observation. City-approved and funded. Accredited.

    That was one way of putting it. Octavia knew exactly where this was going. She wasn¡¯t looking forward to it.

    The fragment that followed was achingly familiar and heavily lightning-flavored. She hardly needed to drink in the scene a second time, burned into her own head as it was. Still, for once, she¡¯d been granted a gracious perspective upon the stage instead of tethered to the balcony. It left her with a front-row seat to the shock and awe on every face that witnessed the glorious essence of lightning.

    Even with her lasting disdain for Etherion, Cadence still utilized his powers with aplomb. The way by which her mastery didn¡¯t warrant the tiniest memory of merit for the girl was both baffling and painful. Disliking him wasn¡¯t enough, apparently. She¡¯d fought to forget him altogether.

    Would you grant me the pleasure of knowing your name?

    Octavia didn¡¯t want to be here anymore.

    Give me yours first.

    Alessandro Drey.

    If she could back out of a toll, she likely would¡¯ve out of reflex. If she could shut her eyes, she would¡¯ve fought to go blind forever. To see his face again was unbearable. To meet his deceivingly-kind gaze was unbearable. Octavia lamented the way her hands couldn¡¯t move of her own accord. Near as he was, it would¡¯ve been simple to reach out and strangle him. She would¡¯ve killed him all over again. In a perfect world, by the privilege of the Ambassador, she would¡¯ve ruined him for a second time.

    Would you perhaps take interest in an internship?

    Internship?

    Octavia had told herself that she would focus. Now, she was struggling. She couldn¡¯t help it, her heart twisted and ravaged by the man who¡¯d stolen all she¡¯d loved. If she tried, she could spot both herself and Viola in the distance. In the moment, their own eyes were wide with suspense and their body language oozed not-so-subtle fear. It was almost laughable, from this angle. How Drey hadn¡¯t pressed them on their behavior was beyond her. All the gifts bestowed upon the Ambassador weren¡¯t enough to tear him apart from here. That was beyond her, just the same.

    You¡¯re lying.

    It was the briefest snippet. Octavia had almost forgotten it had happened. It was no less horrific, for how Madrigal¡¯s eyes trained on Cadence¡¯s own were ten times more terrifying head-on.

    What¡¯s its name?

    Honestly, she was surprised this one was even here. She was grateful it was over quickly.

    What followed was wholly unfamiliar, a chapter of Cadence¡¯s life that shredded Octavia from the inside-out. There came Drey. It was all Drey. It was Drey in every tiny, fleeting memory, his face gentle and his words softer still. It was business deals in tandem, a sweeping introduction to SIAR, a tour born of love and enthusiasm for the man¡¯s dream in the first place. It was each touch upon her small shoulders that she jerked away from. It was each approving pat upon her head from which she shied. It was each practiced handshake of business well done from which she hesitated. It was the way he welcomed her with open arms into every facet of his life.

    It is with great pleasure that I would like to introduce you to Portia, one of my finest partners. I assure you, she is not quite as cold as she seems. Her mind is more brilliant than even the most gleaming of gemstones that grace her hands.

    She¡¯s¡­small. Where did you say this girl is from, Alessandro?

    Would you be so surprised to believe that she, too, calls our home her own?

    Is that so? Then she¡¯ll fit right in with your little garbage hunts.

    Nice to meet you.

    Firm grip, at least. Respectable.

    Give her time, my girl. She¡¯ll surely come around.

    It was the way he entrusted Cadence with his business, the way he honored exactly one promise. To his credit, he truly did bless her with the secrets of his trade, lectured on each delicate aspect of restoration. She was startlingly proficient at handling chemicals, even if the end product was clean and beautiful. She absorbed his world fast. She stopped running from his touch. She learned to smile.

    You can just call me Samuel. It¡¯s great to finally meet you. Alessandro has written to me about you while I¡¯ve been traveling. He says you¡¯ve been a wonderful help around the institute.

    It¡¯s nice to meet you, too. I¡¯m¡­just doing what I¡¯m supposed to.

    Ah, but Samuel, she is a humble child! You must see her skills in the laboratory, she is a prodigy!

    I don¡¯t doubt it one bit. I look forward to getting to know you. Would you be interested in coming along for my next acquisition? There¡¯s a trade I¡¯ve got set up in a city quite a ways away from here, but I have a feeling you¡¯d find its architecture and culture very inspiring. Not that it¡¯s¡­particularly easy to observe.

    I¡¯m open to it. How far away?

    A voyage of at least seven days. Not a quick journey, I¡¯m afraid to say. Very worth your while, though, if you¡¯re willing to tolerate it.

    Why, Samuel, that is a splendid idea! Perhaps you would permit me to accompany you on your travels? I would be more than elated to witness the glory of the Blessed City with my own eyes once more. To see young Cadence¡¯s reaction to such, of course, would be as much of a privilege.

    Octavia knew the words.

    I have no quarrel with a party of three. We set off in the morning, then. I apologize for the quick turnaround. Is that alright with you?

    No.

    I thought you told me I wasn¡¯t supposed to bring my clarinet anywhere.

    Consider this instance an exception. It is my explicit request that you would do so. Would you kindly indulge this businessman and satisfy my foolish plea? I recognize it to be so, my dear girl.

    If¡­that¡¯s what you want.

    No no no no no.

    Does he know?

    Her own voice.

    He doesn¡¯t, and he never will.

    In her fixation on drinking in Cadence¡¯s life in full, Octavia had utterly forgotten.

    Hold onto this. Keep it close to your heart.

    What is it?

    You¡¯ll need it to reach our exchange point. Our client has been gracious enough to provide us with passage.

    I thought you said he was in the city.

    Our trip was twofold. To reach our true destination, we needed a bit of help. Don¡¯t lose that, okay?

    Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    It¡¯s so¡­dark.

    Have faith, my girl. Where you go, light within will follow. Should you reach for us, we are never far.

    Is this really safe? This place looks questionable.

    So long as you keep that clarinet close, you¡¯ll be fine. Don¡¯t let it leave your side, not even for a moment.

    Why?

    Trust me.

    I know I¡­asked to come along, but I¡¯m getting a bad feeling about this.

    Are you hesitant to attend, Cadence? There is still time with which to turn back. I do not blame you. It is true that this city is quite unsavory at first glance. Why, I myself have never been here, either.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    But I don¡¯t want to be alone up in Velrose, either.

    There¡¯s a safe place you can go here if you¡¯re scared. See how the streets slope downwards? Follow them all the way to the bottom. There¡¯s a sanctuary. We¡¯ll come back for you when we¡¯re done, okay? Do you remember where we¡¯re going if you need us sooner?

    Y-Yes.

    Remember, keep that instrument on you at all times. It¡¯ll keep you out of trouble.

    I¡­okay.

    This deep into a toll, with her eyes where they were, was it even possible not to think about it? Was it possible to ignore the church? Was it possible to ignore the materials, the structures, each and every fleck of stone and dot of paint that Octavia had burnt into her mind long ago? Was it possible to blot out the organ¡¯s song, knowing whose broken fingers were forced to punish its keys with every heavenly note? Was she in there, even now? Would Octavia see her? If she summoned all the strength she had, if she tried and strained and fought and flailed, could she close eyes that weren¡¯t her own, just this once?

    The close embrace of Etherion was defensive, yet comfortless. The echoing steps through each grand hallway and corridor, far too imposing and dark for a place meant to heal, were aimless. She¡¯d never seen the dim, cramped room Cadence claimed for herself before. She¡¯d never seen that screen. Opaque fibers were woven with such intricacy that their ornate craftsmanship was shamed by dull candlelight.

    Octavia didn¡¯t care where she was. She didn¡¯t care what was happening. She wanted to leave. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Was it possible to vomit during a toll? She couldn¡¯t breathe. Could she ever breathe?

    Do I deserve to be this happy?

    You feel that you do not, then?

    I don¡¯t know. I¡­I have to hide who I am from him, but he¡¯s good to me all the same. If he knew, would he care? Would he hate me for lying? Do I deserve to be happy when he only knows one half of me?

    What is it that you hide, my child?

    I don¡¯t feel safe saying it. Not here.

    All is confidential. You are safe to speak at your leisure. You may entrust your pains to this holy place.

    I still don¡¯t want to.

    I cannot force you.

    I don¡¯t want to be a¡­I don¡¯t want that part of me to exist anymore. I don¡¯t want to have anything else to hide. I don¡¯t want it to follow me, I don¡¯t want the voices in my head, I don¡¯t want to be able to do the things that I can. I just want to be me. Is that really so unreasonable?

    Surrender your suffering to the acolyte, in spirit and in truth, and she will bear the burden of your pain.

    What are you¡­talking about?

    She is our light. She is our hope, and our salvation. She is that which is meant to deliver us from agony. You, too, may give your troubles to her in name. Offer your prayers to her, and she will carry your soul.

    Who¡¯s the acolyte?

    She is our flame.

    I don¡¯t want anyone else to have to deal with this mess, either. I want it to just¡­go away.

    There must be one who bears the weight of suffering.

    I wouldn¡¯t wish what I¡¯ve been through on anyone.

    She was born only for the sake of that purpose. Such is her reason for existence.

    That sounds awful.

    It is her privilege.

    How could you possibly say things like that?

    We, too, are blessed by her in every conceivable way. It is she who absolves us of hurt.

    You can¡¯t just wish for someone else to hurt on your behalf!

    There is no use for a worthless flame. This is what is meant to be.

    Forget this!

    Octavia was fairly certain she was going to faint, toll or not. She couldn¡¯t focus, nor could she look away. This was Hell. No longer was she privy to a tragedy alone. She was front and center for an entire catastrophe of her own heart¡¯s making. It had to end. It had to end eventually. There was no reason for Cadence to remember this part. One of them needed to forget. One of them absolutely, undoubtedly, undeniably needed to forget. She didn¡¯t care which of them it was.

    Laughter came from a room far off. Angered, hurried footsteps made in haste contrasted sharply with muffled joy, so rare in such a dark place. She found the sweetest giggle. She earned a chuckle she¡¯d heard many times over. It was fleeting, beautiful, and so quickly gone. Octavia lamented her inability to bottle it and hold it close forever.

    So hurried was Cadence that her path was barred by force, sudden and jarring. Plush carpet assailed her back, rosewood pressed close to her heart. There was a gaze upon calm eyes that stared back with soft confusion. It was a visage Octavia had grown close to, one who even now patiently awaited her return from the dark. He, too, called the unforgiving floor his temporary home, stunned in equal measure.

    Are you okay?

    He never earned a response. Octavia¡¯s eyes had already left. Her not-so-stranger rose to her feet, escaping the only warmth to which she could cling in this nightmare.

    Hey, wait!

    If Octavia could reach out for his hand, just as he¡¯d offered it to her before, she would¡¯ve gladly gripped it for dear life.

    Everything that came next was a blur.

    You¡¯re certain?

    I heard them. It wasn¡¯t really clear through the door, but I heard it while I was coming out. The acolyte is going to try to escape.

    You have done marvelously, my girl. Fret no longer. We shall handle it from here.

    Handle what?

    The Velpyre Acolyte absolutely cannot leave the city. Horrible things will happen to the civilians if she does. People will be in danger. She needs to stay here.

    If I might ask you one more favor, although I¡¯ve begged so much of you already? Your sharp eyes are invaluable. We shall do what must be done. You must monitor the flight of the acolyte, should she slip past the gate. She must not depart this city at all costs.

    Alone?

    I told you. As long as you have that instrument, you¡¯ll be okay. Be strong.

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly blame Cadence for wanting to block this portion out. Were she in the same shoes, she surely would¡¯ve, too. She couldn¡¯t even block this out, as it was.

    What is it? Did you see something?

    Madrigal?

    Madrigal, we need to go. Now.

    Her own unwelcome voice be damned, it was happening again.

    The flashes that followed were perhaps even more of a blur, moving at speeds so quick that Octavia¡¯s eyes would¡¯ve otherwise strained--had they been her own. The contrast between bright, sparking snippets and the torrential flood of agonizing haze crushing the world was unbelievable. If ever Octavia could compare a toll to a film, it was now. Every building, every decrepit house, every dim streetlight and ignorant loiterer, all were swallowed whole by the most horrific Dissonance Octavia had ever witnessed.

    The unbearable screeching stood out above all else. Cadence¡¯s own labored breathing and open sobbing were the only challengers to the relentless noise. Somewhere between cowering and battling, her body pressed tightly into the corner of an alleyway, she made a stand she¡¯d surely never wished to make.

    It was Etherion who sang instead. He sang, and sang, and sang, crackling and humming notes blessing Cadence with unstable protection. A swirling vortex of flickering sparks jolted and rippled through the cursed air, woven closely together with care. It reminded Octavia of her own radiant barrier, somewhat, so desperately clung to high above soon after. Even now, somewhere, Josiah was in the same Hell, sprinting for his life. The only thing that moved faster than the rushing waves of sickening purple were Cadence¡¯s fingers. Bitter tears of terror and regret dripped helplessly onto the Harmonial Instrument she¡¯d come to despise.

    For as short a memory as it was, the fragment itself felt simultaneously far too long.

    My dear girl, my sweet, sweet girl, are you alright? Are you unharmed?

    I-I-I¡­I¡¯m¡­I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know.

    There, there, curb your tears. The worst has passed, and you are safe in my arms. I will not let you go from my sight again. You have done beautifully.

    Y-You left me down there!

    I could not return, although I tried many a time! Cadence, I swear unto you that I would never abandon you, so long as I live. Your life is precious. You must treasure it in every way, and live as you alone wish to live. For this, I will fight. It is for this, too, that I regret I did not do more to keep you safe. Could ever you forgive this hopeless fool who has forsaken you so?

    I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to¡­doubt you like that. I was so scared. I-I thought I was going to die.

    And yet, you have survived to live another day. Know that I am ever grateful for your salvation, and will be for all time. Yet, my girl, I am hesitant to ask, how is it you escaped unscathed?

    I-I¡­I¡­

    You¡­do not have to tell me if you do not wish to.

    Mr. Drey, I¡¯m¡­I¡­

    You are special.

    What?

    I know it to be true. I am so sorry, dear girl, if you felt the need to conceal it from me.

    Are you¡­mad at me? For hiding it?

    I could never be angry with my most wonderful intern. Know that I only wish you to walk the path of a child free from such a burden. I pray that you tread a path unhindered by the unnatural. You, too, wish for the same, do you not?

    Yeah. I do.

    Then lay down that clarinet and use your skilled hands for fruits borne of so many other talents. You are an incredible child, with an incredible future. I do not wish for you to squander it in such a dangerous world, with such an unpredictable fate. Of this, I am prepared to beg you. Will you do this for me alone?

    I will.

    He knew.

    To use him in this way, how many have you hurt? What have you done?

    From there, the path to the end was clear.

    I believe her.

    Octavia wondered if she¡¯d finish on a note of pity. Cadence¡¯s own voice was a resounding reminder.

    Please, I want to be of use to you.

    To the very end, his vicious, deceptive face was the last thing that greeted her fading gaze. Gentle and remorseful as it was, it meant nothing. There was no surprise that came with the steel through her heart, Octavia¡¯s shared vessel that had surely ached forever. The blood that gushed forth, the sounds and sights of betrayal from such an angle, none of it was graced by tears. Instead, they were poisoned by confusion to the last breath she drew.

    It was slow. It was tragic. It was as painless as it was painful. The way Octavia¡¯s eyes, also loaned as they were, floated solemnly to Etherion as they dimmed was not lost on her. It was Etherion, too, who¡¯d been witness to tragedy from the start.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    The brightness of the sun, by comparison, made her recoil. Were she somewhat less disoriented emerging from the tragic tale, Octavia might¡¯ve had the foresight to shield eyes that had finally been returned to her. At the moment, Cadence¡¯s suffering was overshadowed, whether or not Octavia wanted it to be. Of all the memories she¡¯d stolen from the girl, and of all the fragments and snippets thrust upon her in the dark, there were more than enough that had followed her out.

    She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Josiah asked softly.

    He¡¯d been there, too. He¡¯d been in that place, in that context, adjacent to that horrific catastrophe. She¡¯d seen him through eyes not her own. She¡¯d heard his genuine laugh alongside someone who would never again do the same. That was her fault. Was that her fault? How could she face him?

    ¡°Hey, Octavia, what¡¯s going on?¡± he asked again, his voice somewhat more urgent.

    She couldn¡¯t stop thinking about it. Not thinking about it wasn¡¯t working. There was no escaping it, for how it had been stamped so firmly onto her eyes. It burned. It seared. It ached and stung and stole her life away. Octavia was dizzy. She felt sick. If she stained Viola¡¯s beautiful yard, would the Maestra be furious with her? It was about to be far from a conscious decision. Her body hurt. It wasn¡¯t Sunday. There were bells anyway. She wondered what the occasion was, deafening as they were growing to be.

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s alright, it¡¯s alright. Just breathe, okay? Breathe for a minute. Focus on that. You don¡¯t have to do anything else besides that. Can you do that for me, at least?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. There was no breathing. There was no oxygen. There was no reprieve, nor relief, nor stifling everything that shredded her to pieces in somewhere so peaceful. The one logical part of her was embarrassed to be breaking down in front of Josiah. The other 99% of her had far greater concerns, such as remembering how to maintain her balance when she was trembling this severely.

    Hands on her shoulders, even delicately placed as they were, still made her recoil. She didn¡¯t have the energy to pull away, as much as she wanted to. With the most gentle touch, he tilted her chin upwards, claiming her gaze by force with clear tranquility of his own.

    ¡°Octavia, talk to me. Whatever¡¯s going through your head right now, don¡¯t deal with it alone. I need you to tell me what¡¯s wrong or I can¡¯t help.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± she murmured, shocking herself with the astounding clarity of wobbling words. Even with her eyes watering uncontrollably and every facet of her body betraying her, her speech was mystically intact.

    ¡°Help me understand,¡± Josiah requested.

    ¡°I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t!¡± Octavia cried. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore!¡±

    His eyes widened. ¡°The tolls?¡±

    Again, she shook her head. ¡°No, no, this! I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t! It hurts!¡±

    ¡°What¡­hurts?¡± Josiah asked quietly, his voice low. His hands were still, trapping her eyes in place with his own.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt like this anymore, I hate it! I hate feeling this way!¡±

    ¡°But what¡¯s hurting you?¡± he asked once more, slightly louder.

    She couldn¡¯t stop herself from throwing her palms over her ears. It was a reflex. The phantoms of the bells still poked at her eardrums. ¡°I can¡¯t deal with this! I can¡¯t live like this!¡±

    Josiah released her shoulders, his own firm voice trembling in the slightest. ¡°What are you talking about? What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t!¡± Octavia said, her words strained with the effort of reining in her breath. Any less control and she¡¯d surely faint from hyperventilating.

    ¡°Please, just talk to me!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore!¡± she sobbed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand!¡± Josiah argued, clenching his fists.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I can¡¯t, I really, really can¡¯t! It hurts!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll stop hurting you if you¡¯d just listen to them for once, Sel!¡±

    His cry was so loud that it outright overshadowed Octavia¡¯s own. Given the volume to which he raised his voice, it was only isolation outdoors that spared any wandering Maestros from following the sound. Still, it made her jump. Harsh as it was, it was louder than the bells. In truth, to both her immense relief and confusion alike, it scared them away in full.

    The breath she thought she¡¯d lost still eluded her somewhat. At the very least, it had the decency to begin the gradual return to her lungs. Octavia was absolutely not okay. If nothing else, she was functional, albeit not by much. Should she peer through her own haze, she could find a boy shaken in his own way. Granted, he wasn¡¯t even slightly as impaired. It was more than enough.

    Josiah¡¯s fists, clenched so tightly that he risked halting his circulation, were matched only by gritted teeth and agonized eyes. His shoulders heaved with labored breaths, and the way his eyelids fluttered shut time after time spoke to grasps at self-control. Never had Octavia seen him this way. To be fair, she was sure he¡¯d never seen her this way. She was very much regretting her panic, for more reasons than one.

    He averted his eyes, running one shaky hand through his hair. ¡°I-I¡­sorry. Nevermind.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t resist the knots strangling her stomach, different as they were from those still gradually unfurling. ¡°Jo¡­siah?¡±

    The boy exhaled sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m¡­are you alright?¡±

    His answer wasn¡¯t good enough. The urge to send his question back was overpowering. ¡°I¡¯ll be¡­fine. Are you okay?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t bother with words, gifting her a silent nod alone.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry you had to see that,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to hear that,¡± Josiah offered back. ¡°I¡­won¡¯t pry. I¡¯m thinking maybe talking about whatever you saw isn¡¯t the best idea. I¡¯m sorry for making you do this.¡±

    Octavia sighed, her breath rattling in the process. Even now, she struggled to still her trembling fingers. ¡°I-I would¡¯ve had to do it anyway. I¡¯m the Ambassador.¡±

    Again, he nodded. ¡°Still. I wish you didn¡¯t have to do this at all.¡±

    When she didn¡¯t answer immediately, Josiah continued. His voice had softened and calmed, notably. It contrasted with the blank fog that stifled the hurt in his eyes.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a Maestro anymore.¡±

    She thought she¡¯d misheard, at first. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°This is the¡­last thing I¡¯m asking of you, and then I swear I¡¯ll leave you alone. I needed to get it all done in one shot, before¡­¡±

    He paused, peering over his shoulder. ¡°Before someone tries to talk me out of it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡­don¡¯t want to be a Maestro anymore? Why?¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes for several seconds before his blank gaze brushed her again. ¡°I never wanted to be one. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it definitely had its benefits. There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t think I could¡¯ve pulled off without Ethel¡¯s help, but just having that help in the first place made me feel¡­sick.¡±

    He crossed his arms, a gesture far more defensive than casual. ¡°I¡­I¡¯ll never regret saving you and Harper. I¡¯d do it again in a heartbeat. I don¡¯t want you to think I resent that choice, even for a second. I respect the world you¡¯re a part of, all of you. I respect the things you do, the powers you have, everything you protect. I really, really like being with all of you, and I pray to God that this doesn¡¯t change anything, because I have a feeling everyone¡¯s gonna be pissed off at me.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t interrupt. It was Josiah who offered her words of praise instead, delicate as they were. ¡°I respect you. I admire you, the things you do and the things you go through for the sake of others--and not just the Ambassador stuff. You¡¯re an incredible person. In a way, maybe I owe it to you to suck it up and keep being a Maestro. Whatever contributes to your mission.¡±

    She held fast to her silence beneath the weight of his words, unable to return more than the shimmer in her eyes. It was involuntary. She wondered if he¡¯d notice.

    ¡°I respect your world,¡± Josiah murmured, ¡°but it¡¯s a world that took away everything I loved. I don¡¯t¡­want to be a part of it. I hope you understand. I just want to be me. Is¡­that okay?¡±

    Her heart sank. Octavia had no words to match the burden of his, brief as they were. She settled for action instead, her hands instantly latching onto his own. The jolt he gave under the sensation of their fingers entangling didn¡¯t shake her in the slightest.

    ¡°You are more than enough,¡± Octavia said. ¡°I like ¡®just you¡¯ just as much. I want you to be happy. That¡¯s more important than any lightning I could have helping me out.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t smile. He did, at least, offer her the kind eyes she¡¯d missed. ¡°You mean that?¡±

    It was Octavia who did what she could to craft a smile instead. ¡°Besides, Ethel has to go home eventually. There¡¯s not a lot of difference between sooner rather than later, right? I think Breileneth would be happy to have some company.¡±

    Octavia found the returned smile she¡¯d been fishing for from him, fragile and weak as it was. He squeezed her hands tightly once more, unfurling himself from her reassuring grasp with the utmost care. His eyes drifted upwards. ¡°Is that alright with you, then?¡±

    Octavia had forgotten that they¡¯d had an onlooker for the entire exchange. It was enough for her to flush. He nodded, immune to her embarrassment. ¡°I am grateful for both your disposition and the Ambassador¡¯s guidance. I have no opposition to returning Above.¡±

    Josiah fixed Octavia with a smirk. ¡°And now I get to actually see how you do this. I¡¯m first in line.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle a giggle. ¡°Well, geez, don¡¯t stare or anything, or you¡¯re gonna make me nervous. Hold out his vessel again. If you have any goodbyes, say them now, okay?¡±

    His only goodbye was side-eyed, at best. ¡°Thanks for¡­indulging me. You¡¯re really not that bad of a guy. Sorry I¡¯m not so great of a person. For how badly I treated you, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m much better than your last Maestro.¡±

    Ethel only chuckled, a warm sound that satisfied Octavia¡¯s heart. ¡°You are not the heartless boy you make yourself out to be. I see within you the love you harbor for others, much as you struggle to express it. In you, I say once more, I can perhaps even see myself. You fit your legacy well.¡±

    Josiah scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t try to get on my good side. I wish you the best.¡±

    ¡°And I you, for what pains you have suffered. Ambassador, do you remember the incantation?¡±

    Octavia nodded, her fingertips delicately brushing against the warm rosewood. ¡°I think so.¡±

    She inhaled deeply. ¡°I have borne witness to your--¡±

    The words on her lips were cut short by the world shifting sideways, backwards, and sideways once more.

    In less time than she had to scream, she was aloft, her feet untethered to the ground as her back instead bashed against the thick hedges. She fell face-first, wiry grass and fresh dirt assaulting her cheeks on the way down. The intensity of the sudden blow left her coughing. For a moment, she¡¯d managed to convince herself that she¡¯d tripped in the most spectacular way possible--airborne and all. Josiah¡¯s secondhand account convinced her otherwise, calling out for her well after the fact.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± he cried, one outstretched hand rescinding its offer. The damage had already been done.

    She could at least be grateful to the breeze that helped to brush the dirt from her cheeks. She appreciated the way it cleaned her skin in passing as she struggled to her feet with a groan. Really, the day had more so blessed her with a gust than a breeze in general, rustling her braids in a manner mildly annoying. With one hand, she did what she could to keep them flat. The way they tangled with the dirt splashed upon her cheeks was annoying in and of itself. The skirt of her dress, far from immune, was ruffled in tandem beneath the sudden gale. Octavia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, given how even nature saw fit to torment her today.

    The slow, crystalline melody came second to the wind.

    The fingers that plucked at the strings, she knew. The golden harp sparkling relentlessly beneath the radiant sun, she knew. The soft, supple buns that crowned the gorgeous, springy curls, she knew all too well. The song was far from what she¡¯d come to memorize, the notes foreign in a way almost inexplicable. Even the wind, strong as she knew it to be, was different. Encircling her at every angle, never once had it been so cold.

    Octavia knew the eyes. She hadn¡¯t seen them in so, so long, unnatural as they were. She remembered them to be piercing, unforgiving, and nearly hateful in their own right. She remembered them to be anyone¡¯s but Madrigal¡¯s, trapped behind what otherwise would¡¯ve been a bubbly gaze filled with joy and love for the world. She hated what light had disappeared. She hated the way they looked at her.

    ¡°Get away from him.¡±

    It didn¡¯t matter that the voice carried the harmonies of Madrigal¡¯s words. It wasn¡¯t Madrigal¡¯s, and that was all that mattered. Even so, it was strikingly familiar, unmistakable in every fashion. Octavia had become so accustomed to it lately that she could hardly call herself the Ambassador if she were to forget it. Honestly, it should¡¯ve been the last thing on her mind, for how the ground had already been stolen from beneath her once more.

 49. Not Alone

    Don¡¯t bring Stradivaria, he said. I¡¯ll take care of it if something happens, he said. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure why she¡¯d bothered to listen. It wasn¡¯t as though the sickening feelings in the pit of her stomach had ever once steered her wrong before. Instead, all she¡¯d brought with her in place of a violin was sinking regret that flooded her heart, pounding frantically as she sprinted much the same. For all of her athletic ability, outrunning wind was nigh impossible. She was failing spectacularly at it.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Octavia pleaded, utterly baffled between labored breaths.

    No amount of distance she attempted to steal from a furious Maestra was sparing her of gusts. The whirling gales stung her cheeks and whipped her arms to a degree she hadn¡¯t expected to hurt, and she winced in pain with every frantic footstep. She didn¡¯t need proof that wind was dangerous. She¡¯d seen enough evidence firsthand. An explanation was much, much more pressing.

    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± Josiah cried. The moment he wrapped his own fingers around Etherion¡¯s keys, Octavia¡¯s heart nearly stopped.

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± she pleaded, sparing a turn of her head. In the confines of the yard, open space or not, there was little to do but run in literal circles. It gave her the room she needed to lock her scared eyes with his, even with a tempest chafing against her ankles. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt her!¡±

    Josiah gritted his teeth. ¡°But--¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure if it was the shaking of her head that left her braids whipping against her face, or if it was the Spirited storm rapidly gaining on her. ¡°Please, don¡¯t! I¡¯ll figure something out!¡±

    He growled in frustration. ¡°Madrigal, knock it off! What¡¯s your problem?¡±

    If the Maestra was privy to his pain--or either Maestro, really--she didn¡¯t show it. She was calm, stationary, plucking at Lyra¡¯s Repose with fingers just as hurried as her biting gale. Her half-lidded eyes spoke to something distressing, bordering between what Octavia presumed was ire and yet more. Even then, the words that left Madrigal¡¯s lips were barely her own.

    ¡°I will not let you touch him!¡± she cried, a declaration filled with emotion. The mismatch of tone and phrasing that caught Octavia¡¯s ear was more striking than the promise itself. It wasn¡¯t quite clicking. It was, with certainty, definitely bothering her.

    Octavia nearly skidded to a stop, and it was her downfall. She paid for it with heels that sailed clean over her head, ensnared by a ruthless tempest that sent her flying with a scream. She wasn¡¯t sure if she was lucky or unlucky that she landed on her back. Her breath was once more stolen from her as she hit the ground, a harsh crack reverberating through her bones. Were the plush grass less of a cushion, and had the gust drawn her just a bit higher, she wondered if those same bones would¡¯ve cracked in turn. She was going to get seriously hurt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand,¡± Octavia croaked, struggling to rise to her feet. Her back ached fiercely from the impact, and her muscles at large were beginning to burn from the sheer strain of being tossed. ¡°Madrigal, talk to me! What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°You have overstepped your boundaries, Ambassador,¡± Madrigal hissed. ¡°Learn your place and keep your distance, for this is a battle you will not win!¡±

    Octavia was momentarily speechless. Those words anywhere adjacent to the sweet, happy sounds of Madrigal¡¯s bubbly voice were sacrilegious. ¡°I-I¡­what?¡±

    It was her fault for standing still. At the very least, she only went backwards this time. Octavia was blasted in reverse by a storming gale that smashed into her torso, launching her into a roll that made her cry out. Her neck twisted painfully as she tumbled, and she spiraled to a graceless stop with only a helpful hedge to break her momentum. It didn¡¯t do so gently. Again, her back detested her.

    ¡°I can¡¯t watch this!¡± Josiah cried once more. Frustrated hands gripped Etherion¡¯s neck so tightly that fingerprints might¡¯ve been etched into the wood forever. ¡°Octavia, you can¡¯t just stand there and take it!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her!¡± Octavia shouted, one cramping palm extended in a desperate plea.

    ¡°Give him to me and I will stand down, child!¡± Madrigal growled.

    When her enraged, foreign eyes met Josiah¡¯s rather than Octavia¡¯s, he tensed. Ever so slowly, his pupils drifted upwards, fixated somewhere above his own head. He didn¡¯t dare turn away from the Spirited Maestra in full, his iron grasp on the clarinet still relentless.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he demanded breathlessly.

    ¡°I was somewhat afraid of this.¡±

    Ethel¡¯s response was perhaps even more baffling than the nature of the actual situation. Josiah hunted desperately for any words of merit. ¡°Afraid of what?¡±

    Ethel sighed. ¡°She has always been¡­possessive. Stubborn. Immune to the truth.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°Madrigal? You don¡¯t even know her!¡±

    ¡°I said give him to me, boy!¡±

    When Madrigal lunged towards Josiah in earnest, it was all the Maestro could do to backpedal as quickly as possible. He, too, was left frantically fumbling for the same relieving distance Octavia had sought. He didn¡¯t need to, even with Madrigal''s hand outstretched and inching dangerously close to his skin. Octavia could keep up.

    With a heavy grunt of effort born of aches and brutal bruises, Octavia slammed her full body weight sideways into the furious Maestra. The two hurtled to the ground in tandem, rolling once over in the grass before untangling. Madrigal¡¯s curls snagged against the innocent blades below, clinging to the blades as she quickly regained her footing. It was, if nothing else, enough to keep her away from Josiah.

    ¡°I refer to the Apex,¡± Ethel continued.

    Josiah was quiet for a moment, his hands shaking with untapped adrenaline. It was all he could do to watch helplessly, for how Octavia began her futile attempts to evade wind itself anew. She could feel his eyes upon her as she ran, her body low to the ground as she fought to mitigate the inevitable impact of more airborne assaults. Her entire being hurt fiercely. Octavia wondered if she would turn into one large, collective bruise, at this rate.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to ask this forever, and I still haven¡¯t gotten my answer,¡± Josiah said, his voice low as it trembled. ¡°What is an Apex?¡±

    Ethel took much too long to answer. Josiah wanted to strangle him, although there¡¯d be little necessary oxygen to stifle in the first place. Eventually, the Muse tilted his head in Madrigal¡¯s direction. His gentle gesture was in stark contrast to notes born of raging fingers.

    ¡°She is, for one.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes followed Ethel¡¯s motion. It still made no more sense. ¡°Madrigal?¡±

    The Muse shook his head. ¡°The one who claims that girl as her own.¡±

    Only now did Josiah''s eyes widen, a moment of silence punctuated by yet more sounds of Octavia¡¯s own distress. The Maestra cried out again as she slammed her skull against the ground. She bounced exactly once from the violent blast of wind that had leveled her. Octavia cradled her throbbing head, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut as she battled the pain.

    The physical impact was far worse than whatever mental shock Josiah was going through. Ethel¡¯s words offered up a revelation Octavia had stumbled upon long ago. She hadn¡¯t expected it to return, granted--particularly not in this fashion, particularly not to this severity, particularly not now, and particularly not aimed at her, of all people.

    ¡°Lyra,¡± Octavia panted, her words clipped and strained, ¡°why are you doing this?¡±

    Madrigal glared at her, pitiless to her pain. ¡°I will not lose him once more.¡±

    ¡°L-Lyra?¡± Josiah stammered in disbelief.

    Ethel nodded. ¡°Indeed. It is she, unmistakably.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes darted back and forth between the Maestra and his own Muse. ¡°How did¡­how is she¡­I don¡¯t¡­what¡¯s she doing to Madrigal? What the hell¡¯s going on?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s ability to run, the most treasured lightless weapon she possessed, was slowly growing compromised by the ever-sharpening pains in her ankles. Dodging was useless, if not harming more than helping. She was running out of options, and she bit her lip. She tasted blood along the way. There was a strong chance it had already been there.

    ¡°You mean Etherion?¡± Octavia asked of her assailant, resisting the urge to cough. ¡°Ethel, then?¡±

    ¡°Already have I been torn once from his embrace. I will not surrender his warmth at my side once again, nor evermore,¡± Madrigal--rather, Lyra, her words spoken in a stolen tone--spat.

    ¡°The Apex,¡± Ethel began calmly, ¡°is¡­a unique case. Among our ranks, they are few, entrusted with the burden of leadership by our gracious Lord of All. It is through his blessing that their hands more closely mirror those of his own.¡±

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± Josiah pressed.

    ¡°He has to go back to where he came from, to Above! I can¡¯t keep him here forever,¡± Octavia cried.

    Josiah¡¯s words echoed in her head, as did Ethel¡¯s. Still, they were their own form of background noise, her ears fluctuating between their conversation and grasping for what twisted sounds left Madrigal¡¯s lips. ¡°Then we shall return as one, once the time is right. Such a time is not now. You know this to be true.¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s willing to go back now! It¡¯s what he wants!¡±

    ¡°He knows not what he truly desires, Ambassador! That is his weakness, as is it yours for believing the lies of his humble tongue!¡±

    ¡°To possess the title of Apex is to possess strength which surpasses that of one¡¯s legacy,¡± Ethel continued. ¡°Upon this world, they have surely¡­adapted to the ¡®rules¡¯ of the spider web.¡±

    ¡°Where are you going with this? What does this have to do with Madrigal?¡± Josiah asked, urgency pooling in his tone.

    ¡°You witness the prowess of the Apex with your own eyes. The bond forged between an Apex and their own is unlike all others, for better or worse. It is in this way that her voice carries far, that her strength runs deep. It is in this way that she is not¡­helplessly tethered to her own vessel.¡±

    Josiah blinked. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡±

    ¡°Her blood,¡± Ethel clarified, ¡°may be shared, should she will it so. If such comes to pass, then¡­there is perhaps an irony to be found, by the way those roles are reversed.¡±

    It took a moment. Josiah''s breath hitched. ¡°Are you friggin¡¯ kidding me?¡±

    ¡°How do you know what he wants?¡± Octavia argued. ¡°You didn¡¯t even ask him!¡±

    ¡°I need not, for it is I who knows him more than the moon could know each star in the sky!¡± Lyra hissed.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t just what Ethel wants for himself! It¡¯s what Josiah wants, too! They both want Ethel to return to Above. If you won¡¯t do it for Ethel, will you at least do it for Josiah?¡±

    ¡°I will bend for no human!¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°You go on and on about how precious our lives are, and now you change your mind? I thought you were better than that!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know me!¡±

    Those words were unbent. They were unbroken, undistorted. They were unafflicted by the ire she associated with the Spirited Muse. Instead, they were crystal clear. It was their nature, on Madrigal¡¯s tongue, that was more foreign than anything. Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched.

    ¡°I¡­what?¡±

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Josiah called. ¡°That¡¯s not Madrigal, that¡¯s--¡±

    ¡°I know!¡± she shouted back. She didn¡¯t need him to tell her. Even so, for the briefest moment, Octavia wasn¡¯t entirely convinced that it was Lyra.

    ¡°You will keep him here,¡± Lyra demanded, ¡°he will remain at my side, and we shall see this through to the end in tandem. There is no alternative, even for you, Ambassador.¡±

    Those words, if any, she knew to be Lyra¡¯s alone--despite their fervent mismatch with the soft, vibrant lips that brought them to life. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure which concept was more deeply disturbing. She didn¡¯t get room to decide, given the slashing gale that barreled towards her yet again. It was nothing short of an absolute miracle that she remained on her feet, severely battered and yet tethered to the earth.

    If long-range was futile, empty-handed as she was, getting in close was perhaps her only chance at leaving the yard fully conscious--or at all, possibly. Against both her will and better judgment, she¡¯d have to channel her inner Harper.

    That left her with one singular plan of action, unbending and unyielding as she rushed towards Madrigal. With her shoulders squared and her body low, Octavia did everything possible to minimize herself altogether. Sprinting was a supreme challenge, given the way every last muscle she possessed was pleading with her to stop moving altogether.

    Even so, she absolutely had to try. Wind needed momentum. Provided she could close the gap, she could beat it before it got that far. If she could reach Madrigal¡¯s hands, that was it. If she couldn¡¯t capture Lyra¡¯s Repose, she¡¯d soon be a pulp at best and a corpse at worst.

    Madrigal, with Lyra at the helm of her hands, largely stood her ground. She surrendered to several reversing steps away from a desperately-charging Maestra, granted. Even so, it never rattled her severely enough to stem her stormy song. She didn¡¯t so much miss any given burst of swirling, streaming gales so much as she did graze Octavia instead. The Ambassador simply scrambled too quickly at so close a range. It still didn¡¯t spare Octavia the sting of a personal tempest.

    Her suffering was of a different flavor, and her skin cried out beneath the assault of squalls that threatened to strip it from her bones. Octavia''s eyes watered relentlessly, the effort of seeing becoming unfathomably difficult as she fought to keep her focus straight ahead. So close was she drawing that she hardly dared to breathe at all. There was a paranoia that came with the idea of Madrigal--or Lyra--compromising the very air in her lungs, if they chose to.

    ¡°This is way too much,¡± Josiah muttered, clawing at his scalp as he tangled his fingers into his hair. ¡°What is she to you, exactly?¡±

    Ethel took a moment to respond, his voice exceedingly soft. ¡°She is to me what this child is to the boy of the Strong.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s face fell. ¡°You¡¯re¡­that can happen?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s what?¡± Octavia cried in shock, not immune to the background noise.

    It was nearly a fatal mistake, and she yelped in surprise as a crisp stream of wind slashed clean through her cheek. The burn of the wound set in immediately, exacerbated by the forceful gusts blowing harshly against the bloodied gash. Octavia struggled not to cry out in pain.

    ¡°Do you understand, now, Ambassador, the bonds you threaten to sever with your thoughtless actions?¡± Lyra growled. ¡°Do you understand the weight of your deeds, performed under the guise of assistance, and yet ignorant to the threads of fate severed too soon? Have you no consideration for the impact of your behaviors upon the hearts of others?¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. If she came the slightest bit closer, and should Madrigal stop evading, she could just barely reach Lyra¡¯s Repose. ¡°I¡¯m trying to do what¡¯s right! I¡¯m trying to give everyone what they want!¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re going to hurt Lyra to do that?¡±

    It was a cry, again, not in Lyra¡¯s voice, instead born of one with which Octavia was far more familiar. It shook her. She stumbled. She paid with pain. Her boots skidded hard against upturned sod as the bursting gale pushed her too far back. Octavia cursed her hesitation, battling the urge to rest with everything she had. She began her pursuit anew, difficult or not. This couldn¡¯t keep going, and not solely because of her suffering.

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to hurt anyone, but this is what has to happen! Doesn¡¯t it matter what Ethel wants, too? What Josiah wants?¡±

    ¡°Stand down, Ambassador!¡± Lyra spoke sharply. Octavia wasn''t ignorant to the way her voice shook, powerful as it was.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here for you!¡± Octavia shouted. Everything hurt, and her heart ached perhaps most of all. ¡°I¡¯m here for Ethel, and for Josiah, and for you to leave Madrigal out of this! If you have a problem with me, take it up with me on your own!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t care what happens to me! You don¡¯t care what happens to her!¡±

    Again came the voice she adored, tainted by sorrow rather than the bubbles and joy she¡¯d grown to love. Every word trembled. The amount of strength it took Octavia to press forward in spite of the pitiful sound--both emotionally and physically--was unbelievable.

    ¡°I care about everyone! It¡¯s because I care about everyone that I have to--¡±

    ¡°Rationalize your choices? Lie to yourself and declare that you, as the Ambassador, know better than those who have led you down this path? You are but human! You have forgotten your place!¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°I know what I¡¯m supposed to be doing!¡±

    ¡°You think you know everything,¡± Madrigal sobbed, ¡°but you¡¯re wrong!¡±

    The tears that drifted down the Maestra¡¯s cheeks were captured by the wind. They splashed against Octavia¡¯s face as she moved closer, closer, closer still. ¡°Please, just leave Madrigal out of it! We can talk about this!¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her curls bounced along with her. ¡°If you hurt Lyra, you¡¯re hurting me!¡±

    It was unmistakable. Two voices in one body chided Octavia in unison. ¡°Madrigal--¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t care about that, do you?¡± Madrigal snapped. When she opened her eyes once more, the glare she pinned to Octavia was equal parts tearful and burning. Octavia hated it.

    ¡°Of course I care about you! Don¡¯t say things like that!¡± Octavia pleaded.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to take her away from me, too, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Her fingers were so close. If Octavia pushed past the pain, if she withstood the eye of the storm that tore her to shreds, she could reach the arm of the harp. She had to try. ¡°That¡¯s not going to be for a long, long time!¡±

    ¡°But you will, won¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°This is what we have to do, you know that! You knew that!¡±

    ¡°You are replaceable, Ambassador! There are others of your legacy who could take on the role, should it be necessary!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not giving up my job! Not after this much!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s all that I have! Don¡¯t take her from me!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m--¡±

    ¡°Do not take him from me!¡±

    ¡°Please, just--¡±

    ¡°Leave us alone!¡±

    Octavia lunged. She reached. Her fingers closed, encircled around a stomach-sinking nothing. She stumbled, her momentum betraying her as she continued onwards even in descent. She did, if nothing else, take Madrigal with her after all. The Maestra came down hard beneath her with a yelp as the two rolled several times over. Violently adrift in the sea of grass that cushioned their fall, the settling dizziness left Octavia severely disoriented. The feeling of sprouts, ripped suddenly from their foundations, weaving into her braids was incredibly uncomfortable.

    It wasn¡¯t as uncomfortable as being face-up in the dirt, straddled and without leverage--metaphorically or otherwise. She¡¯d missed, and Lyra¡¯s Repose remained in the hands of its rightful owner. The joints of Octavia''s fingers were stiff, and her elbows and arms screamed from each tiny movement she made. She, too, screamed beneath the strength it took to catch the glistening metal that bore down on her head.

    ¡°Leave me alone! Just leave us alone already!¡± Madrigal wailed.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± she could hear Josiah cry. When she felt the familiar crackle in the air, the dry hum leaving her frazzled hair standing on end, she wanted to cry, too.

    ¡°No!¡± Octavia screeched. She couldn¡¯t deal with both crises at once. She was immensely grateful he got the message, the electric sensation pulsing through the atmosphere settling seconds later.

    ¡°Are you not satisfied until you have everything, girl? Until you are made invincible by your accomplishments and the praise which they garner?¡±

    Octavia squinted, struggling to push back against Madrigal¡¯s arms. Her hands shook beneath the strain of her efforts, the force of Madrigal¡¯s downward swing too much for her to withstand. Wind be damned, there was a very significant chance that her skull would be cracked if she let go. Lyra¡¯s Repose was weighted. By proxy of pushing back, she was learning that quickly enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­not¡­in this¡­for the glory,¡± Octavia answered, each word more forced than the last.

    ¡°I can¡¯t lose her! You can¡¯t take her away from me, you can¡¯t, you can¡¯t! I told you how important she is! I trusted you!¡±

    ¡°Madri¡­gal¡­¡±

    ¡°I trusted you!¡± she sobbed.

    Octavia was well aware that Madrigal was physically strong. Still, she hadn¡¯t expected the girl to push with so much force that simply breathing was a struggle. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry, but I¡­have to¡­do it, someday¡­¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s the only one for me! I need her! I can¡¯t go back to being alone, I can¡¯t!¡±

    What little strength Octavia had cobbled together was fading fast. The cool aura of glistening metal was palpable inches from her throbbing forehead. ¡°You¡¯re¡­not¡­alone¡­¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°I love her!¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°I love him!¡±

    ¡°I love her more than anything, more than anyone, and you can¡¯t have her, no matter what!¡±

    The juxtaposition of the two voices, battling for a turn with the same desperate lips, was agonizing. The base of the harp was beginning to dig painfully into Octavia¡¯s scalp. Words were nigh impossible to come by. ¡°You won¡¯t¡­be¡­alone¡­¡±

    ¡°Let this be a lesson, Ambassador, of what becomes of one who meddles in the affairs of those bound by the threads of fate! Let this be the proof that even the divide of realms means naught!¡±

    The sudden absence of pressure against Octavia¡¯s forehead was accompanied by the swift, upward jerk of her own arms. She was drained, and the drive to resist was nonexistent. Her hands fell limply to her sides as she witnessed Lyra¡¯s Repose claim every inch of the sunshine above. Where she¡¯d once found such sunshine in Madrigal¡¯s eyes, only bitterly-freed tears reached Octavia¡¯s cheeks--bloodied and bruised as they were.

    With her trembling arms high, high above, Octavia was helpless to do more than watch Madrigal shudder and sob. Shoulders heaving and eyes narrowed, the Maestra before her shared only a name with the vibrant and bubbly girl who¡¯d grown on her so fondly. The buns, curls, and face meant nothing. In name only, she was Madrigal. Octavia closed her eyes. If she¡¯d finally managed to make Madrigal cry, then she deserved whatever was coming to her.

    She didn¡¯t get it. What she did get was a split second of additional weight, her body jerking sharply as one of Madrigal¡¯s sandals dug into her side. Octavia cried out at the feeling, squeezing her closed eyes shut ever tighter in a grimace. In an instant, her body was light, unhindered from her torso downwards. She raised one knee experimentally, propping it up as she hissed through the pain of bending.

    Initial confusion at her newfound freedom was offset only by Madrigal¡¯s yelp of surprise, twofold as the grass rustled loudly somewhere to Octavia¡¯s right once more. She could¡¯ve sworn she heard the girl growling. With what little energy she still possessed, Octavia managed to flop her head in the direction of the noise. It took immense effort to ignore the sharp, shooting pains in her neck as she did so. When she cracked her eyes open, she at least had the energy to blink away her befuddlement.

    ¡°Get¡­off!¡± Madrigal hissed.

    The Spirited Maestra was left squirming relentlessly beneath her assailant. Pushing in every direction was useless, her wrists bound tightly to the earth by two hands far stronger than her own. She kicked desperately at nothing, her legs flailing as her sandals caught only clumps of dirt and sod underfoot.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°Do not interfere!¡± Lyra snapped.

    ¡°Lyra, right?¡±

    ¡°Unhand her, boy! This quarrel is not yours to fight!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s really Lyra in there, huh?¡±

    Madrigal whipped her head back and forth in a pitiful effort to escape. Her buns, too, had begun the arduous process of collecting stray earthy debris. When she strained one arm, her fingertips struggling to graze a harp that had slipped into the grass inches away, the same hand that held her wrist hostage barred her path. Immediately, Lyra¡¯s Repose was smacked away, rolling to a sloppy stop roughly two feet from Madrigal¡¯s arm. There was no time to fight back, given how the grip that held her down was too rapidly replaced to escape.

    ¡°What, you gonna attack me?¡±

    ¡°Get off of me!¡± Madrigal growled once again.

    ¡°Would that make you feel better?¡±

    ¡°You have been warned, boy! You know not the forces you trifle with!¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    Octavia blinked again. She stared, mostly, and no amount of staring offered any more explanation. He''d figured it out. He was calm about it. He was here at all. She didn¡¯t have the energy to ask him any flavor of ¡®why¡¯.

    Renato leaned down towards the girl, his face inches from her own as he spoke. ¡°So, then, how much of this is Maddie and how much is Lyra?¡±

    ¡°I said get off!¡± Madrigal shouted. ¡°I mean it!¡±

    He smiled. ¡°You¡¯re not usually this feisty. I kinda like it.¡±

    ¡°You have breached a boundary that you do not so much as know exists! If you wish to--¡±

    ¡°Lyra,¡± he warned gently, ¡°can you give me back my Maddie for a bit?¡±

    ¡°You are--¡±

    ¡°You wanna talk about how much you care about her, then you can at least do this for me. Asking real nicely. Please. I know she¡¯s in there.¡±

    It was enough, apparently. The shift was almost instant. ¡°Don¡¯t mess with me!¡± Madrigal whined, her eyes wide with fear and hurt.

    Renato didn¡¯t yell, nor did he raise his voice in any capacity. ¡°I¡¯m not messin¡¯ with ya, I promise. Got no reason to. What¡¯s going on with you?¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand!¡± she spat, squirming ever harder. Madrigal''s entire body shook with the effort of trying to push him back. Renato held her down effortlessly, not so much as trembling against her resistance. ¡°This is none of your business!¡±

    He tilted his head in the slightest. ¡°You could always make it my business, you know. Not opposed to that.¡±

    ¡°Leave me alone!¡±

    Renato sighed, a simple sound that surprisingly spoke more to endearment than to irritation. ¡°Let me try to understand, at least. Can I give that a shot? Tell me what¡¯s goin¡¯ on. If you don¡¯t like what I¡¯ve got to say about it, you can bash me over the head with a harp. I¡¯ll give you one free shot.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter! You don¡¯t even like your partners, and they hate you even worse than that! You could never understand what we have!¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°Tell me something I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s my everything!¡± Madrigal sobbed. ¡°She¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever wanted!¡±

    Renato raised a playful eyebrow. ¡°So I have competition?¡±

    ¡°I need her! I can¡¯t do this without her! Don¡¯t take her from me, please!¡±

    Renato rolled his eyes dramatically, a smile tinting his lips. ¡°You know, these are the kinds of things any guy would die to hear a pretty girl sayin¡¯ about him instead. I¡¯m not exactly the jealous type, but you¡¯re not makin¡¯ this easy for me.¡±

    Again, Madrigal did what she could to fight back, struggling and flailing. Again, still, she made zero progress, his grip versus hers a one-sided battle determined from the start. ¡°You don¡¯t get it! You¡¯re fine the way you are! When this is over, you won''t even care what happens to your partners! When she goes, it¡¯s like I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m losing my soulmate!¡±

    For a brief moment, Renato bit his lip uncomfortably. ¡°Yeah, well, there¡¯s at least one thing I lose once they go. Cross that bridge when I get to it, but that¡¯s a long, long way out, Maddie. Where¡¯s this all comin¡¯ from right now?¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s fine with making her sad!¡± Madrigal whimpered. ¡°No one cares what happens to them! No one cares about their feelings! Everyone just cares about themselves!¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¡¯s making her sad?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if I tell you, anyway, because you don¡¯t like her, either!¡± Madrigal spat.

    Even now, in the face of her venom, Renato still didn¡¯t show a hint of anger. His voice was soft, his face still so, so close to hers. ¡°What makes you think I don¡¯t like her?¡±

    ¡°I can tell!¡±

    He smirked. ¡°That¡¯s a terrible reason.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even like me if it weren¡¯t for her,¡± Madrigal wept, her voice cracking in time with the tears that freshly erupted upon her skin. Renato was close enough that the hurtful cascade nearly splashed him in turn.

    Whatever smirk he¡¯d managed to don slipped from his face almost instantly. Even so, he chuckled. ¡°What? Where¡¯d you get that idea?¡±

    The feeling of soft, hesitant fingertips against Octavia¡¯s shoulders wasn''t necessarily unwelcome. Still, it was distracting in its own way. She didn¡¯t bother to turn her head--and not solely because she was borderline incapable of moving. This was more important.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Josiah murmured with worry.

    ¡°Give me a second,¡± Octavia hushed, her weak fingers aloft in a nonverbal plea for peace.

    ¡°Without her, I¡¯m just me!¡± Madrigal cried. She struggled against Renato''s grasp once more, her efforts as useless as ever. Even kicking didn¡¯t help, the position in which Renato straddled her rendering meaningful damage impossible. If he wanted to pin her legs, too, he could¡¯ve. He didn¡¯t bother.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with being ¡®just you¡¯?¡±

    ¡°She understands me! She understands what I¡¯m meant to do, and what I¡¯m meant to be! She¡¯s everything I¡¯ve ever prayed to have, and you guys want to tear her away from me so badly!¡± Madrigal wailed.

    Renato shrugged, a muted motion compromised by his restraints. ¡°I mean, without my two idiots, I¡¯m ¡®just Renato¡¯. What¡¯s so bad about that?¡±

    Never once, in the entire time she¡¯d known Madrigal, had Octavia seen anything except adoration and affection in the girl¡¯s loving eyes each time they¡¯d graced Renato¡¯s face. When she spotted anger--true anger--it was as though the universe was ending. ¡°This isn¡¯t who you¡¯re meant to be. This isn¡¯t what was intended for you. You have so, so much else in the world. You shine, and you sparkle, and you can get whatever you want, just by being you! That¡¯s just the kind of person you are!¡±

    He blinked, recoiling somewhat. ¡°Are you complimenting me or insulting me?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s voice shook, her words as low as they were bitter. ¡°When all of this is over, you get to go home like nothing ever happened. You get to do whatever you want with your life in a world that says it¡¯s okay to be who you are. I go back where I started from, with people who can¡¯t stand me and won¡¯t say it to my face.¡±

    Renato tilted his head. ¡°I mean, if you¡¯ve got problems at home, you don¡¯t have to go back. It¡¯s not as hard to stay away as you think it¡¯d be. Stick with me, then.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Madrigal shouted, slamming her head against the grass in exasperation. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter where I go! Everyone, everyone hates me! They hate how I am, how I act, the things I say and the way I want to be! They always will! You have no idea what it¡¯s like to want to be something so badly and to be told over and over to keep your mouth shut about it!¡±

    Renato didn¡¯t speak. With his expression neutral, he was content to let Madrigal scream and rage only inches from his face. He didn¡¯t so much as flinch, a variable sponge for her misplaced anger.

    ¡°Lyra made me who I¡¯ve always, always wanted to be, ever since I was a child! This is everything to me! Do you all really hate me so much that you¡¯d take that away? The one and only thing I want in life? She knows me! She knows what I feel, what I think, what I love, what I hate, what I want, what I don¡¯t, all of it! There isn¡¯t a single other person to that level in this world who I can start from zero with! I can¡¯t! I can¡¯t do it!¡±

    Only now did Renato smile, one of the most gentle looks Octavia had ever seen touch his skin. ¡°What do you think I¡¯m here for?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like me,¡± Madrigal hissed. ¡°You like the idea of me. If you had to deal with all of me, all of the time, you¡¯d change your mind right away.¡±

    ¡°I like everything I¡¯ve seen so far,¡± he answered without hesitation. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯m always down to see a bit more Maddie. I mean, even Angry Maddie is interesting. Gonna burn this into my head forever, you know. In a good way.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve done bad things,¡± Madrigal breathed with narrow eyes, ¡°and there are things wrong with me.¡±

    Renato laughed, a sudden sound that was vivid enough to make him turn away for a moment. ¡°God, if only you knew the things that were wrong with me.¡±

    ¡°Someday, you¡¯re gonna leave me, too,¡± Madrigal murmured, tears still slipping down her cheeks even now. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get sick of me, and you¡¯re gonna get sick of who I am, with or without her. Once she¡¯s gone, I have nothing. I have no one who would understand any part of me, no matter how many times I try to explain. I go back to being the annoying girl that everyone avoids.¡±

    He found his smirk again. ¡°Let¡¯s get something straight real quick. There¡¯s only one person allowed to be insanely annoying in our little circle. If Vi¡¯s got anything to say about it, it¡¯s yours truly. I¡¯m gonna guard that crown with pride, thank you very much.¡±

    The words that followed were far more devoid of sass and wit, punctuated by a singular and delicate tap of his forehead against her own. ¡°And you know what? There¡¯s lots of stuff I thought no one would ever understand, either, but I found people who did. And I¡¯ll tell you this, it feels good knowing there¡¯s somebody else out there who gets it. I don¡¯t care if I gotta read a Maddie dictionary to be that person for you. I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m damn sure not getting sick of you any time soon. Hell, if anything, I can¡¯t get enough of you. You¡¯re a blast to be around. Your cooking is amazing. You¡¯re smart as hell. Seriously, what, like, eighteen languages? I don¡¯t even remember. You¡¯re sweet, you¡¯re funny, you¡¯re creative, and God, I reeeeally like lookin¡¯ atcha. Those little buns are gonna be the death of me.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes shimmered, unshed tears reined in by something just as obscured. She didn¡¯t speak, nor did she move a muscle.

    ¡°So, guess what? You¡¯re still gonna be my Magical Maddie with or without Lyra, whatever that comes with. You don¡¯t gotta be doing all this crazy magic wind stuff just for that. I¡¯m getting kinda jealous of those awesome poses and stuff, anyway. Been meaning to ask you to teach me some of ¡®em. Give me a cool hero name or something. If this is you, if this is who you really want to be, then I¡¯m more than good with all of that. You don¡¯t¡­need to be a Maestra to not be alone.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s lip quivered. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t need to be blowin¡¯ your lifespan on a guy like me.¡±

    Her eyes widened, her voice growing urgent. ¡°I--¡±

    Renato shook his head with a smile. ¡°I owe you one. Seriously. Okay? Just say the word. Whatever you want from me, I¡¯ll do it for you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need anything,¡± Madrigal whimpered, her voice cracking once more. ¡°I just wanted you to be okay. I still would¡¯ve done it, even if I knew.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m gonna make sure you¡¯ve never gotta do it again.¡±

    The contrast between the sorrow in her own wet eyes and the gentleness in his was notable. For a moment, they were silent, her caged tears eventually breaking free without a word or sound. As delicate as could be, Renato leaned down further, his lips brushing against one tear-streaked cheek.

    ¡°Come on, now, pretty girls crying makes my heart hurt. You gotta smile for me, princess,¡± he said softly.

    The Maestra struggled to oblige, her wobbling lips curling upwards in the most half-hearted attempt at a smile Octavia had ever seen. Her eyes were doing a spectacular job at betraying her. Regardless, Renato seemed satisfied, breaking into a smile of his own as he released Madrigal''s wrists at last. He came to rest on his heels, his hands settling onto his hips.

    ¡°Not gonna lie, this is starting to kill my knees. We gotta get that pretty hair out of the dirt, too. Worried I messed up your buns real bad. Got no idea how to fix ¡®em. Scared to try.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­not as hard as it looks,¡± Madrigal murmured, her voice unsteady.

    With the offer of one cherry oak grip of assistance thrust in her direction, she hesitantly wrapped her shaking fingers around Renato¡¯s own as he pulled her to her feet. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. I can barely fix my own damn hair, and that was way before the¡­you know. I¡¯m not a stylist. I just look good by default. It¡¯s a talent.¡±

    She giggled. His grin was explosive. ¡°There we go,¡± Renato breathed.

    Octavia was satisfied enough to manage a weak grin of her own. The urge to pass out in the grass was tempting, her entire body continuing to throb with each individual heartbeat. She rolled her head towards the sky, closing her eyes to dodge the oppressive sun battling to breach her lids. Josiah¡¯s fingers tapping her head were as annoying as they were reassuring.

    ¡°What hurts?¡± he asked quietly.

    She scoffed, amazed at the degree to which her voice had returned during Renato and Madrigal¡¯s confrontation. Staying still had helped more than she¡¯d expected, apparently. ¡°What doesn¡¯t hurt?¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, Octavia!¡± she heard Madrigal screech. The sound was enough to make her chuckle, feeble as it was.

    ¡°Help me up,¡± Octavia mumbled.

    ¡°Stay down. You¡¯re gonna hurt your neck,¡± Josiah scolded.

    ¡°Hush. Up, please,¡± she commanded.

    Josiah didn¡¯t bother arguing, his offered hand punctuated by a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. She probably deserved the way she staggered upon her feet touching the ground once more, nearly collapsing into his arms. To Josiah¡¯s credit, he never gripped her body harshly enough to hurt any of her many, many wounded muscles. It didn¡¯t matter. Madrigal more than made up for it.

    ¡°Octavia, I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry!¡± Madrigal bawled, throwing her arms wide around the girl. She, apparently, was immune to the concept of wind-born physical damage. Octavia grimaced in utter agony as her body was squeezed without restraint.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay, really,¡± she managed to croak out, her voice tight. Still, she didn¡¯t dare tell Madrigal to let go.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to hurt you, I¡¯m sorry!¡± Madrigal wailed anyway. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so, so sorry!¡±

    ¡°No, no, really, it¡¯s¡­alright! I¡¯ll be¡­fine!¡± Octavia gasped.

    It was Josiah who did what he could to subtly peel Madrigal off, balancing the Maestra¡¯s feelings with Octavia¡¯s well-being. He gently tapped the former¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t hug her so hard,¡± he whispered. ¡°She needs¡­space.¡±

    That was one way of putting it. Frankly, Octavia needed a lot of things. Still, it was enough. Madrigal quickly released her, tears pricking at the edges of regretful eyes. Octavia breathed an extremely necessary sigh of relief, more than grateful for the sweet return of oxygen.

    The sight of Renato gripping Lyra¡¯s Repose in both hands was somewhat comical. ¡°Next time you¡¯ve got a problem, don¡¯t drag Maddie into it like that,¡± he chided the harp itself. ¡°That wasn¡¯t very nice.¡±

    ¡°And you, young lady,¡± he continued, his playful gaze pointed at Octavia instead, ¡°need to stop getting into trouble every time I take my eyes off you.¡±

    Octavia scoffed. ¡°I do not want to hear that from you, of all people.¡±

    ¡°You know, a ¡®thank you¡¯ would suffice,¡± Renato teased with a wink.

    ¡°Took all of that surprisingly well,¡± she muttered.

    Renato shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve just kinda learned to go with it, at this point.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you know she wouldn¡¯t go after you, too?¡±

    He smirked. ¡°I didn¡¯t. Risk I was more than willing to take.¡±

    ¡°You were¡­fine with getting hurt? I don¡¯t think you understand exactly how bad that could¡¯ve been, especially with you being that close.¡±

    Were his words not what they were, his sassy grin would¡¯ve been infectious. ¡°What can I say? There¡¯s only a few things hotter than a woman who can kick my ass.¡±

    Octavia groaned. Maybe she should have cheered for Lyra.

    ¡°How¡¯d you even know this was¡­going on?¡± she asked.

    His face fell. ¡°I, uh, just¡­you know, wanted to check on you.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I didn¡¯t even tell anyone I was out here.¡±

    ¡°W-Well, you know, I was just¡­I¡¯m a magnet for trouble, I guess. Who knows?¡± he stammered uncomfortably, adjusting his hat.

    His explanation was exceedingly weak. Octavia tilted her head. ¡°I mean, I know that, but¡­are you sure no one told you I was here?¡±

    Renato nodded, his smile somewhat strained. It wasn¡¯t subtle. ¡°I mean, no, Vi¡¯s doin¡¯ her own thing and Harper¡¯s knocked the hell out. Coincidence, I guess?¡±

    When Octavia made to open her mouth again, aiming to poke holes in his poor logic, she lost her opportunity to a rapid change of subject. She cursed her slow lips.

    ¡°Seriously, though, she¡¯s gotta chill out a bit,¡± Renato muttered, holding Lyra¡¯s Repose aloft in one cherry-flavored hand. ¡°That was some pretty nasty stuff.¡±

    It was to Octavia¡¯s incredible surprise that his touch triggered a response from the scolded Muse in question. A brilliant and familiar burst of viridian was Octavia¡¯s only indication of her physical arrival. With her head still spinning somewhat as it was, the extra flash was painful enough to force one aching hand to her eyes. Lyra came face-to-face with a Maestro not of her own legacy, still clinging to her physical form all the same. If the Muse could do so, Octavia wondered if she¡¯d be scowling at him.

    ¡°Are you quite satisfied with yourself, boy?¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Yes, actually.¡±

    ¡°Are you even aware of the circumstances with which you have interfered?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°I know you were making Maddie upset. That was plenty.¡±

    Lyra outright growled. ¡°You insolent--¡±

    ¡°That is enough.¡±

    Octavia had hardly even remembered he was there, an onlooker to the bloody spectacle of dangerous love that had unfolded before his otherworldly eyes. Still just as calm and just as composed, Ethel spoke with a tenderness that brought Octavia¡¯s gaze to him instead. His attention, in turn, was offered to Lyra alone.

    She, too, returned his exclusive acknowledgement. Octavia had never seen such distressed body language from a Muse, particularly for an ethereal being of light incarnate. Still, not unlike a human, her hands clung tightly together just over her luminous heart. The wondrous Apex was suddenly small and vulnerable before his words. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    ¡°The Ambassador speaks the truth, Lyra. Such was my own decision,¡± Ethel offered.

    ¡°But why?¡± Lyra cried. A degree of emotion painted her voice that Octavia, too, had not yet heard from the sweet tones of a Muse. ¡°After all this time? Now, at last?¡±

    Ethel nodded. ¡°It must be done.¡±

    ¡°But must it be so soon?¡±

    ¡°It is for the good of¡­those other than myself. I implore you to understand.¡±

    ¡°I do not!¡± Lyra shouted. ¡°High and low have I searched for you! So long have I fought to see you by my side once more, and you only now crave to escape my embrace? In what way have I wronged you so?¡±

    ¡°You have not wronged me, my dearest Apex. For all time, you could not do so, even should you try.¡±

    ¡°Then why?¡± Lyra pleaded.

    ¡°I must consider what is best for¡­¡±

    For a moment, his gaze flickered downwards towards Josiah. Octavia wasn''t ignorant to the tint of fear in the boy¡¯s eyes as he shook his head in the slightest. Ethel sighed.

    ¡°I must consider what is best for this realm. As it is, there is yet one Above even now who waits alone. I wish to accompany him. You are¡­free to come along.¡±

    Lyra hesitated. ¡°I¡­I have made a promise to the Ambassador. It is my obligation to see her task through to the end. I cannot.¡±

    Josiah scoffed quietly. ¡°The same Ambassador you just beat the crap out of,¡± he muttered under his breath.

    If Lyra heard his pointed words, she made no indication. Ethel, too, ignored the same. ¡°Then I will await your return with patience and grace, as with all things,¡± he continued.

    ¡°Ethel, I beg of you. Stay with me.¡±

    ¡°It cannot be so. You know this, and of that, I am sure. I¡­apologize.¡±

    Lyra was quiet, her trembling fingers drifting apart from their iron grasp to one another. For all of the brutality she¡¯d endured by proxy at the hands of the Spirited Muse, Octavia¡¯s heart ached on Lyra¡¯s behalf. Even so, there was nothing that could be done. For Josiah¡¯s sake, she wouldn¡¯t budge. Ethel surely wouldn¡¯t, either.

    ¡°Could you¡­forgive my hastiness, then?¡± Lyra murmured.

    ¡°It is not I whose forgiveness you must seek. Know, though, that you are always forgiven of all sins in my heart.¡±

    ¡°I¡­have missed you so.¡±

    ¡°And I you.¡±

    They were silent, and the tension between them spoke to more than words could ever. Octavia didn¡¯t dare interrupt. Ethel did so on her behalf, severing his unwavering gaze on Lyra in favor of matching the Ambassador¡¯s own.

    ¡°I¡­apologize for the interruption, Ambassador. You were in the midst of your task.¡±

    Her heart skipped a beat. She wrung the hem of her dress absentmindedly. ¡°You¡¯re¡­are you sure you¡¯re ready?¡±

    Ethel nodded. ¡°I am prepared. Josiah, my child, if you will.¡±

    It was rare that she heard a Muse speak of a Maestro¡¯s name. Stradivaria was a sweet exception, and she treasured it. For Ethel and Josiah, in particular, their relationship was fleeting at best and hostile at worst. Her surprise was mutual, and it coated Josiah¡¯s face in turn. His shocked eyes flickered upwards to Ethel for a moment. Still, they fell once more to the glimmering rosewood that Octavia had nearly forgotten about altogether. Prone in the grass and discarded hastily in a moment of panic, he tenderly cupped the instrument in both palms, offering it yet again before Octavia¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°When you¡¯re¡­ready, then,¡± Josiah said.

    ¡°You don¡¯t wanna do this anymore?¡± Renato asked, his tone far from judgmental. Still, the glare Octavia fixed him with was reflexive in a way she regretted instantly. He flinched.

    With substantially more composure and a faint smile to match, Josiah shook his head. ¡°This stuff isn¡¯t for me. I¡¯m happy just being myself. I¡­hope that doesn¡¯t change anything between us.¡±

    Renato grinned. ¡°Nah, we¡¯re still besties. Whatever you want, I¡¯ll back you up.¡±

    ¡°We are not ¡®besties¡¯,¡± Josiah deadpanned.

    Octavia giggled regardless. The sadness on Madrigal¡¯s face compromised her amusement, somewhat, Lyra¡¯s Repose since safely returned to her embrace. Even Renato¡¯s arm, wrapped comfortably around her shoulder, wasn¡¯t enough to cleanse her sorrowful eyes. When they met Octavia¡¯s, it hurt. As with so many things, there was nothing she could do.

    With a sigh far too heavy, her sore fingertips came to rest upon the firm surface of Etherion for the last time.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart,¡± Octavia said aloud, as confidently as she could.

    He wasn''t silent on the way out, his beautiful light that she¡¯d just begun to appreciate sadly leaving her eyes all too soon. The gorgeous golds evaporating gradually before her, gracing the air with luminescence one last time in passing, were as solemn as they were tinged with relief. The display was every bit as lovely as had been the case with Breileneth. Granted, Octavia was blessed with a gradient myriad of hues much unlike the Muse¡¯s own departure had offered. Ethel¡¯s dissipating brilliance spoke to her awed eyes alone. The last of his voice--likely stolen without his knowledge or concern--spoke to her from within.

    Yes, it will be so.

    She regretted peeling her gaze away from the inspiring and glorious scene that was Ethel¡¯s departing visage, and yet Octavia¡¯s eyes still flickered to Josiah. He, too, hadn¡¯t dared to take his own eyes off the Muse, narrow and sharp as they were. Even as the clarinet resting so peacefully in his palms began to depart the world, a fickle sparkle dancing upon his skin, he was just as silent. Octavia tilted her head somewhat.

    That place which you hold most dear to your heart, yes.

    The words in her head paused. Even I cannot say where that may be.

    Josiah¡¯s shoulders rose and fell with the effort of a heavy breath. Still, his glare was unforgiving.

    I¡­suppose so. By such, do you mean¡­refrain, rather than bless?

    Josiah nodded, a tiny motion barely noticeable without focus. Octavia was lucky.

    I will do what I can to see that it is so. I shall not question your motives. I will endeavor to focus my efforts upon¡­if you were to choose, Josiah, then where?

    ¡°Anywhere but there,¡± Josiah mouthed silently.

    ''Anywhere¡­but there.'' Once more, I will oblige as much as possible. Such is the least I can do on your behalf.

    Josiah closed his eyes for a moment. Again, his unspoken words were visible upon his lips alone. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Dissipating as he was, every passing second stealing what was left of glorious golden luminescence, Ethel wasn¡¯t yet satisfied. His words for Octavia were unprompted as his very presence drew to a close, radiant sprinkles of sparkling yellow raining before a captive audience. Every eye trained upon his final moments in plain sight offered their full attention--born of respect, regret, and amazement alike. Octavia was no exception. When she alone claimed his voice, low and smooth in her head one last time, it was as much a privilege as it was a curse.

    And to you, Ambassador, I offer these parting words.

    Yes? Octavia answered wordlessly, her breath hitching in her throat.

    There are threads of the spider web which even I do not know of. Do not lower your guard.

    On the absolute threshold of visibility, the star-like specter of his presence returning to the place in which he belonged, his parting gift was numbing.

    Above all else, do not trust Stratos.

 [EXTRA] 49.5. My Miracle

    There was hardly a need for the river. Her tears alone would¡¯ve sufficed.

    She could make her own, maybe, and send its reach tumbling far along every shimmering rock. She could outdo what was natural with sorrow alone. It was a blessing that only moonlight bore witness to her hurt, milky beams snagging on her curls and painting her tears. There was no point in wiping them away. She¡¯d make more soon enough.

    Stop acting like this.

    She¡¯d managed to curb her sobs, at least, dimming her pain to only soft hiccups on occasion. It left the fervor of the inn distantly at her back, joyous ambience filling in where the songs of insects fell short. It wasn¡¯t quite enough to overshadow her own shaking breaths. Madrigal tried. She failed, and no amount of conscious attention to the ripe little pepper in her hands was offering a solid distraction. The salt born of her tears was an unwelcome spice. It took effort to spare the innocent vegetable.

    She plunged her trembling hands into the cool waters below, the ball of green clasped tightly in her palms following suit. It was more than was necessary. Still, the stinging chill of the river against her skin was welcome. If she could cling to it, she would. The rest of her burned, her heart most of all.

    You¡¯re not a child anymore.

    That was always the worst one. They¡¯d picked a bad night to bring it out.

    Madrigal entertained the idea of plunging her head under the water entirely. If it could sweep through her head and carry away shame itself, she would never ask for anything again--aside from the usual.

    This is ridiculous.

    It wasn¡¯t ridiculous. It was her fault for letting the word slip out again, let alone the sentiment at large. At the very least, she hadn¡¯t said it in front of a guest this time.

    You¡¯re embarrassing me!

    That one had been a nightmare.

    No amount of shaking her head was helping. Their voices were fresh, their words raw. Time was irrelevant. Her curls bashed against her cheeks again and again as she fought to loosen every unwanted thought. It was a losing battle. If she went back, she wondered if they¡¯d chide her again. It was a self-imposed punishment, by which the flowing waters below offered companionship. Should she lean too close, she¡¯d be robbed of a heroine¡¯s visage.

    Stop saying that!

    It was supposed to be there.

    Madrigal, just¡­move past this, already! Please!

    And still, by insistence not her own, she found anything but.

    People can hear when you say things like that. The guests can hear you. How long do you plan to keep this up?

    Forever would¡¯ve been nice. She¡¯d never truly gotten the chance to start, anyway. Madrigal doubted they¡¯d ever let her, for whatever that would entail. It was a subjective term to begin with. There were times where she could picture the remorse on their faces, should they be incorrect someday. Tonight wasn¡¯t one of them.

    Her hands were empty. She wasn¡¯t aware she¡¯d relaxed her grip in the first place, and it left her one pepper shorter. Madrigal winced, swiftly withdrawing her chilled fingers from the rushing waters. If she squinted, she could follow the green marker that gently bobbed out of sight downstream. She sighed.

    For a moment, she didn¡¯t have the heart to try again. She had half a mind to dump what was left in the river intentionally, if not solely out of spite. They were already disappointed. It would¡¯ve been preferable if their rationale was born of anything except heroism.

    Entertaining the thought of incurring their ire intentionally was enough to leave her eyes blurring once more. She¡¯d given up on trying to suppress it. This far beyond the inn, she had the right to shed her pain. That, at least, they couldn¡¯t force her to swallow.

    It took effort to will her hands back in the direction of the basket at all, still shaking as they were. Madrigal lost the escaping pepper, left with only streaming crystal in place of what color it could offer. At no point had her faltering fingers released gold.

    She thought she¡¯d hallucinated it, at first. The sparkle nestled amongst the far rocks was disorienting, gleaming beneath stolen starlight. She¡¯d dismissed every golden twinkle as a trick of the night, at first. Creeping darkness and endless tears were more than enough to dull her senses. Still, with each heavy blink, the same earthbound shimmer remained. There was a non-zero chance it was garbage. It was beautiful garbage, if that was the case.

    With care, Madrigal scooped the basket into her arms, resting one wall of wicker against her hip as she rose to her feet. Her steps along the damp shoreline were weighted, her heart faring roughly the same in comparison. Loaded with lead or otherwise, each movement forward graced her with a glimmer just the slightest bit brighter. It was metallic, most definitely. The moon did it justice. Gold was welcome to her aching eyes, and the fallen star was its own beacon. The walk meant little. It was incredibly worth it.

    Vegetables were of no concern, and she nestled the basket gently onto the shifting stones underfoot. It took effort to inch closer to the rushing waters without slipping, for how her sandals were robbed of traction along the soaked riverbed. She did her best regardless. With equal parts caution and curiosity, Madrigal knelt down to the cluster of rocks below.

    She was correct about the metal component. She was splendidly incorrect about the garbage aspect. Even before she¡¯d processed it in full, her hands had already risen to cup either side of the shining instrument. If the river reclaimed it once more, she¡¯d be tempted to dive in and give chase. It wasn¡¯t an option.

    From afar, the moon had been a blessing to the little harp. Up close, the spilling beams from on high were pitiful by comparison. It had all the shimmer it needed splashed along every curve. How it had stayed perfectly dry was beyond her, glossy as its golden glow was. Not a drop of water brushed against her prying fingertips as she wrapped her hands around either end.

    Every string was immune to rust, greeting her skin with just a hint of rugged resistance as she trailed one nail along the copper. It was divine. If it belonged to someone, Madrigal silently chastised them as to their careless misplacement of such a treasure.

    Her thumb brushed along the sweeping inlay pressed deep into the base, curling and twisting preciously. That, too, was divine.

    For more than a moment, she was content to simply savor it in her arms. Cold metal was cold metal, and the cool night air had seeped into every facet of glorious gold. It was a sweeter relief than the bite of chilling waters. Madrigal hugged it tightly to her chest, relishing the soft sting that came with the frigid touch against her forearms. In its own way, it was warm. On her knees along the riverbed, smooth stones digging into her skin, she surely looked abnormal.

    This is ridiculous.

    It wouldn¡¯t have been anything new.

    Stop this, please.

    Madrigal hugged the instrument ever tighter. Just once, a different focus would¡¯ve been nice. It was involuntary, and she loathed it.

    You¡¯re not a child anymore.

    She didn¡¯t realize her fingers were settled over the strings until she heard the note they drew. She hadn¡¯t so much as felt her muscles twitch at all. It was a gorgeous interruption, one crystalline sound echoing through the vast night. Singular or otherwise, a pluck so soft rang louder than thoughts that fought to race. Madrigal indulged it. She¡¯d never played before.

    She¡¯d hardly intended to craft a passable song, intent only on vibrating sound for sound¡¯s sake. In a world restricted to her fingers and a handful of strings, haphazard plucking was sure to suffice in some capacity. Any string on its own would¡¯ve been beautiful. Even so, what aimless melody drifted forth from the harp in her arms spoke to effort. If Madrigal was giving any, she couldn¡¯t tell. She was playing, it was singing, and the resulting harmony between them was beautiful.

    It was one distraction from pain, tactile and auditory all at once. She hadn¡¯t quite stemmed her tears. Chiding mingled with plucking, try as she might to drown out the former. The less she thought about it, the better. Still, the voices were there. Sorrow was there. Pain was there. It was for the best that playing was absentminded, for how her shoulders shook once more and her breaths rattled in turn.

    Why do you cry, child?

    It wasn¡¯t a voice she was used to in the slightest.

    Madrigal juxtaposed it against every figure who¡¯d ever reproached her, and she came up empty instantly. It was loud and soft all at once, echoing deep in places she couldn¡¯t reach. It wasn¡¯t enough to make her jump. Regardless, her wandering eyes found nothing amongst soaked stones and gushing waters.

    ¡°What?¡± she murmured.

    There was no reason to answer back, logically. For all intents and purposes, she was conversing with nothing. As to why she continued to play, she wasn¡¯t sure.

    For what reason do you shed such bitter tears?

    She hadn¡¯t expected a response. It came from within once more, inexplicable and warm. Part of her was fairly certain that she should¡¯ve been more scared. As it was, a heavy heart was a solid deterrent for fear. She didn¡¯t bother wiping away the tears in question, somewhat resentful of the way they plopped onto the glistening golds in her hands one by one.

    ¡°I¡­nobody believes in me,¡± Madrigal conceded, her voice wobbling.

    So, too, was there no real reason to share it. She had nothing left to lose, her pained song endless in the depths of night. If they knew she¡¯d reached the point of talking to herself, she wondered how much further they¡¯d berate her. The concept was enough to curse her with a fresh round of tears, stinging her eyes in earnest.

    Why is that so?

    Exhaling steadily was difficult. Madrigal did her best. ¡°There¡¯s¡­something I want to be, and nobody likes that. It¡¯s all I want, though. I don¡¯t know what I did wrong.¡±

    And what is it that you seek to become?

    Even to a voice unseen, the idea of saying the word was mortifying. She kept it in her heart, lest it burn her more than once tonight. ¡°I want to help people. I want to save people, and to protect them from all the bad things in the world. I want to be strong, and I want people to be able to rely on me.¡±

    A noble goal, indeed.

    Feminine, gentle, and silky, Madrigal appreciated the lack of judgment inside. Emotional fatigue blunted the urge to unravel it. ¡°No one else thinks so.¡±

    You would weigh the worth of your ambitions by the words of another?

    Madrigal was quiet for a moment. A song still so beautiful filled the gaps, and she didn¡¯t hate it. In the depths of the night, crowned with spilling moonlight and company unseen, she submitted to whatever ethereal environment she¡¯d fallen into. ¡°It¡¯s all I ever hear, over and over again. I can¡¯t help it.¡±

    For how long have you desired such a path?

    Fighting the crack in her voice was trickier than she would¡¯ve hoped. ¡°Forever.¡±

    Were it within your grasp, how would you make it so?

    Again, Madrigal was quiet. She gripped the harp just the slightest bit tighter, her aimless melody still soft by comparison. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I know what I want to be, but I don¡¯t¡­know how I¡¯d get there. Maybe that¡¯s why everyone¡¯s mad at me. Sometimes I just wish for a miracle. I pray a lot. Nobody ever listens to that, either.¡±

    The quiet hum she earned in her head was far from condescending. If anything, it was a comfort, somewhere between empathetic and contemplative. She might¡¯ve decided that herself. At this point, she would¡¯ve believed anything.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she tried.

    That which you hold in your arms.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes fell to the shining instrument. The idea didn¡¯t compromise her song, and she tilted her head. ¡°The¡­harp?¡±

    What rests beyond such a vessel, rather.

    She paused. ¡°You can talk?¡±

    To you alone, who may hear my voice in turn.

    Every answer was instant. Every question was hesitant. ¡°Do you have a name?¡±

    Lyra.

    ¡°Lyra,¡± Madrigal repeated. The name on her tongue was soft and sweet. She swallowed it whole, returning what she could. ¡°My name is Madrigal.¡±

    Madrigal, the voice responded. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.

    Madrigal nodded to nothing at all. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, too. What were you doing here? Were you lonely?¡±

    That you would be in my company, I would no longer be so.

    It was just barely enough to warrant a smile, her lips curving upwards in the slightest. The feeling was almost foreign. Madrigal''s tears had stilled, at some point, only dried trails of sorrow left taut on her cheeks. That, too, was new. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I don¡¯t¡­have a lot of friends. Everyone thinks I¡¯m weird. This is the first time I¡¯ve gotten to talk to someone in a long time. You¡¯re really nice.¡±

    I regret that the world has wronged you, my child.

    The term made her heart skip a beat. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint why, instead simply savoring the warmth that followed. ¡°What do you¡­think I should do?¡±

    Regarding?

    Madrigal sighed. ¡°Everything. Being a heroine. I don¡¯t want to give up, but it hurts when everyone tells me to.¡±

    It took two additional seconds for her to tense. She¡¯d gone to great lengths to swallow the word, and it had slipped out on the cusp of acceptance. Her heart skipped a beat for a different reason entirely, and Madrigal held her breath.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    To her absolute shock, she found indifference--if not understanding. Then you have no reason to surrender.

    She¡¯d been playing forever. Somehow, her fingers never tired. Madrigal rose to her feet with care, doing all she could to avoid slipping on the smooth stones below. ¡°I still¡­don¡¯t know how I¡¯d actually do it. I¡¯m trying to figure that part out.¡±

    Must you hurry?

    To carry the harp and a basket all at once was difficult. Stemming her song was a tragedy, and her fingers felt empty the moment they came to rest. A trickling river once lonesome was tranquil. She embraced its calm alongside the chilling air, growing ever more so as it brushed her skin. The moon no longer served as her sole companion. ¡°Not really,¡± Madrigal answered. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­I really want to, as soon as possible.¡±

    Patience will always be rewarded.

    Her smile came naturally, and she left it aimed squarely at a little harp. Nestling it amongst useless vegetables felt almost sacrilegious. Granted, she didn¡¯t have many other options to accommodate her cargo. Again, Madrigal settled the wicker against her hip, minding her step as she inched cautiously back towards grassier footing. Parallel with the river, she embraced its own quiet song instead. ¡°Can I take you with me? Is someone waiting for you?¡±

    I am yours, as you are mine. That I would go where you go is destiny itself.

    The butterflies in her stomach were inexplicable. Once more, Madrigal didn¡¯t bother trying to dissect them. ¡°Can anyone else hear you?¡±

    My voice reaches you alone.

    That, too, left her warm. Every step towards the inn was light, in stark contrast to those which she¡¯d taken towards solitary waters. ¡°Will you be mad if I keep you a secret?¡±

    Madrigal had a feeling she¡¯d need to, anyway. Of the harp, she could explain enough. Of the voice, she¡¯d be abnormal at best and insane at worst. The former was nothing new. She didn¡¯t need any additional fuel for their hurtful fire.

    It may be in your best interest to do so.

    Madrigal eyed the harp with concern, twinkling gold serving as a beautiful star in a sea of greenery. ¡°How come?¡±

    You are in possession of that which would--

    Madrigal saw it before she heard it. It was out of the corner of her eye, and she first thought it to be her imagination. It wouldn¡¯t have been the first time tonight, albeit born of something far darker than an earthbound sparkle. She was fairly certain the water hadn¡¯t harbored the fog before. If it had, she¡¯d never noticed.

    It was her fault for being distracted, lost in sweeter company as she was. It was quick, a broiling cloud that swept clean along the surface of a rushing river. Where it claimed the shoreline, scrambling beyond wet stones, violet crawled between stony crevices and came to threaten her toes. It served as one of many problems, for how the height rapidly grew to be alarming. Solid land was a catalyst for cresting indigo, rising and writhing to meet her in full.

    Madrigal took one step back. She took another. She took another, and another, useless in every way as it pressed forward still. It wasn¡¯t enough to earn her reprieve, any meaningful gap shrinking by the second. The screeching was abysmal.

    The sound was all-consuming, piercing in a manner that bored into her eardrums and tore down into her soul. The nausea was immediate. Madrigal outright staggered. Raising her hands to her ears was a reflex, her arms suddenly emptied as the basket tumbled to the ground. Vegetables so recently pristine rolled helplessly into vulnerable grass, threatened more by creeping violet every second. She initially chalked up her dizziness to fear, her heart pounding terribly against her ribcage. Still, it was overwhelming. The world spun, and her vision blurred.

    Madrigal screamed. It was the most she could do.

    Madrigal.

    ¡°What is that?¡± she cried, her voice wobbling with horror.

    Forward it came, and backwards she went. She thought to run, and yet her steps were sickeningly unstable. Were she to try, she worried she¡¯d stumble immediately. She wanted to vomit. The longer she stared at advancing indigo, murky and screeching, the closer she got to that threshold.

    Listen to me.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes snapped down to the harp, languishing amongst hastily-spilled vegetables below. It was all she could do to snatch it up, for whatever that was worth. She almost stumbled in the process, and the momentary steps forward she had to take in the process nearly left her heart bursting. There was the tiniest relief that came from sparing precious gold from whatever grotesque violet continued to scream inches from her face.

    Even so, the instrument in her arms only eased her terror in the slightest. As to why it helped at all, she wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What is that stuff?¡± she asked frantically.

    It is a poison that should not be so.

    Breathing was impossible. Pure terror had replaced what little oxygen she could find. Madrigal could¡¯ve sworn there was more of it, for whatever ¡°it¡± was. Born of a river so recently tranquil, it was abundant and drifting upon a disgusting wind unseen. Were she to stand still, she would surely be swallowed whole. The thought alone risked killing her first. She was hyperventilating. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    Do not be afraid.

    It was an impossible concept. Still, it was easier to stare at resplendent gold than vicious violet. ¡°What?¡±

    My spirit is yours to claim. Do as you must.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Madrigal whimpered, gripping the harp ever tighter.

    Offer up your touch, and I will offer up my spirit. I am yours, just as you are mine, my child. You are not alone.

    She wasn¡¯t calm by any means. She clung to every word regardless, and she embraced them as they slipped between the cracks of her panic. ¡°Do you mean¡­¡±

    Reach for me, and I shall be there. I will guide your way. You are not powerless. Rebel as you must.

    The screeching was unbearable. Somehow, the voice came louder than even that. Madrigal was guessing, largely, as to whether her fingers were needed over the strings in the first place. They settled into place regardless, natural and comfortable in a way she couldn¡¯t pinpoint. Even born of something far more horrified, it wasn¡¯t so dissimilar to her prior peace. ¡°Do I¡­play?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± she said.

    As you have done.

    Madrigal hadn¡¯t figured that part out yet. It had been a reflex born of something inconceivable. To try to consciously recapture it was a trial. With indigo cresting her in turn, a false wave born of true waters, she had little left to lose. Keeping her eyes open was another trial entirely, and she resisted the urge to squeeze them shut out of fear of the inevitable. In place of frozen terror, Madrigal swept her fingers along foreign strings.

    Where she¡¯d given rise to a song so delicate before, what fled her hurried touch was something far more weighted. Her melody was rich, her notes vivid and bright. Each resonant pluck that stung the night lingered upon the open air, pure crystal challenging writhing darkness. It was still beautiful in every way, and that much was calming at the worst of times.

    Blood once boiling and scorching from horror ran cool, still rushing through her ears as it was. It battled the river beyond, loud and forceful. By comparison, it was unnatural. Breaths so recently lost came shallow by content alone, thinned from something more than fear. It was enough to get by. Madrigal inhaled. She exhaled. Of the latter, she wondered if her entire being would come with it.

    She never ceased her song, rapid and reflexive. Her fingertips snagged against each string in precious sequence, weaving a vibrant melody as unfamiliar as it was welcome. Her muscles pulsed in the slightest. She¡¯d never felt her own blood surging through her veins before, startlingly light and shockingly fluid as her skin grew chilled in turn. The sensation was perplexing. The wind was infinitely more so.

    It wasn¡¯t explosive by any means. It didn¡¯t need to be. What miniscule breeze rattled her dress skirt and shuffled stray sprouts below was sudden. It trailed over her toes, swirling about her ankles and rocking languishing vegetables at her side. That which began as something delicate grew stronger, and yet stronger still. Like so many things, she didn¡¯t try to dissect it. In the face of enveloping indigo, it was one more impossibility.

    Her song persisted. Madrigal didn¡¯t dare stop, for what instructions she¡¯d been given.

    The gust was localized, and she clung to its byproducts with her eyes for all it was worth. It enveloped her in full, gushing through her curls and whipping against her calves. Grass bowed deep beneath its pressure, roaring louder than even the screaming before her. It spun. Madrigal claimed its center, a stagnant eye of a personal storm. In a way, she was afraid to move. The gale ravaged her buns and battered her face, by which she winced in the face of the windy onslaught. Still, even now, she played.

    For how it bent and twisted in the wake of her every ringing note, it took Madrigal more than a moment to make the connection. Her eyes widened, whether blighted by the spiraling tempest or not. Wrapped up in foreign gales in the depths of the night, she didn¡¯t fear being blown away. There was still fear in there, undoubtedly. It rode on each whirling gust, stolen straight from her heart.

    ¡°Is this¡­me? Am I doing this?¡± she breathed.

    This is the power with which you are blessed, came the voice in her head.

    Madrigal¡¯s heart was pounding for a different reason altogether. ¡°What do I do?¡±

    If it was hers to keep, it felt strong in another way. Her blood was pulsing, surging with something equal parts weightless and fluid. Where wind besieged her from without, she was just as turbulent within. She submitted to her own storm, content to merge into her gorgeous creation in full. Were she to become wind itself, she wouldn¡¯t have objected.

    You seek to protect, do you not? Stand firm and resist.

    In more ways than one, she was fearless at last.

    Madrigal braced against the soft earth, her sandals digging into the dirt. Blessed by silky starlight above and miserable violet beyond, she clung to that which was invisible. What she couldn¡¯t see, she could feel in every way. Swift fingers moved of their own accord. Her gusting song was natural, thoughtless and perfect. The winds woven of her inexplicable harmony were both chilling and not, for the way they warmed her heart in turn.

    They claimed her, and she claimed them right back. To guide them was a sensation equally natural. They were hands she¡¯d never extended, fingers she¡¯d never unfurled. She repressed the urge to jolt in surprise the moment her gales rebelled.

    Violet was swift. Not once did it still, nor did it hesitate. Like the wave she¡¯d unfortunately learned it to be, it crashed down onto her at last. Where it surged, Madrigal surged back, her spiraling tempest raging in the dark. With the moon as her sole guide, the display was disorienting.

    A storm penetrated the cloudy sea, rapid and desperate in a way that parted screaming tides. There was little to witness but morphing fog, battling that which her eyes couldn¡¯t catch. With certainty, billowing gales besieged all that escaped the river. It was all Madrigal could do to show them the way.

    It was on her left. It was on her right. It was forward, and she briefly feared for any situation in which it would be at her back. As to what it was in the first place, let alone why it was here at all, she still wasn¡¯t sure. Survival took priority. If she wasn¡¯t enough, an inn rested not so far behind her. It was one more reason to stand strong.

    What she didn¡¯t surrender, she kept for herself. Not one wisp of false darkness touched her, beset by spinning gusts that ensnared her within. Once more, Madrigal embraced her own storm, wrapped up in divine winds on every side. That which strayed too near was devoured in turn, screeching all the way to a tumbling demise as smoky indigo was torn to shreds. In that manner, she¡¯d challenged the sinking sky itself, a cloud collapsing onto her from above. She swallowed all it would give, her own assault unyielding.

    With care, deft fingers brought them surging yet faster, barreling forth and punching deep into the writhing smoke. To her mortal eyes, she was shooting at nothing, blessed with bullets she couldn¡¯t see against an obstacle she couldn¡¯t unhear. With certainty, she¡¯d feel the wind forever. Madrigal was convinced there was more violet than there was water, at this point, for how the false tide seemed to rise eternally. Even so, she was just as eternal, and she trusted in her song.

    The strings had merged with her skin, perhaps, and the instrument had grown just as natural. Fear had drowned somewhere in a river long lost in the dark, replaced by something that burned yet brighter. Cool as her veins still ran, she cherished both sensations in unison as her gushing gales smashed into what squirming smoke they could claim. Wisps became snagged on her streams, and she ripped them clean from the murky fog. Where she tore, it screamed. She did so again, and again, and again, a vortex born of her hands dismantling darkness.

    It felt instant. It felt eternal. She was somewhere square in the middle, swept up in another type of disorientation altogether. If someone told her she was dreaming, she would¡¯ve believed them immediately. For every tendril of indigo that she jerked from the screeching mist, Madrigal did little more than watch the way her ruthless gales devoured it in full.

    Spinning, twisting, and writhing of their own accord, a storm so fast swallowed them whole and retrieved true darkness alone. With each swift rotation and each strum equally swift, she flowed against the tide and ripped it from the waters. She still couldn¡¯t process that the song was hers at all.

    And when the stars twinkled down on her in earnest, surging violet ebbing and conceding into nothing, she still played. It was out of paranoia, at first, lest she doff her gusty defenses and be beset by yet more waterborne indigo. Even so, when her eyes trailed down every last path that had once carried a tainted gale, she couldn¡¯t find a speck of the same.

    Madrigal hesitated to breathe a sigh of relief. She hesitated to breathe at all. Her winds did the breathing for her, stealing the air from her lungs and crying out above that which she¡¯d since silenced.

    In stark contrast to her instinctive melody, it took conscious effort to still her fingers. Windswept curls fell over her shoulders, and the skirt of her dress came to rest against her skin. The air grew just as quiet as her touch, devoid of a storm and song alike. Only the trickle of true waters, purged of venomous violet, filled the night. She blinked. She blinked again. She was torn neatly between disbelief and exhilaration, still savoring the ebbing chill in her blood and echoes of gales in her ears.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes fell to the harp. Slow fingers trailed over the strings absentmindedly, and she relished the tiniest bite of rugged copper against her skin. ¡°Lyra.¡±

    I am here.

    For the briefest moment, she feared she¡¯d forgotten the name. Even so, it was far more natural than it should¡¯ve been, engraved somewhere she couldn¡¯t pinpoint. ¡°Was that¡­magic?¡±

    It is a blessing born of the bond we share.

    Madrigal¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°We¡¯re¡­bonded? You and me?¡±

    Once more, it is as I have stated. I am yours, just as you are mine, my child.

    She paused, her creeping fingers inching their way over precious golds that glistened still. ¡°The stuff that came out of the river. What was it doing there?¡±

    Where agony would go, it would follow. From the hearts of those who suffer comes a plague upon this world. It is a cruel means by which to measure sorrow.

    Madrigal tilted her head, casting her eyes into the water cautiously. ¡°But¡­I don¡¯t understand. Why would it be in the--¡±

    I would suspect the catalyst rests beneath.

    She fell silent. It took a moment. It took more than that, in truth, by which processing the explanation was as difficult as it was disgusting. When it hit, she recoiled, her heart pounding for another reason entirely.

    ¡°That¡¯s awful!¡± Madrigal cried. ¡°Are they still¡­was it on purpose?¡±

    Where she was sickened, Lyra was calm. I know not. For what emerged, it may or may not have been so.

    Tearing her eyes from deadly waters was difficult. Madrigal offered them to the little instrument instead. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Those bound by the grasp of such suffering are not sound. They endanger themselves and others all at once. This was a tragedy, and I lament what has come to pass.

    She¡¯d never seen a dead body before. She didn¡¯t want to start now. In the most horrific way, she was almost glad that it was out of sight, sunken to the depths of a streaming river. It was a poor grave all the same. She offered a silent prayer, flinging it deep beyond the surface.

    Know, though, that you have spared yet more from pain. Of that, my child, stand proud.

    Madrigal stroked the sides of the harp absentmindedly. ¡°Proud of¡­what?¡±

    Were it to fester, it would haunt others in turn. It is vile, in that manner. You have saved the unknowing innocent from a similar fate.

    ¡°It would¡¯ve¡­hurt other people,¡± she tried. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±

    Indeed.

    Madrigal hugged the harp tightly to her chest. ¡°The wind¡­I did that. I did that. That was¡­really me, right?¡±

    You wield such power with great courage. Even so soon, you are skilled. Your spirit is admirable.

    Where the chill of gales within had so recently graced her veins, the warmth of praise scorched them instead. It was beautiful, and she couldn¡¯t fight the smile that bubbled up onto her lips. ¡°I did that,¡± Madrigal repeated.

    And, that you would be at my side, you may do so again.

    ¡°Whenever I want?¡± Madrigal asked, somewhat louder than intended.

    As you wish.

    Every second that she recalled the sensations left her lighter. If it wasn¡¯t a dream before, it surely was one now. Only when her gaze brushed tumbling waters did her happiness falter in the slightest. ¡°The¡­darkness. The stuff from the river. Will it ever come back?¡±

    It is ever-present.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Nowhere is immune, Lyra spoke calmly within. It is a curse that torments this realm. There will be more, without question. As to when or where, I cannot say.

    The concept was enough to shatter her joy. Madrigal¡¯s stomach twisted into a knot. It took several seconds to gather her words, the harp still nestled with care in her arms. ¡°Lyra?¡±

    Yes, Madrigal?

    ¡°If it comes back,¡± she began, ¡°can I¡­fight it again?¡±

    Lyra was quiet for a moment. So long as you would have the courage, then you would always have my spirit. It is you and you alone who could quell such agony.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to get hurt,¡± she said, each word stronger than the last. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to end up like that again.¡±

    What next will you do, then?

    It was hardly a question. It didn¡¯t matter what they said, nor how many words of reproach stabbed at her back. Praise was new. Praise was foreign in every way, and she still hadn¡¯t fully wrapped her head around it--among other things. It was possible that she would soon blink too hard, awakening with empty hands to morning light. Even so, she could still feel every last sensation, the last vestiges of winds so perfect still kissing her skin.

    Where violet had threatened her, Madrigal swore to greet it with the same beautiful storm. For once, the word didn¡¯t feel so useless on her lips. The more she thought about it, the more her heart risked bursting in the best way. What fear she knew should¡¯ve been present was traded only for joy, and there was a chance that tears of another flavor might¡¯ve challenged the river yet again. It was divine, in every sense of the word.

    For all that a heroine could liberate with her own two hands, never had her spirit felt so liberated in turn. It was all she would ever ask for again.

 50. Deliverance

    ¡°You¡¯re serious? I missed the second one, too? You could¡¯ve woken me up! It would¡¯ve been fine!¡± Harper cried. Octavia winced.

    ¡°I swear, I didn¡¯t even know it was going to happen! It kinda just¡­did!¡± she explained desperately.

    ¡°You better actually tell me about the next one,¡± he muttered, only half-serious as he gently poked her forehead. She smirked.

    ¡°Oh, it was awesome. Wish you were there. Real sparkly, little light show and everything. Most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen in my life. Absolutely unbelievable. You really missed out,¡± Renato tormented, arms crossed and enjoying every moment of it.

    Harper glared daggers into the boy. ¡°You have no idea how much I hate you.¡±

    They were only semi-relevant. The way Viola had side-eyed Josiah since they¡¯d come back inside had Octavia equally defensive and uncomfortable. Josiah wasn''t ignorant to the attention, avoiding eye contact with the Maestra wherever possible. It was too much, and the tension in the salon was starting to get to Octavia. She wanted to bring it up. It wasn¡¯t her place. Ultimately, he was the only one who could stand up for himself.

    It didn¡¯t keep her from pleading with Viola visually, shaking her head with sharp eyes every time she could capture Viola¡¯s own for longer than a second. She didn¡¯t particularly enjoy being aggressive towards Viola, even given the context. Still, the way Josiah shifted awkwardly in his seat was even more distressing. Some part of her felt protective today.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­two of them, then,¡± Viola said, her voice more monotone than Octavia would¡¯ve liked. She really, really wished the girl would stop staring at Josiah as she spoke. ¡°Ninety-four to go. Progress, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d you leave Stradivaria in the foyer, anyway?¡± Harper asked. With the case at his feet, he gripped the neck of the violin loosely, raising it aloft in one hand.

    Octavia nearly lunged for the instrument, practically snatching the violin and bow from his grasp. ¡°I-I forgot.¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°Be careful about that.¡±

    Of all people, she didn¡¯t need him to be the one to give the reminder. He¡¯d been equally as guilty at that time. Still, she nodded, gently settling both halves of Stradivaria into her lap.

    ¡°Well, this has certainly been an exciting day,¡± Renato joked, sprawling out just a bit too comfortably on the sofa. With his arms stretched wide, he hooked the left one up and over the headrest nearest to Madrigal. ¡°We gonna eat and start spilling our darkest secrets to each other again? Kinda liked that.¡±

    ¡°Then you cook this time,¡± Viola hissed.

    Harper smirked. ¡°You got something to offer? I thought we got everything off our chests. It better be good. You better make it up to me.¡±

    ¡°Damn, are you the grudge-holding type?¡± Renato muttered with a shudder. ¡°That¡¯s new.¡±

    Octavia winced. It wasn¡¯t, apparently, if recent events had taught her anything.

    ¡°I have¡­something to talk about,¡± Madrigal murmured, raising her hand quietly. Her voice was so soft that her words were nearly lost.

    Renato side-eyed her with mild confusion. ¡°We¡¯re listenin¡¯,¡± he offered.

    Madrigal paused for a moment, her hand descending into her lap. She fidgeted somewhat, casting her eyes at the carpet rather than those around her. ¡°I¡­I had a really bad day today.¡±

    Nearly in perfect unison, Octavia and Josiah scoffed. Renato¡¯s poorly-concealed smirk didn¡¯t help. That was an understatement. All three had collectively agreed to keep the tale of Lyra¡¯s wrath away from Viola and Harper, for how much stress the two Maestros had already accumulated in the past several days. Apparently, it was going to come up regardless. Octavia stifled a subsequent sigh.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Harper asked gently, ignorant to the truth of the matter.

    Madrigal sighed. ¡°I got¡­news from Minuevera yesterday. My mother sent a pigeon.¡±

    ¡°She sent a what?¡± Josiah shot back.

    ¡°I know, just go with it,¡± Octavia muttered to him under her breath.

    ¡°Something happened to one of my brothers. In Whitebrook,¡± she continued sadly.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. The name sounded familiar. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Madrigal squeezed her eyes shut, clasped hands following suit. ¡°He¡¯s¡­he grows fruits and vegetables like we do, and he sells them at his stand in town. A few days ago, someone broke into his house in the middle of the night and ruined everything he owned. T-They destroyed all of his crops, they broke all of his things, and they made his whole home unlivable. He can¡¯t go back now. No one knows who did it, a-and he didn¡¯t even have anyone who was mad at him. I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Renato flinched. ¡°You¡¯re serious? They just went after this guy for no reason?¡±

    ¡°Was he okay?¡± Viola asked with fervent worry.

    Madrigal raised her head, her eyes shimmering with tears lying in wait. ¡°That¡¯s the weirdest part! Someone sent him a letter hours before that, literally hours, telling him it was gonna happen! They told him he was gonna get hurt if he stayed, so he went to stay with a friend. Whoever it was, they were right! I just¡­I don¡¯t get it!¡±

    ¡°Did it have a name on it or anything? The letter, I mean?¡± Harper interrupted.

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even in an envelope! It was just a piece of paper!¡±

    The sight of Madrigal in distress yet again left Octavia¡¯s heart aching. ¡°I¡¯m¡­so sorry that--¡±

    ¡°Stop.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s singular demand, low and firm, was enough to bring the salon to a halt. Head in his hands and a piercing gaze lodged in the carpet, he soaked in the resulting silence. He exhaled heavily.

    ¡°An attack on a homeless camp,¡± he began, ¡°a man¡¯s life sentence suddenly being changed to the death penalty, and now someone goes after your family.¡±

    When he paused, she pressed. ¡°Josiah?¡± Octavia tried.

    He looked up at her, and it was her fault for earning his sharp eyes. ¡°What the hell is going on?¡±

    There were no words to answer him. Even now, Octavia, too, had no response. She clung to his words, bitter and hastily-assembled as they were. She wasn¡¯t the only one.

    ¡°Once is happenstance, twice is circumstance, and three times is something seriously wrong,¡± he went on. ¡°I thought these were just¡­freak incidents, but it¡¯s only been a few weeks. We can¡¯t get anywhere closer to figuring any of this out because things just keep friggin¡¯ happening, one on top of another. We¡¯ve still got absolutely no clue what prompted any of this, or who even did any of this.¡±

    ¡°You think all of this is¡­related?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    Josiah gritted his teeth. ¡°I can¡¯t prove it. Something is truly, genuinely not right.¡±

    ¡°But they didn¡¯t even do anything,¡± Viola argued. ¡°Madrigal said her brother doesn¡¯t have any problems with anyone. My father is in prison, and the only people I can think of who¡¯d take issue with him are¡­maybe the families of his victims. Still, they¡¯ve had years to do that. And in Harper¡¯s case¡­well, I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Harper took over. The dark flash in his eyes at a choice portion of Viola¡¯s words wasn¡¯t particularly subtle to Octavia. ¡°I have problems with certain people. Big problems. Even so, I don¡¯t know who put them up to it. I¡¯m still baffled at where the hell two teenage girls get that much raw gasoline, frankly.¡±

    ¡°Maybe someone¡¯s mad at us, then?¡± Renato suggested.

    Madrigal winced. ¡°But we haven¡¯t done anything wrong, either!¡±

    Viola was indulging her bad nail-biting habit again for the first time in a while. ¡°What¡¯s changed recently that would prompt someone to go after us? This isn¡¯t even us, though, it¡¯s just¡­people affiliated with us!¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes. ¡°Octavia becoming the Ambassador, for one.¡±

    The implication was deeply disturbing, and Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat in the worst way. ¡°Y-You think someone¡¯s angry about that?¡±

    ¡°Who the hell even knows about that, though?¡± Renato asked. ¡°That¡¯s not exactly common knowledge.¡±

    ¡°Just throwing things out there,¡± Josiah clarified, his eyes still shut. He rested his forehead against his hands as he ruminated, leaning so far forward in his seat that Octavia feared he might fall.

    Harper tensed. ¡°Is there even anyone besides us who knows that Octavia¡¯s the Ambassador?¡±

    ¡°Or knows what the Ambassador is, first of all?¡± Viola interrupted.

    ¡°I mean, there¡¯s eighty-nine--eighty-eight more Maestros out there aside from the five in this room,¡± Josiah rationalized, his voice strained with the effort of contemplation. ¡°That¡¯s eighty-eight people who could¡¯ve potentially figured out what¡¯s going on.¡±

    The math on his correction didn¡¯t add up. Octavia didn¡¯t question it.

    ¡°And a motive, then?¡±

    He shook his lowered head viciously, his bangs brushing against his closed eyelids. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. Maybe to¡­keep the Muses here? Keep their Maestro abilities? I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°No offense to Octavia,¡± Renato said, ¡°but then¡­why go after everyone else if they know she¡¯s the Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach twisted into a knot. The simple idea of them suffering over her title was beginning to make her feel ill. Focusing was a struggle.

    ¡°I can¡¯t even argue she was involved with all three incidents, because she wasn¡¯t!¡± Josiah growled. With his fingers gripping his hair, Octavia worried he¡¯d start pulling it out soon enough. ¡°She had nothing to do with Madrigal¡¯s brother! She wasn¡¯t even there!¡±

    ¡°So, what if they¡¯re not related incidents, then?¡± Harper tried.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see them as anything else. This is way too specific, and the timeframe is way too close! This is ridiculous!¡± he groaned.

    ¡°Is there anything, anything else we have to go off?¡± Harper asked, his own voice touched by growing irritation. ¡°Me, Viola, Madrigal, we¡¯ve already got all that, but...anything else that doesn¡¯t add up?¡±

    ¡°I might have something.¡±

    Viola¡¯s words were surprisingly calm. The collective attention she drew as a result was well-deserved, particularly given the careful movements she made to reach down towards her left. When pinched fingers returned, they carried with them dual envelopes. Both were as confusing as they were uniform, barren and differentiated only by the slightest warring whites. One was cream. The other, somewhat beige. Otherwise, sealed. Equilateral. Unblemished by ink trails of any shade or flavor.

    There actually was, if Octavia squinted, text tethered to the back of either one. It took until Viola shifted her palm to unveil them in unison, although there was apparently no sender to which they could return. It was one more similarity, battled by the contrast that came with the ink. The cream bore blue. The beige, black. She wasn¡¯t sure if it mattered. Of far, far more interest was the name atop the address for Vacanti Manor. It didn¡¯t match the residents.

    ¡°While you were¡­doing whatever it was you were doing earlier,¡± Viola spoke softly, ¡°I¡­got these. They were in the mailbox. I don¡¯t know if they were there overnight. I don¡¯t know what they are. It¡¯s not my place to open them.¡±

    Octavia supposed she should¡¯ve appreciated the sentiment. After all, it wasn¡¯t polite to open someone else¡¯s mail.

    Her fingers shook in the process of claiming the mysterious squares of her own accord. She split them evenly, taking one into either hand as she steeped in her own disorientation. No amount of turning them over time and time again was erasing her name. Perfect penmanship bore her identity twice over, with not one inky blemish left behind. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two, scanning for anything beyond useless handwriting. It was the most she could find. It was the most she wanted to.

    Octavia raised her eyes to her silent audience. The panic she gave them with her gaze alone earned her only apprehension in return. She knew what they were waiting for. It didn¡¯t make it any easier.

    Unclogging the words lodged in her throat took immense effort. She turned her head to Viola, fishing for what little support she could find. Even that, too, would only assuage so much of her distress.

    ¡°Left¡­or right?¡± Octavia breathed.

    Viola flinched. ¡°I-I--¡±

    ¡°Pick one for me,¡± she pleaded far too quickly.

    Viola gulped. ¡°Left.¡±

    That was enough. Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted to her left hand, her full attention following suit shortly after. Gorgeous royal blues of ink long since dried would¡¯ve been almost pleasant, for how every letter sweeped and curved. In any other context, she would¡¯ve enjoyed it. Even now, she was still convinced she was overlooking a return address.

    Ideally, this was an unfortunate prank. Still, the number of people who knew her full name in Coda were strongly few in number. Her best guess came in the form of those who¡¯d overheard her desperate testimony at a certain trial not so long ago. Were that the case, it would¡¯ve been equally perplexing. Her fingers trembled as she pinched the delicate paper, tearing in the neatest line she could manage. It sufficed.

    The contents were exposed, gracing the open air. If she waited too long, they¡¯d surely be saturated in her radiant discomfort. She simply stared at the somewhat-serrated opening she¡¯d crafted for several seconds, utterly still. It took far more willpower than she¡¯d anticipated to delve beyond the paper pocket, and she nearly fumbled the entire envelope in the process.

    Trembling, shifting fingertips brushed against more than one item, possibly. They were smooth, flimsy enough that she feared damaging them with her nails. Unseen as they were, separating them was difficult. Clasping one edge and setting the material free was challenging for a different reason altogether.

    Octavia did end up dropping the envelope, actually. It took long enough. Just as it fluttered pitifully to the carpet, every butterfly in her stomach fluttered in the worst way. Frankly, soft whites outside did a great disservice to gorgeous reds within.

    She¡¯d long thought it to be lost. She still regretted to this day that she¡¯d only ever requested one from the photographer. The memento had traded hands of her own volition, and it was never to return. Of the universe of four pressed to vibrant color within, she¡¯d imbued it with all the love she could send for distant travels. Burning it into her mind was enough. There was someone who needed it more, alone as she¡¯d be.

    Even now, the most striking reds of crumbling autumn were immortalized in a still image, a smile paired with scattering freckles that never ceased to be beautiful. The faltering leaves in the background had matched that day. It was the sweetest irony imaginable. Priscilla was lovely. That would never change, and the family meant to trail at her side through a single picture hopefully brought her comfort.

    It was here, now. It shouldn¡¯t have been here. It shouldn¡¯t have been anywhere.

    Octavia was conscious of the way her breath was rattling, her own heartbeat impossibly loud. She couldn¡¯t will herself to move in any capacity for a solid thirty seconds, her neck stiff from shock rather than earlier physical trauma. It was with immense effort that she again found Viola¡¯s eyes, equally wide and equally terrified. Context was irrelevant, and what expression she found on the face of the Ambassador surely spoke for itself. There came a point where Viola¡¯s gaze wandered to an envelope recently forsaken, languishing helplessly on the floor. Octavia¡¯s own followed. She regretted it instantly.

    She¡¯d been correct in her assumption of multiple contents, and yet more so at the assumption of identical items. The coloration was equally well-preserved, and it was almost impressive. Octavia had never seen this one in her life, familiar silhouette or not. Even from behind, even with a passing smile thrown over her shoulder, even shying away from the lens, Priscilla was splendid at every angle. That was eternal. That was unsurprising, by comparison to what shock continued to roll through Octavia¡¯s blood. The sun tangled into her locks, and the illusion of a woman blessed by angelic flames wasn¡¯t unwelcome. There were no mountains in Silver Ridge.

    The pregnant silence that followed was agonizing, as was the concept of shattering it. For a moment, no one tried. Of those who hadn¡¯t been there from the start, Octavia had made doubly sure to fill in the blanks. They knew. They knew the context, too. It was obvious enough anyway, and she found confirmation on every face. It took far, far more than a moment for even a single word to sting the air.

    ¡°Are you¡­serious?¡± Renato murmured.

    If she breathed too loudly, Octavia feared she¡¯d lose her hearing for life. Her eyes drifted to the remaining envelope, settled atop Stradivaria in her lap. There was curiosity, granted. Mostly, she wanted to run. From what, she had absolutely no idea.

    ¡°What does that even¡­mean?¡± Harper asked nervously.

    ¡°Is it a threat?¡± Josiah tried. Even his own steady words were laced with hesitation, somewhat.

    ¡°This,¡± Octavia said, her voice wobbling, ¡°is not supposed to be here.¡±

    No one questioned her. The photograph rested upon her thigh, and the sealed envelope came into her hands. She somewhat feared she¡¯d smudge the swirling handwriting simply by clinging so tightly to the paper, and yet she couldn¡¯t help it. Willing her fingertips to move at all was a battle she lost almost instantly. Octavia didn¡¯t want to know. She needed to know. She needed to be anywhere but here.

    ¡°It¡¯s our families.¡±

    Her eyes snapped to Josiah. She wasn¡¯t the only one.

    The boy continued to cradle his head in his hands, salvaging a low-spoken calm that had fled him minutes before. ¡°It¡¯s something to do with our families. All of us. Harper¡¯s camp, Viola¡¯s father, Madrigal¡¯s brother, and¡­Octavia¡¯s sister.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Madrigal whimpered.

    He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s as far as I¡¯ve gotten.¡±

    ¡°Then what about the two of us?¡± Renato tried.

    ¡°Again, I don¡¯t know. The absolute only thing I can think of for myself is that my family left Velpyre. Maybe whoever¡¯s doing this¡­doesn¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°You think they know about Velpyre at all?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Completely throwing things out there, like I said. Otherwise, I have no idea. For all I know, we¡¯re next, then. Don¡¯t our families live in the same place?¡±

    Renato narrowed his eyes. ¡°Selbright, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Then yeah, they do.¡±

    ¡°I can¡­write to my parents and warn them that something¡¯s up. Will your family be okay?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡±

    When Josiah raised an eyebrow, Renato shrugged. ¡°I mean, they can take care of themselves. They¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t pry, visible discomfort or not. ¡°Then¡­at least we¡¯re making progress, I think. This still sucks.¡±

    ¡°It still doesn¡¯t explain why,¡± Harper murmured, crossing his arms. ¡°That¡¯s the most important part, if it really is our families.¡±

    They were background noise, whether voluntarily or otherwise. The second envelope was just as devoid of resistance as the first, and it stole Octavia¡¯s attention in full. Stilling her shaky fingers was a struggle, and yet she did her best. Whatever was inside, when she found the courage to plunge within, was rugged. Creases bit her skin, and paper surely replaced photographs. She pinched and pulled, and she was correct.

    It was thrice folded, ivory, and perfectly opaque. She handled it poorly, and it unfurled somewhat. Whatever was freed, on initial inspection, was blank. When she unfolded it in full, she was rewarded with talented lettering, crisp ink in stark black long since dried. Her attention was claimed in so few syllables, and the remaining paper was practically useless. It was almost a waste. It hardly mattered how much care she gave them, at first, for how little sense they made. With wide and fearful eyes, Octavia scanned them once. Two times. Three times.

    Witness the sins and you¡¯ll find the truth.

    Four times. Five times. Six times.

    It clicked.

    Everything clicked.

    Eight words crashed into her heart with such force that she literally leapt to her feet, Stradivaria locked in a death grip. She risked breaking the violin in two, her knuckles dyed white as she strangled the neck of the instrument. Octavia was gasping for a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d lost. She was vaguely aware of envelopes and photographs drifting to the carpet. She was vaguely aware of five sets of eyes thrown in her direction. It didn¡¯t matter, and the world faded. It nearly spun. What was left was all-consuming.

    ¡°Whoa, Octavia?¡± Harper asked.

    Madrigal blinked several times over. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°I know what¡¯s going on," Octavia breathed.

    She could already hear them questioning. She could already hear the heated whys and hows, drowning somewhere in her distant thoughts. It didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered. She tucked Stradivaria¡¯s bow behind the violin, gripping the instrument upright with both hands. She stared. Stradivaria stared back. Even now, Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe.

    Do I get to choose?

    As to what? Stratos answered calmly.

    You know what. Do I get to choose which one I see first?

    You are the Ambassador. If you know what is to be seen, then it is your right to decide.

    How?

    Feel the name in your heart.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t believe she was doing this. She was fairly certain she was going to faint.

    Do you need to be here? Physically?

    Your circumstances are unique. I do not.

    She didn¡¯t want to do this.

    Promise me it¡¯ll be the one I choose.

    It shall.

    She didn¡¯t want to do this.

    Swear it!

    I do.

    Her palms were clammy. Her vision was blurring. Her entire body was shaking so fiercely that she feared collapsing. She felt lightheaded. She didn¡¯t want to do this. She didn¡¯t want to do this. More than anything in the world, she didn¡¯t want to do this.

    Say it. Say it!

    Octavia Ellis, your toll has been paid twice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.

    She so, so, so desperately did not want to do this. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

    Octavia practically slammed her forehead against the scroll of the violin, and the world went black.

    She didn¡¯t have a choice. She had to know. She had to be sure.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was a life she never wanted to live, through eyes she never wanted to steal.

    It was a world of order and peace she didn¡¯t care about, deceptive in every conceivable manner. It was marked by the joys of adulthood rather than the trials of childhood, devoid of the stumbles and mistakes that came with growth. In any other context, it was perfect. It was as perfect as he could have wished it to be.

    Octavia could see it on the faces of those he charmed. She could hear it in his every elated, poetic word. She could, were she more ignorant to the blood that stained his gentle hands, fall for it much the same. She¡¯d already done so once. He didn¡¯t hesitate to dream, content to thrust his head into the clouds and fly forever more. He¡¯d never been afraid of heights--not in the brief time she¡¯d known him. It wasn¡¯t a dream he kept close to his heart.

    And as to you, my friend, what manner of study is it which you seek to pursue?

    I hope to be a historian someday. The culture of the world is incredibly diverse and fascinating, to say nothing of what we¡¯ve left long in the past. To uncover what was gone and learn from it again, isn¡¯t that its own magic?

    We share ideals down to the thread, my friend! I could not agree more. The treasures of yesterday are indispensable, a gift unto a world that would be cruel enough to toss them by the wayside. Does it not wound your heart so?

    I wouldn¡¯t go that far. Still, yes, it¡¯s a sorry sight. There¡¯s a lot that I wish could be saved. How much culture are we losing each and every day to time and all that comes with it?

    Yes, yes! And yet there are still those much like you and I, with an appreciation for what should be preserved for future generations to come. Tell me, does that not warm your very soul to know? We are perhaps two of a rare breed, we who would prioritize the past for the sake of the future.

    You talk¡­so poetically. Has anyone ever told you that?

    Call it passion, call it fantasy, call it what you will. It is simply joy brought into words.

    You¡¯re an interesting person. What did you say you¡¯re studying, again?

    With God as my witness, I shall dabble in business and trade before long. There is an ambition I will fulfill, even at the cost of my own life.

    That¡¯s a bit dramatic. What¡¯s your dream?

    Even from the peripheral she was granted, his wide and dramatic gestures weren''t subtle. It would¡¯ve been endearing, once. Octavia cared little for his dream. She might not have cared at all. She herself dreamed of moving her stolen hands, if not to fashion a rope around her borrowed neck and pull so tightly that her fingers bled.

    I wish to create a home for such memorabilia, a place where what has been lost and ruined may be restored to its former glory. I dream of spreading the joys of works long thought to be beyond salvation to the world at large. In that way, even the youngest child may grow with knowledge once preserved only for our ancestors. It shall be grand. Perhaps you, my friend, would appreciate it just as much as I.

    You mean a museum, then?

    Oh, far from only that! A house of research, restoration, architecture, art, culture at large, traded and preserved in every way. I wish to begin from nothing and birth something new.

    How¡­ambitious. I can respect your drive. You seem like a dedicated man.

    With your ideals as they are, so close to mine as well, you would surely flourish in that environment! The hands of a historian would be a priceless asset in the creation of such a place. So, too, would you hold access to all of the history you could desire in this life. What say you?

    He laughed. This man, plainer than her stranger in every capacity, spoke softly and gently. His smile matched, his attire more muted than that which Octavia donned against her will. He was simple, and his confidence was surely a byproduct of the prestigious environment they shared. She respected his eyes. She doubted his eyes. She hadn¡¯t yet explicitly come to hate them, nor trust them in equal measure. Their one encounter was fleeting, and he hadn¡¯t yet had the opportunity to wrong her. By virtue of association alone, he was dangerous. His gaze was guilty. In that way, it paired well with the one she¡¯d adopted.

    You ask so much of someone you¡¯ve just met, yet you haven¡¯t so much as asked my name?

    M-My apologies, my friend! The preservation of yesterday is a¡­passionate topic for myself. It seems I¡¯ve gotten carried away. I thoroughly apologize for my lack of manners. Do tell, then, with whom do I have the utmost pleasure of speaking?

    His face was soft, his expression warm. His arms were crossed only with endearment, if not amusement with the eccentric figure who had crossed his path in turn. He, too, had fallen for the charm that Octavia loathed. That she couldn¡¯t warn him was agonizing. That she couldn¡¯t tell him of the trap he¡¯d stumbled into was painful.

    My name is Samuel. And yourself?

    The name alone, whether on his lips or not, was enough to destroy her from within.

    Alessandro Drey, at your service.

    Kill him.

    Kill him.

    Kill him.

    Kill him.

    She needed to kill him before it began.

    She needed to kill him before he could hurt so many others first.

    And still, she couldn¡¯t move. It was a Hell unlike any torture she¡¯d ever experienced in her entire life. It put every agony she¡¯d ever suffered through to shame.

    SIAR was beautiful.

    It always had been. Had he not been involved, Octavia may very well have respected it as the cultural landmark he¡¯d wished it to be. In its early stages, there was no garden. It wasn¡¯t quite barren, still an architectural marvel in its own right. It was ornate limestone, splashing ivory, sparkling glass, and love beyond what a single heart could carry. It was his soul given form, and that much was visible with one look alone.

    The interior spoke to much of the same, just as she¡¯d remembered from moments steeped in far more misery. Seeing the floor unmarred by blood was jarring. When she seized the briefest of moments in which he¡¯d brushed past the lobby, she could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d found the specific spot where a Maestra¡¯s body had slumped to the floor. She could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d found the exact two resting places of innocent hands, long discarded.

    There was no joy to be found in this place. It was inescapable. He returned with Samuel in his wake so many times that she grew to memorize those spots. In a way, the shimmering marble was almost an injustice. It was a farce, the pristine splendor of a prior SIAR equally so. Blood had been spilt. She couldn¡¯t see it through his stolen eyes, and still, it was surely there forever.

    It wasn¡¯t even the worst place he went.

    I¡¯ve only been here twice. They¡¯re strict. It¡¯s a historian¡¯s dream--or, at least, one of my own. It takes a lot of effort to get around. Even then, the locals are quite hostile. No one¡¯s entirely sure why.

    Perhaps it is the preservation of culture for which they show concern?

    Possibly. Don¡¯t lose that passport, now. You¡¯ll be in quite a bit of trouble if you do.

    For what reason would you classify this place as a¡­historian¡¯s dream, you say?

    It¡¯s so mysterious. They call it the Blessed City. The bell tower of the church is unfathomably beautiful. No one knows for how long this city has been here, and the historical research on it is quite sparse. There¡¯s a lack of cooperation on the part of the citizens. We have suspicions that the heart of the city may be religious in nature, if the geographical centering of the bell tower is any indication, but that¡¯s all we have to go off of. It¡¯s an archaeological conundrum of the modern times, Alessandro. The mystery of the city is fascinating in its own way.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    I, too, am fascinated by such a tale. For how long has this city been of scholarly concern?

    Years. Even during my studies, it was practically a living legend. Still, it¡¯s a case that has largely run cold in recent times. Even with access to passports growing easier, the difficulty of solving the mystery--or finding any leads at all--has begun to deter those who would seek to investigate further.

    Forgive my bluntness, but is there perhaps business to be done in such a city? For the sake of preservation exclusively, mind you. I do not wish to tread upon an existing culture.

    Yes, that¡¯s certainly blunt, alright. You¡¯re a lucky man, such that I know the purity of your intentions. Otherwise, I might even think you to be too opportunistic for your own good.

    He was correct. He was correct in every way. Were it possible, Octavia would¡¯ve reached out, shaken Samuel¡¯s shoulders, and told him so. She would¡¯ve taken hold of his hands and dragged him as far from Drey¡¯s poisonous influence as she could. She would¡¯ve untangled whatever noose she could slowly see a conservator tying around his neck.

    More than that, she wanted them out of the blossom. She wanted it out of her sight. She wanted Drey out of her eyes. She wanted Drey in nothing but suffering and torment, effective immediately. Every happy word that rolled off his tongue was a luxury he didn¡¯t deserve. Every blissful memory she found was meant to be crumpled and discarded like the garbage it was.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t rescind the die of fate once it had been cast. So, too, was she powerless to rescind Drey¡¯s charismatic net.

    It¡¯s not real.

    What do you mean?

    You¡¯re a fool if you¡¯re thinking of trading for something you can¡¯t even verify the authenticity of.

    I¡­I beg your pardon, miss, but you speak with certainty of its authenticity, then?

    Give it to me, then. I¡¯ll show you.

    She was bold. She was abrasive. She was crude in ways he wasn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t an auction, if Octavia''s one experience in Coda was anything to go by. She hazarded a guess at an exhibition. Handshakes, false smiles, and Gold traveling in excess between foreign palms confirmed as much. She didn¡¯t recognize the place, and she didn¡¯t recognize the time. It didn¡¯t matter, for how she recognized the gaze regardless. Samuel¡¯s soft eyes had been fleeting, and yet the hard and judgmental glare before her was even less memorable. At the very least, there was an association with Drey. For that alone, they were guilty once more.

    You certainly came prepared, miss!

    If you¡¯re going to be buying and selling at such a high price, this is the least you can do. Look here, then. There should be inclusions--at bare minimum, a small few. You¡¯ll find none on this one. In the hand, the weight is off. The color is too vibrant for true sapphire, the sparkle too radiant.

    But to tell such even from afar, even without tools or the aid of touch, that is utterly remarkable! With the naked eye, you are able to see the difference in an instant?

    It¡¯s not hard. Anyone can learn how if they gave an honest effort.

    If you don¡¯t mind my asking, is this gift of yours limited solely to the world of precious gemstones?

    Not wholly. I can do much the same with fabrics and linens. I¡¯ve only recently begun to get a feel for identifying false silk. Once again, it¡¯s not so difficult if you bother to learn the skill.

    I know I could not perform such a feat, as much as I wish I could try. I envy your talent, miss! Your keen eye is a diamond in the rough. Tell me, then, are you an appraiser?

    Not at all. I¡¯ve just got my own collection. Finery for finery¡¯s sake. Is that not enough?

    That is more than enough. A respectable appreciation for the craftsmanship of yesterday.

    Craftsmanship of¡­yesterday?

    Ah, but it is a cruel world in which we live that there are those who would seek only profit in lieu of a true appreciation for culture.

    You¡¯re a businessman, are you not? Despite your¡­oddities. Who are you to scold those seeking to make a profit? It¡¯s simply the way of the world.

    It is simply a philosophy with which I cannot sympathize. It is there that my path divulges with those who would disagree. Such is the nature of virtue.

    You¡¯re a strange man.

    I try and try again to ignore your skills, miss, but they come to mind repeatedly. You would be an asset to my greatest creation, my life¡¯s work.

    If you¡¯re trying to seduce me, you¡¯re going to have to work a lot harder than that.

    O-Of course not! That is n-not what I meant. My apologies if that is¡­how it seemed. I speak from the heart when I attest to my utmost respect for your abilities. Would you consider becoming my partner? I-In business alone, I clarify.

    Business partner?

    Alessandro Drey. Restorer and conservator at the Solenford Institute of Architecture and Restoration. Miss, I am much in need of the sharp, astute eyes of one such as yourself.

    Is there profit in it for me?

    If that is what it would take to enlist your priceless aid, then no cost is too great. I will see that it is so.

    Somehow, that was enough. She wasn¡¯t plainer than him, much like Samuel had been--rather, she outdid him somewhat. It was restrained, to some degree, outside of elegant events. Even so, her adornments were more notable than his own attire, sharp femininity not caged behind lock and key. Equally sharp, Octavia agreed, were the eyes Drey had acknowledged of his own accord.

    Call me Portia.

    The threesome weren¡¯t necessarily inseparable. Still, they were balanced, and it did them well in the business world. Philanthropy was to follow business. It was true, ultimately, that SIAR offered charity to society, absorbing what had been broken and returning it with love. It was almost respectable. Drey wasn¡¯t afraid to get his hands dirty--ironically. The chemicals of restoration after restoration stained gloved hands day after day. He polished, he lifted, he scrubbed, he preached, he traded, he purchased, he mingled, he smiled, and smiled, and smiled.

    In every facet of SIAR¡¯s existence, he was involved. He was the nucleus of the institute, the sun around which the solar system of his life¡¯s work revolved. He was blessed with the fruits of his labor.

    This toll would end eventually. Octavia eagerly looked forward to the way it would finish.

    How long will you swing that stupid thing around?

    What better way to test its durability than this? Surely I must¡­be certain that the chemicals¡­have not eroded any¡­fundamental components of the¡­blade itself.

    Alessandro, take a rest for a bit. You¡¯re going to tire yourself out.

    Nonsense! Besides, exercise is good for the heart, wouldn¡¯t you agree?

    He¡¯s not half bad, actually.

    Have you been taking swordplay lessons?

    Would it amuse you, were I to say yes?

    It would.

    To conserve even the movements of the past, to emulate them at the hilt of a blade once again, is that not the most perfect of preservations? It is a truly beautiful thing.

    You¡¯ve become your own work of art.

    You¡¯ve become ever more abnormal, is what you¡¯ve become.

    Be nice.

    He should trip. He should fall and land nicely upon the tip of the blade in question, run through much the same as he would dare to curse another so much later. That would be nice. Some days, Octavia wondered if her light was too severe a retribution. Some days, she wondered if it wasn¡¯t enough. If she could smite him twice over, she would. Thrice. Four times. Five times. More. More.

    Drey was, unsurprisingly, an aficionado of the arts. SIAR was his passion, and he worked until his palms were raw. Still, Octavia''s stolen hands were never free, even beyond the institute''s walls. They leafed through page after page of books by candlelight, or applauded joyfully for passing musicians who saw fit to grace Solenford with their song. He embraced everything from theater to sculpture, delving deep into creativity and appreciating the pleasures of life. It flashed, and flashed, and flashed.

    It flashed too far. Where Drey relished the world, Octavia¡¯s screeched to a halt.

    He was distant, lost in a sea of faces. He fought for the same auditory glimpse of a skilled performer, blessing a gentle wind with a melody equally gentle. Octavia had never thought she¡¯d hear the song again, and it was through borrowed ears alone that she was granted the chance. Were her eyes hers and hers alone, they would surely have flooded with tears. Whether in her hands or not, Stradivaria¡¯s song was unmistakable. Octavia didn¡¯t need to see her. She knew she was there. That was enough.

    For what would follow, that was misery. That was torture. That was Hell. It was a reminder, something relentlessly divine made bitter in an instant. Her heart threatened to shatter long before the time came.

    Your performance was incredible, miss! Your skill is second to none. Truly a treat for the ears.

    Don¡¯t speak to her.

    Thank you!

    Two words, bubbly and bursting with sunshine robbed five long years prior, broke Octavia¡¯s world into a thousand pieces. It was a voice every bit as sweet as she remembered, no less blessed and lovely and wonderful in every way. Octavia didn¡¯t exist right now. She wasn¡¯t real. She wasn¡¯t here. This wasn¡¯t happening.

    I believe I may have missed your introduction. Would you again indulge me with your name, miss?

    Priscilla Ellis, sir. It¡¯s nice to meet you.

    Don¡¯t take her name.

    What brings you into Solenford, Miss Priscilla, if you don¡¯t mind my asking?

    Don¡¯t say her name.

    I guess you could say I¡¯m¡­on tour? Dunno how else to put it. Just looking to share some music with the world. Is that weird?

    Every chipper word out of her mouth left Octavia disintegrating. She was enraptured. She couldn¡¯t function. The universe was spinning. She was right there, right before her stolen eyes. She was moving, smiling, speaking, and very much alive. If she screamed with a voice she couldn¡¯t use, could Priscilla hear her? If she called a name so beautiful, would Priscilla answer? If she warned her to run, if she begged her to flee a conservator''s lethal radius, would she oblige?

    Not at all, miss, not at all! What is the blessing of music if not to bless the hearts of others in turn? Your philosophy is admirable.

    I wouldn¡¯t look that much into it. Are you a musician, too, then?

    How I wish I had the talent. Nothing of the sort, unfortunately. Alessandro Drey, conservator and restorer.

    What¡¯s that?

    I am what you could call¡­one who preserves. I seek to restore artifacts and cultural mementos of civilizations that otherwise would crumble to dust. It is my hope that the past may be saved for the sake of the future.

    That¡¯s¡­actually really neat. So, do you work in a museum, then?

    If you could believe it, I speak with pride when I say I am the owner and founder of the Solenford Institute of Architecture and Restoration.

    Sounds fancy!

    Indeed! It is my life¡¯s work. It is a multi-faceted facility that serves as a destination for all aspects of restoration and conservation alike.

    Is it near here? Can I see it?

    Don¡¯t.

    But of course! Have you the time?

    Stop!

    I¡¯ve got a lot of it, actually.

    In the worst moment imaginable, Octavia now knew how Stradivaria had felt.

    For better or worse, she wasn''t free of Priscilla. Priscilla haunted her. She haunted Drey, rather. Every flash bore the vivid reds of autumn. Octavia earned gorgeous dimples and a crystalline laugh. She earned a contagious smile that made Drey''s shoulders shake and his head tilt with amusement.

    Every moment she spent with him was one that should¡¯ve been spent with Octavia instead--no matter how joyous or satisfactory Priscilla found it to be. They did business together. They ate together. He gushed to her of his passions and dreams, and she in turn blessed him with her song in excess. He opened up his life to her, welcoming her with open arms. Octavia knew his touch to be deceptive at best and deadly at worst. Priscilla was blissfully ignorant to the same.

    She caught her own name more than once, spoken in honest exchanges with confidentiality. Her name on Priscilla¡¯s lips once more was equally as warming as it was damning.

    In an instant, they grew close. They grew much too close.

    If ever there is something that crosses your mind, be it simple or difficult to solve, then we shall put our heads together and resolve to find a solution. I will not leave you in your anguish, my friend.

    There¡¯s some things out there that I think might be too tricky to ever solve, though.

    Nonsense. There is always a solution to any problem, no matter how tough.

    I¡­disagree. Kinda.

    Is there something that troubles you, dear girl? I am here.

    You¡­you¡¯ll laugh, I think. It¡¯s silly.

    If it worries you so, rest assured I will not.

    It¡¯s not even silly so much as it is ridiculous. ¡®Unbelievable¡¯ is probably a better word.

    I will endeavor to keep an open mind, just for you.

    Well¡­Mr. Drey, do you believe in magic? I-I mean, I know that sounds stupid.

    She couldn¡¯t have.

    Metaphorically speaking?

    Literally speaking.

    There was no way.

    I¡­have not ever stopped to consider, in truth. I know I¡¯ve spoken to an open mind, but I cannot stem the skeptic in my heart. I do not believe I would be one to put my faith in the supernatural, no. If this is your belief, however, of course I would respect it.

    C-Can I¡­show you something?

    Octavia was utterly helpless to watch the way Priscilla¡¯s hands trembled as she spoke. She was utterly helpless to watch the way her own borrowed nod granted permission for Stradivaria¡¯s company. She was utterly helpless to stop the song, utterly unable to cry out. She was utterly useless to beg Priscilla not to surrender her secret to the man who would be her downfall. For what purpose, Octavia couldn¡¯t even begin to process. Drey didn¡¯t simply learn--she¡¯d outright told him.

    The sweet, silky display of light that followed was the most striking memory Octavia could steal from the man. The ribbons of radiance that blessed the air before Drey¡¯s borrowed eyes were salvation in a dark place, and Octavia clung to them for as long as she could. It was a light that would be brutally snuffed out soon enough, and the eyes that sparkled now would serve to witness her demise. She envied the way he¡¯d earned the right to her precious melody. Her one comfort was the knowledge that the same light would someday be his undoing.

    Are my eyes to be believed? This is¡­phenomenal, Priscilla.

    This is¡­who I am. This is what I can do.

    A¡­breathtaking trick. How do you do it, then?

    It¡¯s no trick, Mr. Drey. It¡¯s¡­me. You promised you¡¯d help me with anything, right?

    I-I have spoken to my word. My girl, how did you--

    Promise?

    Don¡¯t believe him. Don¡¯t believe him. Don¡¯t believe him. Whatever you do, don¡¯t believe him.

    I will do what I can to ease your troubles, no matter what they are.

    Liar.

    I¡¯m¡­a Maestra. With these powers, I¡¯m trying to¡­fix something that got messed up. There¡¯s something ruining the world. It¡¯s hurting people, and no one can see it but me. It¡¯s awful. I need help, and I need to find others like me. I¡¯m the Amba--

    There are others, you say?

    Y-Yeah. I¡­don¡¯t think we¡¯re all exactly the same.

    How many?

    A lot.

    What is it you see, dear girl? What is it that startles you so?

    I don¡¯t know how to describe it. It¡¯s a¡­force, of sorts. If you could reach out and touch pain, if you could see it with your own eyes, that¡¯s what it is. It¡¯s cruel, and it¡¯s unforgiving. It leaves destruction and suffering wherever it goes. It ruins whoever it touches.

    And no one can see it, you say?

    Just me. Just me and anyone like me, I think.

    Were you born with such a gift?

    No. It¡¯s the¡­violin. When we¡¯re together, that¡¯s how I can¡­do all of this.

    ¡®We¡¯?

    I-I¡­I know this all sounds crazy. I don¡¯t blame you if you don¡¯t believe me.

    How am I to explain what I have seen with my own eyes, if I do not at least try? This¡­force of which you speak, for how long has it plagued this earth?

    I don¡¯t know. A long time.

    You seek to erase¡­pain, then? A noble goal, but how lofty indeed.

    You¡¯ve always been an advocate for chasing lofty goals, though, right? It¡¯s not¡­literally pain. You¡¯re the most ambitious person I know. If anyone could understand this dream, it¡¯s you.

    Perhaps it is I who is in a dream, with what I am to believe.

    Seeing is believing, Mr. Drey.

    There is a¡­difference between a dream and a burden, my girl.

    I know. That¡¯s what makes this a problem. That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking for your help.

    You would seek to change this world with your magic?

    I¡¯m just looking to get rid of what¡¯s hurting people, and then I won¡¯t need to anymore. Only that. It¡¯s not supposed to be here.

    But could one not argue that all things happen for a reason, Priscilla?

    What do you mean?

    If such a force is to be believed--if such pain is to be acknowledged--then is that not perhaps the will of the universe itself? Is that not the natural course of things after all?

    But it¡¯s not natural. Like I said, it¡¯s not supposed to be here.

    To toy with such forces of nature could be of consequences unfathomable, both to society and to you and I alone. How could one vanquish the unseen, regardless?

    I¡­I can see it. I can fight back.

    Must you?

    I have to, or it¡¯ll hurt people.

    For how long?

    Forever. Or, at least, until I¡­get rid of it all.

    My girl, that is an incredible burden. Are you not afraid to fight for your entire life?

    I don¡¯t have a choice. That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking for your help.

    You are so young.

    When it¡¯s all gone, I won¡¯t have to fight anymore, though!

    From where does this ¡®force¡¯ stem?

    It comes from bad memories. Really bad ones.

    Will there not always be bad memories in this world?

    T-There will, but it won¡¯t make this happen anymore!

    Are you afraid?

    Of course I¡¯m afraid, but it has to be done. I need to do this, for everyone¡¯s sake.

    Why must it be you, my girl? Why not another?

    That¡¯s just how it is.

    Could you not simply lay down that violin now and return to a simpler life?

    What? People will get hurt!

    Priscilla, my friend, your tale is as sorrowful as it is spectacular, and I fear for your safety. I cannot attest to the legitimacy of your ambitions. I cannot, still, fully conceive of this malevolent ¡®force¡¯ to which you refer. Know, though, that you speak of changing aspects of the world at large that should remain beyond human interference. If a man is to change the world, it is to be done through realistic means that reshape the order of society. It cannot be done by changing the laws of nature itself.

    Mr. Drey, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m explaining this correctly. This isn¡¯t even supposed to be part of nature. None of this is supposed to be here at all! I¡¯m trying to get rid of all of it!

    But should it not be left in place, if your words are true? Think, for a moment, if a seed were to sprout between the rifts of a road built upon its land. Unnatural as it may be, should one destroy the stones, would not, too, the blossom suffer? Is what was born unnatural not now ingrained into this world?

    Please, listen to me!

    What you speak of doing is dangerous, perhaps more so than even the nature of this force overall. This magic, then, is equally as unnatural. There is a balance that must be kept, Priscilla!

    Mr. Drey!

    I cannot see you be hurt!

    Octavia¡¯s shared body trembled. Her stolen voice shook with emotion. His heated words were met with the agonizing sight of the pain he claimed to detest, splashed across Priscilla¡¯s face. For raising his voice to her, Octavia found yet another reason to despise this man.

    Please, Priscilla, lead a normal life befitting of a young lady such as yourself. You have been gifted the world and blessed with wondrous opportunities. Do not throw everything away chasing magic and forces that will hurt you to change. Do not drown yourself in fear and agony. Please, please do not continue down this path. If what you say is true, it will be your undoing. You will suffer. Of this, my friend, I beg you.

    It was a threat. It was a plea. It was a warning. It was agony.

    You said you wouldn¡¯t leave me like this. I trusted you, Priscilla murmured quietly.

    Everything I speak, I speak with love and concern. I am not angry. I¡­I do not want this for you.

    It¡¯s not your choice. It¡¯s mine.

    It is, too, for the good of society as we know it that your ambition cannot be realized. In all other things, I would support you without hesitation. Know, though, that our ideals conflict. It is with yours that I cannot agree. For this, I apologize from the bottom of my heart.

    You¡¯re not the man I thought you were.

    Her parting words as she fled, Stradivaria in hand, couldn¡¯t resonate more with Octavia if she tried. In spite of whatever sick hand of fate had led her to speak of her secret, the disgusting truth she¡¯d found had mirrored the Ambassador¡¯s own. It was the worst reward. It was necessary.

    Drey spoke of his frustrations. A lot.

    I do not understand her!

    I¡¯ve never understood what you see in her at all.

    Calm yourself, Alessandro. Do you not agree that her heart was at least in the right place?

    But I had told her, time and again, that what she pursues is unnatural and hazardous! She is a young lady just having grasped the threshold of adulthood. She holds the rest of her life in the palm of her hands, and yet she would throw such away in the name of¡­toying with the forces of nature itself?

    She has her ideals, just as you have yours. Is that so difficult to believe?

    Hers are flawed and dangerous. They will be the bane of others--of possibly this world.

    How do you even know she¡¯s telling the truth?

    I have witnessed her incredible gifts with my own eyes. I cannot forget what I saw. What world is it within which she lives? What Hell has she seen? What decisions has she had to make in the face of power beyond what should grace human hands?

    You expect me to believe in magic?

    Should you have seen what I have, you would not question the same.

    But she¡¯s a smart girl, Alessandro. I know you know that. Don¡¯t you think she knows what she¡¯s doing?

    To speak with honesty, I do not. How could I?

    It doesn¡¯t even matter. You and your loud mouth scared her off. You won¡¯t be seeing her back here any time soon.

    There are others, or so she said.

    Other¡­what?

    Others like her, with a similar ambition. Others with the same unnatural magic as she, who would seek to shape the world into something it is not.

    Where are they?

    I know not, nor do I know how many. Per her words, she is guilty of the same ignorance.

    Does it matter?

    Of course it does! From any direction comes a threat to a fragile peace.

    What¡­would you do, then?

    Octavia¡¯s fists, borrowed as they were, shook. The voice she loathed followed suit.

    To both of you, I owe my deepest gratitude for lending not only an ear, but a guiding light to my deepest ambitions and dreams. By your hands, goals I once thought impossible became reality, and fragile hopes found the strength to stand tall for the betterment of tomorrow. I am indebted with my life. I¡­ask again that you respect and understand this man¡¯s humble ideals.

    Alessandro?

    It cannot come to pass.

    What are you talking about?

    I say such with the utmost grace and peace in my heart. I offer this as a signal of my dedication to a world I have always hoped to better. I hope, too, that you both will understand.

    I don¡¯t understand.

    I will stop them.

    Who?

    Those of her kind.

    You just said that you don¡¯t even know where they are!

    Then I will find them.

    How will you stop them?

    I will reason.

    And if that isn¡¯t enough?

    Drey paused. Then I shall take what makes them special. Should that not suffice, I will¡­do what must be done.

    Ale¡­ssandro?

    You¡¯re losing your mind!

    I know with certainty, Drey breathed, that you two know of the degree to which I speak to my word. I do not ask that you understand me. If you wish, I do not even ask that you assist me. I simply ask that you¡­know my rationale. I ask that you know the depth of my will.

    I¡­In the time I¡¯ve known you, I¡¯ve never taken you for a killer.

    I assure you, more than anything, I do not wish to be.

    But Alessandro, the hands that hold such power, you know nothing about them! If a child--a child--were to be guilty of the same crime as Priscilla, would you still hold the same ideals?

    When he didn¡¯t answer, the look of terror on Samuel¡¯s face spoke more than words ever could.

    Alessandro! Portia snapped.

    I do not wish to hurt children! I do not wish to hurt anyone! I do not wish to stain my hands with the blood of the innocent, who long in misguided ways for a better world! What must be done is not easy, nor is it admirable, but it must be done!

    They were silent. When next Drey spoke, his words were low and rough.

    I do not ask that you stand at my side. I do not ask that you stand before me. I ask only that you stand at my back. I ask that you watch. I ask that you witness and that you are there. I ask that¡­there is something that reminds me of my purpose. Stand at my back. I beg of you.

    At the very least, they stood before him. They stared, the fear and confusion in their eyes offered to his face instead.

    Drey¡¯s memories had left Octavia floating, aimlessly suspended in every rich fragment carried close to his heart. It was Cadence all over again, and she couldn¡¯t tell if he was an exception. Either she was simply enraptured in his sickening life, or the clock truly ticked slower for a man who had it all. Each flash was hardly a snippet, closer to films of their own. It was equal parts dizzying and captivating, and she struggled to absorb every loathsome aspect of his existence to which she bore witness.

    It became exceedingly difficult, if nigh impossible, the moment Priscilla came back.

    Octavia had never once doubted the feelings in her stomach that told her of crisis after crisis. She already knew how this toll ended. She knew of a story mired in horrific tragedy, page after page turning far too fast before her eyes. It was unavoidable. The moonlight streaming from on high illuminated the glass she pounded on, banging wordlessly thousands of miles away against walls she¡¯d never shattered. It was a scene she couldn¡¯t pierce. It was a scream she would never manage to unleash, and control she would never salvage. Prayer was useless. It was all Octavia had.

    Run.

    Run.

    Run.

    I can¡¯t let you hurt anyone.

    Who is it I would hurt, Priscilla?

    I can¡¯t let you stand in the way. I¡­came to tell you. You always want to talk about resolve, right? This is mine. Please, just¡­don¡¯t interfere.

    I have never once doubted the strength of your resolve, nor will I ever. It wounds me that you would think so. No matter our differences, know that you will always have my utmost respect. I will always call you my friend.

    How can you say that when you won¡¯t even stand by me?

    I have warned you of the way by which our ideals clash. You are¡­without that violin. Have you given up the fight?

    I haven¡¯t. I won¡¯t.

    I ask again, why?

    There are people I need to protect.

    You are so young.

    You were young once, too.

    You play with forces beyond human understanding. You will hurt others by virtue of your noble intent to heal.

    That¡¯s what you think. I disagree. We¡¯re different. This is my¡­last warning. Don¡¯t interfere.

    I ask as well, interfere with what?

    With¡­anything. With me. Please don¡¯t stand in my way.

    Will you fight for this ambition to your last breath?

    I will.

    Should this world beat you to the ground and steal your senses, should you lose your every limb and your very voice, would you still struggle?

    I would.

    Priscilla, please.

    Octavia¡¯s vision blurred. It swam. Were it her own, it would¡¯ve done so long ago.

    Is there truly nothing, nothing at all I can do to set you on another path? Is there nothing I can do to bring you happiness in another way?

    Priscilla shook her head. There is nothing. This is what has to be done, no matter what.

    Time never slowed in a toll, no matter how badly she could ever wish for the opposite. For once, against her will or otherwise, it practically stilled altogether. The moment her borrowed hand delved into the inner linings of her suit jacket, Octavia knew. So many times had she watched Drey train through his own eyes. Of smaller armaments in self-defense and not, she¡¯d long since memorized their homes. His fingers twitched, and she was well aware of what was to come.

    Octavia struggled through nothing. She flailed in the dark. She cried out again, and again, and again without success. She reached with hands not her own for a blade too distant. She gasped for a breath she couldn¡¯t find. Her soul fled her body in full, and she¡¯d never get it back.

    He hadn¡¯t yet mastered the speed with which he¡¯d cursed Renato with pain far later. He hadn¡¯t yet perfected the skillful force with which he¡¯d slaughtered Cadence. A sloppy thrust sufficed, and the heart that Octavia had adored in every conceivable way for so long came to claim Drey¡¯s blade. In place of bursting love, only crimson bloomed. The blouse of Priscilla¡¯s dress challenged the splendor of hair caught in the crossfire. Every tremble of his rugged hands around the hilt drove the weapon further beyond clothed skin, and a remorseless knife bit ever further into a girl so beautiful.

    This was Hell.

    Drey didn¡¯t dare look away. Neither did Priscilla, their eyes locked to the very end as he stole her life. Octavia shed tears that weren''t her own. She doubted their validity. Priscilla¡¯s dilating pupils, still cursed with confusion and surprise above all else, haunted her. There was no fear. There was none to be found in betrayal.

    This was Hell.

    Priscilla fell. Her angelic visage was still remarkable even in her last breaths, her back colliding hard with the unforgiving ground. She stole the blade in turn, still lodged deep in her sternum. So violently did she crash into moonlit grass that her limp body practically bounced, and one ajar dress pocket sloppily surrendered its contents to the night. She was robbed of her song, locks aflame and arms languishing on either side. Octavia could¡¯ve envisioned her to be an angel at rest.

    This was Hell. This was a nightmare. She would wake up shortly, and Priscilla would be cherishing Stradivaria¡¯s melodies in the front yard. She would be in the shop, tormenting their father with shrill notes in the midst of his work. She would be in the kitchen, still searching for the correct ratio of flour to butter for pancakes despite the eggs she¡¯d already dropped on the countertop. She would be in Octavia¡¯s room, helping her little hands curve around Stradivaria¡¯s neck until she complained of the strings being too rough for her skin. She would show her the way with the finesse of someone who loved music more than life itself.

    Here was her truth, the one Octavia had begged and pleaded the universe for. It killed her from the inside out. Try as she might, she could never unsee it. Wish as she might, she could never do unto Drey again what she¡¯d already done once.

    Priscilla¡¯s killer loomed above her body, his work a catalyst for trembling and tears. He wept bitterly, droplets of sorrow tinting Drey''s bloodied fingers and the soft fabrics of Priscilla''s dress skirt. His eyes flickered between the instruments of his brutality and the victim of his sin again and again, in disbelief and despair alike. Only once did they capture the little pink book that had fled Priscilla¡¯s pocket in the fall. The rose emblazoned upon more of the same shade was the single flower offered to her corpse, accompanying her in the plush grass.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    His words meant nothing.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    Octavia didn¡¯t believe him.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    She would never, as long as she lived, believe him.

    Everything that followed was familiar, a lie she lived from the other side.

    That¡¯s not mahogany.

    Internship?

    It was my pleasure, Miss Ellis.

    She looks¡­so much like her.

    You¡¯re sure?

    I could not be mistaken.

    The surprise in Portia¡¯s eyes, close as he was to her that evening, was surely nothing compared to whatever look Drey had fixed her with in turn.

    What a pleasure to see you once more!

    It¡¯s great to see you again, too, Drey.

    May we meet again!

    The backdrop of the Blessed City that had cursed her so wasn''t stinging quite as severely immediately after Cadence¡¯s toll. It didn¡¯t completely erase the pain altogether.

    She really did come.

    They are alike, in that way. Her heart, too, is upon her sleeve. It is a wonderful thing.

    Will you still¡­

    The cards will fall where they may. Until then, I will pray for her happiness.

    You¡¯re no guardian angel.

    How I would wish to be one of mercy, instead. She is every bit as beautiful.

    You don¡¯t have to do this.

    You know that I must. Perhaps, even now, fate may steer her in another direction. For this, I, too, will pray. I will guide.

    This was different.

    Beneath our feet? How can that be?

    Such is the legend of the blossom and the flame. It isn¡¯t a tale meant for traveling ears, that¡¯s for one. It¡¯s a cage of sin and debauchery. Even the acolyte is useless.

    There¡¯s a second one?

    You know, for having a Maestra with you, you two don¡¯t seem to know a damn thing. She doesn¡¯t talk?

    She¡¯s¡­shy.

    Fine, then. That¡¯s the truth of the matter. You wanna talk about culture, there¡¯s not a whole lot of it to find down there. You¡¯ll find plenty of other messes, though.

    And how would we gain entry?

    You¡¯re really askin¡¯ a lot out of me. You better have the coin to compensate.

    Money is no object, my friend.

    Thick fragments were thinning, fluid and flowing free. Flashes were flashing. It was all too fast. It didn¡¯t matter that Octavia knew what was to come. If she could reach out and rein in Drey''s runaway memories, she would grab hold for dear life. Her eyes, stolen as they were, could barely keep up their desperate theft. In attempting to break open a wasp nest, she¡¯d accidentally triggered a volcano.

    If the acolyte escapes, the whole city is at risk.

    Indeed, there is a role to be played. The culture of this place must be preserved, and its customs maintained. Is it not our responsibility to, at the very least, contribute to such?

    I-I¡­yes, I agree. We¡¯ll¡­alert the clergy, I suppose. Do you think they¡¯ll trust two outsiders?

    Should they be affiliated with a¡­what did you say they were called?

    A Maestra.

    Yes, that. Should they be affiliated with a Maestra, then I am certain they will listen.

    He lied.

    He lied viciously.

    He¡¯d told her so to her face, well aware of the consequences of his actions. Drey had the nerve to deny the truth, effortless falsehoods passing through the lips she wore. He had the nerve to claim, unspoken or not, that Selena¡¯s agony was a mystery. She wished so, so desperately to fill his throat with the sun in place of bitter words once more.

    She did all she could to block out the sight of yet more agony that followed. A polearm speared at ruthless violet would return to sin soon after. She struggled to ignore the way he spoke so kindly, her own trusting fingers surrendering to his grasp. She flashed, and flashed, and flashed, the reel of Drey''s life rapidly stuttering to an end with each passing second. It was equally cathartic and unbearable. Octavia¡¯s heart had already died. The Ambassador was a corpse, an empty shell bearing witness for a greater cause. Never had she melded so perfectly with the dark. As to where it ended and she began, she¡¯d never be able to tell.

    Octavia saw their faces.

    Will you truly put your life on the line to change this world?

    I will. I always will.

    Then you are no better than your sister.

    The one that she wore herself. Wide eyes, flooded with shock and betrayal.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    She didn¡¯t believe him.

    What will you do, then?

    This.

    The one who had been loved and betrayed much the same. A blank gaze, surprised and confused.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    She didn¡¯t believe him.

    And you mean what you say?

    You know it, old man.

    So be it, then. You have my apologies.

    The one whose carefree life he¡¯d ruined. A broken grin, disbelieving.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    She didn¡¯t believe him. She could never believe him.

    And at the end, in the worst throes of suffering, Octavia found catharsis. She swallowed it whole. For the first and only time since she¡¯d become the Ambassador, she didn¡¯t fear death. She welcomed it with open arms. She cheered for it. She cursed and loathed and hated the way she couldn¡¯t kill him over and over of her own accord. She relished every last bit of light that scorched him from the inside out, her own screams echoing miles away from her own lips. Her dying eyes, too, were just as bright, her vision giving way to radiance far brighter than any flash. She hoped it hurt. She hoped it was agonizing.

    To the very end, she could hear him lie. The same falsehoods came crawling between rays of brilliant plasma, and Drey fought to speak as he burned alive. Octavia had never noticed, consumed by rage as she¡¯d been. It didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    Until the day she died, she would never, ever believe him.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She came up screaming and couldn¡¯t stop. Octavia hadn¡¯t done so in quite some time, let alone lost her footing in the aftermath of the dark. The latter was an understatement. She was outright on the floor.

    Octavia¡¯s blurred vision was either a byproduct of disorientation and lightheadedness or the excessive tears she didn¡¯t realize were erupting. Her throat was raw from how hard she wailed, her cries fragmented at best. Her fingernails dug brutally into her own arms, and she nearly punctured the skin along the way. Her stomach hurt. Her nausea was so overwhelming that she was all but confident she¡¯d vomit this time. Her breath was gone, and she hardly cared. If this is how she died, that was fine. Now, she knew. For better or worse, she knew.

    Stradivaria rested at her side, haphazardly discarded against her will. If she had even a sliver of energy for empathy, perhaps she would¡¯ve pitied him. As it was, Octavia was overwhelmed and enraged. She was beside herself with grief anew. She wanted to kill someone. She wanted to break something. Her glass heart had crashed to the floor with her, shattering into millions of pieces that sliced her skin every time she moved.

    Viola met her in that glass. Octavia didn¡¯t notice, initially. The pressure draped over her body wasn¡¯t uncomfortable. The delicate fabric of a bow brushing against her reddened cheek was a distraction in and of itself. The Maestra held her tightly, and she didn¡¯t resist. She didn¡¯t search for more eyes that surely watched as she lost everything. Instead, she sobbed until her soul evaporated. She cried enough tears to last the rest of her life. Her blood burned, melted, turned to lead and soaked through her veins. Hatred and iron followed it out.

    She knew the answer to the crisis of those she loved, alive and before her as they were. What had come along with it was a truth she could never seal again. It was what she¡¯d asked for, once. For now, all Octavia could do was die inside, over and over forever.

 51. Missed Connection

    ¡°He¡¯s¡­already dead. You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m positive.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m entirely following. I mean, that explains a motive, I think, but there¡¯s still gaps.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not necessarily him. He has people.¡±

    Octavia nodded, sniffling. ¡°People associated with him. There¡¯s two of them. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re both involved. In my case, at least, this is the only thing that makes sense.¡±

    ¡°Do you¡­still think these are all related?¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s for the sake of getting back at her, then maybe.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s awful.¡±

    It had taken Octavia another fifteen minutes to regain her composure. She was left coated in streaking trails of sorrow and red patches tainting her face by the time she was done. She¡¯d had to be physically peeled off of the floor, too weak to stand alone. For once, there was little embarrassment that came with her breakdown. Octavia felt justified, even beneath the eyes of every Maestro who eyed her with concern. She had thrown things, apparently. She¡¯d started with Stradivaria. She offered him a silent apology.

    The only apologies she could give to those more mortal, both for her display of despair and aggressive behavior, were the best "highlights" she could muster. Rationalizing was significantly more difficult, and piecing the sickening puzzle together was still no simple task. Even so, it was something to work with. She thanked whatever god would listen that they hadn¡¯t left it to her alone, for how the most agonizing darkness still haunted her in the light. Logical leadership, right now, was far, far beyond her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s just about getting back at me,¡± Octavia explained, her voice still somewhat unstable. ¡°If I understood right, I think he meant to go after any Maestros. He just¡­happened to find a few of them in a row. Now that he¡¯s gone, I¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Viola squeezed her hand tightly, an appreciated gesture of reassurance. Octavia''s squeeze in return was much more feeble, and her fingers ached in the process.

    ¡°So it¡¯s possible that they picked up where he left off,¡± Josiah muttered under his breath.

    ¡°Again, I¡¯m not 100% sure if that fits everything. It still doesn¡¯t explain some other stuff.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°Well,¡± Octavia began, ¡°why would someone warn Madrigal¡¯s brother that his home was going to be attacked?¡±

    He paused, crossing his arms. ¡°I already told you this, but someone paid Holly and Ivy after all of that¡­mess. I still don¡¯t know who did that, either.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s weird as hell that she got two different envelopes, too,¡± Renato added. ¡°What was in the second one, again?¡±

    Octavia eyed the single sentence that had sent her to Hell, innocently exposed on the table. ¡°It¡­told me to witness a toll, I think. Drey¡¯s toll, specifically. I¡¯m almost positive that¡¯s how I was supposed to interpret it.¡±

    ¡°Someone does know that you¡¯re the Ambassador?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Seems like it.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s someone starting problems,¡± Josiah continued, ¡°and someone undoing them.¡±

    ¡°Or, at least, trying to,¡± Viola offered. ¡°And it¡­sounds like they know some things that they shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Is that related to Drey, too?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    Octavia squeezed Viola¡¯s hand once more. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I honestly have no idea. The only thing I know with complete confidence is that Drey is involved in my problem--somehow. If that ends up being related to everyone else¡¯s situations, then I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m sorry. This is my fault.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. None of this is your fault. If he really is involved in some way, then it¡¯s his fault alone, and no one else¡¯s.¡±

    Octavia blinked fresh tears away. ¡°There¡¯s¡­another thing that doesn¡¯t make sense, now that I think about it.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    Octavia hesitated. She¡¯d almost forgotten, frankly. ¡°Someone¡­cleaned up after Drey¡¯s death. The story was different. He wasn¡¯t ¡®killed¡¯, he ¡®died¡¯. Some kind of chemical accident. Someone covered up for me.¡±

    Harper whistled. ¡°One hell of a problem fixed.¡±

    ¡°What are we supposed to do from here?¡± Josiah asked, running one hand through his hair absentmindedly.

    Octavia paused. She didn¡¯t want to say it, let alone entertain it. The taste of the words on her tongue alone made her ill. It was necessary all the same.

    ¡°I have one idea. You¡¯re not gonna like it.¡±

    Josiah gave her his attention. Collective eyes were offered to her in unison. Octavia inhaled slowly.

    ¡°I think¡­we have to go back to SIAR.¡±

    For a moment, there was silence. For a moment longer, she found no words to continue.

    ¡°It¡¯s all I can think of. Maybe there¡¯s something waiting for us there.¡±

    ¡°Not opposed to the idea of going back and pissing on his corpse.¡±

    The extreme rhetoric from Renato made Octavia''s stomach do a full flip. She wasn¡¯t the only one to recoil, at least half the room burning him with wide-eyed shock and surprise. Even Madrigal¡¯s mouth was agape, the words to scold him evaporating into thin air all around.

    Even still, Octavia knew the glassy eyes, half-lidded and apathetic. Renato shrugged, nonplussed at the baffled attention. ¡°I¡¯m down for it. Let¡¯s go. I¡¯m serious.¡±

    Second thoughts settled in immediately. He hadn¡¯t so much as crossed her mind. Octavia kicked herself. She kicked herself again.

    Finding words to follow his own was a nightmare. ¡°I-I¡­I¡¯m just following a feeling I¡¯ve got. I feel like it¡¯s at least worth checking.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Well, usually you following your instincts has led us to productive places. I¡¯m up for following you on that.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t leave your side,¡± Madrigal said softly with a smile. ¡°The Magical Madrigal will protect the Ambassador at all costs.¡±

    ¡°Not looking forward to another long train ride,¡± Josiah muttered, ¡°but you know I¡¯ll go with you. You don¡¯t need to question that.¡±

    When Viola squeezed Octavia''s hand once more, it was enough to warm her inside. ¡°I¡¯ll follow my fearless leader anywhere. If we find something, we find something. If we don¡¯t, we don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Frankly, whatever gets us the hell out of Coda,¡± Josiah continued under his breath.

    ¡°We¡¯ve gotta start looking for more Maestros again, too, right?¡± Harper said. ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to leave anyway. Solenford is as good a place to start as any.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re all in agreement on this, then?¡± Viola asked aloud.

    ¡°When will we be back?¡± Madrigal pressed.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°We¡¯re probably not coming back for a long time, especially if we¡¯re gonna keep searching for other Maestros. We should take a little while to get ready, in my opinion.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°I¡¯m fine with that. I¡¯ve been meaning to find an apothecary and do some shopping for a while. All of you keep getting beaten up so badly that I¡¯m damn near out of half of my stuff.¡±

    Harper winced. So did Octavia. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± said the former.

    ¡°Trains to Solenford are easy to come by, so it¡¯s not like that¡¯ll take a lot of effort to book,¡± Viola explained. ¡°Can we all deal with being ready a day from now, then?¡±

    There was a collective nod of understanding. Madrigal took it notably well, given the circumstances.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna go on another adventure together as a team!¡± she cheered with too much enthusiasm, arms aloft with glee.

    She did, admittedly, draw several chuckles of amusement from assorted Maestros. Octavia would¡¯ve done the same, on any other occasion. Still, it wasn¡¯t her joyous expression that caught Octavia¡¯s attention. It was the Maestro, instead, who was anxiously bouncing his leg and tapping his hand against the arm of the sofa. It was the Maestro whose eyes were thrown to the floor, his free hand supporting the weight of his cheek.

    Octavia lamented the way the brim of his hat had slipped over his eyes, severing her one nonverbal line of communication from his. It took him a while to offer it of his own accord, raising his head somewhat. The loaded, hesitant gaze was only for her, tinged in just the slightest with something she couldn¡¯t quite place. He¡¯d always been bad about body language.

    Renato smirked at her silently, never taking his eyes off hers. Octavia hoped he meant it.

    <hr>

    Octavia had little to actually prepare. One day consisted mostly of repacking what scattered belongings adorned Viola¡¯s rented room. She briefly considered purchasing more balsa to carve, and yet her supply was solid enough. She considered, too, stealing what books Viola¡¯s library had to offer--although she found absolutely nothing of merit. For a study so sprawling, it was astounding that not a single fleck of literature was anything short of boring. It had been an issue for her entire stay. Her singular task left her with far more time to kill than it should¡¯ve. She regretted putting the carving tools at the bottom of her bag.

    The others were less aimless, by comparison. Harper corrected his mistake of entrusting his thorough goodbyes to another, spending ample time in a particular place so dearly beloved--flameless as it now was. Viola could cook, and that much had been established with disdain. Still, Madrigal had beaten her to it, the kitchen aglow with love and care even now for the travels to come.

    Josiah¡¯s unlicensed medical practices were encouraged by an updated arsenal. A focus on replenishment, at least, offered a welcome relief from Octavia''s relentless doctor. She would¡¯ve preferred the pain that came with Lyra¡¯s violent assault. If she was forced to drink any more ginger tea, she was going to die.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure where Renato was. She gave him his space.

    It left her with time to handle the one obligation she¡¯d been intending to handle for weeks. Octavia was both surprised and not that she hadn¡¯t gotten around to it by now, chaotic as her life had been. Her words of appreciation to Eleanor Vacanti had been offered largely in passing, fleeting and flimsy. Not once had she given the woman her gratitude in full. For all that had come to pass within the walls of Vacanti Manor lately, Octavia owed her that much--if not more. They weren¡¯t particularly quiet people.

    She¡¯d gotten better about navigating, by which the manor no longer threatened to swallow her whole with every straying step. The abundance of rooms was not even slightly her fault. If nothing else, Eleanor¡¯s was unique enough. She never made it that far, intentional as her route was regardless. It wasn¡¯t often that their paths crossed naturally. Beyond her room as the woman was, Octavia couldn¡¯t resist the momentary urge to look for the cat.

    Her boots squeaked against the tile below as she staggered to a halt, nearly colliding with her gracious host altogether. ¡°M-Miss Eleanor, hi!¡± Octavia stuttered.

    If she¡¯d startled Viola¡¯s grandmother, it didn¡¯t show. ¡°Good afternoon, Octavia.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d had much to offer in the first place. ¡°Uh¡­I just wanted to thank you for letting us stay here for a while. Thank you for taking us into your home. I know we¡¯re kinda loud, and we make messes--we make a lot of messes, really--and we can be annoying to deal with sometimes, but I really appreciate you putting up with us.¡±

    Eleanor only shook her head with a soft smile. ¡°There¡¯s no need to thank me. Any friend of Viola¡¯s is always welcome in this home. If you¡¯d like to live here, my dear, just say the word.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly hate the idea. She had absolutely no clue why it made her blush. ¡°N-No, i-i-it¡¯s fine! I-I really appreciate the offer, though! I have to go home to Silver Ridge, eventually.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Eleanor mused. ¡°The offer will always stand. I know Viola would be more than happy to have company. She used to be such a lonely child.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart sank. ¡°After Vincent, right? And her mother?¡±

    Eleanor nodded sadly. ¡°Even in her studies, she was so distant from the other children. She had acquaintances, yes, but not one could be considered a friend. This was a desolate place for a child to grow up. I doubt I did her the justice of being the company that she deserved.¡±

    ¡°She¡­didn¡¯t have anyone else at all?¡±

    The smile that Octavia earned was somewhat surprising. ¡°You were her first true friend, my girl. To see her surrounded now by such loving, caring people, that is bliss. The way she laughs, the way she smiles, the way she shouts and bickers, it is a far cry from who she was not so long ago. I cannot thank you enough. I ask that you all continue to love my darling girl, just as you have done.¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°We¡­will. We do.¡±

    ¡°She speaks so highly of you,¡± Eleanor added. ¡°She talks of you more than any of her friends, really. It seems you¡¯re often on her mind.¡±

    Octavia flushed. ¡°In a bad way?¡±

    Eleanor shook her head. ¡°In a good way. In a very good way, my dear.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted, forgoing direct eye contact altogether. ¡°What¡­what kinds of things does she sa--¡±

    ¡°Grandmother?¡±

    Octavia jumped so severely that she almost slipped. It was nothing short of a miracle that she didn¡¯t bash her head into Viola¡¯s face as she recoiled, given how near the girl had drawn to her shoulder. Apparently, she was alone in her reaction. It only left her more embarrassed.

    ¡°Hello, my love,¡± Eleanor greeted with a warm smile.

    Viola returned it, more than immune to Octavia¡¯s settling surprise. For that, the latter was as lucky as she was grateful. ¡°Are you guys saying goodbye?¡± Viola asked.

    Eleanor nodded. ¡°Octavia was giving me her thanks on behalf of herself and your friends for their stay. I told her the sentiment was well-appreciated, but unnecessary nonetheless. As I¡¯ve mentioned, any friend of yours is always welcome in this house.¡±

    Viola¡¯s smile softened. She tucked one stray lock of hair behind her ear. ¡°I¡­that¡¯s very kind of you. I think I¡¯ll take you up on that.¡±

    Octavia raised a playful eyebrow. ¡°And live with you, apparently?¡±

    Viola blushed, embarrassed eyes snapping to her grandmother. ¡°You asked her to live with me?¡± she hissed through her teeth.

    Eleanor laughed. ¡°I may have made the offer. I would extend the same to any of your friends, of course.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a few of them I don¡¯t think she¡¯d like living with very much,¡± Octavia teased.

    Viola groaned. ¡°Do you know how tempted I¡¯ve been to kick him out?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t even do anything to you,¡± she said with a snicker.

    ¡°He said I can¡¯t cook!¡±

    ¡°In his defense, you told him the same thing.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­ugh!¡± she growled, tangling her fingers into her hair.

    It was enough to make Octavia laugh. ¡°You want to pretend you hate him, but I know you don¡¯t.¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°He gets on my nerves so badly. I know he¡¯s¡­not really that bad. I¡¯ve seen him be good to you.¡±

    She beamed. ¡°You¡¯ve been good to Renato, too. You got him his hands, right?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Actually, I didn¡¯t. I wanted to thank grandmother for that, too. I¡­know we¡¯re already a lot to deal with, but that was¡­wonderful. You didn¡¯t need to do that.¡±

    The gaze of gratitude she offered to Eleanor, Octavia made doubly sure to match. The eyes Eleanor returned, by comparison, were nothing short of perplexed.

    ¡°Are you talking about the boy with the hat, dear? And the wooden hands?¡±

    Viola nodded. Eleanor tilted her head in the slightest.

    ¡°What are you referring to?¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°I¡¯m¡­thanking you for ordering his prosthetics.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t order him those prosthetics.¡±

    Viola froze. Her face alone was enough to perplex Octavia in turn.

    ¡°I thought you had ordered them,¡± Eleanor continued softly.

    ¡°Are you¡­sure? You didn¡¯t place an order and then¡­forget about it?¡±

    ¡°I promise.¡±

    The stress splashed across Viola¡¯s expression was contagious. Octavia couldn¡¯t stop staring. ¡°Is¡­everything okay?¡±

    ¡°Thank you for¡­everything, grandmother. Really. I¡¯ll make it up to you someday,¡± Viola said, her voice somewhat strained.

    Eleanor, at least, offered a smile in lieu of what Viola couldn¡¯t give herself. ¡°Don¡¯t worry one bit. Your happiness is all I could ask for. You¡¯ve grown into a beautiful Maestra. Don¡¯t forget to write to your grandmother from time to time, alright?¡±

    Viola fought to forge a grin just as strained. ¡°I will, I promise.¡±

    Eleanor beamed. ¡°And give Silver Brevada my regards.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight a smile of her own. The mental image of Eleanor and her partner face-to-face was as humorous as it was warm. Given how cozy her charm truly was, she strongly doubted the brash Muse would have the heart to be difficult with her. For the most fleeting moment, regardless of the consequences that would follow, she was almost tempted to find out the hard way.

    Viola practically dragged her away by her sleeve, and Octavia nearly stumbled as she left. It was all she could do to throw a hasty wave over her shoulder, somewhere between annoyed and concerned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she whispered in the midst of her departure.

    Viola bit her lip. ¡°You know how we just had that whole talk about things that don¡¯t make sense?¡±

    Octavia nodded.

    ¡°I just found another one.¡±

    It took a moment. It took several, actually. It bothered her more than the others, and she couldn¡¯t pinpoint why. Cherry oak was beautiful, if not tragic fourfold. Upon more of the same, it was a silver lining in the wake of suffering. The universe had blessed Octavia with the most gentle of coincidences, clinging to another in turn. If she couldn¡¯t find confidence in a miracle, then she had no confidence left at all. One of those, in particular, was nothing new.

    <hr>

    Josiah wasn¡¯t the only one sick and tired of train rides. He coped with it. He didn¡¯t have much of a choice, and neither did she.

    Three days had been long already, blunted by novelty and shielded by ignorance. Seven days had been mired in grief, and Octavia had somewhat blocked it out at this point. Eleven days had consisted of utter exhaustion, if not grueling decompression that plagued her with uncontrollable thoughts. At the very least, each and every time, she¡¯d had company. That hadn¡¯t changed. It was her second time returning to one destination in particular, and that was an equal familiarity. She knew what was at the end of the voyage thrice over, travel time be damned. That was different. For once, she had no idea what awaited at SIAR. No amount of thinking about it was helping.

    Her lingering internal dilemma, this time around, came in the form of suspense. Idle conversation was a mild deterrent, as was the distraction of companionship at large. At the very least, Octavia hadn¡¯t cried at all in the past ten days--a notable difference in and of itself, unfortunately. There was still one more day for that to change. They had company of their own, lightly populated or otherwise. She was quiet enough regardless, and what human partnership she ever shirked was replaced with a violin. He never once left her side, as was required anyway.

    Above all else, do not trust Stratos.

    She hadn¡¯t actually spoken to him since Drey¡¯s toll. Part of her had outright blocked out Ethel¡¯s words altogether, both secondary to general discomfort and fear of dissection. She thought to ask as to whether or not the two got along in the first place, for how she¡¯d seen quarrels somewhat sharper between Muses already. They could have relationships, apparently. If love was an option, the opposite was just as viable. Octavia still hadn¡¯t fully processed the former. Again, she dismissed his lingering voice in her head, bound for Above as he¡¯d been. She had enough to deal with at the moment.

    Why Viola bothered to knock on a door to a room they both explicitly shared was beyond her. She could¡¯ve just entered. Octavia said as much.

    ¡°Come in? Why are you knocking?¡±

    The Maestra did, in her defense. Silver Brevada¡¯s case nearly smacked against the doorframe as she shuffled in, sliding the door shut in her wake. ¡°Why are you by yourself?¡±

    More or less sprawled out on the mattress, she hadn¡¯t actually bothered to change her clothes yet. She still had filtering sunlight, weak as it was in its fading departure. That left her with brutal honesty. ¡°Being bored. Killing time. Doing nothing productive.¡±

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Are you going to bed soon?¡± Viola asked, unslinging the flute from her shoulder.

    Octavia shook her head, her braids ruffling against the sheets. ¡°Nah. Planning a big night of laying here and doing nothing.¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t bother asking permission before climbing into the bed, every spring squeaking beneath the weight of her sudden movements. Octavia bounced slightly as she did so. The feeling wasn¡¯t entirely unpleasant.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t an invitation,¡± she joked.

    ¡°Did you bring any books?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°No, because every book in your library sucks.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± she bristled.

    ¡°I like educational stuff as much as the next person, but there¡¯s textbooks in there, Viola. Textbooks. Nobody¡¯s reading math for fun. I have absolutely no use for¡­I don¡¯t know, economics. There was one on the upper shelf that literally put me to sleep. Every book in there was super boring. You don¡¯t even have any fiction? Seriously?¡±

    Viola scoffed. ¡°Sorry we don¡¯t stock encyclopedias of mushrooms.¡±

    ¡°I promise you, they¡¯re interesting if you give them a chance.¡±

    Something notably rectangular came to a hovering stop before Octavia¡¯s eyes, obscured slightly by poor lighting. ¡°Here,¡± Viola said.

    Octavia had no idea what she was looking at. She was too uninvested to squint. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a book.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s great. Proud of you.¡±

    ¡°No, stupid. Read it to me.¡±

    Octavia snickered. She declined to raise her arms, and it left a thick clump of literature levitating precariously just above her face. Watching Viola keep it there was more amusing than it should¡¯ve been. ¡°You know how to read.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I¡­read me a bedtime story or something. It¡¯s more fun,¡± she muttered.

    ¡°You¡¯re not five.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, couldn¡¯t find any fiction either, so it¡¯s educational again. It¡¯s about medicine.¡±

    Octavia groaned. ¡°Seriously? And you didn¡¯t give it to Josiah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m giving it to him after, because the minute he has it, I¡¯m not getting it back. Read. Teach me things.¡±

    ¡°This sounds like an awful bedtime story. You want me to read to you, you can flip the pages. And hold it.¡±

    Viola rolled her eyes, although not without a smile. Octavia didn¡¯t actually expect her to do it. To her surprise, her floating square of literature was split wide before her eyes, the text just barely distant enough from her pupils that words were legible. She smirked.

    ¡°Also, it¡¯s like, what, six o¡¯clock? You don¡¯t even need a bedtime story yet.¡±

    ¡°Reeeead,¡± Viola whined, shaking the book dramatically. Octavia laughed.

    ¡°¡®The¡¯. Done, good night.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t stand you.¡±

    ¡°How about you read to me, then?¡±

    Viola averted her eyes. ¡°I feel like you¡¯d have a nicer¡­you know, book-reading voice than me. It¡¯d be nice to listen to.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s smile was faint, weakening by the minute. ¡°Nobody¡¯s ever read to you before?¡±

    Viola withdrew the book from before Octavia¡¯s eyes, settling the unread text into her lap instead. ¡°My father used to, but it¡¯s been a really long time. I just¡­I was wondering what it¡¯d be like to hear it again. I know you like reading, so you were the first person I thought of.¡±

    The way she wouldn¡¯t look directly at Octavia was distressing. It took effort for Octavia to push herself into a sitting position, and it was effort well worth the trouble. She extended one upturned palm towards the quiet girl. ¡°Gimme the book. I¡¯ll read to you.¡±

    When Viola finally met her gaze, the tiny shimmer she caught made her heart flutter. ¡°Really?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Yeah. No promises that it¡¯s not gonna be insanely boring, though.¡±

    Viola giggled, offering the book with one hand. ¡°I¡¯m fine with boring.¡±

    The sudden screech of rails against metal was exceedingly jarring. Viola outright dropped the book, the discarded text hitting Octavia somewhat painfully in the knee instead. What followed was a decrease in velocity that made Octavia¡¯s stomach churn, both literally and figuratively. She eyed Viola with confusion, receiving the exact same look in return. Her gaze drifted to the window, and the muted reds and oranges trickling into the room flickered in the slightest. That, too, slowed, much like the onward movement beneath her.

    ¡°Are we¡­stopping?¡± Viola asked aloud.

    Octavia didn¡¯t respond immediately, pushing herself off of the bed. Already, she was reaching for Stradivaria out of habit. ¡°I thought we still had another day left.¡±

    Viola had done the same respectively, discarding the book as she gripped the strap of Silver Brevada¡¯s case. ¡°I did, too. Maybe we miscounted? It¡¯s been a long time.¡±

    Octavia squeezed past her, cracking the door open. If they¡¯d miscounted, so had everyone else. Of the strangers who¡¯d accompanied her travels for the past ten days, all were present simultaneously. Most were moving forward where the world beneath her was not, belongings donned and floating in steady clumps towards the front of the train. Even now, she could still physically feel the motion beneath her feet grinding to a steady halt. The squeaking of wheels against metal was unmistakable, and she raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think people are getting off.¡±

    ¡°Should¡­we get off?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe get your stuff, just in case?¡±

    Octavia had mostly been living out of her backpack for several days. One swift zip at her back took care of more or less everything. Viola was quick enough herself, and her own speed was just as necessary. Octavia watched the emptying aisles with growing discomfort, by which the concept of being left behind was becoming ever more unsettling.

    She caught four disembarking passengers perplexed in their own ways, mingling with the shuffling crowd in turn. Each turned to meet her eyes as they passed the room, her own befuddlement reflected on the faces of every one. Renato shrugged aggressively. ¡°I¡¯m so confused,¡± he mouthed.

    When Octavia stepped out to merge with the trailing masses, Viola clinging tightly to her hand--given that she''d reached for it, apparently--she at least had the foresight to cling to whatever straggling stranger crossed her path first. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Octavia asked, ¡°what¡¯s going on? Why is everyone getting off?¡±

    The man answered without hesitation, adjusting his own belongings over his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a transfer stop. We¡¯re outside of Southern Stacata. If you¡¯ve got somewhere else to go, you¡¯re gonna need to switch here.¡±

    ¡°Where the hell are we?¡± Viola hissed under her breath.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of this place,¡± Octavia whispered back.

    She wasn¡¯t quiet enough to avoid the man¡¯s ears, much to her dismay. ¡°It¡¯s not a big town. I¡¯m not surprised. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure your connection is at the station already. Where are you headed?¡±

    ¡°S-Solenford,¡± Octavia stammered.

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah, you should be fine. We¡¯re pretty close to Solenford already.¡±

    When she refrained from pressing further, she could only watch him depart. It left her more lost than informed, and she left every ounce of her confidence behind on the empty train. At the very least, she took Viola with her, refusing to uncurl her fingers from the girl¡¯s hand.

    He¡¯d been serious about transferring. Somehow, it was another station entirely. For the picture that had been briefly painted, Octavia had expected significantly more trains to flank her on every side. Instead, she counted no more than three, unevenly distanced and aimed along sprawling tracks in varying directions.

    Whatever mechanical whirring continued beneath her feet was more ominous than anything, the platform rumbling gently as she stole tentative steps into the cool evening air. There were no signs. There was hardly any light to begin with, for how the surrendering sun was about to leave her stranded. She was lucky to spot anyone even vaguely resembling a conductor in the first place.

    It hardly mattered that she didn¡¯t know where the train was bound for. If he held authority, then he knew more than she did by default. She nearly sprinted, Viola forced into the same in her wake. Given the sheer number of people who preceded him up the steps, the idea of losing the only guidance she could find was terrifying. Octavia refused to let him board. ¡°Excuse me!¡± she called once more.

    The sound of Viola panting at her back left her feeling guilty. Still, her attention was on the man alone. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°W-We¡¯re trying to get to Solenford,¡± Octavia said, her voice crushed by pressure. ¡°Which train is that?¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s¡­the one on that platform over there. I might recommend waiting for the next one, though.¡±

    Her face fell. ¡°Why?¡±

    The man grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t think they were expecting passengers. It was meant to go for servicing, supposedly. It runs fine, but I guess they had to do an inspection for safety purposes after an evacuation.¡±

    ¡°Evacuation?¡±

    ¡°To my understanding, there was some kind of natural disaster a few weeks ago that required multiple trains for evacuation. Usually, they send them to be serviced and inspected afterwards to make sure they¡¯re up to handling another one, if need be. You don¡¯t wanna be on that thing, anyway. It¡¯s bad luck.¡±

    Everything was bad luck. Her entire life was bad luck. ¡°It¡¯ll take us to Solenford, though, right?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Yes, it¡¯ll get you there. The conductor¡¯s already on board. Like I said, he probably wasn¡¯t expecting passengers. I¡¯d hurry, if I were you. You¡¯ve got about a day¡¯s journey ahead, not even. You should be there by dawn, actually.¡±

    If they missed it, it wouldn¡¯t be a massive distance. That would be by train, to be fair. They would be stranded in the middle of nowhere, to be fair. She would have absolutely no idea how to fix it, to be fair. As with so many things, that wouldn¡¯t be new. Octavia took her chances. ¡°Thank you!¡± she added hastily.

    She was borderline racing in the direction he¡¯d indicated, a train more or less unremarkable already well-prepared to depart. The rumble of the engine, even from afar, was enough to leave her heart rumbling along with it. Whatever had possessed its conductor to wait, she was eternally grateful for. Four people had come to the same conclusion long before she had, their anxiety almost radiant. With Viola in hand, she struggled to move ever faster, her boots pounding desperately against the wooden planks below.

    ¡°It¡¯s this one, come on!¡± Harper called, waving her over with urgency.

    ¡°I thought you said the tickets were non-stop!¡± Josiah cried.

    ¡°They were non-stop!¡± Viola cried back, panting yet again with the effort of keeping up.

    ¡°Oh my Goood, get on the traaain,¡± Renato groaned, quite literally pushing at Josiah¡¯s back as he climbed the steps. Madrigal, too, had already begun her ascent, motioning desperately for the girls to follow suit.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± she yelled.

    The urgency wasn¡¯t overwhelmingly necessary, in the end. They boarded with no true issues, climbing the steps nearly two at a time in the process. Even with Octavia¡¯s stamina well-intact, Viola fared far worse, doubling over and gasping the moment she was safely inside. Octavia winced at the sight. That was largely her fault.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± she said.

    Viola didn¡¯t have the oxygen to respond. Instead, all Octavia earned was a thumbs-up. At the very least, it was enough for her to breathe a sigh of relief.

    ¡°What the hell happened?¡± Josiah demanded.

    ¡°I¡­promise you,¡± Viola panted, hunting for air, ¡°they were¡­non-stop.¡±

    ¡°Where even are we?¡± Madrigal murmured nervously, wringing her hands together.

    ¡°Outside of a town I¡¯ve never heard of. Southern¡­Stacata, I think,¡± Octavia tried. ¡°We¡¯re close to Solenford, apparently.¡±

    ¡°We should be there by morning,¡± Viola added, finally blessed with the return of sweet oxygen.

    Her words were punctuated by the timely squeal of wheels against the metal rails below. Ultimately, the departure had afforded them roughly an extra three full minutes. There was no whistle, and the blaring noise Octavia had anticipated was eerily absent as the train began to steadily roll forward. The floor beneath her jostled, and she nearly lost her balance beneath the sudden movements. She caught Viola, who did lose hers.

    The interior was completely silent, a horrific peace offset by ambient lighting. She could still see up the aisles without issue, for the most part. Inside, it was no different than every train she¡¯d been on in the past. There were spaces both tight and open, crafted for rest and mingling in tandem. Contrary to the conductor¡¯s words, there didn¡¯t seem to be much need for maintenance--visibly, anyway. Octavia knew little of the mechanical aspects. Really, the quiet was the part that bothered her.

    The subtle rumble deep below and the backdrop of clacking along metal tracks were her only two sources of salvation. At the very least, it was warm, touched by the grace of the fleeing sun in their wake. Each and every window was devoid of curtains, and that was mildly uncomfortable. There was no escaping the rising moon, battling unnatural lighting with milky glows that flooded the train in excess.

    Octavia really, really didn¡¯t enjoy the implication that they were wholly alone. The concept of being isolated on a train so far from home--Viola¡¯s, mostly--was highly unsettling.

    ¡°We¡¯re on our way again, I guess,¡± Harper muttered.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one hesitant to move from the entryway, several tentative footsteps just barely poking into the aisle at her side. ¡°Is¡­anyone else here?¡± Josiah asked quietly.

    She didn¡¯t have a solid answer. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t think so. The conductor I talked to, he said that this train wasn¡¯t supposed to have many passengers. Any, he made it sound like.¡±

    ¡°But we got tickets to be here,¡± Madrigal said.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I know. I don¡¯t entirely get it, either.¡±

    ¡°Is there any chance we boarded the wrong train out of Coda?¡± Josiah tried.

    ¡°Definitely not,¡± Viola answered. ¡°It was the only train going to Solenford. There¡¯s no way.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t respond. For a moment, only the low rumble of the train marching on into the blooming night filled the gap. Alone as they were, collectively, it was all the more uncomfortable.

    ¡°You said morning, right? Should we just¡­sleep it off and figure it out when we get there?¡± Renato offered.

    ¡°I dunno, this is really creepy,¡± Harper murmured with a shudder. ¡°I don¡¯t feel particularly good about going to sleep here.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just a train.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but¡­this is so weird. I don¡¯t think I can sleep, sorry.¡±

    ¡°To be fair, I¡¯ve been sleeping half the time, too,¡± Josiah added, raising his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll stay up with you.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, I have a feeling none of us are gonna be able to get any sleep,¡± Octavia admitted. ¡°I¡¯m¡­rested enough. I guess if I need to take a nap, I can.¡±

    ¡°We can sleep in shifts,¡± Harper suggested.

    ¡°You suck at that.¡±

    ¡°What for?¡± Viola asked, ignoring Octavia¡¯s quip entirely.

    He winced. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. Just a thought, if anyone wants to try to get some rest.¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Screw it. Let¡¯s just all stay up together. If I pass out, just wake me up when we get there, and don¡¯t let anything stupid happen to me while I¡¯m sleeping. Easy.¡±

    Relative to whatever they¡¯d be dealing with at SIAR, unknown as it still was, the idea of tackling it with little rest was concerning. Ideally, adrenaline would fill the void. It was the best excuse Octavia could come up with.

    Adrenaline on a train was helpful, too, somewhat. It was enough to keep them going for a while. There came a point where they actually attempted to sleep in shifts, and yet fatigue was overwhelming. Satisfied with sleeping or not, the silence was unbearable. Ultimately, not one was comfortable enough to confine themselves to a formal room, and mattresses were forsaken in favor of plush booths or carpeted aisles. They were as much of a clump as their instruments, two clusters of rest drowning in the open moonlight.

    Harper and Josiah really did forgo sleeping altogether, conversing in low tones and whispers well into the night. The presence of sound at all, hushed or otherwise, was enough to help Octavia sleep instead. Her one curse came in the form of the relentless moon, its abundant glow unhindered by naked windows lining the length of the car. Not one curtain so much as attempted to spare her from abundant luminosity, no matter how soft. Finding shade in the night was borderline impossible, and she was forced to crawl beneath a table at least once. She¡¯d hit her head in the process of sitting up. That part wasn¡¯t fun.

    There came a point where sleeping was either enough altogether or simply useless, for how she was left tossing and turning on uncomfortable surfaces. It took effort to rise slowly, contributing as little noise as possible to the strangling silence. Stepping over stray limbs sprawling out into the aisle from Maestros far more comfortable was a challenge, much the same. She stretched.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Josiah whispered.

    ¡°Just¡­can¡¯t sleep. Gonna walk for a bit,¡± she whispered back.

    ¡°Take Stradivaria,¡± Harper reminded softly.

    ¡°Take Harper,¡± Josiah said.

    ¡°What?¡± he murmured.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just let her walk around by herself. Go with her.¡±

    He didn¡¯t argue. From his seat on the windowsill, of all places, Harper dropped to the floor with the tiniest of grunts. In tandem with Octavia¡¯s motions towards her partner, he made for Royal Orleans¡¯ case.

    ¡°Are we going anywhere in particular?¡± he asked.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Not really. Walking when I can¡¯t sleep makes me feel better. Just¡­maybe towards the front, I guess.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°That¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s try not to stay too long. The sooner this is over with, the better.¡±

    She didn¡¯t disagree. Stradivaria was cool in her hands, and the sensation wasn¡¯t unpleasant as she held the instrument close. Her steps were equally as cautious as her own breaths, aimless as they were with Harper trailing close behind. She wasn¡¯t fond of the slight difficulty that came with walking, the most fleeting tug of an uphill slope not lost on her ankles. She dismissed it as the structure of the aisle, initially. Still, it persisted, even as she grew ever more distant from the safety of the others.

    ¡°Are we going upwards, or something?¡± Octavia murmured aloud.

    ¡°Look outside.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a particularly hard suggestion to oblige, given how every last color of the natural world was spilling into the car already. Any window would suffice, unobscured as they were, and it only took one to confirm her suspicions. Their last non-stop trip to Solenford had left them traversing flat ground alone, miniscule bumps and hills a far cry from true elevation along their path. Here, instead, she was at last granted the privilege to absorb the full majesty that was the mountains of Solenford.

    With each passing second, their vessel was climbing ever higher up the rugged terrain. The vehicle was sturdy, the tracks were well-maintained, and Octavia feared little for their actual safety. It was nothing if not breathtaking, for how the spearing peaks in the distance clung to shadows beneath the generous moon. In lovelier circumstances, snow-capped alternatives would¡¯ve been of interest. She lamented the summer sun on the opposite side of day.

    ¡°Pretty,¡± Octavia whispered.

    ¡°Hope you¡¯re not afraid of heights,¡± Harper teased gently.

    Octavia shook her head with a smile, her footsteps delicate as she crossed the threshold into another car. Even without anyone save for her companions aboard to disturb, the weight of silence was its own occupant. ¡°I like heights, actually.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­worried about what we¡¯re gonna find when we get there?¡±

    The smile she¡¯d only just donned slipped somewhat. He was close enough for his breath to brush against her neck as he spoke--a reminder of his safe proximity that she didn¡¯t dislike. ¡°Not much point in me lying to you, is there?¡±

    Harper chuckled. ¡°You know it. It¡¯s okay if you are. I think we¡¯re all nervous.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for dragging you down with me.¡±

    His hand on her shoulder made Octavia jump slightly. The atmosphere was sneaking beneath her skin more than she was willing to admit. ¡°There¡¯s not a single one of us who feels that way. We¡¯re here because we want to be. Trust me, I¡¯m dying to know who¡¯s been messing with my family, too.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s every step forward was foreign, and his words were the only familiar thing she could count on as she moved up the length of the train itself. Aimless wandering was not the calming experience she hoped it would be. Her path narrowed bit by bit, and the storage cabinets hanging high overhead jutted into the aisle too sharply for comfort. Whatever was keeping her moving forward was more absentminded than voluntary, at this point. Harper had the clarity of mind to call her out on it as she neared the front cabin.

    ¡°We¡¯re definitely going too far,¡± he whispered. ¡°I think that¡¯s enough.¡±

    Octavia had never actually been this close to the front before. They had a singular additional occupant along for the ride, severed only by a sliding door and the responsibilities of the moonlit job. It was somehow more unsettling than it was comforting. She had no idea what it was that possessed her to raise her hand, let alone to try knocking. Harper didn¡¯t give her the chance.

    ¡°Let him do his job,¡± he scolded softly, tugging at her extended wrist.

    ¡°No one else is even here. You don¡¯t want to know why the train is empty or anything?¡±

    Harper shook his head. ¡°Not really, no. Like I said, this whole situation is seriously creeping me out. I don¡¯t want to make it more uncomfortable than it already is.¡±

    She sighed. Where she would typically have teased and pushed, she had little energy to press his boundaries. Curiosity be damned, Octavia withdrew her hand, dejected fingers returning to the cold mahogany of a violin instead. ¡°Fine.¡±

    Harper didn¡¯t pull at her wrist further, loosening his delicate grip somewhat. He tilted his head in the direction from whence they¡¯d come, a silent plea for return. Octavia wasn¡¯t immune to casting her eyes towards the closed door regardless.

    Curiosity was still preferable to languishing in the dark--or lack thereof, if the unforgiving moon had a say. For how many times she¡¯d found herself bound to the whims of a speeding train, she¡¯d never had the chance to actually explore one at length. It was the closest she¡¯d come to the opportunity, even in the midst of an unsettling situation.

    The soft, muffled screeching behind the door surely spoke to scraping metal beneath skilled hands, and watching them work would¡¯ve been of interest. Her knowledge was limited to books alone, and confirming the abundance of levers and whistles would¡¯ve been enjoyable. Counting moving parts would¡¯ve been fun. Octavia had never so much as considered that charcoal, if that was what it was, could burn violet.

    She blinked. She rubbed her eyes. She checked twice over, reinspecting the tiny gap between the sliding door and the carpeted aisle below her feet. She really, really wasn¡¯t sure if it was supposed to be violet.

    ¡°Octavia, come on,¡± Harper reminded, tapping her shoulder.

    ¡°Wait a second,¡± Octavia whispered.

    ¡°What?¡±

    She leaned closer to the floor, not daring to bend down. Squinting, she tilted her head, watching what she could with morbid curiosity. Tiny wisps of indigo smoke had begun drifting tenderly outwards from beyond the crevice. They didn¡¯t climb so much as they did tickle the utmost base of the door, the most miniscule gap between the floor and the entryway clogging with translucent fog. This time, she did knock.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Harper hissed, grabbing her wrist far too late.

    Octavia met his eyes in silence, drawing a line downwards with her own gaze. When he followed along, he, too, squinted in turn, releasing her just as fast. It hardly mattered. There was no answer from the other side. The screeching, stifled as it was, only grew louder. She could¡¯ve sworn the train was rocking more severely, her balance somewhat unsteady.

    ¡°Are we stopping again?¡± she heard Harper ask aloud.

    Octavia knocked again. Nothing. She tried harder, putting more effort into her wrist. ¡°Hello?¡±

    Still, nothing. Her fingers crawled over the handle, poised to pull. A quick glance at Harper earned her only a wince, a far cry from the contagious confidence she¡¯d hoped for. It took conscious willpower for her to try. There was a startling amount of resistance, and she was nearly forced to use both hands to pry the door beyond the slightest crack. With a hefty grunt, she made it roughly one-fourth of the way there, straining as she peered into the cabin.

    It was pitch-black. Rather, it was pitch-violet--thick, boiling, bubbling, and as noxious as could be. It was excessive in every conceivable way. Even from a distance, its aura was overpowering. She could hardly breathe. For a moment, she didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Shut it!¡± Harper screamed.

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the chance. The crevice she¡¯d already made was enough. In seconds, there was no door. It wasn¡¯t slow. It didn¡¯t hesitate. It was the fastest-moving Dissonance she¡¯d seen in weeks. It surged, a violet wave that crashed in every direction with a wailing shriek that made her ears ring fiercely. There may as well not have been a front cabin at all. In its place, she found only a cage for the most toxic substance ever to curse her life.

    She scrambled for distance, Harper doing much the same as they sprinted in tandem. She didn¡¯t dare turn around, Stradivaria jostling painfully against her neck as she struggled to raise the instrument. It was by sheer luck that the only person faster than Octavia was the one to bar her path in the slightest. His own rapid footsteps blessed her with the ample room she needed to escape the flood pressing at her back. She didn¡¯t need to see it. She could feel it. She could hear it. No amount of playing alone was going to counter it, let alone in one shot.

    ¡°Hit it together with me!¡± she demanded breathlessly.

    ¡°Bend down!¡± Harper shouted back.

    She obliged to the absolute best of her ability, nearly falling flat on her face as she skidded to a stop. She¡¯d never played Stradivaria while crouching before, although propping herself up on one knee turned out to be somewhat supportive. She quickly understood Harper''s point, Royal Orleans rising above her head as a blast of heated air besieged her scalp.

    They¡¯d played together before. She knew him. She knew his notes, and her own light tangled flawlessly with his flames. Of that, she had no concern. Octavia gritted her teeth, moving shaking fingers in time with pure adrenaline threatening to burst from her bloodstream. With it came her radiance, echoed by his own flavor of the same.

    Octavia would, if nothing else, never get over how lovely their legacies worked together in unison. His spiraling fire and her blasting rays overlapped in brilliant bursts. Scarlets, golds, and every flash of incinerating supernovas imaginable exploded against false darkness. A star was born between them, erupting in the smallest of suns that raged beneath moonbeams in turn.

    The contrast of the dazzling flare against the black hole of loathsome violet was enough to make her squint. Her eyes were assaulted by the sharp contrast in brightness between the two, and fighting to keep them open was a struggle. Staying balanced so low was its own challenge. Maintaining her footing on top of her current predicament was just as difficult as keeping up with Harper. Even so, Octavia didn¡¯t back down, her speedy movements of the bow bursting with as much burning brilliance as she could muster.

    Somehow, it wasn¡¯t enough.

    The desperate counterattack was enough to act at least as a deterrent, sending the churning sea of Dissonance streaming outwards and around the shining star of the two Maestros. The grotesque ocean parted, and still they did little but forge through crashing waves. Violent clouds were practically screaming as they circumvented the fiery brilliance on either side. Even forty-five full seconds later, it was still coming, speeding around them just as quickly. It was all Octavia could do to hold fast, putting the burn of her muscles consciously to the wayside as she doubled down against every string.

    The onslaught didn¡¯t cease so much as it did stem, ebbing to a steady stream that instead surged threateningly towards their ankles. The most venomous tide lapped at the carpeted aisle, and she feared coming within inches of it as it crawled towards her boots. Panting, she rose to her feet, staggering backwards until she nearly collided with Harper.

    ¡°Was that¡­all in the cabin?¡± he gasped, his search for oxygen far more desperate.

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know! It¡¯s still coming!¡± Octavia cried.

    Frantic scanning with frenzied eyes unveiled an assault not purely frontal. On several sides, cracks between crunched cabinets and crevices beyond low seating had begun to ooze with much of the same agony, a violet haze choking the air as it steadily ascended. In place of a car trapped in raging flames, it was pain incarnate that bore all the smoke she could dread.

    With every terrified step in reverse, it thickened. Just the same, with every panicked breath, it grew ever more obscure until she could no longer make out the distant cabin at all. Pure, unrestrained Dissonance clogged her path in full. It was one of the most horrific sights Octavia had ever laid eyes upon.

    ¡°Why is there¡­so much?¡± Harper murmured with terror, his hands shaking.

    Octavia hardly had the words to respond. Even now, she couldn¡¯t stop staring. Their resistance had done little in the way of lasting damage, only instead wreaking havoc on their surroundings. The violence they¡¯d inflicted on the train car itself was unfortunate, at least three of the storage cabinets that had hung aloft succumbing to her supernova.

    Mostly emptied, only scattered contents had survived their inescapable inferno. Stray clothes slipped from a suitcase cursed by broken clasps. At least one backpack had remained intact, scorched and shredded as it crashed to the carpet. A tiny, singed book, tinted in the softest rosy blush, bared its flower proudly to the filthy floor alone. It was pitiful.

    Octavia¡¯s blood froze over, adrenaline challenged by the chill of dread in every conceivable pore.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± Harper asked anxiously, eyes full of worry as he scanned her face in turn.

    Her voice was nearly inaudible. Her breath slipped from her throat as she refused to tear her eyes from the gentle pink scraping the carpet.

    ¡°This is the train that took us out of Velrose.¡±

 52. Switch and Derail

    There was a hierarchy of noises that challenged Octavia''s senses, catastrophically organized as they were. Her boots hammering the floor, the unholy screeching pressing at her back, and the blood rushing through her ears battled for dominance in turn. No amount of playing or praying offered any salvation. Slowly but surely, the overwhelming quantity of Dissonance was flooding the train with each passing second.

    She, too, was sure to drown herself--if not from agony, then from terror alone. When the crisp, desperate cries of a flute, at the very least, joined her hellish cacophony, she could finally count one blessing. Octavia put her faith in her ears rather than her eyes, clinging to the sound as she ran in the general direction of the ballad.

    The moment she had Viola in her sights, Silver Brevada locked onto her lips, Octavia''s heart swarmed with relief. Relief wouldn¡¯t be enough to eradicate whatever swirling mass of murky purple approached from the far side of the car. The moon that had blessed them so generously with milky comfort may as well have been non-existent, replaced instead by the most obscured fog of the deepest evening. It, too, rolled onwards, accelerating at a pace far too quick to counter. Her heart raced as much as her hands, glued to Stradivaria¡¯s strings the second she¡¯d returned to the others.

    ¡°Where were you?¡± Viola cried, catching her breath in between shrill notes. ¡°I was worried sick!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± Octavia called back. Already, her focus was on her light, weaving the white-hot radiance of rippling rays so necessary.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a natural disaster!¡± she explained. ¡°I think this is the train that took us out of Velrose!¡±

    ¡°That can¡¯t be right!¡± Madrigal shouted. She wasn¡¯t far, left with precious little distance by which to escape the fatal grasp of rolling agony. Her wind was staggered, and bursting gales left the skirt of Octavia¡¯s dress whipping against her thighs.

    ¡°Well, it would explain a lot!¡± Josiah snapped.

    Octavia tensed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He clenched his fists, eyes chasing the enveloping smoke as he inched closer to her. ¡°After everything they went through, could you really expect anything less than this?¡±

    Harper raised Royal Orleans somewhat, drawing a hesitant path to his lips that was never fully realized. ¡°How did this even happen?¡±

    ¡°We can figure that out after we get the hell out of here!¡±

    ¡°Where are we supposed to go?¡± Madrigal cried.

    Harper echoed the same. ¡°We¡¯re on the side of a mountain!¡±

    ¡°Our only other option is suffocating!¡± Josiah argued.

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll fight.¡±

    Octavia hadn¡¯t noticed the words had left her mouth until after the fact. It might¡¯ve been confidence that came with the burn in her fingertips. It could just as well have been inescapable adrenaline seeping into her voice. It could¡¯ve been self-preservation. She would¡¯ve believed any combination of the three, if not a drive to salvage their safety alone.

    ¡°You want to¡­fight this?¡± Viola sputtered, baffled.

    ¡°We couldn¡¯t even make a dent,¡± Harper said.

    ¡°If it¡¯s all of us together,¡± Octavia insisted, ¡°we can do it.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s my fearless leader.¡±

    Renato¡¯s words were calm and steady in an environment so volatile. Even as the grotesque haze of violet drew ever nearer to him, he hardly flinched. Instead, the grin he flashed to Octavia dripped with such sweet satisfaction that her heart skipped a beat. Even now, even here, he was smiling.

    ¡°If you¡¯re down, I¡¯m down. I¡¯m not arguing with the Ambassador. You guys are really gonna doubt her like that?¡± he said confidently, Mistral Asunder already well at home between either set of false fingers.

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Viola stammered.

    ¡°We¡­we have to try!¡± Madrigal cried. ¡°We¡¯ve never faltered in the face of the darkness before! We¡¯ll stand together and win the battle!¡±

    She gave her gaze to Octavia, nodding resolutely. ¡°Ambassador, the Magical Madrigal will not fail you!¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯ll follow you,¡± Harper offered. ¡°That¡¯s that.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re seriously doing this?¡± Josiah hissed. ¡°You people are insane.¡±

    Even so, he rolled his eyes with a sigh. ¡°Then I guess I¡¯m insane, too. This is gonna suck.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola murmured.

    With her name on Viola¡¯s lips, she met eyes plagued with hesitation. ¡°We can do this,¡± Octavia reassured. ¡°We¡¯ll do it together. Trust me.¡±

    Viola was silent for a moment. ¡°I¡­I will.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± Harper argued, ¡°we can keep hitting it as much as we want, but it just keeps coming! It¡¯s everywhere!¡±

    ¡°I really am worried we¡¯re gonna suffocate,¡± Josiah muttered.

    Madrigal narrowed her eyes. ¡°I have an idea. I need everyone to get on the floor!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t question her, forgoing whatever looks of confusion that her companions offered the Spirited girl. With Stradivaria close to her chest, she did as she was told, dropping so low to the carpeted aisle that her face nearly kissed the floor. Before her, Viola did the same. If she twisted her neck, she could still see Madrigal standing well above her, slender fingers settling into position over Lyra¡¯s strings.

    ¡°I reeeeally think you should cover your heads, too!¡±

    She raised an eyebrow. Even so, she did as she was told. Madrigal was alone, each Maestro grounded at her feet. With the Dissonance continuing to creep closer on every side, Octavia¡¯s heart beat faster every second she was unarmed. She prayed this would be fast--whatever ¡°this¡± consisted of.

    Madrigal was fast, to her credit. Rather, it was her fingers that flew, her eyes squeezed shut as she wove a song that bit the air. Crystalline notes and whirling winds assailed Octavia all at once, a sudden draft spinning to life with startling speed. Madrigal¡¯s gushing storm rushed violently through Octavia¡¯s ears, battering her skin and clothing in equal measure as it passed above. She had to battle the urge to keep her head down, straining to witness the spirit of wind in full force instead.

    The vortex was almost intolerable, her braids whipping against the sides of her face so severely that Octavia feared she¡¯d earn scars. Madrigal stood at its center, the beautiful eye of the storm who gritted her teeth as she strained and strummed. Her song was as vicious as it was loud, betraying the gentle touch of an innocent harp. Her curls were not immune, nor was her dress. The degree to which Madrigal¡¯s own ferocious winds wrapped her up in their whirling gasp left her somewhat angelic.

    All at once, Madrigal cried out. Her fingers came taut against the copper strings as eternal screeching was shamed tenfold. Her storm disappeared in an instant, by which Octavia could¡¯ve blinked. Initially, she¡¯d believed it had been dispelled entirely, robbed by a force unseen. She was extremely wrong.

    The explosive boom that rattled the floor she laid on was accompanied instantly by yet more rushing gales. They were perhaps even more vicious than Madrigal¡¯s own, flooding the car at every angle. Octavia was a victim of a crashing whirlwind, bursting shards of crystal serving as splattering rain to accent the storm. Unfathomable in number, their quantity was incredible.

    The blasting gust Madrigal had birthed forced every last jagged, transparent sliver in the car to the floor. It was as good a time as ever to realize why she was supposed to be covering her head. Viola¡¯s scream solidified her revelation, somewhat, much of the same showering down not far from the Maestra¡¯s body.

    Octavia hesitated to rise to her feet for a moment, for how much glass lay scattered and frosted so close. It took time to confirm her safety, and her guess came only in the form of Madrigal¡¯s stilling song. She pushed herself off the hazardous floor, although the scene that came with standing was more jarring than smashing gusts altogether.

    Every last window, once obscured by the oppression of poisonous violet, had been absolutely annihilated in full. Even now, tiny shards of glass continued to stumble from frames, tipping both into the warmth of the train and out into the cold of the mountain passage. The moon had no chance to grant its earnest glow, still marred by raw agony as it was. Even so, silky beams poking through purple in the slightest was hopeful.

    Madrigal brought two fingers over her eye in a split, victorious V. She beamed.

    ¡°God, I love this girl,¡± Renato mumbled.

    It was self-explanatory. By no means was the Dissonance dissipating. Instead, smoky clouds once pressed against every wall slipped through newborn passages into the night. They climbed ever higher, rolling and twisting with horrific wails carried aloft. Drifting on the steady current, the screeching was still just as painful outside as it was inside. The thick metal structure of the train car did little to insulate the Maestros from the noise. Even so, Octavia could breathe. They could move. She could see the moon again, even as the interior of the train seemed to ooze with Dissonance forever more.

    ¡°Smoke rises,¡± Josiah murmured. ¡°Smart.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still coming,¡± Harper said.

    ¡°Is this all from one person? Is the conductor Dissonant?¡± Viola asked, brushing stray flecks of glass from the skirt of her dress.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way all of this is from one guy. Not, like, a¡­normal guy, at least,¡± Josiah self-corrected.

    Octavia knew what he meant. They were in this mess in the first place secondary to one person who countered his point perfectly. Don¡¯t think about it.

    Harper winced. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the conductor is dead, at this point. The cabin was nothing but Dissonance. It¡¯s either that, or there¡¯s no way he¡¯s not Dissonant by now.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean no one¡¯s driving the train?¡± Madrigal asked.

    Octavia blinked. That wasn¡¯t a very fun suggestion.

    ¡°Waiting on those orders, fearless leader,¡± Renato joked. He tapped one drumstick rhythmically against his leg, his genuine grin enough to bless her with contagious confidence. Octavia appreciated it. She could work with it.

    Still, she gulped. Ultimately, this had been her idea. ¡°I-I¡­if we¡¯re gonna keep ourselves from drowning in Dissonance, we¡¯re gonna have to give the rest of it somewhere to go. Madrigal, can you break the rest of the windows in the other cars?¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t falter, the same victorious pose offered to Octavia without hesitation. ¡°Consider it done, Ambassador! This heroine will not let you down!¡±

    ¡°A-And then¡­we seriously need to check if someone¡¯s actually driving the train. Harper¡¯s right. The conductor is probably Dissonant, if nothing else.¡±

    She turned to Harper. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­done this before. Can you do it again?¡±

    He grinned, tapping either end of Royal Orleans playfully. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re not watching me, it¡¯s not much fun, is it? I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    Harper tilted his head in Josiah¡¯s direction. ¡°Can you drive a train?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s a hobby. I¡¯m an expert. I do it all the time. Are you friggin¡¯ kidding me?¡± he snapped.

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    Harper only continued to beam at him endlessly. Josiah growled in absolute frustration, rolling up one pant leg in the process. Octavia had, truthfully, forgotten about his sole line of self-defense.

    He drew his knife, sharp as ever, from the strap around his calf. ¡°I hate this!¡±

    ¡°And that leaves¡­actually¡­fighting it,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna be able to get all of it out,¡± Viola interrupted. ¡°There¡¯s still a lot of it inside, but I think most of it is rising out the windows.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s on the roof, then?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m assuming it¡¯s not just gonna¡­go away,¡± Octavia said. ¡°It¡¯s Dissonance, after all. We¡¯re gonna have to deal with it the hard way.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s bad memories, they¡¯re gonna be stuck here,¡± Josiah added. ¡°There¡¯s no separating them.¡±

    ¡°If¡­Madrigal and Harper are in here, then that can take care of what¡¯s left over,¡± Octavia mumbled to herself. ¡°Which leaves¡­¡±

    When she turned her head towards Renato, the sparkle in his eyes was enough to shame the stars.

    ¡°Go ahead. Say it. I¡¯ll wait.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the creeping smile that bled onto her face. ¡°That¡¯s¡­it¡¯ll take more of us to deal with the majority of it. Which would be you, me, and--¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna fall,¡± Viola deadpanned.

    She did, at least, fight the urge to roll her eyes. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna fall.¡±

    ¡°On the roof of a moving train? I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed this, but my balance isn¡¯t exactly the greatest. I¡¯m not¡­athletic.¡±

    Renato was absolutely glowing. ¡°Speak for yourself. This is gonna be a blast.¡±

    When Octavia turned to face them collectively, self-consciousness settled in. She held Stradivaria tightly, tactile comfort lost in the face of rushing winds and distant screeching. ¡°I-Is¡­everyone alright with that plan?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the fearless leader,¡± Viola joked. ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask us.¡±

    She found her smile again, reflected in Viola¡¯s eyes. ¡°Then¡­let¡¯s do this.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Josiah, come on! Let¡¯s go drive a train,¡± Harper called, his voice loaded with more enthusiasm than was necessary.

    Teasing an irritated boy pursuing him with a knife in hand probably wasn¡¯t his best plan. ¡°You know I¡¯m gonna crash it, right? Why do I have to do it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you on the other side, Ambassador! We can do this!¡± Madrigal cheered, her sandals beating softly against the carpeted aisle as she ran. Already, charging into the darkness, Octavia could hear her powerful strumming returning yet again.

    ¡°A-And everyone be careful!¡± she cried much too late.

    She cast her eyes down at Stradivaria, motionless. Viola¡¯s gentle touch came to rest on her shoulder, rubbing delicately.

    ¡°I won¡¯t leave your side,¡± she reassured. ¡°No matter what happens.¡±

    ¡°You have no idea how long I¡¯ve been waiting to do this.¡±

    Renato¡¯s voice was low, satisfied, and laced with something Octavia couldn¡¯t pinpoint. Something about his sly grin was making her nervous, for once. He made a show of cracking knuckles he didn¡¯t quite have.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted upwards towards the ceiling. ¡°How are we¡­getting up there, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Is there something we can climb?¡± Viola offered.

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± Renato countered. ¡°We¡¯re taking the easy route.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°The¡­easy route?¡±

    ¡°Just close your eyes. Both of you. It¡¯ll be less stressful.¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Back up a bit.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to gaze at him blankly. ¡°O¡­kay?¡±

    Even three steps backwards, he wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°More.¡±

    Several more, and her back was too close to the very open window for her liking. Viola, at her side, was equally as uncomfortable. ¡°What are you doing?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t like me,¡± Renato teased, ¡°but you don¡¯t have to like me to trust me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Hold onto your instruments, don¡¯t move, and again, I seriously suggest you close your eyes.¡±

    Viola frowned, watching on with confusion as he backed away from the Maestras significantly. ¡°Why would I close my--¡±

    He¡¯d always been really, really good at gaining height quickly. Forward, tumbling, spinning, and down again, the product of his momentum burst from the tips of Mistral Asunder with a boom that rippled through Octavia¡¯s blood. She¡¯d never felt it at point blank before, her entire body vibrating beneath the shockwave. Her footing was gone, as was her breath. All she found in its place was a scream, involuntary and horrific in and of itself as she plummeted out the window.

    Viola, at her side, did much the same, curled up into a ball as she shrieked in terror. With Silver Brevada in a death grip, her eyes had screwed shut so tightly that Octavia wondered if they¡¯d ever open again. Her hair whipped against her face as she began a harrowing, sudden descent down the side of a mountain. Octavia was no stranger to a desperate grasp of her own on Stradivaria, violently-shaking fingers clamped around either portion of the violin. She fell in reverse, the train growing ever more distant as the depths of the mountain pass swallowed her whole. Renato joined her.

    ¡°Trust me!¡± he called with a laugh.

    High above, she could only watch as he dove effortlessly out of the same window. With zero hesitation, he¡¯d cleared a far greater distance than she¡¯d fallen, somehow managing to launch himself well past her own body. If he was falling, too, then his descent was significantly behind her--possibly even lower. Why he was laughing the entire way down was extremely beyond Octavia, although it was at least a solid indicator of his positioning in the air. They could, if nothing else, all fall to their deaths together.

    She heard another boom. She felt one, so soon after. The same shockwave that had more or less slammed her in the stomach suddenly blasted her in the back. She screamed a different scream entirely. Going upwards was its own flavor of horrifying. The feeling of her own spinal fluid crying out under the impact of compressed sound itself was indescribable, resonating through her bones forever. It didn¡¯t matter that it didn¡¯t hurt, so delicately and skillfully tuned to spare her fragile body. Falling was falling, upwards or not. Viola mirrored her terror, their screams almost identical as they flailed in panic. Renato was still laughing down there, and Octavia could¡¯ve sworn he was doing it harder.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Octavia didn¡¯t land on the roof with grace. It was a miracle she landed anywhere adjacent to her feet, really. The reverberation of metal striking her ankles was extremely unpleasant as she stumbled. Viola fared far, far worse than her, not coming anywhere close to a reasonable landing as she nearly crashed onto her face.

    It was by sheer luck that the height they¡¯d cleared had spared them of bodily harm, by which any higher of a horrified descent could¡¯ve been disastrous. It still wasn¡¯t fun. If the rush of wind inside the car was severe, then this was brutal. The ascent hadn¡¯t killed them, and that was one blessing. Octavia would be lucky if the raging gusts born of velocity into the night didn¡¯t send her hurtling into the darkness below.

    Another boom from below came in the company of yet more, exploding in rapid succession. They offered up a Maestro cresting the rim of the roof, descending with substantially more finesse than Octavia could¡¯ve managed. He did land on his feet, his acrobatic prowess doing him incredible favors all the way down. She hated that it actually looked impressive.

    ¡°You are absolutely insane!¡± Viola shouted, still bound to her hands and knees beneath the oppressive wind. ¡°And you have the nerve to ask me to trust you?¡±

    He shrugged with a ridiculously-proud grin, cocking his head. ¡°I told you to close your eyes.¡±

    Octavia found the confidence to attempt to rise to her feet, at least. She wobbled as she pushed herself up, staggering somewhat. It took careful effort to adjust her weight to the quick, jerky movements of the rumbling train beneath her. Horrified and exhilarated all at once, she experimented with the motion of raising Stradivaria to her shoulder simultaneously. Walking would take significant effort--until she got used to it, at least. It took conscious thought to shift her body weight with each tentative slide of either foot forward. Calculating the correct distribution to keep her from stumbling was a challenge. It was to say nothing of plummeting.

    Raising her head didn¡¯t do Octavia any favors. Finding her balance was her second-biggest concern. The first was excessively violet in every way.

    If there was a night sky to be found, it had long since drowned in the erupting storm of agony above. Blotting out the world on her every side, the screeching and writhing masses of indigo rising to meet the evening practically swallowed the stars whole. It was abundant to a fault, ever more Dissonance climbing slowly from newly-obliterated windows below. With each distant burst of glass Octavia heard came more of the same, coagulating without hesitation as it funneled upwards. The most grotesque of splintering rivers streamed high, and the idea of being wrapped up in their deadly reversing currents was sickening. Octavia¡¯s fingers trembled around the bow.

    ¡°This is¡­so much,¡± she breathed, dizzy for more reasons than one.

    ¡°It¡¯s horrible,¡± Viola murmured. ¡°Especially to know how it¡­got here. We¡¯re really gonna fight all of this?¡±

    Octavia gulped. The sheer quantity of murky purple that swirled among gusting velocity was disorienting. They weren¡¯t at risk of suffocating within a noxious cloud of agony, granted. Still, it was far from the only way Dissonance could ruin her. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    ¡°I got it.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t scared. He wasn¡¯t shaking. He wasn¡¯t so much as robbed of the smug grin that had endured his entire volatile ascent. Of all things, Renato was stretching, making a dramatic show of loosening every muscle in his body. Octavia couldn¡¯t chalk his behavior up to blissful ignorance--doubly so, for how his bright eyes and brilliant smile challenged relentless agony itself.

    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯ve ¡®got it¡¯?¡± Viola asked, her voice somewhere between harsh and horrified. ¡°Do you see how much of it there is?¡±

    He didn¡¯t bother turning his head to acknowledge her. ¡°I know what I said. I got it.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°All of it?¡±

    Renato shrugged. Either portion of Mistral Asunder was clasped firmly in his fingers as he took slow, unhurried steps in reverse. Face-to-face with the screaming fog staring him down, squirming and rolling in hateful violets and indigos alike, he didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Even given the way it swelled well above his head, climbing into the sky as wisps of a toxic cloud, he was calm. ¡°Most of it,¡± he answered nonchalantly. ¡°Think you can take whatever¡¯s behind me?¡±

    Octavia threw her gaze over her shoulder. Much the same haze awaited distantly at her back, just as terrifying at first sight. It, too, was abundant, sticking close to its metallic foundation as it wavered menacingly in the open air. Yet another variable tide ran well into the night, each twisting bend and curve of translucent purple far from crystalline waters she longed for. It was a lot. The Dissonance grew and swelled yet further, violet flames fueled by the same escaping substance below. It still wasn¡¯t as much as what Renato faced. He¡¯d laid claim to the majority, well over two-thirds of the Hell that had awaited them atop the train.

    ¡°That¡¯s too much for you!¡± Octavia cried.

    Viola didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get hurt!¡±

    Renato¡¯s radiant grin spoke to clear disregard of their warnings. Even so, Octavia couldn¡¯t help but take it as something warm. He met her eyes, the fire in his own thawing the chill that stung her blood. ¡°You think so?¡±

    Octavia paused. It had been so, so long since she¡¯d seen him smile like that. She¡¯d missed it.

    ¡°My sweet, beautiful, and fearless Ambassador,¡± he teased, his low voice dripping with pride, ¡°just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t bothered to ask how he¡¯d survived diving down the side of a mountain, let alone how he¡¯d managed to bring two Maestras along. She figured it out firsthand instead.

    His forward momentum, a fearsome weapon in and of itself, was as much an asset as the Harmonial Instrument he¡¯d all but entirely mastered. He broke into a dead sprint, the distance between himself and the screeching wall of Dissonance rapidly shrinking with each step. Octavia¡¯s initial panic at the sight hardly mattered, for how he shirked the metal below altogether. Instead, he threw his full body weight onto his hands, again testing the limits of well-crafted cherry oak as he caught himself. Twice more did he tumble, gathering ever more velocity as the tips of Mistral Asunder delicately tapped the thick plating below.

    The third time he flipped in full, it was no longer delicate. It was a miracle he hadn¡¯t outright burst a hole beneath him into the interior. The steel shell crunched under the explosive pressure, crumpling downwards in time with a deafening boom. In contrast, Renato went up.

    Octavia had witnessed, for very brief periods of time, the extent of Renato¡¯s spatial awareness in mid-air. Blessed with immense acrobatic prowess of questionable origin, the twisting, turning, and tucking of his body at any angle he desired was always breathtaking to watch. As such, when his ankles sailed clear over his own head, Octavia assumed his lofty upward burst of easily fifteen feet would surrender to swift descent shortly. The way he¡¯d brandished either drumstick was as shocking as their byproduct. Two simultaneous downward flicks of his wrists, instead, beat to life a unified burst that hurt her ears. He went up again.

    Octavia blinked. She blinked harder. She wasn¡¯t sure if she was seeing this correctly.

    Even so, the same self-assured grin was still plastered permanently onto his face. She watched in utter awe as airborne freedom blessed Renato¡¯s body with all the range of movement he could desire. It was the opposite of a freefall, the boy spinning and inverting precisely in time with evenly-spaced explosions upon the open sky. Invisible as they were, his rapid ascent was all Octavia needed to attest to the strength of sound in plain view. Twenty feet. Twenty-five feet. Thirty feet. He was practically flying. It was absolutely captivating.

    At the apex of his height of choice, he did at last submit to gravity. Arms wide and fingers taut, his breathtaking ascent brought him just above the hazy smoke Octavia feared. Her stomach emulated her eyes, performing backflips of its own as Renato careened towards the awaiting Dissonance below. Mistral Asunder met it first, one quick inversion and a lively cry of effort accompanying yet another devastating boom. His momentum brought the full, crushing weight of his gathered height with him, blasting downwards like a meteor as it crashed into the cloud.

    There was absolutely no way Octavia could hope to stay upright, knocked hard to the chilled metal below as it rocked beneath her feet. The sight of the coagulated smoke rupturing haphazardly, a crater punched into what had moments ago been a sea of agony, was incredible enough to make up for it. The screeches and wails of the mist paled in comparison to the powerful sounds she was already enduring.

    Octavia waited for him to come down, to boast, to spin a stick in either hand and fix her with a grin. She waited for words of pride and victory that would gift her with much-needed hope. Instead, Renato never came down. He went back up, and he began anew.

    ¡°How is he¡­doing that?¡± Viola murmured, equally transfixed by the sight.

    Every blast, every spin, every twist and push and swing of his wrists kept him airborne. Not only was he unhindered by the streaming wind, but he was stealing it for his own gain. Renato didn¡¯t return to the roof below, more than content to kiss the cool rush of the night sky forever. Rising to meet his ruthless sonic blows, the ascending smoke gave chase in its own way.

    In desperation, it surged, battling to clot and rebuild what had been torn apart. Not once did he give it the opportunity, the rhythmic bursts of sound slowly growing on Octavia as wonderful background noise. His movement was fluid, his fighting style free. It was so like him, and no one else. He¡¯d made the strength of sound all his own.

    From here, even at this distance, Octavia could hear Renato''s joyous laugh once more. She could see his face split wide with the most brilliant grin that had ever touched his lips in all the time she¡¯d known him. Under the recaptured gleam of the moon he¡¯d just barely given permission to shine, she could witness the blinding shimmer in his eyes that came with utter bliss. He was having fun.

    Whatever cold winds and chilling screeches could besiege Octavia were mitigated by Renato¡¯s sparkle. His confidence flooded her heart with all the warmth she could¡¯ve wished for.

    ¡°He¡¯s gonna tire himself out if he keeps doing that,¡± Viola muttered.

    Octavia could hardly peel her eyes from the Strong boy, not immune to her own irresistible smile. ¡°Let him.¡±

    In lieu of protest, Viola raised Silver Brevada to her lips. ¡°Then you can¡¯t leave me on my own, okay? It¡¯s our turn.¡±

    Octavia lamented turning her attention to the one-third of Dissonance she¡¯d adopted, remorseless smoky violet plaguing the back half of the train. In the time she¡¯d spent witnessing Renato¡¯s skill, it had grown yet more, a fuming ocean of agony that spilled over the rim in wispy droplets. She adjusted Stradivaria on her shoulder once again, settling the bow onto the strings. She did what she could to steady her breathing and still her pounding heart.

    ¡°Right,¡± she answered.

    ¡°I won¡¯t give up if you won¡¯t,¡± Viola said, eyes level only with the Dissonance blotting out the sky.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Then I won¡¯t.¡±

    It had simultaneously been not too long ago and far too long ago that their instruments had sung together in perfect harmony. The beautiful song woven between the voices of Stratos and Brava incarnate was to be both admired and feared. Balance was precious, and the concussive blasts Renato¡¯s onslaught had forced them to withstand were surprisingly helpful. Freedom of movement, blessed in part by the security that came with companionship, urged them forward. Beautiful in every way, two valiant melodies pierced the night air as one.

    It was with ferocity that her light bloomed, her ice sparkled, her rays blossomed, her crystals sharpened. Again, the sun was born of her fingertips, glaciers born of her lips. The stars were born of her strings, their shimmer bursting brightly upon her frost. They were in sync, a heart of light and a soul of ice striking against the Dissonance with all their songs could give.

    Every blow upon poisonous memories assailing them was true, radiance exploding with a dazzling flash as it cut clean through the smog. Spearing crystal was fierce, razor-edged ice slashing through the violet void with equal ferocity. Octavia¡¯s skin burned, her fingers pulsed, and her blood bubbled with the scorching warmth of rebellious luminescence. She traded fear for power, and she could taste the adrenaline on her tongue. She played with everything she had, and the conjoined song kissing her ears was absolutely perfect.

    Viola never surrendered. Where her lungs faltered, her trust compensated. Octavia already knew it was a possibility, and she rushed to capture Viola¡¯s anguished eyes the moment it hit. Her fingers never stopped moving in the face of the girl¡¯s exhaustion, radiance bursting forth from ravaged strings endlessly.

    ¡°Catch your breath!¡± Octavia called above her song. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you!¡±

    Viola did. As many times as was necessary, she did so. In the wake of breathless reprieve, her tired lips would once more return to the battlefield that was Silver Brevada. She raged on into the flute, offering up ice born of fatigue and determination alike. Oxygen was of different value entirely to Octavia, her stamina well-paced and comfortably balanced. Her scathing starlight wasn¡¯t eternal, and yet could burn for longer still. For now, it was all Octavia could do to put her trust and strength into Stradivaria¡¯s touch. For what faith she poured onto the strings, she was rewarded with warmth in her arms and wrath upon the darkness.

    The Dissonance bent beneath the weight of their assault, repulsed and repelled as it screamed forever. There was progress, somewhat, in the form of smoky spirals and splattered wisps that died with horrific wails in their wakes. For what fizzled into the darkened sky, then, yet more would rise from below to replace it. A train so haunted by clinging agony was fuel to the sickest fire. It burned, and burned, and burned, ceaselessly rolling and ferociously screeching.

    It was a box of bad memories, and yet it was finite. There was an end, at some point--surely. Octavia had lost track of how long they¡¯d battled. So, too, had she lost track of how much had risen. It had been plenty, and she liked to imagine it was the majority. That didn¡¯t make her life any easier. That didn¡¯t help Viola.

    She thought Viola was catching her breath again, initially, the absence of gorgeous song a tell-tale indicator of oxygen reclaimed. Octavia played on alone, the cries of a violin mingling with those of crying agony in turn. It usually took twenty seconds, although she''d only half-cared to count. She found nothing, and waited thirty seconds instead. When the melody of a flute evaded her for a full minute, Octavia tore her eyes from the eternal swell of writing purple.

    Silver Brevada had instead become a desperate crutch, spearing against the steel shell below as it supported its faltering Maestra. Bound to one knee and brilliantly red, it was a miracle that Viola was still upright at all. Her entire body shook as she gasped pleadingly for air, the Harmonial Instrument wobbling as she struggled to maintain her balance. She didn¡¯t. Her hand slipped.

    Viola collapsed, slamming the side of her head against the unforgiving steel below. Silver Brevada clattered to the same, pale fingers frantically reaching for the instrument with little success. Her fragile body was wracked with coughs and wheezes, for how her limits had been surpassed long ago. Even so, she dragged herself on her hands and knees, bare skin chafing against cold metal as she fought to grasp the flute once more.

    ¡°Viola!¡± Octavia cried in horror, her song nearly halting altogether.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± the girl croaked back, her voice hoarse. The words alone were too much, and she was cursed to cough heavily.

    ¡°Stay down for a bit!¡±

    ¡°I can¡­still¡­¡±

    Viola never finished, trailing off into yet more choking in place of speech. One hand crawled to her throat, and she grasped at what pain surely rested within. The other still yet drifted towards a discarded flute, rolling inches away with each desperate flail.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, please, just rest for a bit!¡± Octavia begged.

    Truthfully, she wasn¡¯t fine. The upward trickle of Dissonance that had continued its ascent was slowing, the last vestiges of seeping agony at last greeting her in full. It didn¡¯t minimize the severity of the situation, the sea of smoky fog still writhing before her without hesitation. She was left to tense and pray, pleading with every muscle to withstand her song.

    What light she had spoke to progress, surely, the blinding radiance of stolen stars blessing her every note. The quantity was immense, either way. As to whether Octavia had been cursed to simply survive or blessed with the strength to overwhelm, she wasn¡¯t sure. Her heart pounded with something more than adrenaline.

    If this alone was too much, she feared for the boy who¡¯d taken on double behind her.

    One look at her back found his feet upon the roof at last, shoulders heaving with just the slightest hint more of effort. Renato¡¯s smile had slipped somewhat, deteriorating to a faint grin that spoke to fatigue. When he once more attempted the same acrobatic endeavors of before, the height he gained and the explosions he birthed paled in comparison to his prior power.

    It was still an undeniable testament to his strength. Regardless, it was far less fruitful in quelling what Dissonance remained. With certainty, he was losing ground, forced to retreat in the most minute amounts before preparing yet more dramatic blows. Subtle or not, it was damning all the same. Renato wasn¡¯t the type to give up--he was the type to burn himself out.

    He was the type to take the fall on her behalf.

    Octavia''s knees shook. Her stomach twisted into a knot. At her feet, Viola paid for the Ambassador''s confidence. She coughed violently one too many times, pale fingers trembling as they brushed against her lips. When they drew back, delicate skin was stained with splattered red. That was enough for vision to blur, a heart to race, the world to spin. Octavia¡¯s breath fled her in full, stolen by the wind and coated by the screeches that drew ever nearer.

    They were hurting. They were in danger. Once more, she was the catalyst for pain.

    Octavia could hardly see Stradivaria¡¯s strings, sluggish hands moving instinctively as her feeble light did what it could. What little she had left was still vivid in its own right, fired deep into the heart of the swirling smoke. It wasn¡¯t enough. She knew that much. She couldn¡¯t feel the handle of the bow between her fingers. Octavia trembled so viciously that she nearly dropped one half of Stradivaria altogether.

    Giving up was repulsive. She¡¯d sworn not to. She was fighting a losing battle all the same. Three people struggled below her, and yet two more shattered themselves to pieces at her side. Violet advanced from her front and her back, and what confidence she¡¯d carried was swallowed by swelling agony. Octavia was hyperventilating. She couldn¡¯t see straight, and her light was failing. She found bells so far from home, and the voices meant to match. It was how they''d ended up here, after all. Agony was her fault, here and here alone. Today, just the same, her light was not enough. It never was. It never was. It never was.

    And even now, on the last outskirts of consciousness, Viola reached for Silver Brevada.

    Her blood-stained fingers strained and shook, fumbling in exhausted desperation for her partner. He rested too far from her touch. She would¡¯ve had to crawl to his power. There was no possible way, for how she was completely and utterly drained. Her shallow breaths, where she could salvage them, rattled fiercely. She could hardly keep her eyes open, fingernails clawing painfully at her chest as she choked. Still, Viola reached, and reached, and tried without surrender.

    There was guilt that came with a broken promise, and it ached in every way.

    ¡°Stradivaria.¡±

    I am here.

    ¡°I need you.¡±

    You will have all I can give.

    With trembling hands, Octavia did what she could to steady him on her shoulder. ¡°How¡­much can I do alone?¡±

    You are the Ambassador. You can do anything your heart wills to be so.

    His voice was louder than the bells.

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    You are not alone, for I am with you.

    And in her heart, he wasn¡¯t the only one.

    She didn¡¯t look. She closed her eyes, and she felt him in her heart where he belonged. She didn¡¯t need to call for him. She knew he was there. Octavia inhaled, exhaled, and pressed her fingers against him once again. She rested her head against his body, brought the bow to rest over the strings, and filled her blood with love. She wouldn¡¯t get it wrong twice.

    Octavia''s song wasn¡¯t aggressive, necessarily. It didn¡¯t make it any less strenuous. It didn¡¯t alleviate the burden of quaking muscles, nor of blazing tendons that fought to withstand heat blasting through every vein. Never before had she channeled so much of his raw strength through her body, and his touch made her a conduit for a supernova.

    It was a pressure rather than a pain, compressing and crushing her beneath the weight of pure brilliance. The sun was born of her heart, and the stars rushed through her blood. What left the strings as she wove a nameless melody into the air was radiance that could blind the moon above. Even she didn¡¯t dare to open her own eyes. She could feel the way it fought to pierce her eyelids, all-consuming and relentless. Octavia wouldn¡¯t give it the chance.

    Octavia did everything in her power not to move. Every ounce of concentration she could muster was offered solely to the movements of her hands and fingers alone. She had never felt so connected with him, relishing the way he became her everything. She inhaled the dark and exhaled the light, a vessel befitting the title of Ambassador.

    She was frozen, one with the song that she brought into the world as it radiated around her. Even now, what erupted from every pore was white-hot and molten, scalding in a way that didn¡¯t quite singe her skin. She could hear the screeching, unending and agonizing as it was. If she were to call for him, instead, she knew she¡¯d find his voice. She didn¡¯t need to. He was here within her.

    She played for long enough that she forgot who she was, becoming a beacon of light and a reservoir of strength not her own for eternity. She didn¡¯t mind it. If this was what it was like to burst into flames, to become a brilliant star in the brightest sky, she would¡¯ve enjoyed the sensation. She debated opening her eyes, still battling the residual white that struggled to slip past her closed lids.

    She wasn¡¯t sure when, if ever, she should stop. Her entire body was emboldened by the purest possible concept of light she could ever hope to describe. How much time had passed was beyond her, hinted at only by the tell-tale ache in her every muscle. There came a point when crushing pressure began to rescind, an infernal supernova sparing her as it waned. She could breathe. When had she ever stopped?

    Octavia finally opened her eyes at last, threatening white no longer ever-present. Her light gradually stemmed, dying out as the trailing comets in her heart cooled over. The consequences of straining for so long were settling in. Her fingers were chafed, the skin upon the strings rubbed red and raw. The rushing night air stung the wounds in turn, and she winced. Her arms, blood ablaze with radiance to shame the sun moments before, throbbed and ached. Her favorite consequence was the absence of screeching altogether.

    She¡¯d surveyed the expanse of roof just long enough to see it off. Octavia captured the absolute threshold of the smoke¡¯s dying cries, hazy violet once steeped in agony now reduced to fizzling flecks of mist. Along a wind unlike that which still besieged her, it passed along, floating high into the night and surrendering to nothing. The spectacle, even in departure, was hauntingly beautiful in the most grotesque way. Like rain, it sprinkled upon the evening air, falling skyward rather than down upon her. Vanishing purple was shredded and widespread, wispy debris painting the air.

    She found the same spanning the entire length of the train, every last swath of the rampaging fog reduced to ascending dust. There was a brief moment of terror where she feared it would reconvene, for how much had plagued her in the first place. She was beautifully wrong, once-swirling smoke transfigured into drifting ashes that escaped her high above. Octavia bore witness to the death of each and every one.

    Renato¡¯s eyes, too, charted the same path as her own in equal disbelief. His shoulders still lightly heaved as he caught his breath. He tilted his head, his hands surrendering to his pockets instead to be mesmerized by the spectacle alongside her. He fought for his turn with her enraptured gaze, waiting patiently. When he caught it, he didn¡¯t let go.

    His eyes were warm, his smile gentle. ¡°It¡¯s like I said, braids,¡± he said softly. ¡°You shine too damn bright for the rest of us.¡±

    His words were just as warm, even in the midst of her creeping disorientation. It was one more thing that touched her heart. Octavia did what she could to find a smile worthy of matching his own.

    Viola¡¯s coughing brought her back to reality, a tender reprieve shattering like glass as Octavia dropped to her knees. The haste with which she laid Stradivaria to rest beside her was enough to elicit a thick clunk against the steel. She regretted the force she used, somewhat. Even so, her attention was solely on the girl who¡¯d finally stopped reaching for her partner. Viola''s breathing had calmed, her face still splattered a soft red and her palm still tinted with dried streaks of blood.

    One corner of her mouth echoed the same. It was a reflex for Octavia to brush her thumb delicately across Viola¡¯s lips, desperate to disperse what blood still laid waste to her gentle expression. Octavia only smeared it more, and she winced at the sight. It hardly mattered. The pressure of Viola¡¯s smile, weak as it was, pushing up against the pad of her thumb eased her heart.

    ¡°You¡¯re incredible,¡± Viola whispered.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Octavia murmured, cupping one aching hand around Viola¡¯s reddened cheek.

    Viola¡¯s fingertips, bloodied as they were, still found the strength to grace the back of Octavia¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. How do you feel?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Why does that matter? You¡¯re a lot worse off than me.¡±

    Viola closed her eyes, smiling softly in place of her gaze. ¡°It matters to me.¡±

    ¡°Viola,¡± Octavia said, ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t do more. You wouldn¡¯t have gotten hurt if I hadn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t give up. That¡¯s all I could ever ask for.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

    ¡°My¡­Ambassador,¡± Viola breathed, stroking the back of Octavia¡¯s hand.

    She couldn¡¯t fight the smile, either.

    ¡°Is she gonna be alright?¡± Renato asked.

    The approaching boy peered at the Maestra with kinder eyes than usual. He tapped the tip of his shoe against the steel below absentmindedly, looming above them both.

    Octavia was more than relieved that she could nod. ¡°Yeah. She¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Nicely done, Vi,¡± he praised with a grin. ¡°You¡¯ve still got it.¡±

    His praise was lost on her, and she rolled her eyes. ¡°I never lost it,¡± Viola muttered hoarsely.

    ¡°That was¡­all of it, then,¡± Renato continued. ¡°I think we¡­actually did it.¡±

    For a moment, his words were surreal. The liberated moon served as Octavia''s primary evidence, a tranquil glow newly freed from the grasp of hateful mist. She was content to bathe in its placid embrace. Her tired hands still graced Viola¡¯s skin and her heart still resonated with the echoes of luminous love. Even without Stradivaria in her arms, she swore she could still feel his touch within.

    The blaring whistle of the train, exceedingly late by several hours, nearly scared her to death. All three Maestros jumped, actually, startled severely by the sudden roar. Octavia¡¯s peace didn¡¯t last long. That much wasn¡¯t new.

    Renato shrugged, still shaken. ¡°Guess he figured out how to drive it.¡±

 [EXTRA] 52.5. Test Drive

    It sincerely wasn¡¯t as comfortable if she wasn¡¯t watching.

    It wasn¡¯t supposed to be fun, granted, and he did feel sorry for anyone forced to swallow flames down into the depths of their soul. It was no easier the second time around, and it took everything in his power to keep his breathing level all the way through. The unsteady rumbling beneath his feet was already a blight to his balance. It was one more difficulty that complicated an exceedingly-delicate process.

    Harper was handling a silk thread, by which blinking the wrong way would kill the man. No amount of asking for Orleanna¡¯s guidance would help--the motions were simple enough to remember, the sensations to hunt for even more so. Conceptually, he knew what he was doing this time. It was still intimidating.

    It wasn¡¯t that Josiah, watching on with wide eyes and silence to match, wasn¡¯t a supportive audience. Octavia simply would¡¯ve been preferable. He hadn¡¯t intended to impress Josiah in any capacity, by comparison. It wouldn¡¯t have been his sole motivator, regardless.

    Eyes on him or not, Harper¡¯s pure song was ceaseless. The sapphire flames that swept clean through the air came to call a poisoned soul home. Every rationed breath and every flickering note left them glowing with grace. Raging azures glowed through violet-tinted skin as the man clutched weakly at his chest. He was on his own this time, and yet a person so plagued by agony was a far cry to a struggling Ivy. It was a miracle the man was alive at all, given exactly what had choked him so thoroughly moments before.

    Harper slid one foot backwards slightly, adjusting his shoulders as he retraced every sequential step in his head. It was a war he refused to lose, straining muscles be damned. He played harder, his fingers flying over every key with such fervor that his skin burned.

    And when the tight, taut resistance surrendered to his fiery melody at last, it took conscious effort not to stumble. The sudden slack that followed in the wake of the scorching ballad left brilliant cerulean erupting in tandem with violet. From the man¡¯s lips exploded grotesque quantities of screaming smoke, barreling mercilessly towards the cabin ceiling. What little white remained was splattered with sickening indigo, writhing and wailing as searing sapphires wrapped them up in full. Each and every wisp entangled with Harper''s relentless flames, pursued without mercy upon release from the man''s blighted soul.

    Not once did Harper stop playing, pushing aside the burn in his lungs in favor of a burn far more fierce. Small as the cabin objectively was, his blue hellfire was as all-consuming as it was ferociously hot. The bursting, sweltering heat was enough to leave Josiah flinching, shielding his face pitifully with what his forearms could cover. Harper didn¡¯t have the luxury of the same, and he earned the full wrath of the will of fire by proxy. He¡¯d expected to hate it more. Somehow, Orleanna¡¯s infernal love wasn¡¯t unwelcome as it enveloped him, and he embraced its power.

    He didn¡¯t bother counting how long it took, although it felt reasonably extensive. False darkness faltered in the face of scathing sapphire, and the flames that came to flicker left no violet in their wake. The man collapsed to the floor face-first, and Harper winced at the graceless thud that followed. At the very least, he hadn¡¯t been burned--upon initial inspection, if nothing else. Harper''s eyes flickered left, and he ripped Royal Orleans from his lips with a desperate gasp.

    ¡°Are you¡­okay?¡± he panted, sweat beading down his cheeks in excess.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°I-I¡¯m fine. Are you alright? Take it easy for a minute.¡±

    Catching his breath, at least, was easier the second time. Harper found the energy to smile, if not weakly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. Did you get burned?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m good. What do we do about him?¡±

    Josiah tilted his head towards the conductor, prone and motionless below as he was. His shoulders rose and fell softly, and that was enough to satisfy Harper. The Willful Maestro did what he could to swallow a deep breath, savoring every ounce of oxygen he could find.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be¡­alright,¡± Harper said.

    Josiah was quiet. Harper was much the same as he caught his breath. The steady, endless rumbling beneath them filled the gap as they plunged deeper into the night. Every boom that distantly rippled well above their heads told a story in and of itself. Harper had suspicions. If he strained, he¡¯d surely hear the rest of their songs. He didn''t have the time, and his gaze was mostly one of expectation.

    It landed squarely on Josiah. The latter returned it blankly. Harper only tilted his head, his eye contact unwavering.

    Josiah bristled under his staring. ¡°What?¡± he snapped.

    Harper¡¯s eyes flickered between the boy and the dashboard several times over. He couldn¡¯t stifle the tiniest, creeping smile that came with it.

    ¡°No!¡± Josiah shouted.

    ¡°You¡¯re up,¡± Harper finally asserted with a grin, gesturing to the array of buttons and levers with one sweeping motion.

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing this!¡± Josiah growled.

    Harper raised Royal Orleans aloft, waving the trumpet playfully. ¡°I did my part. Your turn.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to drive a friggin¡¯ train! What do you expect me to do, guess?¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out. You¡¯re smart like that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not funny! We¡¯re gonna crash!¡± Josiah cried, more than exasperated.

    ¡°Well,¡± Harper began, averting his gaze teasingly, ¡°if you don¡¯t do it, we¡¯re gonna crash anyway, right? You might as well try.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re insane!¡±

    Harper beamed. ¡°I believe in you. Do your best, okay? You¡¯ve got this.¡±

    ¡°I hate you!¡±

    He laughed. Frankly, he wasn¡¯t aware Josiah could carry that much ire in one glare alone. ¡°I¡¯ll cheer you on, don¡¯t worry. I know you can do it.¡±

    ¡°I cannot stand you!¡±

    With or without a train at risk of derailing, his reactions were too amusing for Harper to carry fear. Sparing a man from incineration was the hardest part. Whatever mortal crises were to come would surely be less concerning. Josiah, clearly, was not under the same impression, if the way his fingers were permanently embedded into his hair meant anything. To his credit, he at least made the effort to face the dashboard in full. Heavy and aggravated steps landed him square at the center of a mechanical solar system.

    With eyes forward, the rushing darkness of the mountain range came to meet him head-on, sprawling glass serving as the one barrier between the boy and the unforgiving night beyond. Harper was dizzy on his behalf, and the sight of Josiah¡¯s face flooding with overstimulation was reasonable enough. They weren¡¯t shoes he particularly wanted to stand in. He would¡¯ve felt worse, had an inordinate amount of sharp swears not already begun to trickle from the boy¡¯s lips under his breath. Once more, Harper was battling to stifle his laughter.

    Really, Harper couldn¡¯t have helped even if he wanted to. The sheer amount of dials, levers, switches, gauges, and everything in between were utterly indecipherable. A fair amount were completely unlabeled altogether, and yet more were tinted with colors that begged for limited interaction--probably. Even with exactly one more train expedition on his record than Josiah, his experiences still meant absolutely nothing in terms of resolving the situation. Moral support was the most he could offer. Ideally, it would suffice. He doubted it.

    Josiah buried his face in his hands, one muffled growl of deep irritation slipping out through the cracks of his fingers. The gesture evolved into fingernails clawing down the sides of his face, and he stole one deep breath in the process. His eyes chased several mechanical elements in sequence, darting back and forth between awaiting controls and approaching mountains.

    No less than four separate times did his eyes drift to the Maestro at his side, razor-edged and loaded with hostility every time. The third time, Harper bit his lip in a desperate attempt to suppress a smile. He failed horrifically.

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±

    It took at least fifteen more seconds of utterly silent contemplation for Josiah¡¯s hands to leave his face, hesitant fingers frozen aloft over one lever. Never did they grasp the metal in full--or at all, by which his skin refused to so much as graze it. Once more, he was muttering something obscene under his breath.

    ¡°What does that one do?¡±

    Under no circumstances did Harper mean for it to come out teasingly. It happened anyway, the implications lost on him until well after the question had left his lips. The ice in Josiah¡¯s eyes could¡¯ve frozen his blood in his veins, had he still not found the boy¡¯s reactions exceedingly comical. ¡°You know what? Why don¡¯t you tell me what it does? How about that?¡±

    Harper''s shoulders were shaking with the efforts of suppressing his laughter. He almost felt bad about it.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to take a shot in the dark that there¡¯s no friggin¡¯ manual anywhere in the damn cabin, right? I really am gonna have to guess, aren¡¯t I?¡± he groaned, tightening his fingers around the lever at last.

    Harper patted his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re doing great.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±

    ¡°Walk me through your thought process,¡± Harper requested softly, inching closer to the boy. ¡°Organize this out loud for me.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    It would help, maybe. It was enough to get Josiah to stop trying to kill him with his eyes alone, at least. Josiah sighed. ¡°There¡¯s no more connections, hypothetically. This train is supposed to go straight to Solenford. I remember what the station looks like, and I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ll be able to tell when we¡¯re getting close from up here. Actually stopping it is gonna suck. I figure¡­worst-case scenario, if I have to use the emergency brakes once we get that far, I can.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°How do you know which ones are the brakes?¡±

    ¡°Working on it,¡± he hissed. ¡°Like I said, half of this is guessing. I have suspicions, and obviously I can¡¯t test them, so we¡¯re gonna find out the hard way when we get there.¡±

    Harper nodded, peering past Josiah at the implement between his taut fingers. ¡°So¡­what¡¯s going on with that one?¡±

    ¡°Will you be patient?¡± Josiah practically shouted.

    ¡°Sorry, conductor,¡± Harper teased with a sneaking grin. It was irresistible, at this point.

    Again, Josiah was more or less growling under his breath. Every word was strained for a new reason entirely. ¡°It¡¯s a straight shot to Solenford. It should mostly take care of itself. We have no idea how long the conductor was incapacitated, and we were still fine. I don¡¯t know the geography of this whole route, so I¡¯m worried about whether or not I¡¯m supposed to be accounting for speed control.¡±

    ¡°Speed control?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°If we go too fast, we really will derail. I have no idea if traversing the mountains is going to mess with our momentum. I don¡¯t know anything about this train, how it¡¯s built, or how to drive it.¡±

    The last of his words were pointed. Harper had completely given up on suppressing his amusement. It was a losing battle, and Josiah was sure to hunt it down on his face anyway.

    ¡°Thing is, there¡¯s people up there,¡± Josiah continued, flicking one pointed finger towards the ceiling. The distant boom that punctuated his words served as solid testimony to his concerns. ¡°If I mess with the speed too quickly, they might fall. At the same time, we don¡¯t exactly have the luxury to go warn them right now. They¡¯ve definitely got their hands full.¡±

    Harper gestured to the lever nestled comfortably in Josiah¡¯s hesitant grasp. ¡°So¡­I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s the one that messes with the speed, then?¡±

    Josiah paused. ¡°I think.¡±

    ¡°You think,¡± Harper repeated slowly.

    If Josiah¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t kill him, Harper wondered if the boy would do so physically the moment they were stationary. His smile was permanent.

    Josiah didn¡¯t grace him with the effort of verbal venom, content to let his wrathful gaze fill the gaps. Instead, his attention rotated neatly between his occupied hand, the rushing night beyond the vast glass, and a rounded gauge that stared him down. He stared right back, eyeing the twitching indicator past the pane with great focus. Harper didn¡¯t dare torment him in the midst of what little true concentration he¡¯d cobbled together, the boy¡¯s hands surprisingly steady as they managed the blackened lever in tandem. With only a sharp exhale to show for it, Josiah retracted his fingers painstakingly slowly with each passing second.

    Harper had the luxury to observe his surroundings, by comparison. It wasn¡¯t immediately obvious whether or not the slightest shift in ambient sound was hallucinated. If he strained, he was fairly certain every clack of railing underfoot came in intervals mildly slower. Throwing his eyes forward wasn¡¯t helping, as he¡¯d somewhat doubted it would--in the end, they were speeding forever into thickened darkness regardless. Only flooding lights, uselessly yellowed as they splashed onto the tracks ahead, served to carve a path forward. It was a terrible angle with which to note velocity.

    If nothing else, the tiny arrow wobbling within the confines of the little gauge had dipped ever lower. No longer did the pointed tip hover anywhere adjacent to the color red. It was probably a good thing. Josiah¡¯s grip relaxing around the lever was a fair confirmation of the shared thought.

    Harper clapped. It was as much of a reflex as it was a conscious choice.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to run you over,¡± Josiah spoke slowly, his voice low and utterly drenched in poison.

    ¡°Now what?¡± Harper deflected, beaming regardless.

    It took Josiah more than a moment to find his composure in the wake of abject aggravation. ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to keep track of the speed all the way there. There¡¯s no reason we should have an issue with fuel. This one¡¯s the fuel gauge, I¡¯m pretty sure.¡±

    He pointed to yet another rounded pane accordingly, one more shuddering sliver of metal staring back at him from within. His gestures traveled to others in turn. ¡°That one¡¯s¡­the temperature, I think. That one¡¯s definitely the power. This one is probably pressure for the--¡±

    ¡°See? I told you you could do it,¡± Harper praised, leaning in far closer than was necessary. ¡°Look at you go. Great job, conductor.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s hands were free this time. Ultimately, it was Harper¡¯s fault for pressing his luck. He hardly managed to evade quickly enough. The boy outright lunged, his fingers falling just shy of where Harper¡¯s neck had been seconds before. The latter laughed. The former pelted him with obscenities where violence was useless.

    It took yet more time for Josiah to gather his composure, and Harper was fairly certain the window required to regenerate tranquility was gradually increasing. It was still fun. As such, he had no plans to stop. Josiah¡¯s hands were once again on a collision course with his hair, and no amount of running his fingers through frazzled waves again and again had sufficed. It wasn¡¯t in his best interests to close his eyes while operating a moving train, and yet he did so regardless.

    As a result, Harper noticed the flashing first. The faint, flickering scarlet in his peripheral vision was as miniscule as it was notable. He followed it down, one little filament nestled tenderly behind tiny glass. Adrift in the sea of dials and indicators it neighbored, it was unidentifiable. It was new. It came with a switch, cream-tinted and absolutely unremarkable. He stared for no less than ten continuous seconds, and still it flickered in steady, repetitive silence. Harper, too, was silent, tilting his head.

    He was silent for just long enough that Josiah came to open his eyes once more, initially staring at the quiet Maestro with confusion. Eventually, he followed Harper¡¯s gaze much the same, settling neatly on the subtle flash of red upon the dashboard. He blinked.

    Their eyes met instead. Down once more they drifted in tandem, and yet again they reconvened. Harper slowly fixed one pointed finger on the little light.

    ¡°Yes, I see it,¡± Josiah muttered, rubbing his temples.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it was doing that before.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he spat.

    ¡°Is that bad?¡±

    ¡°Is it, Harper? Is it bad? Why don¡¯t you tell me if it¡¯s bad?¡±

    Harper was content to challenge the blinking indicator with his eyes as he spoke. ¡°Do you have any guesses?¡±

    He strongly entertained adding ¡°conductor¡± in there, somewhere. Still, if he were to incur the same aggression again, he wouldn¡¯t get his answer. He temporarily shelved his torment.

    Josiah sighed, leaning slightly closer to the light in question. ¡°It¡­might have something to do with the speed. It¡­didn¡¯t come on until I messed with that, so that¡¯s my first guess. It could be anything.¡±

    ¡°Do you actually feel like something¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes drifted towards the myriad of gauges to the left, clustered and ticking as they were. ¡°I mean, no, nothing looks bad on the surface. I like to imagine I¡¯m reading these correctly. The speed one still looks fine. Maybe it¡¯s something we haven¡¯t accounted for yet? That¡¯s all of the gauges, at least, but I haven¡¯t checked the--¡±

    The switch was easy enough to flip. One tiny click stifled the ceaseless blinking, condemning the little light to darkness once more. Harper smiled. Every emotion of distress imaginable took turns plaguing Josiah¡¯s face one by one. He settled on a scowl.

    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± he shouted, gesturing aggressively with his arms. If Josiah could reach his neck, Harper suspected he would¡¯ve tried--again.

    He only clung to his bright smile, resting his hands comfortably behind his back. ¡°I mean, you said everything was fine, so I turned it off. At least, I think that¡¯s what I did. Now, you have one less thing to worry about. I helped.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t even know what that light does! That could¡¯ve been something extremely important!¡±

    Harper tilted his head towards the metal lever once grasped with caution. ¡°I mean, you didn¡¯t know what that thing did, and you still tried it. It all worked out. That¡¯s part of the fun.¡±

    ¡°Nothing about this is fun!¡± Josiah screamed. ¡°Nothing about this whole situation is--¡±

    He never finished. Harper briefly came to the conclusion he¡¯d genuinely made a sizable error--the lights beyond the abundant glass, if he had to guess, were surely compromised by his reckless touch. Where they¡¯d once spilled so half-heartedly onto wooden tracks evaporating beneath, their yellow-tinted glow was now excessive. It was sudden, bursting, explosive in a manner that outright startled him.

    For more than a moment, they were flooded with the sun. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he shielded his face with his arms. Even then, the luminescence that breached their glassy barrier left the cabin pooling with the softest of golds. Josiah was silent at his side, and Harper was cursed to endure the full brunt of only surging brilliance for what felt like an eternity.

    When it waned at last, he still hesitated to open his eyes. They watered all the way there, and he blinked several times over. The steady light besieging the tracks ahead paled in comparison, on closer inspection. His pained pupils flickered to Josiah.

    ¡°Okay, that wasn¡¯t my fault, right?¡±

    Josiah was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed forward towards the stretching mountains beyond. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­think that was either of us, actually.¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes drifted towards the ceiling. ¡°Was that--¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡±

    This time, his glowing smile was born of something much more than teasing. ¡°I wonder how they¡¯re doing up there.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll be fine,¡± Josiah offered calmly. ¡°They¡¯re strong. They¡¯ve got each other. They have their job, and we have ours.¡±

    Harper spared a glance to the floor for the first time since their entry. The former conductor was more than unconscious and more than prone, his breaths visible with every rise and fall of his shoulders. He still wasn¡¯t dead. Whether or not he¡¯d be fully lucid before they reached Solenford was debatable. As it stood, Harper much preferred his replacement.

    ¡°You feel like you¡¯ve got the hang of it?¡± he tried, just a hint of playfulness tinting his tone.

    Josiah sighed. ¡°For now. We¡¯re screwed when we get closer. You know that, right? It¡¯s gonna take me a little while to figure out where the regular brakes are. I don¡¯t want to have to use the emergency brakes if I can help it. I¡¯m worried they¡¯re going to be too sharp once we stop. I don¡¯t really want to touch more than I have to, but I¡¯m probably going to have to mess with the--¡±

    It was too easy.

    ¡°So now we¡¯ve got a fearless leader,¡± Harper teased, ¡°and we¡¯ve got a fearless conductor.¡±

    Of every instrument and fixture within the cabin, Harper¡¯s attention had fallen almost exclusively to that which was within reach of his fingertips. At no point had his gaze ambled aloft for longer than was necessary. He hadn¡¯t noticed the chain dangling from the ceiling, swaying in the absolute slightest beneath the forward motions of the train. Josiah had noticed it, apparently.

    For all of his talk of guessing and calculated deductions as to various purposes, he didn¡¯t hesitate. In one swift motion, his arm was raised, his fingers gripped the handle, and he locked eyes with Harper forever. He jerked his arm downwards so violently that Harper wondered if he¡¯d break it altogether. The sound was intolerable. Not once did Josiah look away.

    Harper physically recoiled. From the front of the train, the whistle was impossibly loud. Still, Josiah didn¡¯t budge, fighting with his icy glare alone to slice the Willful Maestro to pieces. Where that failed, he sought to shatter his eardrums. It took far, far too long for him to stop. When he at last released the handle, the sudden absence of sound left Harper¡¯s ears ringing for a moment. He blinked.

    ¡°And¡­what was the purpose of that, then?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    Every word was slow and razor-edged. ¡°Because I¡¯m the conductor,¡± Josiah began, ¡°and I can do whatever I want.¡±

 53. Pressure

    The moment in which Octavia''s feet touched the ground in Solenford was bittersweet. The sweetness was fleeting, miniscule and flavored only to the tune of ten days of monotony--and one additional night of agony. Absolutely everything else conceivable was bitter. The worst of it was likely to be found in muscle memory, her own steps a magnet for the place that had already stolen away so much.

    She¡¯d already burned its visage well into her mind, following a route she¡¯d mentally retraced dozens of times over. So, too, had she been forced to walk the same steps through brighter eyes. She¡¯d done so with stronger hands, bigger dreams, and ambitions that would bleed into disaster after disaster with false remorse. If Octavia forgot the path to SIAR, she was no longer worthy of challenging it again.

    It was, at least, a time not so blessed by the moon that had watched over the bloodshed before. The sun, in exchange, had just barely begun its ascent, the faintest crest of morning pressing against the furthest edge of the horizon. The twinkling stars that had accompanied her harrowing voyage had begun to flicker and fade, sinking away into the backdrop of dawn. The sky wasn''t yet flecked with the soft pinks and flaming oranges that hallmarked true sunrise, still largely draped in the fleeting coat of night. It was different than last time, and simultaneously not. The fact that there was a second time at all should¡¯ve elicited far more of a reaction from her.

    It hadn¡¯t been that long ago, technically. Octavia could count the weeks backwards on a calendar, if she so chose. Last time, at least, she somewhat knew what to expect. As to her second encounter, freed of the crushing shackles of rage, she was going in utterly blind. Whether the feeling was better or worse, she couldn¡¯t tell.

    The walk was nearly silent. The sentiment was widespread, apprehension tinted with just a hint of fear. Only on occasion was there any brief dialogue. Any semblance of communication--relevant or irrelevant to the situation that awaited them--came in crumbs.

    ¡°Will there be staff there again?¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°There were a lot of them last time,¡± Harper answered. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if not much has changed. It¡­hasn¡¯t been that long.¡±

    ¡°Be ready for anything,¡± Josiah added.

    And when silence overtook them yet again, it wasn¡¯t unexpected. Octavia steeped in it, for what was to come. She doubted it would last.

    ¡°What are we looking for, exactly?¡± Renato tried, breaking the fragile peace once more.

    Octavia didn¡¯t have an excellent response. ¡°Anything. Anyone.¡±

    He didn¡¯t let it go. ¡°That doesn¡¯t help much.¡±

    ¡°Things¡­you know, related to¡­any of this. Things related to him. People related to him. This was his home. This was his everything. I can¡¯t say with certainty that the answer for every problem we have is in there. Still, if it¡¯s about my sister, then I can at least count on that.¡±

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± Renato said plainly. ¡°Guess we can work with that.¡±

    There had been numerous times in which Octavia had questioned her instincts, the lingering feelings in the pit of her stomach that had taken hold and steered her to places she¡¯d never imagined existed. On her last trip here, she¡¯d been confident. Even now, with so little to guide her aside from a sinking feeling and the heavy weight of a toll she couldn¡¯t unsee, she still felt the same. There was something. As to what it was, she couldn¡¯t begin to guess. It was a tainted confidence.

    Logically, she knew she had options. Barring the initial resistance she could be expected to face at the hands of the highly-trained SIAR staff, it would largely be an investigative process. She could recall the general layout, both by her own memory and by the extensive tours her own eyesight had granted her through the world of a heinous toll. It still left much to be desired, gaping wings unexplored and aged memories doing injustice to the state of the place today.

    Getting around would be tricky, if not time-consuming alone. Still, it wasn¡¯t as though they confronted SIAR with a singular and soul-devouring goal twice over. Octavia had grown greedy. If she had to turn the entire building inside-out this time, she would. If she had to take any unfortunate occupants with her in the process, she had few qualms about doing that, too. Drey¡¯s cover story was irrelevant. At this point, all who called SIAR home were within her righteous line of fire.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Madrigal said.

    It was a sight any of them would be remiss to forget. The same stark-white architectural marvel, crowned by the same deceptively-beautiful foreground of beloved flora, was just as Octavia had envisioned in her nightmares. The garden was still a radiant rainbow of tender petals clinging to a thicket that guided her way. The ominous doors still stood proud, guardians of the harrowing secrets and decrepit artifacts beyond their protection. The fountain still sang softly with the ambient sounds of its spray, the singular interruption to their loaded silence. It was every bit as breathtaking as she remembered, if not more so with her eyes unblinded by raw hatred.

    There was a new perspective to be found post-toll--one that she continued to trample upon and beat down to the best of her ability. Octavia loathed considering his view, she resented acknowledging his dreams, and she found only pain in recalling the depths of his purer ambitions. Before her eyes was all the man could ever have wanted, and she was once again close enough to reach out and touch his passion herself. With her hesitant gaze upon every rose, every carnation, every last blossom that clung to the circling bushes, Cadence¡¯s touch was nowhere to be seen. In that way, just maybe, it wasn¡¯t the same place at all.

    Her feet stopped somewhere in the midst of her approach to the doors. The institute¡¯s visage alone was the point of no return, ultimately. It was again that silence largely poisoned the atmosphere, shattered only by the apprehensive sounds of case locks clicking and zippers unzipping. Octavia didn¡¯t need to fear for the violin¡¯s home, content to leave it ajar and discarded in the grass. She¡¯d be back for it. All that mattered was Stradivaria at her side, again tucked tightly against her chest. To have him in her heart was equally as important.

    Stay with me, okay?

    There is nowhere else I would go.

    That was enough, weak as it was. This, too, was one more difference from her last voyage to the vile institute. For as sick as she felt dragging the others down with her, he¡¯d at least been involved from the start--long before herself, in the hands of another. Perhaps his pain in this place predated her own.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ready whenever you are,¡± Viola offered quietly, raising Silver Brevada in a display of preparedness.

    ¡°Do we have a plan?¡± Harper asked.

    They¡¯d already danced around the subject, and Octavia was still no closer to an answer. Still, this was her own mess. ¡°Clear out whoever¡¯s inside first. There¡¯s¡­probably going to be people trying to hurt us again. We¡¯ll take them out, and¡­see what we can find from there. We¡¯ll go over everything. There¡¯s something here. I know it.¡±

    ¡°Fight first, search later,¡± Josiah interpreted. ¡°Am I understanding that right?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure how far he¡¯d get with the knife, once more poised to defend whatever he possibly could. Still, the sentiment was there, and she appreciated it. ¡°Yeah. More or¡­less.¡±

    Madrigal nodded, settling her fingers into position over the strings of Lyra¡¯s Repose. ¡°Then we¡¯ll--¡±

    ¡°You guys, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Octavia interrupted suddenly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for dragging you into this. I¡¯m sorry for dragging you all back here again, and putting you all in danger for a second time. I¡¯m following my heart again, and I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯m doing. I don¡¯t even know if all of the answers we¡¯re looking for are here. I just...pulled you all down with me to find my own. You don¡¯t have to do this with me if you don¡¯t want to.¡±

    They gave her the pause she deserved, her heart pounding as she soaked up the discomfort that came with uncertainty. Even now, Octavia could hardly bring herself to make eye contact with any of them. Her gaze clung to the grass, and she was left to stew in her own doubts.

    This was a bad idea. All of this was a bad idea, and she was full of them. Her own twisted domino effect had already endangered their lives once tonight, and they hadn¡¯t so much as stepped foot inside the institute yet.

    It was Viola¡¯s hand clamping down on her shoulder that shook her, a strong and unbroken smile awaiting when she raised her head.

    ¡°Do you seriously think we¡¯re gonna back out now? You¡¯re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of us, Ambassador.¡±

    Her fingers curled against Stradivaria¡¯s body uncomfortably. ¡°I-I¡­but--¡±

    ¡°We won¡¯t leave you. Even if we can¡¯t solve our problems in one go, we¡¯re here for yours. We¡¯re here for you. The things that hurt you are important, too. If it was any one of us, we know you¡¯d fight like hell on our behalf,¡± she reassured.

    ¡°And you already have,¡± Harper added with a grin.

    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna try that hard for things that don¡¯t concern you,¡± Josiah continued, ¡°then you need to at least let us do the same. It¡¯s what you deserve.¡±

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°And no matter what happens, we¡¯ll figure everything out together. We¡¯ll always be a team, and we¡¯ll always have our leader!¡±

    ¡°Our fearless leader,¡± Viola said with gleaming eyes of her own.

    Their words were warm, and her heart was much the same. She treasured the feeling of Viola¡¯s hand on her shoulder, her touch oozing with strength. With the glint of their Harmonial Instruments just barely capturing the last stray flecks of moonlight as it passed them by, their determination was contagious. What she should have brought of her own accord, she found within those she¡¯d chosen to love instead. It was a feeling far too wonderful for as awful a place as this.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s¡­do this,¡± Octavia said, hints of doubt still dripping from her voice.

    There was nothing more. Her four words of hollow confidence were permission enough. In unison, they moved with resolve towards the building that offered up and stole so much from her all at once. Their footsteps were haphazard, uneven as they passed to fall in adjacent to her side. Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted over each in turn as they walked, desperate to express some semblance of gratitude in the face of the unknown that awaited them. Four sets of eyes met her gaze with resolution to ail her concerns, filling in where she felt weakest.

    She couldn¡¯t find the fifth. Alone in her momentary search, her eyes chasing her surroundings, it took her a moment. Wide eyes weren''t meant for her, cast only to the building before them. That gaze lagged behind substantially, closer even to the place in which she¡¯d abandoned Stradivaria¡¯s case than the doors themselves.

    That gaze was unbroken, unbending as it drank in every last detail of SIAR¡¯s visage from the perfect distance. That gaze had gone far beyond the glassiness she¡¯d found in passing on several unfortunate occasions. Glass had shattered beneath the weight of fear, unrestrained and splashed plain as day across every flickering movement of those eyes. No amount of fervent, rapid blinking was driving it out. It was stained, permanent. It was raw.

    ¡°Renato?¡± Octavia called softly.

    He didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she found motions she¡¯d recognized previously, muted manifestations of an encounter she lamented on his behalf. His shoulders rose and fell faster, the false hands that clung mercilessly to Mistral Asunder now shaking at his sides. Still, he wouldn¡¯t look away, transfixed in the worst possible way by the looming presence of the institute before him. He was frozen in place, utterly motionless save for the immense efforts that came with laborious breaths.

    ¡°Renato,¡± she tried again, her voice firmer in the absolute slightest.

    His horrified eyes snapped to hers. It burned.

    ¡°Renato, you coming?¡± Harper called instead. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    He wouldn¡¯t look away from Octavia. His terror was boring holes down into her soul, holding onto her for dear life. Under the crushing pressure of his silent scream, she, too, was at risk of crumbling. It was Octavia who worried she¡¯d lose her breath.

    In the slowest, most subtle motion he could manage, eyes locked with hers forever, she watched as Renato shook his head wordlessly.

    ¡°Renato?¡± Madrigal asked aloud, hesitant steps slowing to a halt.

    Again, he shook his head, his gaze given to Octavia alone.

    By now, every footstep was still, all eyes cast over shoulders at the boy whose breathing grew steadily more ragged. It was by no means loud--physically, at least. The sounds his panic made to Octavia¡¯s heart were intolerable all the same. He shook his head faster, eyes widening ever further upon hers.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Renato said. His trembling voice was so tiny that Octavia almost didn¡¯t catch it.

    She made for him in the lightest of jogs, arms still tightly embracing Stradivaria as it jostled against her body. The sound of the grass rustling beneath her every step paled in comparison to the volume of his unspoken cries. So hard did he grip either drumstick that she was all but certain they would snap clean in half. Octavia knew the other four were watching. She didn¡¯t care.

    ¡°Talk to me,¡± she pleaded in a whisper, coming to a halt just inches from the petrified Maestro.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Renato whispered back. ¡°I can¡¯t do this.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Renato--¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do this again. I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± she murmured. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°I thought it¡¯d be fine, I thought I¡¯d be fine, but I¡¯m here, and it¡¯s¡­¡±

    When she saw his fearful eyes begin to drift to the cherry oak grasping his partners, Octavia struggled to recapture his full attention. ¡°Stay here. Just stay here and wait. We can take care of this.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to do that to you,¡± Renato whispered urgently, his voice cracking.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on?¡± Josiah asked.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°Give me a minute,¡± Octavia answered, her tone a bit more biting than intended.

    ¡°I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t,¡± Renato repeated, breathing faster every second.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± she repeated in turn. ¡°No one¡¯s gonna make you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all¡­gonna be fine,¡± Harper tried gently. ¡°We¡¯ll look out for each other.¡±

    It was sinking in, a circulating realization that Octavia resented the escape of just as much as Renato feared it. She found the tears that had begun to tinge the edges of his eyes, unshed and bound by alarm.

    ¡°We won¡¯t let anyone get hurt,¡± Madrigal declared, her voice as firm as her gaze.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he whispered simply, each syllable compromised and exceedingly unsteady.

    ¡°Renato,¡± Octavia offered back, her own voice strained despite her best efforts.

    ¡°Trust us,¡± Josiah said. ¡°Please.¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°It¡¯ll all work out.¡±

    Again, with his eyes upon her alone, Renato shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t. Please, I can¡¯t.¡±

    Harper smiled softly. ¡°Renato, come on, it¡¯ll be okay. I promise. We¡¯ll all--¡±

    ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Octavia snapped.

    While Harper¡¯s expression of shock and hurt was enough to mark her outburst as personal, it was far from such. Ideally, it was well understood. Angry eyes traveled over each of the four, defensive and panicked in her own way.

    ¡°If he¡­doesn¡¯t want to go, then don¡¯t pressure him,¡± Octavia growled, somewhat more muted. ¡°Please.¡±

    The ¡°please¡± was largely for emphasis over gentleness, confusion at her harsh words echoing on their faces even now. It was still enough to shut them up. They got the message. Octavia did what she could to swallow the remainder of her aggravation, satisfied with their silence. Renato¡¯s well-being took priority over aggression.

    I knew this would happen.

    It was a voice that came not from aloud, born somewhere within. Octavia blinked.

    Is this the extent of your resolve, then?

    They were voices not meant for her.

    ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    They were voices that tore Renato¡¯s eyes from the Ambassador''s, distant and unfocused instead of secure where she could hold his gaze. They were voices no amount of shouting would silence. Her heart pounded heavily, and she perhaps outmatched his own.

    This is not who you are. This is not who we know you to be.

    Is the one we begrudgingly call our own, then, a farce? Is this who you truly are?

    Even as we have blessed you with so much, still you would crumble in doubt?

    Still you would squander the strength that has been willingly given to you?

    Renato grasped at his head, any desperate physical attempts to stifle their voices utterly fruitless. ¡°That¡¯s not it,¡± he murmured frantically. ¡°That¡¯s not it!¡±

    That you would stand and tremble like a child in the face of adversity, have you no pride?

    Have you no shame?

    Where is your resilience?

    Where is your drive?

    ¡°Please stop,¡± he sobbed in a hoarse whisper.

    For all the chances you have been given, for we who have been so merciful to you?

    For we who held on to the fire in your eyes, long after that time?

    After you were broken?

    And whose fault was that, honestly?

    ¡°Knock it off!¡± Octavia shouted, nearly dropping Stradivaria as she gripped one of Renato¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Leave him alone!¡±

    Your arrogance becomes you.

    And what that entails is well-deserved.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Renato cried, eyes wide with horror. The cherry oak his partners mocked with such disdain gripped the sides of his face without remorse. Either end of Mistral Asunder dug squarely into his skin, leaving notable indents. He wasn¡¯t fazed, tears once just barely restrained now pooling in his palms.

    This is cowardice.

    This is undignified.

    Are you dishonorable, then?

    Are you weak?

    ¡°I am weak!¡± he screamed, his quivering voice so loud that Octavia jumped.

    In her surprise, she withdrew her hand sharply, her own tears lying in wait. She didn¡¯t need to turn around to gauge the confused reactions of those who watched on. She could imagine their faces well enough, a backdrop to his agony at the moment. Octavia made to open her mouth, to hunt for any platitudes to ease his suffering in any manner. Renato didn¡¯t give her the chance to try, shameful eyes discarded into the dirt at her feet.

    ¡°I am weak,¡± he sobbed softly. ¡°I¡¯m fine with that. I¡¯m not gonna deny that. You want my resolve? Then I¡¯ll stare this place down and let that weakness hit me over and over until I can¡¯t friggin¡¯ stand up anymore, because that¡¯s what I get for the stupid mistakes I make.¡±

    Every bitter tear that slipped between his fingers snuck through the cracks of Octavia¡¯s heart. ¡°I will live with that weakness,¡± Renato breathed, ¡°but until the day I die, I am not going in there again.¡±

    The haunting voices of the two Strong Muses ceased, their torment seemingly satisfied by his miserable confession. It still left him falling apart, crumbling in front of that which had stolen so much of himself away. If Octavia were to regret bringing along support for her cause, then it was Renato she kicked herself for most of all. She¡¯d been cruel. She¡¯d taken a word of which she should¡¯ve known better.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­fine here. We¡¯ll be okay. Thank you for just¡­being here, with me,¡± Octavia whispered.

    He didn¡¯t respond. In place of words, his head hung, the brim of his hat frustratingly stealing his eyes from her once more. His weeping was subtle, as were the tears that dropped directly into the grass. Even now, Renato refused to release his iron grip upon Mistral Asunder. His shoulders shook.

    ¡°I appreciate you,¡± Octavia murmured regardless. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­be back, okay?¡±

    The nod she hoped for never came, his posture identical and his actions much the same. Still, she at least could be sure her words weren¡¯t lost on him. She entertained the idea of countering his self-loathing, showering Renato with insistence as to his strength. The risk of hurting him further ached to think about.

    Instead, Octavia swallowed her words and turned away. Her path towards the institute that had killed the boy inside was charted with far different emotion than he himself harbored. The act of returning to her mission almost felt disrespectful, uniquely cruel in a way she couldn¡¯t avoid. The concept of leaving him there to drown in self-hatred was a pain all its own. She took steps she didn¡¯t want to take, lined with lead for more reasons than one.

    Those who¡¯d stilled to watch the sorrowful spectacle now watched her slow approach with equal discomfort. They tensed as she passed them by, her outburst surely still fresh. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly regret it just yet.

    ¡°Is he¡­going to be okay?¡± Madrigal asked, her own voice wobbling somewhat.

    Octavia sighed heavily, willing herself to adjust her hold on Stradivaria instead. ¡°Just¡­give him some space. Leave him be. We¡¯ll take care of this and reconvene later.¡±

    She loathed the way several of them tossed Renato looks of pity, offering concern for a flavor of hurt they couldn¡¯t understand. The thought felt almost self-centered, somehow. She chose to cling to it nonetheless. Even so, she was far from immune to the same, hardly able to tear her gaze away from the broken boy she left in her wake. Even before Octavia had stepped beyond its doors, SIAR was already draining the love and joy from her life yet again.

    <hr>

    It was empty.

    Her highly-valid assumption that SIAR, constantly open as it was, would harbor a notable quantity of staff was quickly proven incorrect. There wasn''t so much as a handful, nor a single face that greeted them upon entry--hostile or neutral alike. Every echoing footstep that bounced off the tile was one thousand times louder, the horrific silence within sending a fierce chill down Octavia¡¯s spine. She was hesitant to make any sound at all, half-convinced that something awaited around every corner. Even with another four people at her back, equally armed, she was still just as unsettled and just as vulnerable.

    The interior, too, was exactly as she¡¯d remembered, if not exuding an even emptier aura in the midst of their isolation. It was still unapologetically white on every wall and well above her head. It was still unapologetically marble beneath every hesitant clack of her boots. It was still speckled in passing with works that meant nothing, paintings that hung where she didn¡¯t care, and sculptures that stood where she¡¯d sought to forget. It was fitting, then, that the first places her eyes went to upon entry were those where marble had met red twice over. Not a trace of their spilled sorrow was left. It was as much of an insult to the two Drey had forsaken before her as it was a relief.

    ¡°There¡¯s¡­no one here?¡± Harper observed aloud, wincing at the resounding echo that followed his words.

    ¡°Seems that way,¡± Josiah answered in a voice somewhat quieter. Devoid of company or not, he still declined to lower his raised blade. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like this before.¡±

    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be like this at all,¡± Octavia added. ¡°There¡¯s¡­supposed to be people. That¡¯s how this place works.¡±

    ¡°There might still be people,¡± Viola said sharply. She, too, was armed, Silver Brevada poised inches from her lips even now. ¡°Don¡¯t let your guard down. We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re up against.¡±

    Madrigal shivered. ¡°There might be an ambush. Let¡¯s¡­be really careful, okay?¡±

    As much as Octavia despised the idea, she wasn¡¯t particularly inclined to disagree. She nodded, disregarding the second chill that slipped down her spine as much as she could.

    ¡°Where do we start, then?¡± Harper finally asked.

    Octavia had been dreading that question, somewhat. The sheer silence of the building was jarring enough that it had set her back to square one, nervously reformulating some semblance of a safe approach towards investigation. She let her eyes wander, scanning the oversized lobby to the best of her ability. She¡¯d had ideas, and none had been exceedingly safe thus far. The one with which she was left upon observation felt even more harrowing.

    The most notable feature of SIAR was, perhaps, the four wings that ran far from the lobby¡¯s embrace. They, too, were just as she remembered, their mouths gaping and unhindered by barriers of any kind. Evenly-spaced as they were, deep hallways scurrying away along multiple paths, she had options. Octavia racked her brain to remember which was which, dipping into the pool of residual memories she¡¯d sought to cling to well after the passage of Drey¡¯s toll.

    Of the northeastern wing, she was positive she would find the scene of her own crimes, unforgettable no matter how hard she tried--a storage unit in which she¡¯d tangled with death and ruin at the hands of one ruthless man. She hated that she could rule it out at all.

    She knew one wing to be a laboratory, if Cadence¡¯s memories were anything to go by. Given the urgency of her prior visit, she¡¯d never had the chance to actually explore it herself--let alone the other two. Whether the western, northwestern, or eastern wing called the restoration hub and all of its chemicals home, she had no clue. What lay beyond those which remained was an equal mystery.

    Octavia cursed herself for her inability to slow time that wasn¡¯t hers. Ideally, she could pick and choose again which of Drey¡¯s memories to dissect frame by frame in search of his every step. She cursed herself for wanting to relive any time through his eyes at all. Even now, part of her hoped he was waiting in a storage unit once more, ready to swallow her light and burn to ashes twice over. Twice, perhaps, still wasn¡¯t enough.

    Of the four hallways, three were pitch-black, uninviting and blighted by darkness that threatened her passage. It was the one that stood alone, illuminated with the standard lighting she¡¯d seen once before, that caught her attention the most. In isolation of its own kind, that was perhaps the most eerie of all.

    ¡°That one¡¯s¡­lit,¡± Octavia mumbled.

    ¡°That¡¯s kind of ominous, isn¡¯t it?¡± Harper muttered nervously.

    Viola narrowed her eyes at the pathway in question. ¡°Does that mean someone is here, then?¡±

    ¡°Do we know what¡¯s back there?¡± Madrigal asked.

    It was the northwestern wing, neighboring the fateful place in which she¡¯d drawn blood. She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that one is. I know the one next to it is some kind of storage unit. One of these is a laboratory. The other two¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You saw Drey¡¯s toll,¡± Josiah tried. ¡°Did you¡­see anything that would point you towards anywhere meaningful?¡±

    He had the same idea. It was no more fruitful, and she shook her head. ¡°This is all I really have to work with, from what I can remember.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t following the one that¡¯s actually lit up be the best place to start?¡± Harper offered.

    Now it was Viola, instead, who shook her head in turn. ¡°What Madrigal said about an ambush is still valid. It really could be a trap.¡±

    ¡°But what if this one isn''t?¡± the Maestra in question countered. ¡°What if there really is someone?¡±

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯re reading too much into this,¡± Josiah muttered. ¡°We¡¯re not exactly in a rush. We¡¯ve¡­got time. There¡¯s not a lot of harm in checking.¡±

    ¡°Provided there¡¯s no interruptions,¡± Viola said instead. ¡°We might not have as much time as you think, depending on what happens.¡±

    ¡°If something happens.¡±

    ¡°Then should we split up? To cover more ground?¡± Harper offered.

    ¡°No,¡± Octavia nearly cried, just barely reining in her voice at the last second. ¡°We can¡¯t split up. Not in here. Not¡­not in this place. Please.¡±

    He gulped. ¡°R-Right.¡±

    ¡°In that case, what do you want to do?¡± Viola asked, turning to her instead.

    There wasn¡¯t particularly a correct answer. In actuality, even the storage unit couldn¡¯t be ruled out. In any other context, the idea of playing detective might¡¯ve been interesting. In SIAR, even alone as they were, it was Hell. Octavia took the path of least resistance, one hesitant finger following the stagnant lights. ¡°That one, then. We¡¯ll¡­have to check them all anyway, eventually.¡±

    Frankly, that philosophy had been ruining her for the past several weeks. A little more indulgence wouldn¡¯t kill her.

    There was no resistance or disagreement, the Maestros not daring to counter the words of the Ambassador--nor their fearless leader. Even aware of that much, having them at her back as she walked still felt more vulnerable than it did protective. Octavia chalked it up to the aura of SIAR itself, wrapping her up in its grasp and suffocating her in deadly silence. If it was possible to be anxious on behalf of another, she carried four loaded worries that weren''t her own on her shoulders.

    Octavia was just as hesitant to actually step into the path of the northwestern wing as she¡¯d been to implicate it, her heart pounding over the idea of whatever lay beyond. Unlike that of the northeastern wing, if memory served, there was no overwhelming mess of twists and turns. There was no abundance of doors, no confusing pathways that trailed off to who-knew-where. It was long, barren, and painstakingly white in every direction.

    Marble still touched her soles with each apprehensive movement forward. The singular discrepancy at the end of a straight shot, well over what she surmised to be at least a three-minute walk, was a lonely curve to a hard left. Anything further, even illuminated in tandem as it was, was beyond her sight. Wherever this went, it plunged deep into the heart of SIAR.

    Octavia didn¡¯t realize she was holding Viola¡¯s hand until after the fact. If the latter minded, she made no indication. She squeezed gently. Octavia squeezed back.

    ¡°So the¡­things that don¡¯t add up,¡± Harper began. ¡°There¡¯s my whole¡­situation, both with the attacks and with Holly and Ivy. There¡¯s Viola¡¯s father. There¡¯s Madrigal¡¯s brother and the letter he got. There¡¯s Octavia¡¯s sister, the thing with those letters.¡±

    ¡°Both of them,¡± Octavia continued, picking up where he left off. ¡°One with the photos and one with the toll. There¡¯s the fact that someone covered up Drey¡¯s death, too.¡±

    ¡°And someone knows you¡¯re the Ambassador, I think,¡± Madrigal added. ¡°If not, how would they send you that message about the toll?¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola asked, ¡°did you see anything else in Drey¡¯s toll that was different than what you already knew about him?¡±

    It was a loaded question. She squeezed Viola¡¯s hand again. ¡°A lot. I don¡¯t even know where to begin. I told you guys the highlights already, but there was just¡­so much. The only thing I know is that if it¡¯s something related to Priscilla, it¡¯s probably related to him, too.¡±

    The simple mention of Priscilla¡¯s name was tense. It was enough to stifle their words in place of soft, disorganized footsteps. Octavia held the syllables on her tongue, savoring their sweet flavor in a building so foreboding. It was equally as warm as it was bitter.

    ¡°What was the relationship between them, exactly?¡± Josiah asked quietly, his question hesitant in its own right.

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. She still wasn¡¯t positive herself, let alone confident enough to answer. ¡°They were¡­friends, I think. Good friends. I hate to say it, but I think he might¡¯ve been telling the truth about that part. I just don¡¯t know why. They¡¯re such different people.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°Was Priscilla just that kind of person?¡±

    Hearing Priscilla¡¯s name from lips she trusted instead of lips she loathed felt warm. She half-heartedly wished she could hear it again. ¡°Yeah. She¡­made friends with everyone.¡±

    Josiah smirked. ¡°She sounds like you.¡±

    Regardless of the situation, the sentiment was enough to bless Octavia with the tiniest smile she could muster. ¡°You guys would¡¯ve liked her.¡±

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°You make her sound so wonderful. How could we not?¡±

    ¡°She was wonderful,¡± Octavia breathed, her heart warm with the thought alone. ¡°She was kind, and she was brave, and she was¡­everything. It would¡­honestly be really fun for all of us to spend time together. If she were here, I think she would--¡±

    It was sudden, indifferent to her love.

    Her words were stolen in an instant, a silence once filled with adoration instead shattered by every sense failing her at once. Her sight, sound, touch, and everything else that came with them were assailed in an instant, so violently that she was all but certain she was dreaming. Time slowed to a standstill, her hand still lingering peacefully in Viola¡¯s, as the marble beneath her feet erupted without remorse.

 54. Collateral Damage

    Usually and unfortunately, when Octavia¡¯s ears rang and her head spun, it was a byproduct of the hazy violet agony that sought to ruin her life. This time, it was every complication at once, multiplied by one thousand. For a moment, she outright couldn¡¯t hear, the ringing in her ears settling in alongside dizziness. Her eyes watered, besieged by true smoke and dust still lingering before her. Bits of something solid, miniscule and peppered across her body as they were, draped her from head to toe. Everything ached, the impact with the hard marble below leaving her bruised muscles pounding painfully.

    She wasn¡¯t sure if she¡¯d hit her head. Still, whatever blinding flash had followed in a split instant was enough to give her double vision for a while longer. It was only as her thoughts began to solidify and time freed her senses from their standstill that she noticed the emptiness in her hand, squeezing for nothing.

    Stradivaria was there, still wedged firmly between her arm and her body. Viola was not, her soft fingers having fled in the time it took to blink.

    ¡°Viola?¡± Octavia cried, sputtering as trespassing dust struggled to sneak into her mouth.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­here!¡± she heard, a soft call from a place unseen. Octavia cursed her limited visibility, struggling to raise one flailing hand.

    ¡°Where are you?¡± she tried desperately, the ringing in her ears gradually settling.

    The voice that answered her wasn¡¯t Viola¡¯s. It wasn¡¯t a voice at all, really. Instead, she caught an agonizing scream that dug deep into her stomach, endless and piercing. It surged with enough raw anguish that Octavia wished her ears would ring again.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± she heard Viola call to her at last.

    They definitely weren''t Viola¡¯s cries--particularly not at that level of horror and ferocity. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± Octavia reiterated in turn. ¡°What happened?¡±

    The dust, at last, was settling, and her watery eyes were free to rationalize. The lights that previously blinded her had largely dimmed above, still shining artificially down upon her with a muted glow. Every movement of her extremities touched upon something jagged and uneven. She ran her shaking fingers along the once-cool marble below, now notably hot to the touch all around. It didn¡¯t quite burn, although the shift in temperature was jarring enough to make her twitch.

    When she struggled her way into a sitting position, one of her forearms stung. On further inspection, her dress had been slashed, a patch of blue shredded just above a sizable abrasion. It wept, bleeding in the slightest. Octavia winced. The torturous screaming was ceaseless, and she still couldn¡¯t pinpoint it. It stung her ears far worse.

    ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± came Madrigal¡¯s voice, horrified.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Octavia called to her. She doubted she¡¯d get a valid answer.

    ¡°Oh my God.¡±

    With the three short, curt words she¡¯d caught from Josiah, his safety verified in some capacity, Octavia was both relieved and unnerved to hear the disbelief in his voice. ¡°Josiah?¡±

    She earned nothing more from him. All she found was ever more screaming, unbearable in the way it was beginning to make her heart race. Distantly, she heard rustling and movement in place of words.

    ¡°Josiah, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Octavia asked again, panic poisoning her veins.

    ¡°Don¡¯t come over here,¡± he shot back instantly.

    That wasn¡¯t a deterrent. Frankly, it sparked more of a morbid curiosity than anything. She fought to peel herself off the newly-uneven flooring faster, coughing with the effort of dispelling haunting dust.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Viola asked hurriedly in her stead.

    Madrigal¡¯s strangled whimper was nearly inaudible over the relentless screams, now mixed with ragged breaths of great distress. Octavia¡¯s heart dropped into her stomach. It was her fault for disobeying the singular demand Josiah had given her.

    ¡°Oh my God!¡± Viola cried, much the same.

    ¡°I said stay back!¡± Josiah snapped.

    Already, he was hard at work, his hands moving quickly as the supplies he¡¯d just refreshed were put to good use. Octavia had always wondered if tourniquets were painful, for how plain, thin rope would dig so tightly into bare skin. She supposed Harper¡¯s clothing helped with that, somewhat. It hadn¡¯t spared him in any capacity otherwise.

    Where Octavia had gotten off with minor injuries, largely in the form of bloodied scrapes and throbbing bruises, Harper had put her tiny suffering to shame. If the marble flooring had been sharp and uneven beneath her, at most, then it was outright shattered adjacent to him. Fractured shards of what was once swirling stone were scattered haphazardly around the boy. It was fitting, then, that his radius to such a blow had brought brutality in equal measure, punishing him with torture that made Octavia¡¯s stomach churn just to witness.

    Truthfully, it could¡¯ve been far worse, and Harper was lucky his right leg hadn¡¯t been blasted clean off his body. It still didn¡¯t make the wound he was left with any more tolerable, a deep, bloodied crevice that plunged well into his calf and wrapped neatly around to his shin. It wasn¡¯t even bloodied so much as it was exposed, giving way to unsettlingly-thick pockets of skin, muscle and possibly bone that Octavia was well aware she wasn¡¯t meant to be seeing. As could be expected, they wept fervently, leaking in earnest through the well-annihilated brown trousers that had once clung to his legs instead.

    Shredded as they were, the laceration was outright gaping, battered by flakes of the same sharp marble that had managed to crawl inside somewhere along the way. The scattered gashes adjacent to the wound that echoed the same, shallow by comparison and yet still oozing in their own right, only compounded his agony. ¡°Gruesome¡± was hardly a word that did the sight justice. It was downright sickening. His screams were an understatement.

    With her eyes wide with horror and her throat burning from nausea, Octavia couldn¡¯t help herself. ¡°Harper!¡± she screamed on her own.

    ¡°You have to move your hands,¡± she heard Josiah murmur.

    Curled into a ball as he was, his red-stained fingers grasping desperately at what of the wound they could cover, his breathing was rapid. Against the floor, Harper shook his head with just as much desperation, his cap brushing against the speckles of marble that scratched his face. He gritted his teeth, somewhere between sobbing and whimpering.

    ¡°I have to be able to see it,¡± Josiah continued softly, laying his hands upon Harper¡¯s trembling wrists. ¡°If you don¡¯t move, I¡¯m gonna have to hold you down. Don¡¯t make me do that.¡±

    Were it Octavia, she probably would¡¯ve required the latter. Harper never failed to amaze her, in that aspect, his fingers retreating in the slowest. The accompaniment of slower breathing, still racked with sounds of uncontrollable pain, still wasn¡¯t enough to ease her own suffering. She would¡¯ve dropped to her knees at his side, holding onto him for dear life, had Viola not beaten her to it.

    The Maestra clasped one of his bloodied hands in both of her own, her eyes flooding with as much terror as Octavia¡¯s. ¡°Harper,¡± she said simply, frantically.

    His eyes met hers, teary and leaking much the same as his injury. ¡°It hurts,¡± Harper sobbed. ¡°A lot.¡±

    Viola raised her eyes to Josiah instead, still just as panicked. ¡°What the hell happened?¡±

    He¡¯d chosen to attend to the smaller lacerations first, dabbing at them one by one with wet gauze that left Harper flinching. ¡°I have no idea. Something exploded, I think. From under us.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Viola asked.

    Josiah shook his head, already delving back into his bag once more. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It barely even damaged the friggin¡¯ walls. I¡¯m just as confused as you are, I promise.¡±

    His words were more than true, and Octavia hadn¡¯t even realized until they¡¯d left his mouth. It was as he¡¯d said, more or less--the damage to the white, barren embrace of the hall was limited, mostly confined to the tattered marble below. The blackened patches of paint that peeled from the walls were the only true indicators of damage, the architecture otherwise structurally sound. Well-intact as it was, the mysterious explosion had hardly made a dent. The concept of a disgusting little blast gifted personally to her alone was disorienting.

    ¡°Did a pipe burst or something?¡± Viola tried.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way a pipe bursting did that,¡± Josiah countered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­move,¡± she could hear Harper strain through those same gritted teeth, his breathing still exceedingly labored as his shoulders rose and fell quickly.

    Viola squeezed his hand. ¡°Take it easy,¡± she pleaded. ¡°Don¡¯t talk.¡±

    Slowly, with notable effort, he shook his head once more as tears splashed against his bangs. ¡°Might¡­be more¡­of them.¡±

    Viola recoiled. ¡°What?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach hurt. ¡°More¡­explosions? Or¡­whatever that was?¡±

    ¡°You think it was intentional?¡± Viola asked, wincing along with Harper''s jolts of pain.

    Even still, he found the strength to nod, grunting in distress as Josiah attended to his smaller injuries. ¡°I¡­It wouldn¡¯t be¡­out of the question.¡±

    ¡°Why the hell would someone try to blow up the building?¡± Josiah asked, somewhat louder than necessary. ¡°If it¡¯s Drey¡¯s people, what¡¯s the point in damaging his own place?¡±

    ¡°But what else could it be?¡± Viola argued. ¡°He has a point!¡±

    The idea of an intentional assault, even in passing, was enough to lead Octavia¡¯s fingers into place along Stradivaria¡¯s frets. ¡°I-I¡­we should go. This was a bad idea.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Harper interrupted sharply, his voice pointed enough to startle Octavia. ¡°We¡¯re¡­already here. We''ve made it¡­this far. Please don¡¯t stop...just because of--¡±

    He never finished. His words were replaced once more by the same bloodcurdling screams of agony as Josiah adjusted his lower leg. Even Josiah wasn¡¯t immune to Harper''s pain given sound, his face strained. ¡°Sorry. I have to.¡±

    No amount of Viola endlessly gripping Harper¡¯s hand was alleviating his torture, her own eyes watering instead. ¡°Just hang in there, okay? It¡¯s¡­gonna get better.¡±

    To Octavia¡¯s immense surprise, he nodded slowly, hollow eyes leaking in earnest out of reflex. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­be okay,¡± he breathed, his voice wobbling.

    The tiniest sound of Madrigal¡¯s own soft breathing at her side, ragged as it was in turn, drew Octavia¡¯s eyes for a moment. Deathly quiet as she¡¯d been, she¡¯d hardly made so much as a single motion. Instead, the Maestra was frozen still in place beside her as she drank in Harper¡¯s agony with wide-eyed dread. She, too, was no stranger to the panic that came with their situation, if the look on her face was any indication.

    Octavia watched the way, regardless, that her own trembling fingers inched towards the strings of Lyra¡¯s Repose, cradled delicately in her arms even now. With her terrified gaze locked on Harper alone, her breath quickened, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. When the very tip of her index finger had just begun to brush against one copper string, Harper¡¯s wandering, half-lidded gaze beat Octavia to the revelation by seconds.

    ¡°No!¡± he screamed, tearing his hand away from Viola¡¯s. It was with another scream, instead born once more of relentless hurt, that he threw both of his stained palms down firmly over his open wound. Again did he grit his teeth, struggling in vain to stifle the cries of pain that erupted involuntarily. This time, the fierce glare with which he pinned Madrigal spoke to something different, even in the midst of his suffering.

    Madrigal¡¯s lip quivered, her fingers still over the harp. ¡°But Harper!¡±

    Harper shook his head, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡±

    The bitter tears that teased the corners of Madrigal¡¯s own eyes escaped, slipping down her cheeks. ¡°Harper, please!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡± he growled.

    ¡°But I want to!¡± she sobbed. ¡°It¡¯s my decision!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you do that to yourself!¡± Harper snapped with surprising clarity, his breath still impaired as he winced with every movement.

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°It won¡¯t take that much away, I know it!¡±

    ¡°Your life is precious!¡± he cried. ¡°All of it! It doesn¡¯t matter how much! I won¡¯t let you do this!¡±

    Harper''s frantic, sharp eyes shot to Octavia¡¯s instead, full of determination she didn¡¯t expect in the depths of his suffering. ¡°Octavia, don¡¯t let her! You have to make sure she doesn¡¯t do it!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll heal,¡± Josiah offered to the sobbing Maestra, far softer by comparison. ¡°It¡¯s¡­fixable. He¡¯ll be fine with enough time. It¡¯s not gonna feel good, but he¡¯ll get better. This won¡¯t kill him. You don¡¯t have to hurt yourself like that.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s my lifespan,¡± Madrigal whimpered, her sorrow splashing against the golds of Lyra¡¯s Repose. ¡°I should get to pick what to do with it!¡±

    Harper opted for a gentler tone instead, grunting with hurt as Josiah pushed his hands away once more. ¡°Please, I¡¯ll be okay! This is¡­nothing. I¡¯ve been through way worse than this. There¡¯s¡­so many wonderful things you should do with your life instead. A little pain is worth us spending more of that life together, okay?¡±

    Madrigal sniffled. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to hurt at all. I can help.¡±

    He struggled to smile, a futile effort compromised viciously by his agony. Still, the sentiment was there. ¡°Octavia¡­needs you right now, more than¡­I do. She needs you and Viola. Please, keep going. For¡­me, okay?¡±

    Viola shook her head, still on her knees at his side. ¡°I don¡¯t feel right about leaving you alone here.¡±

    ¡°I have¡­Josiah,¡± Harper breathed.

    ¡°Josiah isn¡¯t a Maestro.¡±

    The boy in question pursed his lips, drawing a glassy, maroon bottle from his canvas bag. He sighed. ¡°She¡¯s not wrong. You¡­might want to hold her hand again. This isn¡¯t gonna feel too good. Sorry in advance.¡±

    Harper obliged, squeezing Viola¡¯s hand once more. The Maestra didn¡¯t resist, offering the same with both hands in turn. When Josiah tipped the bottle carefully above the horrific gash that blighted the majority of Harper¡¯s lower leg, his torturous screams were back the instant its liquid splashed into the crevice. They were possibly even worse, accompanied by the need for Josiah to physically hold his thigh in place as he struggled to escape the intolerable burning.

    The Maestro clapped one hand over his own mouth desperately, a half-hearted effort to stifle his own uncontrollable cries. Given the way he was still meeting Madrigal¡¯s eyes, Octavia figured the action was at least somewhat related. It didn¡¯t keep her from sobbing again.

    ¡°Madrigal, I need you,¡± Octavia tried, doing what she could to steal the girl¡¯s attention. ¡°I¡­need you, okay?¡±

    The Maestra¡¯s shoulders shook, and she still couldn¡¯t tear her eyes from Harper¡¯s suffering. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    ¡°I need¡­someone at my side,¡± Octavia spoke slowly, willing her own voice to remain as steady as possible. ¡°I need someone to stay with me. I trust you. I need you. Please, Madrigal.¡±

    Madrigal nodded with another sniffle, her gaze still confiscated. ¡°O-Okay. Okay.¡±

    Viola rubbed her thumb tenderly against the back of Harper¡¯s hand, a weak gesture of comfort that still somehow offered something of merit. With her hand stroking his cheek as he winced his way through Josiah¡¯s ministrations, she managed to split her attention. ¡°It¡¯s¡­like he said. This may not be the only one. There might be more explosives, if that¡¯s what that was.¡±

    ¡°In the floor, right?¡± Octavia murmured, her eyes wandering up the length of the hallway. ¡°Like, beneath it?¡±

    For the distance they¡¯d actually traveled, it was still a sizable distance more to even the second turn. Past it, she could still see no further. Whatever lay beyond was equally as intimidating--if not downright horrifying, given their newest predicament. Octavia still hadn¡¯t fully wrapped her head around the idea that it was intentional. She didn¡¯t dare begin to entertain the ¡°how¡± that came with it.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­gonna have to watch your step,¡± Viola added.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes scanned the marble before her. It was one more nauseating thought to add to the pile. ¡°There¡¯s nothing that stands out. It¡¯s all just flat.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s no way to tell if there¡¯s even something down there?¡± Josiah asked.

    ¡°As much as I¡¯d like to imagine this was a freak accident, I have a feeling it wasn¡¯t,¡± Viola continued. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­feel good about the idea of assuming there¡¯s nothing.¡±

    Josiah narrowed his eyes. ¡°How much of the building ended up like this, exactly? Are we reading too much into this, too?¡±

    ¡°You can¡­check,¡± Harper murmured in between groans of pain, blinking slowly. ¡°Hit¡­the floor¡­from here.¡±

    Octavia, too, blinked. ¡°That could work, I think. I¡­do you think my light would set one off, if it was there?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to.¡±

    ¡°How hard does your light hit?¡± Josiah asked. ¡°Physically.¡±

    She paused. ¡°I-I mean¡­it depends what I¡¯m hitting. I¡¯ve¡­never tried to hit marble before. I don¡¯t know if I could actually pierce it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot, right?¡±

    He had a point. ¡°I can try, but I¡¯m worried about the recoil if I actually do hit something. I don¡¯t know how far it¡¯ll¡­blow up.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes were on her partner, resting at Harper¡¯s side uselessly. ¡°I think I can do something about that. If anything happens, I¡¯ve got it. Can you¡­aim around me?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    With shaky steps, Viola pushed herself to her feet, her lingering touch upon Harper¡¯s cheek a nod to reluctance. The crunched marble below her had not been kind to her skin, her delicate knees red and indented. She stumbled somewhat, wincing as she stretched. Silver Brevada settled into her hands, and she demonstrated her point regardless.

    What followed its gentle song was the welcome, radiating chill of wondrous ice, scraping along the annihilated marble below as it steadily charted a path towards the ceiling. Rising high, Octavia watched on with surprise as Viola¡¯s soft trilling crafted a thickened wall of crystal, blessed with all the strength and gorgeous shading of a glacier.

    In the empty, elongated hallway, every note echoed off the brilliant white that surrounded them. Even the flaking black that plagued the Maestros was graced in equal measure. Her frozen barrier didn¡¯t climb high enough to kiss the ceiling proper, instead stalling several feet from its apex. What that left Octavia with was a narrow, symmetrical gap, spanning the full length of the hallway from thrice her height. She tilted her head.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°Aim above me,¡± Viola instructed. ¡°You have good aim. Go through the gap and hit the floor. If anything happens, we should be fine.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    She nodded, the flute still level with her lips. ¡°Yeah. Go for it.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t a fan of this idea. Still, if it came down to trusting the durability of Viola¡¯s ice, then it was something she could put her faith in. That left her with Stradivaria in hand, still raised and ready upon her shoulder. She eyed the gap above her carefully, planning the single strike she¡¯d get to attempt.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    What light she¡¯d be forced to piece together would be strong, quick, and piercing, should she hope to challenge marble itself. She¡¯d been successful with material masonry before. Granted, it was weaker. Granted, she was in SIAR. Granted, in this particular Hell, she couldn¡¯t count on anything. She had to at least try.

    Octavia drew back Stradivaria¡¯s bow across the strings. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°Ready.¡±

    It was more so a question meant for the other three, given how her wandering eyes touched upon each. She was relieved to see them nod anyway. With their silent permission, Octavia found her beloved rays, sharp and valiant in all of their radiant glory. White-hot starlight pulsed against her skin, and it took effort to concentrate on one alone. She stole a deep breath as her fingertips burned, aching with the pressure of bottled, searing heat as she pumped every ounce of brilliance forward.

    It would take effort to weigh down her strike in one shot alone. With the most delicate back-and-forth motions of the bow she could muster, rocking against the strings gently, she tensed whatever burning energy her anxious hands could tolerate. Her little ray was the tiniest of arrows, at this angle. Octavia lined up her shot, tilting her head back in the slightest as she fixated on the gap. Aiming wasn¡¯t the hard part.

    She threw caution to the wind and fired, putting her faith in whatever skill she¡¯d been cultivating for weeks. With a sharp slash of the bow across vibrating copper beneath, her singular burst of light erupted forward. It charged on without hesitation, carving a perfect parabola that made her heart skip a beat.

    Octavia simultaneously relished the developing quality of her steering and loathed the context under which it was being perfected. To her immense surprise, distance had done nothing to compromise the lasting composition of her beautiful ray. It was nearly enhanced, by comparison, accelerating ever faster as it crashed to the floor with far fiercer momentum than expected.

    That was a good thing, as she¡¯d learned that her light could crunch through even polished stone today. That was a bad thing, as it hardly took her light at all to send the corridor into explosive chaos again.

    Octavia praised whatever god would listen that Viola, too, had developed as a Maestra splendidly. Her barrier held fast against the rampaging shockwave of the blast, a miracle in and of itself. The ear-shattering boom made Octavia jump, far louder than the one that had cursed them previously.

    Opaque as Viola¡¯s ice was, segments were still vaguely translucent enough for her to peer through. Running towards the wall that spared her from bursting death surely left her appearing insane. She was far, far more concerned about the dual sets of marble-studded craters, parallel splatters of blackened paint shaming walls once crisp mere seconds ago. Her eyes widened in horror.

    ¡°There¡¯s more than one,¡± Octavia said frantically. ¡°There¡¯s¡­I don¡¯t know how many!¡±

    Josiah swore. ¡°I¡¯m not even sure how safe I feel going back if we were to give up, at this point! We could¡¯ve just gotten lucky coming in!¡±

    ¡°Are the walls reinforced or something?¡± Viola asked. ¡°They¡¯re holding up perfectly fine. I¡¯d expect something like this to cause a lot more damage.¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s SIAR. This was his dream. It makes sense he¡¯d build it to last.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola began hesitantly, ¡°what do we¡­do from here?¡±

    The path of return was safe--ideally. Were they to retreat, they could still regroup. They could plan another approach. They¡¯d still be in Solenford, and they¡¯d agreed not to return to Coda anytime soon. Harper¡¯s injury, above all else, was extremely concerning. Octavia bit her lip. The idea of something awaiting them on the way out was petrifying. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe she wasn¡¯t. Even devoid of a human touch, SIAR was still finding ways to crush her to pieces.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep going.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s words were sharp and resolute at the strangest time. It was enough to shake Octavia, watching on as the girl trailed her fingers down the length of Viola¡¯s glacier.

    ¡°You¡­want to keep going?¡± Octavia repeated quietly.

    The Spirited Maestra spared her of words, nodding once instead.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna go through that?¡± Josiah shouted. ¡°A friggin¡¯ minefield?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to get killed! At the very least, you¡¯re gonna get seriously hurt!¡± Viola cried in turn.

    ¡°I have an idea,¡± Madrigal said.

    ¡°You realize you don¡¯t get any do-overs if that idea doesn¡¯t work, right?¡± Josiah snapped.

    His harsh words didn¡¯t shake her, her soft eyes and softer voice offered to Octavia instead. ¡°I have an idea, but Octavia has to trust me.¡±

    Octavia clenched Stradivaria tighter, her fingertips aching as the strings dug into her skin. ¡°I-I¡­what do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go with you.¡±

    ¡°Madrigal?¡±

    The Maestra smiled weakly. ¡°Viola¡­should stay here, with Josiah and Harper. They need someone to keep them safe, so I¡¯ll go with you. I won¡¯t leave your side.¡±

    Viola could hardly cobble objections together. ¡°Are you really sure about this? We can always try again another--¡±

    ¡°This is our chance,¡± Madrigal countered. ¡°It¡¯s empty, and it¡¯s quiet. Even if there¡¯s things like this that try to hurt us, there¡¯s no one chasing us this time. We¡¯re already here, and maybe we can find out all about what¡¯s been happening to everyone. We¡¯re so close. We can¡¯t give up now.¡±

    With her eyes on Octavia once more, her smile was genuine and bright. ¡°Besides, in storybooks, when there¡¯s this much keeping someone away, there must be something wonderful on the other side, right?¡±

    Octavia scoffed. Still, she couldn¡¯t suppress a soft smile of her own. ¡°I don¡¯t think ¡®wonderful¡¯ is the word you¡¯re looking for, here.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­keep trying, and keep fighting,¡± Madrigal said, her voice somewhat more firm. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, okay? I won¡¯t let¡­anyone down.¡±

    Her gaze wandered to Harper. Pained as his own smile was, faint and strained as Josiah wound bandage after bandage around his leg, it was a smile he fought to craft all the same.

    ¡°That¡¯s my girl,¡± Harper breathed.

    Madrigal beamed in earnest, hugging Lyra¡¯s Repose to her chest. Even muted, devoid of bubbles and laughs and endless love, Madrigal herself was contagious. It was warm. Octavia stole what she could.

    ¡°What do we need to do, then?¡± Octavia finally asked.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes flickered to Viola. ¡°I need Viola to let us get to the other side of the ice.¡±

    The Soulful Maestra winced. ¡°You don¡¯t know if there¡¯s something immediately on the other side.¡±

    ¡°If there was, I think it would¡¯ve gone off when you first made the wall. We don¡¯t need to go that far. We just need to stand right on the other side.¡±

    It still wasn¡¯t enough to fully assuage Viola¡¯s fears, if the look on her face was any indication. Still, she sighed. With several quick breaths into Silver Brevada, so, too, came subtle cracks in her ice that Octavia had to squint to observe. Crawling in subtly from both the left and right expanses of her wide glacier, they fanned out across the edges of the barrier. Delicate notes left them splintering into ever more deltas with soft, nearly inaudible crunches. It never inched inwards further than the absolute outskirts, localized only to two narrow widths of crystal.

    Viola trilled. They shattered. A rain of precise, clean-cut crystal splashed down onto the marble below, almost beautiful in the way it graced what intact flooring remained.

    What that left the Maestras with was two equally-narrow gaps, just barely sizable enough to squeeze past on either side. Madrigal took the left. Octavia took the right, her face pressed nearly flat against the chilling ice as she sidestepped her way through. There was a comfort that came with being so close to Viola¡¯s protective ice. She lost that comfort the moment she came out the other side. Not for a moment did she part with what was left, physically or otherwise. Clinging did little for her nerves.

    ¡°Please, for the love of God, be careful!¡± she heard Viola cry. ¡°You better come back in one piece, do you hear me? Both of you!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Viola,¡± she heard Madrigal call back. ¡°The Magical Madrigal will protect the Ambassador with everything she¡¯s got. I won¡¯t fail.¡±

    ¡°You need to be safe, too, you know!¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°What about you guys?¡± Octavia asked loudly, worry pooling in every word.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine,¡± she heard of Josiah. ¡°We¡¯ll wait. If something happens, we can protect ourselves. It¡¯s¡­not safe for us to move around too much right now. We¡¯ll be okay here, I promise.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a reassuring answer. It was still an answer, regardless. Putting faith in his words was a struggle, for how she added a new knot to the collection in her stomach every second. It was beginning to hurt.

    Madrigal offered Octavia a smile once more, her own back pressed flat against Viola¡¯s ice. ¡°Promise you¡¯ll trust me, okay?¡±

    Octavia gulped. She nodded, Stradivaria nestled comfortably on her shoulder.

    ¡°You won¡¯t need Stradivaria. It¡¯s easier if you just hold him like normal.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡­what¡¯s your plan, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Take a deep breath.¡±

    Confused, she obliged. It had never exactly helped her before.

    In turn, Madrigal took one herself. Octavia watched as she raised Lyra¡¯s Repose into position, her fingers settling calmly upon each string with little hesitation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move for a minute,¡± the Maestra murmured.

    Octavia nodded, growing more anxious by the second. Either immune to her distress or overwhelmingly aware, the Spirited Maestra played softly and without remorse. Slow plucks at vibrating copper gave way to a gentle breeze that ruffled the hem of Octavia¡¯s skirt. Madrigal¡¯s breathing was steady, evenly-paced as her movements gradually quickened. Note by note, the speeding song born of her strumming drifted through the air in time with a rippling gust.

    What had seconds ago been a delicate, cooling wind now intensified rapidly into a gushing storm that whipped against the back of Octavia¡¯s legs--and her back, overall. Her efforts to remain flat against Viola¡¯s icy shield were largely faltering, the tempest that rushed past her ears stinging her calves with stray bits of marble. Her braids, just as well, were assailed by the ruthless gale, spurred harshly forwards as they pulled against the remainder of her hair.

    She braced her boots against the shattered floor, bending her knees and digging her heels in as she battled to keep from tumbling in full. For as lovely as Madrigal¡¯s fierce, crystalline ballad was, her wind never failed to rattle Octavia.

    When she managed to turn her head, fighting the force of the storm against her bare skin, Madrigal at her side was encountering resistance even to her own song. She played on unhindered, each masterful pluck and strum precise and immaculate all the same. It still didn¡¯t keep her, too, rooted firmly, and she herself was forced to brace. Her sandals slid against the marble surface underfoot, dangerously smooth. Even so, she successfully fought to keep still, her curls viciously compromised by the gale that blasted them in turn.

    They stood fast in the eye of a little storm, nestled firmly against their backs. Battling to remain steady was growing ever more difficult, for how each gust seemed to stream yet quicker. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she heard Madrigal grunting with effort, slender fingers moving so swiftly over Lyra¡¯s strings that she wondered if they¡¯d outright snap. It was all she could do to blink, her eyes buffeted by wind that had even managed to blight her face from behind.

    ¡°Promise that you trust me!¡± she heard Madrigal cry above the tempest, her song never ceasing.

    It took everything Octavia had to physically nod. ¡°I trust you!¡±

    Madrigal fixed her eyes squarely ahead, gazing down the lengthy expanse of open corridor that awaited. ¡°We¡¯re gonna run!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes pooled with terror. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re already fast!¡± she called above her gales once more. ¡°You¡¯re gonna go even faster than that! We¡¯re gonna go together!¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Octavia cried.

    A plan to disperse the explosives had been her first guess, either individually or via some chain reaction. A plan to find an alternate route was equally as plausible. She had not, under any circumstance, anticipated a plan that involved sprinting through the literal minefield. As to exactly how many eager explosives awaited her underfoot, she didn¡¯t want to know. For as much trust as she¡¯d granted Madrigal, Octavia was beginning to regret her decision.

    ¡°Hold onto Stradivaria and don¡¯t stop running! Run as fast as you can and don¡¯t look back! I¡¯ll keep up with you, no matter what, so trust me!¡±

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± Octavia cried simply, offering the girl her own horrified gaze.

    She caught it. It meant nothing. At the very least, all it warranted in return was the same soft smile as always. ¡°You promised you¡¯d trust me!¡±

    Octavia hesitated, gripping either portion of Stradivaria harshly enough to hurt her hands. Whether or not she was lying was debatable. ¡°I-I¡­I¡¯ll trust you! I trust you!¡±

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°Remember, don¡¯t look back! No matter what, keep running!¡±

    Octavia nodded, unable to still her heart as it pounded desperately against the walls of her chest. ¡°Okay!¡±

    With her fingers still flying, Madrigal¡¯s eyes narrowed. The Spirited girl winced somewhat as she fought to grow her soft song ever louder. The force of the gale at Octavia¡¯s back was becoming outright painful, the tiny vortexes of marble smacking into the back of her legs surely leaving welts. ¡°Ready?¡±

    No, she wasn¡¯t. The question was deranged. Still, of this alone, she was perfect. It was natural and thoughtless, on a physical level. Stradivaria in hand meant little, and her legs would fight where her light could not. Octavia lowered her body close to the floor, exhaling sharply as she, too, glared down the other end of the far-too-long corridor. It was at least twenty straight seconds of sprinting, at her speed. For what lay underfoot, that much was an eternity.

    Harper was faster. Josiah could keep up. Viola¡¯s athletic abilities were almost non-existent, and Renato¡¯s were of a different flavor entirely. Octavia was still unsure how fast he actually ran. Madrigal, then, was a mystery. She¡¯d never considered the need to crack it. It left prayer.

    Her fear was undeniable, not localized to her own well-being by any means. Still, ¡°trust¡± was a heavy word, and she¡¯d been throwing it around quite a bit lately. She had to try.

    Against her best judgment, with every fiber of her being pleading for the opposite, Octavia nodded. ¡°Ready!¡±

    Madrigal counted her down. Every number was torture. Three was regret. Two was fear. One was wondering what she was even doing here. Zero was the fastest she¡¯d ever run in her entire life.

    With her eyes not daring to leave the sanctity of the furthest wall, the pounding of her boots against the slick marble below was nearly inaudible above the roar of the tempest that spurned her onwards. Her propulsion was explosive in its own right, blasting her forth with such ferocity that her already-notable running speed was perhaps all that kept her on her feet. She didn¡¯t run to escape the wind. Instead, she fell in sync with it, welcoming the relentless rush of the storm pressing with devastating force against her back.

    Despite her fixation, Octavia could hardly see her goal, her eyes watering from the sheer swiftness with which she¡¯d been blessed. She couldn¡¯t turn her head. She couldn¡¯t speak. She could barely breathe, lest her unbelievable forward momentum steal the air from her lungs. She could only run, the equally-ferocious and endless song of a determined harp still semi-audible even now. Somewhere at her side, a bit less than parallel, Octavia knew another Maestra was there.

    It was muted somewhat by the other sounds she¡¯d expected, contrasting starkly with swift winds and harsh notes. She¡¯d been completely and utterly correct in her assumptions regarding the peppering of ever more explosives underneath. The way by which they took deadly turns assaulting her from below was horrifying. If she were to count the number by sounds alone, it would take her too long to conclude. The term ¡°minefield¡± had been startlingly accurate. It was sheer luck, or perhaps skill she wasn¡¯t intended to possess, that kept Octavia''s limbs attached and her life intact as she passed them over with heavy steps.

    In less than the time it took to blink, hardly a temporal distance between the moment she lifted her foot from the marble, they¡¯d erupted in full. In her immediate wake, massive chunks of yet more swirling marble hurtled upwards towards the ceiling in every direction. The blazing, superheated shockwaves stung her ankles, even blasted by Madrigal¡¯s unwavering gale as they already were.

    Again and again the process repeated. Every boom of each localized burst that threatened her life missed her by literal inches, newly-born pebbles of flooring splashing against her calves. She never looked back, pained as she was. To stop was to die. To hesitate was to die. If she could feel the wind that shot her down the corridor, Madrigal was surely at her side.

    Octavia didn¡¯t bother counting the distance to the other side by time. She still at least clung to the vague estimate she¡¯d thrown together previously. Where she¡¯d once assumed twenty seconds¡¯ worth of sprinting, she instead was content to halve her guess. The corner turn that rapidly approached, thick masonry that abruptly terminated her momentum, veered to the left in a manner that she dreaded.

    The moment her steps followed suit, the two Maestras would be blinded as to what followed. There was a non-zero chance that whatever awaited could kill her. Her current and exceedingly deadly situation was enough of an indicator. If nothing else, she opted to adhere to Madrigal¡¯s philosophy to the bitter end. There was nothing to do but run. She could only hope that Madrigal came to the same decision, ultimately. Where the floor exploded below her, Octavia''s heart threatened to explode within.

    Mere feet from the wall itself, she skidded, her boots scraping hard enough against the marble to elicit a terrible squeak. When Madrigal¡¯s wind abruptly shifted its current, following her decision as it continued to assault her back, it was enough to confirm the expectation of Octavia¡¯s choice. She counted her blessings on every star in the sky that, in the moment of her turning momentum, her tiny slowdown hadn¡¯t ended with one less foot attached to her body.

    There was no room for reprieve, regardless. She¡¯d have to drink in what was before her while in the process of tackling it blindly. The pursuing explosions, invisible as they were, trailed in the wake of her dash, clawing at the threads of her life each time her soles scraped the floor.

    It was just as bright, more of the same monotonous white that lured her deeper into the depths of SIAR with every frantic step. It terminated, eventually. Octavia initially believed it to be a dead end, a radiant wall of silver sparkling beneath the light that graced the lengthy corridor. It rapidly approached. It was no wall. It was solid, it was sealed, it was iron, and--if looks were anything to go by--it was fortified.

    It was inescapable, and she was barreling towards it as fast as her unstoppable sprint could carry her. Octavia''s eyes widened in utter terror. Her speed left no time to raise Stradivaria, let alone channel her light in a desperate attempt to break through. She could hardly move her arms as it was, the storm still bursting at her back much as death still burst at her feet. Was she still supposed to be running?

    ¡°Take my hands!¡± she heard distantly, breathlessly.

    For you and you alone.

    The song that her ears had clung to so desperately in the midst of her race through Hell had shifted in an instant. It was just as quick and just as unbending, the tempest that roared forth from each note still dominating in every way. Still, there was something more that Octavia initially couldn¡¯t place. There was a sharper tone. With it came a more vicious lick to every pluck and ping that tinged the stirring air.

    Sonorous as it was, the ballad skirted the threshold of audible pain as her breath was nearly sucked from her lungs. Octavia was cutting it dangerously close, seconds from a full and lethal collision with the steel barrier that awaited her ahead. She battled to resist the overpowering urge to squeeze her eyes shut. It was inevitable.

    She would¡¯ve been startled by the unfathomably-sudden gust crashing into the iron before her, had she not been spurned forth too fast to muster a recoil. It crunched and creaked beneath the pressure of the blast, a gushing gale that pushed forever without mercy. The groaning steel bent, budged, and folded, firm and yet not all at once.

    She¡¯d expected the effort of channeling such fearsome winds to leave Madrigal crying out high above the cacophony of chaos. Instead, Octavia found only human silence in the face of metallic punishment. It didn¡¯t erupt, nor did it crumple in full. It wasn''t blasted inwards, nor was it sucked outwards. The gaps that it did leave were enough, peeled downwards from the threshold haphazardly. It went low. One reasonably-high jump would be enough to clear what remained below her. It was possible.

    Octavia barely had time to contemplate the idea. She was upon the metal seconds later, her body moving before her thoughts could. She didn¡¯t jump so much as she did dive, her feet slipping out from beneath her at the last possible second as she tumbled forwards. With Stradivaria in hand, her balance was nonexistent. She bashed one knee hard against what was left of the iron door on the way down. Octavia cried out in pain as she rolled several times over along the floor, the impact against the hard surface unkind both to her limbs and to a violin driven into soft skin. She groaned.

    It took her a moment to process the absence of sound--freedom from explosions, freedom from gusts attacking her ears, and freedom from the song that had guided her way. The latter was a source of panic. She scrambled to her feet, her position irrelevant in the face of isolation.

    ¡°Where are you?¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she heard softly.

    Octavia¡¯s neck ached from the speed at which she snapped her head behind her. She breathed an immense sigh of relief at the well-intact buns, curls, and gentle smile that endured at her back. Madrigal, too, rose from the swirling marble, somewhat grayed beneath the dimmer lighting. ¡°I¡¯m with you.¡±

    Adrenaline poisoned Octavia¡¯s blood in excess, and her heart raced in place of herself. Regardless, she found at least one small victory in the form of Madrigal¡¯s safety. For that, there was warmth. The weakest traces of a smile teased the corners of her lips.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    Octavia had been too distracted by their surprising survival to actually consider the question. The northwestern wing was most definitely not the storage unit. Of that, she was certain. The door here had been significantly fortified, by comparison. For what reason, she was initially unsure. It was, as she¡¯d observed, dimmer, the lights overhead providing far more pitiful illumination than the onslaught of luminescence in the corridor. The room itself contrasted sharply with the emptiness of the hallway, filled nearly to the brim with its own flavor of belongings instead.

    She blinked at the sight of racks, pedestals, shelves, cases, and every conceivable method of storage once again localized to one room. They were gathered in such excess that she did, briefly, wonder if there was more than one storage unit in SIAR. In the absolute worst case scenario, Octavia feared she¡¯d misremembered which wing she¡¯d tangled with Drey in. She dismissed the idea. She¡¯d long since committed the exact place his corpse had fallen to memory. It wasn¡¯t here.

    The weapons were most notable, above all else. They were excessive, and greatly so, to a degree she couldn¡¯t put into words. Every shape and flavor of weapon she could imagine had a place in the room at least once over. Nestled comfortably into one of many, many optional homes, steel glistened and varnish shone. A variable sea of violence stood at the ready--presumably, given the nature of Drey¡¯s craft. Some were neatly divided, spears upon sharpened spears and honed knives of all styles among much of the same.

    There were firearms. There were many, many firearms. There were enough that Octavia wondered if Drey was expanding his masteries prior to his demise. If his toll was anything to go by, he¡¯d been fixated relentlessly upon refining his skill with blades. He embraced everything they came with, and she¡¯d dealt with that much firsthand. The ranged weaponry was every bit as well-restored and shimmering as the flavors of edged steel they dwarfed in number. He¡¯d undoubtedly had more planned for his dream, blood on his hands or otherwise. The less time Octavia spent imagining a gun pressed to Priscilla¡¯s head, instead, the better.

    It was a reflex to scan for more sharpened violence with her eyes, disgusting as the instinct was. There was a deep relief that came with her inability to spot a polearm once stolen from the Blessed City. For the sins it had witnessed itself, Octavia would¡¯ve destroyed it, given the chance.

    She didn¡¯t recognize half of what she was looking at, somewhat dizzied by the incredible amount of vicious tools surrounding her at every angle. They climbed high upon the walls. They rested peacefully amongst cases tethered to the marble below. They even jutted from mixed, haphazard wooden crates, stacked and scattered about the massive room.

    The sheer size of the place left it somewhat larger than the storage unit, if memory served. Even so, it felt far more crowded and suffocating. Octavia had all the room she needed to walk. Still, by content alone, it was overwhelming. Every color, every cultural style, every shade of decades and centuries past assailed her eyes with simultaneous glimmers and gleams. It was as marvelous as it was deadly.

    For how desperately she¡¯d battled to rack her memory, she¡¯d forgotten the one place he¡¯d boasted of directly to her face. She could still hear the passion in his voice, if she let it echo. If Octavia had her way, his voice would never haunt her again.

    ¡°The armory,¡± she spoke quietly at last. ¡°SIAR¡¯s armory.¡±

    Madrigal, too, wasn''t immune to the splendor of the room. ¡°Wow,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°I¡­forgot it existed,¡± Octavia continued. ¡°He told me about it once.¡±

    ¡°He never did learn to keep his mouth shut.¡±

    The sudden voice was enough to make Octavia jump, even distant as it was. It was a reflex by which she raised Stradivaria to position in an instant, fingers tensed as she pressed hard against every string. Her other hand gripped the bow tightly, her eyes darting around the room in panic. At her side, Madrigal had done much the same, albeit with slightly less fright. Their third, unexpected companion continued well before they could even process pressing them.

    ¡°If he would¡¯ve just kept to himself, he¡¯d still be here to play with his toys. In a way, he had it coming. He always was a fool like that.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t hidden. She was practically in plain sight, and it was largely Octavia¡¯s folly for missing her on her once-over of the armory¡¯s glamor. Octavia blamed her positioning, the angle of a knife-studded shelf having done wonders to block her initial visage. Pinpointed by her low voice alone, she was more than visible with her back to the grayscale wall.

    One sharpened heel dug into the masonry, her posture relaxed. Her hands pressed against the same, concealed as they were behind her back. With her head tilted slightly, cursing them with a piercing gaze, Octavia half-expected her to smile. She knew better. She¡¯d never seen a smile on those lips, fleeting as she¡¯d seen them at all.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s cruel of me to say he deserved it, because he didn¡¯t. He was a visionary. He was a great man. However, his arrogance was a folly that led him to mistakes he should¡¯ve known better than to make,¡± she offered softly.

    There was a part of Octavia that had expected to be surprised, or shout, or scream in the face of a disgusting revelation. She should¡¯ve cried, she should¡¯ve trembled, or she should¡¯ve shown some sort of semblance of distress aside from the adrenaline slowly pooling in her bloodstream once more. Instead, all she found was the sick satisfaction that came with being exceedingly, impossibly correct. It didn¡¯t matter to how awful of a place, nor how horrific of a conclusion her instincts had led her. In the end, it was exactly where she¡¯d needed to be.

    ¡°Octavia, was it?¡± the woman muttered.

    The Maestra nodded, narrowing her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you cared enough to remember,¡± she said disdainfully.

    She scoffed. ¡°At this point, I¡¯d be remiss to forget, with the way you never seemed to evade his lips. Even now, he¡¯d be scolding me about my manners if I didn¡¯t at least try to recall a name.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case,¡± Octavia breathed, ¡°then it¡¯s been a long time, Portia.¡±

 55. Shot in the Dark

    ¡°It took you a while,¡± the woman muttered. ¡°Honestly, with how highly he spoke of you, I thought you¡¯d be faster.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t exactly make it easy,¡± Octavia answered with venom.

    ¡°Octavia, do you know this person?¡± Madrigal whispered, tapping her shoulder.

    She nodded. At no point did she relax her grip on Stradivaria, nor did she tear her eyes from the woman before her. ¡°We¡¯ve met once. At least, in person. We¡¯ve¡­met once, but I¡¯ve seen her more than that.¡±

    Portia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re referring to. He always made you sound strange. I suppose your world is nothing if not so.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know the first thing about ¡®my world¡¯,¡± Octavia hissed.

    Portia only glared. ¡°I know more than I wish I did. Believe me, he was borderline obsessed. If he would¡¯ve just kept his hands to himself, his passion would¡¯ve burned bright for far longer. It was that sparkling curiosity that did him in. Even so, you¡¯re not immune to the same, are you?¡±

    Steady breathing was beyond Octavia. ¡°This isn¡¯t ¡®curiosity¡¯. None of it is or was. This is because you people keep hurting everyone I care about. Believe me, I want nothing to do with you just as much as you want nothing to do with me.¡±

    Portia chuckled, an empty gesture devoid of joy. ¡°You surrendered that privilege the moment you took his life. In truth, you surrendered that privilege the moment you first touched that violin.¡±

    The mention of Stradivaria alone was enough to stain her knuckles white. ¡°He lost the chance to stay out of it the minute he picked a fight with my sister.¡±

    For the briefest moment, Portia¡¯s eyes widened. Eventually, Octavia caught the faintest flicker of a smirk. ¡°If there was one person he spoke of more than you, it was Priscilla. I still don¡¯t know what he saw in her. With condolences, it was her terrible luck that their paths crossed in the first place. Had fate steered her another direction, and had their dreaming eyes never met, perhaps they¡¯d both be here today. You and I, as we are now, would not. As it is, though, what happened has happened. That can¡¯t be changed.¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree with you. It doesn¡¯t change what he did to her.¡±

    Portia tilted her head backwards, coming to rest against the wall with a sigh. ¡°You may paint him as a murderer all you¡¯d like. Even so, he truly was a great man. We may not always have seen eye to eye, but I still believe he didn¡¯t wish to do the things he did.¡±

    ¡°Liar!¡± Octavia snapped.

    ¡°If that¡¯s what helps you sleep at night,¡± she responded calmly. ¡°I can¡¯t make you think otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Do you agree with what he believed in, then?¡± Octavia asked, unable to resist the newborn wobble that poisoned her words.

    ¡°In truth, I don¡¯t care. My ideals are not his own. It¡¯s as I¡¯ve said. We didn¡¯t always see eye to eye.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you doing all of this?¡±

    ¡°All of what?¡±

    ¡°Everything!¡± Octavia cried. ¡°Hurting my friends! Hurting me!¡±

    Portia¡¯s smirk was no longer subtle. ¡°A bold accusation. How do you figure?¡±

    Octavia chose every word carefully. ¡°The letters I got, the one with Priscilla¡¯s pictures. Of everything that happened, everything, I know that had to do with you people. You¡¯re the only ones who would¡­try to use that against me. If Drey was the last person to see her, then he was the last person who could¡¯ve had that picture.¡±

    Portia blinked slowly. ¡°Letters? More than one?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much of what else happened was you guys, either, but at the very least, I¡¯m sure of that part.¡±

    ¡°He did say you were smart,¡± she murmured. ¡°And if I confess?¡±

    ¡°Then I want to know why!¡± Octavia snapped. ¡°You said you don¡¯t agree with his ideals!¡±

    Portia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t agree. I don¡¯t agree, but I agreed to stand at his back. I agreed to witness his sins, heavy as they were. I have no intent to finish what he started, but I can do him the parting honor of tying up the loose ends he left so carelessly frayed.¡±

    The venom in her eyes seeped into Octavia¡¯s blood. ¡°All six of them.¡±

    Octavia braced against the floor. This was rapidly heading nowhere positive. She should¡¯ve known better. For where she was standing, most of her already did. ¡°I won¡¯t let you,¡± she growled.

    ¡°I assure you, this is not a personal slight. I remind you that this is a consequence of your own decisions, for whatever that entails. Had you not taken the path that you did, this wouldn''t be happening. This is your fault.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s shoulders rose and fell faster, ire slowly surging in place of adrenaline she¡¯d welcomed moments ago. ¡°You¡¯re not--¡±

    ¡°Octavia didn¡¯t do anything wrong!¡±

    The sudden spirit of wind that stepped forward was jarring, unwavering confidence offered to a sickening stranger. Personal or not, tainted by the touch of SIAR or otherwise, Madrigal didn¡¯t falter. ¡°Nothing is her fault! The only person at fault is you! You, and anyone who hurts the people we care about!¡±

    Portia¡¯s harsh eyes wandered to another Maestra entirely. ¡°You¡¯re the one from Minuevera, correct? I don¡¯t believe I remember your name. I suppose I should offer my apologies for that.¡±

    Madrigal scowled. ¡°My name is Madrigal, silent protector and liberator of the darkness. I won¡¯t let you lay one hand on Octavia, or any of my friends--no matter what it takes to stop you!¡±

    Her bold and steadfast words were lost on Portia. For the Ambassador, they were everything. They were enough to temper racing thoughts and still trembling hands. To drag Madrigal to Hell alongside her was a Hell in and of itself. It was a sweet Hell all the same, for how she didn¡¯t stand alone. Cold on every side, Octavia was warm from within. Versus last time, it was different.

    ¡°Know that he would¡¯ve given you the choice to walk away. That¡¯s where we differ, I suppose. He would¡¯ve left that door open. I won¡¯t,¡± Portia spat.

    Octavia met Madrigal parallel, two Maestras left side-by-side. Where Stradivaria touched her shoulder, Lyra¡¯s Repose rose into steady arms. Their tension matched, radiant both outward and upon every string. Portia wasn¡¯t Drey. Two Maestras were more than one Maestra. It was lopsided. To underestimate Drey¡¯s confidants was an incredibly foolish choice, and of that, Octavia was well aware. Still, she carried the upper hand. It was possible. Breathing was working, and already-taut fingers stiffened ever further around the bow.

    ¡°Know that he would¡¯ve been content to steal only what lets you fight,¡± Portia continued, her voice low. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°We can do this,¡± Madrigal whispered, echoing Octavia¡¯s thoughts aloud. ¡°We¡¯ll win this together. Don¡¯t give up.¡±

    Octavia nodded, her eyes locked onto Portia¡¯s every movement as the woman parted from the wall at her back. It took until well after she¡¯d leaned forward for Octavia to notice the slits. There was the briefest, faintest instant in which she chalked it up to fashion. The skillful stance that the severed skirt allowed spoke to anything but. Hands once casually at rest behind her fell limply in time with weighted arms, palms still obscured in the shadows. So, too, did the shadow upon Portia¡¯s face cut just as deep.

    ¡°Know that he would¡¯ve been sorry.¡±

    And the hands that rose to greet her were more than filled with violence.

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    Portia squeezed the triggers in tandem, her true aim enough to send Octavia diving to the floor. Madrigal yelped, emulating the same as the whistle of bullets overhead matched the boom that followed. They were wide open, made vulnerable by the heart of the armory. It was by sheer luck that Portia¡¯s second, third, and fourth round of shots missed, compromised by two Maestras splitting their flights. Octavia dashed left. Madrigal dashed right.

    It was all Octavia could do to dive behind a stray crate, scrambling for what wooden safety she could find. Counting shots was a nightmare, every all-too-close boom leaving her heart threatening to burst in turn. If she took the extreme gamble of peering, she could just barely catch the woman¡¯s onslaught.

    Portia¡¯s hands moved independently of one another, her firm and skilled grip on either firearm offering full control over both in tandem. Dual barrels left holes punched in two crates simultaneously, accurately blasting makeshift shelters born of both left and right. Portia¡¯s precision with either hand was horrifying. If she was ambidextrous, Octavia had a new crisis altogether.

    ¡°Hiding isn¡¯t going to do you much good,¡± Portia called calmly, never easing her assault.

    Even with Stradivaria hoisted into position once more, shunning her faltering barrier was a risk. Right now, compromised or otherwise, Octavia could cling to a semblance of safety. Should she offer up her light at the moment, she''d be firing into the dark as she unleashed her brilliance. The worst case scenario left a fleeing Madrigal caught in the crossfire, should her own shelter collapse in turn. Her radiant arsenal was an option, pulsing suns and scathing stars settling into her patient solar system. It would leave her straddling two types of focus altogether. Octavia gritted her teeth.

    Her eyes darted to Madrigal, parallel to her by a longshot. Behind the safety of another box, the Spirited girl was patient and still. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving silently in time with each resounding burst. Even as the crate at her back jostled beneath the slightest recoil, she never ceased her voiceless repetitions.

    When the blasts ceased, she leapt to her feet. Her fingers flew across Lyra¡¯s Repose as she broke into a heated sprint. Born of an armory in place of a corridor, her stormy song exploded. She dashed without hesitation, speedily-woven winds gusting against her back. She was a magnet to Octavia alone, gripping Lyra¡¯s body with astounding force.

    Portia was far less distressed over two emptied firearms than Octavia had expected, defenseless as she¡¯d come to be. With an expression utterly neutral, the woman¡¯s eyes trailed a sliding Maestra as Madrigal scrambled behind the cover of a familiar crate. She nearly crashed into Octavia in the process, panting softly.

    This was the best Octavia was going to get. From behind her narrow cover, she raised her head above the rim of the box. She readied the bow, her fingers twitching in anticipation of the burn that would seize them shortly.

    Portia¡¯s hands relaxed, sending two pistols clattering noisily to the marble below. It was as simple as reaching backwards, clasping yet more at her back. The rack behind her offered differences, granted--new materials, new hues, and new structures that spoke to another age. It didn¡¯t matter. A gun was a gun, and two of them besieged the Maestras yet again.

    It was Octavia¡¯s fault for not noticing the rack in the first place, let alone Portia¡¯s positioning. Some came laced with fresh bullets, apparently, and that was infinitely more alarming. So few scattered about the armory were alike in style, if she cared to survey. Exploiting mechanical weaknesses was beyond her, light or not. Octavia knew absolutely nothing about firearms in any capacity. At the very least, Drey¡¯s proficiency was predictable. Slashing steel made sense. This was an entirely new problem.

    ¡°I think some of them are already loaded!¡± she cried to Madrigal, raising her voice above the rhythmic burst of every bullet.

    It was unfortunate that Madrigal had opted to come to her rather than vice versa. Her place of safety was rapidly faltering, the weakened wooden shield helpless to absorb an onslaught of shells. ¡°How many?¡±

    Octavia shook her head frantically. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°What do we do?¡±

    Peeking out from the left was a mistake. A bullet that grazed far too close to one braid drew a yelp she couldn¡¯t contain. ¡°We have to get her away from the wall!¡±

    ¡°How? If we move, we¡¯re gonna get hit!¡±

    Octavia closed her eyes for a moment. ¡°You can hear when she runs out of bullets, right?¡±

    Madrigal nodded.

    ¡°The minute you hear it again, hit her with as much wind as you¡¯ve got. Steer her away from it, and I¡¯ll get her from there.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± she answered.

    Already, they were six shots weaker, corners of the crate slowly crumbling to the floor below. Time was crumbling away in turn. It didn¡¯t stop Madrigal from closing her eyes again, steady breathing and quiet counting accompanied by delicate placement of her fingers upon Lyra¡¯s strings. Octavia held her breath, lest her panicked gasps impede Madrigal¡¯s hearing. It wasn¡¯t necessary. This time, she heard it, too.

    ¡°Now!¡± Octavia cried.

    The moment the explosions halted, Madrigal leapt to her feet once more, Lyra¡¯s Repose singing under her swift movements. The same fierce gale she¡¯d woven before roared to life beneath her yet again. It was with a cry of effort that she forced it to twist with abandon, a tempest born of melodic urgency. The spiraling storm that rippled around her ankles climbed high, nearly level with her chest before bursting forth in full. Portia wasn¡¯t the only one who could aim.

    The fearsome wind carved a straight path clear across the room to her current position. It was relentless, the streaming winds fixated somewhere between Portia and the rack of firearms painting the expanse of gray. Just as before, Portia and her emptied weapons were momentarily helpless. The woman once more opted to toss her guns gracelessly to the marble.

    The idea worked. That was a good thing. There was little Portia could do but dodge, the spiraling gale crashing down upon where she¡¯d stood moments before. It wasn¡¯t a direct hit. Still, it was more than enough to separate her from the rack she¡¯d stuck so closely to.

    Portia had dodged with startling speed. That was a bad thing. It was true that she was notably taller and notably older than Octavia. It didn¡¯t change the fact that her speed put the Maestra¡¯s to shame. Every dangerous clack of her heels against the floor was accented by her lithe body low to the same as she ran. She was faster than Octavia. She was faster than Harper, even.

    She¡¯d mastered that speed, apparently. That was a horrible thing. Portia practically rolled against the cold marble as she dove behind a free-standing shelf. She had her pick, given how many crowded the armory. When she arose once more, her hands were filled with guns, and her guns were filled with bullets.

    They were all loaded--every single one.

    Madrigal was wide open.

    With rushing winds still readied, Octavia could only bear witness to fear traded for action. The storm that Madrigal breathed life to anew was personalized, a ruthless vortex that swirled briskly as it kissed the floor. So fast did it spin that it was outright loud, speaking to a volume that challenged the bang of every opposing bullet. Octavia initially fought the urge to scream on the girl¡¯s behalf, staring down Portia¡¯s shots as she was.

    To her surprise and relief alike, the true aim of every bullet was shamed by a clinging spirit of wind. Rotating ever faster, their velocity was captured rather than stalled, hastened and augmented in their violent flight. Madrigal was a sponge, safe in her gusting shield as bullet after bullet sank into Lyra¡¯s grasp. Not one shell made it through, orbiting her like the worst of planets.

    Her fingers were ruthless, her ballad endless as she gritted her teeth. She braced, practically strangling the strings in one tight palm as her storm pulsed. The sudden burst was enough to nearly throw Octavia to the floor, hiding place or not. She watched in awe as every kidnapped bullet rode the explosive stream forwards. Sailing forth with nearly equal ferocity to which they¡¯d come, roughly thirty shells descended on Portia¡¯s position at once. A hail of violence surged without remorse, sneaking between every crevice of the shelf she called a shield.

    Portia was unfazed. Again, she dodged with terrifying aplomb. She rolled and arose once more into a dead sprint that was now all but confirmed to outdo Octavia¡¯s. Like Madrigal, Portia¡¯s fingers were never content to still. She squeezed the triggers of either gun in unison time after time, mid-dash or otherwise.

    Just as had been the case twice over, the click click click that accompanied the inevitable jam of her weapons was followed by a hasty discard. Already, her hands were delving between the cracks of yet another shelf. The two she drew forth were larger and heftier. It didn¡¯t impede her movement in the slightest, thicker blasts be damned.

    ¡°She might be stronger than Drey!¡± Octavia cried to Madrigal.

    ¡°Is she younger?¡± the Maestra called above her swirling winds.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing! She¡¯s faster than me! I don¡¯t think I can outrun her if she gets in close!¡±

    Given where they stood, Madrigal¡¯s smile turned the world upside-down. ¡°If it makes you feel better, neither can I! Don¡¯t give up! Let¡¯s figure this out together!¡±

    Madrigal was just as much a magnet for hope as she was for bullets. It was beautiful, and Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat.

    She gasped for courage she couldn¡¯t find, swallowing fear in its place and leaping to her feet in turn. Even now, Portia was upon Madrigal alone, thick shells spearing into the gusting barricade time and time again. Stradivaria collided with her shoulder. She wouldn¡¯t shirk the opportunity twice.

    I need you to make this quick!

    I will oblige as I can.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t earn the scorching wrath that seized her arms as fast as she would¡¯ve liked. Still, the familiar bubbling heat in her fingertips came soon enough. Swift slashes of the bow left light in her hands, her beloved rays aligned and pulsing of their own accord. So close to her face and vividly luminescent, every sizzle fell nestled beneath patient chords as they lie in wait. If nothing else, they weren¡¯t left to wait long.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    When Madrigal¡¯s raging storm pulsed once more, stolen violence hailing down upon Portia, it left her dodging yet again. It was all Octavia needed. With the woman¡¯s body scraping the marble, her skirt catching the jagged tips of fallen blades, light became a counter. Searing warmth surged, and Octavia fought bullets with arrows.

    The six that buffeted Portia, to her incredible dismay, were equally dodged in turn. Still, they were unexpected in their own right, for how Portia had been left to evade her returned assault already. She stumbled somewhat in the process of fleeing. When she regained her footing, her heels uneven against the marble, her eyes were narrow. Guns or not, she wasn¡¯t perfect. It was something to work with.

    Regardless, It still wasn¡¯t enough to disarm her. That much hardly mattered, given the same click click click that followed seconds later. With a glare oozing irritation, she flung her wrists downwards. Once more, her skillful sprint left her on a collision course with a high-rising rack not so distant.

    ¡°Get behind me!¡± Madrigal cried.

    Octavia didn¡¯t object, dashing towards the protection of Madrigal¡¯s spiraling tempest as wind roared through her ears. She barely made it, another useless slew of bullets descending upon the storm. From here, at least, she had leeway. She raised Stradivaria once more, her light still freely pulsing and well prepared.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Madrigal called. ¡°If all the guns are loaded, hitting them with your light might set them off!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Octavia called back.

    Madrigal winced. ¡°What if they explode? Your light is really hot!¡±

    It was a mildly terrifying thought. A spirit of wind offered the perfect legacy with which to wage war in a room full of potential explosives. Versus a heart of light, one gun would be fine. Several guns would be fine, maybe. Several guns hardly constituted an armory, and every firearm Octavia could possibly conceive of was well within her line of sight. A chain reaction was exceedingly possible, and her poor knowledge of the weaponry didn¡¯t help. It spoke to nothing of historical value, flammable materials nestled mysteriously within any given barrel. She¡¯d be threading a needle. She was already horrified. Somehow, it was getting worse.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to approach this!¡± Octavia admitted. ¡°I can¡¯t hit her unless she gets in closer, then! She fights from a lot further away than Drey did, and I¡¯m not usually¡­limited this much!¡±

    ¡°Why does she have so many guns?¡± Madrigal whimpered.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to wince as she shouted above the storm. ¡°I can think of a few reasons!¡±

    ¡°This, too, is an homage. It¡¯s a sign of respect for him,¡± Portia clarified, hardly exerted as she answered their cries from afar. ¡°In mastering each blade of the past and present, he turned himself into a living work of art. At least, that¡¯s what he enjoyed being called. It was a lofty goal. He got close enough, in the end. Consider this my compliment to his drive. To be fair, it¡¯s a lot easier.¡±

    She glared at them. ¡°Maybe if you children weren¡¯t so busy messing with things you don¡¯t understand, you could put down weapons not meant for this world and take up those that are.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand!¡± Madrigal cried, her own eyes flashing with dangerous anger. ¡°You¡¯ll never understand what we have, and you¡¯ll never take that away from us! I swear on it!¡±

    ¡°Play hero all you want, little girl, but at the end of the day, you¡¯re not fooling anyone. You¡¯re not the saint you make yourself out to be.¡±

    ¡°I am a hero,¡± Madrigal growled. ¡°No matter what powers I have, and no matter what I have to do, I¡¯ll always be a heroine! One way or another, I¡¯m gonna take you down!¡±

    ¡°Octavia!¡± she called suddenly, her gaze cast over her shoulder to the Heartful Maestra. ¡°If I get in close, will it be easier for you to hit her?¡±

    The fire in Madrigal¡¯s eyes was almost startling, sudden as it came. Still, Octavia nodded. The ribbons of radiance swirling adjacently warmed her neck in passing as she played. ¡°Yeah, but how do you plan to do that? There¡¯s guns all over the room! She can still shoot you no matter where you go!¡±

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°Promise that you trust me, okay?¡±

    ¡°What are you¡­gonna do?¡±

    Even now, even here, Madrigal again brought sunshine to the darkest place. For Octavia and Octavia alone, she broke into a warm smile, bullets raining down upon her. ¡°The Magical Madrigal won¡¯t let you down, Ambassador! All you have to do is trust me!¡±

    Without words, Octavia nodded once more. The resolution she fought to offer with her eyes was the best she could do to counter Madrigal¡¯s brilliant smile. She wasn¡¯t sure she could muster the same.

    ¡°I¡¯ll draw her attention! You stay here and do whatever you need to do, okay?¡±

    ¡°O-Okay!¡±

    ¡°We''ve got this! Ready?¡±

    She adjusted her cheek against Stradivaria, tightening her grip on the bow. ¡°Ready!¡±

    Madrigal inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. Her fingers never stilled, her whirling song ceaseless as it swallowed bullet after bullet.

    ¡°Let¡¯s do it! Take my hands!¡±

    For you and you alone.

    Madrigal''s song changed. Her notes hastened. They sharpened, crystal honed into something more fierce and yet indescribable all the same. Harsh winds were ruthless in a way that betrayed the softness of her heart. Even from behind, protected from harm, the manner by which they whipped against Octavia¡¯s bare skin stung. She winced as she channeled her light, much to her dismay. A beautiful melody had been suddenly tinged with poison, a venom that spoke to ire. In a way, it was almost familiar. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly enjoy it. It took until Madrigal opened her eyes to figure out why.

    Octavia had seen that expression so many times over, in far too many unsettling moments. She¡¯d seen those eyes, kidnapped of bubbling light behind a gaze that usually fixed her with love. Instead, happiness pooled with razors. They had once lifted her high and beaten her senseless in a moment of lovestruck rage. They were no longer Madrigal¡¯s to lay claim to. Octavia¡¯s own eyes widened in turn, and a spirit of wind lunged.

    Her song was immortal, her fingers moving ever faster until Octavia could swear they were a blur against the strings. Every pluck screamed, every crystalline note resonant and lingering in the open air as she pulled her vortex along with her. Her sudden vulnerability left Octavia panicking, initially. Her rushing shield was gone in an instant, and she stood wide open. There was little to fear for. Portia¡¯s focus was on Madrigal alone, the Spirited Maestra claiming her focus by force as she charged forth. There was no terror to be found where the Apex had claimed her determined spirit once more.

    Portia was just as shaken, seemingly, dashing out of Madrigal¡¯s range as quickly as her body would allow. Were it Madrigal, and were their speeds mortally weighed, there would¡¯ve been no contest. As it were, she was hard-pressed to outrun Lyra.

    Fresh firearms in hand, she brandished them without hesitation. Her sudden change of course as she moved about the armory did nothing to impact her arsenal. Portia was surely learning the fury of the Spirited, for how the consequences of her violence still hammered her again and again. Still, she fired, her targets varying with each shot. Even managing the crisis that was evading Madrigal¡¯s reach, Portia¡¯s aim fell to every part of the Maestra.

    She fired at hands, feet, arms, and the girl¡¯s skull, all without success. It left only her own shells devoured by the unforgiving gales of Lyra¡¯s Repose. Should the gathered bullets burst once more at such a range, it would perhaps deal the killing blow. Octavia crossed her metaphorical fingers.

    Absorbing straying shots mandated little but an endless harmony, and Madrigal was left to play. Bullets merging with her orbit were expected and natural, her armed vortex eternal. Pursuing and clinging wasn¡¯t enough, and the Maestra doubled down upon Portia. With notes equally vicious, stray streams of serrated gales assailed the woman at sickening speeds. At least one bit into her ankle, prompting her to grit her teeth as she broke into a desperate roll.

    Successful or not, vulnerability was veiled by gunfire. Portia¡¯s stamina was concerning. Madrigal¡¯s would¡¯ve been, had it not been for the Apex guiding her hands. Octavia¡¯s hands were guided by another song entirely.

    The Spirited storm had driven Portia into the open, divorced from caches once so near to ruthless hands. Opportunity came with radiance. Octavia stole the strength of the sun, arching the bow and slashing in desperation. Every movement of her wrist sent brilliance sailing forth, their path to the woman clear.

    Twofold and scathing as ever, the crisp sizzle of her rays as they speared through the open air was as satisfying as it was successful. One smashed into Portia¡¯s foot, bursting as it dug hard into the leather of her heel. The woman grunted in pain, stumbling yet again. The second sizzling ray missed, and yet it was a victory all the same. Octavia didn¡¯t let up, cocking her luminous arrows once more.

    Portia growled. Octavia had lost track of how many times the woman¡¯s slender hands had clasped at firearms, and yet she repeated the same cycle evermore. No matter where she ran, the armory blessed her. Each weapon was still diverse, varying in shape, size, and the weight of every remorseless shell. She¡¯d prepared for this, and extensively so. It was how Octavia was learning her to be.

    Her stamina, too, was apparently bottomless. Where Octavia had once found terror in a war of attrition, Drey¡¯s strength paled in comparison. Portia was versed in combat, somehow, despite the gruesome toll of a conservator that had led the Ambassador to believe anything but. The firearms fixation was new enough, if Portia¡¯s own words were to be believed. She learned fast. Octavia shuddered.

    It was a cycle. Light gave chase, and Portia dodged in turn. She failed, on occasion, and brilliance clipped her hurrying silhouette. Madrigal pressed, swirling wind and spared gales pushing the woman ever closer towards wrathful radiance. Sometimes, she was just as violent. It wasn¡¯t often. Guns would click, clatter and surrender to fresh ferocity amongst shimmering iron and glass shelter. Knives, polearms, and swords served to conceal, buried as each firearm was in their midst.

    A Muse would never tire, surely. Still, Madrigal was mortal. If she squinted, she could capture Madrigal¡¯s bleeding fingertips, skin snagging along rugged copper and chafing further as her endless song cried out. Blessed by Lyra¡¯s love or otherwise, she was running dangerously thin.

    Radiance had to hit eventually. Octavia steadied her hands, hunting for what chance she could find with frantic eyes. Portia¡¯s rapid lunge towards a glistening rack left her hands empty and her attention elsewhere. It was enough. Again was her brilliance stretched into the finest of arrows, leveled with the woman from afar. Blinding starlight pulsed through her fingertips and burst through her skin as she freed it with every slash.

    Her aim was nearly true, and she cursed the way Portia found the slightest shelter behind sturdy storage. Octavia was all but certain she¡¯d at least grazed the top of the woman¡¯s head, if nothing else. She gritted her teeth. When Portia would stand, she knew what would follow. It was all she could do to wait, a helpless victim of an eternal spiral.

    And yet, when the woman rose, she came with empty hands. Slender fingers made for the rack regardless. They settled around one glistening polearm, pulling the weapon loose with mild force. Octavia froze. That was new.

    Portia shirked her preciously-guarded distance from the Spirited girl, dashing in full towards Madrigal. Aided by the Apex as she was, she didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Bullets dripped pitifully to the marble below as her swirling shield was rendered useless. It was Madrigal who was forced to dodge, Portia advancing in turn with ruthless swings of unforgiving steel. She wasn''t even slightly as proficient as Drey. It hardly mattered. What she possessed was deadly enough.

    Madrigal¡¯s gales were razor-edged even now, slashing viciously at Portia¡¯s face on every brutal approach. Still, the pain was far from a deterrent. Clean wounds cutting into bare skin weren''t nearly enough to impede Portia¡¯s assault. Lyra could send her sailing, given the chance. Madrigal never got one, given the way her hands succumbed to such a precise assault.

    Stradivaria could do so little up close. The urge to try regardless was agonizing to ignore. Ultimately, Octavia had been the one to offer Madrigal her unwavering trust. Once more, she aimed with care, each crafted sunbeam bulkier and brighter still. She had leeway, and leeway came with an armory of her own. Her light pooled, streaming in excess around her shoulders with the brilliant elegance of her own tiny solar system. Her warmth was safe, her song powerful. It was all she could do to avoid hitting Madrigal.

    Portia swiftly twisted the polearm sideways. The collision born between the shaft and Madrigal¡¯s hand prompted a sickening crack that Octavia heard well across the room. Madrigal cried out in pain, still gripping Lyra¡¯s Repose for dear life. Portia drove the blunt end of the weapon hard into her stomach, and Madrigal coughed as she stumbled in reverse. Her stormy melody was steadily weakening, even as she birthed yet more flickering winds.

    Portia¡¯s heels scraped hard against the marble as she lunged. She nearly leapt, coming down hard over Madrigal¡¯s head with the cold iron of the polearm¡¯s shaft. Madrigal cried out yet again, stumbling twice over with groans of pain in her wake. Eyes squeezed shut, she played even now, desperately fumbling along the strings for whirling winds once so safe.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± Octavia shouted.

    ¡°I won¡¯t¡­give up!¡± Madrigal called back, her voice painfully strained as she played.

    The bursting radiance that followed speared between Madrigal and Portia instead, severing the closed distance between them. Portia recoiled as luminous beams crashed down at her feet, scattering into scorching debris. With both hands, she heaved the polearm onto her shoulder, launching it forth at Madrigal. It didn¡¯t hit, and yet the effort was more than enough to force the Maestra into a dizzy dodge. Again, she staggered. With Portia''s hands freed at last, Octavia panicked, frantically settling taut starlight into place.

    She couldn¡¯t see Portia. She could hear rustling and the clinking of metal that came with it. That was good enough for her. Octavia tensed, embracing her residual warmth as always. She let her radiance fly, spearing into the open as it hurtled towards Portia without regret. It was all she could do to go for the woman¡¯s last position. When her scathing rays collided with the distant marble, she couldn¡¯t tell if she¡¯d missed or not.

    Portia rose to her feet once more, and the firearms in either hand were again hefty and elongated. Gaping barrels spoke to sizable shells and raw, explosive power. Octavia was no expert. Still, she¡¯d learned far more about firearms today than she ever would¡¯ve preferred to. It was more of a guess. Under no circumstances was she proud of being correct. She found her confirmation of heavy prowess in the form of Portia¡¯s glare. A remorseless squeeze around a singular trigger was enough for a bullet to careen straight towards her head. Her heart stopped.

    It was a miracle that she¡¯d shifted her shoulders in time, Stradivaria taking the full blow as she staggered. It wasn¡¯t enough for Portia, and the violin absorbed her blasting assault twice over. The second time, Octavia¡¯s loose grip and trembling hands were a curse. Stradivaria was launched mercilessly from her careful grasp, clattering to the marble below. A gasp wouldn¡¯t save her, nor would the urge to cry out. It was all she could do to meet Portia¡¯s poisonous glare, fear pooling in her own as the barrel of a gun came level with her skull.

    There came a thick bang, startling and distant. Octavia couldn¡¯t focus.

    The pitiful breeze that brushed Portia¡¯s hair was as confusing as it was distressing. ¡°Leave her alone!¡± Madrigal cried feebly.

    Portia¡¯s eyes flickered to Madrigal. Octavia saw it coming, and no amount of screaming would¡¯ve helped. She lunged for Stradivaria, nearly tripping in the process. With her hand inches from the violin, she heard the bang before she saw it. Her head snapped upwards, never touching her partner in full. Madrigal cried out in agony.

    Octavia¡¯s terrified eyes found an unhurried Portia, her aim leisurely and patient. It had done her well, especially given the girl¡¯s condition. With one sizable bullet lodged squarely in the back of her left hand, Madrigal¡¯s screams were unbearable. The blast had been unkind to her, chunks of red exposed deep beyond the surface of her slender hand. It gushed almost instantly. Jagged flaps of frayed skin gave way to red that stained Lyra¡¯s beautiful golds. Her fingers didn¡¯t withstand the suffering for long, uncurling as her limp hand slumped to her side. Struggling beneath the weight of the harp, her other hand shook with the effort of clinging to her partner.

    It hardly mattered. Portia aimed casually, eyes cast down at the girl¡¯s last remaining bastion of song. She squeezed the trigger once more. Now, they matched.

    Again came a distant bang, different in flavor from that which Portia had cruelly bestowed.

    The twofold blow was over in the time it took Octavia to break into a sprint. There was nothing to do but forgo her partner in the face of Madrigal¡¯s pain alone. The Maestra¡¯s wailing was enough to shatter her heart into pieces, her agony a contagious torment unlike anything Octavia had ever heard. For all of the hurt and fear that had ever left the girl¡¯s mouth, she¡¯d never once witnessed something so horrific. Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t see straight. This wasn¡¯t happening.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± she screamed, her throat raw beneath her desperate cry.

    Portia didn¡¯t need to close the gap. Her skill, from here, would suffice. The firearm she¡¯d trained upon Octavia was lowered, unnecessary in the face of helplessness. A barrel rose to meet another Maestra altogether, and Octavia had long since been forgotten. Madrigal was bound to her knees, teeth gritted and breaths rapid. With tears slipping down her cheeks, she gazed up at Portia in horror.

    Bang, once more, just the slightest bit closer. It lingered for a moment.

    ¡°Madrigal, Madrigal, Madrigal!¡± Octavia wailed.

    She needed to go faster. She had to go faster. Faster. Faster.

    ¡°I respect your drive,¡± Portia said firmly. ¡°If it were him, this would be enough. I¡¯m not. It isn¡¯t. You understand, right, hero?¡±

    Bang, thrice over. Louder. It was enough to register. It was not, even slightly, enough to capture Octavia''s attention in full.

    Madrigal shook her head, turning away as the barrel came level with her eyes. ¡°S-Someone will stop you! If not me, then¡­somebody! If this is what it takes, and if this is what I have to give to take you down, t-then so be it! You¡­you w-won¡¯t get away with this!¡±

    ¡°Life is not a fairy tale.¡±

    Faster. Faster. Faster. If there was a God, he would let her be faster.

    ¡°L-Leave my friends alone,¡± Madrigal sobbed. ¡°Please. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll¡­¡±

    Portia¡¯s gaze was blank, utterly empty. ¡°You¡¯ll what?¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t kill me,¡± Madrigal whispered, her voice cracking. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna die yet.¡±

    Not her.

    Bang. It was loud. It was unignorable. Even Portia¡¯s eyes flickered to the wall on her right, momentary as her attention was.

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t!¡± Octavia screeched, one hand extended in a reach she couldn¡¯t make. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt her! It¡¯s me you want! Leave her alone, I¡¯m begging you!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get your turn,¡± Portia said, not sparing Octavia so much as a glance. Her eyes were on Madrigal alone.

    Not her. Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.

    Bang.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t befit a heroine to beg for her life. If that¡¯s really your ideal, then stick to it until you die. It¡¯s the least you can do. Die like a hero, if you wish.¡±

    Not her.

    Bang.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡±

    Bang.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Madrigal wept softly, ¡°I love you, okay? I love everyone. I love--¡±

    But the bang that followed was that of a gun. The bang that stung Octavia¡¯s ears was unmistakable. The bang that cried out was born of a bullet, ripped without remorse by a woman with none of the same. The bang that poisoned the air would haunt Octavia for the rest of her life.

    Madrigal fell.

    So did Portia.

    And herself, even.

    As to which bang was which, Octavia could just barely tell. Her world went sideways, and she tumbled again and again as she crashed hard to the marble below. The explosion that erupted before her put those she¡¯d escaped in the corridor to shame. The crumpled chunks of masonry and steel that smashed into the floor with harsh bang sounds of their own made her recoil.

    Some of them landed far too close for comfort, and she winced. Disoriented as she was, she had no chance to scream, just barely finding time to cover her head. The debris the blast had kicked up was unfathomable. Disturbingly-thick particles of mixed marble and dust obscured her vision in full for at least fifteen seconds.

    She didn¡¯t need to cough. Still, it took rapid blinking to keep her watery eyes open. Octavia''s desperate attempts to reduce the distance between herself and Madrigal had been useless. She¡¯d found herself nearly right back where she¡¯d started--bruised and damaged in turn. Madrigal was on her back, spared of the trained aim of a firearm.

    Her tormentor had fared poorly, hurtled far in reverse from the Maestra she¡¯d wounded. Portia groaned in pain, reeling from a collision with one of the many shelves she¡¯d drawn weapons from. It was a miracle it was still standing at all, and it was an equal miracle that it hadn¡¯t fallen on the woman.

    Three combatants were bound to marble, crumpled and uncrumpled alike. Octavia initially believed she was hallucinating the footsteps. Her head throbbed, and she was positive she¡¯d smashed it against the floor during her fall. Still, they grew louder. Louder. Louder, still.

    They tenderly graced the floor as they moved, and they came to a halt before two battered Maestras. When Octavia''s blurred eyes trailed upwards, everything attached to those footsteps was shaking. Every inch of the visage that greeted her was trembling. The gaze she stole the briefest sight of was loaded with nothing but fear and fire. Narrowed as they were, the ragged, hitched breaths weren''t subtle. The hands shook violently, more than anything else. The longer she waited, and the longer she held her own breath, the worse the trembling became. Still, they didn¡¯t budge.

    Portia had managed to push herself to her feet, shaking in her own right in the wake of the blast. Metal had broken her reversing velocity, and in no way had it been kind to her body. It showed, and she staggered. It didn¡¯t stop her from reaching behind into the same, fumbling blindly for ever more precious violence that lay scattered in every direction.

    She got her wish. Octavia knew what was to come, for how she¡¯d grown so used to the pattern. For once, Portia didn¡¯t fire immediately, raising her weapons aloft before her as she steadied her aim. The figure in her sights didn¡¯t flinch. They only trembled yet more.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­here,¡± Octavia breathed, her voice hoarse from screaming.

    Low and husky, laced with terror and coolness all at once, another voice entirely trembled in equal measure. ¡°I really, really don¡¯t want to be.¡±

    ¡°So, then¡­why?¡± she murmured.

    There came a deep exhale. ¡°Because I¡¯ll die before I let somebody hurt you.¡±

    Octavia''s eyes widened, and she could feel her own shimmer.

    Portia tilted her head, her voice calm and firm. ¡°Who the hell are you, exactly?¡±

    There was no stemming the fear that oozed out of every pore. It was all-consuming, visible to anyone who would dare to look. Every last ounce of body language spoke to a scream. It spoke to a plea to run, and a plea to hide. Every hollow breath hunted for what little courage touched the air, fleeting and tiny as it would be. Even now, the shaking was eternal. It was endless, so fierce that Octavia worried the boy before her might shatter like glass.

    And still, he found the strength to open his mouth, bite back the waver in his voice, and fix her with what fiery resolve had settled into his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m Renato Bell, and I am the greatest damn Maestro you¡¯ll ever meet.¡±

 56. Strong

    His very presence before Octavia was breathtaking. In the same sense, his struggle for a semblance of stability had robbed her of oxygen they were meant to share. In either hand, Mistral Asunder surrendered to his fierce trembling, rustling in a prison of cherry oak. The way his shoulders rose and fell spoke to his panic. Even so, even now, he refused to look away from Portia.

    She¡¯d lowered her guard, both firearms settling loosely at her sides. ¡°That¡¯s fortified steel.¡±

    Renato exhaled sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡±

    She eyed him up and down, her gaze eventually traveling to hands that shook so fiercely around a Harmonial Instrument. ¡°Oh. I remember which one you are now.¡±

    Whatever confidence he¡¯d scrounged together was compromised the moment she spoke, exposed cherry oak highlighting a history with the institute. Renato¡¯s breaths were faster, his line of sight abruptly broken. His terrified eyes closed.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    Even if she couldn¡¯t match his gaze directly, she never peeled her eyes away from his face. ¡°Yes?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Say it.¡±

    She paused for a moment, a soft inhale of her own preceding her realization. ¡°Renato.¡±

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    He took a deep breath, every last part of it rattling on the way out. ¡°Promise you won¡¯t leave me here.¡±

    Even with his eyes closed, Octavia nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±

    Renato opened them, one slightly-shaky hand rising to adjust his hat. ¡°Then this is fine.¡±

    His body was still otherwise, his breaths steadying. His voice, too, was immune to the waver that had threatened it just seconds before. ¡°You shine too damn bright for the rest of us. Sometimes I can hardly look at you. Let the rest of us shine once in awhile, alright?¡±

    She didn¡¯t have the strength to argue, nor to smile. Still, her heart was smiling on the inside.

    ¡°She hurt Maddie, didn¡¯t she?¡± Renato asked softly.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Octavia answered, battling the crack that threatened her voice.

    His eyes narrowed, and it left him glowering at Portia. ¡°You made one hell of a mistake messin¡¯ with the two most important people in my life.¡±

    Portia shifted her weight onto her other foot. ¡°And here I thought he¡¯d done enough to you already. Clearly not. It¡¯s my own mistake for assuming so, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°There isn¡¯t a damn thing he could do to me that would keep me from bein¡¯ where I need to be,¡± Renato answered.

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re here with such fear in your eyes? That¡¯s why you¡¯re shaking and shivering with such fervor? You¡¯re a scared little boy whose ego has already betrayed him once before.¡±

    He didn¡¯t honor her harsh words with body language. ¡°Maybe I would be afraid, if you were him. You¡¯re not. I¡¯ve got nothing to worry about.¡±

    She narrowed her own eyes, only now raising one firearm in a perfect, distant path to his resolute expression. ¡°I suppose your hands weren¡¯t enough. Perhaps I¡¯ll blow off your legs instead.¡±

    Renato cracked his neck. ¡°Come take ¡®em, bitch.¡±

    She fired.

    She missed.

    Rather, she didn¡¯t miss so much as she was well outmatched in speed, a boom that rivaled her own deadly burst enough to repel her assault. What met her bullet was velocity just as explosive and just as powerful, if not more so as it erupted from the tip of one drumstick. It was the quickest that Octavia had ever seen Renato¡¯s wrist move. He countered her shot, his own blast of compressed sound rattling her eardrums as his eyes somehow matched the speed of a flying bullet. He did it twice.

    Octavia could hardly keep up with his hands the third time, nor the fourth time, nor the fifth time. She watched in absolute awe as Portia was forced to rely on both of her weapons with a grimace. The woman wasn¡¯t the only one with two hands full of deadly prowess, the strength of sound countering each and every blow she hoped to deal with boom after boom after boom.

    Renato¡¯s eyes, just the same, followed every last movement she made with complete and unshakable focus. Not a single shot slipped past him, let alone so much as grazed him. Not a single shell even made it within a foot of him to begin with. Invisible sonic bursts that sat on the threshold of audible pain blasted the air in perfect rhythm with each bang of either gun.

    The steady clicking that came with vulnerability on Portia¡¯s part was greeted with a growl from their wielder. She initially hesitated to doff her useless weapons once more, instead glaring down her new assailant with utter disdain. Renato wasn¡¯t so much as slightly fatigued, his breathing even and his sharpened gaze never leaving Portia for a moment. He stretched one of his shoulders.

    Either he was gambling, reading her, or his eyes could somehow follow every shot as it ripped through the innocent air. Octavia had absolutely no idea which of the three was most plausible. That was just the kind of person he was.

    When Portia finally did find the drive to discard her emptied firearms once more, her cycle was unbroken. She didn¡¯t need to rush, for how Renato¡¯s piercing gaze was content only to soak up her every movement. She casually reached low towards one of the many free-standing racks, drawing two of the heavier style of guns Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly surprised to see. Her line of thought would¡¯ve been predictable, had it not been Portia. If she planned to experiment with the strength of sound, she had her work cut out for her.

    Renato raised an eyebrow. ¡°She¡¯s got more of them?¡±

    It didn¡¯t matter that Renato¡¯s eyes were anywhere except upon her own. Octavia found herself nodding anyway, the tails of her braids tickling the marble below. ¡°Every gun in the room is loaded. She¡¯s gone through a lot of them, but there¡¯s still dozens more. When she runs out of bullets, she¡¯ll just get new ones.¡±

    He almost seemed impressed. ¡°Damn, all of ¡®em?¡±

    ¡°Be careful¡­not to blow them up,¡± Madrigal¡¯s voice came weakly.

    Renato didn¡¯t flinch. Octavia did, her eyes snapping to the Maestra on the floor several feet away as she spoke. ¡°Your sound is¡­really strong. If you¡­hit too many at once¡­they might blow up. We¡¯d¡­get hurt.¡±

    If her faint voice, tinted with pain, fazed the boy, he didn¡¯t let it show. The Maestra¡¯s words carried just as much significance as Octavia¡¯s own, and he took them just as seriously. ¡°That¡¯d be a problem, wouldn¡¯t it? I can aim. I¡¯ll watch what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    Already, Portia¡¯s own aim was trained on the Maestro again, her fingers curling dangerously around the triggers. Octavia¡¯s heart pounded.

    ¡°Renato,¡± she began, her voice unsteady.

    And already, he was tensed once more, Mistral Asunder readied before him as he braced against the floor. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­fast. She¡¯s faster than you. She might even be stronger than you. Please, please be careful.¡±

    He blinked. ¡°Stronger than me?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia could hear him inhale slowly, exhaling hard at much the same pace. For the briefest moment, she could swear she spotted an honest to God grin cross his face, dark and faint as it was.

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    He discovered Portia¡¯s aforementioned speed immediately, the woman descending upon him relentlessly as she let loose a slew of gunfire. With every light, deceptive clack of her heels against the marble came nearly one bullet each to match, shells besieging him from afar at a ruthless pace. Distance was irrelevant, closed instantly by velocity and her own forward approach alike. Her eyes were narrow, and her aim was true. Had he not been the person he was, gifted with the strength he possessed, Renato would surely have succumbed to each and every shot.

    He didn¡¯t. Renato didn¡¯t need to draw upon his full acrobatic abilities. Still, he did dip into his pool of athletic prowess for the sake of twisting and spinning, accommodating the force of his own blows. Every blast and burst that repelled any given bullet brought with it a recoil that he not only withstood, but embraced with a body well-trained for his legacy. He was a borderline master of the strength of sound, his movements speaking to the same. Each invisible explosion was his alone, and the residual shock he soaked up propelled outwards in a cycle Octavia couldn¡¯t keep up with.

    Every ounce of pure, deadly sound that rippled through his blood and erupted from his drumsticks tested the limits of Portia¡¯s irritation. The distance between them was reasonable, the gap still wide enough to spare her any true danger. Regardless, Octavia could still see the aggravation in her eyes as she was forced to drop her spent weapons once more.

    When she lunged for yet more to unleash her fury upon the Maestro, he gifted her with his own fury instead. Renato brought one aloft arm down hard, unleashing a wave of unbelievable pressure to the place she¡¯d been standing seconds before. Portia was lucky she¡¯d thrown herself into a roll against the marble when she did. The resulting boom of his blow collided with the innocent floor with enough violence to leave more than a mark. The racks closest to his assault rattled, several spears slipping out of place and clattering to the marble below. Renato clicked his tongue with irritation of his own.

    Portia¡¯s sudden emergence from behind another stray crate carried two predictable, vicious accompaniments in either hand. When one barrel instead found itself trained on Octavia¡¯s head, the Maestra still bound helplessly to the floor, her heart threatened to burst.

    Portia squeezed the trigger with a gruesome bang. The bullet didn¡¯t get far.

    The ear-shattering boom that came too close to Octavia''s body for comfort startled her fiercely, nearly landing her flat on her back once again. She couldn¡¯t fight the yelp that slipped out of her throat, her own eyes screwed shut in fear and surprise. Still, she was very much alive and very much not in pain. The distant sound of something hollow and metallic clinking noisily to the floor greeted her ringing ears.

    Renato spun one drumstick between his fingers half-heartedly. ¡°Eyes on me, lady. Don¡¯t fight dirty,¡± he demanded.

    Octavia swore she could hear Portia growl. She didn¡¯t try the same tactic twice, her attention returned to the Strong Maestro instead as she rushed at him once more. Close-range for her apparently meant preserving an ample, subtle gap that still gave her room to work with. It was enough for her shots to build up the deadly velocity they needed to inflict brutal damage. Even if she hadn¡¯t been successful with Renato so far, she could still press him.

    Octavia had been correct in her assumption that Portia was faster than him, his attention working overtime to track her as she shot at the boy again and again. The need for restraint around the many, many loaded firearms lying in wait around them was a detriment. Renato¡¯s best attempts to hit her from afar were proving fruitless.

    In which case, for him, close-range carried an entirely different meaning.

    There came a point during Portia¡¯s unconventional ¡°reloading¡± process that Renato, instead, took the initiative. Octavia¡¯s heart nearly sank into her stomach as his reaction time was forced to grow quicker and more precise--lest he end up dead with a bullet lodged squarely in his skull. His approach was fast, fierce, and unhesitant nonetheless, his hands still flying and his body still stealing his own recoil with twists and rotations alike.

    Portia, to her credit, didn¡¯t quite flee so much as she did retreat slightly. She stumbled backwards, a feeble attempt to garner the small distance necessary to meet him head-on. Her one saving grace was the way that he, too, needed at least some space with which to work. Miniscule and frightening as it was, the distance between them by the end was less than three feet. That was plenty.

    So near to Portia, Renato had absolutely zero room for error, and Octavia folded her hands in prayer. One missed counter would severely wound him, if not kill him. Still, he didn¡¯t falter, unbending as he blasted at her again and again. Every sonic burst that collided with each shell was explosive in its own right, and it was incredible how neither party ever once looked away from the shockwaves battering their faces. Portia was aiming almost exclusively for his head, the odds of accurately hitting just about any other part of the fast-moving boy close to null. He¡¯d had enough of her face-to-face assault. When he found the chance, he aimed down and went up.

    It wasn¡¯t the awe-inspiring, miles-high display he¡¯d graced her with on the train. It was, still, exceedingly impressive, if not a far shorter distance in which he cleared clean over her head. From above, inverting and tucking as he did best, he finally found a use for his acrobatics against her as he launched an airborne assault. It took finesse for his bursts of sound not to send him ever higher, and Octavia watched as he formulated the perfect ratio of power with which to bring down Mistral Asunder upon the open air. There was so little Portia could do to dodge attacks from above, sudden and unpredictable as they were.

    At least once, Renato was nearly dead-on. Two downward flicks of his wrists in tandem saw the weight of sound itself come crashing down onto her head. It was with a cry of pain that Portia just barely rolled out of the path of more of the same. In the time it took him to return to earth, her speed had served her well, and she was switching her firepower once more several feet away.

    Even if he couldn¡¯t go all-out adjacent to her caches, wherever they might''ve been, he could still give chase. He did so, additional carefully-calculated explosions of varying sizes erupting from the tips of his drumsticks as he sought to beat upon her wherever possible. He was getting gradually more successful, often catching her in the stomach as she was blasted backwards with a grunt of hurt.

    Each time, she recovered somewhat more slowly, typically rolling to a stop against the frictionless marble before leaping to her feet yet again. Octavia was relieved to see the way her shoulders were heaving, along with the subtle way Portia seemed to be hunting for her breath. She was far from relieved to see the same for Renato, as much as he tried to hide it.

    The ache in her head from her collision with the floor hadn¡¯t quite subsided. Still, it had lessened substantially with the minimal rest the Maestro had graciously granted her. Stradivaria wasn¡¯t far, and she was incredibly grateful to find that the violin hadn¡¯t taken so much as a scratch from Portia¡¯s cruel attacks on Stratos¡¯ body. It was with mildly-shaking fingers that she pulled the instrument into position, staggering to her feet. She fought to find her balance, her eyes fighting their own battle to keep up with the fast and fierce movements of Renato and Portia alike. Again came the challenge of trying not to hit a fellow Maestro in the heat of battle, particularly against an opponent so quick. She still had to try.

    Octavia steadied her breathing as best as she could, pleading in her heart of hearts for the hottest and brightest light she could muster in her current state. The scathing warmth bubbling in her fingertips did her good, and quick sawing of the bow across the strings brought with it sizzling, radiant rays once more. She hoped it was no offense to Madrigal that Renato¡¯s reflexes were better. If she missed, he would surely dodge. The thought was comforting, and she didn¡¯t hold back.

    The light that flew was as calculated as she could make it, and Octavia seized the singular moment in which the Maestro had driven Portia into the open again. Freed of the concern of striking loaded rounds unseen, the volley of light that sailed in her direction was as beautiful as it was deadly. It was just as accurate, the spearing tip of one ray stinging Portia¡¯s right shoulder. Yet another met its mark, crashing down onto her right thigh. Octavia would never get used to the sizzle of human flesh beneath light meant to protect. In this instance, she had absolutely no qualms, embracing a tiny victory to be celebrated instead.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Portia cried out in agony at the sensation, although her movement was hardly impaired. Regardless, with Octavia upon her as well, her aim was evenly split. Her hands were angled, individual violence pinned to either Maestro like a magnet. When Portia squeezed the trigger, one shell sailing towards Octavia yet again, the latter had no choice but to dodge. As much as she hated playing while mobile, she didn¡¯t have a choice. She, too, would have to evade, her light following suit as the miniature suns tickling her hair left sparkling debris in her wake. Her song carried on as she ran to the best of her ability, well aware of the bang of bullets pursuing her every step.

    Even so, Portia had little room to divide her attention. Renato wasn¡¯t quite panting yet, and his subtle gasps for oxygen were still peppered with boom after boom of explosive blasts intended for the woman alone. She staggered beneath his onslaught, locked in a frantic cycle of micromanagement that straddled the line between life and death. It left Portia splitting her focus between the Maestros, offering Renato her full attention, and hunting for gaps in their assault to change her firearms once more.

    Octavia¡¯s light crashed downwards at her feet time after time, grazing her arms and the tips of her heels regularly. Renato¡¯s gradually-faltering bursts were still powerful enough to leave her recoiling, and she stumbled backwards often. There was no talking, nor taunting--only her undivided and frantic focus was offered up in a two-on-one battle. The only sounds that left her throat as she pulled the triggers again and again were vicious growls of aggravation.

    She got lucky exactly once, and it was nearly all she needed to land a decisive blow. There was a singular instance in which Renato lowered one half of Mistral Asunder, panting in earnest as sweat dripped down the sides of his face. In his singular split-second of vulnerability, one barrel found his eyes, unforgiving as she fired. At such a close range, had any other Maestro been her target, the end result would¡¯ve been far more fatal. It was Renato¡¯s quick reflexes that saved his life, just barely moving his head at the last possible moment. It didn¡¯t stop the bullet from grazing his cheek, a white-hot and brutally-stinging reminder of his mortality. For more reasons than one, he was gasping for air.

    Octavia, too, couldn¡¯t breathe, his name on her lips useless to defend him. ¡°Renato!¡± she cried.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you give up on me now!¡± he shouted weakly, immediately returning to his failing offenses. This needed to end, and it needed to end now.

    The slow, singular notes of a harp, kissing the air feebly and quietly, drew her attention.

    The grunts and soft whines of pain that followed did nothing to stem the gentle song, steadily growing stronger despite the disarray it carried in every chord. When Octavia¡¯s head snapped to Madrigal, still flat on the floor, it took a moment to process the sight at all.

    With her entire body shaking, prone on her stomach, Madrigal plucked at an equally-flat Lyra¡¯s Repose not so distant from her. Still, the effort she exerted to reach the harp was substantial, by which she stretched one trembling arm as far as need be. It was to say nothing of her fingers, let alone the hand with which she wove her song. It was still more than bloodied and blighted by the bite of a bullet. Reddened chunks of flesh and muscle were well-exposed and visible beneath charred flaps of skin. Still, even then, she was unhindered.

    If the angle was anything to go by, at least one of her fingers was outright broken, crumpled into a sickening position like discarded paper. With her trembling hand contorted unnaturally, she fought to play. Fingers that typically carried a ballad with ease instead tugged in desperation at Lyra¡¯s strings. The Maestra gritted her teeth, wincing with every motion as her haphazard song betrayed her pain.

    It still worked. Somehow, her methodology was enough. Madrigal raised her head, her narrowed eyes following the path of her singular, streaming gale as it grew stronger with every note. Octavia, too, observed its flight from afar, its swirling strength a far cry from what she expected of a song so oddly-born. Her notes were more fierce, her grunts and cries of hurt much the same in turn. What followed was a motion not dissimilar to a slash against open air, her tiny storm barreling forward towards the leftmost wall.

    Piled high with physical weaponry, sharpened spears and pointed polearms alike, they glistened beneath the dim lights as they languished behind the confines of the storage rack. It rose amply high, rivaling the adjacent firearm-speckled wall that Portia had clung to so many times. Even were Portia to have stashed yet more guns within their ranks, there was little Madrigal¡¯s wind could do to set them off.

    The gust lashed outwards, a bursting tempest that whipped with an audible and metallic crack against the rack¡¯s parallel hinges. With a quick, subsequent creak, a resounding clatter and cacophony of iron striking iron followed in a noisy display of tumbling armaments. They never made it off of the rack, nor tumbled from their original positions. Still stored safely within their individual, semi-pocketed holdings, they were content to dangle at a useless diagonal, slightly further along than a forty-five degree angle. Madrigal¡¯s wind, weakened by the impact, stilled and subsided altogether.

    Renato wasn''t immune to the sound, either. Still, the look on his face was equally as confused as Octavia¡¯s. It was only when the Maestra met Madrigal¡¯s eyes, full of flickering fire even through tears of hurt, that her own eyes widened in turn.

    Still mobile, Octavia did what she could to aim carefully in the midst of her fast footsteps. Every burst of brilliance that left a blast of heat in its wake missed Portia, spearing down hard into the marble at her heels. The woman sprinted, still desperately shooting time and time again at the two Maestros assailing her on either side. Octavia didn¡¯t need to hit. She simply needed to steer. With all her heart, she prayed Portia didn¡¯t notice.

    Her fingers ached, yet the burn in her muscles was a welcome byproduct of her equally-burning light and her radiant song. She fired her rays again and again, falling in time with the bullets that flew her way regularly. Ever more did Portia¡¯s fleeing footsteps and frantic dodges bring her near to the leftmost wall, beset by a broken gust moments ago.

    When she heard the same click click click she¡¯d long grown used to, she knew she wouldn¡¯t get a second chance. Portia¡¯s path towards her next cache brought her immediately in front of the rack. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but briefly wonder if her suspicions about a stash beyond the shining silver and steel was correct.

    Octavia wouldn¡¯t let her through. The luminescent, erupting beams that pierced the marble on either side of the woman had her pinned down, practically locked in place and unarmed. Eyes narrow and shoulders heaving, they snapped to Octavia with relentless ire as the girl screamed.

    ¡°Renato!¡± Octavia cried.

    With eyes as wide as Octavia¡¯s own, he got the message loud and clear. It didn¡¯t take him long to build up his momentum, throwing himself downwards, forwards, sideways as he tumbled and inverted against the hard flooring below. Renato was again a blur, an explosion in and of himself that spoke to the strength with which he soared. With a vicious glare, a fierce push, and an equally-fierce cry, the Strong boy tumbled through the open air much the same, the full pressure of sound incarnate crashing down onto Portia without remorse.

    With her face flooded with shock and awe, Portia was helpless to do more than stand and absorb his crushing blow. Under the weight of his unforgiving blast, she was flung backwards at such a speed that it very well may have snapped her neck. It hardly mattered. The strangled cry that left her throat, overshadowed by the residual boom of Renato¡¯s assault, would¡¯ve, too, surely been overshadowed in turn by the sound of steel piercing clean through her flesh.

    Run through by a myriad of weaponry upon every ounce of skin she possessed, Portia¡¯s shredded clothing gave way to the tips and blades of swords, spears, and everything in between. Like a pincushion, her lifeless body dangled well above the floor, still perfectly preserved in nearly the exact position she¡¯d been repelled in. Through her thighs, her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, and so much more came indiscriminate, razor-sharp edges that had been restored with such love and care.

    She was, truly, her own work of art in a way, blossoming red upon every inch of flesh haunted by metal. Some of it dripped, again staining the pristine marble with droplets of violence. It was just as Octavia had seen so many times before within the cursed walls of SIAR. Even now, her eyes were open, still wide with the same shock.

    Renato wasn''t immune to the same. Face-to-face with what was left of the woman, his entire body shook as he struggled to catch his breath.

    Renato Bell¡­

    Your toll has been paid once over.

    He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for air at last.

    And this¡­

    Is why we stayed.

    The voices Octavia heard, simultaneously shrill and not as they were, were of little interest compared to the look on the boy¡¯s face. When his eyelids fluttered open again, she couldn¡¯t pinpoint the exact emotion he carried. The indiscriminate trembling wasn¡¯t doing her any favors.

    ¡°Huh,¡± he breathed, what fresh air he¡¯d managed to capture hitching in his throat. ¡°That¡¯s¡­not a very good feeling, is it?¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly. ¡°I¡­know.¡±

    Whatever decompression she sought was shattered instantly by the distant sound of Madrigal¡¯s whimpers, soft whines of pain mixed in where applicable. It took precedence, Portia almost immediately an afterthought in place of the Maestra¡¯s well-being. She ran. By the sound of the heavy footsteps behind her, so did Renato.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± she called with horror, Stradivaria nearly hitting her face in the process of lowering her guard.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± she murmured on the vestiges of a sob, hurt eyes pooling with tears. Even now, she was prone, hardly able to move aside from raising her head.

    It wasn¡¯t in Madrigal¡¯s best physical interest when Octavia dropped to her knees and grabbed her shoulders. It wasn¡¯t in Madrigal¡¯s best physical interest when she yanked the girl up and onto her knees, her soft yelp of pain ignored. Maybe it wasn¡¯t in Madrigal¡¯s best physical interest when Octavia threw her arms tightly around the Maestra, holding on for dear life as she buried her face in the crook of the girl¡¯s neck. Octavia didn¡¯t care, and she did it anyway. She, too, could just barely resist the urge to cry, tears undoubtedly leaking against Madrigal¡¯s skin as she nuzzled close. Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding back whatever she could.

    ¡°We did it,¡± Octavia said, her voice cracking. ¡°As a team. Together.¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t fight her hold. She didn¡¯t raise her wounded hands to return the gesture. She didn¡¯t lower her head to Octavia¡¯s shoulder. Instead, into the open air, she bawled her eyes out, wailing as every tear she could ever birth splashed onto Octavia¡¯s dress. She was speechless, her cries echoing throughout the armory.

    The firm, strong warmth that did wrap around Octavia¡¯s shoulders was equally as startling as it was comforting, and she didn¡¯t resist in the slightest. It had been some time since she¡¯d felt his body so close to hers, protective and safe. So, too, was Madrigal enveloped in the same. The brim of his hat brushed against the top of Octavia¡¯s head as he delicately tapped his forehead against hers.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay now,¡± Renato whispered, tenderly stroking Octavia¡¯s hair. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine. You guys nailed it. I¡¯m so proud of both of you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you,¡± Octavia whispered back, unable to fight the sob that slipped from her throat. ¡°I¡¯m so, so proud of you.¡±

    He chuckled softly. If she listened closely, she could hear the waver in his own voice. She could feel him trembling against her, even now. ¡°What kind of man am I if I leave my girls hangin¡¯ like that?¡±

    When Octavia raised her head, the tears that sat in wait on the edges of her eyes matched his own. In his case, one escaped. She brushed it away on his behalf, and he smiled for a brief moment.

    It didn¡¯t last long. ¡°Uh¡­having blood on my hands feels really weird. I feel like I should be more¡­conflicted, I guess. She hurt you guys, though. Wish I could say I felt worse.¡±

    Octavia shook her head with a sniffle. ¡°I get it. I promise you, I get it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got one more thing in common now, huh?¡± he mumbled, his words lighter than they should¡¯ve been.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    He leaned his head against Madrigal¡¯s instead, his hat settling against her fraying buns. ¡°What¡¯d she do to you, princess?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s inconsolable cries were softened somewhat by his words and touch. Her best attempts to raise her hands were in vain, and she winced with great pain at the effort. Instead, her eyes flickered downwards to her wounds, still gaping and raw as the open air drifted within and upon them.

    Renato¡¯s eyes filled with much the same pain. ¡°Damn. Welcome to the Messed-Up Hands Club. We¡¯ll get somebody to fix ''em up, okay? Maybe Josiah can look at them.¡±

    ¡°Can he do stitches?¡± he suddenly hissed to Octavia.

    Octavia pursed her lips. ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll get someone who knows what the hell they¡¯re doing, I promise ya,¡± Renato offered, rubbing Madrigal''s head gently.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell him I said that,¡± he hissed to Octavia once more.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°They hurt, huh?¡± Renato asked, immune to Octavia¡¯s baffled input.

    Madrigal raised her eyes to his, nodding silently. The motion freed even more stray tears, caressing her cheeks much the same as the cherry oak of his knuckles did.

    He smiled. ¡°Want me to kiss ¡®em better?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Madrigal murmured, her voice cracking.

    Renato''s face fell. ¡°What for?¡±

    Her eyes watered anew, threatened by fresh sorrow. She offered them to Octavia instead. ¡°I couldn¡¯t do more to protect you. It¡¯s¡­my job to protect the Ambassador, and I put you in danger because I wasn¡¯t strong enough. I--¡±

    One single, delicate fingertip pressed to the girl¡¯s lips was all it took for Octavia to stem her words. It was her turn to smile, weak as it was. ¡°You saved my life. If anything, I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t protect you. I¡¯m not a very good Ambassador, am I?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head fervently, escaping Octavia¡¯s touch. ¡°You¡¯re the best Ambassador ever!¡± she cried.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll¡­do whatever I can to live up to that,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯re a pretty damn good lifesaver, you know that?¡± Renato offered with a grin.

    When she only gazed at him, tearful and pained, he quickly pecked her on the cheek. It was enough for the corners of her lips to turn upwards in the slightest, and his grin only brightened in turn.

    ¡°What¡¯d I tell you about pretty girls crying in front of me?¡± he scolded teasingly. She giggled.

    Still, he turned his attention to Octavia, his tone more serious in just the slightest. ¡°Where the hell is everyone, anyway?¡±

    She cringed. ¡°We¡­we had a problem. Someone got hurt.¡±

    Renato flinched. ¡°Didn¡¯t we have a whole conversation about this? I thought you guys promised nobody was gettin¡¯ their ass handed to them this time.¡±

    Against her better judgment, content to indulge in the warmth of the two Maestros forever, Octavia wriggled her way out of their embrace. With Stradivaria in hand, she rose to her feet, stretching her aching muscles somewhat. The sooner she returned to the others, the better. Harper¡¯s condition was of particular concern.

    ¡°There¡¯s¡­a lot to unpack,¡± she confessed.

    ¡°Did you figure something out? I mean, after all this, I¡¯d hope so,¡± Renato said, pushing himself to his feet much the same.

    Octavia averted her eyes. ¡°I think so. Most of it makes sense. There¡¯s still some holes. I like to imagine we¡¯re safe now, but there¡¯s¡­one more concern I have. We can talk about it with the others.¡±

    ¡°Good with me,¡± he said with a shrug. He tossed his gaze downwards. ¡°You want me to carry you, princess?¡±

    Even in the midst of her struggles to get up, Madrigal found room to blush. ¡°W-What?¡±

    Renato grinned again, tapping one drumstick against his thigh. ¡°I can carry you in my arms like a real princess, if you want. Would you like that?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s blush was explosive. The balance with which she managed to stand without using her hands was impressive, despite the stagger that followed. Octavia at least did her the favor of carting Lyra¡¯s Repose in her stead. ¡°T-T-That¡¯s okay!¡± the Maestra sputtered, refusing to look him in the eyes.

    Renato tilted his head slowly, his knowing grin ever brighter. ¡°Oh? There¡¯s a line in the sand? Cute.¡±

    For a moment, Octavia was motionless. It was easier to trail their morbid happiness with her eyes than it was to cast them behind her, for what she¡¯d left in her wake. It wasn¡¯t the first time. The pang of nostalgia that bit her veins was somewhat more fleeting than she¡¯d expected. If she turned, she¡¯d find Portia¡¯s corpse alone. That was already gruesome enough.

    It wasn¡¯t in her best interest to do so. For the sake of the knot in her stomach, she did anyway. Shining steel still claimed her eternally, carrying the woman long after her spirit had fled. It was self-defense. To be fair, she¡¯d internalized the same last time, too. Blood met marble, and burning flesh was absent. Gentle teasing at her back took the place of every sickening sizzle and reminders of tolls paid too soon. Portia was still. It hardly mattered that it was the armory instead. If she blinked too hard, and should her eyes linger upon the polearms for too long, Octavia could conjure another corpse entirely.

    Bells were ruinous. Still, within the walls of SIAR alone, a conservator was one more thing that she and Renato had in common. Even so, the boy had come. She wondered if she would¡¯ve done the same. She inhaled slowly.

    ¡°Can I¡­ask you something?¡± Octavia began, ignoring the way by which Madrigal¡¯s anxious footsteps were already taking her to what remained of the door.

    Even as he answered her, Renato was doing the same, albeit slower. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    She hesitated. ¡°How did you¡­know we were here?¡±

    His steps slowed further. Octavia threw her eyes at the marble as she followed behind.

    ¡°There¡¯s¡­a lot of different parts of SIAR, lots of different wings and rooms and whatnot. I don¡¯t know all of them. The only ones that would are¡­Drey¡¯s people. How did you know exactly where we were? Exactly which room, in exactly which wing?¡±

    Renato was silent.

    ¡°And¡­you know what? This isn¡¯t even the first time you¡¯ve done that. You¡¯ve¡­found me in places I haven¡¯t even told you I went to.¡±

    He was still, his footsteps halting entirely.

    ¡°You can¡¯t laugh,¡± Renato said, his voice low and his back to Octavia.

    She nodded, even out of sight. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    When he tossed a gaze over his shoulder, it came with a smile. ¡°Would you believe me if I said I ¡®just knew¡¯?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    He turned to her in full, one hand resting comfortably on his hip. ¡°When you were at Harper¡¯s house, I couldn¡¯t really see the Dissonance that well, but I could tell anyway. When you were at the camp, even before that kid came running to Vi¡¯s place, I still had this feeling. When you and Lyra were fightin¡¯ it out, I knew.¡±

    Octavia eyed him uncomfortably. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Renato cocked his head. ¡°They told me. My gift, I mean. Took ¡®em long enough.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°Your¡­gift? Mente and Aste did?¡±

    He nodded, spinning one drumstick between the fingers of his other hand lazily. ¡°I can tell when the Ambassador¡¯s life is in danger. Of course, once I know, I can¡­put a stop to that problem, if you know what I mean. I¡¯m a Tavi magnet now. Live with it.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but giggle. ¡°That¡¯s¡­amazing.¡±

    ¡°So, I guess I¡¯m spendin¡¯ the rest of my Maestro life fighting for the Ambassador. Tough stuff,¡± Renato joked.

    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be nice,¡± she teased.

    ¡°It¡¯s the life I chose,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°You know what that means, right?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°What?¡±

    Renato¡¯s grin was warm, brilliant in a way that touched her heart. ¡°It means I¡¯m your soldier.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t fight her smile, the one that broke her face in half.

    ¡°So¡­use me however you want,¡± he continued softly, ¡°and I¡¯ll kick some ass for you.¡±

    In the face of his words, Octavia couldn¡¯t find her own. Instead, all she could do was match the shimmer in his gaze, unbending and offered to her alone. For what felt like far too long, she was content to bare her heart to his soul with her sparkle. It was a warmth unlike anything she¡¯d ever felt from him.

    Eventually, Renato''s eyes snapped to the floor with a soft blush. ¡°Damn, that sounded a lot cooler in my head.¡±

    Octavia laughed. Even were he to be her protector, to fall apart in front of her, to take her world on his shoulders and hoist her back to her feet when she fell, he was still himself. He was still Renato. She wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.

    She had his smile back. She¡¯d never let it go again.

 57. Liar

    The immediate reaction that followed the Strong Maestro¡¯s visage upon the three who¡¯d stayed behind was one of surprise not unlike Octavia¡¯s own. The second shock came in the form of Madrigal¡¯s hands. The third, Renato¡¯s eyes on Harper, and the fourth, Octavia¡¯s brief retelling of the harrowing crisis that had awaited within the confines of the armory. There was little true organization to their actual exchange, still largely localized to the floor of the northwestern corridor as it was. Viola had her in a death grip, which didn¡¯t make speaking much easier. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly mind, to be fair.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever do something like that again!¡± Viola scolded, teary-eyed from her story alone.

    With the Maestra¡¯s arms nearly around her neck, Octavia laughed. ¡°I will, inevitably. You¡¯ll probably be there for it.¡±

    ¡°How did you even know where to find them?¡± Josiah asked, repeating Octavia¡¯s earlier question. ¡°There¡¯s all sorts of--¡±

    Renato held out one flat palm before the boy¡¯s face, a silent request for more of the same. ¡°Talk about it later. Long story. Well, not long, but a story regardless.¡±

    ¡°You really came,¡± Harper said weakly, content to rest with his back against one blindingly-white wall.

    ¡°How the hell did you even manage that?¡± Renato asked with a wince, stooping to the Maestro¡¯s level for a brief moment.

    Harper chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s a talent.¡±

    ¡°Getting hurt is a talent?¡±

    ¡°Just like getting into trouble is one of yours.¡±

    Josiah had, in all fairness, done a spectacular job in the midst of crisis with the resources he¡¯d been given. The sheer quantity of bandages that coated Harper¡¯s entire lower leg were, at least, overwhelmingly restrictive. Still, they were tightly tied and arranged carefully enough that the still-seeping blood was minimal at best. The gauze was holding up well, provided Harper was relatively motionless. His agonizing screams, once enough to tear Octavia¡¯s heart to pieces, had long since quieted. Soft words of fatigue had taken their place, and it was an immense relief.

    ¡°Is he gonna be alright?¡± Octavia whispered. If Josiah gave her anything but an affirmative, she wasn¡¯t sure what she would do.

    Her relief when he nodded was immediate. ¡°For now. He¡¯s gonna need a real doctor, as much as I hate to ever say those words. Gave him a light sedative. Should help with his pain for a while. Surprised it hasn¡¯t knocked him out.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight a smirk. ¡°He¡¯s terrible about sleeping.¡±

    ¡°So¡­Portia had something to do with Priscilla, then?¡± Viola finally asked, relaxing her iron embrace on Octavia somewhat.

    She didn¡¯t particularly dislike Viola¡¯s brutal hugs. Regardless, Octavia was grateful for the oxygen. ¡°Everything to do with her, really. You could almost call it revenge. As far as how, I don¡¯t know everything, but I do know she was¡­trying to hurt us. Us, specifically.¡±

    ¡°Revenge for killing Drey?¡± Harper murmured.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°It¡­really was my fault. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    Madrigal shook her head fiercely, her curls nearly hitting Josiah in the face as he tugged her wrists forward. ¡°I¡¯ll say it as many times as I need to! None of this is your fault! It¡¯s Drey¡¯s fault and Drey¡¯s fault alone! And¡­Portia¡¯s fault, now! They¡¯re--ouch!¡±

    She winced as Josiah turned one of her hands over. He himself winced at the sight of the shell still lodged beneath the flaps of her delicate skin. ¡°I¡¯m not getting that out on my own. I¡¯m gonna end up messing up your muscles if I try. Again, real doctor time. God, I hate saying that.¡±

    ¡°Can you at least cover them?¡± Renato asked. ¡°I don¡¯t really want her walking around like that.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll put bandages on them, but I¡¯m gonna have to disinfect them first.¡±

    The look on Harper¡¯s face was almost comical. ¡°Please don¡¯t do that,¡± he begged in horror.

    Josiah rolled his eyes. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll let the ¡®real doctor¡¯ do it.¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Viola began, ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to do this again.¡±

    The Heartful Maestra blinked. ¡°Do what?¡±

    Viola hesitated. ¡°To¡­take a life again.¡±

    Octavia froze. ¡°I-I¡­didn¡¯t.¡±

    Viola tensed. So, too, did Josiah, with Harper in tandem. ¡°You didn¡¯t kill her?¡± Josiah asked, his voice touched by panic.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°No, no, she¡¯s dead, but¡­it wasn¡¯t me.¡±

    Three sets of eyes flickered to Madrigal, pained fingers still resting delicately in Josiah¡¯s. She shook her head with a smile.

    When they traveled to Renato, he couldn¡¯t look a single one in the eyes. He adjusted his hat anxiously, tapping his foot with just as much nervousness. One half of Mistral Asunder again beat a steady rhythm against his leg. Octavia was used to his body language betraying him, at this point.

    ¡°Your toll,¡± Viola breathed.

    Even if he couldn¡¯t look at her, he still found the strength to nod. ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes flickered to Octavia, and Octavia almost pulled hers away out of reflex.

    ¡°It just¡­happened that way,¡± Octavia said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t on purpose.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t exactly fun,¡± Renato grumbled.

    ¡°Mente and Aste can go home now,¡± Madrigal said softly, a gentle smile settling onto her lips as she surrendered to bandage after bandage. ¡°One good thing came out of all of this.¡±

    Renato sighed. ¡°That¡¯s one way to look at it, I guess.¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t tie everything up,¡± Octavia continued, ¡°but I like to imagine we¡¯re not in immediate danger anymore. Or our families, at least.¡±

    ¡°Was she actually trying to hurt us from where we were, or was she trying to get us here?¡± Josiah theorized.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m¡­open to either one. Maybe both.¡±

    Harper scoffed. ¡°If it really was her, she somehow got us on the worst train ride ever and tried to blow up her own building. I wouldn¡¯t rule out the latter, either.¡±

    ¡°Do we want to keep¡­looking for things?¡± Viola asked, eyeing Octavia with concern.

    Octavia paused for a moment. ¡°Raise your hand if you¡¯re injured.¡±

    Harper¡¯s hand shot up instantly. She kicked herself before anyone else could do the same.

    ¡°Madrigal, don¡¯t raise your hand,¡± she hissed.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± the Maestra said sadly.

    Renato tilted his head. ¡°Like, emotionally?¡±

    She groaned. ¡°If...she really was the one causing all of these problems, then I think we at least have enough leeway to retreat for now. It¡¯s like we said earlier. We¡¯re not going back to Coda anytime soon. We¡¯ll heal up and come back to fill in the gaps. If we have to fight our way through, at least we¡¯re learning this place a little more every day.¡±

    It was Renato¡¯s turn to groan, albeit excessively. ¡°Seriously? We have to come back?¡±

    Octavia kicked herself again.

    ¡°Are we safe to leave?¡± Harper asked. ¡°With the¡­you know.¡±

    ¡°If we retrace our steps carefully, we should be fine, right?¡± she offered. ¡°We were¡­okay coming in. We should be okay going out.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡±

    For his sake specifically, she¡¯d better be. She didn¡¯t enjoy the thought of being wrong.

    ¡°Is this too tight?¡± Josiah asked gently, patting the knots atop Madrigal¡¯s bandages with care.

    Madrigal beamed, the full radiance of the sun born of her smile once again. ¡°Not at all. You did a great job!¡±

    His face flushed, and he averted his eyes. ¡°I-It¡¯s just how you¡¯re supposed to do it. Let me know if it starts to hurt, okay?¡±

    That left one of Josiah¡¯s patients immobile.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Renato said plainly, hands on his hips.

    With his shadow casting shade over the Willful Maestro, Harper tilted his head, offering another weak smile. ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°Ready?¡±

    Harper blinked. ¡°Ready for what?¡±

    Renato grinned devilishly.

    ¡°Wait, ready for wh--¡±

    Harper let out a cry of surprise the minute Renato had his hands on him, particularly given the exceedingly compromising way in which the Strong Maestro had chosen to lift him from the marble flooring. He bounced slightly as Renato shifted the boy¡¯s weight, further adding to his mild humiliation and slight pain each time his leg moved the wrong way. For a moment, he flailed in protest, his face an absolutely blinding scarlet that got a solid laugh out of Octavia.

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± he cried. ¡°Put me down!¡±

    Renato¡¯s grin was eternal. ¡°You¡¯re not walking.¡±

    ¡°This is not the way to solve that!¡± Harper snapped, his voice wobbling with embarrassment.

    Renato shrugged, a motion that brought Harper along with him slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t exactly see any other way you¡¯re gonna be gettin¡¯ out of here. Someone was gonna have to carry ya.¡±

    ¡°Did it have to be you?¡±

    Renato winked. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Harper threw his hands over his face, growling with embarrassment as he struggled to conceal his blush. ¡°Did it have to be like this?¡±

    Renato nodded, his demeanor and sly grin both utterly uncompromised. ¡°If I don¡¯t carry at least one person like a princess today, I¡¯m not gonna be able to sleep tonight. I have a quota to fill.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Harper muttered miserably, his suffering muffled behind his palms.

    Octavia was still laughing. If nothing else, at least some of her stress was alleviated by the simple sight of them together again. Viola¡¯s hand around her own, too, was just as much of a comfort.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, okay?¡± Viola offered.

    Octavia nodded with a smile. ¡°Yeah. We¡¯ll¡­take things as they come.¡±

    With how her life had been going in recent months, there wasn¡¯t much other option. At this point, she¡¯d learned to embrace it, no matter who stood by her side on the way there.

    <hr>

    It was easier to go backwards than it was to go forwards, and not solely because the corridor wasn¡¯t exploding beneath her feet at random. She took comfort in the knowledge that she would finally be free to leave a place so vile soon enough--for now, at least. Whether or not she would be freed of SIAR¡¯s poisonous grasp permanently remained to be seen, particularly if the handful of concerns she had regarding their situations continued to exist.

    Tonight, they¡¯d erased an immediate threat to the lives of both themselves and their families. They¡¯d secured one more toll. At the cost of bodily harm, they¡¯d been somewhat productive. Even at Madrigal¡¯s insistence to the opposite, the guilt torturing Octavia¡¯s stomach still spoke to a feeling of personal responsibility. The sentiment echoed each time she witnessed Madrigal wincing with any movement of her hands, let alone Harper struggling to kick at his forcibly-assigned prince.

    ¡°Are there doctors in Solenford that we know of?¡± Viola asked aloud.

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know the first thing about this place. We¡¯ve only been here once. Even then, it was an in-and-out kind of ordeal. Still, for the size of it, I¡¯d hazard a guess that it wouldn¡¯t be too hard to find one.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°Yeah, if the whole city doesn¡¯t know we killed their local hero.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°I thought you told me someone covered it up.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°They did. That¡¯s¡­something I still haven¡¯t figured out, either.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d offer to get us to a doctor further out,¡± Josiah began, ¡°but I¡¯m worried about both of them getting infections. I don¡¯t know how long we¡¯d have to travel to get to another city with the medical care they¡¯d need.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the closest city to here?¡±

    ¡°Ardenfall, I think,¡± he answered. ¡°Still a ways away. Absolutely no clue how far that is, and God, I am sick and tired of trains. You can¡¯t seriously look me in the eyes and tell me you¡¯re fine with taking another one after what just happened.¡±

    Octavia cringed. She wasn¡¯t particularly inclined to disagree. ¡°We can just keep our mouths shut. Do you think we¡¯d get lucky twice?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°do you¡­think someone would cover up Portia¡¯s death, too?¡±

    ¡°Do you think anyone would be worried about her in the first place?¡± Viola tried.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if lightning strikes twice,¡± Josiah murmured. ¡°Wishful thinking, at best.¡±

    ¡°No one will look for her.¡±

    The low, masculine voice that came from well ahead of Octavia startled her fiercely. It was out of sheer reflex that her hands darted to Stradivaria, the violin immediately settling upon her shoulders and her fingers following suit--regardless of what she could see. At her side, Viola had mirrored her actions, Silver Brevada aloft at her lips in an instant.

    Her eyes wandered. Josiah¡¯s humble knife was clasped in his palm, distantly leveled and ready to strike into the dark. Even behind her, Harper, of all people, had somehow managed to take Royal Orleans up and into Renato¡¯s arms along with him. Injured or not, it left him clutching the trumpet tightly with narrowed eyes to show for it. Equally wounded and yet undeterred, Madrigal¡¯s bandages drifted half-heartedly over her bag. It was, above all, incredibly impressive that Renato could support Harper¡¯s full weight single-handedly, one drumstick fully extended in a severe threat.

    Even if they couldn¡¯t see it, they could hear it. That was enough. Compromised as they were, they were at least together.

    ¡°Show yourself!¡± Octavia cried, willing her voice to remain steady. Hostile or not, she fought to control the way her fingers wobbled against Stradivaria¡¯s bow.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry.¡±

    ¡°Now!¡± she screamed impatiently.

    Already, she was entertaining the idea of preemptive fire. It was coming from the entrance, their sole exit barred. In the absolute worst case scenario, she knew Renato could break through the reinforced walls. Exhausted as he was, Octavia resented the idea of counting on that possibility.

    She didn¡¯t need to. The figure that stepped out of the shadows came with arms aloft, a show of surrender with steady palms offered to Octavia instead. Footsteps filled the gaps of silence, echoing off the walls of the lobby with every clack of the man¡¯s shoes against the marble flooring.

    He was plain. His eyes were pained. She¡¯d seen them once. She¡¯d seen them more than once, actually, through eyes not her own.

    Octavia knew better than to trust. She didn¡¯t dare lower Stradivaria, tensing ever further against the Harmonial Instrument. Still, she couldn¡¯t fight the way her heart raced.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he said softly. He offered nothing more.

    The four syllables of her name were enough to shake the Maestros around her, several of whom briefly dropped their guard--much to her dismay. She refused to do the same, eyes narrow as the tell-tale pumping of adrenaline bit into her veins once more.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Renato flinched. ¡°Whoa, you know this guy?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dignify him with an answer. ¡°What do you want?¡± she cried instead.

    ¡°I...don¡¯t want anything. I just want to talk,¡± the man spoke.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you!¡± Octavia screeched, loudly enough for the echo to sting her own eardrums.

    He winced at much the same sound. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to, nor do I blame you.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, who is this person?¡± Madrigal whispered.

    ¡°You¡¯re with her,¡± she hissed, ¡°aren¡¯t you?¡±

    The man shook his head slowly, his eyes deceptively gentle. ¡°I¡¯m not. Our ideals are not the same.¡±

    Octavia growled. ¡°I am so sick of hearing that. I don¡¯t care about your ideals, or anyone¡¯s ideals. I care about you hurting the people I love over and over! Stand down, or you¡¯re gonna end up like the other two!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, who is he?¡± Viola murmured, her voice tinted with urgency.

    It took everything in Octavia¡¯s power to calm her voice, even momentarily. She closed her eyes, swallowing her ire.

    ¡°This,¡± she breathed, her voice trembling, ¡°is Samuel. He¡¯s one of Drey¡¯s confidants.¡±

    ¡°Eww, how many partners in crime does this guy have?¡± Renato muttered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you. I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone. I won¡¯t hurt anyone,¡± the man insisted, his hands still speaking to surrender.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°How many times have I had to hear that from him? How many people did he hurt regardless? I don¡¯t believe you!¡±

    ¡°Put me down.¡±

    Renato¡¯s eyes flickered downwards. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said put me down,¡± Harper repeated softly.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes snapped to the Willful boy. To much the same degree, so did those of her companions. Renato obliged, albeit not without visible confusion. Harper nearly stumbled as he attempted to walk, grunting with pain seconds before Renato threw the Maestro¡¯s arm around his own shoulder. Puzzled as he was, he followed Harper¡¯s lead, tentative and limping footsteps coming to rest at Octavia¡¯s side. Harper entrusted Royal Orleans to Strong hands, his hostilities born of words alone.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± he demanded of the stranger.

    It was of equal surprise that Samuel didn¡¯t resist. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened in realization.

    Harper¡¯s voice was sharp, his eyes ever sharper. ¡°Do you want to hurt us?¡±

    The man exhaled slowly. ¡°No.¡±

    Harper paused. ¡°Do you want to hurt anyone else?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he spoke again, softer.

    ¡°Do you want to hurt Octavia?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Harper took a deep breath before continuing. ¡°Did you help Portia try to hurt us?¡±

    Samuel shook his head. ¡°No.¡±

    Harper was quiet, closing his eyes for a moment. ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth,¡± he breathed at last.

    That, too, was enough to startle Octavia. Even so, she refused to remove her hands from their respective positions on Stradivaria, eyes flickering between Samuel and Harper in turn.

    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth,¡± Harper said, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t mean I trust him.¡±

    Samuel averted his eyes. ¡°Once more, I don¡¯t blame you. I can¡¯t ask for something I haven¡¯t earned, and rightfully so.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look away from me.¡±

    The speed with which Samuel returned Harper¡¯s harsh, piercing gaze wasn¡¯t quite fast enough for the boy¡¯s liking. The latter clenched his fists. ¡°Whatever you say to Octavia, you look directly at me for. Don¡¯t look away from my eyes, even for a second. Understand?¡±

    Samuel nodded again. It was, in its own way, extremely jarring to Octavia how calmly he was taking Harper¡¯s bitter orders. Still, she sent a prayer of eternal gratitude for her little lie detector.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Octavia snapped, trying and failing to soften her words.

    His words were slow, composed in the face of her venom. ¡°You¡­really do look so much like her.¡±

    Disarming as they were, his words meant nothing. She struggled to keep her composure. ¡°What do you want?¡± she demanded again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what Portia''s done to you. I¡¯m sorry for what he¡¯s done to you, as well.¡±

    ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± she hissed.

    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth.¡±

    Her wide eyes accidentally stung Harper, although the spears of his own took her misplaced aggression surprisingly well. Octavia regretted it instantly. True to his word, his eye contact with Samuel was made of steel, unwavering and unbroken. It was only in his peripheral that he caught her poison.

    ¡°Were you involved? With either of them?¡± she spat.

    ¡°I was,¡± Samuel answered, ¡°but not in the way you¡¯d think.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    His honesty was somehow even more unsettling than the lies she¡¯d so strongly expected to hear. Octavia''s fingers were beginning to go numb from how harshly she was gripping Stradivaria, her back burning beneath so many eyes settled upon her.

    ¡°The things that happened to us,¡± she began with shaky breaths, ¡°what did you do?¡±

    He chuckled, a tiny gesture that made her blood boil. ¡°Which ones?¡±

    ¡°All of them.¡±

    ¡°Be specific.¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean!¡± Octavia growled. ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me!¡±

    Samuel sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not asking to be rude, I assure you. It makes things easier for this boy, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    Octavia froze, her breath doing much the same in her throat. ¡°What?¡±

    Somehow, in the face of Harper¡¯s hostility, Samuel still found the softest of smiles. ¡°It¡­would help to prove my innocence. It would help to earn your trust. I assure you, I understand what¡¯s happening. I have no quarrel with it. Do as you must. I do not blame you.¡±

    Viola¡¯s hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump. ¡°D-Does he¡­know what Harper¡¯s doing?¡±

    The idea was simultaneously horrifying and downright baffling. Even Harper, eyes locked in place and razor-edged as they were, seemed briefly shaken for a fraction of a second.

    Octavia struggled to regain her composure, shaking the thoughts out of her head. ¡°The camp. Harper¡¯s. What the hell happened?¡±

    Samuel blinked slowly. At last, he lowered his arms, even in light of Octavia¡¯s Harmonial Instrument still well-readied--and those of the Maestros around her, as well. ¡°Portia hired anyone who was willing to burn it to the ground. That child was a godsend. I had no hand in that, I assure you. When she was fruitless, she turned to those who were far more desperate. She guided their path.¡±

    ¡°Truth,¡± Harper breathed, his voice trembling.

    ¡°And she knew it was Harper¡¯s camp?¡± Octavia continued slowly.

    Samuel nodded. ¡°She could not be mistaken. It was¡­not hard to find you children, not with the resources and connections she had. Not with those I¡­¡±

    He paused. She persisted.

    ¡°Finish your sentence,¡± Octavia demanded with a growl.

    ¡°I, too, had no difficulty,¡± he murmured. ¡°Know that my intentions were not malicious.¡±

    ¡°Holly and Ivy, then,¡± Harper spoke as firmly as was possible. ¡°They were compensated.¡±

    ¡°I could not undo what had already been done,¡± Samuel said. ¡°However, I could deliver upon an empty promise.¡±

    ¡°Truth,¡± Harper squeaked, his voice nearly cracking in the process.

    ¡°How did you even know?¡± Octavia continued. ¡°How did you know Portia was¡­involved? How did you know she was trying to hurt Harper¡¯s family?¡±

    ¡°Because she was not aware that our ideals weren''t identical.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t lied--not once.

    ¡°Viola¡¯s father,¡± Octavia demanded.

    The mention of him alone was enough. She could feel Viola stiffen next to her, her partner still steady at her lips. Octavia almost felt bad for bringing it up. It needed to be asked, regardless.

    ¡°Bribery is the simplest of influences. She hardly had to try. The stage was already set for her. From there, it was a matter of manipulating the timeframe, both within the confines of the trial and in planning for such. That, too, was no difficult task.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    ¡°Did you¡­do anything about it?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly. Part of her was afraid to hear the answer.

    Samuel nodded. ¡°I walked the same path. The sentencing appeal was easy to rush. There¡­wasn¡¯t much more that I could achieve. Of this, too, I regret that I couldn''t do more.¡±

    ¡°Truth,¡± Harper said once more.

    Octavia hesitated to chase her next line of thought. The thought of ignoring it was equally as distressing. She gambled. ¡°Did you have¡­anything to do with the fact that the judge looked like Priscilla?¡± she murmured.

    Samuel smiled softly, shaking his head. ¡°Did she? No, I didn¡¯t. I hope that wasn¡¯t too upsetting for you. I¡­like to imagine it was a coincidence that emboldened your heart. Am I right?¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    Harper¡¯s words answered Samuel¡¯s alone. Octavia refused to dwell on what Samuel had returned to her. ¡°M-Madrigal,¡± she said with a stammer. ¡°Her brother.¡±

    Samuel nodded. ¡°Portia hired an assailant. I was aware. I warned him. It was that simple.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    ¡°Did she tell you she was going to do all of these things?¡± Josiah asked suddenly.

    Even if the inquiry hadn¡¯t come from Octavia herself, Samuel still didn¡¯t withhold an answer. ¡°Most things. It is as I¡¯ve said. She was not aware that our ideals did not match. What she confided in me, I did not believe. My quarrel is not with children, no matter what deed has been done or what blood has been spilt.¡±

    He sighed before continuing. ¡°Unlike Portia, I do not find Alessandro to be a guiltless man.¡±

    Octavia recoiled. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°T-Truth.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re his¡­confidant. You were one of his closest friends,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°He once asked that I stand at his back as he sinned and sinned again,¡± Samuel explained. ¡°I could...not excuse the actions he took. I could not rationalize his bloodshed, his reasons be damned. Perhaps I was not as true of a friend as I should have been to him. I have made mistakes that led him down paths he never would¡¯ve taken.¡±

    Octavia gulped. She didn¡¯t want an answer for what came to mind. It left her lips anyway. ¡°L-Like what?¡±

    Samuel fell silent for a moment. ¡°I should never have taken him to Velrose.¡±

    She¡¯d forgotten. In her rage towards more pressing concerns, she¡¯d forgotten Samuel¡¯s role in the catastrophe upon the Blessed City and the apocalypse upon its twin below. It was on her other side, now, that she could feel ire incarnate radiating into the air. Heavy, shaking breaths accompanied the tremble of a blade in her peripheral. She fought the bells. Not here. Not now.

    ¡°What¡­did you do¡­in Velrose?¡± Octavia forced out between gritted teeth, blood rushing loudly in her ears.

    Samuel sighed. ¡°I truly meant no harm. I regret my choices each and every day I live, Octavia. I did not know what was occurring below, nor the state of affairs that lived in the shadow of the acolyte. In my heart of hearts, I really and sincerely believed I had made the moral decision in reporting her elopement. I¡­believed her to be a guardian angel, her disappearance a death sentence for a broken city that clung to her every blessing.¡±

    ¡°It was all she had!¡± Josiah cried, his voice cracking. ¡°It was the one and only thing she ever wanted! She was a guardian angel, and you tore off her friggin¡¯ wings! Take that to your grave, you bastard!¡±

    It was only by virtue of Renato¡¯s grasp upon either of the boy¡¯s shoulders that Josiah didn¡¯t lunge, the Strong Maestro overpowering him physically from behind. His small knife trembled viciously, the tears in his eyes not subtle as they trickled down his cheeks. The rage behind each contrasted starkly with their sorrow, and it was surely through sheer willpower alone that Josiah didn¡¯t struggle against Renato¡¯s restraint. Octavia¡¯s heart broke on his behalf. She wasn¡¯t the only one.

    ¡°Truth,¡± Harper murmured softly.

    ¡°Liar!¡± Josiah screamed.

    ¡°I didn''t know,¡± Samuel continued, his voice nearly a whisper. ¡°Alessandro did. He was¡­astute in that way. He knew what would become of one pushed to the brink, given the world in which she lived. It is a world he should never have known.¡±

    ¡°Drey knew about Maestros, right?¡± Madrigal asked.

    ¡°You used Cadence,¡± Octavia hissed. ¡°Both of you.¡±

    Samuel didn¡¯t resist the sharp accusation. ¡°For access to Velrose alone. In my case, at least. I do not deny my cruelty there. It was my selfish infatuation with the Blessed City, born of genuine and pure intent. Of this, I swear. As to Alessandro, he did much the same, albeit with different intentions. Know, though, that he truly did love that child. She was like a daughter to him. He fought with all his might to lead her down another path, to show her a life outside of her world. He nearly did.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    For the most part, Octavia didn¡¯t need affirmation as to the statement. She¡¯d confirmed it through Cadence¡¯s eyes already--even Drey¡¯s, in passing. She wasn¡¯t sure how many more inquiries about the forsaken blossom and flame her heart could take. She exhaled slowly.

    ¡°Renato¡¯s hands.¡±

    Viola beat her to it, a discrepancy she¡¯d nearly forgotten in full. Octavia turned her head, the Soulful Maestra resolute as she stared down Drey¡¯s former confidant without fear.

    The Maestro in question, too, turned his own head to her slowly, eyes wide with confusion at the sound of his name--and the mention of the cherry oak still resting atop Josiah¡¯s shoulders. ¡°What¡­about them?¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t acknowledge Renato directly. It was to Samuel alone that she gave her attention. ¡°Was that you?¡±

    Samuel nodded with a faint smile that made Octavia¡¯s heart skip a beat. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m glad they fit. I hope you like them, and I¡¯m¡­so sorry you needed them at all.¡±

    Renato was speechless. His eyes drifted to the masterpieces of craftsmanship bound to his wrists, beautiful as ever despite all they¡¯d been through since their conception. The question that he stole from Octavia¡¯s tongue was one she hadn''t thought she would lose. If it were ever asked, she¡¯d never expected it to come from anyone but herself.

    ¡°Was the¡­cherry oak intentional?¡± Renato murmured half-heartedly.

    When Samuel nodded, Renato¡¯s eyes sparkled in the absolute slightest. ¡°It was my hope that it¡­gave you the courage to fight. With Octavia by your side, I knew, too, that she would feel the same. Her father is a woodworker, if memory serves.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    ¡°Thank¡­you,¡± Renato whispered.

    It was the first praise offered to a man who¡¯d seen and been privy to evil. He took it with pride that Octavia hadn¡¯t yet fully determined if he deserved. Drey was awful. Portia was awful. Samuel was disorienting, deceiving, and unpredictable. Perhaps this was worse. She couldn¡¯t so much as begin to wrap her head around the idea that Harper might¡¯ve been wrong all along.

    ¡°The train we took to get here,¡± Harper began. ¡°Explain. There¡¯s¡­no way.¡±

    Samuel¡¯s brief smile, born of gratitude, slipped from his face. ¡°It was elaborate. I was not aware until well after the fact. Portia altered the tickets sold under your names exclusively in Coda. From there, the route was changed. The only passengers aboard your train that sought passage to Solenford were you six. It was a matter of changing your singular way through, from there.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why she would mess with us while we were in Coda and still try to hurt us on the way here. Which one was she hoping for?¡± Viola asked.

    Samuel sighed. ¡°Most likely, she sought both. I can¡¯t speak on her behalf, but it¡¯s so like her to exude such spite. If I were to guess, I would assume she meant to ignite the fuse that drew you to where you now stand. She is the type to seek a¡­crushing blow in full. I doubt she would¡¯ve been satisfied with the pain she did inflict, had you still not come.¡±

    ¡°On the train, how did she know there would be Dissonance?¡± Octavia interrupted. ¡°Getting the exact train, I can understand, but¡­how could she ensure that?¡±

    ¡°She¡­gambled upon much the same logic as Alessandro, a broken place full of broken memories that had long sat dormant. Since its return to Solenford after that dreadful disaster, it had not seen usage again. You were the first upon it since that time. You had opened a box of suffering meant to stay sealed.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s words were nearly inaudible. ¡°You really talk like you know a lot about Dissonance. Maestros, too.¡±

    Her words, abrupt as they were, were enough for multiple sets of eyes to cling to the Spirited Maestra like a magnet. Octavia tensed once more. Not once had Stradivaria left her shoulder, and she absolutely did not plan to indulge that decision now.

    Samuel chuckled. ¡°A conservator and businessman, an appraiser, and a historian. It should come as no surprise which of the three would find such love in knowledge and curiosity.¡±

    ¡°His death,¡± Octavia finally asked. ¡°You covered for me, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Without hesitation, he nodded. ¡°And I will offer the same for Portia, in turn. I do not fault your decisions. In your shoes, perhaps I would have done the same.¡±

    ¡°Truth,¡± Harper confirmed quietly.

    Viola scoffed. ¡°She nearly did the same thing to herself. I don¡¯t know what she would possibly get out of destroying SIAR of her own accord. The explosives, is she insane? I mean¡­this was Drey¡¯s dream, right? Why would she compromise that?¡±

    Samuel chuckled once more. ¡°SIAR is nearly impenetrable. No explosive, nor mortal weaponry as a whole, would be enough to compromise its actual foundations. I¡¯m certain she knew this. Still, I plan to at least verify that there aren¡¯t yet more of them planted that I am unaware of.¡±

    Renato smirked with not-so-subtle pride. ¡°It¡¯s not that impenetrable, apparently.¡±

    ¡°Then the¡­letters I got in the mail.¡±

    Octavia had almost forgotten to ask, cutting him off. She wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to know.

    ¡°There were two. Was¡­one from you and one from Portia?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    ¡°The one from Portia¡­she sent the photographs of Priscilla, right? The one she carried around, and¡­one I don¡¯t recognize.¡±

    ¡°It was a favorite of Alessandro¡¯s. It was taken with great love and care.¡±

    ¡°Truth.¡±

    She didn¡¯t want the answer. She was afraid to ask. She didn¡¯t have a choice.

    ¡°The other letter. The one you sent.¡±

    Octavia took a deep breath, trading her impossibly-loud heartbeat for her equally-racing thoughts.

    ¡°How¡­did you know?¡±

    Samuel was quiet for a moment. ¡°How did I¡­know what, exactly?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s words were soft, yet pointed. She kept them gentle, yet sharp. With every eye upon her, confused or otherwise, she drew out each syllable with a trembling voice she couldn¡¯t quite control.

    ¡°How¡­did you know?¡±

    Again, he was silent. Slowly, Samuel tilted his head in the slightest. He closed his eyes, traces of a smile settling upon his lips. Harper¡¯s initial dismay at his disobedience was quickly assuaged by a sharp shake of Octavia¡¯s head, and he stood down. Octavia could hardly breathe, her ears straining for his words.

    When he opened his eyes once more, they fell to Stradivaria.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen the other one yet, have you?¡±

    Octavia''s world screeched to a halt. Her lungs did the same, as did her heartbeat. She staggered, her balance compromised by a dizziness she couldn¡¯t pinpoint.

    ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    In the face of her absolute confusion and shock, Samuel was calm. ¡°You haven¡¯t. That¡¯s alright, but you must. Watch, and all will be clear. You will have your truth, my words be damned. That violin is no liar.¡±

    Only now did the weight of his words resonate, a rippling wave of surprise and mild horror besieging those around her. They were silent in turn, not daring to challenge even the slightest movement the Ambassador made before them. Octavia followed his eyes, too, to the Harmonial Instrument nestled with love into the crook of her shoulder.

    She pulled it close to her heart instead. Her gaze flickered up and down to the man, Stradivaria, back again, and once more. Octavia swallowed what shock she¡¯d been assaulted with. What took its place was terror, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach.

    She didn¡¯t want to. It was very possible that she didn¡¯t have a choice.

    Stradivaria, Octavia pleaded softly, stroking her thumb along the curvature of the violin.

    I am here.

    I¡­don¡¯t know what to do.

    Are you afraid?

    It was an understatement so vivid that she couldn¡¯t help but smile. Of course I am.

    Fear, too, can be conquered through the actions of those who tremble along the way.

    You¡¯re saying I should do it even though I¡¯m scared, right?

    What is it you fear, Octavia?

    Her name was warm in his voice. It was calming, somehow, and her heart was warmed in turn. I¡¯m afraid to live her life. I¡¯m afraid to die her death.

    As with all things, it will pass. Your time through her eyes is not forever.

    What if I decide I want it to be?

    Then you may hold such memories close to your heart for all time. You may steal with your eyes that which she would see, that which her hands would hold, and that which her heart would love.

    I¡­don¡¯t want to do this alone.

    His words eased her pain. In this instance alone, it shall not be so. Through a heart not your own, I will be at your side. I will be in your arms. I will protect you as only I can. If you are fearful, Octavia, listen for my voice, and know that I am with you even there. You shall have my heart, much the same.

    She breathed in. She breathed out.

    She closed her eyes, vaguely aware of Viola¡¯s words at her side as she again gathered Stradivaria¡¯s bow and body into one palm.

    ¡°Octavia? What are you doing?¡±

    With the violin aloft, she felt for the sensation of the scroll inches from her forehead.

    I¡¯m¡­ready. Please.

    You need not my blessing. Your task has already been initiated. You have but one toll remaining. Know, Octavia, that you have my blessing regardless. You will prevail. Of this, I am certain.

    Octavia wished she could smile more brightly for him. Thank you.

    She was scared. She was terrified.

    Gently, far softer than before, Octavia brushed her forehead against the scroll of the violin, delving deep into the darkness with which it came.

    If she couldn¡¯t bring her courage, she would instead bring along her love.

 58. Autumn Red

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    From the earliest steps she could take, those not of her own accord, he was there.

    So, too, came the love and passion Octavia¡¯s most beloved stranger harbored for his song. Each and every note that ever graced her ears was a blessing unto her heart in the most wonderful way. It didn¡¯t matter that tiny hands once struggled to press upon the strings, nor that little arms could hardly draw the bow. It meant nothing that the first songs she wove into the world were formless, absent of rhythm or reason. It was love alone that made them special, smiles in her radius born of contagious passion. Priscilla was a blossom that bloomed into the most beautiful musician Octavia could conceive of.

    It was a folly of fate that Octavia couldn¡¯t gaze into her own eyes. It was a tragedy that she couldn¡¯t capture the expression of fervor for the world which she¡¯d once eternally burned into her heart. This was the closest she would ever get. It didn¡¯t matter how this would end. For a moment, in her own home, long before her own birth, Octavia was in utter bliss. If she were to die a true death right now, her personal soul robbed outside of the darkness in lieu of another, she would¡¯ve surely been satisfied with her life in full.

    Priscilla grew. She could carry him. She could sing his songs, and she could love him dearly. She could dote upon him with the fruits of her efforts as she pleased, be it to the elation or chagrin of those exposed to her melodies. The purest laugh that blessed Octavia above each and every note spoke to the delight in Priscilla¡¯s heart.

    Even so young, too small for complex chords and harmonies, the songs that she breathed into the world with all of the happiness in her soul were extraordinary. To hear them up close, too, was an earned bliss for which Octavia thanked every star in the sky. Fingers not her own spoke to him silently, and ears not her own held fast to his lovely sounds. He was beautiful. Priscilla was just as so.

    And then, Octavia was there herself.

    She¡¯d stolen the Ambassador¡¯s visage through the mirror that was a stranger¡¯s eyes several times over, and yet never quite this way. She was small. The sight was jarring. To see her own tiny wisps of brown, not yet tethered in the twists of braids that had grown reflexive, was somewhat disorienting. To see the way she struggled with every step, fighting to grow in a world so vast and foreign, was stunning. By her side was precious patience, a loving touch, and more adoration than she could ever deserve.

    The little hands that grasped at dangling strands of autumn should¡¯ve known to never let go. They should¡¯ve known to hold a girl so beautiful, and to offer up all the love a small soul could hold. Priscilla loved her back, just as fiercely as she loved her partner.

    Her world was so tenderly crafted, nurtured with every fiber of her being. With love, she shared it in abundance. Into Priscilla¡¯s galaxy came Octavia, blessed with the joy that was Stratos¡¯ song. Priscilla¡¯s hands did him justice every step of the way, skillful and unparalleled in a manner sure to befit her future role. For now, she was content. For now, she was a universe of three. More than anything she''d ever desired in her life, Octavia wished for it to stay that way.

    She blossomed yet further. Priscilla was a gracious bud, evolving into the most luminous woman. Where she was radiance herself, there was yet more radiance to illuminate her path. It was the sun at her fingertips that bore down upon her life.

    It was hers alone, in the sacred isolation of darkened rooms and hushed meadows. Octavia recognized several on sight. Seeing them blessed in passing with the very same light that pulsed through her blood was divinely sweet. There was no fear to be found. Instead, Priscilla was tethered only to wonder and awe with every gentle push and pull of his bow. In the face of his brilliance granted form, she was brave. She always was.

    It was his voice that did her in.

    Seeing him clatter to the floor was simultaneously comical and distressing, and Octavia winced inwardly at the impact to her future partner. She was, at least, grateful for his physical resilience. The collision still looked painful.

    Did¡­did you just talk to me?

    You hear my voice, then.

    Oh my God, you¡¯re talking to me.

    I have been with you all along. Are you truly surprised?

    The violin is talking to me.

    It is not so simple.

    The violin is talking to me. I¡¯m going insane. Have I gone insane?

    I assure you, you have not.

    Are you positive? Because I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ve gone insane.

    I speak only the truth.

    I have no idea why I¡¯m asking you, considering that I¡¯m insane now.

    There was a pang of jealousy to be had with how quickly she entered his world. It was to say nothing of how soon she grew to earn his voice in full. What had taken Octavia ages to pry from his lips had settled into Priscilla¡¯s ears in a time so short by comparison. It was admirable and frustrating all at once. At the very least, Octavia could laugh at Priscilla¡¯s reaction. Blighted by box dreams or not, she¡¯d taken it with far more grace.

    He spoke her name. She learned his--both of them. It wasn¡¯t without consequence.

    What¡­is that?

    Where such a blessing came, agony was sure to follow.

    That which is not meant to be.

    He was her guide and her teacher. He was to Priscilla as Viola was to herself, and just as Eleanor had been to Viola. He lit her path, he guided her way, and he taught her self-defense against violet that brought only suffering. The first time, she trembled. Never again did she falter after. His radiance was far too warm for the cold that stung her blood.

    Is there a way to get rid of it?

    It is by no means a simple task.

    You didn¡¯t say no.

    He didn¡¯t conceal.

    Ambassador?

    One such as yourself, who may guide our path to where we rightfully belong.

    Do you miss home?

    If you were me, would you not?

    What¡¯s it like up there?

    It is glorious. It is all that could be desired.

    Is it like Heaven? Are you a god, then?

    Far from such.

    She didn¡¯t decline.

    You must understand what this task entails.

    It doesn¡¯t actually sound that bad.

    Once you undertake the role, you may still relinquish the title in the future. Should you become overwhelmed, simply speak to such. We will find another.

    You don¡¯t think I can do it?

    I have faith. Still, I wish for your happiness, just the same. You are young. Your life is sacred.

    I want you to be able to go home and live a happy life, too. I want that for all of you, no matter where you are or how many. That¡¯s just as sacred to me.

    The warmth of his humming eased Octavia¡¯s soul even behind eyes that didn¡¯t belong to her.

    Stratos hadn¡¯t lied. Priscilla really did choose cats. She¡¯d tease him about it later.

    Octavia had counted her blessings as to the path she¡¯d ended up on. It was a combination of sheer luck, questionable instincts, and the beautiful catalyst that was Viola that had led her to the darkness she currently inhabited. Unpredictable occurrences had left her with companionship, if not at least something to go off of.

    They followed her through sprawling forests, vast cities, houses of worship, auction halls, and yet more. She¡¯d chased leads and lost them all at once, crisis after crisis landing so neatly in her palms. Octavia loved it. She hated it. Priscilla wasn¡¯t as lucky. In a strange twist of fate, it was her sister who was forced to search for trouble the hard way.

    Her strategy wasn¡¯t necessarily poor. Octavia would never have thought of it on her own. Had Priscilla not been skilled with a violin with or without the radiance that claimed her, it probably wouldn¡¯t have worked. She would blend in without issue, a traveling musician severed from the safety and warmth of Silver Ridge. Octavia hardly needed the flashing fragment at all, for how the very same memory had long since been carved into her heart. A photograph so graciously gifted spoke to home away from home, blessed by a smaller touch that couldn¡¯t yet conceive of what the journey would uncover. Her most beloved stranger¡¯s hands waved to those of her own, near and distant all at once. Octavia bid farewell to herself.

    Coda. Ardenfall. Selbright. Whitebrook. Places Octavia had never even heard of, let alone those of which she could remember the name. Priscilla¡¯s voyage led her everywhere, her song spread wide and far across the continent. She''d spoken of leaving Mezzoria, at one point. Burden of the Ambassador be damned, it was the proximity of home that kept her from doing so. Her light was sheltered, and she refrained from bestowing it where prying eyes could see. The conclusion she¡¯d reached was a tremendous relief, in that sense. Priscilla¡¯s precious radiance was reserved for passing violet that crossed her path. Where she found it in others, she was an angel of mercy. Again, Octavia envied the speed and success with which she¡¯d mastered bestowing salvation upon Dissonant innocents. The trade-off, then, was the way by which Priscilla had zero luck finding a single Maestro. It didn¡¯t matter how careful her questioning was.

    As to how she came across the passport, it wasn¡¯t a notable snippet. Still, it appeared.

    And in the eyes of another, Octavia again had no choice but to think about it.

    There was, at least, comfort that came with the knowledge of Priscilla¡¯s evasion of the future horrors within the Blessed City. If memory served, she¡¯d been spared the knowledge of the flame beneath her feet--a sickening irony, given her search. Even now, in the distant past, Octavia wondered if Selena was already drowning in misery. So far away in the current dark, the companionship of a young Josiah may have been her only refuge in a cage of sin.

    Another acolyte entirely came to mind the moment her beautiful stolen eyes settled onto a bell. That wasn''t important right now. Don¡¯t think about it. Don''t think about it. Was it possible not to think about it?

    Priscilla got lucky.

    Her first victory, desperately seized after weeks upon weeks without success, came in the form of an audience with an angel. She was so familiar and yet not, blonde locks skirting the length of her forearms and a youthful face betraying her age. She was older, granted, and she wasn¡¯t quite identical to her ill-fated daughter. Still, she was mercy incarnate, a blossom so revered by those who placed their faith in Valkyrie¡¯s Call. The Harmonial Crest on Stradivaria¡¯s body didn¡¯t escape her, and she showed Priscilla much the same in turn.

    Actually seeing the bell up close again was nauseating. Now she was thinking about it. The sound of Priscilla¡¯s voice was the only thing that carried Octavia through desperate screams and agonizing blisters around the rope.

    How did you know I¡¯d come? I¡¯ve never even heard of this place until recently.

    I would sense you from afar, Ambassador. It matters not where you go. Know that I will always watch over you.

    That¡¯s¡­kind of you, I think. It¡¯d be nice if that worked in reverse. You¡¯re the first one I¡¯ve found at all.

    You are more than welcome to stay. Take all that you need from our city.

    I can¡¯t, though. I have to find more Maestros--lots of them.

    It is so rare that we are graced with the presence of yet another Maestro. It is sorrowful to see you go, but I understand your task.

    I¡¯m¡­supposed to set them free. Can I let Valkyria go home?

    In time. I do not think it is best to begin here. I advise that you return when your task is closer to completion, Ambassador.

    But I¡¯ve searched all over the place. I¡¯m running out of places to go. I know I¡¯m definitely overlooking stuff, but I¡¯m not super excited about starting over. This is the first little bit of progress I¡¯ve made. I¡¯m having reeeally bad luck.

    Perhaps you need allies.

    Allies?

    Those you can trust. Those you can confide in. Those who may assist with your task, and who may know things that even you yourself may not be privy to.

    Where would I find them?

    You are a clever girl. You are as radiant as the light you bring to the world. You will surely find your way.

    ¡°Her way¡± was the one place she hadn¡¯t yet sought out. ¡°Her way¡± was a seven-day voyage Octavia had once taken from the same city, albeit under far more harrowing circumstances. ¡°Her way¡± set her on a collision course with catastrophe. The clock was ticking towards her demise.

    Octavia had seen it before in a toll not so touching, untinted by beautiful smiles and hints of red upon every glimpse of her joyous expression. Priscilla played. A man watched on. Her name was stolen, spoken by lips that would be her downfall in a future far too soon.

    Are you a musician, too, then?

    How I wish I had the talent.

    Drey was the furthest thing from a Maestro that Octavia could possibly conceive of. It was perhaps for the best, given what Hell he would¡¯ve surely inflicted on his innocent partner. Thrice since his passing, she was forced to hear his voice yet again. Thrice, she wished to bring him down, her hypothetical methodology ideally more gruesome. The consideration was involuntary, at this point, and Octavia fell just short of fantasizing in the dark. Where Drey''s words followed, focusing became nearly impossible.

    She struggled regardless, clinging to every vibrant syllable that left her borrowed lips. She shunned his visage wherever possible, patiently awaiting whatever flash of Priscilla¡¯s life was offered to her eyes next. It was almost impossible. Just as Drey had felt for her, she, too, felt for Drey much the same. Octavia¡¯s confirmation as to their unbreakable friendship was twofold, now, crowned by joys she longed to snatch away and seal forever.

    Drey didn¡¯t deserve them. He didn¡¯t deserve a single smile, nor one word of praise. The happiness he brought Priscilla, the laughter she shared with him, every moment of companionship in the context of business and beyond, all of it was tainted. All of it was riddled with the worst of poisons. It left the most sour taste on Octavia¡¯s tongue when she so much as conceived of his name upon her stolen lips. She couldn¡¯t stand it. She loathed it. She hated it. That portion couldn¡¯t end soon enough, for all the time it took to witness. It was the worst that the Ambassador¡¯s privilege had to offer.

    There is always a solution to any problem, no matter how tough.

    From this angle, with what she now knew, Octavia could see the lies in his eyes that stretched to the depths of his soul.

    Do you believe in magic?

    Fruitless.

    You are so young.

    Dangerous.

    I cannot see you be hurt!

    You¡¯re not the man I thought you were.

    Useless.

    Octavia expected her to flee. She expected Priscilla to banish herself from the looming shadow of SIAR at her back, fighting for what little self-preservation she still carried. As to where she would seek refuge, Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to guess. If it took her away from Drey, even briefly, distance alone was a sanctuary. It was the cruelest reality that Priscilla would someday return, for better or worse.

    She didn¡¯t run.

    To Octavia¡¯s absolute shock, she didn¡¯t even leave SIAR.

    I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d reject me like that.

    He¡¯s a stubborn man. What did you say to make him so upset?

    I¡­showed him something special. Something he disagreed with.

    That¡¯s not like him at all. What did you show him?

    If I show you, you¡¯re gonna get mad at me, too.

    I won¡¯t. I promise.

    I don¡¯t believe you.

    They were words on Octavia¡¯s lips not so long ago. It was again that he chuckled.

    And I don¡¯t blame you.

    How do I know that I can trust you?

    Is that not the nature of trust? It¡¯s unpredictable. It¡¯s fickle. It can be given or taken so easily. I will not demand what is not my birthright. It is your choice alone whether you wish to offer that precious trust to me. Show me if you¡¯d like. I will respect your decision if you don¡¯t.

    She did.

    And in all her radiance, Samuel embraced her, welcoming her every word with peace and calm.

    You¡¯re not¡­scared of it?

    It¡¯s beautiful. How could I be?

    Do you hate me for it?

    I¡¯ve absolutely no reason to.

    Do you¡­understand what it is?

    I do.

    Really? How?

    I¡¯ve seen it before.

    The breath Octavia didn¡¯t have was stolen. The heart she could hardly feel raced. The butterflies in an absent stomach churned. She held onto his words for dear life.

    Are you a Maestro?

    Far from it.

    Then how?

    It¡¯s a path someone I treasure walks along.

    Do you¡­hate Maestros?

    I admire them. I just wish they did not have to suffer the pains that they do.

    How many Maestros do you know?

    Just her.

    Priscilla was silent.

    You seem sad.

    I need to find more of them. There¡¯s something I need to do.

    You can tell me, if you¡¯d like.

    And if I can¡¯t trust you?

    It is as I¡¯ve said. Trust is a fickle thing. It is your decision once more.

    But his eyes were kind. It was a true kindness that Octavia had questioned once before. It was understanding, a gentleness that touched the weight of another world on the shoulders of one young woman alone. He swallowed her tale without disdain. He laughed at her victories, and he sought to ease her sorrows. He was genuine. His heart, from so near, was pure. Samuel, through Priscilla¡¯s eyes, was all that Drey was not. Octavia couldn¡¯t think straight.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    I will help you.

    Really?

    If this is what you want, and if you truly can set them free, then I will do everything I can to aid you.

    But what do you get out of it?

    I get my peace. I get the knowledge that those steeped in a quicksand they can''t escape could yet be freed from that world. Most of all, I get your smile. That is perhaps the most precious of all.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t disagree with him.

    And what followed his words was perhaps as unbelievable as his understanding alone. Never before had Octavia so severely cursed her inability to pause a memory.

    It started with one. Three. Five. Six. Eight.

    Their legacies were varied, their motives assorted, their origins vast.

    Fifteen. Sixteen. Nineteen. Twenty-one. Twenty-three.

    The gift of the Soulful was not to be underestimated. It was stretched to the limit, and the success it found was grand. It wasn¡¯t Octavia alone who knew of it at all.

    Do they want to be here?

    Yes.

    Did you ask them?

    I did.

    How long should I wait?

    How long do you want to wait? Ultimately, this is your task. This is your choice.

    Maybe¡­until we have all of them.

    Twenty-five. Twenty-eight. Thirty. Thirty-one.

    How many did you say there were?

    Ninety-six, apparently.

    That¡¯s¡­quite a lot.

    I mean, including me.

    You understand I can¡¯t necessarily sever all of them from their own lives, correct?

    Can you still find them?

    I can try.

    Thirty-five. Thirty-six. Thirty-nine. Forty-two. Forty-three.

    Young. Old. Enraptured by their world, or resentful of their song. From all paths of life, in the hands of one another, Octavia watched in absolute awe as Priscilla and Samuel achieved the impossible. Every flash was blinding, Priscilla¡¯s words just barely audible in passing. Octavia prayed for time to slow down, by which she could soak in the splendor of the Heaven they crafted from nothing.

    She did all she could to memorize every last detail upon every last cottage. She fought to absorb every last stream, every last cloud and every last rolling meadow that adorned such a beautiful place. She yearned for it, its still presence in the midst of such a chaotic world serving as a variable haven. Were she alone, and were she not part of the circle she¡¯d inhabited, perhaps she would¡¯ve been blessed to be there herself.

    Forty-seven. That was how many grew to call that paradise home. Octavia envied it.

    It wasn¡¯t without consequence.

    He didn¡¯t quite know so much as he did suspect, although whether his prying eyes fell upon Samuel or Priscilla remained to be seen. It was, granted, a slow process by which Drey came to question the twosome¡¯s closeness, wary of whispers and hushed words behind closed doors. There was nothing to speak of in terms of jealousy. He wasn¡¯t the type, for what Octavia had known of him.

    Whatever words met Samuel¡¯s ears in the company of his closest confidant were a mystery to her. They perhaps always would be, should she not ask--this wasn¡¯t his toll, after all. It was by his hands, in the most twisted butterfly effect, that Octavia was here at all. She longed to drink in that breathtaking sanctuary again. She was denied the chance. Forty-seven souls stole that privilege from her, even under the alarm of his false calm.

    Does he know?

    Not entirely.

    Should we stop?

    We must at least pause. It isn¡¯t me he questions. Of you, he knows what he¡¯s seen.

    He told me not to mess with my light. He hates it.

    You are in danger.

    What do you mean?

    For the sake of his beliefs in this world, he¡¯s more than willing to forsake yours.

    I don¡¯t understand.

    It¡¯s not so much that he wouldn''t hesitate to harm you if he knew. Surely, he would second-guess himself. Know, though, that Alessandro is a man of conviction far too powerful. He would tread upon his own emotions, should they stand in the way of the truths he holds dear.

    He¡¯d¡­hurt me?

    So I¡¯ve been told.

    Then¡­do you think I should stop all of this, too?

    Do you want to?

    Of course not. Even if you tell me to, I don¡¯t think I would.

    Would you stand against him?

    Would he hurt anyone else?

    If he knew, I believe he would.

    Then I will.

    Kindness was her downfall.

    ¡°Fleeing¡± was a poor term. She didn¡¯t hide, she didn¡¯t escape, and she didn¡¯t run. Priscilla retreated, a plan of attack waged on behalf of those who knew nothing of a conservator¡¯s ideals. Octavia couldn¡¯t process the shockwaves that one singular man could emit to shake the foundations of Priscilla¡¯s distant world. There was a certain tenderness that the last Ambassador carried, the violin in her arms a testament to her drive in the face of peril. The burden wasn¡¯t a requirement, the struggle not hers to carry alone. In a way, she wasn''t alone. In others, she was.

    Priscilla made for home--true home, with only light and tears in tow.

    I hesitate to question your choices, Stradivaria¡¯s soft voice had chided her, but this may perhaps be your ruin.

    I know.

    You would go forth regardless?

    Yeah.

    You are a fool who would bring more pride to your legacy than any before you.

    Her tears were bitter. Her laugh was beautiful. It always would be, pure crystal offered to Octavia¡¯s heart even in the face of sorrow. Are you praising me or insulting me?

    I am admiring you.

    I-I¡­don¡¯t think I deserve that much praise from you. From a Muse, I mean.

    My words are true. You have done with such conviction that which honors your legacy. I do not speak lightly when I say that you were--are--perhaps the perfect choice for such a daunting role.

    You¡¯re really laying it on thick, huh? Priscilla teased with a giggle.

    Your heart is beautiful.

    Her blush was just the same.

    Oh, gosh, uh, so are your¡­strings, I guess. I like your¡­bow. It¡¯s very pretty.

    And so, too, was his gentle hum of amusement.

    If you are confident that this is the correct decision, I will not stand in your way.

    I mean, I¡¯m gonna come back. Don¡¯t talk about me like I¡¯m giving up.

    I do not mean to imply as much.

    Will you wait for me?

    As long as I must.

    Octavia knew the chest. She¡¯d never forget it so long as she lived. It had been burned into her dreams for weeks, each facet traceable with her silent eyes. Each trickle of moss that had kissed its surface, shielded by the embrace of the earth or otherwise, was unforgettable. For every hurried step she¡¯d taken to satiate her curiosity, Priscilla instead followed the opposite--delicately, calmly, and unrushed. Her soft touch contrasted with the desperation of Octavia¡¯s fingers, at the time. Rather than tearing out the roots ingrained into a world so misunderstood, Priscilla planted a seed with care.

    She laid him to rest with all of her love, a farewell that Octavia couldn¡¯t cry for on her own. She borrowed tears that weren¡¯t hers to keep, and a broken heart she couldn¡¯t claim. With trembling hands, Priscilla surrendered her most treasured friend. In the same way, she surrendered her beloved.

    If I¡­don¡¯t come back, though, what happens? Priscilla asked, blurring eyesight be damned.

    Regret and doubt were given form, gracing his strings without objection. I will await the touch of another. Know, though, that you will never truly leave my own heart.

    Can I¡­recommend someone?

    A recommendation?

    There¡¯s¡­someone I know who loves with everything she has. She¡¯s¡­small, at least right now. She probably can¡¯t even hold you correctly yet, but she¡¯ll grow up to be beautiful. I don¡¯t think she wants to be a musician, but...man, it¡¯d be so fun if she did. Playing together would be a blast. She¡¯s smart for her age. She¡¯s a lot smarter than she should be. It¡¯s honestly kind of scary. If she were here, maybe this whole thing would be a little less intimidating. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t have been so hard to pull off. I¡¯m not ungrateful for all the help, don¡¯t get me wrong. Still, thinking about her being a Maestra is¡­well, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d want to drag her into all this mess.

    Octavia¡¯s heart sparkled on behalf of her eyes, from which her own tears were useless. Were it possible, she would cling to Priscilla¡¯s words forever. She would cling to her voice, and a smile upon lips she couldn¡¯t see. She could hear it as Priscilla spoke, and that was enough. This was enough.

    She really would make a great Maestra, though. I think you¡¯d like her a lot.

    It was her who was so, so beautiful.

    How will I know her?

    You¡¯ll know. She¡¯s got these cute little braids.

    It was Priscilla whose heart was so wonderful, so much more radiant than the light she loved.

    What is she to you?

    She¡¯s my sister.

    It was Priscilla whose brilliant love was fierce enough to shame every star in the sky.

    What would I call her?

    Octavia.

    It was Priscilla who was a universe in and of herself.

    Should you fail to return, what words would you gift to her in your absence?

    She was everything.

    I love you.

    And what Octavia couldn¡¯t keep to herself, what she couldn¡¯t call her own, she didn¡¯t mind sharing the same with him.

    And I love you, too.

    And I you.

    And where she left him to rest, awaiting her own love and adoration someday, Octavia suffered for him. She was one with his pain, lamenting the loneliness of his sentenced isolation. His safety, tucked away from those who would harm him, meant so little in the absence of a heart of light. Maybe he mourned, too. Octavia had never explicitly asked. Now, more than ever, she wanted to hold him close. Even in the dark, it was a reflex to comfort him with words she so desperately wished to hear herself.

    Octavia loved him. Did he love her, just the same? Did she deserve the love he once offered to a girl who outshined the sun? If she didn¡¯t, Octavia would never fault him for it.

    You won¡¯t warn them?

    I can¡¯t bring them into this. They don¡¯t even know.

    I can¡¯t say I blame you.

    Please protect her. If you can¡¯t do anything else, then just that. I¡¯m begging you. Please.

    I will do all that I can. It¡¯ll work out. It¡¯ll be fine. If he tries to hurt you, tell me.

    What will you do?

    I¡¯ll protect you, much the same.

    Priscilla carried her love to the end.

    Have you given up the fight?

    I haven¡¯t. I won¡¯t.

    And so, too, did Octavia.

    I ask again, why?

    There are people I need to protect.

    And she would never let it go, no matter what Hell she saw.

    Will you fight for this ambition to your last breath?

    I will.

    No blade that touched her, no ideals that stole her breath, no blood spilt upon her skin could ever poison a heart that transcended death.

    I love you.

    And it was all Octavia would ever need again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    The tears that served as her final souvenir weren¡¯t wracked with suffering, and the soft sobs that gripped her were free of true sorrow. She didn¡¯t scream. She didn¡¯t speak. She didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t collapse to cold marble, and she didn¡¯t shatter to pieces twice over.

    Octavia smiled. It wobbled, it hesitated, and it retreated again and again. It broke through every time, her forehead still pressed softly against Stradivaria¡¯s scroll.

    There was a moment Octavia claimed for herself, spared from the pressure of full disclosure or expected highlights. It was respectful and widespread, with kind eyes on every side that acknowledged her pain. She knew that they knew. With certainty, they didn¡¯t know the extent. That much was between herself and Stradivaria alone. In a way, she cherished their privacy just as much. Octavia felt the words inside before she understood their weight. She didn¡¯t dare keep them to herself.

    Stradivaria?

    You have done wonderfully.

    I love you.

    And I you, Octavia.

    It wasn¡¯t hard to say at all. It was natural. It was warm. She should¡¯ve done it sooner.

    ¡°You¡­really did help her,¡± Octavia breathed at last, her voice just barely resistant to cracking.

    Samuel nodded with a fragile smile of his own. ¡°Her efforts have endured, even now. If you¡­truly were the Ambassador, I knew you would come to realize. Perhaps it¡¯s bold of me to say that I wasn¡¯t surprised to be correct.¡±

    It took conscious effort on Octavia¡¯s part to sever the contact with her partner, raising her forehead from the violin¡¯s scroll. ¡°Where is that place?¡±

    ¡°West of Selbright,¡± he answered. ¡°The number has¡­fluctuated somewhat over the years, but it¡¯s largely remained stable.¡±

    Viola laid one gentle hand atop Octavia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What did you see?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t entirely understand yet, but I¡­think I get the gist of it. Am I right in assuming she got them in one place?¡±

    Her words were for Samuel alone. The befuddlement on the faces of the Maestros wasn¡¯t subtle, regardless.

    He nodded. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a poor idea at all. A lofty one, granted, but I could understand her logic. There were ways to make such an ambition into a reality, difficult as they might¡¯ve been. Were she not who she was, it surely would not have been possible.¡±

    Octavia did what she could to blink the residual tears out of her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not all of them, is it?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. However, it is a significant amount. It was the furthest we could go.¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°Forty-seven in the settlement itself. Twenty-three that we know of otherwise.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That many?¡±

    It was beginning to spread. Unspoken or not, the context was there. Some simply stared with wide eyes, speechless. Some struggled to string their words together.

    ¡°Are you saying that¡­¡± Josiah tried, trailing off almost instantly.

    Samuel only clung to his smile. ¡°Did you truly believe Priscilla was the Ambassador in name alone?¡±

    Octavia could barely breathe. She wasn¡¯t the only one, if the silence nearest to her meant anything. The fingers on her shoulder tightened their grip, somewhat.

    ¡°We¡¯re¡­talking about the same thing, right?¡± Viola murmured.

    ¡°I believe so.¡±

    ¡°Did she¡­witness any of their tolls?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    Again, Samuel shook his head. ¡°She never got that far. She was stubborn in that way. She wished to save the task for the end, when all ninety-six were at her fingertips. I suppose that was a folly on her part, and it came down upon Octavia¡¯s shoulders instead. I regret to admit that I¡­disagreed with that decision, somewhat.¡±

    ¡°Because it would only make things harder down the line?¡± Viola tried.

    ¡°Because she didn¡¯t relieve those who sought to leave that world.¡±

    His words stole Octavia¡¯s own. For a moment, she couldn¡¯t quite process them. ¡°Do you mean¡­people who didn¡¯t want to be Maestros anymore?¡±

    Samuel nodded in silence. Octavia, too, was temporarily silent.

    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°What did you¡­get out of helping her?¡±

    His smile fell to something melancholic, and it stung her heart. ¡°There is someone I love, someone I treasure and cherish, who walks the same path as you all. I¡­loathe that she has to. I ask myself every day if she does, as well. When Priscilla told me of a path towards peace, I was elated. I bitterly regret what pain that¡­person has gone through. I can¡¯t imagine standing where they do. I pray for their happiness with every ounce of my being--the right way. Not his way.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t find any words of comfort to offer him, regardless of how hard she searched. It was all she could do to press. ¡°You know a Maestro?¡±

    ¡°I could not be certain he wouldn¡¯t try to hurt her, too, someday.¡±

    In the sickest way, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if Samuel was thankful for the most gruesome act she¡¯d ever committed. For all it had taken to do so, there was perhaps good her judgmental light had brought to the world. It was an odd time for her soul to feel at ease, for however long that would last.

    ¡°Even now, I see the way you follow in her footsteps,¡± Samuel continued. ¡°Should I dare to question that resolve?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it.¡±

    His expression warmed somewhat. ¡°Go to Selbright. Find a girl named Mina. She will show you the way from there.¡±

    ¡°How will we find her?¡±

    ¡°You will know. Trust me.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°Trust is fickle.¡±

    Samuel¡¯s laugh was almost comforting, soft as it was. ¡°That it is.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you and that freak were friends,¡± Renato muttered. ¡°You¡¯re nothing alike.¡±

    ¡°You stayed with him, even after he hurt Priscilla,¡± Madrigal said. ¡°Didn¡¯t that make you sad?¡±

    Samuel sighed. ¡°He really did care for her. I, too, did the same, but perhaps not as much as Alessandro. I know that may be hard to believe. Even after her passing, he mourned.¡±

    His gentle eyes flickered to Octavia. ¡°Before you depart this place, wherever that path may take you, can I show you something?¡±

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°In here?¡±

    Samuel shook his head. ¡°Outside.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t yet lied to her. He hadn¡¯t deceived her, nor attempted to do so in any way. He¡¯d placed his faith in Stradivaria, much as Octavia had so many times over. He was so unlike his confidants. He was unpredictable, soft, privy to a world she¡¯d held close and drowned in long ago.

    As with so many things, Octavia gave in to her instincts.

    <hr>

    The garden that blessed SIAR¡¯s courtyard was hauntingly lovely, misleading in its innocence. That which countered its bloodthirsty blossoms and hateful hues rested behind towering white, instead. Octavia had never been around the back side of the institute, nor had she ever needed to do so. For the most part, the contrast was humble.

    The flora she was offered was far more muted by comparison to that which was grandiose in front. The sun had risen in full, and lingering clouds trailed her every rustling step through the grass. Shade kissed her skin, ebbing and waning in turn with warm rays from on high. It didn¡¯t matter that she was still in its vicinity. For once, beyond the cold and unforgiving walls of SIAR, she felt alive.

    Drifting sunshine settled upon stone, plain and yet not. Grayed, weathered, and maintained all at once, there was undoubtedly love draping the granite. It didn¡¯t escape moss, and yet it surrendered to blossoming roses on every side. Try as they might, the deep reds of blooming petals were no match for beloved autumn long gone. Engraved adoration outlasted what oppression nature could bestow, enduring forever. Just as firm stone called them home, so, too, were they equally carved into Octavia¡¯s heart on sight.

    For Priscilla.

    ¡°It was not his idea,¡± Samuel spoke quietly from behind her. ¡°It was mine. The words, too, are mine. They were not his to take. He didn¡¯t object, it¡¯s true. His mourning bled into my own. He really did come, and he did weep. He demanded it be maintained, and cared for where necessary. His actions betrayed his so-called love, even if he claimed otherwise.¡±

    Octavia fell to her knees. It was a slow descent, calm and laced with unexpected peace. ¡°Is she under there?¡±

    ¡°No. She was buried at sea. I¡¯m¡­so sorry.¡±

    His words should have burned. They should¡¯ve stung. In a way, they did, biting at her hollow soul in the slightest. So many times had her heart shattered again and again that Octavia was running out of ways to hold it together. It was her fault for expecting otherwise, maybe.

    She sighed. She wasn¡¯t sure what led her to ask, although she suspected the mere thought of Drey¡¯s sins to be her catalyst. ¡°Did you¡­bury Cadence?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t raise her head from the gravestone, content to stare down Priscilla¡¯s memorial forever. Still, she captured Samuel¡¯s soft words from behind once more. ¡°I did. She is on the opposite side of the institute. Given how she¡¯d spoken of her family, I¡­spared her the disservice of returning her body. I still question whether or not the choice was moral. No one has ever¡­sought her out. Some suspected she had eloped, and a debt was simply sought. I cleared her name, in that way. It was the closest she came to earning true concern. I pray that I did her justice, as her mourner and otherwise.¡±

    To alleviate his fears was the sole privilege of the Ambassador. For what she¡¯d seen through forsaken eyes, she chose her words carefully. ¡°I think¡­this is what she would¡¯ve wanted. If nothing else, she can rest now. No one can hurt her anymore.¡±

    She heard nothing more of Samuel. Her own words echoed for longer than they should¡¯ve. She spared a silent prayer to another so horrifically wronged in every way. Priscilla was smothered in love, both by herself and not. Overflowing as her heart was, it was simple to mourn for one who earned no love of her own. Beyond SIAR¡¯s walls, she grieved twice over.

    Octavia¡¯s fingers delved into her pocket, surprisingly steady as they closed around flimsy material. Dirt was almost an insulting weight. Even so, it was an unfortunate necessity to tether the photograph to its rightful owner. In death or otherwise, she prayed it would keep Priscilla company once more.

    It was by reflex that she laid Stradivaria, too, before the gravestone. Where Octavia had her reunion, there was another who grieved by her side. Silence spoke for itself.

    And still, silence had so much to say.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Octavia murmured.

    Only rustling grass, surrendering to the breeze, filled the peaceful quiet that enveloped her.

    ¡°I¡­missed you.¡±

    Her smile was weak. It was a smile regardless.

    ¡°I¡­ended up becoming a Maestra. And the Ambassador. Isn¡¯t that insane?¡±

    She could already feel the tears. They didn¡¯t hurt.

    ¡°And I wasn¡¯t scared of Stratos, either. I can¡¯t believe you dropped him. Was it really that unbelievable? You¡¯re ridiculous.¡±

    One escaped.

    ¡°I already freed some of them. You waited so long that I had to do it. I don¡¯t really blame you about not wanting to do tolls. They¡¯re not very fun.¡±

    Another.

    ¡°I made a lot of friends. They¡¯re helping me with all of the Ambassador stuff. I just like being with them, too. All of them are Maestros. Most of them, at least.¡±

    And another.

    ¡°There¡¯s this one girl who¡¯s a¡­she¡¯s Spirited, Stradivaria said they call it. Well, actually, you already know his name is Stratos, but I still call him Stradivaria. Is that weird? Anyway, she¡¯s really cool. She¡¯s a heroine. She¡¯s always fighting against all of the bad things in the world, and she¡¯s super fun to be around.¡±

    Each droplet left granite speckled with deep gray.

    ¡°A-And there¡¯s a boy who¡¯s Willful, which means he has fire. Did Stratos tell you that? He¡¯s really sweet and kind. He¡¯s so helpful all the time. He¡¯s nice to everybody, and he¡¯s really good at protecting people. He makes me laugh. I love being with him, too.¡±

    The roses, too, were blessed by a dew from her heart.

    ¡°There¡¯s this one guy, he talks a lot. Like, I mean, a lot. He¡¯s really strong--that¡¯s his legacy, even. He¡¯s Strong. It¡¯s kind of funny. Sometimes he gets on people¡¯s nerves, a-and he¡¯s always finding his way into trouble, but it''s wonderful having him around. He¡¯s one of the bravest people I¡¯ve ever met.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t help the way they struck Stradivaria¡¯s strings, the violin resting still at her knees.

    ¡°There¡¯s another boy, h-he was a Maestro for a little while, b-but he¡¯s not anymore. He¡¯s¡­he did have this thing called the essence of lightning, and it¡¯s exactly w-what it sounds like, you know? He¡¯s really, really smart, and he wants to b-be a doctor, so he¡¯s good at medicine stuff. H-He¡¯s actually super nice.¡±

    Octavia''s voice finally cracked.

    ¡°And there¡¯s t-this one girl, you¡¯d really like her. She¡¯s r-really smart, too.¡±

    She sniffled. It didn¡¯t help the tears.

    ¡°She¡¯s s-strong, and she¡¯s fearless, and she¡¯s the one who f-found me and showed me h-how to be a Maestra. She came all the way to Silver Ridge. Isn¡¯t t-that crazy?¡±

    She didn¡¯t bother wiping them away, staining everything that crossed ways with her melancholy.

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­Soulful, and the first time s-she showed me her ice, I was so surprised. It was really p-pretty. She makes me laugh, and she makes me smile, a-and she helps me when I¡¯m afraid, a-and she¡¯s always there for me, and I¡­¡±

    She was sobbing. ¡°I wish you could meet her. I want you to meet them.¡±

    It was soft. She was alone, and it was for the better. Octavia was aware of hats lowered slowly in respect from behind her, the contagion of her tears infecting unrelated eyes in her wake. She didn¡¯t dislike it. She didn¡¯t find discomfort in it. If anything, there was a warmth she couldn¡¯t pinpoint. It was a love at her back that warmed her, much the same as the one at her knees.

    She gathered him into her arms with the utmost care, fragile and beloved.

    ¡°Both of us miss you,¡± Octavia wept. ¡°He misses you, too.¡±

    And it wasn¡¯t a conscious decision, the way he rose to her shoulder. It wasn¡¯t with effort that he settled into a position that had calmed her heart so many times over--whether blessed by light she could feel with her whole being or otherwise. It wasn¡¯t with conscious thought that she made him sing. She didn¡¯t have to try. Octavia blessed an unseen soul with the melody of a partner she¡¯d long since held herself. It was a song of love, lightless and full of brilliance all at once. It was hers and his in tandem, a world of two meant for three. It was enough to hold the words close forever.

    I love you.

    And for once, even for a moment, she was okay.

 59. The Runaway

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    The way by which such slender hands could draw blood was exceedingly jarring.

    Her motive was irrelevant, her intent even less so. Her origins were clear as crystal, at the very least, for how much the fingers stolen by the Ambassador could be scrutinized. They were soft, manicured, lovingly dipped in all manner of creams meant to exfoliate precious skin. Why such a refined stranger would make the conscious and knowing choice to take a road so vicious was baffling.

    You realize that this is your own fault, correct?

    I loved him.

    And where did that get you?

    I was so sure he was the one.

    It¡¯s a displeasure to say so, but you were a fool for trusting him. Now, you¡¯re left with nothing. This is what blind faith earns you.

    What should I do?

    Make something of yourself. Quit devaluing your own worth and don¡¯t rely on others.

    But--

    If you won¡¯t try, you have no excuse. If you have no skills, by God, Rafaela, learn one. Pursue a talent and master it with such determination that your hands bleed. This is how you can better yourself, let alone sustain the life you hope for.

    How can you be so sure?

    Because the world is far clearer to see when you think with your head instead of your heart. Pull yourself together.

    The lips Octavia shared with her stranger were sharp, her words frighteningly so in turn. The Ambassador''s eyes, rented as always, eluded investigation into the depths of her borrowed soul. She wondered if the hint of positive intent that rested beneath such words was true.

    She was a self-made woman, a hard worker in the truest sense. The wisdom that left her mouth wasn''t hypocrisy. She delivered on the goals she set for herself, time after time, to the tune of financial stability the likes of which Octavia wouldn¡¯t expect her to accrue from scratch. That was, in itself, impressive. The manner in which she picked up her violent craft was perhaps even more so.

    The Ambassador''s familiar stranger was a quick learner, to a degree that ¡°quick¡± may have done her injustice. As much as Octavia despised giving the woman any credit, she was a borderline genius. Of any skill she sought to master, she found excellence in with time and dedication. It came as no surprise, then, that her foray into the profession of personal protection saw her blossom into a fearsome fighter.

    It wasn¡¯t often that her contracts required her to draw blood, granted. Typically, what ultimately boiled down to serving as a bodyguard was restricted to escorting those with much to protect, be it individual belongings or those more intended for trade. More commonly did Octavia''s stranger associate with clientele in the latter field, accompanying far more businessmen and merchants than she ever did those outside of the world of fortune. She only ever dealt with bandits once. It was ironic. It was startlingly gruesome when it occurred, and Octavia was grateful she didn¡¯t have to see it a second time.

    Her weapons of choice, at that time, were largely more concealed than those Octavia had assumed she¡¯d be most fond of. She noted the way her stranger peppered the inner linings of her dresses and skirts with small blades and jagged knives of all kinds--at least a few long since stained with the residue of more difficult breadwinning days.

    There came a point when mere tolerance of the trade she accompanied became an appreciation. Then, it was a fondness. Octavia found the eyes she borrowed lingering upon fineries for far too long, stealing their radiance and splendor with her gaze alone. The luster of gemstones behind the sanctity of glass casings was of particular note, apparently. So long did she stare and stare, over the weeks, that even Octavia could start to see the imperfections her stranger fixated upon. With her bare eyes, that, too, she strove to master.

    She fumbled exactly one purchase, a ruby whose color under too dim a light she was remiss to properly identify as false. She never made another mistake again. Still, of the beloved collection she began to build in her home, shockingly honest as it was, she kept it amongst its true brethren--a reminder of a singular failure, ultimately inconsequential.

    Where her stranger had once found only the meaningless trudge through day-to-day labor and collection of coin for self-sustenance, she''d uncovered a genuine passion. Small as her flame was, she nurtured it in quiet. Her persistence in pushing towards mastery of yet another craft was a self-imposed challenge, by which she added spice to a life of violence. Clients became a gateway to test her abilities in silence, and Octavia wasn''t immune to the way her borrowed eyes seemed to sparkle and widen far more frequently in the presence of such treasures.

    He wasn¡¯t a client, but he piqued her interest. He was loud, boisterous to a fault. His charisma was audible across the room. Really, it was the case for every room he chose to walk into, surely sparkling brighter than any gemstone she could ask for. He¡¯d look far better with the shimmer of spilt blood coating his skin. Even now, his face was a bitter taste that poisoned Octavia from afar. She wondered how many more times she¡¯d be forced to find it, even in the worst kind of passing.

    It¡¯s not real.

    What do you mean?

    You¡¯re a fool if you¡¯re thinking of trading for something you can¡¯t even verify the authenticity of.

    In truth, she had no reason to offer her assistance. It really was, exclusively, his charming magnet that pulled her forward and changed the course of her stranger¡¯s life permanently. For all the effort she¡¯d poured into her personal challenge, he not only recognized it in earnest--he applauded it.

    That is utterly remarkable!

    It¡¯s not hard, she¡¯d scoffed, humble.

    I envy your talent, miss! Your keen eye is a diamond in the rough.

    Octavia wondered if the praise felt nice, for all of her stranger¡¯s efforts. She already knew what was to come.

    Alessandro Drey.

    Call me Portia.

    Hearing his name, even on his own lips, was still enough to make Octavia¡¯s blood bubble. She wasn''t sure if that would ever go away. Today, at least, it was far more of a hateful annoyance than a soul-crushing encounter.

    Samuel Sostoviri, aspiring historian. I look forward to working together.

    Historian?

    Indeed. It¡¯s my life¡¯s passion. In that way, somewhat, you could say I almost overlap with Alessandro.

    I¡¯m amazed you overlap with him at all. He¡¯s so¡­eccentric.

    I don¡¯t deny that one bit, Samuel agreed with a laugh. Still, he¡¯s enjoyable company. I think you¡¯ll come to like him.

    I¡¯m here strictly for business, not to entertain whatever odd ideas are in his head.

    I happen to have heard secondhand that your talents for appraisal are incredible. Surely, you could do business anywhere. If you¡¯ve chosen to do such with him, of all people, I hesitate to believe your motives are purely guided by coin.

    Portia scoffed. Still, she didn¡¯t argue. At no point did she mention the knives pressed flat against her torso through her inner coat pockets. There was one talent, Octavia noticed with caution, that she kept close to her heart.

    The environment Drey gave her in which to flourish, for as much as she wouldn¡¯t admit it, was a variable playground of sorts. Every task he handed her, she mastered with aplomb. Every item she was tenderly entrusted to strip of its falsehoods, she sought its true form with impeccable precision. Portia was brilliant, and even more strikingly so under his eyes.

    Drey''s praise was relentless, try as she might to deflect it. She didn¡¯t smile, nor did she offer her thanks. Still, Portia never shied away. She sought out his company. She sought out their company, the threesome Octavia had come to recognize solidifying into the most fatal friendship she¡¯d ever borne witness to.

    Portia had been honest in that she''d sincerely found no merit in Priscilla.

    It didn¡¯t begin as jealousy so much as irritation. The way by which the most beautiful girl in the world stole Drey¡¯s heart from his very chest was plain to see. To see his downward spiral from afar was startling, the Ambassador¡¯s eyes not limited to either of the two bloodstained parties in question. From her stranger¡¯s perspective, it was even more graceless. It was yet more abhorrent. In a matter of weeks, he was a murderer-in-waiting.

    It cannot come to pass.

    What are you talking about?

    I will stop them.

    Who?

    Those of her kind.

    How will you stop them, then?

    I will reason.

    And if that isn¡¯t enough?

    Then I shall take what makes them special. Should that not suffice, I¡­will do what must be done.

    You¡¯re losing your mind!

    She pledged to stand at his back. It didn¡¯t keep her from questioning his sanity.

    He¡¯s lost it.

    Calm yourself, Portia.

    What reason could I possibly have to be calm? He¡¯s going to make foolish decisions for the sake of chasing the words of a little girl! Even with his head in the clouds, this is too far for him to go!

    What can we do? He¡¯s a man of conviction. You and I both know this well.

    He¡¯s stubborn! He¡¯s a fool!

    We can only do our best to reason with him, futile as it may be. We can continue to try.

    How can you be so calm about this? You, who was just as disturbed as myself at his words?

    Samuel sighed heavily. I have long since learned to choose my battles with him carefully.

    Spineless.

    I assure you, that¡¯s not the case.

    Octavia was, at least, grateful that she knew of Samuel¡¯s honest character beforehand. The added tension of questioning his motives, at this point, would¡¯ve driven her insane. It was odd to know what her stranger did not, three separate stories unfolding tragically around her on a collision course with destiny. When three stories became two, she was still out of the loop.

    There was an observable relief, Octavia found, that came with Priscilla¡¯s gruesome slaying for Portia. The Alessandro Drey she¡¯d grown fond of in her own subtle way was no more, irreversibly tainted by grief and by the blood on his hands. It mattered not that he¡¯d returned to his old, charismatic ways, smiling vibrantly and speaking poetically. The knowledge was there. Still, he spoke of intruding upon a world that was not his to disturb. He was more tranquil after Priscilla¡¯s death, less poisoned by a desire to search and destroy. Octavia doubted it ever truly quelled the fire in his blood. So did Portia, apparently.

    He still brings it up sometimes.

    Yes, but he¡¯s mostly calmed. Is that not a victory?

    I¡­suppose. Should we distract him, then?

    Our company is the greatest distraction we can provide. He seems happy.

    To seem and to be are two different concepts, you foolish historian.

    I don¡¯t disagree. We¡¯ll strive to make the latter a reality, then.

    It took five years for Portia to find that fatal drive again. The pendulum of fate once more swung against her will in the form of a passing glance. It was always jarring to make it at all.

    What month were you born?

    September?

    That explains it.

    Octavia, to this day, had never genuinely gotten used to seeing her own face on the other side.

    I thought you were past this.

    She is her sister. The resemblance is uncanny. It is surely her.

    Does it truly matter, Alessandro?

    It does.

    Are there not other things in life you¡¯ve wanted for? Things you''ve desired so much more than this? Look at what you¡¯ve accomplished! Look at all you have built with your own hands! You would squander that to play hero for an ideal you¡¯ve stumbled upon in passing?

    Portia, please. Once more, I do not ask that you understand. I simply ask that you stand at my back.

    I am standing, Alessandro. I want to understand, Alessandro. I want to understand what it is about this¡­world you speak of that matters so much to you.

    Would you assist in this thankless task, then? It is not one I wish for you to undertake, nor one I wish to undertake myself.

    I¡­can¡¯t. I just can¡¯t justify it, Alessandro. I will stand at your back, but I truly cannot wrap my head around you sometimes.

    To have you near is all I could want.

    And when the time came, she grieved, the clarity she sought from him forever a mystery. Under no circumstances would Octavia feel regret, no matter how many hidden tears her stranger hastily smeared away. The ruined makeup that ran, tinting her fingertips black, was sorrow given form that meant absolutely nothing to the Ambassador. It was a shame Portia hadn¡¯t been there to see it herself. Octavia wouldn¡¯t have minded watching his downfall once more.

    And it was only in passing that finally, truly, she stood at his side rather than his back.

    We owe him that much.

    They were children.

    A murder is a murder.

    Could you not call it self-defense?

    You could say much the same for him. It was not Alessandro who started the fight.

    Portia, they are children. Enough has been done. He, too, has spilled blood. A boy was mutilated, for God¡¯s sake. If it¡¯s an eye for an eye you¡¯re after, that justice was served by none other than Alessandro himself.

    It was the girl with the violin, correct?

    Portia, please.

    Am I wrong, Samuel?

    Why would it matter? What would even come of me saying ¡®yes¡¯? What would you have to gain but distress? Is it revenge you hope for?

    Is this not what he would¡¯ve wanted?

    What?

    He wanted them dead. Their kind, that is.

    He wanted them incapable. His actions spoke to that well. If that¡¯s the impression you earned, then you don¡¯t understand as much as you believe you do.

    To be dead is to be incapable. They are there, visible, ripe for the taking and easily incapacitated. For all of his griping about searching far, they are right there, Samuel. Is this not the absolute least we can do to honor him?

    There is no honor in killing a child!

    To kill his killers, then?

    Portia!

    Samuel!

    It started with a little camp she knew all too well. It escalated, a snowball that rolled downhill and grew wildly out of control as it careened into every facet of Octavia¡¯s life. It was predictable, familiar in the worst way. They fell apart. One sought her closure. One didn¡¯t. Octavia knew the catch, the series of slip-ups Portia made along the way. The most fatal folly came in the form of loose lips. Per words Octavia had heard not so long ago, trust was fickle.

    I¡¯ve heard of him, yes.

    He made quite a splash in the city when it happened. Life without parole.

    How does this concern you?

    His daughter. She was one of them.

    You¡¯re certain?

    I¡¯ve checked extensively. The documentation was a match. They didn¡¯t cover their tracks well.

    That¡¯s because they¡¯re children, Portia, as I¡¯ve stated many a time.

    It doesn¡¯t matter. He¡¯ll be dead in a matter of days.

    Do what you will.

    You¡¯re not going to scold me?

    Is there a point? You wouldn¡¯t listen to me regardless.

    You¡¯re not incorrect. Still, you¡¯re also not one to keep your useless opinions to yourself.

    I will stand at your back, then, as you had done for him. That is all I can give.

    For that, then, I¡¯m grateful. You¡¯ve¡­changed your mind, then?

    I don¡¯t understand you. However, you are you, and you are still dear to me. I¡­will stand behind that, if nothing else.

    Samuel hadn¡¯t lied to her, to her knowledge. As to Portia, even knowing what she knew, Octavia couldn¡¯t quite discern how much of his sentiment was truly a lie. In the span of several months, Samuel had lost both of his closest friends to a world they should never have experienced.

    It really was striking, the speed with which Portia mastered the usage of firearms. It was another extension of her brilliance, her capacity for violence once again given center stage. It couldn¡¯t have been more than a few weeks¡¯ worth of training, both within the armory and outside its walls. It was, again, almost respectable. It didn¡¯t change who she was or what she¡¯d done.

    It didn¡¯t change the sins she committed, right up until the end.

    Know that he would¡¯ve been sorry. I won¡¯t.

    Please don¡¯t kill me. I don¡¯t wanna die yet.

    You¡¯re a scared little boy whose ego has already betrayed him once before.

    I¡¯ve got nothing to worry about.

    And right up until the end, too, fighting for her life in a fight that wasn¡¯t hers to pick, it was perhaps the Ambassador¡¯s stranger who understood the least. Samuel had his own investments, and Drey had his own ideals. Of all things, Portia¡¯s greatest skill was squirming her way into a life she so easily could¡¯ve avoided.

    Had she simply turned her head and ignored a conservator''s magnet, maybe she would¡¯ve found another precious little gemstone in her hands. Instead, she found the righteous wrath of a boy whose own hands could hardly hold the same. For all the appraisal she¡¯d done and all the flavors of finery she¡¯d burnt into her head, she¡¯d surely never forget the taste of cherry oak on her way out.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia had managed to stop coming up with a gasp, a jolt, or any indication of the Hell that greeted her once-stolen eyes. There was almost a pride to be had in her resilience, considering how severe her initial reactions had been. In retrospect, relative to the circumstances of this one, she¡¯d expected it to hurt worse. It wasn¡¯t as bad as she¡¯d anticipated--even if it left her irritated and uncomfortable. She simply didn¡¯t know the woman well enough, aside from her tangential associations with the person she¡¯d come to loathe most in the world.

    ¡°How was it?¡±

    ¡°It could¡¯ve been worse.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d you see?¡±

    ¡°Nothing good.¡±

    ¡°Do you¡­wanna talk about it? Was he there? If you don¡¯t mind me asking, I mean.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s okay, really. It wasn¡¯t that bad. I¡¯m getting used to seeing him, unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°Eww. Don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to be in those shoes. I do not envy what you do. I respect it.¡±

    At that, she giggled. ¡°You¡¯d make a good Ambassador, I think.¡±

    ¡°Hell no,¡± Renato scoffed. ¡°Gun to my head--bad choice of words, damn it. Knife to my back, you couldn¡¯t get me to look at that garbage all day. I don¡¯t know how you sleep at night.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Alright, I walked into that one. Hey, uh, do I gotta do two of these? Like, one for each?¡±

    One will suffice.

    We are privy to but one vessel.

    We ourselves are in tandem, as well.

    You have done all that is necessary.

    Renato¡¯s eyes flickered upwards at nothing. When they traveled to Octavia instead, she nodded with understanding. He blinked.

    ¡°Right. Forgot you could do that. That takes care of one problem, I guess. That means everyone paid their tolls, right? We finally have this hot mess under control?¡±

    Octavia smiled. ¡°We¡¯re¡­on the right track, I think. I can let them go at a moment¡¯s notice, now, if I need to. Until then, we still have a whole lot more to deal with.¡±

    Renato patted her shoulder gently, his prosthetic snagging against the fabric of her dress somewhat. ¡°We can always put you on a schedule for how many dead people you have to see in a day. Get you a little journal to keep track. Decorate it. Stickers. Make Josiah draw, like, I dunno, little hearts and smiley faces all over it.¡±

    She stifled a laugh. ¡°Please let me be there to see you ask him.¡±

    ¡°And¡­if you want to talk about whatever it is you see, you know I¡¯m here,¡± Renato offered, his voice softening.

    Octavia raised her own hand to the false one atop her shoulder, laying her fingertips tenderly against his own. ¡°I might take you up on that.¡±

    With timing she¡¯d only mildly expected, the rumbling beneath her feet began to slow. The tell-tale screeching of metal against rails was as harsh as it was welcome, largely secondary to distance and impatience. She breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else, they hadn¡¯t almost died during the course of this trip. Surely Josiah was satisfied with that.

    ¡°We¡¯re here, then?¡± Octavia asked aloud.

    They hadn¡¯t even come to a full stop, the train still lurching steadily forward. It didn¡¯t keep backpacks in rooms and cases off of shoulders. Josiah¡¯s bag, predictably, hadn¡¯t left his side regardless. He was the first to pass her by, very near to outright sprinting as he essentially slapped her shoulder on his way to the exit.

    ¡°Oh my God, we¡¯re done!¡± Octavia heard him cry with borderline glee. ¡°That was the last one!¡±

    ¡°Geez, he really hates traveling, huh?¡± Harper muttered.

    ¡°I think you made it worse, actually. You specifically,¡± Octavia teased.

    Harper shrugged, nonplussed. Royal Orleans shifted on his back in the process, the brass within the case clinking slightly. ¡°He actually figured out how to drive it pretty quick. If he changes his mind about being a doctor, it wouldn¡¯t be a bad line of work for him.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t his family live here?¡± Viola tried, falling into step with Octavia.

    She nodded. ¡°I think that¡¯s what he said.¡±

    ¡°You gonna get nostalgic on us?¡± Harper jeered, his eyes cast to a different Maestro entirely.

    Renato grinned, stretching. ¡°It¡¯s been a really long time. I mostly just come here for the food.¡±

    ¡°Are you gonna show us around?¡± Madrigal asked excitedly, trailing behind him just a bit too close. Octavia genuinely wondered if she was going to trip on her way down the steps.

    ¡°Remember why we¡¯re here,¡± Viola scolded softly, not immune to a smile.

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°I know, I know, but we deserve some fun! Can¡¯t we take a little detour? Pretty please?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s two o¡¯clock in the morning,¡± Harper deadpanned.

    Her head tilted in Renato¡¯s direction instead. ¡°Is there stuff to do at night?¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s actually a really nice place. I mean, I like it, at least. It¡¯s sizable, though, so I hope we figure out where the hell we¡¯re goin¡¯ pretty quickly.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna let us get lost, right?¡± Harper joked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know where we''re headed. I can get you wherever you need to go if it¡¯s somewhere specific, but we¡¯re looking for¡­what, again, exactly?¡±

    ¡°A person,¡± Viola reminded. ¡°Samuel said there¡¯s someone who can take us to wherever it is we¡¯re supposed to be going. He¡­made it sound like it was a Maestra, too.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s a Maestra we¡¯re looking for, then we have you,¡± Octavia offered.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Viola flinched. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your gift,¡± she explained. ¡°You can find Maestros, right? You can sense them and¡­stuff.¡±

    Viola winced. ¡°I¡¯ve never been here before, though. I don¡¯t even know how far away I can actually do that. I haven¡¯t messed with it much.¡±

    ¡°You were able to find me. I was all the way in Silver Ridge. That was pretty far from Coda, and you¡¯d never been there before.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re putting a lot of pressure on me,¡± Viola muttered.

    She poked Viola¡¯s forehead playfully. ¡°Listen, if it doesn¡¯t work out, we¡¯ll try something else. It¡¯s a good start, I think. Can we try? Please?¡±

    Viola rubbed her forehead where once had been a poke. She rolled her eyes with a half-hearted smirk. ¡°If we get lost, it¡¯s on you.¡±

    Octavia could, if nothing else, empathize with Josiah¡¯s relief at touching solid ground once more--granted, far more restrained than his own. The view past the train station was surprisingly pleasant relative to their time of arrival, the speckled lights of the city greeting them warmly and guiding their path with open arms. In the dark, whatever color and splendor she¡¯d been led to expect by prior descriptions from Renato was lost on her. In that way, she somewhat lamented their lack of sightseeing time much the same as Madrigal.

    It was, in fact, big. It was big enough for Viola to sweat, the weight of expectation surely pressing down upon her inexperienced shoulders. The look on her face said plenty. Still, Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the idea of searching for their stranger the hard way--Samuel hadn¡¯t so much as given a solid description of them, let alone a full confirmation as to what his exact relationship with them was. She felt bad pushing Viola harder.

    Six days had been kinder than eleven. It still wasn¡¯t exactly nearby, a climate resting distantly from Solenford in a part of Mezzoria Octavia hadn¡¯t ventured to yet. Granted, summer was summer anywhere, for the most part. Even so, the last vestiges of the season had paved the path for autumn to sneak its way in. Recently, the air had begun to bite ever so gently at her skin with the softest of chills.

    Were she not the Ambassador, her studies would be resuming in Silver Ridge right about now. She¡¯d sent a letter. Octavia prayed for an exemption, although the excuse of ¡°neck-deep in a hellish task bestowed by a magical violin¡± likely wouldn¡¯t hold up.

    It was, in a way, impressive how quickly Harper had managed to get back on his feet. He traversed the street at her side with only the absolute faintest residual limp, the vicious scar on his right leg well-obscured by his clothing. It wasn¡¯t so much that she minded seeing it. Regardless, some twisted part of her brain couldn¡¯t help but associate exposure with vulnerability. Renato insisted that it looked cool. Octavia had made a mental note to kick him at least once over the comment. It was still an item on her to-do list.

    Really, both the Maestro and Maestra who sustained heavy physical damage during their second crisis at SIAR made solid recoveries, withstanding their respective surgical procedures well--mostly. Samuel had graced them once more with his assistance, subtle as it was, in the form of providing them with access to much-needed care in Solenford. This time, there was no sacrificed lifespan on which to rely, nor any hasty escape to be made. It took weeks that killed her to wait out--killed all of them to wait out, really.

    Ultimately, it was her own fault, and it was the absolute least Octavia could do to suffer through the agonizingly-slow passage of time. There was something humorous in the way Madrigal tolerated needles far better than Harper did. Octavia made doubly sure not to let him live it down.

    The trade-off was the deep discomfort the Maestra, instead, had with her own minimal scars--well-healed and little as they were. The departure of her stitches had still left two small yet notable reminders of a battle barely won, although the aesthetic displeasure was not to be dismissed. Octavia couldn¡¯t decide whether it was sweet or insensitive that Renato insisted they matched. If it was enough for Madrigal to smile, she supposed that was that.

    Josiah hadn¡¯t taken his deference to a ¡°real doctor¡± with grace. Regardless, he did what he could, providing continuous care to their healing wounds as necessary well after discharge. Even now, Octavia watched the way he, too, eyed Harper¡¯s gait with satisfaction. In his defense, the boy seemed fine enough, smiling and conversing without distress. He was doing better every day. Octavia never in her life wanted to hear him scream like that again.

    ¡°So¡­how did you do this last time?¡± Octavia whispered.

    Clearly, no amount of closing her eyes was doing Viola any actual good in terms of focusing. She exhaled sharply in annoyance. ¡°I don¡¯t know! It just sort of happened! I¡¯ve never done it consciously before.¡±

    ¡°Do you want to ask Brava?¡±

    Viola gagged. ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to ask him anything ever. He¡¯s gonna laugh at me for not knowing what I¡¯m doing, at this point. I¡¯ll figure it out eventually.¡±

    ¡°What did it feel like the last several times you used your gift?¡± Josiah tried, apparently calmed from his high of a train-free future.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­I¡¯m not sure how to put it into words. I was following ¡®something¡¯, but I¡¯m not sure how I found ¡®something¡¯ in the first place. It just kinda showed up. In Octavia¡¯s case, I was at least hoping to find it. For that kid, I wasn¡¯t looking for him at all. I didn¡¯t even know him.¡±

    ¡°But you knew Harper,¡± Josiah offered. ¡°You were looking for him at the time, right?¡±

    Viola paused. ¡°I¡­yeah. I suppose so.¡±

    Josiah crossed his arms in contemplation. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s¡­a drive to actually find someone, then? Consciously, I mean. If you go in with the expectation of finding something that stands out, maybe it¡¯ll click. Just a thought, at least.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°I mean¡­that doesn¡¯t give me much to go off of. Are you telling me I don¡¯t want it badly enough, or something?¡±

    He smirked. ¡°If that¡¯s how you¡¯re gonna take it, maybe.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll try. You realize there¡¯s not a little switch I can flip in my head that turns this thing on and off, right?¡±

    ¡°Just do your best,¡± Octavia reassured with a smile. ¡°We¡¯ll take it one step at a time.¡±

    Even in the midst of mild aggravation, Octavia was still pleased to earn a different half-hearted smile in return. ¡°For whatever that¡¯s worth,¡± Viola muttered.

    Octavia watched as the Soulful girl closed her eyes once more, somewhat concerned for her safety as she continued to walk without a line of sight. Viola was quiet, her face scrunched up in what was presumably concentration. Most conversation around her had stilled, largely fixated on wherever her subtle gift would next lead--if it manifested at all.

    The street was eerily quiet, although the time of day wasn¡¯t helping the atmosphere in any capacity. With the sole exception of whatever crickets had brought their nighttime songs into the foray of autumn, it left the Maestros in silence as they watched Viola strain for--quite literally--anything.

    ¡°I feel something,¡± she murmured at last.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Octavia asked, somewhat afraid to break her concentration.

    Viola shook her head, her bow bouncing along in the process. ¡°Again, it¡¯s just¡­¡®something¡¯. It¡¯s the same feeling again, the one I had before. It¡¯s not weak, but it¡¯s not strong, either. It gets stronger the more we move forward, though. This has to be it, right? I can¡¯t think of what else it¡¯s supposed to feel like.¡±

    Harper grinned. ¡°You¡¯re like a little compass.¡±

    Viola couldn¡¯t stifle a smile, meek as it was. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it stays that way, I guess. I¡¯m scared to lose hold of it.¡±

    ¡°Lead the way, Miss Maestra Detector!¡± Madrigal said cheerfully, arms aloft in delight.

    Viola laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± she offered with the slightest bit more confidence. Their roles were reversed, ultimately, and her words got a smile out of Octavia.

    ¡°Leading the way¡± in the depths of the night wasn¡¯t particularly enjoyable, their isolated voices lonely as they echoed up and down the streets of Selbright. They¡¯d ended up clear of the main roads, devoid of the true heart of the city in favor of paths less traveled. By no means was their trail explicitly winding or haphazard. Still, every turn was mildly disorienting.

    Some matched poorly with those that had come before, almost too specific in the form of shortcuts a tourist could never have fathomed. Octavia suddenly understood how Viola had managed to survive the dreaded alleyway guarding the orphan camp. Even Renato and Josiah exchanged glances of confusion over several navigational choices, still opting to keep their mouths shut in the end.

    There came a point when the density of the abodes lining the roads began to thin, quaint and rustic houses given ample space to thrive and shelter with love. In the dark, once more, their features were mostly indiscernible aside from rough silhouettes. Occasionally, Octavia would be blessed with splashes of color upon front steps and fences by the grace of street lamps. She had absolutely no idea where they were--although, granted, she wouldn¡¯t have known the city regardless. If nothing else, she could at least say she''d had the chance to sightsee in the housing districts.

    ¡°Are you tired at all?¡± Octavia asked gently.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°From this? No. In general? Debatable. This doesn¡¯t really take a lot out of me, exactly. It feels natural, almost.¡±

    ¡°Tell us if you need a break, okay? We¡¯re on your schedule, here,¡± Josiah offered.

    She nodded. ¡°I appreciate that. I don¡¯t think I want to hang around here too long, though. It¡¯s pretty dark out. Somewhere cozy would be nice.¡±

    Harper smirked. ¡°We could always go back on the train.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, shut up,¡± Josiah hissed.

    ¡°But I liked riding the train,¡± Madrigal whined.

    ¡°We¡¯re not going back anytime soon. We¡¯re here, we¡¯re done, that¡¯s it. No more.¡±

    ¡°And if we need to take another one to get wherever we¡¯re supposed to be going?¡± Harper challenged playfully.

    Josiah narrowed his eyes. ¡°Then throw me on the tracks and run me over.¡±

    Octavia laughed. It was mostly collective, a torment even a concentrating Viola could get behind. Josiah sighed deeply, and yet even he wasn''t immune to a smirk at his own quip. She thought about making another joke regarding him driving a train again. She was more interested in whatever Renato would say to mess with him, in truth. To Octavia¡¯s great surprise, the latter was seemingly disinterested. Rather, he was hardly so much as paying attention.

    Octavia didn¡¯t press him, although she did eye the way his steps quickened subtly. It wasn¡¯t enough that he was outright running, but it was more than enough that he was starting to slowly pass each Maestro by one by one. She, too, was included. Every time she tried to match pace with Renato, he seemed to walk faster. He¡¯d long since stuffed his false hands into his pockets, eyes cast down at the road as he walked. Octavia tilted her head.

    ¡°What, uh, what neighborhood are we in, exactly?¡± she heard him wonder aloud nervously.

    Josiah had recovered from his torment, at least. He was immune to Renato¡¯s discomfort, untraceable as it was. ¡°I want to say we¡¯re somewhere in the southern block, but don¡¯t quote me on that. I¡¯ve never actually been here. I just saw a map once.¡±

    ¡°This is your first time in Selbright?¡± Madrigal asked. ¡°I thought your family lives here.¡±

    He smiled, his own hands taking refuge in his pockets much the same as the boy ahead of him. ¡°Remember, they left Velpyre and I didn¡¯t. This is just as new for me as it is for you. It¡¯s¡­interesting.¡±

    Madrigal clasped her hands together behind her back, a slight spring touching her step as she walked. ¡°Are you gonna go see your family?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m¡­gonna have to think about it a bit first. I haven¡¯t seen them in a really, really long time. I¡¯m not sure what to say.¡±

    ¡°They know you¡¯re alive, right?¡± Harper murmured.

    ¡°Do they¡­even know what happened?¡± Viola added, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

    Josiah chuckled. ¡°They know. I write to them often enough. They¡¯re at least aware I¡¯m not dead. Seeing their faces again is going to be really strange, though.¡±

    ¡°What part of the southern block?¡±

    Renato¡¯s hurried words were as sudden as they were strained, directed at no one in particular. He hadn¡¯t made an effort to so much as look at the one person most likely to have an answer. Josiah shrugged, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know. Like I said, I¡¯ve only seen it on paper. Why?¡±

    He was quiet for a moment. ¡°Just wondering. No sweat.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t let up. ¡°I¡¯m¡­not even 100% certain that¡¯s where we are, you know.¡±

    ¡°No, this definitely looks like the place,¡± Renato muttered through gritted teeth.

    Octavia watched the way he seemed to walk even quicker, his eyes trailing along the lengths of houses on either side of the road one by one. He hadn¡¯t quite moved significantly close to Viola. Still, he¡¯d managed to shift himself at least more adjacent to the front of their little cluster.

    ¡°You havin¡¯ any luck, Vi?¡± Renato tried, his voice tinted with just the slightest urgency.

    Viola narrowed her eyes in irritation, tossing him a look of annoyance far less friendly than the one she¡¯d given Josiah. ¡°I¡¯m working on it. Be patient. We¡¯re definitely getting there, okay? I can feel it.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no, like, other neighborhoods we can cut through or anything?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°This is the fastest way for me to follow¡­whatever it is I¡¯m feeling. Is that a problem?¡±

    Renato tensed somewhat. ¡°No, no, that¡¯s fine. If¡­this is the only way, just keep doing your thing. No pressure.¡±

    The look she fixed him with was perhaps equally as confused as the one Octavia wore. Viola didn¡¯t dignify his odd words with a response, bringing her attention straight forward once more with a roll of her eyes.

    ¡°What does it feel like, anyway?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­hard to describe, like I said,¡± Viola began. ¡°I¡¯m¡­trying to put it into better words, at this point. It¡¯s like an urge I can¡¯t really pin down. It¡¯s not a bad feeling, but it¡¯s this¡­weird sensation inside of me that feels like I¡¯m being drawn somewhere. If I let it take me, it¡¯s like I¡¯m being pulled by a magnet.¡±

    He nodded in understanding, even if she couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Can you still feel it getting stronger or weaker, then?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s definitely getting stronger. I''m still positive that we''re heading the right way. How much further is debatable, though.¡±

    ¡°What do you think this person¡¯s gonna be like?¡± Madrigal questioned softly.

    ¡°They¡¯re important to Samuel, we know that much,¡± Octavia said, adjusting Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders. ¡°A relative or a friend is my best guess.¡±

    She smiled. ¡°I hope they¡¯re nice.¡±

    ¡°Where we go from there is anyone¡¯s guess,¡± Josiah continued in Octavia¡¯s stead.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I have a vague idea of what might be waiting for us. It¡¯s¡­gonna be a lot to deal with.¡±

    Harper scoffed playfully. ¡°Everything we do is a lot to deal with.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s your little magnet thing going?¡± Renato asked, his tone urgent once more.

    ¡°It¡¯s going,¡± Viola hissed. ¡°What are you in such a rush for?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer. Viola shook her head in yet more aggravation, her eyes briefly touching upon Octavia¡¯s in a plea for peace and quiet. Usually, Octavia would¡¯ve smirked. At the moment, she was more concerned about the way Renato¡¯s head was low, his shoulders were slouched, and he was fighting for his life to avoid looking up from the pavement.

    ¡°Is¡­everything alright?¡± Octavia found the courage to ask.

    Even with his eyes down and his steps fast, Renato sighed heavily. ¡°Yup. No problem. Let¡¯s just get where we¡¯re goin¡¯ before it gets any colder out here. I¡¯m gonna freeze to death, at this rate.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really that cold out,¡± Harper said. ¡°It¡¯s nice, actually.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, ¡®cold¡¯ is subjective,¡± he muttered hastily. ¡°Leave it to the guy with all the crazy fire stuff going on to--¡±

    ¡°Renato?¡±

    Even as his eyes widened and his face fell, Renato never stopped walking--nor did he raise his head. It was those around him who stilled in full, his name on lips not their own.

    ¡°Renato.¡±

    The second instance was sharper, almost demanding. Only then did Renato come to a hesitant halt, raising his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Octavia watched him silently mouth a particular series of words she refused to repeat herself. It took him a moment to straighten up in full, let alone to turn and face the stranger who¡¯d claimed his name aloud.

    It was a house Octavia had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice, relatively uniform with the others adjacent up and down either side of the road. So late in the evening, it was only by the grace of the street lamps that she could see anything at all. It was unremarkable, largely, a rustic home with little more of note than granite porch steps and the sleek metals of a passably-ornate fence. More of interest was the dark-haired woman upon the former, sitting quietly as she stared down the Maestro from afar.

    The exceedingly heavy sigh that left Renato preceded any words he could offer her. His face was far more neutral than the standard emotional fluctuations of his voice. ¡°You moved.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Nice place you ended up with,¡± he said calmly. ¡°I like the fence.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°Passing through, chill out. Not here for you. Good seeing you again. See ya.¡±

    When he made to turn on his heel, the confusion on Octavia¡¯s face echoed across that of her companions in full. They stayed rooted in place, wordlessly watching his movements with great befuddlement. Renato never fully pulled off a complete escape, whether with his gaze or otherwise.

    ¡°Avery!¡± the woman shouted, just barely tilting her head in the direction of the door at her back.

    ¡°You do not need to do that!¡± Renato snapped, stomping angrily towards the porch steps.

    ¡°Where have you been?¡± she asked. Genuine concern tinted her every word, pairing well with wide eyes.

    ¡°That was completely unnecessary!¡± he cried, gesturing wildly in the direction of the door.

    It was only once it opened that Renato took two quick steps backwards, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. The man that took the place he¡¯d once stood was taller than him by a small margin, leaving him somewhat looking down on the Strong boy.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he asked, much the same as the woman on the steps. Granted, his accent was far thicker.

    Again, Octavia watched the way Renato¡¯s shoulders rose and fell with the weight of a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m passing through. I said this already. I didn¡¯t even know you guys moved. I thought you were on the other side of the¡­wherever. Genuine coincidence.¡±

    ¡°Where the hell have you been?¡± he growled.

    ¡°Do you guys only know how to ask the same two damn questions?¡± Renato bit back. ¡°Why does it even matter?¡±

    ¡°Answer me.¡±

    ¡°Gone. Not here. Obviously.¡±

    The man pinched the bridge of his nose in clear aggravation. ¡°How long has it been?¡±

    ¡°Not long enough,¡± Renato muttered.

    ¡°A lot has changed since the last time you were here.¡±

    Renato nodded half-heartedly, his narrow eyes never leaving the man¡¯s own. ¡°Yeah. New house. Saw that already.¡±

    ¡°Cecil was promoted.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t ask.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s stationed in Ardenfall. They¡¯re doing training there next week.¡±

    ¡°I literally do not give a damn about Cecil.¡±

    ¡°Watch your mouth,¡± the woman hissed, rising to her feet. Renato laughed once, a singular and empty sound utterly devoid of amusement.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care! Am I supposed to care?¡±

    ¡°Show some respect!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not even here! I wouldn¡¯t show him a damn thing anyway!¡±

    ¡°Kiera,¡± the man warned softly, raising one hand to the agitated woman at his side. She swallowed whatever harsh words were to come. He returned his attention to Renato alone, his voice quieter.

    ¡°Listen, why don¡¯t you just¡­come inside, and we¡¯ll talk? We don¡¯t have to talk about Cecil, we don¡¯t have to talk about where you¡¯ve been, we can just¡­talk. I¡¯ll make coffee, or whatever you want. Do you still like your coffee black?¡±

    Renato fell silent for a moment. He cocked his head with the faintest of smirks. ¡°Do you seriously think that¡¯s gonna work twice? Do you honestly think I¡¯m that stupid?¡±

    ¡°Renato--¡±

    ¡°No. Whatever you¡¯ve got to say to me, you can do it right here. Whatever you want to do to me, you can do it right here. I¡¯m not falling for that again.¡±

    ¡°Renato, please. Let¡¯s just¡­try again. Both of us. All of us.¡±

    ¡°You really do think I¡¯m an idiot, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Stop saying things like that.¡±

    ¡°You ever stopped to think maybe Cecil was nearly killing himself with all of that garbage just to get the hell away from you, too? Wouldn¡¯t blame him!¡±

    ¡°Think very carefully about the next words that leave your mouth!¡± the man shouted, clenching his fists at his sides.

    Renato flinched. Then, he laughed--a dark, genuine laugh, even if only for a fraction of a second. ¡°Damn, we went back to that fast! That¡¯s a new record for you!¡±

    ¡°Renato,¡± he warned sharply, the boy¡¯s name stolen and dipped in venom.

    ¡°You won¡¯t do it. I know you won¡¯t do it. Not when we¡¯re not alone.¡±

    For a moment, both hardly breathed, staring one another down with daggers where their eyes should¡¯ve been. For the severity of their stand-off and the urgency with which Renato had previously seemed to be avoiding confrontation, Octavia was amazed at the way he stood his ground so perfectly.

    The man¡¯s eyes flickered over Renato¡¯s shoulder, touching upon her instead. It was Octavia¡¯s turn to flinch. His gaze fell back to the Strong Maestro who faced him without fear.

    ¡°You¡¯re putting on a brave act in front of these people, then?¡±

    Renato shrugged. ¡°Nothing to do with it. This is just who I am now.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t changed. You won¡¯t change.¡±

    ¡°Not in the way you want, maybe,¡± he corrected, crossing his arms as he shifted his weight onto one foot. ¡°There¡¯s a whole lot of other ways I¡¯ve changed, I promise you that much.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to change for the better. You want to keep screwing around and making a mess out of your life.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m damn good at it, too.¡±

    ¡°Then ruin yourself. You¡¯re a lost cause. I¡¯ve done everything I can to give you what you needed to succeed, and you threw it away. Was it worth it, Renato?¡±

    ¡°It was absolutely worth it.¡±

    ¡°What else could it possibly take to get you to pull yourself together? What else could I possibly give you? What more could you want from me?¡±

    ¡°Whatever you try, you¡¯re not gonna get anywhere,¡± Renato answered. ¡°I¡¯m stronger than you now. By a lot.¡±

    ¡°What¡­happened to your hands?¡±

    The woman¡¯s voice was soft, in stark contrast to that of the man who berated Renato again and again. Volume was irrelevant. Her words were enough to shake him in a way that harsher words could not. Renato recoiled, taking several steps backwards as he unfolded his arms. With their eyes chasing the cherry oak that clung so naturally to his wrists, he stuffed them into his pockets quickly. He averted his eyes, his voice sharp and poisonous despite his trembling shoulders.

    ¡°Why the hell do you care?¡±

    ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°Whatever¡¯s going on with me is my business and my business only,¡± Renato spat. ¡°Drop it.¡±

    ¡°Watch how you speak to her,¡± the man snapped.

    ¡°Look,¡± Renato began firmly, ¡°this has been great. Wonderful chat we had, good stuff. I cannot stress enough that I am not here for you--either of you. You¡¯ve got your opinions, and I¡¯ve got mine. Agree to disagree, look the other way, and leave me the hell alone. Is that fair?¡±

    Neither the man nor the woman responded. The man crossed his arms, glaring the same daggers directly into Renato¡¯s back as he turned away at last. ¡°Glad we cleared that up,¡± the boy called with a lazy wave over his shoulder.

    Octavia blinked. The entire exchange had left her with a million questions, and she undoubtedly wasn¡¯t the only one.

    ¡°Renato?¡± she whispered as he neared her.

    He grinned faintly for her, false of a smile as it was. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t come back here,¡± Octavia heard the man call.

    Renato groaned in exaggerated exasperation. ¡°Wasn¡¯t planning on it. See ya.¡±

    Whatever came out of the man¡¯s mouth next was indecipherable--to Octavia, at least. It was short. It was curt, jumbled syllables in a tongue she couldn¡¯t place. It was spoken neatly, venomously, its intent still audibly visible despite its linguistic unfamiliarity. Whatever it was, it was enough to bring Renato to a screeching halt, his shoulders stiffening in an instant. His eyes widened, his face contorting with pain as he recoiled. He choked on whatever breath he¡¯d been taking.

    ¡°Hey, watch it!¡± Josiah growled in the direction of the door.

    Octavia didn¡¯t get a chance to ask what it meant. Madrigal was on the case immediately.

    She was unflinching, fearless as she stomped towards the man who¡¯d sought to verbally wound Renato for the past ten minutes. Whatever was leaving her mouth was elaborate, fast, and laced with ire that Octavia still hadn¡¯t grown used to hearing on Madrigal¡¯s lips. Madrigal pushed past Renato, practically guarding him as she hurled hostile sentence after hostile sentence in a language Octavia didn¡¯t recognize. She gestured vividly with her hands, several choice motions towards the man almost vaguely resembling a threat. With every word, both the man and the woman could only stare at her in further shock. Renato wasn¡¯t much better.

    ¡°Damn, Maddie, chill!¡± he hissed in a frantic whisper.

    The man¡¯s own eyes narrowed as Madrigal ranted. He quickly moved to close the small gap between them. ¡°You insolent little girl--¡±

    The sight of Mistral Asunder level with those narrow eyes nearly gave Octavia a heart attack.

    ¡°Renato!¡± she cried instinctively. She was vaguely aware of Viola doing the same.

    It was almost a battle as to which one of the Maestros would take the forefront, the Spirited girl quickly shoved behind the protection of the Strong boy instead. With her at his back, that left one slice of cherry oak pointed squarely at the man. Renato¡¯s hand trembled around the stick as he struggled to control his voice. He failed horrifically.

    Whatever was leaving his mouth was livid, biting, and just as rapid as Madrigal¡¯s arguing had been. It was, too, just as indecipherable, foreign to Octavia¡¯s ears and every bit as enraged. Renato''s eyes were perhaps the only thing sharper than his jagged, unfamiliar words, fire bubbling beneath his pupils.

    ¡°Put one finger on her, I dare you,¡± he spat, his voice low. That much, at least, Octavia could understand.

    The man didn¡¯t back down, even with the tip of Mistral Asunder still mere inches from his face. He, too, was yelling in much the same cadence and vocal flavoring, yet more ire Octavia unfortunately wasn''t privy to. Renato did the same, his voice rising. The man shouted back. Over one another, again and again, they practically screamed in a foreign tongue for what was long enough to make her heart pound.

    Even when they both abruptly fell silent, with Renato claiming the last pointed hostilities for himself, the way his shoulders shook with rage still left Octavia holding her breath. She didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off him, only briefly catching the way Madrigal glared at the man behind the boy¡¯s back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t come back here,¡± the man repeated once more, far more viciously as his voice trembled with cool anger.

    Renato was absolutely not immune to the same. ¡°You know damn well I won''t.¡±

    His Harmonial Instrument stayed raised in a wordless threat right up until the door had slammed shut in his face, both of his tormentors freeing him from their abrasive sentiments at last. Only then did he deflate, lowering his guard and breathing much the same heavy sigh of relief as Octavia.

    When he noticed Octavia eyeing him with great concern, Renato rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°I, uh, sorry about that. Sorry you had to¡­see that.¡±

    ¡°Are¡­you okay?¡± Harper murmured hesitantly.

    Renato shrugged, shunning the vicinity of the house at last with Madrigal close behind. ¡°It¡¯s like I said. I come here for the food.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were bilingual,¡± Viola observed aloud.

    Again, he shrugged with a half-hearted smirk. ¡°I¡¯m a talented guy. It¡¯s in my blood.¡±

    Josiah winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the¡­you know. That wasn¡¯t cool.¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re fluent?¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°Almost conversational. Studied here and there. I can pick stuff out. Made out enough of what you guys were talking about, and I sure as hell know what that meant.¡±

    Renato scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. He always calls me that when he¡¯s pissed off. Just¡­haven¡¯t heard it in awhile. Still gets under my skin a lot more than I expected.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d he say?¡± Octavia asked.

    This time, at least, the smirk he gave her was genuine. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you as much as you want, but there¡¯s no damn way I¡¯m teaching you what that word means.¡±

    ¡°And you,¡± Renato continued, rolling his eyes teasingly in Madrigal¡¯s direction. ¡°Guess that¡¯s one of your eighty-five-whatever languages, then?¡±

    Even in the wake of the heated shouting match they¡¯d left behind, she beamed with pride. ¡°It was one of the first ones I ever learned!¡±

    Renato poked at one of her buns playfully. ¡°Not gonna lie, that was friggin¡¯ awesome. I¡¯m still washing that pretty mouth out with soap later, though. Don¡¯t let me hear half of that mess comin¡¯ out of you again, alright? Not completely sure how I¡¯m gonna sleep tonight.¡±

    Madrigal giggled beneath his teasing. His true grin was brilliant and welcome.

    ¡°So, then, that was your¡­¡± Viola began, losing her words almost instantly.

    Renato averted his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I was rushing you. Was hoping I could spare the world from a little more drama. You can take your time with that magnet stuff now.¡±

    The gaze Viola gave him was pained, far more so than anything Octavia typically saw her offer to that boy specifically. Even he seemed taken aback, his eyes widening at her expression.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± Renato said with a sincere chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s fine, seriously. I¡¯m used to it. I¡¯m happy with what I have, and I¡¯m happy with what I ended up with. That¡¯s all I give a damn about. I mean it.¡±

    She didn¡¯t press him. In turn, he gifted her the same bright, confident smile. Viola struggled to do the same, settling on something fainter and more somber. The effort, at least, was there.

    ¡°Not gonna lie, kind of a weight off my shoulders,¡± Renato admitted, stretching. ¡°Can we get back to whatever we were supposed to be doing, please? Starting to hope whoever this is will be nice enough to let us crash for the night, because I¡¯m just about spent.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re¡­happy that you¡¯re with us. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say about it,¡± Harper offered with a soft smile of his own.

    Renato¡¯s eyes softened. Still, his sentiments were solid. ¡°God, seriously, it wasn¡¯t that bad. Don¡¯t read into it too much, okay? I¡¯ll be even happier once I¡¯m unconscious. Don¡¯t keep me out here waitin¡¯ in the middle of the friggin'' night.¡±

    Octavia wished she could have her own turn with comforts, if not simply to tell him his worth. Still, their collective love for him, chaotic as he was, needed no verbal clarification. If the confidence behind his smile was anything to go by, he knew it to be true better than anyone. She was more than satisfied to see that smile still going strong, for all it had taken to claw it back from Hell.

    If even Viola was giving him her concern, then surely Renato had gathered far more adoration around him than he could¡¯ve ever wished to inherit. Octavia would make certain it stayed that way.

    <hr>

    The furthest end of the block still took another ten minutes to traverse. Octavia hesitated to entertain the concept of Selbright''s true size, at this point. If the housing districts alone were so sprawling, the thought of the city''s heart was daunting in and of itself. She was by no means winded upon arrival. Regardless, there was something mentally draining about following a beacon not her own for so long. Viola, the most likely candidate for exhaustion after wandering so far, was still going strong--an unmatched testament to Soulful focus.

    The house they¡¯d ended up in front of was partially obscured by the darkness of night. Again, they¡¯d gotten mildly lucky with a street lamp. Their path up the porch steps was illuminated, familiar and granite much the same as every other house. Of this home, too, there was little to note.

    The exterior was plain and humble, sporting passable paint and reasonable hygiene beneath the wear and tear of age. To know that a Maestra possibly rested beyond the unassuming maple barring entry was jarring. Octavia feared deeply for the idea that they¡¯d ended up at entirely the wrong house, preparing to disturb some unfortunate resident of Selbright in the earliest possible hours of the morning.

    It was Viola who¡¯d insisted that this was the place. As such, it was they who insisted that she be the one to knock. To Octavia¡¯s surprise, she¡¯d hardly hesitated.

    When there was no initial response, Octavia again wondered if they were in the right place at all. Now she was hooked on the concept of possibly messing with somewhere downright empty at the time of arrival. That line of thought was somewhat more embarrassing. The creak of the hinges nearly scared her to death, focused on her insecurities as she was.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    For what time of day six strangers had arrived on her doorstep, the girl who greeted them was startlingly calm. It took her a moment to open the door entirely, glancing at each of the Maestros in turn before stepping onto the threshold in earnest. Still, her slender hand lingered on the doorknob. Viola cleared her throat.

    ¡°Uh, we¡¯re looking for someone named Mina,¡± she tried. Octavia was glad Viola had remembered the name. It surely would¡¯ve slipped her mind, had she been tasked with knocking instead.

    The girl eyed Viola up and down. ¡°Are you the Ambassador, then?¡±

    Briefly, Viola''s eyes widened. The stammering began soon after, followed by panicked gestures. ¡°O-Oh, no, I¡¯m not the Ambassador! I¡¯m, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador,¡± Octavia took over, edging her way closer to the steps. ¡°My name is Octavia.¡±

    The girl stared. ¡°Samuel sent you?¡±

    His name was a start. If nothing else, they were on the right track. She nodded. ¡°Are you Mina?¡±

    It was the girl¡¯s turn to nod. ¡°Yeah. Are all of you guys¡­¡±

    ¡°Maestros, yes,¡± Viola finished on her behalf.

    The girl tilted her head. ¡°That¡¯s¡­a lot. He said as much, but still.¡±

    ¡°He told you we were coming?¡± Octavia asked.

    Mina¡¯s words were punctuated by the widening gap in the doorway, one arm extended in a half-hearted welcome. ¡°Yeah. He wrote to me a few weeks ago. Gave me a heads up. Come in. We can talk it over in the morning.¡±

    They obliged. ¡°You¡¯re fine with us staying the night? That¡¯s¡­nice of you. Thank you.¡±

    Even as each Maestro passed her by--some with significantly more elation at having a place to sleep than others--Octavia¡¯s focus was largely on the girl who offered her gracious hospitality without question. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. No one else lives here but me. I¡¯ve got plenty of room for it.¡±

    She fidgeted slightly, Stradivaria¡¯s case rustling against her braids in the process. ¡°You¡¯re a¡­Maestra, right?¡±

    Again, Mina nodded. ¡°Someone with you is Soulful, I¡¯m assuming, if you got this far.¡±

    ¡°You know about that?¡± Octavia asked, her eyes wide.

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­I haven¡¯t met a lot of Maestros who know a lot about¡­well, Maestro stuff. Not by default, I mean.¡±

    Mina smirked. ¡°You¡¯re in for a bit of a rude awakening, I think.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see his face,¡± she muttered. ¡°He¡¯s gonna be a whole lot more excited to see you than I am.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    Mina paused. Still, her smirk was faint, if not ever-present. ¡°You¡¯ll see in the morning. It¡¯s a full day¡¯s worth of walking. Get as much sleep as you can. I¡¯ll make breakfast, and then we¡¯re heading out. I¡¯ll explain what I can on the way there, but he¡¯s a whole lot better with words than I am.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I¡­okay. Thank you for¡­taking us in, and for helping us with¡­well, whatever you¡¯re helping us with.¡±

    Mina¡¯s smile softened. Octavia finally embraced her hospitality, scraping her boots against the floor mat. The door clicked shut gently behind them, the darkness of Selbright traded for the warmth of a brighter home.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let me forget to write back to my dad, by the way. If I don¡¯t tell him that the Ambassador made it here safe, he''s gonna kill me.¡±

 60. Tacell

    It had been a fair amount of time since Octavia had been forced to walk such a long distance--although it was substantially more preferable than the alternative of riding the rails in every conceivable direction over the continent. In a way, walking so far was almost nostalgic, her humble travels to Minuevera and Coda respectively not quite as long ago as she¡¯d begun to believe. The temperate weather helped, sparing them from the sting of the summer sun that she would¡¯ve dreaded traversing beneath weeks ago.

    Of more interest was the way Mina had led them off the beaten path in earnest, her navigation guiding them well out of the structure of civilization and into an environment far more natural. It had only taken roughly an hour, from her house, to formally exit the limits of Selbright. The next several were entirely crowned by plush grass, ample foliage, and blue skies overhead. It wasn¡¯t at all uncomfortable, distance be damned. True to her word, Mina at least attempted to fill them in.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. Long story short, it¡¯s a sort of¡­settlement, I guess you could call it. It was the last Ambassador¡¯s idea. My dad helped her throw it together.¡±

    Even in passing, the mention of Priscilla made Octavia¡¯s heart swell. It took everything in her power not to gush. ¡°I saw it in¡­passing, briefly. People live there, right? Maestros?¡±

    Even with her eyes firmly forward, Mina nodded. ¡°Lots of them. There¡¯s no way they could get all of them to agree to stay, but they got enough. It¡¯s a start. For the most part, all of them have stayed over the years. A few new ones came in. A few left and moved somewhere we¡¯re aware of. We know where a lot of Maestros are, even if we aren¡¯t physically close to them.¡±

    ¡°I forgot the exact numbers your dad said,¡± Octavia admitted, embarrassed.

    Mina rolled her eyes with a smirk. ¡°That¡¯s a River question, not a Mina question.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°What?¡±

    She chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re about to meet a lot of interesting people, Miss Ambassador. Keep an open mind.¡±

    The thought was somewhat daunting. Fidgeting was becoming a nervous habit, slowly but surely. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­do my best.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make so many friends!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, her eyes practically sparkling. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to meet all of their partners! Do you think there¡¯s gonna be other Spirited Maestros? Do you think we¡¯ll all get along really well? We¡¯re all gonna have matching legacies, so I¡¯m sure we¡¯re gonna be amazing together! It¡¯ll be like a little club! Do you think--¡±

    ¡°At least someone¡¯s excited,¡± Viola whispered. Octavia giggled.

    From the look on Mina¡¯s face, she herself was just as privy to meeting interesting people today. She cleared her throat. ¡°The whole place was made specifically to help the Ambassador. Hopefully, it can finally do what it was supposed to this whole time. We were all kind of wondering who ended up taking the job. Couldn¡¯t figure it out.¡±

    ¡°You guys knew there was an Ambassador?¡± Harper asked. ¡°Did one of the Muses tell you?¡±

    Mina tipped her hand back and forth. ¡°Sort of. If the Heartful ones can use their gifts in the first place, the Ambassador¡¯s gotta be around somewhere. Plus, there was an issue with¡­well, there were a few other ways we could tell, is the gist of it.¡±

    ¡°Issue with what?¡± Josiah pushed.

    Mina bit her lip uncomfortably. ¡°Not my place to say. The point is, we could tell an Ambassador had been chosen.¡±

    She cast her eyes over her shoulder to Octavia. ¡°Have you performed the Witnessing at all yet?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°A lot, actually. You guys know about that, too?¡±

    ¡°I promise you, we know everything about what you¡¯re supposed to be doing. We know what we¡¯re supposed to be doing, too. There¡¯s some pretty talented Maestros in this place, and they¡¯re all competent enough to fight on behalf of the Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, you have an army,¡± Renato teased.

    ¡°Don¡¯t need one. I thought a certain someone was supposed to be my ¡®soldier¡¯,¡± Octavia muttered with a smirk.

    He blushed somewhat. ¡°Could you please just forget I ever said that?¡±

    ¡°How many tolls?¡± Mina continued.

    ¡°Harmonial Instruments? Let¡¯s see. One, two, three, four¡­seven,¡± Octavia counted. ¡°Tolls themselves? A fair amount more than that.¡±

    ¡°Did you guide any of the Muses?¡±

    ¡°Two of them.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Ethel and Breileneth.¡±

    When she paused for a moment, Octavia pressed her. ¡°Do you¡­know them by name, too?¡±

    Mina chuckled. ¡°We know a lot, but we¡¯re not that good. Just¡­wanted to see if they sounded familiar at all. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard their names yet, though.¡±

    ¡°Do some of the Muses know each other?¡± Harper tried.

    ¡°Oh, they know each other, alright,¡± Josiah mumbled under his breath.

    ¡°They all seem to recognize one another, at least a little bit. Some of them get along. Some don¡¯t,¡± Mina explained. ¡°I mean, if you were to put ninety-six people in one space forever, it makes sense that you¡¯d get to know them all, right?¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s your partner, then?¡± Madrigal asked happily, hands clasped behind her back.

    When the girl didn¡¯t answer, Madrigal tried again. ¡°Mina?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­introduce you later. For now, let¡¯s just focus on getting you where you need to go. We¡¯re almost there.¡±

    ¡°It literally looks like we¡¯re in the middle of nowhere,¡± Renato said bluntly.

    Mina smiled. ¡°That was the point.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve had so many Maestros in one place for years and you weren¡¯t afraid of anything happening to them?¡± Josiah pressed. ¡°It sounds like you guys had a big target sitting on your backs. If someone really wanted to screw you over, it would¡¯ve been easy.¡±

    Mina scoffed. ¡°Who do you think you¡¯re talking to? Remember who we are. Remember the things we can do. With the strength we¡¯ve got, and with the numbers we have, nothing can touch us. What¡¯s your legacy that you¡¯re talking like that?¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t going to say it. She was definitely going to think it. For whatever reason, Josiah went along with her question. Technically, even now, he wasn¡¯t wrong. ¡°Born with a bit of lightning in my blood. You know how it is.¡±

    Mina grinned. ¡°Essenced, then. Figured as much. Welcome to the club.¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re the same, then?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a soft spot for my legacy siblings. You and I should get along pretty well.¡±

    If anyone was going to point out the glaring problem in their interaction, they declined to do so. Octavia side-eyed Josiah. He did the same right back. In his defense, he was only being partially dishonest about his status as a former Maestro. As to why, she was still unsure.

    ¡°You sound like you put a lot of faith in the whole legacy thing,¡± Renato observed, crossing his arms comfortably.

    ¡°You can tell a lot about a person by their legacy. I can¡¯t always guess everyone¡¯s on sight, but talk to me long enough and I¡¯ll usually figure it out.¡±

    ¡°Oh, what¡¯s mine, what¡¯s mine?¡± Madrigal challenged, waving her hand excitedly.

    ¡°If you¡¯re not Spirited, I¡¯m quitting being a Maestra,¡± Mina said with a smirk.

    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s right! You¡¯re amazing, Mina!¡± she cried.

    ¡°Okay, even I could¡¯ve done that one,¡± Harper muttered with a grin of his own.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be kind of strange meeting other Maestros from the same legacy,¡± Viola admitted. ¡°I¡¯ve never met another Maestro with a soul of ice before.¡±

    ¡°I wonder what the other Heartful Maestros are like,¡± Octavia said with a smile.

    ¡°Hey, Ambassador, don¡¯t get your hopes up too high on that one.¡±

    Octavia cocked her head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Mina tucked her hair behind her ear delicately, ruffled by the breeze as it was. ¡°You don¡¯t exactly have as many siblings as the rest of us.¡±

    She hesitated. ¡°There¡¯s¡­not a lot of Heartful Maestros? Do you mean in this place, or in¡­general?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°Here¡± was every bit as beautiful as Octavia had seen secondhand.

    It really was her truest mental interpretation of a settlement, should such a mental image be crowned by the splendor of nature. Their grassy path suddenly dipped low, a plain giving way to more varied topography. What was once flat suddenly erupted into a picturesque assortment of soft, rolling hills and abundant meadows, stretching in nearly every direction. True to Renato¡¯s words, it was more or less the literal middle of nowhere.

    Of most note were the quaint houses that speckled the landscape, cottages that looked overwhelmingly cozy even from afar. They were small and yet plentiful. Octavia didn¡¯t bother counting, far more engrossed in the sweet splashes of color they blessed the greenery of a silent landscape with. From her current vantage point, the canopies of forests she couldn¡¯t quite make out in full from this far away were at least semi-observable.

    Octavia blinked. She rubbed her eyes, too, and still it was here. For all the cities she¡¯d taken refuge in, for all the nights she¡¯d spent surrounded by the hustle and bustle of civilization, to be back in the arms of nature left her heart singing. It was breathtaking beneath the afternoon sun, humble as it was. Should her soul not belong to Silver Ridge, she would¡¯ve wished to live here forever. She didn¡¯t need to so much as set one foot within its borderless borders to make that decision.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you make that face in a while,¡± Viola teased in a whisper. ¡°The tourist-y one.¡±

    There was a time and a place for embarrassment. Now wasn¡¯t it. Octavia was conscious of the sparkle in her eyes and unashamed of its glimmer. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± she breathed.

    ¡°Damn, it really is in the middle of nowhere,¡± Renato mumbled.

    ¡°It¡¯s so cute!¡± Madrigal cried, clasping her hands together joyfully. ¡°It¡¯s so¡­green! So¡­natural! I love it already!¡±

    Mina smiled. ¡°It¡¯s not much to look at, but it does what it¡¯s supposed to do.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s lovely,¡± Octavia added quickly, already somewhat defensive on her paradise¡¯s behalf. ¡°I¡­it¡¯s wonderful.¡±

    ¡°Glad you get something out of it, then. There¡¯s a reason I stay in Selbright. I think if I had to deal with this much grass all the time, I¡¯d go insane,¡± Mina admitted.

    Harper chuckled. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, I don¡¯t think some of us have ever had the chance to try.¡±

    ¡°Never really had the chance to grow up surrounded by the splendor of nature, you know,¡± Josiah muttered.

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem now,¡± Mina said. ¡°The Ambassador, especially. Good thing she¡¯s taking it well.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it like knowing this whole place was built just for you?¡± Viola teased once more, elbowing Octavia gently.

    The thought alone left her starstruck. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know what to say.¡±

    Mina grinned. ¡°Ambassador, welcome to Tacell.¡±

    <hr>

    The further Octavia traversed, the more smitten she became. There was a relief that came with knowing she wasn¡¯t the only one captivated by the settlement--Madrigal wasn¡¯t faring much better. Granted, she expressed her delights in her own unique way, as expected. She pointed and gushed over each cottage, floral feature, and everything in between that crossed their path on the way to who-knew-where.

    Octavia had somewhat forgotten the origins of most of her companions. It left her with the stark revelation that she and her Spirited friend were perhaps the only two who¡¯d grown amongst the beauty of nature. In that way, Harper¡¯s words were true, what with the wonder of the environment somewhat lost on the four who¡¯d instead been raised within the confines of cities. She prayed they would come to appreciate such a paradise, particularly given how long they were going to be here.

    The meadows and fields of the Heaven that Mina called Tacell were only somewhat distinguishable from one another, and not at all by much. Most landmarks came in the form of trees, rocks, hills, or some combination of the three. Remembering them all was surely going to be the death of Octavia, should she find the need to in the first place.

    How Mina remembered which one was which was a feat she couldn¡¯t fathom. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but wonder just how long the Maestra had been coming here over the many years it had existed. Part of her wondered if she¡¯d ever met Priscilla, particularly given her familial associations. Still drinking in the magnificence of her safe haven, Octavia shelved the question temporarily.

    The field she¡¯d chosen didn''t appear to be coincidental, nor did it appear to be empty. The waving helped to give that away, somewhat.

    ¡°River!¡± Mina called.

    The expanse of lush grass that swayed beneath the breeze did little to conceal the myriad of faces Octavia had never seen before. Still, it took them a moment to grant their full frontal attention, turned away and seated upon the earth as they¡¯d been. Octavia retroactively felt bad for disturbing them, unknown to her as they were.

    The one offset to the gentle greens below her feet was the waves of seafoam that crashed against her eyes, striking and overpowering all the same.

    Octavia forgot to acknowledge anything else about the stranger before her, as much as she knew she should¡¯ve. His vibrant gaze wasn¡¯t anywhere near piercing, nor hostile in any capacity. It was warm, soft, pure tides that threatened to sweep her away should she stare for too long. She held her breath, lest she would drown. It was lovely, in a way.

    ¡°Mina?¡± he answered, softly and simply.

    There were others, Octavia was aware. She did care. She knew she was distracted, and of that, she didn¡¯t care quite as much. The feeling was mildly frustrating. The hint of displeasure she felt when he broke eye contact first was a solid sign for her to pull herself together. Granted, she probably shouldn¡¯t have been as fixated as she was.

    ¡°I brought some people I think you¡¯ll be pretty happy to meet,¡± Mina offered with a knowing grin.

    His smile was just as soft as his eyes. Her seafoam stranger crossed his arms comfortably. ¡°They¡¯re Maestros, then?¡±

    ¡°Geez, that¡¯s a lot of them,¡± remarked a voice she hadn¡¯t yet heard. She trailed its deeper timbre to a different boy at his side, arms crossed in much the same gesture--albeit one crowned by a hint of audible confusion. ¡°All at once? Where¡¯d you find this many?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re kind of a unit,¡± Harper joked with a shrug.

    ¡°I mean, don¡¯t get me wrong, we¡¯re happy to have you. Briar, by the way,¡± he offered, one hand extended politely. Harper obliged his introduction with a smile and a firm grip of his own.

    ¡°Harper. Nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna take a shot in the dark that all of you are Maestros, too, then?¡± Josiah tried, raising an eyebrow.

    In his case, ¡°all of you¡± left his eyes scanning a bit further than Octavia¡¯s. The strangers before her numbered five in total, their attire varied and the faces they wore towards the Maestros equally so. At the very least, they seemed to know Mina. That was one relief. There was, conversely, a discomfort to be seen in exactly how long Josiah stared down the girl with her hand on her hip.

    She was wordless, returning his stand-offish gaze with one of her own. Octavia hoped Josiah wasn¡¯t enough of a jerk to be ogling the splintering scar that climbed up her cheek. She assumed she knew him better than that. If the girl in question had any qualms about the intentions of his inspection, she didn¡¯t say so. She didn¡¯t say anything, really, content to cock her head and stare him down. He blinked first. It was awkward just to watch.

    The boy who¡¯d greeted Harper was a godsend, in that aspect, filling in where Josiah had sought an answer to a simple question. ¡°Yeah, everyone here is. Welcome to Tacell.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s¡­literally like a little settlement of just Maestros,¡± Viola observed aloud. ¡°You all live here?¡±

    It was the boy blessed with the colorful gaze that offered her an answer instead. ¡°Yeah. All of us live here. We¡¯ve been here for a few years now, actually.¡±

    ¡°Mina won¡¯t move in. She hates the great outdoors.¡±

    It was a voice Octavia hadn¡¯t heard thus far, from yet another boy she¡¯d hardly given her attention to. His grin looked as warm as his cap. Really, everyone seemed more prepared for the chill of autumn than her.

    Mina rolled her eyes. ¡°Shut it.¡±

    ¡°Selbright¡¯s a nice place,¡± Renato defended. ¡°Can¡¯t really blame her. Good food and all that.¡±

    ¡°The entire eastern block has a sinkhole problem.¡±

    Renato winced. ¡°That¡¯s still happening? Damn, they really haven¡¯t figured that out yet?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, you¡¯re not gonna have any troubles like that out here. A few bugs won¡¯t kill anybody.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, until they do,¡± Mina hissed.

    The boy smirked, raising his eyes to Renato once more. ¡°You from Selbright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Renato grinned. If Octavia squinted, their smiles were almost similar, sassy as they were. He gave a two-finger salute. ¡°Renato.¡±

    ¡°Francisco,¡± the boy offered back.

    ¡°And I¡¯m Madrigal!¡± a vibrant Maestra added, sporting a brilliant smile of her own. She waved excitedly, practically vibrating at Renato¡¯s side. He side-eyed her with something endearing.

    The boy opposite her was unfazed by her energy, the same unshaken grin resting on his lips. ¡°Nice to meet you, too, then, Madrigal.¡±

    Even now, Josiah was still well into his staring match. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn this girl hadn¡¯t blinked--or, if she had, it had been quick and subtle. Even Josiah seemed uncomfortable.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­Josiah. And you are¡­¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer. He sighed.

    ¡°That¡¯s Mint,¡± Mina filled in on his behalf. ¡°She doesn¡¯t really talk much. Don¡¯t take it personally.¡±

    Josiah scoffed. ¡°Did I really make that bad of a first impression?¡± he muttered.

    Mina caught his eyes, Octavia¡¯s own following along out of curiosity. They flickered urgently to the scar on the girl¡¯s face before settling back onto him. Mina shook her head quickly and subtly. Josiah cringed, biting his lip and swearing under his breath. If he wasn¡¯t being a jerk before, he was really pushing it now.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t catch your name. I¡¯m sorry for not asking.¡±

    Octavia was wrapped up in that seafoam tide yet again, almost disorienting up close. She was definitely staring. It wasn¡¯t voluntary. Why she was stammering in front of him, she had absolutely no clue.

    ¡°O-Oh, no worries, it¡¯s okay! I-I¡¯m Octavia. It¡¯s really nice to meet you, a-and thank you for having us here.¡±

    She caught his soft smile once more. ¡°River Cobalt. It¡¯s nice to meet you, too, Octavia.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s breath snagged in her throat. ¡°That¡¯s such a pretty name,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the boy said gently.

    As soon as her own words settled in, Octavia kicked herself with all of the violence she could mentally muster. Why on earth they¡¯d left her mouth in the first place was incredibly far beyond her.

    She found her one and only reprieve in the distraction of another. ¡°Viola Vacanti. Thank you for having us,¡± her Soulful companion offered with a deep curtsey.

    ¡°No thanks needed. Thank you just for being here,¡± he answered.

    ¡°You don¡¯t¡­have to answer this if you don¡¯t want to, but would you guys mind telling us your legacies? We¡¯re trying to keep track of something here,¡± the boy with the gloves offered. If Octavia remembered correctly, that one was Briar.

    Octavia did the work for them, a pointed finger wandering amongst the Maestros one by one. ¡°Uh¡­Willful, Strong, Spirited, Essenced, Soulful, and¡­¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Hesitantly, she turned it upon herself. ¡°Heartful.¡±

    River''s eyes widened, instead. ¡°Wait, Heartful?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°You are really drawing this out,¡± Mina said with a smirk. ¡°Tell him.¡±

    He tilted his head at Octavia. ¡°Tell me¡­what?¡±

    Octavia gulped. Something about his gaze was putting pressure on her that she hadn¡¯t expected. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to fidget uncomfortably.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­Octavia,¡± she repeated. ¡°And I¡¯m¡­the Ambassador.¡±

    The striking eyes she was rapidly growing to appreciate flooded with shock. River fell silent, as did those around him. For a moment, Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. That wasn¡¯t quite the reaction she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°The¡­Ambassador?¡± Briar asked with equal disbelief.

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± came the boy with the cap--Francisco, if she recalled.

    Even wordless as she was, the girl with the scar still pinned her with quiet eyes in turn. Now Octavia was fidgeting.

    ¡°Are you really the Ambassador?¡± River murmured.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she had a good reason to lie about it. Mina defended her, for the most part. It saved Octavia the trouble of doing it herself.

    ¡°She¡¯s the real deal,¡± Mina offered. ¡°I can say that with 100% certainty.¡±

    ¡°No kidding,¡± Francisco breathed.

    When River¡¯s shock collapsed into something far warmer, Octavia finally freed her internal sigh of relief. ¡°I¡­that¡¯s amazing. It¡¯s an honor to have you here.¡±

    Octavia blushed, averting her eyes. ¡°Oh, uh, it¡¯s¡­nothing.¡±

    Briar smiled brightly. ¡°To finally have the Ambassador in Tacell is¡­perfect. It¡¯s been a long time coming.¡±

    ¡°Did you guys ever meet the last Ambassador?¡± she blurted out. Whatever plans she''d had to shelve that question didn¡¯t last long.

    River shook his head. ¡°We personally didn¡¯t. None of us, at least. There¡¯s enough people here that you might find someone who did, though. We weren¡¯t here when it started, but we know how it came to be.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t really know a whole lot about her,¡± Francisco admitted with a shrug. ¡°We just know she¡­well, she was the Ambassador, and she made all this. I don¡¯t even remember her name, to tell you the truth.¡±

    ¡°Priscilla,¡± Octavia filled in with a soft smile. ¡°She was the last Ambassador. She¡¯s my¡­sister.¡±

    River paused before bestowing her with kind eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised to hear that the last two Ambassadors were related, truthfully. If you need absolutely anything, please tell us right away.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve definitely got your work cut out for you,¡± Francisco said bluntly. ¡°There¡¯s a pretty solid mess here to deal with, you know.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it,¡± Mina countered. ¡°She¡¯s already performed the Witnessing before. Multiple times, and she¡¯s guided a few Muses along the way. She knows what she¡¯s doing.¡±

    The scarred girl--Mint, surely--tilted her head at Octavia, raising an eyebrow. Her expressions were going to take time to get used to.

    ¡°She¡¯s got it covered,¡± Renato reassured, waving one dismissive hand. ¡°Our fearless leader¡¯s used to this whole routine by now. No problem.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll still help with absolutely anything we can,¡± Briar offered. ¡°Please don¡¯t hesitate to ask for assistance.¡±

    ¡°Like, you guys specifically, or anyone?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°River¡¯s more or less the guy who oversees this whole operation,¡± Francisco explained, gesturing to the boy accordingly. ¡°He¡¯s essentially our leader.¡±

    River shrugged. ¡°It just sort of ended up that way,¡± he responded.

    ¡°You guys seem pretty close,¡± Viola observed. ¡°Is everyone here like this?¡±

    Briar chuckled. ¡°I wish. We¡¯re¡­definitely exceptions.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Francisco grinned knowingly once more. ¡°Do you want the easy answer to this, or the complicated answer?¡±

    ¡°I mean, if we didn¡¯t want complicated answers, we wouldn¡¯t be here,¡± Viola said coolly.

    His grin settled into a solid smirk. ¡°Easy answer? We¡¯re River¡¯s closest friends. We know him best, and we know how to back him up if something goes wrong.¡±

    ¡°And the complicated answer?¡±

    Francisco cocked his head. ¡°We are, without question or challenge, the absolute strongest Maestros in Tacell.¡±

    Octavia vaguely remembered Mina saying as much--albeit not in reference to her newest strangers specifically. Still, it was a bold claim.

    ¡°That¡¯s a bold claim,¡± Josiah muttered. She was glad she wasn¡¯t the only one.

    ¡°I promise you, we¡¯re not saying it to be arrogant,¡± Briar reassured. ¡°It¡¯s more of a¡­literal fact.¡±

    ¡°We can prove it, too,¡± Francisco continued, his voice tinted with a bit more pride than was necessary.

    For a moment, River¡¯s smile slipped in the slightest. It took him a moment to find it again, and he offered it to Octavia. ¡°Would you be interested in meeting our partners?¡±

    Her heart skipped a beat. ¡°I-I¡¯d love to! Y-You can meet ours, too!¡±

    ¡°Finally!¡± she heard Madrigal exclaim far too loudly behind her.

    Octavia waited for River to make some sort of movement towards his Harmonial Instrument--wherever it may have been. In reality, none of them did. Stradivaria''s case slipped from her shoulder more slowly than usual, and four gazes followed her with confusion. She feared breaking eye contact, for whatever reason. River tilted his head.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I thought you said we were¡­you wanted us to meet your partners, right? So I was¡­going to introduce you to mine. Is that okay?¡±

    River nodded. ¡°No, that¡¯s perfectly fine. It¡¯s just¡­why are you taking it out?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    When he was silent, she shrank under his gaze. ¡°I¡­always take him out when I want him to be here. Do you¡­not do that for your own partner?¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t have to. None of us do.¡±

    Viola, too, seemed taken aback. ¡°Wait, have we¡­not had to do that this whole time? I thought that was necessary.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Francisco asked. ¡°You can just leave them in their cases. As long as you have someone with the right gift to help you out, that¡¯s all you need. We¡­only had to do that the first time we got to actually see them. There¡¯s no point in doing it now.¡±

    ¡°Maybe ours just¡­like not being in the dark?¡± Harper offered.

    ¡°I''d still prefer to take mine out. Is that okay?¡± Octavia tried timidly. ¡°I don¡¯t feel right if he¡¯s¡­not physically with me when I¡¯m seeing him.¡±

    River nodded again. ¡°Of course. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable.¡±

    ¡°Faith, come here a minute, we need you,¡± Francisco called, eyes cast behind him into the depths of the meadow once more.

    Mint laid a hand atop his shoulder, shaking her head. She gestured towards Octavia subtly, although not enough so that the motion eluded the Ambassador¡¯s eyes. Francisco winced.

    ¡°Wait, nevermind, it¡¯s fine! Damn it, I forgot,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°She¡¯s the Ambassador. She¡¯s Heartful,¡± Briar whispered.

    ¡°Yeah, I know, I forgot,¡± Francisco hissed. ¡°I¡¯m so used to it by now.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, forget it!¡±

    ¡°Nothing¡± wasn¡¯t enough to satisfy Octavia''s newest stranger. She had absolutely and completely forgotten that there had been five. One had simply been far too distant from their conversation, utterly detached from the situation. Up until now, she¡¯d been content to stay isolated in the comforts of the soft grass below, stray blades sneaking their way between the buckles of her flats.

    When she finally arose, she was perhaps the most striking of all, save for the rush of the sea that had blindsided Octavia at first glance. By comparison to colors much more muted, she stood out in their ocean of quiet attire. The girl tucked several fraying blonde strands behind her hair cautiously.

    ¡°What did you need?¡± she asked, perhaps with equal caution.

    Francisco sighed. ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m stupid. I forgot that she¡¯s Heartful and she can do it herself. You don¡¯t have to do anything.¡±

    The girl¡¯s eyes widened somewhat as they settled onto Octavia. ¡°She¡¯s Heartful?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Wait, are you Heartful?¡±

    The girl nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯m¡­yes. I haven¡¯t met a lot of other Heartful Maestros or Maestras, sorry. It¡¯s a surprise.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a surprise for me, too,¡± Octavia said. ¡°I haven¡¯t met any.¡±

    ¡°She said she was Heartful earlier,¡± Briar added, his eyes on the girl. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear?¡±

    The Heartful stranger blushed. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, I wasn¡¯t paying attention.¡±

    ¡°Did you miss all the other important stuff, too?¡± Francisco grumbled.

    She winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡­didn¡¯t think the conversation involved me, so I was trying not to eavesdrop. I¡¯m really sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±

    River held up one palm, a gentle plea for silence. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Faith, this is Octavia. She¡¯s the¡­Ambassador.¡±

    River''s words were enough to elicit a mirrored Heartful reaction to his own from before. She might''ve been even more shocked, by comparison. The girl practically froze, her folded hands trembling somewhat in front of her dress. When she bowed--a true, genuine bow--Octavia physically recoiled.

    ¡°I-It¡¯s an absolute honor, Ambassador,¡± she blurted out quickly, bending so low that the dangling tips of her hair kissed the grass. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for my rudeness. I didn¡¯t mean to ignore you like that. I¡¯m really, really sorry.¡±

    Octavia was practically flailing, desperate to diffuse whatever incredible discomfort was beginning to bubble in her stomach. ¡°N-No, it¡¯s okay! There¡¯s nothing to be sorry about, honest! You didn¡¯t do anything wrong!¡±

    Even with her blessing of forgiveness, it wasn¡¯t enough to keep the girl¡¯s eyes out of the dirt and anywhere Octavia could see them. She resisted the urge to sigh.

    ¡°Octavia, this is Faith,¡± River introduced on her behalf. ¡°She¡¯s the¡­she¡¯s with us. She helps us out a lot. We appreciate her.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not a lot of Heartful Maestros here, so it helps us a ton that she¡¯s willing to stick around and lend us a hand pretty frequently. She¡¯s a hard worker,¡± Briar continued.

    The Heartful girl in question flushed, still refusing to raise her head. ¡°I-I just want to do whatever I can. The work the Ensemble does is really important.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°The¡­Ensemble?¡±

    ¡°The four of us,¡± Francisco clarified. ¡°River, Briar, Mint, and myself.¡±

    She paused. ¡°Huh.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I get it,¡± Renato deadpanned.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­actually kind of cute,¡± Harper added.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t we have a cool group name, again?¡± the Strong Maestro whispered.

    ¡°Why would we?¡± Josiah muttered.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s cool.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered down to Stradivaria in her arms. She hugged the violin tightly to her chest. ¡°This is Stradivaria,¡± she introduced. ¡°He¡¯s my partner.¡±

    The instrument''s visage was a catalyst for raised eyebrows fourfold. Discomfort settled onto the Ambassador''s shoulders instantly. She tensed, particularly as their gazes each moved to Faith in turn.

    ¡°W-What¡¯s wrong?¡± Octavia stammered.

    For all their talk of not bringing out their Harmonial Instruments, they wordlessly seemed to settle on a singular exception. Even Mina, silent as she¡¯d been for a while, seemed equally as enraptured. Faith made for a case upon the grass, settled neatly within a circle of similar monotone homes for presumably similar partners. Like Octavia¡¯s companions, they, too, seemed to lean towards coagulating into a pile.

    The only thing more jarring than the exceedingly familiar shape of the case was the horrifyingly familiar shape of the instrument the Heartful girl withdrew from its linings. Ultimately, it was almost the splitting image of that which Octavia had come to know well. There were differences, granted--it was maple, for one. Larger, albeit not by a notable margin. If she flipped it over, Octavia wondered if the Harmonial Crest would still lie engraved in the exact same spot. Somehow, she doubted it.

    ¡°Oh my God, there really is a difference,¡± Mina mumbled.

    ¡°I¡­guess that counts, then,¡± Francisco added with mild surprise.

    Harper blinked several times over, apparently equally as confused. ¡°Uh¡­what?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen more than one of the same¡­¡®kind¡¯ of Harmonial Instrument,¡± Josiah said. ¡°That can happen?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to,¡± Viola countered, crossing her arms. ¡°At least¡­I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not the same,¡± Octavia answered. ¡°It¡¯s a viola.¡±

    When Viola raised her head, Octavia had to fight for her life not to laugh. ¡°You know, I knew for a fact you were gonna do that.¡±

    Viola rolled her eyes.

    ¡°They look so¡­similar, though,¡± Madrigal observed aloud, balancing on the tips of her sandals for a chance at a better look.

    ¡°There¡¯s some things that are different about them. They¡¯re two different instruments. A violin and a viola aren¡¯t the same thing,¡± Octavia explained.

    Priscilla had drilled that into her enough times that she¡¯d never forget it for the rest of her life. For once, surprisingly, it was useful.

    ¡°You meet another Maestra from the same legacy for the first time ever and she¡¯s got almost the exact same damn instrument you do,¡± Renato muttered.

    Octavia stifled a smirk, too. Instead, she did what she could to give Faith¡¯s partner the respect they deserved. ¡°What¡¯s your partner¡¯s name?¡±

    Faith stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening around the neck and bow of the innocent viola. ¡°This is Jadareverie.¡±

    Octavia waved with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    Somehow, her gesture got a separate soft smile out of River. It was almost enough to make her self-conscious, had she not been more fixated on being a catalyst for eleven resplendent faces at once. The idea of her friends¡¯ respective Muses manifesting with their bodies sealed away in the dark was somewhat somber. Octavia still wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the idea. Regardless, her first impression was a work in progress at the moment. She didn¡¯t want to start a problem.

    Play nice, okay? she teased within.

    I will endeavor.

    Octavia made the wise and conscious decision to close her eyes. Eleven simultaneous flashes of light would¡¯ve been enough to jeopardize her eyesight, at least temporarily. She could inspect the damage once it had been done. She wondered if any of the others had the conscious thought to do the same.

    Initially, she worried whether she¡¯d managed to call upon them correctly at all, involuntary as the act was. With her eyes closed, she feared for their presentations, second-guessing River¡¯s insistence that they could stay sheathed as desired. Whatever unfamiliar charisma was greeting her eardrums put a stop to those concerns immediately.

    ¡°Orleanna? Is that you?¡± came a voice dripping with equal parts femininity and satisfaction. ¡°Am I to believe what I see? Is it truly Orleanna once again?¡±

    When Octavia finally opened her eyes, the sound of Orleanna groaning--honest to God groaning--was the second-most confusing observation she made. ¡°Yes. You are correct,¡± the Willful Muse answered curtly.

    Her physical figure matched with her voice, vehemently dripping with sassy femininity as it was. She was slender, lithe in a way that left her only slightly larger than Orleanna herself. She was a radiant gold, glimmering with such fervor that it stung at Octavia¡¯s pupils somewhat. Like Ethel, she was simply too vivid to witness with the naked eye, an honest testament to her legacy. Even with her body a ways away in the grass, concealed beneath whichever mysteriously-shaped case was relevant, she still stuck close to her Maestra. They all did, really.

    ¡°My Orleanna, once more,¡± the Muse spoke with muted joy. ¡°It has been far, far, far too long. That fate should see fit to bring us together again is a true miracle. Would you not agree?¡±

    Orleanna¡¯s voice was nearly strained, monotone or not. ¡°It has definitely been some time, of that I will agree.¡±

    ¡°You are just as splendid as when last we parted, if not more so. The Descent has perhaps made you ever more beautiful. Tell me, my dearest Orleanna, how badly have you missed me?¡±

    Orleanna paused. ¡°With absolute certainty, not as much as you have missed me.¡±

    The soft, more gentle femininity of Lyra¡¯s voice was incredibly off-putting, by immediate comparison--even touched with surprise. ¡°Is that--¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Orleanna sighed once more. ¡°It is, whether for better or worse.¡±

    ¡°Lyra?¡±

    Lyra tilted her head at the muted masculine tone that called for her. ¡°You are here, as well?¡±

    ¡°As are you, it would seem. A coincidence?¡±

    ¡°For myself? Perhaps. As to your own? I suspect otherwise.¡±

    The Muse that stuck close to Francisco, idling within several feet of his cap, was a stunning scarlet that Octavia had come to associate with the will of fire long ago. Their radiance told all, filling in the gaps where prior introductions could not. He reminded her of Stratos, somewhat, square in the center of what she would consider an average build. His tone was gentle, yet confident all at once. She liked it enough--or, at least, substantially more than the excessive and low femininity that was almost grating to his left.

    At Lyra¡¯s words, he chuckled. ¡°I may be inclined to agree with the same. My greetings once more, Orleanna.¡±

    It was to Octavia¡¯s surprise that the Willful Muse genuinely bowed in response, humble as the motion was. ¡°I offer the same to you at last, my Apex.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened almost in tandem with Josiah¡¯s. The look of surprise they exchanged was identical.

    ¡°Your¡­Apex?¡± he tried aloud cautiously.

    ¡°Oh, for my sweetest Orleanna to shirk the same praise for myself, is that not the greatest cruelty?¡± came that dramatic voice once more. Octavia was very slowly beginning to find it outright annoying, if not extremely confusing.

    Orleanna, if her body language was anything to go by, had her far outmatched on that front. ¡°You should not need my rationale as to why. Either of them.¡±

    ¡°And you, then,¡± she heard of Brava, near to Viola as he was. "You have found yourself in much the same company, as well? I am¡­remiss to believe such to be a true coincidence.¡±

    It was not to the Muses that clung to Mint nor Francisco that he spoke, but one which shared much of his own radiant hue and build. They weren''t identical by any means, what with their subtle differences in vocal cadence and size. It remained to be seen whether or not the borderline arrogance was a split trait. That Muse, in turn, seemed content to linger closest to a contently-smiling Briar.

    He nodded. ¡°It is as Lyra has spoken. It is not, perhaps, so much a coincidence as one could believe. Still, it is somewhat of a relief to find her once more.¡±

    Lyra dipped her head in the softest of bows. ¡°And my sentiments to you in turn, all of you.¡±

    Ambassador.

    The gentle tone that greeted her ears alone made her jump slightly, soft masculinity buzzing in her head. It didn¡¯t quite match that of those she¡¯d observed thus far, her eyes flickering to every unfamiliar Muse one by one. It took time for Octavia to trace its source to the shimmering viridian that enjoyed the company of yet more seafoam. He gazed at her from on high. She could only blink back in silence.

    Yes? Octavia offered hesitantly. She hoped she was talking to the right one, at least.

    He tilted his head in the slightest, a subtle gesture only for her. Please¡­do not speak of the Apex of Spirit aloud. This is my¡­personal request.

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to return an identical tilt, albeit with far more confusion. Apex of Spirit?

    His eyes--or lack thereof--trailed to Lyra. Octavia followed. It didn¡¯t help anything. Why not?

    She is our beloved Apex of Spirit, he began, but I simply ask that you do not mention her aloud as such. We will endeavor to do much the same.

    Octavia stared. This was uncomfortable.

    She turned within to a Muse who hadn¡¯t offered any guidance as of yet. Is there a reason I can¡¯t say Lyra¡¯s an Apex, exactly? Is it rude, or¡­something?

    He was silent. Stradivaria? she tried once more.

    When he continued to ignore her, Octavia lifted her gaze above her head. His own had long since dismissed her, offered only to that of the Muse who stared him down in equal measure.

    She didn¡¯t flinch. She stood--rather, floated--with confidence, in stark contrast to the Heartful Maestra who clutched her body nervously below. She was a far cry from the delicacy of every feminine form Octavia had visualized thus far, her remaining softer features be damned. She was tall, and somewhat bulkier. She was every bit as splendidly radiant as Stratos himself, crowned by the most glistening of soft yellows. It was his name and his name alone that she offered, their visual line of sight unbroken forever.

    ¡°Stratos,¡± she spoke plainly. With two syllables, Octavia found the exact poise and strength she could expect from a form so imposing.

    He, too, was just as simple. ¡°Jasse.¡±

    ¡°That you would all¡­and in such a place,¡± Brava spoke with a tint of surprise, crossing his arms.

    ¡°It was no simple feat,¡± came the foreign scarlet Muse. ¡°Of this, there is gratitude to be granted to the prior Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°And to our own, I would assert,¡± Briar¡¯s presumed partner added.

    The way Viola emulated her partner¡¯s body language was almost comical. She, too, crossed her arms over her chest. ¡°So you all know each other pretty well, then? That¡­works out.¡±

    ¡°That is not so much as the least of it,¡± Mente muttered.

    ¡°As to the fate of our own Apex, such is a trial to be dealt with even now,¡± Aste added with equal annoyance.

    ¡°What¡¯s this whole Apex thing, exactly?¡± Renato tried. ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve heard that word before.¡±

    Francisco beamed with pride. ¡°You really wanna know?¡±

    If Octavia spared a moment to eye Lyra, she could catch the way several Muses gestured to her subtly and wordlessly. She, too, returned similar motions of her own--nods, headshakes, and flickering glances. The amount of times they settled upon River, even briefly, was uncomfortable. The fact that she wasn¡¯t even the only familiar Muse to do so was infinitely worse.

    The observation, apparently, was hers alone. Francisco was undeterred. ¡°Apexes are the strongest of their legacy. You could almost say they¡¯re like leaders of their legacies. You know what that means, right?¡±

    When Renato shrugged, he only seemed to grow more satisfied. Francisco''s grin was ceaseless.

    ¡°It means,¡± he continued with far too much satisfaction, ¡°that their partners, then, would make the strongest Maestros.¡±

    Renato''s eyes widened. ¡°Wait, seriously?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± Madrigal cried, literally jumping for joy at least once.

    ¡°Wait, all of you, then?¡± Viola asked incredulously, flicking one finger between each of their new Maestro companions in turn. ¡°All five of you are¡­partnered with one of them?¡±

    Mint shook her head. Briar filled in where her wordless gesture could not. ¡°Myself, Mint, and Francisco, specifically.¡±

    Francisco¡¯s partner offered a gentle bow to Octavia, for once. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet the Ambassador. I am Kalist, the Apex of Will.¡±

    She almost forgot to return the favor, scrambling for a curtsey of her own. ¡°I-I¡¯m Octavia. Ambassador. I mean, you knew that already.¡±

    ¡°Parsephii,¡± Briar¡¯s partner said calmly, one hand where Octavia imagined his heart would¡¯ve been. ¡°I am the Apex of Soul. I also am delighted to meet the Ambassador at last.¡±

    Octavia made much the same gesture. ¡°You, too. I, uh, look forward to working together.¡±

    ¡°Orleannaaa,¡± the Muse that clung to Mint drawled, far too comfortable as she practically reclined above the girl¡¯s head. ¡°That boy you have claimed as your own was a wise decision, indeed. Even for a human, he is a pleasing sight. I would not quite mind bringing the world to ruin for him.¡±

    Harper blushed brightly, fidgeting as he tossed his gaze into the dirt. The way Orleanna moved significantly closer to him was absolutely not lost on Octavia, the slender rays that composed her fingers curling into fists.

    ¡°Curb your tongue and speak your name!¡± Faith¡¯s assumed partner boomed. The power behind her voice was not at all surprising, admittedly. Mint rolled her eyes in what appeared to be quiet agreement.

    ¡°As you wish,¡± the golden Muse offered with a half-hearted shrug. ¡°You may address me as Seliza, Apex of Essence. Learn my name well, Ambassador, and we shall get along splendidly.¡±

    Octavia blinked. For her alone, an earnest greeting was difficult to come by. She still tried. ¡°Uh¡­I¡¯ll do my best. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°I am Jasse,¡± the confident Muse offered, her tone far softer by comparison to her shout. She, at least, attempted to bow with some semblance of respect. ¡°I am not an Apex, but I will strive to serve your cause all the same.¡±

    The degree to which River¡¯s partner had been largely quiet was somewhat startling, his voice aloud rather than within equally so. He, too, paid his respects. ¡°And I am Rondelio,¡± he offered, softly and simply.

    It was hard to curtsey to them both at once, and the gesture was beginning to make her muscles ache. Still, Octavia did her best yet again. ¡°It¡¯s great to meet both of you. I look forward to getting to know you guys better.¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t found the Apex of Spirit or the Apex of Strength yet,¡± Briar clarified. ¡°That being said, with the power all three of us have combined, we¡¯ve got everything we need to defend Tacell with our lives.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s six of them in total, then, right?¡± Harper tried, still shrugging off the remainder of the red that lingered on his cheeks.

    Briar nodded. ¡°One to each legacy, and only one.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°But then¡­wouldn¡¯t the Apex of Spirit be--¡±

    He didn¡¯t get to finish. Instead of words, he found fingernails digging sharply into the back of his hand. He hissed in pain under Octavia¡¯s tight grip, glaring her down with confusion. She shook her head fervently. Puzzled as the look he gave her was, Octavia counted her blessings that it was enough to shut him up. She counted her blessings further that she hadn''t previously had four more companions privy to the term ¡°Apex¡± explicitly--even those who had witnessed Lyra¡¯s incredible power firsthand. She still wasn¡¯t sure why, exactly, she was supposed to be grateful for that in the first place.

    Their interaction wasn¡¯t particularly subtle, and Viola side-eyed them both. Still, the Maestra continued. ¡°What about the Apex of Heart? Is there¡­one of those?¡±

    ¡°The Apex of Heart is our own Lord of All,¡± Stratos clarified gently. ¡°He would not be found in such a place.¡±

    ¡°As to the Apex of Strength,¡± Orleanna said, ¡°I¡­believe we may know the answer. It is not a simple one, and it may be best suited for another time.¡±

    Kalist tilted his head, one hand raised to where his mouth would be thoughtfully. Octavia still enjoyed watching the way they emoted, expressionless or not. ¡°I¡­see. I will not pry.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, should you find yourself in need of assistance, our strength is yours,¡± Jasse offered. ¡°Please do not hesitate to inquire. Our own will surely provide the same.¡±

    Octavia nodded quickly. ¡°Y-You guys are all really nice. Thank you for everything.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a lot you¡¯ll have to have to deal with here,¡± River warned softly. ¡°It¡¯s...going to be rough. I imagine performing the Witnessing that many times won''t be very fun, and I don¡¯t exactly know what you¡¯ll see. We¡¯ll figure everything out together. We have your back, so use us whenever you need us, okay?¡±

    The first words he¡¯d spoken in some time were more uncomfortable than reassuring. Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the idea of ¡°using¡± anyone. With how many eyes were settled upon her, the title of Ambassador had suddenly been filled with thick lead and laid heavily upon her back.

    There was a greater, secondary, and far more embarrassing pressure in knowing that she was going to forget every single name she¡¯d just learned in the span of several hours. For the sake of preserving her fragile first impression in Tacell, Octavia would¡¯ve rather forced a toll down her own throat than admit it.

 61. Spirited

    The latter half of one afternoon in Tacell wasn''t nearly enough for Octavia to completely get her bearings. In comparison to the hustle and bustle of Coda, the lack of action was so jarring that she¡¯d woken up the next morning convinced she was still dreaming. Even Silver Ridge, for how rural and sleepy of a little town it was, paled in comparison to the peaceful nature of the settlement. She supposed that was a given, particularly relative to the tiny and incredibly specific population that called it home.

    The perfectly-sized cottage they¡¯d been lent for the foreseeable future was cozy enough that she¡¯d hardly mustered the energy to leave her bed that morning. The creeping onset of gentle autumn weather did absolutely nothing to alleviate that problem. Octavia''s ethereal impression of the settlement was still a fresh bubble that had yet to pop, although she feared that perspective would shatter once she got into the thick of her true task. She was still laughing over the fresh memory of how hard Madrigal had squealed over their newest abode. In her defense, it was borderline adorable on the inside. Octavia so vehemently looked forward to leaving the windows open.

    Forty-seven, she¡¯d finally been told--a concrete number she¡¯d thought lost. There was much to do with forty-seven Maestros, and that was just those physically present amongst the lush meadows of her little safe haven. The thought was almost dizzying. The tolls between the seven Harmonial Instruments she¡¯d already borne witness to in full were enough to follow Octavia for the rest of her life. She supposed it was, at least, a courtesy that she would go through Hell with Heaven to return to when she arose from the dark. It could¡¯ve been worse.

    It was the overwhelming soup of thoughts, both positive and negative, floating around in her brain that actually led her out into the open sunshine. Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly sure where she was going. The early-evening tour of relatively nothing given to her previously had stuck to her overstimulated mind poorly. Half of the place, expansive as it was, consisted of fields, meadows, trees, or some combination of the three--as she¡¯d initially expected.

    There was a river, at least, and more wooded areas than had been visible at a precursory glance. The sheer quantity of grass that crawled along her boots was enough to make her double-check almost constantly for any questionable insects that might meet her underfoot. It had been some time since she¡¯d been somewhere quite so rural, and she didn¡¯t particularly want to figure out the hard way if Tacell had the same chronic scorpion problem as Silver Ridge. In that sense, there was something endearing about the myriad of ways Tacell was already reminding her of home.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t even sure if ¡°lost¡± was the right term for the field she did end up in. She could just as easily have turned around and hiked her way back to the smidge of civilization she could cling to. The openness of the settlement was a tremendous aid in navigation versus the exceedingly-elaborate twists and curves of a sprawling capital. Still, she hoped she could at least remember which cottage was hers. She made a mental note to put some type of identifier out front later, short of a banner that outright read ¡°Ambassador¡±.

    She didn¡¯t particularly mind the view. The area she¡¯d come to wasn¡¯t quite wooded, but the shady birches that speckled the plain contrasted with rippling grass in a manner that pleased her eyes. Octavia had risen late, a victim of a missed sunrise. It still left her with the comfort of morning sunshine, not quite as enveloping as that which had bit her at summer''s peak.

    She was hesitant to sit, particularly given her prior fear of whatever was lurking between blades of grass she couldn¡¯t dissect with her eyes. It took conscious effort for her to throw caution to the wind. If she went back to the cottage covered in insect bites on one of her first full days in Tacell, Viola was going to kill her.

    If nothing else, Stradivaria¡¯s case could handle a few ants. She¡¯d simply be careful to leave him safely tucked away, his proximity enough of a comfort for her. Octavia rested her head against the birch at her back, gazing onwards at what was effectively nothing but sky and grass in every direction. It really was Heaven.

    What do you think so far?

    Regarding?

    This place.

    Do you like it?

    I do. I really like it, actually.

    Even knowing what awaits you here?

    She nodded, her braids delicately snagging against the bark. I think if I had to do all of this anywhere, I¡¯d like it to be here. It¡¯s¡­peaceful. It reminds me of home, kinda.

    Do you miss your home, then?

    Octavia shrugged, even with the awareness that Stradivaria might not be around to see. Sometimes. I wish I could take you there, but I know I can¡¯t. I wanna show you what it¡¯s like.

    He hummed. She¡¯d missed it. I have seen it many times over. Have you forgotten?

    She chuckled. In truth, she had. Yeah. I forgot. It would¡¯ve been fun for us to go together, though.

    Perhaps it would. I will still savor those places to which we do voyage in tandem.

    Octavia enjoyed the idea, and it made her smile. I mean, there¡¯s only forty-seven of them here. That¡¯s not enough to wrap up everything. We¡¯re still gonna have to look around more, I suppose. We¡¯ll get to go to more places together, for sure. You¡¯re stuck with me.

    I would have it no other way.

    She stretched extensively, raising her arms high and closing her eyes. Is there anywhere in particular you¡¯d want to visit? I can take you somewhere special, if you want.

    Surely you know that I am more than satisfied just to be at your side.

    When she went to press him further, inquiring as to his personal wants and desires, she instead found a sharp sting in her right palm. Octavia yelped in pain, quickly withdrawing her hand and cradling it in her lap as she drew her knees up to her chest.

    Are you alright?

    It took her a moment to summon the physical composure to uncurl her fingers, tightly closed around the injury out of reflex. When she finally managed, she initially expected to roll her eyes at the sting of an insect she''d foolishly ignored. Instead, it took her a moment to recognize a relatively-uniform gash, miniscule and surface-level upon the top layers of her skin.

    Superficial or not, it bit deep enough to draw blood. The cut oozed, red shyly staining its intact surroundings. Flakes of birch had come down with it, frustratingly speckled along the length of the short laceration. In reality, it was only roughly an inch, and fairly shallow. It still burned to an aggravating degree, the open air irritating it ever further.

    I¡¯m fine, Octavia offered in mild annoyance. She¡¯d spent so much time worried about insects, and instead succumbed to--of all things--the sharp, cracked bark of a tree. She hastily rubbed the cut against her dress. Not only did it sting more, but the swipe smeared blood along the fabric she¡¯d just washed. She rolled her eyes with a groan.

    Are you certain?

    Yeah, I¡¯m just an idiot. Should¡¯ve paid attention to what I was doing. I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t even remember what we were talking about.

    As to the¡­other Muses you¡¯ve met since your arrival, might I ask your first impressions?

    Octavia''s eyes flickered to his case. You want my impressions? Usually, I¡¯d ask for yours. You know them a whole lot better than I do. I don¡¯t even remember all of their names.

    It is sometimes beneficial to hear an outside perspective. Your opinion is important to me, oh Ambassador.

    She smirked. Whether he was being genuine or sassy remained to be seen. I seriously don¡¯t remember all of their names. They seemed nice, I guess. Mint¡¯s is kind of¡­odd, but I don¡¯t think she¡¯s necessarily bad. Is there a particular reason you ask?

    Somewhat.

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. Is it¡­something to do with the other Heartful one? I forgot her name, too, I¡¯m sorry.

    It has been some time since I have seen her.

    Do you two get along?

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    Stradivaria?

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    The sound of a voice that wasn¡¯t Stradivaria¡¯s own was startling enough that she jumped, nearly hitting her head against the tree. It would¡¯ve marked the second strike of the same birch in the span of less than five minutes. The thought was just as annoying as the actual injury she had sustained. It wasn¡¯t a voice she¡¯d fully grown used to yet, nor one that she could immediately match to a name despite her best efforts. He met her view before she could turn her head in full, spared from the dangers that came with trying to escape the wrath of a tree at her back. The striking eyes, at least, were unmistakable. Octavia resented that they were more memorable than anything else, a disservice to his notable presence.

    The seafoam that eyed her casually was unhurried. The boy¡¯s entire being was wrapped up in the breeze with such delicacy that Octavia wondered if he might blow away. She supposed it was his fault for wearing such free-flowing clothing, comfortable as it looked. She was terrified to get his name wrong, given that he¡¯d remembered hers without effort. Octavia at least did him the effort of trying, racking her brain for what she vaguely remembered to be something beautiful.

    ¡°River?¡±

    He tilted his head. When he didn¡¯t smile, her stomach sank. She hoped she hadn¡¯t offended him.

    ¡°What are you doing out here?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°Sunshine. Being lost. Well, on purpose, sort of.¡±

    The boy blinked, his name still apparently eluding her even now. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry to disturb you, then. Would you like me to leave you alone?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. You¡¯re not disturbing me at all.¡±

    When he only continued to gaze at her quietly, she shifted against the grass. Octavia tried her luck. ¡°You¡¯re, uh¡­I¡¯m so sorry, what did you say your name was again?¡±

    Only now did the most subtle of smiles cross his lips. ¡°No, you were right the first time. I¡¯m River.¡±

    Octavia breathed a sigh of relief, if not a bit too visibly for her own liking. For what compliments she¡¯d given to his name, losing it felt awful--as did admitting she''d forgotten it in the first place. ¡°Oh, thank goodness. I was worried I called you the wrong name. I¡¯m really sorry.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°It would¡¯ve been alright if you did.¡±

    ¡°Well, no, you got mine right immediately, and we only just met.¡±

    River¡¯s smile strengthened into something warmer and brighter. ¡°I¡¯d be remiss to forget the name of the Ambassador.¡±

    The mention of her title, for whatever reason, was enough to make Octavia blush somewhat. The way he¡¯d spoken it with such respect felt simultaneously flattering and idolizing in a way that filled her stomach with butterflies. The title of ¡°Ambassador¡± had mostly become a running joke amongst her non-Muse companions, offered mostly in the context of teasing as to her hefty role in the Maestro world. To hear it uttered with such care and sincerity from human lips was, frankly, incredibly disorienting.

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Y-You can come sit if you want. You don¡¯t have to. I-I mean, if you want to, you can, but--¡±

    He took her offer in the midst of her stammering, settling down in the shade beside her with little hesitation. She was embarrassed at the way she was flustered around him already, although his position as the effective leader of Tacell itself left much to be flustered around. Ambassador or not, there was a standard she felt obligated to meet. Octavia feared that she was making a poor second impression already.

    River didn¡¯t show any indication that he thought as much, and his smile was still hers to keep. It reminded her of Harper¡¯s, almost, if not even softer and more muted. She didn¡¯t hate it. The black case on his back was relatively thick and bulky. While Octavia knew what rested within, it still felt almost imposing to witness from so close.

    His shoulders shifted to lay his presumed partner to rest beside the home of her own. It was somewhat endearing, in a way, a movement that seemed to come almost naturally to him. Octavia didn¡¯t mind. She wondered if Stradivaria enjoyed the company. More importantly, she wondered if River¡¯s partner was one of the Muses Stradivaria could at least get along with.

    ¡°Do you like it here so far?¡± River asked softly.

    It was a question she¡¯d posed to Stradivaria not so long before. ¡°I love it here, actually. It¡¯s so quiet and peaceful, and it¡¯s really pretty. Everything¡¯s been so hectic for the past few months. This is...nice. It reminds me of home.¡±

    His smile was slowly growing on her. ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    Frankly, she wasn¡¯t sure exactly how far Selbright was from Silver Ridge. Bouncing between cities for the past several weeks had been disorienting enough that she wasn¡¯t sure exactly where on the continent she resided. ¡°There¡¯s a small town called Silver Ridge. I¡­want to say it¡¯s in the south of Mezzoria, but I¡¯m not completely sure what direction we¡¯re in right now. What about you?¡±

    River, too, was content to let his head rest gently against their shared birch. ¡°Cirrin.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°It¡¯s not in Mezzoria. It¡¯s off the continent. It¡¯s a nice little place, very temperate. I used to live pretty close to the ocean.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­not from Mezzoria?¡±

    River shook his head. She blinked. That was, admittedly, a first.

    ¡°What made you come here?¡± Octavia asked.

    He shrugged, the silky fabrics of his shirt snagging slightly along the same bark that had blighted her. Octavia hoped they didn¡¯t tear. ¡°My family wanted a change of pace. They were more so city people than anything. Nature didn¡¯t cut it for them, I suppose. We differed, in that sense.¡±

    ¡°Where do they live now?¡±

    ¡°Some of them went to Ardenfall, and the rest went to Whitebrook. They didn¡¯t have much problem with me going my own way.¡±

    ¡°They were fine with you just¡­leaving?¡±

    His smile was soft once more. ¡°I think they knew I wasn¡¯t really cut out for being tied down like that. I think they knew that I missed Cirrin a bit, too.¡±

    Octavia tried her questionable luck again. ¡°Your legacy. Are you¡­Spirited?¡±

    River nodded, his expression brightening in a way that made her heart somewhat satisfied. ¡°Correct. What gave it away?¡±

    ¡°Muse color¡± was an embarrassing answer. She stole from Mina. ¡°You, uh, just struck me as¡­someone who was.¡±

    He seemed satisfied with that, at least. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡±

    Octavia offered River a smile of her own. If his words of wanderlust were to be believed, then they fit his legacy well. She¡¯d never met another Maestro blessed with a spirit of wind aside from her exceedingly bubbly and heroic companion. The picture of ¡°spirit¡± he was painting in her head little by little was still just as viable. It was an interesting dichotomy.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t become a Maestro until I got to Mezzoria,¡± River continued. ¡°I was¡­leaving an inn while I was passing through some little town, I don¡¯t even remember where, and apparently an instrument had been abandoned there a few nights before. That¡¯s what the innkeeper said, at least. Knowing what I know now, I don¡¯t particularly believe her. I felt some kind of¡­spark that night, and I ended up taking it with me. You can probably figure out the rest.¡±

    ¡°Are there Maestros in Cirrin?¡± Octavia asked.

    Ever so slowly, River tilted his head at her again. ¡°There¡¯s¡­no Maestros outside of Mezzoria. You weren¡¯t told that?¡±

    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    He only stared. ¡°I¡­see. For whatever reason, this is where they all ended up, according to the Muses. Otherwise, I don¡¯t think Tacell would suffice in terms of¡­well, what it¡¯s meant to do.¡±

    It was simultaneously a tremendous relief, a solution to a problem Octavia hadn¡¯t thought of, and a semi-confusing puzzle piece she¡¯d have to bother Stradivaria about later. The density of Maestros in Coda alone had been relatively high, particularly considering both the size of Mezzoria and the finite number of Muses existing in the first place. It made enough sense to her that, at least hypothetically, Maestros could be limited to Mezzoria based on the sheer number she¡¯d found thus far. If she had to leave the continent to track down the remaining Maestros, her task would likely never end. She could hardly wrap her head around leaving Silver Ridge. Even now, Tacell was an entirely different world in and of itself.

    ¡°Are there¡­other people here who aren¡¯t from Mezzoria?¡±

    River nodded again. ¡°Some of them. Mint is from a tiny place called Destrend in Forvilas.¡±

    ¡°Forv¡­where?¡±

    He laughed. His laugh was nice, a clear and crystalline sound that was far more muted than she¡¯d expected. For all of his composure, it was almost off-putting to hear. It felt like water.

    ¡°Another continent. Have you never read an atlas before? I¡¯m asking genuinely.¡±

    Octavia blushed. Admittedly, no. She supposed that was her fault, at this point. ¡°I-I¡­I¡¯m not very well-traveled. The whole world is kind of new to me. Everywhere I go is a place I¡¯ve never been to, usually.¡±

    She was relieved when he smiled rather than judged. ¡°That¡¯s not a bad philosophy for life, in my opinion. It honestly sounds appealing.¡±

    Octavia crossed her arms defensively, even in the face of his reassurance. ¡°It¡¯d be nice to know what I¡¯m doing for once.¡±

    ¡°Did you hurt your hand?¡±

    At the mention of her injury, Octavia''s gaze flickered down to the palm that had so viciously been attacked by a birch minutes before his arrival. She rolled her eyes inwardly, the mere motion of raising her hand aloft for inspection enough to remind her of a dull pain once forgotten. It still oozed slightly, albeit a far more muted red. She would, at least, keep exactly how she got hurt close to her heart. Her smile was strained.

    ¡°Yeah. Just¡­wasn¡¯t paying attention and cut it on something. It¡¯s no big deal.¡±

    The concern in River¡¯s eyes for such a small wound was surprising, if nothing else. ¡°Does it hurt?¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°I-I mean, a little, but it¡¯s seriously nothing.¡±

    For a moment, he was silent. He didn¡¯t necessarily have to get up to reach his partner¡¯s case, fumbling with extended fingers just to grasp its handle. Still, it did take him at least some effort to drag the bulky black box in his direction. He was gentle with the way he avoided Stradivaria¡¯s case in the process, hauling his own concealed instrument through the rustling grass with one surprisingly-strong hand. River did need to claim some space to actually unlatch the case, perched comfortably on his knees as he flipped silver locks without hesitation. Octavia¡¯s confusion took a backseat to her curiosity. She¡¯d been wondering since she¡¯d gotten to Tacell.

    The Harmonial Instrument he drew into his arms with such love and care was absolutely stunning, pristine and vibrant shades of warm blacks and whites capturing the sun with each subtle movement. It had been quite some time since she¡¯d actually seen poplar. Octavia had grown so accustomed to mahogany, rosewood, cherry oak, and yet more different woods she¡¯d tethered to the Maestro world. Now, it was beautiful, elegantly contoured and accentuated spectacularly by keys that glistened beneath the autumn rays above.

    It was more than large enough to take up the length of his lap, let alone the width of his arms. Still, by the way he held it close, and for how River¡¯s fingers settled snugly atop the shimmering keys in question, she doubted he minded in any capacity. The exceedingly simple words that left Octavia¡¯s mouth spat in the face of the striking first impression River¡¯s partner had left on her.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­an accordion,¡± she observed aloud. Immediately, she felt like an idiot.

    If he thought her to be one, she knew he¡¯d never say it--to the Ambassador in particular, more than likely. River nodded quietly instead.

    ¡°This is Renegadria,¡± he offered. ¡°My partner.¡±

    Octavia smiled, more so at the accordion than River himself. His Muse was in there, surely. Acquainted as they were, the sight of its vessel still warranted a fresh greeting all the same. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, then.¡±

    ¡°Can I see your hand?¡±

    With her words mostly discarded, all that remained was--primarily--confusion. She did as she was told, uncurling her fingers and resting her still-stinging palm in the soft grass below.

    ¡°Did you get hurt anywhere else, or just there?¡± he asked.

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡­just there. Why?¡±

    River didn¡¯t give her the clarity she''d hoped for. ¡°Stay still, okay?¡±

    She, too, didn¡¯t get to answer him back. All Octavia got instead was one of the most beautiful songs she¡¯d ever heard.

    Perhaps it was the way she¡¯d grown so accustomed to the melodies of Harmonial Instruments that sang to her every day, her own included. That wasn''t to say that she¡¯d even slightly tired of Stradivaria¡¯s lovely ballads--nor Silver Brevada¡¯s, nor Royal Orleans¡¯, nor any other that she¡¯d come to love. The song River wove for her was refreshing, dusting her soul with a soft breeze much like those which rested beyond his touch.

    What clarity she¡¯d sought from his words was unnecessary relative to the purity of his melody. The sound of the accordion that graced Octavia¡¯s ears further confirmed her belief that she was, in fact, in Heaven. River''s song sufficed to make her heart happy, evidenced by a smile she couldn¡¯t suppress. She would¡¯ve offered it to him, had she been somewhat less perplexed about the wind.

    Octavia was well aware that it was possible to play without touching upon a legacy, for how many times she¡¯d turned to Stradivaria¡¯s dim song on starry nights. It sufficed to explain the lack of breezes or gusts brushing her face, initially. Rather, she found a tempered wind, aimed squarely down into the patch of grass that tickled her fingers. It wasn¡¯t helping, and the rustling blades irritated her skin somewhat as they swayed beneath a Spirited song. The only thing more concerning than the discomfort it caused was the fact that she could see it.

    She hadn¡¯t seen it in quite awhile. In truth, Octavia had only seen it once ever.

    It was green, a striking viridian that reminded her of Lyra¡¯s luminescent beauty. The winds he wove--quite literally wove, if the streaming strands of rope-like gusts settling onto her skin were any indicator--were painless, if not pleasantly warm. She didn¡¯t particularly dislike the sensation, resisting the urge to yank her trembling hand away. Wisps of green layered themselves daintily and politely atop her tiny wound in turn. They crisscrossed, bending and folding like mesh. There was nothing to feel all the way through, save for the same light sensation of heat. Her prior stinging and aching gradually lessened by the second.

    When his song tapered to a close, Octavia lamented its end just as much as she contemplated its intent. She peeled her fingers off of the grass, turning them over tentatively as she inspected what once had been a wound. It didn¡¯t throb, nor sting, nor pulse. Instead, it was content to settle beneath an enduring viridian bandage, born of a force she couldn¡¯t pinpoint. No amount of bringing it closer to her eyes was offering any explanation.

    She raised her eyes to River in search of clarification--or, at the very least, to give her thanks for the lovely performance. One of his fingers was bleeding, the cracked skin of his fingertip seeping red quietly onto a sparkling key.

    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding,¡± Octavia murmured with worry, every question she¡¯d formed fleeing from her lips.

    River shook his head with a faint smile. ¡°It¡¯ll stop soon enough. It doesn¡¯t really hurt.¡±

    ¡°What¡­was that?¡± she finally asked, flexing her fingers over her palm experimentally.

    ¡°My gift,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­been told of that at least, right?¡±

    It clicked. When it clicked, it crashed, and she could''ve shattered like glass. Octavia¡¯s stomach twisted into a knot.

    ¡°You¡­did you just¡­¡±

    River nodded. ¡°Does it feel better?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes had pooled with tears before she¡¯d even noticed. It took conscious effort to keep her voice from wavering, and just as much conscious effort to keep from grabbing River¡¯s hands. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to.¡±

    ¡°You know what that does to you, right?¡± she asked, her voice nearly cracking.

    He nodded. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Then why? Over something so little?¡± Octavia cried, well aware of her volume. ¡°It would¡¯ve healed in a few days!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re meant to do,¡± River said, resting his arms comfortably atop his partner. ¡°It¡¯s the duty of the Spirited.¡±

    ¡°Your life is worth so much more than just¡­just¡­this!¡± Octavia exclaimed, holding her trembling palm before him for emphasis.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t take that much.¡±

    ¡°How much?¡±

    ¡°Three days.¡±

    She winced, struggling to stifle her tears. ¡°River, that¡¯s still three days you¡¯ll never get back!¡±

    His calm was agonizing. Octavia couldn''t stand it. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. This is what I¡¯m meant to do, and this is what I want to do. Otherwise, this wouldn¡¯t be my legacy. I ration it. I know my limits. I¡¯ve¡­never had to heal a truly serious wound before. If a day comes where I do need to, I¡¯ll be ready.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stop at least one tear from escaping, despite her best efforts. ¡°It adds up. That isn¡¯t fair to you. You¡¯re worth more than that. Please, please don¡¯t waste your life on things like this.¡±

    River¡¯s face fell, his eyes softening. ¡°Please don¡¯t cry. I¡¯m sorry if I made you upset. I¡­didn¡¯t like knowing the Ambassador was injured, no matter how slightly.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself on my behalf just because I¡¯m the Ambassador,¡± Octavia murmured sadly.

    ¡°We all would,¡± he explained. ¡°In a heartbeat, we all would do the same.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®we¡¯?¡±

    ¡°All of the Spirited here. We take turns. We¡¯re cautious about it, and we know our gifts are¡­finite. Even so, we know the power they possess, and we won¡¯t let them go to waste. If it means protecting the Ambassador, then nothing is a waste, no matter how small.¡±

    Octavia struggled to swipe the tears out of her eyes. ¡°It¡­goes both ways, you know. I don¡¯t want people putting me up on a pedestal just because I¡¯m the Ambassador. I want to be able to protect other people, too. I don¡¯t want you to feel like you need to protect me--any of you.¡±

    River wasn¡¯t ignoring her as he resheathed his partner, delicately settling the lovely accordion back into its bulky home. ¡°We know you don¡¯t need protection, but we still want to fight by your side. We¡¯ll do whatever needs to be done,¡± he said, clicking each silver lock firmly into place.

    Octavia sighed. ¡°How many times have you used your gift? Does your partner have any way of, like¡­keeping track of how much you¡¯ve used up, if you know what I mean?¡±

    ¡°As in, cumulatively?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    River paused for a moment. ¡°A little over four years.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t cry again. Still, his words were enough to sting her heart. ¡°River,¡± she scolded plainly.

    ¡°That¡¯s in total since I became a Maestro,¡± he specified.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Does this¡­really bother you that much?¡± River asked.

    Octavia nodded quietly. River¡¯s best attempts at handing her a reassuring smile were respectable.

    ¡°If I told you that this is what I want, that this is the way I¡¯m happiest to spend my life, would that help anything?¡±

    She went for honesty. Octavia shook her head. River chuckled.

    ¡°I can understand that, I suppose. I respect that we have different ways of thinking. I¡¯m somewhat flattered that my life matters to the Ambassador this much.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not just the Ambassador,¡± she blurted out. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia, too.¡±

    Her sudden exclamation startled him, somehow, and he tensed. Still, the warmth of his smile thawed her chilled words moments later. ¡°I¡¯m¡­happy that my life matters to Octavia, then.¡±

    Hearing her name on his lips again--her true name, devoid of her title--was highly comforting. Octavia wished he¡¯d make it his default. She liked the way it sounded when he said it, far less formal and far more friendly. Part of her wondered if she could get him to say it again, if not solely to test the feeling in her ears once more.

    She didn¡¯t get the opportunity. She heard the grass rustling before she could see whatever had made it sway. She initially believed her obscured vision to be the fault of a passing cloud, sudden and somehow heavy enough to block out much more sunshine than was reasonable. Clouds didn¡¯t have bows. Octavia blinked.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    For someone who was such an advocate of shade, Octavia could at least respect the way Viola went out of her way to provide a bit more than she already had. She raised her head slowly. ¡°Hey.¡±

    Apparently, whatever conversation she¡¯d been engrossed in--heart-to-heart or otherwise--didn¡¯t take priority. ¡°Do you have a second?¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m¡­kind of in the middle of something.¡±

    Her eyes drifted to River for emphasis. He didn¡¯t particularly emote, content to gaze up at Viola with patience.

    Viola smirked. ¡°I need you to be in the middle of something else.¡±

    Only now did Octavia frown. ¡°Is this really that important?¡±

    ¡°This¡­wasn¡¯t my idea. I¡¯m kind of a messenger right now,¡± Viola admitted.

    This was getting more confusing with every word. ¡°What are you even talking about?¡±

    Viola didn¡¯t grace her with a straightforward answer. The most she got was one hand, extended downwards in an offer of assisted levitation. ¡°Madrigal¡¯s idea. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    Against her better judgment, particularly with another hesitant glance at River, Octavia accepted her physical aid. ¡°You can¡¯t just tell me?¡±

    Viola rolled her eyes, pulling the Ambassador to her feet. ¡°Even I don¡¯t particularly know where she¡¯s going with this one. Just¡­indulge her, alright?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so cryptic,¡± Octavia scolded.

    ¡°Have fun,¡± River offered with a delicate smile, still comfortably perched in the grass.

    Octavia winced. She hadn¡¯t exactly wanted to surrender that conversation yet. ¡°Do you wanna come with us?¡±

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to eye her warily. It was also Viola¡¯s fault for not clarifying where they were going in the first place. She at least did her due diligence in asking after the fact.

    ¡°Can he come?¡± Octavia whispered to her.

    To her mild surprise, Viola shrugged with a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. He just¡­might not get a lot out of wherever this is headed.¡±

    His eyes widened somewhat at the invitation. Regardless, he met Viola¡¯s smile with the one he¡¯d already donned for Octavia. ¡°I mean, if you don¡¯t mind having me along, I don¡¯t have anywhere else to be for now. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not curious.¡±

    Octavia groaned. ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s really good at not being straightforward when she wants to be.¡±

    Viola elbowed her gently in the ribs. ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m a messenger. Let¡¯s just go. You¡¯ll see what I mean. I¡¯m a little afraid of whatever she¡¯s got in mind.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the tiny smirk that came packaged with an exasperated sigh. Still, she was at least satisfied to see River trailing close behind, keeping up with Viola¡¯s pitiful half-jog as she surrendered to the slowest tugging imaginable. For all of the weight their discussion had held, Octavia was surprised to see him smiling at all. Viola''s fingers, loosely intertwined with her own, brushed against her palm again and again. The lack of stinging pain, each and every time, was a stark reminder of just how different the boy¡¯s ideologies truly were.

 62. Snow Angels and Cherry Blossoms, Part I

    It didn¡¯t particularly surprise Octavia that Viola had moved her from an area with shade to an area with even more shade. Given Tacell¡¯s semi-remote situation and substantial natural structure, she supposed Viola had her pick at any given point in time of whatever foliage most sufficed. Octavia smirked at the idea that her own sun-soaked comfort place from moments ago hadn¡¯t been enough to satisfy Viola¡¯s delicate skin. In Viola¡¯s defense, Octavia couldn¡¯t entirely prove that the locale had been her own idea. It was still wide open enough, and well-populated with Maestros she at least recognized on sight.

    She settled Stradivaria down into their usual instrument pile, a mess of cases stacked atop one another somewhere between lovingly and haphazardly. It was with great delight in her heart that she¡¯d convinced River to do the same, even with his own partner¡¯s case ending up somewhat more distant than the others'' respective instruments. It felt strangely intimate, if not friendly.

    ¡°Yay, finally!¡± Madrigal exclaimed, hands thrown high into the air with glee.

    ¡°Finally what?¡± Octavia asked, uncurling her fingers from Viola¡¯s at last.

    ¡°We can¡¯t get started without you!¡± she added with a brilliant smile. Even so, she was no closer to being any more specific.

    ¡°Hey, River,¡± Josiah at least attempted to offer, one lazy hand emerging from his pocket in a half-hearted wave.

    ¡°Hello,¡± River returned softly, emulating the same. Apparently, everyone was better at remembering names than the Ambassador was. Octavia was very, very grateful that River didn¡¯t call her out on it. He didn¡¯t seem the type, anyway.

    ¡°Hold up, is he doing this, too?¡± Renato muttered to Josiah.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what ¡®it¡¯ is,¡± Josiah hissed under his breath.

    Harper, if no one else, seemed composed enough about their mystery task. ¡°That¡¯s everyone plus one, I think. You gonna tell us what you had in mind now?¡±

    At last, Madrigal nodded, clapping her hands together joyfully. ¡°Soooo, I was thinking yesterday about how we¡¯ve got a lot we¡¯re gonna have to deal with in the next few weeks. There¡¯s lots of Maestros here who are gonna be willing to protect the Ambassador, but we¡¯re supposed to be the Ambassador¡¯s inner circle, right?¡±

    Josiah nodded in turn, a gesture tainted with absolute confusion. ¡°I¡­guess.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re gonna have to make sure we¡¯re up to the task, all the time! We¡¯ve gotta be sure we stay prepared to fight whenever we¡¯re needed,¡± she continued, her radiant smile never faltering.

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°O¡­kay?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve gotta be ready for anything, and we¡¯ve gotta be in top form, and we¡¯re¡­we¡¯re gonna have to be stronger than everyone else!¡±

    ¡°Alright, that last part is a little ambitious,¡± Harper mumbled.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle the tiniest of laughs. ¡°Where are you going with this?¡±

    She got her personal turn with Madrigal¡¯s happy beaming, although somewhat more muted. ¡°Basically, I think it would help if we got to practice fighting.¡±

    There was a collective pause, momentarily. Viola blinked. ¡°You mean, like¡­with each other?¡±

    Madrigal nodded fervently, her curls bobbing up and down along with her.

    ¡°Sparring, then,¡± Viola continued slowly, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of disbelief. ¡°You want us to spar.¡±

    Again came the same enthusiastic nodding, vivid enough to bring her lush buns with it this time.

    ¡°Oh my God, no,¡± Josiah muttered.

    ¡°Oh my God, yes!¡± Renato cried, pumping one fist in excitement.

    ¡°Do you mean, like, armed or unarmed?¡± Harper asked.

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Whatever we want! Practice is practice.¡±

    Octavia offered her a hesitant smirk. ¡°I don¡¯t know if all of us should be armed if we¡¯re gonna be fighting each other. Some of us could get seriously hurt.¡±

    Her own words were weighted, frankly. She¡¯d been privy to the pains of wind, even, on one harrowing occasion. Her muscles still ached from the memory alone.

    ¡°Do we have to?¡± Viola asked with a groan.

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°Not if you don¡¯t want to. We can just watch whoever does.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t decide if this is an awful idea or a really fun idea,¡± Octavia whispered to Viola alone.

    ¡°I¡¯m leaning towards the former,¡± Viola confessed under her breath.

    ¡°Okay, that means River¡¯s fighting too, right?¡± Renato asked with a bit too much enthusiasm.

    At the mention of his name, River flinched, waving his hands in a hurried gesture of decline. ¡°I¡¯m okay. I appreciate the invite. More than happy just to spectate.¡±

    ¡°Good answer,¡± Viola mumbled.

    He laughed softly. ¡°To be fair, I don¡¯t really know how any of you fight. I doubt I¡¯d be able to hold my own.¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°Well, you¡¯re about to learn, apparently.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Josiah, come on, let¡¯s go,¡± Renato demanded, already raising his fists in the boy¡¯s direction.

    ¡°How did I know it was gonna be him first?¡± Viola muttered disdainfully.

    Josiah scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m a lover, not a fighter. No chance.¡±

    Renato frowned. ¡°You¡¯re just scared I¡¯ll kick your ass.¡±

    ¡°You would kick my ass,¡± Josiah answered coolly, rolling his eyes. ¡°Not afraid to admit that. We¡¯ve all got our strengths. Yours is being physically strong. Mine is not being an idiot.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun,¡± Renato groaned.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to fight somebody, make sure you¡¯re unarmed,¡± Octavia called. ¡°You specifically. You¡¯re gonna get someone hurt.¡±

    He grinned. ¡°That was the plan. You wanna take me on, braids?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t punching the Ambassador kind of defeat the point?¡± Josiah scolded.

    Renato deflated somewhat. ¡°Okay, fair.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but laugh. There was a split second where she entertained the idea of saying ¡°yes¡±--even if she was all but certain he¡¯d pull his punches with her.

    When the Strong Maestro raised his eyes to River again, Viola actually beat him to it.

    ¡°Hey, Riv--¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even let me ask the man himself!¡±

    River was, for the most part, already comfortable as a spectator, legs crossed in the grass and head tilted with earnest interest. Despite his earlier insistence as to becoming their audience, he at least gave another soft laugh over the idea.

    ¡°Maybe one day,¡± he comforted with a gentle smile.

    Renato put his hands on his hips in mild frustration. ¡°Are we sure I can¡¯t get a free pass on the Ambassador for like, one match? I¡¯ll be nice. All of you are ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°Fight me.¡±

    The soft voice was in stark contrast to the confidence and weight behind two words. It was enough for even Renato to raise an eyebrow.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Harper grinned. ¡°You wanna fight so bad? Fight me, then. I¡¯ll take you on.¡±

    For a fraction of a second, Renato hesitated, flinching. ¡°You can fight?¡±

    Viola had to clap one hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. If only he knew.

    Harper nodded, his gentle demeanor and bright eyes again betraying the gravity and brutality of his offer. ¡°You know it.¡±

    When Renato continued to hesitate, Octavia blinked. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know about this one, actually,¡± he muttered.

    Harper smirked. ¡°Worried I¡¯m gonna kick your ass?¡±

    Renato adopted his sassy smirk in turn. ¡°Okay, nevermind, not conflicted anymore if you¡¯re gonna start talkin¡¯ like that.¡±

    ¡°No instruments,¡± Harper clarified. "Barehanded. I¡¯m not trying to burn anybody, and I don¡¯t exactly want to get blasted to pieces today.¡±

    Renato nodded with a grin, casting his eyes behind him. ¡°Fine by me. You got my back, Mr. Field Medic?¡±

    Josiah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Is this what I am to you?¡±

    ¡°Alright, then,¡± Harper said confidently, stretching as he adjusted his cap and sleeves. ¡°Don¡¯t get upset when I beat you, okay?¡±

    Renato, too, was emulating much of the same, albeit with slightly more exaggerated stretches. His own hat also didn''t escape delicate adjustments. Octavia didn¡¯t particularly understand why neither of them had the foresight to just take their hats off altogether. ¡°You sound awfully sure of yourself for a guy who¡¯s like, what, half my height?¡±

    Harper winked at him. ¡°Keep an open mind, alright?¡±

    ¡°Watch your leg,¡± Josiah scolded the Willful Maestro, pointing accordingly. ¡°You sure you¡¯re up for this?¡±

    Harper gave him a reassuring smile. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I feel pretty good today. I¡¯ll be careful, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Josiah, place your bets,¡± Renato called behind him once more.

    The boy inhaled sharply--more than likely secondary to the aggravation of Renato¡¯s infinite harassment. ¡°Harper. No question.¡±

    Renato¡¯s grin slipped for a moment. ¡°Wait, seriously? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because he¡¯s not you. I¡¯ll cheer for whoever can shut you up for ten seconds.¡±

    His hostile words weren¡¯t enough to shake Renato¡¯s confidence in full. ¡°Whatever. Don¡¯t need your support, anyway. Tavi, what do you think?¡± he called.

    Octavia winced. It wasn¡¯t exactly an easy choice to make, especially relative to the levels of unique athleticism between the two Maestros. She didn¡¯t get to answer on her own behalf, regardless.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Harper said with pride, crossing his arms. ¡°She¡¯s already gonna cheer for me.¡±

    Renato scoffed. ¡°You didn¡¯t even ask her.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t need to,¡± he answered casually.

    The grin he sported wasn¡¯t for Renato, instead cast in Octavia¡¯s direction. His eyes sparkled. She could, at the very least, offer him a smirk in return.

    ¡°Show-off,¡± she teased.

    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± he returned, just as playful. ¡°You better watch me.¡±

    Renato grimaced. ¡°Ugh, fine. Vi--¡±

    ¡°Harper.¡±

    ¡°You know what? I don¡¯t even know why I bothered to ask,¡± he muttered.

    The Maestro tossed his annoyed gaze at his humble, uninvolved audience. ¡°River.¡±

    ¡°Context?¡± River whispered, raising his head in Octavia¡¯s direction.

    Octavia thought for a moment. ¡°You¡­might want to go with Harper. You¡¯ll see why.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t cheer him on. Please,¡± Viola pleaded with a groan, indicating Renato with a half-hearted gesture. ¡°Don¡¯t give him the satisfaction.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I see you whispering to this guy! Stop giving him ideas!¡± Renato scolded.

    ¡°I¡¯ll cheer for both of you,¡± River answered at last, a mediating smile doing little to alleviate Renato¡¯s growing ire. The boy groaned with great exaggeration, throwing his head back and his eyes towards the sky.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t count! You can¡¯t do that!¡±

    His eyes snapped to the one who''d started it all. ¡°Maddie! You¡¯ve got my back. I know you¡¯ve got my back. Cheer for me, okay?¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head, folding her hands together calmly in front of her dress. ¡°You, uh¡­you can do it, Renato!¡±

    His face fell. ¡°Why the hell did you hesitate?¡±

    Harper was absolutely aglow with pride. Renato rolled his eyes so hard that Octavia genuinely wondered if he might pass out from irritation alone. It was, admittedly, extremely humorous to witness.

    ¡°Do you people all know something I don¡¯t?¡± he snapped broadly.

    Octavia didn¡¯t bother with a shrug, or any sort of body language that would speak to Harper¡¯s yet-uncommunicated fighting skills. Viola, conversely, was already trying and failing to stifle her laughter, her shoulders shaking. ¡°I should¡¯ve brought snacks,¡± she snickered. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Kick his ass, Harper!¡± Josiah called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

    ¡°Zip it!¡± Renato growled.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Harper offered gently, already bracing himself as he slid into an offensive stance. ¡°Ignore them and just focus on me. We¡¯re only here to practice, no matter who wins. Let¡¯s have fun, okay?¡±

    Renato took a deep breath, finding both a grin and composure he¡¯d lost not long ago. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll try not to mess you up too bad.¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow playfully. ¡°Oh, now you¡¯re gonna get sassy with me? And here I am trying to make you feel better. If I find out you¡¯re holding back on me, I¡¯m not gonna be too happy about it. Give me everything you¡¯ve got. I can take it.¡±

    ¡°You know what?¡± Renato said, straightening up. With arms wide, he met Harper with a bit more confidence in his voice than was necessary. ¡°Go ahead and take the first shot. I¡¯ll give you one free hit.¡±

    Harper cocked his head. ¡°Are you sure about that?¡±

    Renato nodded, never faltering. ¡°Yup. Go on, try me.¡±

    For once, though, it was Harper¡¯s grin that was downright devilish. ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± he repeated slowly.

    His repetition, combined with the look on his face, was enough to make Renato blink exactly twice--presumably with confusion. Even shaken in the slightest, he still strained to keep his sassy smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure, I promise. You don¡¯t have to--¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as though the distance between them had been particularly sizable in the first place, what with the proximity that they¡¯d assumed was necessary for a bare-handed brawl. There was, at the very least, still a solid six or so feet to be closed in order to make any semblance of contact. Renato couldn¡¯t manage a third confused blink in the time it took to find a fist buried deep into his stomach. Octavia, too, could hardly have done the same. She could¡¯ve sworn Harper was getting faster every day.

    The only thing that offset her initial amazement with his ever-improving speed was the look of absolute shock on Renato¡¯s face as his eyes drifted downwards. He groaned in pain, recoiling somewhat from the force of the blow. Harper didn¡¯t give him a chance to recover.

    That wasn¡¯t to say Renato didn¡¯t try, staggering backwards in a futile attempt to evade Harper¡¯s initial set of blows. Harper was, true to Renato¡¯s words, shorter than him--even if the height difference wasn¡¯t nearly as substantial as Renato¡¯s jeering had implied. It was hardly a disadvantage, particularly given exactly how easy it was for the Willful boy to nail him in the same place over and over again. It didn¡¯t take long for Harper to start preparing the same unforgiving kicks Octavia had seen used in far less friendly circumstances. Unhesitant and unrestrained, he relentlessly slammed the flat end of his shoes into Renato¡¯s sides with such force that the boy was already on the defensive.

    By the time the Strong Maestro had realized how severely he was being assaulted, outright gasping beneath the weight of every blow, he was at least ten seconds deep into abject shock. No amount of guarding was helping. Fleeing, at least momentarily, sufficed.

    The tip of his shoe just barely missed catching Harper hard in the chin as he threw his full body weight backwards, casting himself desperately towards the ground and onto his awaiting hands. Once, twice, three times over he tumbled in reverse, an emergency effort to put the slightest semblance of distance between himself and his Willful assailant. Even in the midst of his acrobatic evasion, the look of utter confusion on his face all the while was making Viola choke at Octavia¡¯s side. It was only when Renato found his shaky footing once more that his wide eyes struggled to adjust to the scene.

    ¡°Wait, are you friggin¡¯ serious?¡± he cried. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were¡­you know!¡±

    Harper cracked his neck, his endless grin laced with dangerous confidence. ¡°What, you thought I was bluffing about kicking your ass?¡±

    The distance between them, again, meant nothing. Renato¡¯s efforts to maintain it were completely in vain with each pounding footstep Harper unleashed against the grass below. The overly-satisfied smile on his lips contrasted sharply with the strained expression that stained Renato¡¯s face as he gave chase, throwing every ounce of his strength into each crushing blow.

    Harper was unflinching and unforgiving, striving to beat upon the same weakened places with punch after punch and kick after kick. There were, at least, the brief intermissions that came with Renato struggling to re-establish and preserve a fragile gap again and again--only to find his hopes dashed instantly. No amount of skillful tumbling and evasive inversions was doing anything to counter the Willful Maestro¡¯s unbelievable speed.

    The next time he tried, Harper let him. The gap Renato crafted with the saving grace that was his backwards momentum was a bit more than what he¡¯d achieved with his last several attempts. Undoubtedly, he had Harper¡¯s brief moment of respite to thank for that. Even with his arms raised defensively, braced low against the ground, Renato still didn¡¯t move. His breath was steady, even, a testament to the perfect preservation of his stamina. He wasn¡¯t fatigued in any capacity. Harper narrowed his eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re not fighting back,¡± he observed aloud, his voice just a bit less sharp than his gaze.

    Renato¡¯s face was still as strained as ever. ¡°I, uh¡­you¡¯re just¡­stronger than I expected.¡±

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then at least try to hit me, okay? I can take it, I told you.¡±

    Renato didn¡¯t answer. Harper shrugged half-heartedly.

    ¡°Fine, then. If you won¡¯t hit me, then I¡¯ll hit you.¡±

    Whatever peace had come with distance was, again, stolen. There was no way for Harper to physically back Renato into a corner, given the open terrain upon which they held their one-sided battle. That left him with the arduous--and, if his face was anything to go by, apparently frustrating--task of more or less chasing Renato in a circle. The singular advantage Renato did notably have over him was his effective evasions, and the Strong boy was nearly untouchable once out of range.

    Even when Harper¡¯s skillful speed brought him close enough to bash Renato in the ribs with one elbow, or to nail him in the side with a sharp kick, his opportunities to inflict quick and continuous blows of meaningful damage were always compromised. Again, the cherry oak that frantically scraped the grass carried with it in reverse the boy¡¯s full being, flipping and tumbling his way to mere seconds of safety. He was lucky if he could move fast enough, sometimes, to bolt out of the way of Harper¡¯s fists as they traced a dead-on path to bruising skin.

    The moment to breathe breaths he didn¡¯t particularly need came with yet more irritation on the part of Renato¡¯s sparring partner.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Harper growled. ¡°Hit me!¡±

    ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°Hit me, Renato!¡± he demanded.

    The same tactic was doing little to serve the boy suffering beneath Harper¡¯s anger, not quite impaired so much by fatigue as by something Octavia couldn¡¯t place on sight. It was practically non-existent, by which Renato had largely stopped his frantic tumbling evasions in favor of facing Harper head on. It didn¡¯t do him any favors, and it didn¡¯t assure retaliation all the same.

    He at least made an earnest effort to block, fighting with everything he had to catch Harper¡¯s aggravated uppercuts and resist what striking kicks he could. It almost served Renato well, his wincing a testament to whatever pain seeped through the cracks of Harper¡¯s brutality. Octavia had seen Harper hit that hard before, albeit under far more serious circumstances. Even so, she''d never seen the look of absolute frustration on his face in the company of violence.

    There came a point, apparently, where enough was enough. Without a single thrown punch or even an iota of aggressive intent towards the boy since the beginning of their tussle, Harper drew the line. Renato¡¯s third confrontation came in the form of his undershirt collar yanked so tightly forward that Octavia feared he''d choke. The look in Harper¡¯s eyes was piercing, sharp enough that it could cut the Maestro to shreds. Octavia had a feeling that she knew, vaguely, where this was going.

    ¡°Look me in the eyes and tell me why you won¡¯t hit me,¡± Harper ordered through gritted teeth.

    Inches from the Willful boy¡¯s face, that in particular was a weapon Renato was powerless to escape. He was sweating, and not particularly from effort.

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Renato stammered, hands aloft in uncomfortable defense.

    ¡°Now!¡± Harper growled.

    Renato winced. ¡°I can¡¯t hit cute boys, man!¡±

    The only person whose face filled to the utter brim with blood faster than Octavia was Harper. The latter saw to it that Renato, at least, found blood on his own as well.

    The release of his grip also saw the fury of a right hook burrowing without mercy into Renato¡¯s cheek, sending the boy absolutely reeling. He cried out in pain, the pressure of one cherry oak palm doing little to assuage the injury. So severe was the impact that the tiniest splotch of blood tainted the corner of his mouth--the first time in their consensual quarrel that red had replaced black and blue. If Renato looked mortified, then Harper looked humiliated. His raised fists were trembling, his narrowed eyes offset by the vivid scarlet absolutely coating his entire face.

    ¡°W-What the hell is wrong with you?¡± Harper cried, his voice wobbling with embarrassment.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one that asked!¡± Renato answered frantically. It earned him the exact same physical response, his other cheek blighted by Harper¡¯s opposite fist just as brutally.

    ¡°You were perfectly fine with fighting Josiah!¡± Harper whined.

    Renato squeezed his eyes shut. ¡°I know what I said!¡±

    From the sidelines, Renato¡¯s confession had been semi-muted by the chaos. Still, there were some ears it hadn¡¯t escaped. Just as Octavia had overheard, so, too, had the apparent ¡°field medic¡± in question. He scowled.

    Josiah cupped his hands around his mouth again. ¡°Kill him!¡±

    If the look on Harper¡¯s face was anything to go by, he might''ve been planning on it. It took effort for him to reach both of Renato¡¯s shoulders in tandem, but his successful attempt was enough to lead one knee harshly into Renato¡¯s stomach. The force of the blow left the Strong boy doubled over in pain, coughing as he wrapped his arms futilely around the damage zone.

    ¡°Hit me, damn it! Quit screwing around and fight me like a man!¡± Harper snapped, his blush still more than evident. ¡°If you want to fight so bad, the least you can do is show me you mean it!¡±

    ¡°Oh my God, fine!¡± Renato cried, eyes still shut tight.

    With one sloppy, hesitant motion, he swung his palm blindly in the direction of Harper¡¯s voice--not so much as bothering to witness his own attempted attack. It didn¡¯t especially matter. It landed, Harper¡¯s grunt of pain serving as a catalyst to summon the boy¡¯s full attention. On closer inspection, he¡¯d struck the Willful Maestro hard with the sting of cool cherry oak across the face in full. It left his neck sharply twisted and his already-red cheek ever redder.

    Renato winced. ¡°Oh God, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry--¡±

    Harper¡¯s satisfied grin had returned with a vengeance. ¡°There you go.¡±

    The next time Harper swung at him, seeking to claim another shot to Renato¡¯s aching face, the boy finally managed to put his momentum to usage yet again. For once, the distance he established in three short tumbles, flinging his body against the earth with impressive propulsion, was far from purely evasive. If nothing else, Harper seemed to recognize that enough to pause, eyeing Renato''s every movement cautiously. He cocked his head with a smirk.

    ¡°Give me everything you¡¯ve got. Let me kick your ass the right way,¡± he teased.

    Renato closed his eyes for a moment, sliding one foot slightly behind him as he braced again. When he channeled his most fearsome athletic ability once more, it was no longer in reverse, and it was no longer away from Harper. Down. Sideways. Forwards. Upwards. Again. Again. Again.

    It occurred to Octavia, at that moment, that there was no true way Renato could adjust his prosthetics to accommodate acrobatics and offensive fists simultaneously. The workaround to that, he¡¯d apparently decided, came in the form of utilizing his lower body strength instead. He was almost taking cues from Harper, given how he threw everything he had into kicking rather than punching.

    The notable difference, then, was the crushing angle that left him threatening to nail Harper''s head from above. So skillful was Renato¡¯s midair control of his own body that the force of his downward momentum, in turn, was almost perfectly pooled where it needed to be. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened somewhat. For all the damage Harper had done to Renato so far, this was an excellent way for Harper to end up with a concussion.

    It was almost at the last possible second that Harper realized Renato¡¯s intent, practically rolling against the ground as he threw his shoulders hard against the grass. His dodge left Renato¡¯s heel careening into the soft earth instead, a notable thud audible even from afar resting in its wake. Some part of Octavia was glad he missed. It didn¡¯t necessarily mean that he let up in any capacity.

    Even with the slightest hint of a strained expression still splashed across his face, Renato was at least trying, matching Harper¡¯s speed with his precious physical prowess. He didn¡¯t dare adjust for anything besides maintaining his agility. Again, he forewent the capacity to punch in favor of dodging the boy¡¯s blows in the most spectacular way possible.

    Harper didn¡¯t miss every time, and neither did Renato. They traded shots in earnest, striking at every conceivable part of one another without restraint. In Harper¡¯s case, his movement was fluid and fast, if not restricted to the earth alone. For Renato, limited mostly to fierce kicks abetted by channeled momentum, the freedom to soar over Harper¡¯s head and the speed of his own movements more than made up for his restricted attack options. They were, at least, keeping up with one another.

    Neither of them were explicitly made of stamina. Still, of all the Maestros Octavia knew, she couldn''t think of a better pair who could fight for an impressive while. A war of attrition would be fruitless, if not something she knew both of them specifically would have a strong distaste for. That left the urge for a swift and decisive victory surely itching beneath their skin, their eyes focused and aflame in equal measure. Granted, one of them seemed to be having far more fun than the other, and it was not at all the person she expected. Today, apparently, was the day she learned of Harper¡¯s sadistic side.

    Renato was strong, and more than capable of withstanding heavy blows again and again to a reasonable degree. Even so, the most difficult part about chronic tumbling was mitigating the split second of vulnerability that came with falling still--even briefly. It was an opportunity that Harper pounced on when the Strong Maestro least expected it, nearly throwing himself to the ground as he swept one foot clean along the length of the grass.

    With it came two instances of cherry oak that had precariously, albeit with confidence, supported Renato¡¯s entire body weight seconds prior. He yelped in surprise, hitting the ground hard as he lost his balance in full. His face nearly collided with the dirt. It was only his quick reflexes that spared him from the downward thrust of Harper¡¯s fist straight into the back of his skull.

    Renato tried to emulate the same movement unsuccessfully, his own attempts at outright kicking Harper¡¯s feet out from under him useless. Instead, it took great effort to balance mitigating his extreme vulnerability and an attempt to summon momentum while nearly flat on his back. His efforts paid off, and he somehow managed to launch himself to his feet once more. It hardly did him any good.

    Harper was waiting for him patiently with the force of a strike that would probably leave him tasting blood for hours. It was enough for him to stagger, and Harper again caught him around his ankles with one successful sweeping motion. Again, too, his balance was gone--this time, accompanied by what Octavia suspected might actually be the makings of a concussion.

    Harper didn¡¯t let him down easily. It was the second time the Willful boy had seized him by the collar of his undershirt, twisting the material sharply as Renato stumbled. A swift movement of Harper¡¯s hands that Octavia couldn¡¯t quite catch saw his fingers dart beyond the confines of Renato¡¯s inner vest. More of interest was the way Harper locked the concept of a concussion in place, taking a cue from Domino long before him as he violently crashed his forehead into Renato¡¯s.

    The latter cried out, disoriented as Harper¡¯s grip suddenly relaxed once again. It left him collapsing, and Harper still wasn''t done. Given his endless grin, Octavia sincerely couldn¡¯t tell if he was overly devoted to a knock-out victory or--as suspected--just outright sadistic by now. The third option came in the form of him showing off. That, too, was an equal possibility, and Octavia was leaning towards it more with each passing second.

    Harper twisted his body in full, smashing one foot hard against Renato¡¯s cheek as he fell. It was enough to jerk the injured boy¡¯s body sharply sideways, sending him tumbling and rolling through the unhelpfully-soft grass with ever more grunts of pain. He came to a stop again flat on his back, groaning in great discomfort as he struggled to open his eyes. The shoe that came down sharply onto his bruising ribs helped, somewhat. It didn¡¯t leave.

    Ever so delicately, two parallel tips of cherry oak captured the edge of Renato¡¯s chin. They tilted upwards, bringing every injury on his aching face along with it. Still pinning the boy with one foot to his chest, Harper rested an arm on his knee as he leaned in close to Renato. He beamed.

    ¡°I win,¡± he said happily, switching to a soft smile that far betrayed his brutality yet again.

    Renato¡¯s half-lidded eyes flickered to Mistral Asunder in Harper¡¯s hands, then back up to the boy¡¯s deceivingly-gentle gaze. He repeated the process once more with the tiniest hint of a blush.

    ¡°I¡¯m in love,¡± he mumbled.

    Harper got in one more blow in the form of five fingers straight across Renato¡¯s cheek. He groaned in ever more pain, his suffering ceaseless. With a grimace and another round against the deep scarlet that plagued his cheeks, Harper flung either half of Mistral Asunder hard against Renato¡¯s face. The sticks clacked together pitifully as they rolled off and into the grass.

    ¡°Okay, oww,¡± Renato muttered.

    Octavia did her best to assuage his embarrassment, let alone compliment his success. ¡°That was amazing, Harper.¡±

    He was practically stomping against the grass with irritation as he rubbed his temples. Regardless, he found the energy to smile for her through his blush. ¡°That was a hot mess.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could fight like that,¡± Josiah offered with a grin of his own.

    Harper shrugged, his best attempts to hide his pride somewhat futile. ¡°Had to learn. Didn¡¯t have much of a choice.¡±

    ¡°You did great!¡± Madrigal cried with glee, hands raised high towards the sky.

    Viola smirked. ¡°You don¡¯t care that he left Renato like that?¡±

    She only beamed. ¡°He¡¯ll be okay. He¡¯s really strong in lots of different ways.¡±

    ¡°Strong¡± as he was, Octavia still gave him the benefit of the doubt. She didn¡¯t bother to kneel in the grass beside him as he lie sprawled out on the ground in exhaustion. Even so, she lowered one gentle hand downwards on his behalf. It took him another five solid seconds of indulging in his aches and pains to realize the opportunity was there. He obliged.

    ¡°You have things wrong with you,¡± she scolded half-heartedly, pulling him to his feet with great effort. ¡°Like, seriously wrong with you.¡±

    Renato winced. ¡°Not my fault.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow playfully. ¡°I know you can do better than that. I¡¯m not saying he¡¯s weak by any means, but that wasn¡¯t you at your best at all. What happened?¡±

    Renato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He averted his eyes, a tint of a blush surely stolen from Harper¡¯s own painting his face. ¡°Remember when I said there¡¯s only a few things hotter than a woman who can kick my ass?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re married,¡± Octavia deadpanned.

    ¡°I can still appreciate.¡±

    ¡°Okay, who wants to go next?¡± Madrigal asked, utterly immune to Renato¡¯s physical suffering--or emotional.

    ¡°Are you going to fight with anyone else, Harper?¡± River inquired with a smile, somewhat more engrossed than Octavia had expected.

    Harper returned his smile. ¡°If you want to fight, I¡¯ll fight with you. Otherwise, I might take a break for a while.¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m still happy just to spectate. That was really fun to watch, though.¡±

    ¡°I mean, Madrigal, you organized this whole thing. Why don¡¯t you fight?¡± Josiah tried, his arms crossed comfortably.

    Madrigal clasped her hands together behind her back. ¡°Nah, the event coordinator isn¡¯t supposed to participate. I like watching, too.¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°Maybe two guys killing each other is the furthest we¡¯re gonna get, then.¡±

    ¡°I have an idea.¡±

    And it was Viola, of all people present, who fixed Octavia with a smirk just barely caught in the Heartful Maestra¡¯s peripheral vision. Octavia only tilted her head. A spectator as the Ambassador was, she found her name hurtled onto the battlefield anyway.

    ¡°Fight me, Octavia.¡±

 63. Snow Angels and Cherry Blossoms, Part II

    It was, possibly, Octavia¡¯s fault for finding the concept of sparring to be fun. This might¡¯ve been her retribution.

    Viola seemed pleased enough about it, violent offer or not. Octavia stared, mostly. For a moment, she wasn¡¯t sure if she¡¯d heard correctly, and the same endless smirk on Viola''s face was an indication of little otherwise. Apparently, she wasn¡¯t the only one.

    ¡°Wait, seriously?¡± Josiah asked, baffled.

    Madrigal was practically sparkling. ¡°Really, Viola?¡±

    Renato¡¯s best attempts to narrow his eyes were blighted by surprise--and, surely, by the pain that followed the effort. ¡°Hold up, I thought we weren¡¯t supposed to be taking shots at the Ambassador! Why does she get a pass?¡±

    Viola was unfazed by the background input. Her attention rested solely on the Ambassador in question, her smirk still unbending as she crossed her arms over her chest. She shifted her weight onto one foot, tilting her head as she awaited an answer. Octavia gulped.

    ¡°You¡­want to fight with me?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The initial shock of her offer gave way to a delicate panic that came with being flustered. ¡°B-But I don¡¯t want to hurt you! I-I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be very good at fighting like that, either!¡±

    Viola laughed softly. ¡°Not barehanded. We¡¯ll use our instruments.¡±

    That was actually worse. Octavia said as much. ¡°That¡¯s even more dangerous! My light is gonna get you hurt!¡±

    Viola paused for a moment, raising one hand to her mouth in thought. ¡°Can you temper it a bit?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve tried. If I could do it by now, I would. It¡¯s hot. It burns. If it hits you, you¡¯re gonna get hurt.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll use mine, and you just¡­don¡¯t use anything. How about that?¡±

    This was getting ridiculous. ¡°How is that fair?¡±

    Viola grinned. ¡°Trust me. I won¡¯t let you get hurt. It¡¯ll still be a fair fight. It''s good practice, too.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I don¡¯t know about this.¡±

    ¡°Actually, I¡¯m dying to see this one,¡± Harper murmured with a grin of his own.

    Renato nodded in agreement. ¡°Same, honestly.¡±

    Octavia sighed. Now there was an obligation tethered to this, too. She really, really hoped Viola knew what she was doing. The last time she''d faced a Harmonial Instrument barehanded had nearly ended in total disaster. To make the same decision again--and of her own accord--was mildly horrifying.

    ¡°Save me,¡± she muttered to River.

    There was something about the clarity of his gentle laugh that was slowly growing on her. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not interested. I finally get to see the Ambassador in action. I¡¯ll cheer for you, don¡¯t worry.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s literally the opposite of saving me.¡±

    Viola wasn¡¯t even giving her a chance to fully process the idea. Somewhere in the midst of Octavia''s pleading, Silver Brevada had already found its way into scheming Soulful hands, shimmering beneath the autumn sunshine. Viola escaped her beloved shade, for once, delving into the warmth of the day in full as it crashed against her skin with love. She caught Octavia¡¯s nervous eyes, pulling the girl along with her own wordlessly. Octavia groaned, briefly entertaining the idea of pleading her way out of wherever this was going.

    It was with reluctant footsteps that she took her place opposite Viola, allowing herself a substantially more sizable gap than what Renato and Harper had adopted. It hardly mattered, given that Viola was already in the process of making it larger--and larger, and larger, and larger still. Every step she took backwards was even more confusing, widening their distance to such an extent that the Soulful Maestra was starting to shrink in her vision. Octavia raised an eyebrow. Viola, in turn, raised Silver Brevada.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she finally asked.

    ¡°You try to get over here, and I¡¯ll push you back,¡± Viola clarified, an effort that necessitated raising her distant voice somewhat. ¡°If you can take Silver Brevada from me, you win.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Do I¡­have a time limit?¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°Only until you give up, which you better not.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean I¡¯m guaranteed to win?¡±

    Viola only smiled brighter. ¡°Are you?¡±

    Even now, the prior mental image of enraged wind bruising her defenseless body was making Octavia mildly paranoid. ¡°And you¡¯re sure you¡¯re not gonna hurt me?¡±

    Again, Viola shook her head. ¡°I promise. One of us is a lot less dangerous than the other.¡±

    Octavia scoffed. ¡°Liar. You¡¯re a complete and total liar. I¡¯ve seen what you can do firsthand.¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°When I want to. Different story entirely.¡±

    ¡°Are we placing bets again?¡± Josiah asked.

    Harper had settled in comfortably next to River, pulling his knees up to his chest with a smile. ¡°You already know who I¡¯m betting on. My fearless leader¡¯s got it covered.¡±

    River chuckled. ¡°No offense to Viola, but I don¡¯t feel right betting on anyone besides the Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°I mean, she handled the barehanded thing surprisingly well last time,¡± Josiah said. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll do great again. I¡¯m all in on Octavia.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Please don¡¯t bring that up.¡±

    Viola only blinked. ¡°Wait, what do you mean ¡®last time¡¯?¡±

    The opposite party of the ¡°last time¡± in question was wholly immune to the implications of Josiah¡¯s words, instead clapping her hands together with delight once more. ¡°You can do it, Octavia! Show us the true power of the mighty Ambassador!¡±

    ¡°Not all of us bet out of spite,¡± Renato called with a hint of hostility. ¡°Show her what you¡¯ve got, braids!¡±

    Viola scowled. ¡°It wasn¡¯t out of spite, you idiot! I already knew he could fight!¡±

    ¡°Liar!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s face fell. ¡°Wait, nobody¡¯s cheering on Viola? That¡¯s not fair. I don¡¯t¡­want to be cheered for just because I¡¯m the Ambassador.¡±

    To her surprise, Viola only gave her a gentle smile. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m betting on you, too.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Nervous or not, she couldn¡¯t fight a smile of her own.

    Silver Brevada brushed against Viola¡¯s lips without further hesitation. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Not particularly. Still, if it was what Viola wanted, she¡¯d at least give it a shot. ¡°R-Ready!¡±

    Even tethered to what was a concerning idea, her shrill notes and trills were as crystalline and beautiful as ever. They didn¡¯t come with ice this time, to Octavia¡¯s utter shock. Instead, what swirled forth and threatened her path was far from impermeable. In a strange way, it was almost nostalgic. For once, Octavia got her turn with snow.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­new,¡± Josiah observed aloud.

    In that quantity, she supposed. Hail was the closest Viola had ever gotten to anything so much as vaguely resembling a snowball, her flickering and fluttering snowflakes otherwise the only alternative. Now, instead, Octavia was greeted with both of the latter, the jarring juxtaposition of the flurry beneath the autumn sun stunning enough that she was outright distracted.

    It wasn¡¯t accompanied with quite the sharpened fervor of the blizzards she¡¯d seen Viola breathe life into before, particularly given the razor-sharp crystals that usually laid in wait between the relentless storms. Still, it was enough to coagulate, once again reminding Octavia of her own tactic of accumulating excess light about herself as necessary. That, too, she¡¯d seen Viola adopt in the past--albeit under more harrowing circumstances and harboring far more hostile intent. She wondered if Viola realized exactly how many stray snowflakes were getting tangled in her hair. It was pretty enough that she declined to point it out.

    That left her with, ultimately, an absurd amount of snow that far surpassed what the Ambassador would¡¯ve once expected from Viola¡¯s lungs. If it was easier to make, it made enough sense. Viola did have a point--undoubtedly, snow was less lethal than ice.

    When Viola only stared her down patiently, Octavia tilted her head. The sight of Viola¡¯s shoulders moving slightly with the efforts of restraining a laugh were enough permission. Octavia smiled, she braced, and--against her better judgment--she ran. It was just snow.

    ¡°Just snow¡± hit a lot harder than she thought it would. It didn¡¯t hurt, to be fair. Still, it was more than enough to knock her off of her feet. Whatever force Viola had put behind her carefully-crafted snowballs wasn''t gentle with her as they slammed into her stomach, blasting her backwards on her first earnest approach. Octavia had hardly made a dent in the gap, at least a solid ten seconds-worth of sprinting awaiting her overall.

    It took a little less than two of those for her body to meet the grass, a clumped duo of compacted snowballs enough to bar her path and splatter her dress with chilling white. Octavia groaned, more from surprise than pain. The sudden cold didn¡¯t help, nor did the reactionary commentary from her unfortunately-gathered audience.

    She pushed herself to her feet, doing what she could to assess exactly how much snow Viola had managed to manifest adjacent to herself. In the time it took her to stand up, she could¡¯ve sworn there were even more clumps of vicious slush--somewhere around thirty, varying between the size of her fist to far larger than her head. Octavia gulped. Even so, she tried again, willing herself to move ever faster as her boots plunged deep into the grass below.

    She wanted to believe she¡¯d made it the slightest bit further, at least, before she was once again assailed in the exact same place on her body. In fact, she got a bonus, an extra assault of fluffy, compacted snow barreling straight into her chest. This time, to her chagrin, the impact with the ground was somewhat painful--if not solely due to the distance by which she was repelled. As to whether or not Viola was aware that it hurt, Octavia was unsure. She was starting to see why this was going to be a problem.

    From her uncomfortable position sprawled out on the ground, Octavia raised her head slightly. Sure enough, the splotches of scattered white that painted the grass unwillingly were somewhat further out than those which had rolled off her dress on her initial approach. They served as solid markers of her distance, at least, if nothing else. Pushing herself back to her feet once more, Octavia prayed that each clump of snow wouldn¡¯t burst against her even harder every time she moved closer. Her body didn¡¯t particularly want an actual repeat of the Lyra situation.

    Octavia tried yet again, her body low to the ground as she sprinted. She could still mostly see the trajectory of Viola¡¯s attacks as she ran, even if the velocity of each snowball was difficult to track with her eyes. When the next one approached, hurtling towards her on a collision course with her chest once more, it was by sheer luck that she dodged. It took a wobbly sidestep to escape its path, the sound of chilly fluff scattering across the open field behind her a testament to a close call.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t as lucky with the second snowy assault. Once again, she was on the ground. She rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Just run faster,¡± she heard Harper tease distantly.

    Octavia frowned. ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Even so, on her feet again, she was definitely closer. She hadn¡¯t been repelled nearly as far versus before, despite her slightly impeded progress. There was a brief moment where she contemplated going all-out, forcing herself to absorb blow after blow and pick herself up again before Viola could react. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    That, ultimately, would come down to minimizing her recovery time between being knocked down and returning to a full sprint. This distance still warranted a solid eight more seconds of total acceleration. Annoying at best and painful at worst, it was worth a shot.

    With a slight bounce on her heels in preparation, Octavia took off, resolving to dodge whatever hits she could and endure those she couldn¡¯t. Viola¡¯s aim would surely improve as she drew nearer--a fact she wasn¡¯t ignorant to by any means. She kept her head low, her body following suit in the hopes that throwing her to the dirt would be trickier for Viola to accomplish.

    Octavia dodged one, two, three of them that passed her by far too close for comfort. They were never quite aimed at her face, which she greatly appreciated. The fourth grazed her, her elbow clipping a chunk of accelerating snow in such a way that her arm was jerked backwards in turn. She nearly stumbled. As such, it was the fifth one that did her in, punctuated by the sixth for good measure.

    Octavia put everything she had into tensing her lower legs, fighting to weigh herself down enough to resist the inevitable backslide that came with such force against her body. The sharp sting of cold against her skin, even through her clothes, was a distraction that served as an equal annoyance. The quantity of snow that had ended up coating her as it burst free was, admittedly, somewhat heavy in its own right. It took a significant amount of effort for her to shake it off. That in itself was enough to warrant the grunt of discomfort that came with a seventh clump of snow crashing down on top of her stomach.

    She wasn¡¯t sure what was worse--being blasted backwards, or being pinned to the ground by the most harmless fluff to ever leave Silver Brevada¡¯s body. The not-so-distant sound of Viola laughing at whatever look was on Octavia¡¯s face was somewhere between endearing and highly agitating.

    Octavia¡¯s flailing, humiliating as it was, was at least enough to escape the weight of white that peppered her dress and slid unceremoniously into the grass. It spared her the fury of an eighth snowball smashing into her chilled body in the span of a minute--although it had taken what little reflexes she¡¯d possessed to successfully evade the collision. While not overly significant, enough sleet had slipped into her boots that freezing moisture was beginning to seep through her socks. It was miserable in a way that was motivating, in the sense that she very much wanted to be done with snow. Octavia loathed the wet, squishing sensation inside of her boots as she ran once more.

    She stopped counting what flew at or past her in favor of focusing exclusively on avoiding their respective impacts. It was by no means getting easier with every pounding footstep, the sound of Viola¡¯s soft projectiles ripping through the air adjacent to her limbs all too close for comfort. There wasn¡¯t room to actually sweat, either from exertion or the woes of concentration. Enough of a chill had taken care of that long ago, and Octavia compensated instead with the sheer warmth of the blood rushing through her ears. Ever so slowly, even with her path as impeded by the false assault of winter as it was, she was getting closer and closer. Octavia got hit. She fell. She got up. She repeated.

    No longer was she being pushed back. She''d more or less managed to get the general concept of resisting the knockback that came with impact. Even when Viola changed her tactics somewhat, pelting her in the knees and bombarding the soft patches of earth where her feet would next fall, Octavia still managed to either limit herself to a harsh stumble or recover from a fall relatively quickly. Silver Brevada¡¯s song grew louder, yet another indicator of her steady progress. As irritating as aspects of this endeavor were, Viola¡¯s frigid melody was beautiful enough that it compensated for her troubles somewhat.

    She¡¯d expected Viola to be more fearful, more apprehensive, and perhaps distressed over her impending defeat as Octavia stared her down. Even with the remainder of Viola¡¯s snow raining upon her in excess, her carefully-developed method of salvaging and maintaining her forward movement wasn¡¯t failing. Viola was no longer a dot on the horizon that was the sunny plain. She was a royal blue target that rapidly entered Octavia¡¯s own field of attack, one hand outstretched preemptively to snatch a weapon that tormented her with snowy annoyance.

    Octavia didn¡¯t have to lunge. Viola wasn¡¯t fast. She¡¯d long since admitted it herself. The Soulful Maestra, even now, was laughing, turning sharply on one heel as she made the most feeble attempt to flee Octavia had ever seen.

    ¡°Cheater!¡± Octavia cried, although not without a smile she couldn¡¯t suppress.

    Whatever tiny quantities of snow Viola still held in reserve were abandoned the moment the flute left her lips, splattering gracelessly against the grass below with a slushy splash. Her flats had little traction, and she nearly slipped of her own accord in her best attempts to outrun the Ambassador--nearly four times faster than her, at least. She yelped at the sight of Octavia¡¯s oncoming approach, stopping just somewhat short of a scream.

    ¡°I¡¯m not cheating!¡± she called, laughing all the while.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to move! You can¡¯t just change the rules!¡±

    ¡°I just said you had to get Silver Brevada! I never said I couldn¡¯t--¡±

    It hardly mattered. Octavia got Silver Brevada anyway. She took the entire Maestra attached to the instrument along with it, actually, tackling her mercilessly to the grass as Viola cried out in surprise. Part of her was thankful for the way that neither of them hit their heads in the process of her doing so. The other part of her had to curb the mild embarrassment that came with ending up on top of Viola, the Soulful girl pinned beneath her without escape.

    Her dangling braids brushed against Viola¡¯s cheeks as the latter neared hysterics, laughing and giggling hard enough that Octavia could hardly help but do the same. Even with one hand on Silver Brevada, the quantity of laughter had her weak enough that she couldn¡¯t quite bring herself to forcibly pry it out of the girl¡¯s hand.

    Octavia was distantly aware of the cheering, accompanied somewhat by whichever Maestro was bold enough to be taunting Viola in turn. She had a vague idea as to which one it was. It was irrelevant, and Viola¡¯s captivating smile was her top priority. Octavia beamed. If this was enough to make Viola so happy, then it was worth her suffering.

    Viola physically needed to wipe the tears out of the corners of her eyes post-hysterics before she could speak. ¡°Nicely done, Miss Ambassador. I knew you could do it.¡±

    Octavia was still having trouble stifling her giggles. ¡°Why would you pick a fight you knew you¡¯d lose?¡±

    Viola grinned. ¡°Because it was fun.¡±

    Despite her initial apprehensions, Octavia didn¡¯t particularly disagree. She sat up on her heels, releasing her grip on Silver Brevada as it flopped loosely back into Viola¡¯s palm. With her other hand, she delicately tugged on Viola¡¯s own.

    ¡°You know, snow still hurts if it hits you fast enough,¡± she complained as she pulled Viola to her feet.

    ¡°Maybe if you were better at not getting hit, you wouldn¡¯t have to worry about that,¡± the Maestra teased.

    ¡°Great job,¡± Josiah offered, his voice softening somewhat as they made their return from their sunny, snow-splattered battlefield. ¡°Knew you could do it. No offense, Viola.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°None taken.¡±

    ¡°Would¡¯ve been way cooler if you brought Stradivaria, not gonna lie,¡± Renato admitted. ¡°Still, awesome stuff.¡±

    Octavia winced at the thought. ¡°Somebody would¡¯ve gotten hurt.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and it would¡¯ve been cool.¡±

    Viola narrowed her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll hurt you.¡±

    Renato smirked. ¡°I¡¯m up for another fight, you know.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to get humiliated twice in one day, I promise,¡± she hissed.

    ¡°You ever fought someone before? Like, fought fought? With your bare hands?¡±

    She flushed. ¡°I mean, no, but if Harper can learn from scratch, then so can I, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Renato raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re gonna learn enough to fight me?¡±

    ¡°Apparently, it¡¯s not that hard to beat you,¡± she jeered harshly. He flinched.

    Octavia laughed. Only now was the slightest hint of fatigue beginning to settle in, the discomfort of her wet socks clinging to her toes renewed with each conscious step. As fun as the ordeal was, it was equally as exhausting. It was the sound of soft, nearly-inaudible clapping that caught her attention, not so distant from the center of the action.

    ¡°Spectacular work, Ambassador,¡± River praised with gentle applause.

    She smiled down at him, still highly comfortable in his spectator seating as he was. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­think that was the best indicator of what I¡¯m capable of. I wouldn¡¯t judge anything based on that.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I know, but it was still fun to watch. I¡¯m just as interested to see you side by side with¡­Stradivaria, was it?¡±

    His warm presence was just as inviting as the plush, available patch of grass beside him, and she took up refuge in the shade at his side in equal measure. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m happy that you remembered, actually. And yours is, uh¡­Rene¡­gadria, right?¡±

    River smiled gently. ¡°Correct. I¡¯m surprised that you remembered, too.¡±

    ¡°I might have a hard time remembering what Harmonial Instruments everyone is gonna have, but I¡­feel like I should at least try, as the Ambassador. Is that a weird goal to have?¡±

    River tilted his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s weird at all. If anything, that¡¯s very noble of you. Do you remember all of your friends¡¯ instruments?¡±

    Octavia raised one pointed finger, her focus wandering in turn over each Maestro before her--including those still bickering. ¡°Silver Brevada. Mistral Asunder. Lyra¡¯s Repose. Royal Orleans.¡±

    As to the latter, she hadn¡¯t even realized Harper had gotten up until she¡¯d bothered to identify his partner¡¯s alias. Distantly, she could see him putting his hands on Viola¡¯s shoulders, stealing her attention away from Renato. She didn¡¯t even want to know.

    ¡°That¡¯s impressive,¡± River praised once more.

    ¡°We had Etherion for a bit, but not anymore,¡± she continued. ¡°Broken Bliss, too, but that one wasn¡¯t really with us. It¡¯s not so hard to remember the ones you see all the time.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°I could understand that. I can definitely say the same about the rest of the Ensemble, too. They¡¯re a bit more¡­upstanding than your party, though.¡±

    Octavia stifled a laugh. River winced, gesturing hastily with his hands. ¡°I-I''m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean it like that,¡± he apologized profusely.

    She didn¡¯t bother holding it in anymore. ¡°No, no, you¡¯re completely right. They¡¯re a mess. We¡¯re all a mess. I like that they¡¯re a mess, though.¡±

    River pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. ¡°I kind of wish the Ensemble would do things like this, to be honest. Usually, when we spar, it¡¯s much more¡­structured. You guys seem like you have a lot of fun together. I¡¯m impressed by how close all of you are, too. You seem to know one another¡¯s talents pretty well.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t inclined to disagree. ¡°We all met by coincidence, really. It¡¯s funny to think about. We¡­didn¡¯t really meet all that long ago, but I have trouble imagining being without them, at this point.¡±

    ¡°Move your arms back a bit,¡± she could hear Harper instruct from afar.

    ¡°They are back.¡±

    ¡°No, like, move your shoulders, too,¡± he corrected, adjusting Viola¡¯s awkward posture gently.

    ¡°You guys talk like you¡¯ve known each other for a whole lot longer than that,¡± River said softly. ¡°Part of me doesn¡¯t believe you.¡±

    Octavia giggled. ¡°I have trouble believing it sometimes, too.¡±

    ¡°Is it supposed to hurt?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. Relax your muscles a bit. You¡¯re not gonna get anywhere if you¡¯re that tense.¡±

    Harper¡¯s repeated pushing and pulling on every part of Viola¡¯s body, apparently, did little to faze her--despite how much it confused Octavia. The pose it left her in, odd as it was to see her wear, was far less threatening than the Maestra surely would¡¯ve liked it to be.

    ¡°You¡¯re always welcome to hang out with us, if you want,¡± Octavia offered.

    River¡¯s eyes seemed to widen in the absolute slightest, even if his words were equally as steady. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to intrude.¡±

    Octavia shook her head with a gentle grin. ¡°We¡¯d love to have you. None of us would mind, I promise. If you¡¯re ever lonely, you can always spend time with us. If that¡¯s¡­too much, then you can always spend time with me. I¡¯ll be here.¡±

    At those words, his voice did fill with soft happiness. ¡°I¡­wouldn¡¯t be opposed to getting to know the Ambassador more, especially strategically.¡±

    Octavia scoffed with a smirk. ¡°Okay, from one leader to another, not everything has to be business. If you ever want to just have fun together, that¡¯s an option, too. Or¡­even if you just want to talk.¡±

    River''s delicate smile did the talking, just as spirited as the boy who bore it to her. Octavia¡¯s heart sang.

    ¡°Okay, now hit me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna hurt you!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna hurt me,¡± Harper assured with a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ll be alright. Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Like¡­just punch you?¡±

    ¡°Like I showed you. It¡¯s okay, just do your best.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m having second thoughts about this,¡± Viola whined.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°About earlier, I¡­I hope you know that there¡¯s people who really do value you, even if you don¡¯t know it. I can¡¯t talk you out of doing whatever it is that you want to do, but I just want you to know that your life is precious.¡±

    River rested his head against his knees. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t think it is. I know there¡¯s people that care about me in their own way, too. This is just what I¡¯m supposed to do. That¡¯s why I have what I have, and why I can do what I do. I want to make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°Please, just¡­be careful,¡± Octavia pleaded quietly. ¡°We haven¡¯t known each other for long, but I care about you, too. Make sure to take care of yourself.¡±

    He blinked slowly. ¡°Spoken like a true Ambassador. Again, I¡¯m honored.¡±

    ¡°Hit me!¡±

    ¡°But Harper--¡±

    ¡°Hit me!¡± Harper repeated with a laugh, his smile betraying the severity of his command.

    ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°Do it!¡±

    It was his fault. He got exactly what he wanted in the worst way, Viola¡¯s sloppily-concocted fist bashing surprisingly hard straight into his teeth. Harper''s head jerked backwards sharply, and he groaned in pain. Madrigal outright screamed. Josiah¡¯s snickering was just as brutal.

    ¡°Daaaaamn, Vi!¡± Renato cried with a far-too-elated grin, arms aloft in delight.

    Octavia winced on Harper¡¯s behalf. River did much the same. ¡°On second thought, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯d get a whole lot out of our little mess,¡± Octavia muttered.

    River laughed, the clear and peaceful sound she was growing to enjoy greeting her ears happily once more. ¡°I¡¯m sure whatever I get would be more than enough.¡±

    ¡°I meant, like, in the stomach,¡± Harper clarified, his words strained and tight in the wake of his pain.

    The horror in Viola¡¯s eyes as his hands settled gently over her own was almost comical. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say that? I didn¡¯t know! I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    ¡°Do it again!¡± Renato cheered.

    Between the commotion that came with the ¡°mess¡± she¡¯d come to love and the soft laughter not unlike that of sweet chimes at her side, Octavia couldn¡¯t help but be drawn in by the latter. The constraints of time had never stopped her from developing friendships that would last her a lifetime. She didn¡¯t know him well, not beyond the ominous barrier of his leadership position or the captivating songs that his partner sang to her.

    Still, there was a gentleness behind the rich tides that gazed into her own eyes and the delicate laughter that she relished drawing out of him. It was true that, as the Ambassador, she was more than obligated to give him her attention in a strategic partnership for the good of their mutual goal. Regardless, he was just as human as she was, his legacy undoubtedly a testament to the real River beneath the surface.

    Watching him smile was nice. Even at the cost of doubling up on the quantity of Spirited Maestros in her ¡°inner circle¡±, it was surely the Ambassador¡¯s privilege to make an exception.

 64. One Step Forward

    River¡¯s little cottage was somewhat more spacious than her own, although she could largely chalk that up to the lack of Maestros crowding into one structure simultaneously. It hardly mattered. It was her fault for stealing that singular plus from him, given the way they¡¯d all somehow managed to make themselves comfortable at once.

    They were a collective party of ten shoveled into one cozy room--too cozy, really, relative to the close proximity they¡¯d ended up in within the confines of the salon. For the life of her, Octavia couldn¡¯t figure out why he¡¯d insisted on meeting inside rather than in one of the many, many, many spacious and open natural areas of the settlement. A bit of sunshine had never killed anybody--save for maybe Viola.

    ¡°How many tolls have you witnessed?¡± River asked calmly.

    She¡¯d already answered this question once, although she was still somewhat confused as to how to word it correctly. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­witnessed all of the tolls for seven Harmonial Instruments. I haven¡¯t counted how many individual tolls it took between all of them combined.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°And as to guiding any of them?¡±

    ¡°Two,¡± Octavia answered.

    ¡°You¡­witnessed seven, but you only guided two?¡± Francisco interrupted. ¡°How did that work?¡±

    Octavia shifted in her seat. ¡°I witnessed all of ours. If something happens, I can let them go whenever I want. I would¡¯ve had to see their tolls eventually, so I just¡­got them over with.¡±

    Francisco raised an eyebrow. ¡°And the Muses just¡­agreed to that?¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to nod. ¡°They said they¡¯ll stay until we¡¯re done. We need all the help we can get. It¡¯d be tricky to do this without¡­well, being a Maestra.¡±

    ¡°That makes enough sense,¡± River said. ¡°At the very least, that¡¯s seven less to worry about in terms of tolls alone. By comparison, guiding is the easy part, I¡¯d assume.¡±

    She smiled. ¡°I completely agree.¡±

    ¡°Forty-seven, right?¡± Josiah asked, the room slowly flooding with the sound of relentless lead scratching innocent paper.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± River said.

    He pointed the eraser end of his pencil at the Spirited boy lazily. ¡°What are you gonna do when you run out? That still leaves quite a few to find.¡±

    ¡°We know where more of them are that don¡¯t live in Tacell,¡± Briar spoke on River¡¯s behalf. ¡°There¡¯s a handful in Selbright alone. The rest are scattered around Mezzoria. We couldn¡¯t exactly convince them to pack up their lives and move out into the middle of nowhere.¡±

    ¡°Looks like you¡¯re getting run over after all,¡± Harper teased, elbowing Josiah playfully.

    The smooth leather of Josiah¡¯s journal overhead was only slightly blunted by the fabric of Harper''s cap, the sudden harsh impact still more than enough to draw a yelp of pain. Octavia smirked. He deserved it, slightly.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to travel to them ourselves?¡± Viola clarified on the tail end of Harper¡¯s implications--jeering as they¡¯d been.

    River shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. We¡¯ll find a way to get them here, temporarily or otherwise. We won¡¯t waste time dragging the Ambassador all over the continent.¡±

    ¡°Plus, it¡¯s kind of dangerous,¡± Francisco added with a wince. ¡°Gonna be hard to completely ensure her safety if we¡¯re all over the place like that. At least here, we¡¯re good.¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°I can stay safe. I can protect myself, I promise.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that we don¡¯t trust you,¡± River specified quickly. ¡°We just need to be as careful about this as possible. We can¡¯t afford for anything to happen to you.¡±

    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going to happen to me,¡± she argued.

    ¡°Could you, like, please count how many times we¡¯ve almost died in the past two months?¡± Renato muttered. ¡°Because I think it¡¯s definitely over ten, at this point.¡±

    Octavia glared at him, detrimental to her case as he was. He shrugged innocently.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Madrigal tried with a bright smile. ¡°If all of the Maestros come here instead, that leaves you with lots more time to concentrate on letting the Muses go. We¡¯ll be all done even sooner!¡±

    Octavia fished for a smile of her own in response, settling on something weak but true. ¡°I suppose. I¡¯ll¡­do whatever you guys think is best.¡±

    ¡°So, how many do you know of outside of Tacell, then?¡± Josiah prompted once more. Again, his journal had transformed from a weapon of aggravation back into a tool of balanced agendas.

    ¡°Twenty-three,¡± River said.

    Josiah scratched away at the paper for a moment quietly. ¡°Nineteen. That leaves nineteen Maestros unaccounted for.¡±

    Briar nodded. ¡°We have a plan for that, too. The gift of the Soulful is extremely powerful, if used correctly. In conjunction with my Apex, we¡¯ll be able to track the rest of them down one by one.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Across Mezzoria? That far?¡±

    He smiled. ¡°Once you get used to the feeling, it gets easier to follow. It gets stronger, and you can feel it further and further. You¡¯re Soulful, too, right?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yeah. I¡­haven¡¯t used my gift that often, though.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get accustomed to it with more practice. Eventually, you should be able to sense Maestros from much greater distances. You¡¯d be a huge help, if you wanted to assist.¡±

    Viola sat up straight, nearly kicking Octavia in the process as she stiffened on the couch. ¡°I-I¡¯d love to! I¡¯ll do whatever I can to--¡±

    ¡°Seventeen.¡±

    His math had changed, interrupting as it was. All eyes fell to the boy who¡¯d long since stopped writing, instead staring blankly into lead-lined pages he¡¯d so carefully filled.

    Viola cocked her head. ¡°What?¡±

    Josiah inhaled slowly, exhaling much the same as he rolled his pencil between his fingers. ¡°Seventeen. There¡¯s¡­seventeen unaccounted for. I made a mistake.¡±

    River eyed him with caution. ¡°What¡­do you mean?¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes as he spoke, taking yet another full deep breath. ¡°There are¡­two Harmonial Instruments that we know the location of. One has a Maestro. One doesn¡¯t. One of them is¡­going to be extremely difficult to get to.¡±

    Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it.

    She really, really did not want to throw up on the carpet. The cottage was too pristine for that. Her budding impression as the Ambassador was still too fragile for that. Octavia''s heart was already pounding.

    ¡°Which ones?¡± Briar pressed.

    Josiah still declined to open his eyes with each word, tilting his head towards the floor somewhat. ¡°They go by Valkyrie¡¯s Call and Seraphim¡¯s Call, respectively. They¡¯re stationary. You literally can¡¯t miss them, I promise, and they¡¯re not going anywhere anytime soon. The former is¡­viable, technically, with some effort. There¡¯s a bit of a barrier to getting to it, but nothing impossible.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t want to be talking about this. Why were they talking about this? If she got up and left, would anyone care? Could they talk about it without her, important as it was? It wasn¡¯t as though she needed to actually go there to hear the bell cry out to her, anyway. She was already starting to get a good dose of that right here and now.

    ¡°The latter is going to be a nightmare to access,¡± Josiah continued quietly.

    Sitting perfectly still was absolutely agonizing. She struggled to breathe, or to throw her thoughts anywhere besides his words. Octavia so desperately wished he would stop talking. This was supposed to be her safest place, and he was making it dangerous. He was making it loud. He was making it impossibly loud.

    If she covered her ears right now, would the motion draw too much attention? If she lost her breath in full, would she be questioned all the way through her struggle to get it back? Would they stare at her? Would they ask and pry? They were both stationary, after all. No amount of powerful gifts put to use would bring them to her waiting hands. Would she have to go back? She didn¡¯t want to go back. She didn¡¯t want to go back. She didn¡¯t want to go back.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    Her terrified eyes snapped upwards, clinging to anything that wasn¡¯t Josiah¡¯s voice. The one she found was soft and firm all the same, weaving its way skillfully between the bells. Even across the room, reclined and relaxed as he was, Octavia¡¯s confidant locked eyes with her and refused to let go.

    ¡°Maybe we should sweat the small stuff first,¡± Renato offered softly. ¡°Save the trickier stuff for later. Let¡¯s worry about the things we can deal with right here and now. Shove that one¡­off to the side for a bit and come back to it.¡±

    His words were meant for Josiah, and still he refused to tear his gaze from hers. Even as he crossed his legs and arms comfortably, unhurried and composed, his gentle focus still lingered on Octavia alone. Renato mouthed her name in silence. She mouthed his back. Again. Again.

    If Josiah had qualms with Renato¡¯s interruption, he didn¡¯t show it. Instead, he tilted his head back with a sigh. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s fair. Cross that bridge when we get to it. Just¡­keep it in mind, I guess.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d recommend starting with the ones here,¡± River said. ¡°There¡¯s a handful that either shouldn¡¯t be Maestros or don¡¯t want to be Maestros. There¡¯s a few of them in Selbright, too. At the very least, those are easy to get to.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®shouldn¡¯t be¡¯?¡± Harper asked. ¡°Not wanting to be a Maestro, I can understand, but¡­¡®shouldn¡¯t¡¯?¡±

    River, too, sighed. ¡°Too young. Too sick. Too frail. There are some Muses that weren¡¯t very¡­picky about their partners, and the burden that fell on those Maestros as a result was severe. They don¡¯t leave until they absolutely have to, right up until their Maestro can¡¯t play anymore. Otherwise, there¡¯s not a whole lot else that matters.¡±

    Harper winced. ¡°I knew a young Maestro once. He¡¯s not one anymore, thankfully, but I was honestly surprised he became a Maestro at his age. I was surprised there wasn¡¯t a limit. For him to have to pay tolls on top of that was¡­cruel. He¡¯s just a kid.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where having the Ambassador around could do a lot of good,¡± Francisco reassured. ¡°It¡¯s one way she could help immediately. Even just one person at a time would be a huge blessing. There¡¯s no rush. Once we go through all of those, we can move on to something else.¡±

    ¡°Has everyone here paid their tolls?¡± Madrigal asked. For a question so heavy, the calmness with which she said it was vehemently jarring.

    It was Mint, of all people, who nodded. Again, Briar filled in the blanks for her. ¡°We checked. Of the ones in Tacell, everyone has, at this point--ourselves included. As to how many tolls for each person, we¡¯re not actually sure. At the very least, you won¡¯t have to worry about that.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t really have a set schedule for all of this,¡± Francisco admitted. ¡°It¡¯s mostly at your leisure. Like we said, we don¡¯t know how many tolls there are to deal with, so pace yourself. Don¡¯t get burned out. If this takes weeks, it takes weeks. If this takes months, it takes months. If it takes longer than that, so be it. Right, River?¡±

    River smiled. ¡°There¡¯s no rush. This is more of a framework. If you have any ideas as to how to make this all go smoother, we¡¯re always listening. We all want whatever works best for you.¡±

    Octavia''s best attempts to feign a smile in response were completely and utterly in vain. She gave up quickly. ¡°I-I appreciate it. I¡¯ll¡­do my best. I hope it doesn¡¯t take too long.¡±

    Francisco shrugged, relaxing into his seat somewhat as he stretched. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s partially on us, too. It¡¯s our fault if we take too long dragging more Maestros here. We¡¯re just as at risk of holding you up. We¡¯ll try to deliver as best as we can with what we¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°Can I ask something?¡± Viola interrupted. He nodded.

    Given his preceding sentence, Octavia was genuinely surprised it wasn¡¯t related to her gift again. ¡°Is there¡­any danger in Tacell? You know, in terms of Dissonance?¡±

    Briar shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ve never actually seen any out here--at least, not in the time the four of us have lived here. We¡¯ve been lucky. Here¡¯s hoping it stays that way.¡±

    ¡°Never anything wrong with being prepared, though,¡± River added.

    Viola nodded in turn. ¡°I agree. Still, it¡¯s a bit of a relief to hear.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t even want to put any ideas as to the contrary into the open air. She, too, threw her heart behind believing in the safety and protection of Tacell without question. For a place that was made for her, specifically, she wouldn¡¯t feel right if she didn¡¯t at least do her part to keep it a safe haven.

    ¡°You can start whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± River continued, the same vibrant seafoam entrusted to Octavia once more. ¡°Just let us know, and we¡¯ll¡­set you up with people to start with. It doesn¡¯t have to be today. We¡¯ll always be around, so take your time.¡±

    Octavia nodded weakly. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I might wait until tomorrow to start. Is that okay?¡±

    His familiar smile was a comfort. ¡°Absolutely. Get some rest. As much as you need.¡±

    It had nothing to do with rest. It had everything to do with her inability to get the mental image of the bell that awaited her touch out of her mind. No amount of distraction was eradicating the thought in full, and it flared up repeatedly no matter how many times she struggled to weaponize her mantra. Try as she might, she was thinking about it.

    Under no circumstances could she handle tolls like this. Octavia could hardly handle talking like this. It wasn¡¯t Josiah¡¯s fault--he wasn¡¯t even technically wrong. She wondered if there was a subtle, not at all weird way of seeking time with Renato, given his insistence on being present for her moments of mental crisis. Her head felt like it was going to explode. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Octavia at least opted to wait until she was outside, the setting sun stinging her pupils as she struggled to adjust. She clutched at Stradivaria¡¯s straps around her shoulders for comfort. That, too, did little to ease her worries. Was it better to simply go to Velrose and get it over with? Was it even possible to get it over with in the first place? How long could she put it off for? Could she do them last? Why did he have to ask? Why, right now, did he have to ask?

    Help me.

    Octavia screeched to a halt so quickly that she nearly tripped. Her boots became tangled in the blades of grass that scuffed her soles, and she stumbled somewhat. Stradivaria¡¯s case almost bumped into her head, and she in turn almost bumped into Viola. That wasn¡¯t Stradivaria. She checked.

    Did you hear that?

    What is it?

    You¡­didn¡¯t hear it, then?

    What is it that you heard?

    Octavia tensed. Someone was calling for me, I think.

    Stratos paused. I heard nothing.

    ¡°Is everything okay?¡± Viola asked, still somewhat taken aback after nearly tripping herself.

    ¡°Y-Yeah,¡± Octavia stammered, averting her eyes. ¡°Just¡­almost stepped on something. Sorry.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°Watch your step, then.¡±

    It didn¡¯t happen again--neither losing her balance nor hearing a voice unseen once more. Still, the way two words had snuck their way between the bong of every bell haunting her inside was a miracle. Somehow, ¡°don¡¯t think about it¡± was only her third loudest echo, for once. There was solace to be found in confusion. She inhaled. She exhaled.

    Octavia scanned, at least briefly, with zero success. Beneath the dying day, there was little of note--let alone anyone of note. She¡¯d seen a handful of presumed Maestros out on occasion, largely at complete random. Still, she was fruitless in pinning two syllables to any interlopers in the vicinity. Where once was distress now sat frustration, somewhat. With forty-seven new possible answers, not counting the handful she could already rule out, she¡¯d have her work cut out for her with taking a shot in the dark.

    Octavia sighed. At the very least, this she was fine with thinking about. She thought about it for longer than she was willing to admit.

    <hr>

    There had once been a time when the thought of performing the Witnessing was downright terrifying, enough to make her blood run cold and send jolts of horror down her spine. To find a sense of calm, instead, where she¡¯d previously been petrified almost brought a sense of pride to Octavia¡¯s heart. She wondered if River had been right about a need for basic rest, a single night¡¯s sleep enough to reset the bells and give her a clean slate. She didn¡¯t know what day it was. Tacell didn¡¯t have a church. As such, it didn¡¯t matter one bit.

    It was true that there was no rush, granted. That sentiment had been reiterated enough by the others not long after their prior congregation. For how far they¡¯d come, though, the idea of sitting around and struggling to mentally prepare would surely only bring about more anxiety. If she went slow, if she truly sifted through the remaining eighty-nine Harmonial Instruments one by one, she¡¯d most definitely be fine. There were some that Octavia dared not think about right now. She wished she wouldn¡¯t need to think about them ever.

    That left her with her choice of what was readily available--or River¡¯s choice, rather, a decision she¡¯d opted to place in his hands instead. She¡¯d been offered company, and had accepted it, for once. Her first toll in Tacell, specifically, was at least mildly daunting by virtue of her locale alone. With the Ensemble watching in tandem, it was worse. Faith was there. Really, she had a full audience, an Ambassador under too many watchful eyes to suppress her sweat and stress. Dying was going to be the easy part, provided she could do it correctly.

    It was an oboe. It was actually quite cute. She chalked that up, partially, to the exceedingly shocking stature of the small child who claimed it. With the way she nervously clutched the joints beneath her tiny fingers, she was perhaps the only person more anxious than Octavia.

    ¡°This is Valerie,¡± River introduced. ¡°She¡¯s¡­well, she¡¯s a good first step, if you¡¯re ready.¡±

    The fact that Octavia had to physically bend down to meet the child¡¯s eyes wasn''t a good sign. She crafted the most genuine smile she could, given the unsettling circumstances. She was most definitely younger than Domino, and far frailer.

    ¡°Hi, Valerie, it¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± she offered gently. ¡°My name¡¯s Octavia. I¡¯m the Ambassador.¡±

    The child didn¡¯t return her smile. Still, for as closely as she hugged her instrument to her chest, she at least did what she could to return a greeting. ¡°Hi, Ambassador,¡± she murmured.

    Something about her name being lost beneath her title felt almost uncomfortable. Octavia swallowed the feeling. ¡°I like your hair clip. It¡¯s very pretty.¡±

    The girl, still, withheld the smile Octavia was starting to long for. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Her eyes flickered downwards into the child¡¯s hands. ¡°What¡¯s your partner¡¯s name?¡±

    Valerie shifted in place uncomfortably. ¡°S-Sienna Eternal.¡±

    Even now, Octavia refused to back down from her best shot at beaming. ¡°That¡¯s a really pretty name, too. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re a great partner.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­want to be a Maestra anymore. It¡¯s scary.¡±

    Given her age, Octavia couldn''t even slightly blame the child. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I understand.¡±

    She cast her eyes as subtly as she could to River, straightening up with more effort than was preferable. ¡°Um, what¡¯s her legacy?¡±

    ¡°Soulful.¡±

    And when the answer came from anyone but, Octavia blinked. It took her a moment to turn her head.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Viola tensed. ¡°She¡¯s¡­Soulful.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve met her already?¡±

    The tiny child shook her head, even out of the line of fire of Octavia¡¯s words as she was. Granted, Viola, too, emulated the same motion.

    ¡°Then¡­how do you¡­¡±

    Viola shrugged uncomfortably. ¡°I¡­have a feeling. I just¡­know.¡±

    Octavia peered at River once more. His bright smile was more than welcome, if not somewhat confusing. ¡°No, you¡¯re correct. She¡¯s Soulful.¡±

    A significant number of gazes aside from Octavia¡¯s own trailed to Viola in turn. If Valerie¡¯s followed along, it was surely a byproduct of the atmosphere alone. For how wide with surprise Octavia¡¯s eyes were, Viola¡¯s shock outdid the Ambassador''s own.

    River¡¯s praise was perhaps even more baffling. ¡°Well done.¡±

    Octavia must¡¯ve exchanged glances of astonishment with Viola dozens of times over before it clicked. It hit Octavia first, and her increase in volume was--regretfully--enough to make the tiny Maestra at her side flinch. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    ¡°I-Is that new?¡± Octavia nearly cried.

    Viola shook her head in disbelief. ¡°I don¡¯t know! I¡¯ve never done that before!¡±

    River¡¯s calm demeanor infinitely outdid them both, beaming as he was. ¡°Briar said he was surprised the first time it happened, too. I imagine it¡¯s convenient. I envy it, a bit.¡±

    Viola¡¯s smile was explosive. Octavia adored it.

    ¡°This little one is Soulful, yes,¡± River continued. ¡°We don¡¯t know her very well, personally. I wish I could say otherwise.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s face slowly fell--both secondary to the implications of a soul of ice and her accidental neglect of the situation. Granted, it wasn¡¯t the worst legacy that could besiege the hands of a child so young. Still, it more than explained the fear that accompanied her own power. She didn¡¯t give it more thought than was necessary. The concept of the girl suffering under the weight of such strength was more painful than the concept of her toll. Octavia crouched down in the slightest once again.

    ¡°Do you want to say bye to your partner? We can say bye together so they can go home. Do you want them to go home now?¡±

    Valerie tensed. Octavia was somewhat surprised when the child raised her wide eyes to River instead. He rubbed her head gently, his words equally so.

    ¡°Remember what I said about the Ambassador? She can let Silvestra go home.¡±

    ¡°Will she be mad at me?¡± Valerie whispered.

    River shook his head. ¡°Of course not. She wants to go home, too.¡±

    ¡°Can I go home after?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take you home, don¡¯t worry. It¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    When she turned to face Octavia once more, the glass in her eyes stung to see. Octavia prayed with all of her heart that the child didn¡¯t cry. ¡°Is it gonna hurt?¡±

    She, too, shook her head, albeit far more fervently. ¡°Not at all. You¡¯re not going to feel a thing. Everything is gonna be on me. All I need you to do is hold out your partner. Can you do that?¡±

    Valerie gave a meek nod. With her two little hands, she obliged to the best of her ability, every silver key glistening beautifully as it captured the sun along the way. Octavia¡¯s quest to elicit a single smile was fruitless in the face of fear and uncertainty. Still, she refused to stop trying.

    Octavia straightened up, ignoring the way her knees ached somewhat from kneeling for so long. ¡°You want to go home, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Her words weren''t for the child, but for the Muse that arose from nothing to greet her. Her luster spoke to ceruleans she¡¯d come to associate with confidence, if not arrogance. Of grace, she was plentiful, by striking comparison. It wasn¡¯t her fault that she far outmatched the child''s size. Her otherwise-average stature was highly off-putting in the presence of the tiny partner she¡¯d settled upon. She was slender, soft, as delicate as the snowflakes surely born of her legacy. She was somewhat to be resented, given the kind of Muse who would curse such a small child with such a tremendous burden.

    Her timid bow, then, was almost tainted. ¡°I offer my greetings to the Ambassador. I am Silvestra.¡±

    Octavia found her smile strained. For Valerie¡¯s sake, she struggled to keep it at all, her usual greeting reciprocated instead of words of reproach. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±

    The Ambassador readied her fingers, shockingly still relative to the weight of the task to follow. She almost felt bad for rushing. ¡°Let¡¯s get you on your way. Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±

    She nodded again, apparently unshaken by Octavia¡¯s pacing. ¡°Valerie Hyth, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    The idea of a child having a toll in the first place would never stop being viciously unsettling. If nothing else, it wasn¡¯t three this time. She prayed upon a star that no blood would be spilt on this tiny girl¡¯s hands, trembling as she saw them. It was those terrified fingers that Octavia reassuringly touched first--long before her grace ever fell to that which had cursed the child in the first place. Were it not for the speed of the ¡°fall¡±, she surely would¡¯ve felt the vibrations of the child¡¯s shaking beneath her skin.

    Usually, she would hesitate. It was like Domino, in a way, in that her fears came second to the needs of one far more vulnerable than herself. Absent as they were, for now, it felt easier. Octavia smiled all the way down, any response she could hope for muted by the dark.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    And, in a way, it was easier.

    It was a lot easier, actually.

    Octavia rolled the dice on every single toll she witnessed, every single pair of tragic shoes she stepped into. There was no ¡°good luck¡± or ¡°bad luck¡±, necessarily, for how only death awaited at the end of her many flashes and fragments. Sometimes, it was better to find strangers. As to others, it was better to watch through familiar eyes. Here in Tacell, she would almost definitely encounter the former alone, given the many strangers she was sure to greet in the world of the living.

    There was detachment that came with those she didn¡¯t know, those that couldn''t be claimed by any person near and dear to her. It wasn¡¯t at all that she didn¡¯t care, nor that she didn¡¯t grieve on this girl¡¯s behalf. Ultimately, a toll was a toll, and what the child had seen was surely scarring in every way upon her heart. The ease came not from content alone, emboldened in turn by the knowledge that Octavia was doing something good.

    Perhaps that was what made it feel so quick. It wasn¡¯t painless, by any means--Dissonance never was, unseen or otherwise. It was the first toll she¡¯d encountered in such a way, forced to piece together a conclusion by context alone. Her stranger¡¯s relationship to this child was perhaps just as obscure, although familial ties were a given. Octavia could hear the screeching. She could see the stumbling. She could infer the dizziness, the fatigue, the average manifestation of what would masquerade in every way as a vicious illness.

    She¡¯d never seen a death by Dissonance alone, although she¡¯d known it to be possible with prolonged exposure. Octavia wondered what a passerby would¡¯ve thought when they found her stranger. She wondered what this child would¡¯ve thought when she learned of the news. She wondered if this little Maestra had ever pieced the puzzle together in the first place, whether firsthand in the aftermath or otherwise. Octavia wondered if it hurt. Josiah hadn¡¯t fully given her the chance to find out last time, her minor contact in a ruined home somewhat enough of an indicator.

    It could¡¯ve been a worse end. Really, it was one of her simplest yet. To see this girl¡¯s happiness snatched away by that which went unseen instead burned. For her sake, Octavia resolved to hold what happiness she had found as close to her heart as she could, even long after the toll had concluded. There were plenty of smiles in here, at least.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was the most peaceful she¡¯d ever come up. It really and truly was getting easier. With certainty, this wasn''t the time for pride, and yet Octavia felt aglow with something she couldn¡¯t place. A small part of her, too, was satisfied with the shred of grace she¡¯d managed to cling to as the Ambassador, her audience enraptured by every motion of her grotesque ceremony. It wasn¡¯t as though they¡¯d know if she messed up, to be fair.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t so bad, was it?¡± Octavia reassured softly, the same smile still settled on her lips forever.

    Valerie shook her head, her partner¡¯s body jostling somewhat in her little palms as she did so.

    Octavia raised her attention high. ¡°Are you¡­ready, then?¡±

    The Soulful Muse nodded. Even now, she didn¡¯t question Octavia¡¯s urgency. There was a part of Octavia that wondered if she cared at all. She didn¡¯t dare entertain it. ¡°At your leisure, Ambassador. Know that I am in your debt, as are we all.¡±

    Again did Octavia return to the child¡¯s level, forsaking her knees in the process. ¡°Do you have anything you want to say to your partner before she goes home? Now¡¯s the time to say bye.¡±

    Valerie hesitated. Her own little eyes trailed upwards slowly, wide and fearful even now. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she murmured. ¡°I wasn¡¯t a good partner for you.¡±

    The Muse tilted her head. ¡°You were a wonderful partner, my child. I am sorry that I have granted you such a heavy burden. It was¡­not my intent.¡±

    Octavia wished she could believe more in the Muse¡¯s words. The girl could hardly stretch her still-growing fingers all the way across each key. If Valerie had the same discontent, it didn¡¯t show one bit. Octavia continued to pray, and pray, and pray with all of her heart for the child¡¯s tears to remain at bay. Domino¡¯s own had already broken her heart enough.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t play with you very much,¡± Valerie said sadly. ¡°Are you mad at me?¡±

    ¡°I could never be,¡± the Muse reassured. ¡°I am grateful for the concern you have given to my soul. You will surely grow to suit your legacy, with so lovely a soul as you, too, possess.¡±

    Her words meant little, apparently--or, at least, they appeared to. ¡°Be safe,¡± Valerie said. ¡°Tell everyone at your home that Valerie said hi.¡±

    ¡°I shall.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes darted back and forth between them, hunting for yet more exchanged farewells where she only found silence. It was her cue. She didn¡¯t ask permission. Ultimately, she was in charge, and it felt strange to consider. Her fingers settled delicately once again atop the warm instrument offered to her.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain,¡± Octavia began firmly, ¡°and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

    It was still no less breathtaking the third time. Surely, the novelty and splendor wouldn''t have faded by the ninety-sixth time, either. She¡¯d watched as the most wonderful scarlet and the most striking gold had been swallowed whole by the very air itself, trickling away into nothing with the beauty of dying stars in the daylight. Now, instead, Octavia found such beauty in the shimmer of crystalline blues, glistening radiance that sparkled brilliantly with each and every speck that escaped the Muse¡¯s form.

    She, too, departed with captivating grace, silent and calm as her physical vessel followed suit. Octavia didn¡¯t need to witness the fate of the oboe her skin rested upon, feeling the sudden give that had begun to replace its solid weight. She stared. Valerie did the same, tearless and hopefully garnering some fragment of hope from the splendor of the luminous farewell.

    The girl waved. Faint as it was, her Muse waved back. Every motion of the latter left sparkles of cerulean trailing across the open air, a gorgeous parting gift in and of itself. Only then, on the cusp of freedom, did Octavia finally find a smile where she¡¯d begged for one all along.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Harper murmured behind her, settling on a soft smile of his own. ¡°That¡¯s what that looks like.¡±

    ¡°So she¡¯s¡­returning to Above, then?¡± Viola whispered, still captivated by the concluding display.

    Octavia nodded, even as she refused to peel her eyes away from the smaller smile she chose to cherish. ¡°Yeah. Now, Breileneth and Ethel have some more company. It¡¯s been awhile since they¡¯ve gotten any.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re gonna get a lot more than that, pretty soon,¡± Josiah added.

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be so happy.¡±

    Renato ruffled her hair so suddenly that Octavia feared for the structure of her braids. Smoothing them out did little to ease her worries. ¡°Three down, ninety-whatever to go. Progress!¡±

    ¡°Well done, Ambassador,¡± Briar praised. ¡°You handled that beautifully. I can definitely tell you¡¯ve done this before.¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s¡­not something I¡¯m entirely used to yet, but I¡¯ve got the hang of it, I think. As long as I don¡¯t have to do a ton of them at once, I¡¯ll be okay. Maybe a¡­few of them a day or something.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you want,¡± Francisco offered. ¡°Your place, your pace. We¡¯ve got plenty of people for you, just say the word.¡±

    ¡°We really can get you the dead people planner if you want it,¡± Renato whispered.

    Octavia stifled a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m good, seriously.¡±

    ¡°You did phenomenally,¡± River spoke softly, his bright smile matching her own. ¡°You¡¯re a wonderful Ambassador. I¡¯m looking forward to working alongside you.¡±

    Octavia blushed somewhat under his heavy praise, her respectfully-spoken title wrapped up in his honeyed words again. ¡°A-And I¡¯m looking forward to working together, too. With everyone.¡±

    Of all the smiles laced with a multitude of emotions that crowned the wake of the departed Muse, his was at least her second favorite. Her first favorite, still, was the one well below her, free and hopeful. It had taken prying and labor that previously left her shaking and breathless. Now, instead, she found only a swelling joy in her heart at the peace she¡¯d brought to someone who¡¯d so desired it. For once, it wasn¡¯t solely the burden of the Muses that she was relieving. Right here, in the warmth of the sun in a world of her own, the Ambassador¡¯s work was just as much of a blessing. It felt good.

 65. Voiceless

    For the most part, one had been a solid warm-up. Octavia had declined to do more tolls the same day, although she¡¯d kicked herself somewhat for not packing her own schedule more. The constant reassurance from all observing parties as to her leisure was worthless in the face of her drive. She was emboldened, somewhat, riding the high of the most successful toll she¡¯d ever borne witness to.

    She knew, logically, not to get her hopes up, nor to to delude herself into believing every single one would be quite so simple. Still, the smile she¡¯d finally stolen at the end was still burned into her mind. It was worth it. She wondered if she¡¯d get the same from every unwilling Maestro freed from their shackles, and the thought was making it difficult to sleep.

    ¡°Do you think there¡¯s people who regret it?¡±

    ¡°I doubt it. They probably wouldn¡¯t give them up in the first place if they did.¡±

    ¡°But like¡­later, I mean.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°They¡¯ve had a lot of time to think about it. It wouldn¡¯t matter, anyway. They¡¯d have to let them go. It isn¡¯t really their choice.¡±

    Octavia let one arm dangle lazily over the side of the couch, her fingertips brushing against the carpet. ¡°I know, but I still wonder if they might think differently years down the road. I know I¡¯m gonna miss Stradivaria when he¡¯s gone.¡±

    She smirked. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m gonna miss Brava that much.¡±

    The thin smile Octavia adopted faded quickly. ¡°Sometimes, I¡­wonder about Domino. I don¡¯t think he was ready yet, and I took Breileneth away from him. I think in his case, I hurt him even more than usual. It feels bad to think about.¡±

    Viola¡¯s head flopped in her direction, her sprawled-out body too comfortable to follow suit. ¡°He was really young. You saw him, he barely knew what he was doing. He ended up with a dangerous legacy that could¡¯ve gotten him seriously hurt.¡±

    Octavia scoffed. ¡°I think Harper was more of a hazard to him, really.¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean,¡± she muttered with a roll of her eyes. ¡°With that¡­whole thing the Muses said about dispersing the Dissonance little by little, he still got something positive out of losing Breileneth. You would¡¯ve had to do it eventually, and you weren¡¯t doing it to hurt him. Don¡¯t beat yourself up about it.¡±

    Kind words or not, the thought was still uncomfortable. Octavia sighed. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to make anyone upset. I feel like that kind of defeats the whole point of being the Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a miracle worker, not a miracle worker.¡±

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°It means your job isn¡¯t to make everyone happy, and you¡¯re never gonna be able to make everyone happy. You make others happy just by doing what you do already. Don¡¯t overthink it. You¡¯re¡­already making people here happy, you know, and you haven¡¯t even been here that long. Be proud of what you do accomplish and stop kicking yourself over what you don¡¯t.¡±

    Octavia had her turn with a smirk from across the room. ¡°Surprisingly deep of you.¡±

    Viola pursed her lips. ¡°I happen to be a wellspring of spectacular advice.¡±

    ¡°Enlighten me, oh she of the Soulful,¡± Octavia teased.

    ¡°Do not start talking like them,¡± Viola hissed, one pointed finger serving as enough of a threat to garner a snicker. ¡°My newest tidbit of wisdom and guidance is that you should shut up and go to bed if you¡¯re gonna get sassy with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not really tired yet, truthfully,¡± Octavia admitted, still content to delicately rub the carpet. ¡°I¡¯ll probably stay up for a bit.¡±

    Viola pushed herself into a sitting position, her hair growing somewhat frazzled along the way. Octavia didn¡¯t dare point it out, amusing as it was. ¡°Do you care if I call it a night? I feel bad leaving you here.¡±

    Octavia shook her head with a smile, the motion dragging her braids back and forth uncomfortably against the cushions. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. It¡¯s actually really nice out here. I might even just sleep here tonight.¡±

    Viola returning much the same smile was equally as warm as the dying fire upon the hearth--a coincidental luxury straight from Silver Ridge that she¡¯d missed severely. ¡°Don¡¯t stay up too late. At least try to get some sleep, especially if you¡¯re gonna start doing tolls pretty routinely. See you in the morning, okay?¡±

    Octavia nodded half-heartedly. ¡°Sleep tight. See you in the morning," she echoed.

    She didn¡¯t need to watch Viola climb the steps to come to terms with her solitude, already somewhat preoccupied with the urge to start another cozy fire. She wondered if it was River who¡¯d made sure the abode of the Ambassador had come pre-stocked with an ample amount of firewood. Octavia highly doubted he would¡¯ve been able to guess how joyous the simple sight of a little flame warming her tiny home away from home would¡¯ve made her. Even so, sleeping next to dying firelight was a comfort in and of itself, the residual crackling of charred wood as embers flickered and passed a pleasant sound to behold. Between the heavenly nighttime interior and the moonbeams that slipped through the sheer curtains, she typically would¡¯ve had no trouble sleeping.

    Octavia rolled onto her back, resting her head atop her palms as she drank in the creamy ceiling. Doing mental math over and over accomplished nothing, and yet it was slowly becoming an impulse. She ran through a mental list of every Maestro she knew--by name, mostly. She¡¯d already met six since coming to Selbright, not including the young girl she¡¯d liberated from the weight of a frosted legacy.

    Per River, that child had been one of the Selbright residents he¡¯d mentioned, temporarily borrowed from her true home for the sake of achieving peace. That still, ultimately, left forty-seven Maestros in Tacell, with her long-distance counter now shrinking to twenty-two. It wasn¡¯t as though counting was going to make her task go any faster. It wasn''t as though she could witness tolls right here on the couch.

    She blinked slowly, torn somewhere between an urge for productivity and a desire for rest in the face of what was to come. Octavia wondered if there were any nocturnal Muses who may have wished for guidance in the dead of night. In the worst case scenario, she could indulge in wood carving. She didn¡¯t particularly want to get up. The idea of restarting the fire and letting the glow of the flames accompany her into unconsciousness was tempting. Still, if she burnt down the cottage, she feared Viola¡¯s wrath far, far more than River¡¯s.

    Help me.

    Initially, she¡¯d thought she¡¯d fallen asleep, taking along with her words stolen from a dream as she jolted into consciousness once more. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure exactly when she¡¯d closed her eyes, although the faint crackle in the hearth had never ceased. It couldn¡¯t have been long. She rubbed her eyelids regardless, her dilating pupils recapturing the ceiling in silence once more.

    Help me.

    The second time was even clearer, if not still quiet and reserved. Her excuse was no longer viable. Octavia pushed herself up, peering over the couch cushions for any signs of life downstairs. If one of her housemates had gotten up, their presence should''ve been accompanied by more than a singular sentence--footsteps, a creaking door, or anything further. She knew five voices by heart. Two syllables matched none of them.

    Octavia sighed. She was tired, and gradually growing more so at last. There was a very good chance it was simply in her head.

    Help me.

    It was in her head. The third time, that much was unmistakable.

    It was soft and pleading, with words so meek that Octavia couldn¡¯t quite label them with immediate masculinity or femininity. The two words that called to her were barely above a whisper as they grazed her mind thrice. She rose to her feet, ignoring the slightest squeak of the couch cushions along the way.

    Ambassador.

    The perceived safety of Tacell was irrelevant. She knew better than to go anywhere without him at this point. There was an extremely unsettling discrepancy between how softly Octavia struggled to reach her bedroom and how clearly she was begged for again and again. She¡¯d mostly been joking about doing tolls at midnight. She supposed this was her retribution.

    <hr>

    She¡¯d be damned if someone were to catch the Ambassador wandering aimlessly beneath the moonlight in nothing but boots and a nightgown. As much as Octavia had disliked dressing up once more, it was for the best, given the evening chill that otherwise would¡¯ve pricked at her skin. She¡¯d been correct in her original, very reasonable assumption that Tacell did not consist of Maestros out and about at all hours of the night.

    It wasn¡¯t particularly uncomfortable to be alone in the dark of such a haven, given the twinkling stars overhead guiding her way peacefully. Under normal circumstances, she likely would¡¯ve enjoyed a midnight walk, and made a mental note to take one at some point purely for fun. Under her current circumstances, her walk was neither aimless nor tranquil.

    Help me.

    It almost seemed to get stronger as she moved, and she followed the voice that haunted her without question. She clung to Stradivaria¡¯s straps on her shoulders. The ambience of the evening and the soft shuffle of her boots rustling through the grass were all that offset the same two repeating words.

    Help me.

    Help me.

    It wasn¡¯t an urge, nor a feeling that she could compare to her understanding of the gift of the Soulful. Whatever she was following was only the slightest bit tangible, a voice that rang somewhat directional as it called for her. Octavia loathed the way she couldn¡¯t share it.

    You seriously don¡¯t hear that? It¡¯s getting louder.

    What does it say? Stradivaria asked anyway.

    It¡¯s just saying ¡®help me¡¯ over and over. I¡¯m¡­hearing it in my head, so I¡¯m assuming it¡¯s a Muse.

    A strange manner of capturing their voice, regardless. To hear our own from afar is unusual, even by the grace of the Ambassador. An Apex, perhaps.

    She cast her eyes over her shoulder. They can do that?

    An Apex is not bound by the distance of their vessel. Their voice travels far to their own, so long as the bond is true. For you, Ambassador, perhaps an exception could be made.

    Octavia shrugged. There¡¯s a lot of perks that come with being the Ambassador, huh?

    Help me.

    It was interrupting. At least momentarily, it was unwelcome.

    To be the Ambassador is to carry a great burden, indeed. However, it is also to serve as a bridge between realms, such that you are privy to enviable abilities.

    Octavia winced. I don¡¯t think a whole lot of this is enviable.

    To know all truths, to some, is worthy of such envy. You, who can conquer death and hear that which is unspoken, wield power that goes far beyond what others could hope to attain.

    Again, I don¡¯t think a lot of people would get much out of dying over and over.

    Help me.

    It was most definitely getting louder. It kept her charted along a course at least tinged with a population. She was closer to the assorted cottages than the far-flung meadows that threatened to disorient her in the dead of night. With the stars above as her secondary guide, Octavia pressed on.

    Are you fearful of the task that awaits you?  Stratos pressed softly.

    She shook her head. Not really. Maybe I will be, eventually. Everyone¡¯s been really supportive, and the first one went really well. I know I still have a lot more to go, but I think I can do it.

    You will surely succeed.

    You think so?

    I know it to be true.

    Octavia smiled. I¡­thank you. If you believe in me, too, then that helps.

    I always will.

    Help me.

    It was in front of one such cottage that she came to a stop. It wasn¡¯t simply loud--it was ever present, perfectly clear. It had dragged her, lured like a moth to a flame. Octavia eyed the quaint little house up and down. On further inspection, it was more or less no different than those which otherwise speckled the landscape of Tacell. Colors, materials, and exterior notwithstanding, it was unremarkable by comparison.

    It was distant, somewhat, a ways away from the next visible cottage at least a three minute walk from her current position. It was almost lonely in nature. The isolation wasn¡¯t foreboding so much as it was solemn, a testament to her perception of the safety of Tacell. Still, the depths of the night were doing a spectacular job at painting a far more ominous scene than was necessary. Octavia sighed.

    Help me.

    She had half a mind to roll her eyes. She was working on it. If it really was an Apex, it certainly didn¡¯t sound like those she¡¯d met thus far. To her understanding, those she hadn¡¯t met were nowhere to be found within the borders of the settlement. If nothing else, Octavia could at least do the Muse the favor of companionship.

    Do you mind being a mediator? You¡¯re good at that.

    For what purpose?

    They sound upset. You¡¯re¡­nice. You¡¯re good at smoothing stuff over.

    I am flattered that you think so.

    Octavia giggled as she drew him into her arms, his opened home settling into the grass with a soft thud. You can¡¯t expect me to do all the work. You¡¯re supposed to be the partner of the Ambassador. You¡¯ve gotta do your part, too.

    His soft hum brought a smile to her face. As you wish, then.

    Octavia felt somewhat bad about waking up whichever Maestro was unfortunate enough to have such a desperate partner at their side. Still, she doubted they would compose themselves any time soon, continuously pleading for her help as they were. Against her better judgment, Octavia knocked, just barely loud enough not to echo into the evening air.

    She found nothing. She knocked again. Nothing. She raised an eyebrow.

    Ambassador, please.

    With the door still shut in her face, it wasn¡¯t as though she had many options. It was with her worst possible judgment that Octavia even made the effort to turn the handle, the chilled metal stinging her palm in the process. It gave way with such ease that she jumped. Now she was pushing it.

    She didn¡¯t enter immediately, letting the door creak slowly open of its own accord. The darkened abode challenged the blackness outside, not dissimilar to her own cottage in the way only moonbeams offered their aid within. Out of sheer courtesy, she knocked on the wood of the opened door regardless--loudly.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she called. Still, even now, no response came to her.

    Octavia sighed. She dreaded outright breaking into someone¡¯s home, even if it was for a good cause--and if it was possibly vacant, anyway. With the tip of her boot inches from the threshold, she awaited the inevitable catalyst that would surely grant her permission.

    Please, help me.

    She stepped inside, against her better judgment.

    Octavia pulled the door shut behind her, for whatever that was worth. The sudden absence of the evening breeze left only stagnant warmth in its place, once more crowned by seeping moonlight alone. The interior, too, was fairly predictable relative to what she¡¯d seen in both her cottage and River¡¯s alike.

    With forty-seven Maestros in Tacell, considering the quantity of housing units available across the landscape, each likely necessitated multiple residents in the interest of space. For a single Muse, should her assumption of vacancy be incorrect, Octavia would surely be disturbing far more than she would be assisting. That, too, left a sour taste in her mouth. It was definitely a great look for the Ambassador.

    Help me.

    She would, if she had absolutely any indication of who she was supposed to be helping in an abode so silent. The delicate taps of her boots against the hardwood as she stepped into the salon were the only contrast to an ever-pleading voice.

    Help me.

    Help me.

    ¡°Where are you?¡± Octavia finally asked aloud, pulling Stradivaria close to her chest as she walked. Even with moonbeams bleeding through sheer curtains, her pupils were struggling to dilate in full. Scanning the house like this was difficult.

    Ambassador, please, help me.

    ¡°What do you need?¡± she questioned with slight aggravation. ¡°Where are you?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Ambassador.

    Ambassador.

    Help me.

    Help me.

    Help me.

    It was as frustrating as it was desperate. Octavia exhaled sharply. ¡°I can¡¯t help you if I don¡¯t know where you are, or who you are. Give me something to work with, here.¡±

    Help me.

    She took a deep breath, both hands wrapped around either portion of Stradivaria as she spread her arms in defeat. ¡°How can I help you? Tell me!¡±

    Why did you bring him here?

    The panic that replaced the pleading was the least of it. The light made her scream. [?]</a>

    It was an absolute miracle that whatever had aimed for her had missed, a ripple of radiance far from her own smashing into the wall behind her. The resulting boom as it bit sharply into the wood was terrifying, and pulling Stradivaria onto her shoulder was a distant second reaction to crying out in surprise. The second time it happened, Octavia was still no more ready, nor any more oriented. Her pupils hated her, besieged by the sudden flood of brilliance as they were.

    She¡¯d never seen her beloved rays in the hands of another, let alone hands she couldn¡¯t see in the first place. All she knew was that they were there, they were overhead, and they were again catapulted into the place she¡¯d been standing moments ago. Where her boots had taken flight seconds before disaster now laid crisp, blackened patches of hardwood, assailed by radiance as they''d been.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t see. She could barely fight back, try as she might. Again and again, they shot past her head, her arms, her legs. They zeroed in, missing her by inches as their searing heat kissed her skin in passing. Every bang behind and adjacent to her was another reminder of a close call. Glass shattering and wood breaking served as the only accents to the onslaught.

    The flute, she figured, was an accent, too. Octavia couldn¡¯t see it, nor could she even fully prove it was a flute. It was shrill, high, more immature than the smooth and silky notes she¡¯d grown to expect from Silver Brevada. She could hardly hear it above the sounds of violence, far more preoccupied with not being blasted to a crisp by light she normally would¡¯ve treasured.

    It was fast, pulsing, and horrifically accurate to the point that she could¡¯ve sworn it was following her. It took a split second¡¯s effort to send the kitchen table toppling, diving behind its feeble protection as it crashed to the floor with a hefty bang. It was the only opportunity she was going to get.

    Octavia struggled with all she had to outplay her unseen assailant, her fingers flying across the strings with such ferocity that her muscles burned. They burned in the way she preferred, too, her own warmth bubbling to a scathing peak as she found her counterattack. There was still the tiniest jealousy that came with bursts of brilliance she¡¯d thought she¡¯d claimed as her own beyond the touch--or in the notes--of another.

    She summoned the sun in her blood, holding her breath as she let her light sail well above the table that pitifully shielded her. As to what she was firing at, Octavia was still unsure even now. She could hear the damage she was doing herself, earning auditory signs in the form of items toppling and walls crying out.

    Octavia chanced a peek on the tail end of a beam set free. Her heart pounded as she peered over the edge of the table, her pupils still struggling to adjust to anything besides blinding flashes of light traded so violently in the dark. If she squinted hard enough, she could swear she saw movement. It was small, brief, and fleeting as the light that ricocheted in her direction changed places of origin. Her obscured assailant was mobile, confined as the space was.

    She cursed her inability to make out a silhouette. The shrill notes of the same suspected flute were her only compensation, blessed by vicious radiance as they were. Again, luminous rays slammed into the mahogany that just barely guarded her head. Octavia yelped at bang after bang of impact at her back, not immune to the audible sizzle that alluded to the danger in the dark.

    She gritted her teeth. If she couldn¡¯t see, there was a very, very simple solution for that. It was maintaining it that was going to be her downfall.

    Octavia threw her eyes upwards, not daring to look directly at Stradivaria for the blast she was about to produce. With the copper strings burrowing deep into her fingertips, she tensed her muscles hard as the warmth in her blood practically exploded through her skin. It was with swift slashes of the bow that she sent it spiraling, blossoming rapidly in every direction like lightning she couldn¡¯t truly emulate.

    It was enough, white-hot and blinding to a degree that Octavia had to struggle to keep her eyes open. In her hands, he was a beacon, piercing the threatening darkness with such radiance that nothing could escape her sight. The moon was useless, provided her screaming pupils could adjust fast enough to the flash. When she peered over the table once more, she made startling progress, return fire be damned.

    She couldn¡¯t hold her little solar flare forever, forced to let it burst with the visage of a shattering sun as she fell onto the defensive again. It was all she could do to counter rays with rays. One hastily-woven blast of brilliance on her bow was just barely quick enough to collide with that not of her own song. The result was almost beautiful, exploding into a shimmering mess that crackled like fireworks all the way into oblivion. She had to do it at least three more times, stumbling in the process.

    Her efforts hadn¡¯t been in vain, her brief full scan of the small first floor enough to land her eyes on the flute in question. It was enough to trace its Heartful song down each key, down each slender finger, up the arms of the boy who made it sing songs of violence to the Ambassador. For the most fleeting moment, his eyes had been razor-sharp. Back in the dark, they were all Octavia had to remember.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she cried, still deep in the midst of her self-defensive melody. Even if Octavia couldn¡¯t pin down his position with accuracy, she could aim for what she heard, his swift footsteps more than audible as he darted between her beams. She followed his path with her ears as best as she could, firing again and again with the bubbling light that shot from Stradivaria¡¯s bridge into the open air.

    He didn¡¯t respond. She could swear she could still see him moving, the luminescent rays he returned to her arching downwards as they chased her residual shadow in turn. Both of them were shooting at afterimages, literal shots in the dark taken time and time again. It was only their overlapping legacies that offered sporadic, blinding snippets of clarity. Once more, Octavia couldn¡¯t make him out--not with the way her eyes had so thoroughly and repeatedly been blighted by whites and golds. There was no time to adjust, nor time for her pupils to reacclimate to the gentle glow of the moon. He wouldn¡¯t let her. He wouldn¡¯t even let her stand still.

    ¡°Talk to me! What are you doing? I¡¯m trying to help!¡± Octavia shouted desperately, her pleas drowned beneath the wails of the flute screaming well above her. The light that poured down upon her in earnest was angled, somewhat diagonal in a way that spoke to vantage. Even if the layouts were similar, this wasn¡¯t her cottage. She wouldn¡¯t find many opportunities to cling to the same.

    Again came no response. Octavia growled in frustration, settling on the conscious choice to aim skyward. She knelt low, well aware of the momentary vulnerability that came with sending her light high. With an arch of the bow, she stilled her rays like an arrow, steeling their path before launching them square at the ceiling above. She was dead-on, although missing would¡¯ve been just about impossible.

    Clumped as they were, they scattered, sparkles of brilliance fizzling as her starlight burst brightly overhead. The rain of radiance that followed was just as illuminating as she¡¯d hoped, unavoidable and not warranting the maintenance she¡¯d feared. It was enough, the darkness pierced for a far longer period of time before sinking into blackness again.

    His eyes hadn¡¯t softened in the slightest. In fact, they were perhaps sharper, if not deadlier. He was young, shockingly so. He was small, lithe, somehow agile enough to have fully steadied his weight atop the salon table without his hands. Those hands, she observed, were tethered almost ruthlessly to the small flute on his lips, unwavering as he glared daggers into her soul. He didn¡¯t speak, nor did he move with Octavia¡¯s eyes upon him. He was a child, vicious as he was. The sight was stunning, and she, too, was stunned in equal measure.

    As slowly as she could, Octavia broke her posture, parting the bow from the violin as she slid both ends away from her shoulder. Gradually, she raised them aloft, arms apart in a gesture of peaceful surrender. She knew she was playing with fire, if his prowess and unprompted aggression had been any indicators. When he didn¡¯t move, still as stone and well-prepared to strike at her in an instant once more, she was only semi-grateful.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± Octavia said firmly, doing what she could to ignore her racing heartbeat. ¡°Please, talk to me. Help me understand what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Even now, he was dead silent, her words lost on him. She grimaced, tensing beneath his piercing gaze. Something about that look on such a young child was getting to her.

    ¡°I can¡¯t help you if you don¡¯t talk to me,¡± she insisted, somewhat sharper.

    He was wordless. His eyes flickered quickly to the left, then back to her own. The second time around, Octavia followed that ruthless gaze to Stradivaria. She offered her confusion in return, her own eyes only loaded with befuddlement and residual adrenaline.

    The door crashing open with a bang nearly killed her, for how startled she was in the wake of their intense silence. With it came the rush of evening air, a cool breeze that gladly besieged the stagnant room. It was only now that she realized how hot the cottage had become, the byproduct of their radiant quarrel still staining the sizzling atmosphere with such fervor that it made her sweat. Her lungs were thankful. Octavia was, just the same, thankful for the striking waves that came with her blessed reprieve.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± he cried, stilled in the doorway. His hands were already traveling in the direction of the case on his back, the fear on her face enough of a catalyst.

    Even so, his presence was more confusing than comforting. ¡°River?¡± Octavia murmured.

    He blinked, drinking in the sight of her arms still more than aloft. So, too, did he find the same deadly gaze, now snapped to himself instead of an Ambassador so violently assaulted moments ago. He recoiled somewhat.

    ¡°What happened?¡± River asked quickly, lowering his hands.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I have no idea. I-I think it was my fault. I came in without asking, but someone was calling me here, and no one answered! And then, I¡­¡±

    Only now, with the respite she¡¯d been given, was she privy to the exact damage that had occurred. The first floor was largely thrashed, shelves and tables overturned in excess. Plates, bowls, and glassware had shattered all about, sharp shards littering the hardwood like hail throughout the cottage. Walls and flooring were sporadically blackened, victimized as they''d been by two different flavors of light. She felt awful for whichever Maestros collectively lived here. She was even more embarrassed relative to River finding her on the tail end of catastrophic breaking and entering--as feared.

    His attention wasn¡¯t on her. It was on the boy who still perched precariously on the table, still clung desperately to his instrument, and still fixed him with what Octavia could only perceive as sheer hostility. For a moment, she was terrified he¡¯d change targets entirely.

    River ended up forsaking his partner altogether. Instead, his hands found one another. They moved quickly, skillfully, motions Octavia couldn¡¯t understand nor decipher the intent of. All the while, their eye contact was unbending.

    At last, ever so slowly, the boy lowered his guard, slipping the small flute beneath the crook of his arm as he pressed it close to his body. His balance was still incredibly impressive as he repeated much the same motions, moving his hands with equal speed and precision for River alone. How he wasn¡¯t falling clean off the table while doing so was beyond Octavia. His sharp eyes never dulled for a moment.

    River repeated his motions, different in essence and gesture. Still, he was wordless, opting only to communicate in a way Octavia couldn¡¯t make out in the slightest. The boy offered him the same right back, swift and firm.

    At some point, River recoiled beneath the weight of one presumed response. ¡°What?¡± he spat aloud, the first sound to pierce the silence in what felt like quite some time.

    Even so, he made yet more motions with his hands again and again, finding them reciprocated in turn. If Octavia squinted, she could¡¯ve sworn the boy was responding to River¡¯s silent inquiries even faster, teeth gritted and eyes narrow.

    ¡°What are you even--¡± River began, cutting himself off abruptly with a sharp sigh.

    ¡°Uh,¡± Octavia mumbled, still somewhat hesitant to lower her arms, ¡°what¡¯s¡­going on?¡±

    River, at least, gave her permission with a wave of his own. She obliged, letting Stradivaria¡¯s weight finally fall to her side. He gestured to one of his ears. ¡°He can¡¯t hear. This is how we talk.¡±

    Octavia winced. That would explain a lot. Suddenly, she felt infinitely worse. ¡°Who is this?¡±

    River gestured to the boy with one extended hand, still balanced atop the table as he was. ¡°This is Theo. He¡¯s a Maestro, as you probably figured out the hard way.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t know whether to wave, beg for forgiveness, or start an argument. Instead, she stared uncomfortably--most likely not her greatest choice of an answer. Still, it was the reflexive response she fell to first. Again, the boy¡¯s razor-edged glare had settled upon her instead, bringing with it a chill that seized her spine. Once more, his eyes flickered to Stradivaria for the briefest moment, so rapid that she nearly didn¡¯t catch it. Octavia pursed her lips. She wasn¡¯t quite sure how to communicate her lack of intent to retaliate.

    ¡°He¡¯s¡­young,¡± Octavia observed aloud. ¡°How old is he?¡±

    ¡°Ten,¡± River answered plainly.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. That made him even younger than Domino, somewhat, if memory served. It still left him older than the poor child for whom she¡¯d performed the Witnessing that morning, although the revelation was no less jarring. Domino had by no means been a poor Maestro. Regardless, this boy surpassed his skill by leaps and bounds at such an age. It was terrifying, in a way.

    ¡°He¡¯s really strong, though,¡± Octavia said.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± River agreed, just as plain.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­not a flute, right? Viola already has one.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a piccolo. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    Reasonable, in context--it was more shrill, and it was smaller, on closer inspection. To be fair, so was the boy, when compared to the Ambassador''s Soulful companion. ¡°And he¡¯s¡­Heartful?¡±

    ¡°Yes. What are you¡­doing here, exactly?¡±

    River¡¯s words weren¡¯t sharp, but they were at least mildly surprising relative to the course of their conversation. Octavia offered him the full truth, albeit with more composure than her initial attempt. ¡°I was trying to sleep, and I heard a voice. It was calling out to me. I¡­followed it here, and he attacked me. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, honestly.¡±

    It was Theo who took the initiative with motions of his hands. Once more, he signed swiftly at River, pinning the Spirited boy with the same harsh eyes. River scowled beneath whatever was said, signing back with just as much aggravation. He groaned quietly.

    ¡°He¡¯s not a bad kid, I promise,¡± River insisted. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s up with him, either. He¡¯s not usually this¡­abrasive.¡±

    A slight shift of her body weight left glass crunching beneath Octavia¡¯s boots, and she lamented the damage to the cottage yet again. ¡°Do other people live here?¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°He lives alone. He¡­chooses to be isolated, kind of. And the¡­¡±

    When he trailed off, Octavia was somewhat distressed by the way he averted his eyes. She couldn¡¯t leave it be. ¡°And what?¡±

    River crossed his arms. ¡°The Muses tell us to stay away from him. We¡¯re not really certain why. We don¡¯t listen, so if we¡¯re bad Maestros for it, then we¡¯re bad Maestros. He¡¯s ten, for God¡¯s sake. You¡¯re the Ambassador. Maybe they¡¯ll leave you be about it.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Why? That¡¯s cruel. He¡¯s a Maestro, too, and he¡¯s just a kid.¡±

    River shrugged. ¡°Again, we don¡¯t know. We have our guesses. We think maybe it¡¯s because he¡¯s Heartful.¡±

    ¡°Is there a problem with being Heartful?¡±

    It was River¡¯s turn to wince. ¡°Not necessarily. Again, it¡¯s just a guess. It¡¯s a¡­long story.¡±

    ¡°Does he¡­want to be a Maestro?¡± Octavia asked tentatively. ¡°Or is he one of the ones that--¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°He wants to, I think. We don¡¯t really press him on it. We just¡­leave him alone. He likes it that way. If you want to cross that barrier, you¡¯ve got your work cut out for you.¡±

    She didn¡¯t particularly like the idea, given the fact that the child was attempting to seriously harm her several minutes ago. Still, a Maestro was a Maestro. The Ambassador didn¡¯t exactly have a say in the matter, and the Witnessing was going to have to occur eventually. Octavia eyed him warily once more, doing what she could to avoid his actual gaze. It didn¡¯t matter, the razors in his eyes slicing into River¡¯s instead.

    He signed. River signed back. Whatever it was wasn¡¯t positive, apparently, given River¡¯s low growl of aggravation that followed.

    ¡°I can try,¡± Octavia pledged anyway, holding Stradivaria close. She was pleasantly surprised when the motion didn¡¯t trigger hostilities, even if it did draw Theo¡¯s eyes back to her almost instantly. ¡°Can you¡­introduce me?¡±

    River nodded. He raised one hand, making slow and cautious movements with his fingers. ¡°This is how you spell your name. Do you think you can remember it?¡±

    She tucked Stradivaria¡¯s bow under her arm, doing her best to emulate his motions. ¡°Like this?¡±

    River smiled gently at her efforts. ¡°Correct. If you forget, let me know and I¡¯ll show you again.¡±

    More than likely, she would. Still, she did what she could in the moment, offering whatever genuine smile she could find to a boy who very clearly did not enjoy her presence. She gestured to herself, repeating the motion once more. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia,¡± she spoke aloud anyway.

    He didn¡¯t return her introduction, whether through similar signs or otherwise. She tensed.

    ¡°How do you say ¡®Ambassador¡¯?¡± Octavia whispered.

    The single motion River made was fluid, touching faintly upon his closed eyelids and brushing his fingertips skywards against the air. That one, at least, she could remember more easily.

    Octavia emulated it without difficulty for the boy. It didn¡¯t seem to elicit any more interest. He was still on the table.

    ¡°He already knows, anyway,¡± River clarified. ¡°Apparently, it doesn¡¯t make much of a difference.¡±

    That was a shock, somewhat. The child was the first person to pay no heed to her title since she¡¯d arrived in Tacell. In the strangest way, it was almost a welcome feeling. ¡°Can you ask him about the voice I was hearing? It was¡­coming from this place.¡±

    River side-eyed her, but did so regardless. He signed accordingly, his expression somewhat softer versus the annoyance he¡¯d worn previously. Whatever he got back was enough to get him to sigh, albeit with far less frustration this time.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know. He just keeps saying that you need to leave.¡±

    Octavia cringed. That was fair. ¡°Please tell him I¡¯m sorry for intruding. I¡­really wasn¡¯t trying to cause a problem.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, really,¡± River reassured. ¡°I know your intentions were pure. Were it anyone else here, I¡¯m sure they¡¯d think the same.¡±

    He signed her apology regardless, passing her regrets along in silence. Theo signed back instantly, motioning with such fervor that Octavia could physically hear his hands hitting one another. River¡¯s eyes widened, pinned by the boy¡¯s killing gaze as he was.

    ¡°What? Why would I do that?¡± he asked aloud incredulously.

    ¡°What¡¯d he say?¡± Octavia pressed.

    ¡°¡®Don¡¯t touch her¡¯. I assure you, I had no intentions of hurting the Ambassador in any capacity,¡± he clarified. ¡°Or¡­whatever that means.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes. ¡°If he¡¯s that worried, the least he can do is say sorry. He¡¯s the one who attacked me.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­go,¡± River muttered, gesturing for her to follow him past the threshold of the door. The evening chill was starting to get to her. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±

    Octavia knew what would happen if she said yes--in which case, she wouldn¡¯t dare. Thankfully, her denial was true, at least this time. ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡±

    He nodded solemnly. ¡°Good. I don¡¯t¡­know how I¡¯d feel if he hurt you.¡±

    Even traipsing back into the night, her skin finally freed of the oppressive warmth of her confined battlefield, Octavia couldn¡¯t help but eye the child one last time over her shoulder. He still refused to put his feet firmly on the floor even as River pulled the door shut behind him, his pointed glare following her threateningly all the way out of sight. There was a simultaneous relief and immense dissatisfaction that came with his visage finally disappearing from view. This had definitely been one way of getting tired enough to sleep, unproductive or otherwise.

    ¡°How¡¯d you find me?¡± Octavia asked, tugging Stradivaria¡¯s case back onto her shoulders.

    ¡°All of the Ensemble take turns patrolling at night. Tonight was my turn. There was a whole lot of light and noise coming out of that little cottage, muffled or not. I just¡­didn¡¯t expect you to be there. Then again, there¡¯s only so many Heartful Maestros it could¡¯ve been.¡±

    Octavia averted her eyes for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have bothered you.¡±

    River shook his head with another gentle smile. ¡°You didn¡¯t. This is what I¡¯m here for. I¡¯ll take you home, okay?¡±

    Octavia returned his smile with one of her own. Hearing Tacell referred to as her ¡°home¡± in any capacity made her heart skip a beat. She didn¡¯t object to his company in any way. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Octavia.

    There was a split second where she feared that the same voice would be tormenting her once more, pleading for her help yet again. Thankfully, the smooth tones that eased into her mind were far more familiar and far more welcome. She exhaled with relief at the sound of Stradivaria¡¯s voice instead.

    What¡¯s up?

    Do not go back to that place again.

    Octavia blinked. I¡¯m okay, I promise. It was my fault. I didn¡¯t know he couldn¡¯t hear. I probably scared him.

    Do not go back to that place again. Heed my words.

    The words in question were sharp--sharper than the gentle tone she typically received and enjoyed. She didn¡¯t like it much. What do you mean? I really am fine. He¡¯s not a bad kid, supposedly.

    Octavia, listen to me carefully. Do not return to that place. Under no circumstances should you go there again. Do you understand?

    In fact, it was the sharpest he¡¯d spoken to her in a very, very long time. She really didn¡¯t like it. Why? Octavia asked simply.

    Please¡­trust in my words. I ask this of you.

    She didn¡¯t dignify Stradivaria''s plea with an answer. Truthfully, she couldn¡¯t give him an affirmative. She would have to, eventually. A Maestro was a Maestro, after all. She wasn¡¯t a fan of his ambiguity, nor was she a fan of his tone. She did what she could to shake the bite of his echoing words out of her mind.

    She indulged in River¡¯s voice instead, intentionally joking where applicable. Getting him to laugh wasn¡¯t hard at all. The soft, crystalline laugh she liked was a fantastic mental reset. Octavia made a silent note to add it to her emotional toolkit. She hoped he wouldn¡¯t mind.

 66. Glass Heart

    For the next week, she really did keep a schedule. She refused to indulge in the planner idea, with or without stickers. The high of success was more than enough of a motivator.

    It wasn¡¯t the most even pacing, by which she sometimes was able to handle two Maestros a day rather than one. Octavia was torn between rushing and taking her time. Ultimately, she settled somewhere square in the middle, letting River and the Ensemble hand her candidates to free from their unwilling bonds. Even now, she still opted solely to work through those who resented their current status or otherwise couldn''t continue to indulge in Maestro life.

    It wasn¡¯t often that she met adult Maestros, having been exposed largely to those adjacent to her own age--or roughly within two years of the same. Even Priscilla had only been on the absolute cusp of her twenties. As such, guiding the Muses of Maestros old enough to be her parents was an odd experience. It was still preferable to guiding the Muses of Maestros young enough to be her little siblings.

    Most were simply disinterested, if the term could be used so lightly. For some, it was exposure to the horrors of Dissonance that led their decision--a bubble Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to burst right away, given the curse that would follow for the rest of their lives. Some really were frail and ailing. For the ways by which they were impaired, their stubborn Muses risked severely injuring them, should they force their Maestro¡¯s hand and demand that they play.

    Brava had known when to quit with grace, although he¡¯d had another Maestra waiting not long down the line. Mente and Aste had given a second chance to a boy who was, for all intents and purposes, an exception driven by fire and determination alone. Neither of them had been sick, at least, too ill to so much as conjure the breath it would take to wield their instruments without suffering. In those instances, she supposed it couldn¡¯t always have been the fault of the Muse who¡¯d chosen their partner. Waiting around for their Maestro to grow so compromised that their bond truly wilted surely couldn''t have been an enjoyable existence.

    She¡¯d finally gotten to try her hand at some of the residents of Tacell, even, no longer limited solely to guests brought along from beyond its grassy borders. Within the settlement, too, had been those who met the ¡°unwilling and unfit¡± criteria--as had been clarified by the Ensemble. It saved everyone effort, and for that, Octavia was grateful.

    She was even more grateful at the way people began giving her the breathing room she needed to work without stress. Eyes that had watched her every motion of guidance with unshakable interest were finally taking a hint, as of late. Regardless, they hadn''t all been kind enough to ignore her at every opportunity. She caught wandering gazes from time to time.

    ¡°Does it¡­hurt?¡±

    Octavia was so distracted with the budding aftermath of her guidance that she almost missed the inquiry entirely. The Strong Muse that slowly dissipated in a lovely display of sparkling, sun-graced silvers and whites was a bit more of interest. She didn¡¯t particularly want to know how that legacy manifested with a recorder. It was almost a chore to retract her attention, the voice that implored her not at all the same as the one she¡¯d focused on liberating.

    ¡°Does what hurt?¡± she asked.

    Faith averted her eyes the moment Octavia offered her own. It was uncomfortable. ¡°T-The¡­Witnessing. Is it painful?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Not physically. It can be really draining to go through, though. I never quite know what I¡¯m gonna find in there. I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯m going to find more than one, sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Are you scared at all?¡±

    She waved over her shoulder to the departing Maestro--former Maestro, now, a bit too much spring in his step as he bounced back in the Ensemble¡¯s general direction. She wished him safe travels with her eyes, at least. ¡°I used to be. It¡¯s not so bad anymore. It was a lot worse when the tolls were people I knew. Here, I don¡¯t know anyone. I think I got the hard stuff out of the way.¡±

    Faith fidgeted with her hands, still more than unable to meet Octavia''s eyes. ¡°Do you¡­like being the Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t really like it or hate it. It¡¯s just¡­there. It¡¯s just what I know I have to do, and I know it¡¯s what needs to be done to help.¡±

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± she murmured, twirling a stray strand of hair around one finger.

    Octavia smiled. ¡°I like your flowers.¡±

    The red blossoms in the girl¡¯s hair were actually quite cute, woven between the braided halo of golden blonde as they were. Her words were enough for Faith¡¯s fingers to trail to soft petals, stroking self-consciously. ¡°Really?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°My dad likes flowers. He has a little garden. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen him grow those, though. What are they?¡±

    Faith¡¯s faint smile was something to work with, if nothing else. ¡°T-They¡¯re petunias.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re pretty,¡± she praised.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Faith murmured with the slightest tint of a blush. ¡°They¡¯re my favorite. I¡­grew them.¡±

    ¡°Yourself? Like, here? In Tacell?¡±

    Faith nodded half-heartedly. Octavia beamed. ¡°That¡¯s amazing.¡±

    ¡°T-Thank you,¡± she stammered once more. ¡°It¡¯s my¡­hobby.¡±

    ¡°One of my friends likes flowers a lot, too,¡± Octavia added. ¡°It¡¯s a nice hobby to have. Do you think you could show me your garden sometime? If you don¡¯t mind, I mean. I¡¯d love to see it.¡±

    Again, Faith nodded. ¡°If the Ambassador is asking, how can I say no?¡±

    Octavia stifled a chuckle. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything just because I¡¯m the Ambassador. Just¡­call me Octavia. Don¡¯t worry about the Ambassador stuff.¡±

    ¡°Be proud that you¡¯re the Ambassador,¡± she spoke with confidence that Octavia hadn¡¯t expected. ¡°You can¡­be both. Don¡¯t shy away from that title. You''ve worked so hard for it.¡±

    The girl wasn¡¯t wrong. Still, Octavia had a feeling their sentiments weren¡¯t overlapping correctly. She appreciated the reassurance, misplaced as it was. ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you think so. I think I¡¯m happier just to have another Heartful Maestra around.¡±

    Faith didn¡¯t disagree, distracted as she was by subtle adjustments to her own floral accessories. ¡°There¡¯s not many of us. We¡¯re special. We should stick together.¡±

    ¡°Special?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s so few Heartful Muses that there¡¯s barely any Heartful Maestros or Maestras. With the gift we have, we¡¯re valuable. We¡¯re the only ones who can¡­give them form. No one else can see them if we¡¯re not here. It¡¯s crazy to think about, right?¡± Faith explained.

    It was a gift Octavia had taken for granted, mostly, given her own legacy and the free Muse greetings that came with it whenever desired. Given her constant close proximity to several more Maestros she cherished, they likely never had to wait long for the same. It was off-putting to think of how many Maestros would never see their partners'' faces right up until her own hands set them free. Again did Domino¡¯s face flash briefly in her mind. She still regretted it, somewhat.

    ¡°How many Heartful Muses are there, then?¡± Octavia tried.

    ¡°Jasse says there¡¯s only ten.¡±

    Her eyes widened substantially. ¡°Out of ninety-six?¡±

    Faith nodded in silence, as she tended to do. It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia had a meaningful response for her. Of those ten, she could identify three on sight--Faith, herself, and the boy she¡¯d violently encountered several days ago. Statistically, there was very little possibility the Ensemble didn¡¯t know the whereabouts of a single other Heartful Maestro, for all that they were aware of. She made a mental note to press them on it later, let alone to ask if there were already any in Tacell besides Faith.

    ¡°You know that¡­only Heartful Maestros can be the Ambassador, right?¡± Faith asked.

    Octavia, in turn, nodded. Stradivaria had told her as much when she¡¯d accepted the task.

    Faith was again fidgeting with her hands, apparently very poor at keeping still for long. ¡°That means the Muses don¡¯t have a lot of options to choose from. If something happens to their Ambassador, they have to hope one of their current Heartful Maestros is willing to take on the task. Otherwise, they¡¯ll¡­just have to wait again. It¡¯s like I said. We¡¯re special, in that way. We¡¯re necessary, perhaps more so than any other legacy.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I¡­never thought about it like that. It¡¯s not like the others aren¡¯t important, too, though. They all have incredible gifts and powers. I mean, have you seen the gift of the Spirited? The things you could do with that are¡­insane.¡±

    Faith winced. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean it that way! I''m sorry! I don¡¯t think the others aren¡¯t important. I just¡­think you should be proud of your legacy, and I think you should be proud that you¡¯re the Ambassador. For them to see you that way must be an honor. It¡¯s an honor just to follow your light from here, as a fellow Heartful.¡±

    Octavia flushed. ¡°It¡¯s really not that worthy of praise. Still, I appreciate it.¡±

    The smile Faith gave her, awkward and wobbly as it was, was pleasantly received nonetheless. ¡°I¡¯ll cheer you on every step of the way. And I¡¯ll¡­show you my garden at some point, if you still want to see. It¡¯s like I said. We Heartful Maestras have to stick together.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Octavia smiled in return. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯ll be nice to have another legacy buddy around.¡±

    ¡°Do you think I can¡­watch you perform the Witnessing some more? Next time you do it, I mean?¡± she requested timidly.

    ¡°No problem,¡± Octavia said. ¡°Just¡­as long as I can have space sometimes. It gets overwhelming if there¡¯s a lot of tolls at once.¡±

    ¡°I-I completely understand. Let me know if you want me to leave you alone, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°Call me Octavia,¡± she reminded gently.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t even the answer she was looking for. Even so, it made her laugh. She had little to offer her fellow Heartful Maestra, wrapping up her designated guidance quota for the day as she was. Regardless, tomorrow was a new day. She didn¡¯t particularly mind one more set of eyes on her ceremony, for once. Mina had mentioned a special place in her heart for her legacy siblings, at some point. In some strange way, Octavia could understand what she meant. She figured trading tolls for a trip to a lovingly-raised garden was a fair exchange, anyway.

    <hr>

    Ever since arriving in Tacell, there was a strange and nostalgic feeling that hit Octavia each and every time she returned to the cottage. She placed the blame on Silver Ridge, the comforts of home and old habits she¡¯d once thought stemmed suddenly blasting her in full over the last several days. Viola¡¯s manor had been a home, granted, but its structure had been a far cry from the rustic and cozy atmosphere she¡¯d longed for. Now, living with five other people in an area much, much smaller by comparison, the intimacy level had marginally increased. Her heart was warmer for it.

    Octavia loved coming ¡°home¡± to them. She loved calling it ¡°home¡± in the first place. She was seriously considering moving to Tacell, at this point, and she could now fully understand the Maestros who¡¯d done so. She could understand, even more, those who¡¯d still chosen to stay even in the wake of their newfound freedom.

    There was an overpowering urge to announce her return each and every time she opened the door, a cue taken fresh from her hometown experiences as well. She stifled it to the best of her ability when it arose, and she held a distaste and embarrassment for the way it occasionally slipped out. It had gotten her teased at least once this week. Octavia knew that she deserved it. Today, she suppressed it, her entry at least quiet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see what his friggin¡¯ rush is.¡±

    ¡°He just wants to plan ahead.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s moving too fast.¡±

    ¡°You know how he is. Just¡­let him do what he¡¯s doing.¡±

    ¡°He can plan whatever he wants in his head, but he doesn¡¯t need to be doing all this crap now.¡±

    She lamented her interruption, tracing voices out of sight. Her entry had been silent enough, apparently, not to warrant disruption. That left her eavesdropping, the muffle of the not-so-distant hallway the only thing between her and a conversation that wasn''t hers to enjoy.

    ¡°I get where he¡¯s coming from. Try to look at it from his perspective.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m looking, and it¡¯s still not what¡¯s most important right now.¡±

    ¡°It is important. God, you realize how hard this is gonna be to pull off, right? We can¡¯t just waltz in there and get it over with. It¡¯s going to take actual planning. Actual effort. I don¡¯t even know how much. Renato, this could take weeks to figure out.¡±

    Logically, she knew this was the point at which she should go upstairs, settle into her room, decompress, and enjoy her beloved high of mental math. Instead, she was pressed up against the wall, her braids flat along the creamy masonry.

    ¡°Well, he needs to leave her out of it.¡±

    ¡°Has he said anything to her yet?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Because from what I¡¯m aware, it¡¯s mostly just been between him and River.¡±

    ¡°So they¡¯re just going behind her back, then.¡±

    ¡°Do you want him to get her involved or not? Which is it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­know!¡± Octavia could hear Renato growl. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°Because you realize she¡¯s gonna get dragged into it either way eventually, right? That¡¯s the entire point!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s going to hurt her!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s going to hurt her regardless!¡±

    ¡°Well, damn it, I don¡¯t want it to!¡±

    ¡°Do you think I want it to, either? Nobody does!¡±

    Just the sound of Viola raising her voice was making Octavia¡¯s stomach hurt. Still, she refused to budge, tense against the wall.

    ¡°Does anyone even know? Does he know?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if he knows.¡±

    ¡°Would he care?¡±

    ¡°Of course he¡¯d care,¡± Viola snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°I really don¡¯t know. I really, truly, genuinely don¡¯t believe that.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s blunt, but he¡¯s not a horrible person.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s insensitive. He¡¯s an idiot. She needs kindness, Vi. She needs patience. He¡¯s the most impatient person I¡¯ve ever met, and he¡¯s gonna walk all over her friggin¡¯ heart.¡±

    The longer the conversation went on, the more anxious Octavia was getting. She wasn¡¯t vain enough to immediately assume she was the subject of discussion in question. Still, the thought hadn¡¯t yet had an opportunity to disperse. She awaited its passage with hopeful, bated breath.

    ¡°Look,¡± Renato began softly, ¡°I know you and I don¡¯t have a lot in common, but there¡¯s one thing we do. We both care about her, and we both want her to be happy. We both¡­want her to be safe. We both want her to smile, and to not have to go crying herself to sleep over this crap. This is¡­too much.¡±

    ¡°I agree, I promise you, a thousand times over. Renato, you have no idea how badly I don¡¯t want to do this. None of us want to do this. I don¡¯t want to put her through that,¡± she heard Viola murmur.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna crush her. She was finally starting to be happy again. Ever since we came out here, she¡¯s been this little ball of sunshine. I love it. I want it to stay that way, please. Just a little longer,¡± he begged.

    ¡°All we can do is support her, just like we¡¯ve been doing. This¡¯ll be the worst of it. Maybe¡­when it¡¯s over, it¡¯ll get better. Maybe knowing they aren¡¯t there anymore will help. Maybe she¡¯ll get some closure. I don¡¯t know. I like to imagine there¡¯s a silver lining somewhere. We do it once, and then we¡­never have to do it again.¡±

    ¡°This sucks so bad.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna be the one to tell her.¡±

    ¡°Me neither.¡±

    The silence that followed left Octavia¡¯s heart pounding uncomfortably fast. She inched closer to the corner of the wall, strongly contemplating peering down the length of the hallway. The risk of compromising her cover before she found her full context was too much to handle. She held her breath once more.

    ¡°Are you¡­crying?¡±

    ¡°Something¡¯s in my eye. Don¡¯t sweat it.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re¡­definitely crying.¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t¡­worry about it, alright?¡±

    ¡°You really care about her that much?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t stand when she cries, Vi. I know she¡¯s gonna break down again. Just thinking about it is killing me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a lot softer of a person than I gave you credit for.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell if that¡¯s an insult.¡±

    ¡°Possibly.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called a hug, idiot. Ever gotten one before?¡±

    Octavia could hear the smirk in Renato¡¯s voice. ¡°God, am I really so bad right now that this is where my life ended up?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m about to make you cry for a whole different reason. Either take my graciously-given comfort or die, your choice.¡±

    ¡°I¡­appreciate it. I really do.¡±

    She finally made the conscious decision to peek. The two Maestros who bickered on a near-daily basis embracing was enough to turn the world upside-down, surely. It would¡¯ve been heartwarming, given the way the brim of his hat delicately scraped the satin of her bow. She was curious to ask Viola¡¯s opinion on his cologne later. She was far, far more curious as to what ominous words had even necessitated such comfort in the first place, her heart still pounding viciously.

    ¡°Maybe we should¡­let Josiah tell her,¡± Viola suggested.

    ¡°He¡¯s gonna be a jerk about it.¡±

    ¡°We can ask him to be gentle.¡±

    ¡°You really think he¡¯s gonna listen to that?¡± Renato scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s Josiah we¡¯re talkin¡¯ about.¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know how much he¡¯s already planned out. He¡¯s clever like that. And he would know the best way to go about pulling this off, of all people.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, he¡¯s not the Ambassador. He needs to at least leave enough leeway that Octavia can give her input.¡±

    There was her confirmation. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

    ¡°Again, this might take awhile. I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s got in mind yet. We¡¯ll have to talk about it eventually. In the meantime, she can keep doing what she¡¯s doing, picking through the ones who don¡¯t want to be here and whatnot.¡±

    Octavia could practically hear Renato rolling his eyes. ¡°And if he¡¯s done before she is?¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll get him to let her finish.¡±

    ¡°Good luck with that. He probably wants to get it over with first. Like I said, impatient.¡±

    ¡°If that happens, then we can press him to calm down a bit.¡±

    ¡°Again, good luck. He cares more about that freakin¡¯ city than he does about her feelings. God, you think he¡¯d be more anxious about going back there, too. I mean, hell, that was his home. Don¡¯t you think that would--¡±

    She threw up on the floor. She outright vomited on the hardwood, suddenly enough that she hadn¡¯t even had the time to register her nausea. It was spontaneous enough that her panic managed to splatter against the wall in the process--much to her incredible dismay. Octavia was lucky she didn¡¯t pass where she stood. She was lucky she didn¡¯t stumble or slip, given the rush of lightheadedness that slammed into her like bricks. Her breath was gone.

    She didn¡¯t want to hear anything more. She didn¡¯t need to hear anything else. It clicked. That was her punishment for eavesdropping.

    In any other circumstance, Octavia would¡¯ve been disgusted with herself for leaving the sickening aftermath of her terror splashed across the floor. She should¡¯ve been humiliated, logically, over the idea of whoever was going to have to discover it. Octavia was far more occupied with doing everything she could to see straight long enough to make it up the stairs, staggering and battling her blurring vision all the way there. Already, again, she was nauseous. Whether she could make it to her room before it happened a second time was debatable. She already wasn¡¯t making it there without the bells, nor with her breath in tow.

    Octavia was conscious of how heavy her footsteps were along the way, a stark contrast to her silent presence just moments ago. It wasn¡¯t subtle, and it wasn¡¯t enough to escape those who she¡¯d so rudely eavesdropped on in a moment of private debate. She heard her name shouted out in two different voices, equally panicked and shocked. She heard Renato swear loudly, perhaps twice over. She heard what she was fairly certain was something hitting a solid surface in anger and distress. Above all else, Octavia heard bells. She heard many, many bells.

    No amount of clinging to Stradivaria on her back was going to ease her pain. No amount of privacy was going to tone down the cursed tolling in her head. No amount of slamming her head against the pillow, no amount of sobbing and screaming, no amount of mental math or any semblance of distraction was going to change the one thing she never, ever wanted to think about.

    She had to go back eventually.

    She had to think about it eventually.

 67. Inevitable

    She couldn¡¯t concentrate enough to witness tolls for at least a full day. The dread that had finally begun to settle into the pit of Octavia¡¯s stomach was all-consuming, a lingering reminder that had finally killed her high. She¡¯d done her mental math many times over. It was her one justification, time and time again, that she wasn¡¯t a cowardly and useless Ambassador. The most rational part of her was ruthless and brutal, scolding her repeatedly in the hopes of achieving some form of peace. They were just two instruments. They just happened to be in two very unfortunate places. When they were done, they were done, and she¡¯d never have to go back. It would be over in an instant.

    It would not, in fact, be over in an instant. The logical part of Octavia screamed the reminder directly into her ears at every possible opportunity.

    She wasn¡¯t going to vomit on River¡¯s carpet. She absolutely, under no circumstances, was going to vomit on River¡¯s carpet. She was already miserable enough over the fact that someone had cleaned up after her spilled panic. Every possible candidate for the task was equally humiliating to entertain. Octavia hesitated to look directly at a single one of them--and not solely because there was less oxygen in the air than usual today.

    They were waiting on her. It took every ounce of effort in her body to compose herself enough to step into the salon, particularly relative to the amount of gazes that were about to fall on her. She¡¯d already run through a mental list of possible ways to get through the meeting unscathed, and every single option wouldn''t serve to keep her safe from harm. Some of them were better than others, at least partially.

    She could indulge relentlessly in her tried and true method of name repetition with Renato, although Octavia feared she¡¯d outright stop registering his name as a word by the time she was done today. She could disconnect from her entire body, pretend she wasn¡¯t in the room, and try watching herself from far above. That would leave her distracted and unable to absorb almost anything being said. She could beg Stradivaria to flood her brain with words of comfort, should the bells take precedence--although that would cause largely the same problem.

    Octavia didn¡¯t know she was sitting until she was sitting. She hadn¡¯t registered the movement of her feet into the salon. It wasn¡¯t until all eyes had flickered to her at least once that she realized they¡¯d even started. She couldn¡¯t gaze directly at Josiah, a deadly lightning bolt in and of himself that would surely shock her if she came too close. His words were sure to sting her soul soon enough, anyway. They¡¯d given up on concealing his intentions shortly after she''d discovered them. This, then, was the worst possible answer she was going to get.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Of course not. Frankly, the question was insulting. Anyone who could hear her mentally rattling off every toll she would enjoy dying to more than being here wouldn¡¯t have dared to ask.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t find a false smile, and she didn¡¯t bother to search for one. She turned her head and looked Harper dead in the eyes. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m fine.¡±

    She realized her mistake far too late. His sharp gaze softened almost instantly, pooling with something indiscernible. Hers, in turn, widened with just a hint of fear. She stole them back as fast as she could, stiff and paranoid. This was already going horrifically.

    When Josiah rested his head in his hands, Octavia knew it would only get worse. ¡°Sorry I keep taking up your time like this.¡±

    River shook his own head. ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s important. You know a lot more about it than I do.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m on to something,¡± Josiah offered quietly. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking it over since we got here, honestly. In the last few days, I¡¯ve started thinking harder about it, too. There¡¯s¡­obstacles that need to be cleared one by one to make this work.¡±

    ¡°I know you said she¡¯ll have to stop performing the Witnessing,¡± Briar asked. ¡°Why?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes snapped upwards at the vague mention of her responsibility. She wasn¡¯t the only one, the vast majority of her companions equally puzzled. Still, they let him speak.

    Josiah raised his head at last. "Getting Seraphim¡¯s Call back is probably going to necessitate a lot more than just everyone in this room, Apexes or not. The more Muses that go, the harder this is going to be. Now is the best possible time to do this. The ones who wouldn¡¯t be able to fight, I can understand. The ones who don¡¯t want to fight, same thing. As for everyone else, we need all the help we can get.¡±

    His eyes fell to her, as piercing and indiscriminate as the lightning in his heart. It made her dizzy. ¡°Do you know how many you¡¯re at, at this point? What you¡¯ve done, what¡¯s left, all of it?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s mouth was painfully dry. Simply getting words out was a trial, even if she¡¯d done the mental math often enough to burn the numbers into her brain. ¡°T-There¡¯s, um¡­since I got here, uh, eight? So that¡¯s, e-eighty-six, I think, at this point.¡±

    ¡°How many of them were in Tacell?¡±

    She''d known the answer to this, at some point. It was escaping her now. People were looking at her. She couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    No amount of racking her brain for the solution was helping. All of her thoughts were slipping out from beneath her, and Josiah¡¯s sharp eyes absolutely were not doing her any favors. He was supposed to be the smart one. Why wasn¡¯t he keeping track of them? Was he messing with her? This was a bad idea. Why did she agree to this? Why was she here?

    The warm hand that slipped so effortlessly into hers made her jump, even as it settled delicately into her lap. Even if she didn¡¯t look, Octavia could feel the way each fingertip brushed against her heated skin as she trembled. The sensation was something to focus on. She didn¡¯t fight it. ¡°Six,¡± Octavia finally found, clear and crisp.

    Josiah didn¡¯t press her any further, throwing the icy stare she hated in River¡¯s direction instead. ¡°You¡¯ve been setting her up with the unwilling ones, right? And the ones that shouldn¡¯t be doing this. How many of those do you have left?¡±

    River paused for a moment. ¡°That we have readily accessible? Maybe another seven. I can think of four more immediately that¡¯ll take some time to bring here. At least one of them is way out in Whitebrook.¡±

    Josiah counted for a moment in silence. ¡°Forty-one Maestros left in Tacell. How many are part of that group that aren¡¯t going to be able to fight if need be?¡±

    ¡°Five.¡±

    ¡°So, thirty-six, then,¡± he murmured to himself, closing his eyes. ¡°That includes you guys. With us, that¡¯s¡­still forty-one. Forty-one possible Maestros who¡¯d be able to fight.¡±

    Briar blinked. ¡°Who¡¯d be able to fight¡­what, exactly?¡±

    Josiah took a deep breath. ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call is in a place that was sealed off after a catastrophe. An absolutely unfathomable amount of Dissonance was unleashed upon the entire city it was housed in. It even escaped and wreaked havoc on the city above it. The whole place it¡¯s currently in is one giant grave. The¡­amount of Dissonance that could be down there is beyond belief. That¡¯s to say nothing of whatever¡¯s left over from last time--if anything¡¯s left over.¡±

    Mint recoiled. So, too, did Briar. ¡°That¡¯s¡­horrible. How did that much Dissonance even show up in the first place?¡±

    Octavia squeezed whatever hand had so willingly entered her line of fire for dear life. When it didn¡¯t flinch, nor pull away, she was simultaneously grateful and surprised. The look Josiah fixed the Soulful boy with was marked by dead eyes, hollow and emotionless.

    ¡°Bad memories,¡± he said plainly. ¡°Same as always, of course.¡±

    ¡°And you think there¡¯s a risk of Dissonance being there just by unsealing this place?¡± River asked.

    Josiah nodded, brushing his bangs out of his face. ¡°We recently had an experience that proved to me exactly how much Dissonance memories from that catastrophe could make,¡± he continued. ¡°And that was from the ones who made it out.¡±

    ¡°Out of the place where Seraphim¡¯s Call is?¡±

    ¡°Out of the place above it. That¡¯s where Valkyrie¡¯s Call is. They¡¯re adjacent to one another. If we can get to Seraphim¡¯s Call, we can definitely get to Valkyrie¡¯s Call. That¡¯s not necessarily the case the other way around.¡±

    ¡°The same disaster affected both cities?¡± Briar tried. ¡°There¡¯s¡­two of them, right?¡±

    ¡°Also, did you say above?¡± Francisco added incredulously. ¡°Like, one of them¡¯s on top of the other?¡±

    ¡°Yes and yes,¡± Josiah answered calmly. ¡°The city that shelters Valkyrie¡¯s Call is called Velrose. The city that shelters Seraphim¡¯s Call is called Velpyre.¡±

    Francisco shuddered. ¡°Creepy name.¡±

    Hearing their names explicitly spoken once more was enough to steal Octavia¡¯s breath in full. She squeezed her eyes shut, again torturing the hand that had so unfortunately surrendered to her ruthless grip. She wondered if she was cutting off someone¡¯s circulation. They didn¡¯t care, apparently. Another hand, just as warm, came to settle ever so gently atop her knee. The gesture was comfortable, one thumb tenderly stroking the fabric of her dress in reassurance. She struggled to swallow oxygen, and yet found enough to get by.

    ¡°Is¡­Velrose still inhabited? Or was it just as damaged?¡± River asked cautiously.

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°Velrose is fine, most likely. They had a Maestra to clean up afterwards, and our group did its fair share, too. It was evacuated. I don¡¯t know exactly how many people in Velrose succumbed to the Dissonance. It was a fair amount, if I remember correctly.¡±

    Octavia could think of at least one person, specifically. She fought for her life not to picture the acolyte¡¯s face. She failed miserably. Her head hurt. Even with her eyes shut, the room was far too bright, sunbeams undaunted by curtains finding their way well past her eyelids. The mindless depths of a toll would¡¯ve been a solid reprieve right now, involuntary and murky as they were. Somebody else¡¯s pain would¡¯ve been far preferable to her own. She hoped she wasn¡¯t breathing too loudly.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she heard someone whisper into her ear. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a voice she usually associated with her suffering, nor one she typically heard during her times of emotional crisis--not this flavor, anyway. Curiosity won.

    Octavia''s opened eyes surrendered to the sun, and she winced as the light flooded her pupils in full. She envied the way Harper could smile under the weight of such a morbid discussion. Still, she was more than thankful for his personal attention. He was warm. He was a good distraction, his physical contact equally so. She wasn¡¯t sure how she felt about him slowly putting the puzzle pieces of her rose-colored pain together, for how hard she¡¯d fought to keep it close to her heart.

    ¡°So, then,¡± River began, ¡°how many people got out of Velpyre?¡±

    Josiah paused. His gaze was as icy as his voice. ¡°You¡¯re looking at him.¡±

    The Ensemble, collectively, could only drink in his words with wide eyes and shallow breaths. Even Mint looked terrified on the boy¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°It was¡­that much?¡± Francisco muttered fearfully.

    Briar, too, was just as shaken. ¡°The whole¡­city?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s calm demeanor countered them both effortlessly. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to need as many Maestros as we can get that are willing to go down there with us. Like I said, Apexes or not, there¡¯s no way that nine Maestros can take on that quantity of Dissonance. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m doing it justice with how I¡¯m describing it.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°There¡¯s a very serious chance people will get hurt, then,¡± Briar murmured with concern.

    ¡°Hold up a second,¡± Francisco interrupted. ¡°Don¡¯t you mean ten Maestros? You¡¯re talking about the people in here, right? Not that it would change much, because I get your point, but still.¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°No, I mean nine. There¡¯s only nine in this room.¡±

    Francisco hesitated, narrowing his eyes in the absolute slightest. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t think I remember seeing your Muse. You¡¯re Essenced, right?¡±

    ¡°Was,¡± Josiah clarified coolly. ¡°Technically, still am. Doubt that changes.¡±

    Briar crossed his arms. ¡°You¡¯re not a Maestro?¡±

    Mint stared him down. Josiah stared right back, unfazed. ¡°Ex-Maestro. My Muse was already let go before I got here. Trust me, I have my own ways of contributing.¡±

    Francisco recoiled somewhat under his pointed words. ¡°N-No, I wasn¡¯t trying to say otherwise, I was just¡­surprised. You sure you¡¯re up for going to this place without a Harmonial Instrument? I mean, you¡¯d be completely unarmed down there.¡±

    ¡°Did it once,¡± he said. ¡°I can do it again. I wouldn¡¯t be alone this time, either. I am, as it stands, the only person who knows that place inside and out. It¡¯s a straight shot to the place where Seraphim¡¯s Call is, granted, but that doesn¡¯t account for every possible pitfall.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re¡­certain, then,¡± Briar relented. ¡°We¡¯ve got your back, of course. We can figure out which other Maestros would be willing to go. I don¡¯t know if we can get every single one to come, especially given the danger you¡¯re describing, but we can reach out beyond Tacell and see how far we get.¡±

    ¡°God,¡± Renato muttered, ¡°we really are making a friggin¡¯ army.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to get a good balance of legacies if we¡¯re going to make this work,¡± River added. ¡°Especially the Spirited.¡±

    At the mention of her legacy, Madrigal perked up, shifting in her seat. Only now did she stop picking at the loose threads of the couch, content to cease the torture she¡¯d been inflicting upon the cushions for the past twenty minutes. ¡°Um, did you say the Spirited? Why?¡±

    River tilted his head in the slightest, eyeing her gently. ¡°Safety. If someone gets hurt, we¡¯ll be there to help. The more of us there are, the easier it is to¡­rotate, if you know what I mean. That way, hopefully, no one has to use their gift more than once at a time. We just need to be careful not to let any of the Maestros get too injured, or--¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°Are we talking about your gift? You know what that does, right? You¡¯ll get hurt! It takes away your lifespan!¡±

    River nodded somewhat. ¡°I know. All of us know. Like I said, we¡¯re careful.¡±

    Madrigal flinched. ¡°You¡­know, and you still do it anyway?¡±

    ¡°We use our gift in moderation,¡± he clarified. ¡°Not extensively. It¡¯s the power we¡¯re given. It¡¯s our right. You could argue it¡¯s our obligation, for what legacy we carry in our blood. You¡¯re¡­Spirited, too, right?¡±

    Cherry oak fingers fell atop the Maestra¡¯s shoulder with such speed that Octavia had to wonder if it hurt. Madrigal jolted under his sudden touch. His narrowed eyes only briefly brushed her own. Otherwise, they challenged a rushing sea without hesitation. Sharp gaze or not, his words weren''t for River.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± Renato interrupted, his voice low and cold, ¡°what other problems are we gonna have with all of this?¡±

    Josiah recaptured his thoughts without effort, running one hand through his hair. ¡°Getting into Velrose won¡¯t be impossible, but it¡¯ll be annoying. The whole city runs on a passport system for admission, and they¡¯re not very easy to come by. To get enough for every Maestro would be a massive headache. They¡¯re fond enough of Maestros, collectively, though. The only workaround I could think of for that was reaching out to their acolyte.¡±

    Again, it was a word that stung Octavia¡¯s blood. She was conscious of the way she was trembling, even if she couldn¡¯t get it to stop. It was incredibly frustrating. Harper moved closer to her subtly, his body pressing against hers. She had to resist the urge to bury her face in his shoulder and break down in full. Octavia loathed beyond loathed that this was how he was finding out, and he still hadn¡¯t seen the worst of it by a longshot. Once more, she didn¡¯t argue with his warmth. She leaned into it.

    ¡°Allison, right?¡± Viola tried. ¡°I remember her.¡±

    ¡°The¡­acolyte?¡± Francisco questioned.

    ¡°Their Maestra. It¡¯s a local thing,¡± Josiah clarified. ¡°She¡¯s the Maestra for Valkyrie¡¯s Call. Unless she¡¯s got a grudge, I don¡¯t see any reason she wouldn¡¯t be okay with helping.¡±

    ¡°A grudge against¡­what?¡± Briar asked.

    Josiah inhaled sharply, exhaling much the same. ¡°She might be able to get them all in without passports, if we can convince her to help with this.¡±

    Briar never got his answer. He didn¡¯t press, even as Mint raised an eyebrow on his behalf. River, in contrast, found another question in his place. ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call, then. What about its Maestro? Where are they?¡±

    Josiah buried his head in his hands once more, falling silent for a moment. If Octavia vomited now, it would end up on Harper. That was even more severe of a concern than the carpet. It was the only thought that restrained her nausea, even as she trembled violently and lost her breath once more. Harper wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close quietly. Octavia prayed no one was staring. She doubted he cared in the slightest, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

    She wouldn¡¯t even bother trying not to think about it anymore. Their faces in her head were rising to meet her again and again like a tidal wave. Their last moments of suffering and agony were still fresh upon her watery eyes even now. At the very least, Octavia fought to keep the tears in. How long she could manage was debatable.

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call doesn¡¯t have a Maestro,¡± Josiah said slowly, his voice low. ¡°If memory serves, the Witnessing can¡¯t be performed without one, right?¡±

    Mint nodded. Francisco followed her silent answer. ¡°I¡¯m¡­not sure how to get around that, honestly. We¡¯d need to give it one, then?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s its legacy?¡± Briar asked.

    ¡°The strength of sound.¡±

    ¡°Right," River said. ¡°We could¡­see if we can find someone from the same legacy who¡¯d be willing to make that bond for a bit, even just temporarily.¡±

    Viola blinked. ¡°That can happen?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not,¡± he continued. ¡°If it¡¯s for the Muse¡¯s benefit, I doubt they¡¯d turn down the offer, quick as it would be.¡±

    ¡°Become a Maestro, do the toll stuff, let the Muse go, stop being a Maestro,¡± Renato interpreted half-heartedly. ¡°That¡¯s one hell of a fast turnaround. It almost feels wrong, somehow.¡±

    ¡°Can you use a Strong Maestro who¡¯s already had their Muse guided?¡± Viola suggested.

    Briar shook his head. ¡°To reforge a bond with a prior partner is¡­more than likely possible, provided the circumstances are even applicable. However, a Maestro, even one who¡¯s already relinquished their Harmonial Instrument, can never bond to a different Harmonial Instrument again.¡±

    ¡°Once you¡¯re done, you¡¯re done,¡± Francisco added. ¡°That¡¯s that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how we¡¯re going to go about finding a candidate for a new Maestro, truthfully,¡± River admitted. ¡°We could see if any Strong Maestros we already know of have relatives with the same legacy who might be willing to take the hit. Sometimes, it¡¯s hereditary. I can¡¯t guarantee--¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s another problem.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice, still just as low and just as sharp, cut River¡¯s words in half. He tensed, tangling his fingers together loosely as he spoke. ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call is¡­unique. It¡¯ll only choose Maestros from one particular bloodline. The family of acolytes that served as its Maestros were the only candidates. The last acolyte was the end of the Ebony family. There are no more acolytes after her. To my understanding, with what I know now, the Muse inside of Seraphim¡¯s Call will only bond with a Maestro of the Ebony family. It''s just like how Valkyrie¡¯s Call will only do the same with the Ivory family.¡±

    There was a specific reason that there was no Maestro for Seraphim¡¯s Call. If Octavia held up a mirror, she¡¯d surely find her full explanation immediately. She couldn¡¯t help the way her tears, sparse as they were, dripped onto Harper¡¯s hand. He rested his head against hers slightly, the fabric of his cap brushing against her hair. The pressure was, as she was satisfied to find, a welcome distraction. If he were to let her go right now, if he were to isolate her on the couch, Octavia would surely melt into nothing in the worst way.

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°But there¡¯s¡­no acolytes left,¡± she sputtered.

    ¡°So we¡¯re screwed,¡± Renato mumbled.

    ¡°I have one idea. If that idea doesn¡¯t work, then we¡¯re screwed. It¡¯s the best I could do.¡±

    ¡°Go for it,¡± Renato said.

    Josiah sighed heavily. ¡°There was precisely one acolyte who managed to escape from Velpyre. It¡¯s been several decades since then, but she should still be alive--hypothetically. If what Briar said is true, if Maestros can reforge old bonds with their prior partners, she should be able to go back to being a Maestra.¡±

    ¡°Someone¡­survived?¡± Madrigal murmured.

    He nodded. ¡°Tracking her down is going to be tricky. I don¡¯t know where she ended up. More than likely, she settled down somewhere for good, so she shouldn¡¯t be moving around.¡±

    ¡°Mina¡¯s father is good at finding people,¡± Briar suggested. ¡°Maybe you could talk with her.¡±

    It made enough sense. The connections Samuel had--as was the case with his two late confidants at SIAR--were mysterious and startlingly thorough. Octavia still hadn¡¯t wrapped her head around what exactly they entailed, let alone how that particular trio had become so effective at finding whatever persons of interest they desired. It probably wasn''t the best sign that she would actually prefer to think of SIAR over Velrose.

    ¡°Find that person and bring her back, then,¡± River interpreted. ¡°Will she come willingly?¡±

    ¡°She will,¡± Josiah insisted. ¡°I¡¯ll make her.¡±

    His words were harsh, pointed enough to draw a handful of worried gazes. He didn¡¯t back down one bit. ¡°Do whatever you can to get her here. If not here, at least to Selbright. There¡¯s a very good chance she doesn¡¯t know what happened to Velpyre, let alone what happened to the rest of the Ebony family. There¡¯s a¡­very good chance she doesn¡¯t care, either.¡±

    ¡°And you still think this person will agree?¡± Briar asked with concern in his voice.

    Josiah blinked slowly. ¡°I won¡¯t give her a choice. She¡¯s all we have. It has to work. I¡¯ll make sure it works.¡±

    ¡°If¡­she¡¯s an ex-Maestra, would it be possible to track her with the gift of the Soulful?¡± Viola wondered aloud. ¡°Or is that pushing it?¡±

    Briar thought for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s not unfeasible. With a bit of guidance in the right direction, we could try. At the very least, we¡¯d still need people to search for this person, anyway. If it was the responsibility of the Soulful, that would take care of a few things at once, if need be. My Apex will help with that, a bit.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He paused briefly. ¡°The¡­Maestros blessed with the companionship of an Apex are a bit different, in all honesty. The gifts bestowed by an Apex are as strong as they are, augmented in ways a normal Maestro¡­well, isn¡¯t. In my case, the distance from which I can sense other Maestros far outpaces that of most of the Soulful. It¡¯s definitely an advantage that¡¯s gone a long way in terms of building this place up. It wouldn¡¯t be a stretch to say Parsephii¡¯s assistance might even help me track down a former Maestra.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s¡­amazing. Can you track down any ex-Maestros if you tried?¡±

    Briar tilted his head. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried. I¡¯ve only ever felt the pull that comes with active Maestros. Still, I¡¯ll¡­give it my best shot. The more help I¡¯ve got, the better. Her case sounds unique, anyway. Her partner is still out there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to Mina,¡± River offered. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­explain what I can, provided I understood all of this correctly. Hopefully, she can relay it and put us on the right track.¡±

    ¡°I can start figuring out who¡¯s even up to dealing with all of this,¡± Francisco muttered. ¡°Mint and I will handle gathering the Maestros who¡¯d be willing to go, let alone figuring out who is willing in the first place. This sounds awfully dangerous.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s for a good cause,¡± Madrigal said sadly. ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call needs to go home, too.¡±

    Francisco nodded. ¡°R-Right. We¡¯ll¡­do our best.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get in contact with the Velrose Acolyte,¡± Josiah added. ¡°I¡¯ll explain the situation. I don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be an issue. Between all of us, that should take care of everything. It¡¯ll¡­take some time to set up.¡±

    When his icy gaze drifted to Octavia, she wanted to run. Pinned in Harper¡¯s arms as she was, there was no escape. It was a warm drawback she lamented. ¡°And¡­Octavia,¡± he began.

    She could barely speak. ¡°Y-Yes?¡± she tried anyway, her voice hoarse.

    His eyes softened somewhat. It was almost a surprise, although it did little to alleviate her trembling and sweating. ¡°Keep doing what you¡¯re doing, at least with the unfit and unwilling Maestros. When you run out of those, stop. Don¡¯t do the Witnessing for a single other Maestro in Tacell or otherwise until we figure this out.¡±

    What was there to do except nod? Octavia let him drag her along. Her head spun under the torment of the blossom and the flame for far, far too long continuously. The bells were becoming a backdrop, muffled somewhat only beneath her best efforts to listen in. It was her responsibility as the Ambassador, ultimately.

    She wondered what River would think if he knew exactly why they were going to need to put themselves in danger in the first place. She wondered if Francisco, Willful as he was, would catch her in the midst of whatever lies went unspoken in her heart. The Willful warmth that currently held her close, instead, was starting to falter, the chill in her blood too deep to thaw as it spread like frost. She couldn¡¯t move.

    It was the first time she¡¯d heard Harper address the primary conversation since they¡¯d convened, his attention otherwise offered up to the crumbling Ambassador alone. His voice was still just as soft as he peered at Josiah.

    ¡°Out of curiosity,¡± he began, ¡°who¡­is this Maestra, exactly? You said she escaped?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t offer him the courtesy of eye contact. His razor-edged gaze was wasted on the carpet, cutting the fabric to shreds from afar as he once more let his fingers sweep through his hair. He exhaled slowly, his voice dark and solemn.

    ¡°Celestina Ebony,¡± he said. ¡°Selena¡¯s mother.¡±

 68. Kinship

    The week that followed was largely miserable. Pride she''d once found in routine tolls had given way to an aching feeling of eternal dread in her stomach. Every last death of the past was a distraction from the death of her soul that was sure to come. Never before had her best attempts to cling to her favorite mantra been so relevant, and never had they simultaneously been so unsuccessful. Not thinking about it was proving absolutely fruitless time and time again. Octavia hadn¡¯t even needed a church to warrant her chronic distress.

    Every Maestro seeking liberation, she greeted with a false smile and healing hands all the same. There was a part of her that strongly considered stalling, taking her time with the residual eleven that were permitted prior to forming a battle plan. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but wonder how many Maestros would answer the call, given the lethal agony that potentially awaited below the surface of the Velrose church. She wondered if she¡¯d manage to stay conscious all the way down the stairs, lest she recall the way Sonata had so scathingly cast judgment with piercing eyes from atop the steps.

    Still, a mere six days left Octavia eleven Muses shorter, for better or worse. She was down to seventy-five, a respectable number for only two weeks in Tacell. Thirty-four Maestros left in Tacell was still an ample pool from which to draw their variable army, relatively comfortable in their Maestro shoes as most of them were.

    She¡¯d seen some in passing. She¡¯d waved. She¡¯d made idle conversation. She hadn¡¯t gotten even slightly further than that, despite her prior platitudes regarding efforts to memorize Muse names and accompanying aliases. Even now, she¡¯d still been forced to ask River to clarify the Ensemble¡¯s partners for her at least two more times. She didn¡¯t want to be the one to ask anyone to take up arms. After all, this was a mess of her own making.

    Despite her knowledge that the words weren''t hers to hear, Renato had a point. It was somewhat off-putting how cool and composed Josiah seemed to be about returning to the shattered remains of his home. He was, truly, the most suitable person to organize the task in the first place, Maestro or not. In some sick way, it was admirable. It still left Octavia avoiding him at every conceivable opportunity, thoroughly unable to divorce him from the thought of two cities haunting her every waking moment. She wondered if he¡¯d noticed.

    The primary problem, as a result, came in the form of wearing the Ambassador mask even through the midst of her intolerable suffering. Keeping up appearances was a nightmare, particularly in front of the Ensemble. Still, she was as much of a leader as River, and she knew it to be true. She couldn¡¯t not help. At the very least, she didn¡¯t have to make the walk back to Selbright alone.

    ¡°Are you holding up okay?¡± River pressed.

    Not in the slightest, if he''d meant emotionally. ¡°I¡¯m alright. I¡¯ve walked for a lot longer than this before,¡± Octavia reassured.

    He smiled. ¡°Let me know if you need a break. We¡¯ll stay with Mina for the night.¡±

    ¡°Do you go to see her often?¡± Octavia asked, tilting her head.

    River adjusted Renegadria¡¯s case on his shoulders slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t leave Tacell very much, to be honest. There¡¯s not a lot of opportunities to. Too much to worry about.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s face fell. ¡°That¡¯s¡­not very fun. You told me you like going out and seeing new places. You¡¯re really stuck there all the time?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, really. I¡¯ll have plenty of time to go wherever I want, someday. You won¡¯t have to do this forever,¡± he offered.

    ¡°Still,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­doing an excellent job with your task,¡± River praised gently, changing the subject.

    ¡°I still have a long way to go.¡±

    ¡°But what you¡¯ve done so far has been phenomenal. Be proud of that. There¡¯s a lot of people who can lead peaceful lives now, away from all of this.¡±

    ¡°I¡­thank you,¡± Octavia mumbled.

    Typically, she found comfort in seafoam. Today wasn¡¯t one of those days, and she instead found solace only in dirt. He called her out on it. It wasn¡¯t pleasant.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± River asked quietly.

    For him, of all people, she swallowed her honest response. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m just tired.¡±

    He winced. ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t have dragged you along for this, then. I should¡¯ve let you get some rest.¡±

    Octavia shook her head weakly. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I wanted to go. I know Mina¡¯s father, and I know the¡­situation. Truthfully, Mina¡¯s father knows what happened, too, and he knows that situation almost as well as we do. If I can help her explain what to say, it¡¯ll go smoother, I think.¡±

    ¡°That situation¡± was an easier way of phrasing it. At least for now, the wording wasn¡¯t prompting any bells to toll in her head. She settled upon it rather than the true names of the blossom and the flame, miserable as they were to so much as think in full.

    ¡°That¡¯s very helpful. It¡¯s better than me trying to explain, at least.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to drag you into it,¡± Octavia apologized. ¡°The Ensemble, too. Everyone. It¡­shouldn¡¯t have happened. You shouldn¡¯t have to put your lives in the line, especially not for one Harmonial Instrument. We don¡¯t even know what¡¯s down there.¡±

    Octavia chose her words carefully. River seemed to accept them with grace, feeding her another smile in return. ¡°This is the path we chose to take. We¡¯re here for you, and we meant what we said. All of us will fight for you, and we¡¯ll do whatever it takes to see this through to the end. Every Muse counts. Every Maestro counts.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be in danger,¡± she whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do that to you guys. This goes beyond helping.¡±

    He stopped for a moment, the soft shuffle of his shoes through the grass muted in place of his gentle voice alone. ¡°Trust us. Trust what we¡¯re capable of. That¡¯s all I can ask of you, Ambassador. Believe in us, just like we believe in you. We¡¯re stronger than you think, Apexes or not.¡±

    Octavia gripped Stradivaria¡¯s straps uncomfortably. ¡°I¡­it¡¯s not that I doubt you, any of you. I know you guys are strong, just by looking at you. Even without Apexes, I¡¯m sure the Ensemble would still be just as powerful. I¡­do trust that. I¡¯m not afraid of failing. I¡¯m just afraid of people getting hurt.¡±

    River was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was equally so. ¡°I¡­like to imagine that strength has nothing to do with whether or not a Maestro has an Apex. I agree with you.¡±

    When he remained idle, she took the initiative, pressing onwards. She wasn¡¯t certain how distant from Selbright they were by now, the sun already descending suspiciously low. Getting stuck in the middle of grassy nowhere in the dark of night wasn¡¯t a pleasant concept, even with River in tow. ¡°How far out are we?¡±

    He blinked, following her lead again at last. ¡°N-Not that far. It shouldn¡¯t be long.¡±

    That was a relief, somewhat. Octavia was looking forward to Mina¡¯s hospitality again, admittedly. Breakfast had been pleasant, as had the girl herself--mild sass notwithstanding. She wouldn¡¯t have minded spending more time together, distance willing. Samuel would surely have been satisfied to know of their friendship, or so she liked to think.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    River¡¯s soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°How¡­strong are your friends?¡±

    She raised an eyebrow in the slightest. ¡°I¡­as Maestros? They¡¯re pretty strong, all of them. Why?¡±

    It was his turn to indulge in a moment of silence. ¡°It¡¯s¡­been awhile since I¡¯ve been around people who didn¡¯t have Apexes. I spend most of my time with the Ensemble, so it¡¯s¡­strange.¡±

    Octavia swallowed the one correction that sat atop her lips. Even now, she remembered Rondelio¡¯s plea, cryptic as it was. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was still applicable. ¡°Faith doesn¡¯t have an Apex, though.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°None of the Heartful we know should, at least. It would scare me a bit if they did. I don¡¯t know where that Muse ended up, but it¡¯s certainly not anywhere we¡¯ve found. Faith isn¡¯t exactly part of our little group, anyway. She¡¯s more of a helper. Was, anyway.¡±

    ¡°¡®Was¡¯? I thought she still helps out with her gift.¡±

    River smiled. ¡°We have you for that, now.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I¡­me?¡±

    ¡°I feel bad for her. We dragged her into enough of a mess. We put enough pressure on her. It¡¯s kind of a relief that you¡¯re here, honestly. She doesn''t have to¡­deal with anything else. She can go back to being herself.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Octavia asked.

    His smile slipped somewhat. ¡°Faith was¡­we were training her to be the Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia, too, almost came to a halt. It took conscious effort to will her feet forward, driven primarily by a desire to reach the warmth of Mina¡¯s house before nightfall. It didn¡¯t make his words any less jarring. ¡°You were¡­what?¡±

    ¡°It was before we knew there was one. Her gift didn¡¯t work, so we assumed the Muses hadn¡¯t chosen yet. There¡¯s only so many Heartful, and she was a good candidate. From there, it was just¡­getting her ready for it, mostly mentally. I don¡¯t think she enjoyed it much. It¡¯s our fault for pushing her into it. One day, her gift finally worked, and we could see the Muses in a form she hadn¡¯t chosen. We knew someone took on the task before she did, even if we didn¡¯t know who. I like to imagine it took some weight off her shoulders.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t find the words to answer him, at first. It took a moment. ¡°There weren¡¯t any other Heartful Maestros you had in mind? Or that volunteered, even?¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly a task anyone jumps to volunteer for. Besides, the Muses are kind of picky about that--at least, ours are. Knowing them, they probably wanted the perfect Heartful to stand up for the job. If we wasted time training up the wrong one, I think they¡¯d be angry at us.¡±

    Octavia winced. In the case of her circle, time had supposedly been of the essence. On multiple occasions, she''d been reminded of her disposability, typically accompanied by venom. She still wondered if her selection as Ambassador had been largely a byproduct of urgency rather than careful decision-making. His experience contradicted her own. That, too, was jarring.

    ¡°Are there other Heartful Maestros in Tacell, even? I¡¯ve only seen Faith and¡­that boy. Theo, right?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Yes. As to any others, we have two more. We know the location of one besides that outside of Tacell. There¡¯s also the Muses¡¯ Lord of All, who¡­I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s going on there, in terms of Maestros. We haven¡¯t given it thought yet. They don¡¯t talk about him much.¡±

    ¡°So there¡¯s three unaccounted for, then,¡± she muttered under her breath. ¡°It¡¯s weird knowing exactly how many finite Maestros of a legacy there are.¡±

    ¡°Do you feel any kinship with your Heartful counterparts?¡± River asked.

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°A little bit. It¡¯s¡­nice to have Faith around. I like knowing there¡¯s more of them out there, especially when I¡¯m the only one I¡¯ve seen in¡­well, ever. Meeting Theo was a surprise, too, even though I don¡¯t think he likes me very much.¡±

    River laughed--a long overdue sound that eased her soul. ¡°I feel the same way about the other Spirited. It¡¯s a bond that¡¯s hard to explain. You can feel it in your blood, almost.¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°You better be fine getting along with other legacies, too, if we¡¯re gonna make this partnership work.¡±

    Again, he laughed. The chimes in his voice were far preferable to the bells that threatened her head. ¡°I assure you, I have no issue with any of them. It¡¯s just¡­nice to be on the same page. You¡¯ll see what I mean, someday.¡±

    She already understood, somewhat, if Faith was any indicator. She still hadn¡¯t gotten a chance to go see her garden just yet. Octavia made a mental note, once this mess was over and she could complete the rest of her task in peace, to see beloved petunias blooming for herself. It lightened her step, somewhat. River was good at leading her to that overall, his company a comfort she¡¯d grown to look forward to.

    ¡°I¡­do wonder who ended up with our Apex, though.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare.

    ¡°W-Why?¡± she stammered. It wasn¡¯t subtle.

    He shrugged, his eyes straight ahead as he walked. ¡°Just a curiosity. We found three of them. We know one of them is¡­well, the Lord of All they mention sometimes. That leaves the Apex of Strength and our own Apex. We¡¯ll find out eventually, I¡¯m sure, but it¡¯s¡­still bothering me a bit. I¡¯m impatient.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll¡­figure it out soon enough,¡± she lied through her teeth. Restraining the urge to simply tell him was shockingly difficult.

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m curious what kind of Maestro bonded with our Apex. I don¡¯t even know what our Apex¡­looks like, or acts like, or sounds like. I want to meet them, too. I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    It wouldn¡¯t be a tricky introduction at all. All they¡¯d need to do was turn around right now. It hadn¡¯t occurred to her to just outright ask as to the nature of her mandated silence, although she wasn¡¯t quite sure if she¡¯d get a quality answer.

    Rondelio?

    She was relieved to hear his voice, a solid confirmation that he was listening from inside a bulky case at all. Yes, Ambassador?

    Can¡¯t I just tell him? He wants to meet her. I don¡¯t understand why I have to keep it a secret.

    Please, do not, he again pleaded softly. I ask this for his sake.

    What? Why?

    Your heart is kind. You will¡­come to understand him, as you have already begun to do. I believe such knowledge would only wound this boy.

    Even though he said he wants to meet Lyra? I don¡¯t get it.

    You shall, in time. I ask again, please keep the Apex of Spirit close to your heart. If possible, please implore your companions to do the same.

    It was an even more confusing answer than his initial request weeks ago. Octavia didn¡¯t pry, nor did River press her on her silence. His vivid gaze beneath the setting sun was placid, tranquil, enough to calm her heart and steady the thoughts that had raced minutes before. For all the good his company alone did her, she refused to touch anything that so much as had the potential to hurt him. She would already be hurting him enough by dragging him down to the depths of Velpyre, no matter how much he insisted as to the contrary.

    <hr>

    Nightfall had crashed upon the streets of Selbright by the time they¡¯d reached Mina¡¯s abode. Octavia again counted her blessings that her path had been guided by another. The lamps wouldn¡¯t have done her justice, and the degree to which she would¡¯ve become hopelessly lost trying to retrace her steps would¡¯ve further compounded her misery. Even with no prior knowledge of their arrival, Mina had welcomed them with open arms, hot tea, and a willingness to hear them out. True to River¡¯s words, she was every bit as hospitable as their first encounter, more than glad to lend them soft beds for the evening. The tea was nice. The nature of Octavia''s visit was not, and explaining her circumstances wasn¡¯t enjoyable.

    She¡¯d seen Samuel¡¯s true nature on three occasions, through the perspectives of three different people whose shoes she otherwise never should¡¯ve worn. She knew his heart to be genuine, his intentions pure. Josiah¡¯s prior ire at the man regarding his role in the Velrose catastrophe hadn''t slipped her mind. Octavia still found it surprising that he''d been receptive to Samuel¡¯s assistance in any capacity. He didn¡¯t seem the type to forgive so easily, justified as he¡¯d been in the moment.

    Samuel knew Velrose, and he¡¯d known what had befallen both the Blessed and Cursed Cities alike. If anyone could trace the lineage of the Ebony family, Octavia felt comfortable surrendering the task to the historian who¡¯d made the blossom his own mission so long ago. The flame might''ve been a new challenge, by comparison, and yet she trusted him all the same--fickle as such trust was.

    She wouldn¡¯t dare tell Mina anything of the indirect blood on her father¡¯s hands. She had to wonder if Mina knew in the first place, ignorant to the plight of the blossom and the flame as she was. Whether or not Mina knew the personal affairs of her father at all was debatable. Octavia wondered if Mina had ever met Drey. The thought was nauseating. She stifled it as quickly as possible, given the mental questions in wait that immediately followed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know as soon as I hear absolutely anything back,¡± Mina offered.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m sorry to drag you into this, too.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I get dragged into stuff all the time. It¡¯s all the Ensemble ever does to me. It¡¯s nice to get dragged into something by someone new, for a change,¡± she joked.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle a tiny smile, dark as Mina¡¯s words were. ¡°Still.¡±

    ¡°You need Maestros, right?¡± Mina said. ¡°To fight down there, I mean.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°As many as we can get. It¡¯s gonna be dangerous. I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen. I don¡¯t know if anything will happen, but I just have a¡­feeling.¡±

    ¡°A feeling?¡±

    ¡°None of my feelings are ever good feelings, but they¡¯re usually right.¡±

    Mina laughed. ¡°That sucks.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    For a moment, they were content to settle into silence. In Octavia¡¯s case, that meant indulging in her tea just a bit more. In its own way, crass as she was, Mina¡¯s company was nice, too.

    ¡°I¡¯ll fight.¡±

    Octavia nearly choked, a borderline waste of perfectly good hibiscus. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You heard me,¡± the Essenced Maestra said with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll fight. I¡¯ll go with you.¡±

    Octavia cleared her throat, somewhat embarrassed at her tea-flavored aspiration. ¡°You heard what I said, right? It¡¯s dangerous. You could get seriously hurt. You might even¡­¡±

    Mina cocked her head. ¡°You know, for someone who¡¯s trying to recruit Maestros, you sound more like you¡¯re trying to talk me out of it.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I¡­I just don¡¯t want you to feel obligated.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she reassured. ¡°I promise.¡±

    If River was awake, Octavia wondered if he¡¯d be scolding her on behalf of her resurfacing doubts. As it stood, it took effort to trust in Mina¡¯s words. She was not at all fond of the idea of people obeying the requests of the Ambassador based on title alone, and it was becoming a paranoia. She prayed that wasn¡¯t the case, although she couldn¡¯t quite summon the courage to ask directly.

    ¡°You having fun with all the Ambassador stuff so far?¡±

    Octavia threw her eyes deep into her drink. ¡°It¡¯s¡­definitely progressing, little by little. I don¡¯t think ¡®fun¡¯ is the word for it, especially with what¡¯s about to happen. I¡¯m not looking forward to this one bit.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t blame you,¡± Mina muttered, resting her cheek in her palm. ¡°Sometimes, being a Maestra sucks. Can¡¯t imagine being the Ambassador on top of that.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like being a Maestra?¡± Octavia asked.

    Mina tipped her hand back and forth. ¡°Some days, I do. Some days, I don¡¯t. Most days, I like it. I¡¯m happy with it. I appreciate what I can do. There¡¯s days every now and then where I just¡­overthink things a bit.¡±

    Octavia groaned. ¡°Tell me about it.¡±

    Mina smirked. ¡°You, too, huh?¡±

    ¡°The overthinking more so than the Maestra stuff.¡±

    ¡°You like being a Maestra?¡±

    ¡°I¡­yeah, mostly. I think everyone has bad days, but for the most part, I like being a part of this world. It¡¯s not easy, that¡¯s for sure, but it¡¯s¡­nice.¡±

    The way Mina eyed her was mildly uncomfortable. She sipped at her tea again, lethal as it apparently was.

    ¡°You like your light?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I mean¡­yes. I¡¯ve¡­never had a problem with it.¡±

    ¡°If you could have any other legacy, what would it be?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°I¡¯ve never really thought about it. I think they¡¯d all be fun to try at least once.¡±

    ¡°Fun?¡±

    ¡°Well, if I was Soulful for a little while, it¡¯d be fun to make snow, or something. It might even be fun to be Strong and¡­blow stuff up, just a teeny bit. Within reason.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure if the answer was incorrect. Mina¡¯s response made her self-conscious, nonetheless. Hiding in her tea wasn¡¯t working very well.

    ¡°You ever met anyone who dislikes their legacy?¡± Mina asked quietly, resting her other cheek in her opposite hand instead.

    Octavia hesitated. Frankly, she wasn¡¯t sure if it was her place to say. ¡°Yes, actually.¡±

    Mina¡¯s eyes widened in the slightest. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if he still dislikes it,¡± she clarified. ¡°But he¡­did for a while, I think. He had a very unfortunate background that didn¡¯t match well with the legacy he was given. It¡­hurt him. He enjoys being a Maestro, though, to my knowledge, so I like to imagine he¡¯s come to terms with it. I hope he¡¯s made his peace. I don¡¯t want him to hate himself like that, not for how wonderful the gifts he was blessed with are.¡±

    ¡°People don¡¯t realize how dangerous Maestro stuff actually is,¡± Mina murmured. ¡°They get so wrapped up in the wonder of it all that they forget the power it comes with. They¡¯re not toys. They can kill people. You¡¯ve gotta know your legacy inside and out, if you¡¯re gonna be safe--both for yourself and for the sake of other people.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Mina was silent. Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to nudge her. She waited.

    ¡°You ever hurt anybody with your light?¡±

    That, in particular, was a subject she very much did not enjoy thinking about. ¡°Hurt¡± was an understatement. It wasn¡¯t something she wanted to share at length, and Octavia wasn¡¯t fond of the mild nausea that threatened the taste of otherwise delicious tea. ¡°Yeah,¡± she admitted, her voice tiny.

    ¡°On purpose?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ever do it on accident?¡±

    If memory served, she couldn¡¯t recall a time. Somehow, knowing all of her damage to others had been largely intentional didn¡¯t make Octavia feel any better. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    The awkward silences that Mina kept leaving in her wake were starting to burn. Her newest one was far too long--enough that Mina¡¯s eyes wandered away from Octavia¡¯s own. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask for more tea in the midst of her heavy words.

    ¡°I did, once.¡±

    Octavia raised her eyes to the girl, uncomfortable as she appeared. Her own tea was likely wasted, untouched and surely cold by now. At the very least, it had her attention, leaving the Maestra trailing one nail along the porcelain rim absentmindedly. Octavia wasn¡¯t fully sure how to respond.

    ¡°What happened?¡± she tried, settling on the most straightforward question.

    When Mina didn¡¯t answer, Octavia immediately regretted it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you don¡¯t have to answer if you--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my toll,¡± Mina murmured.

    Octavia could only stare. ¡°Your¡­toll?¡±

    ¡°Tell me something,¡± Mina began, still preoccupied with touching the teacup. ¡°You ever done a toll without guiding a Muse before?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°A bunch of times, actually. Just to get them over with. I did the same thing for myself, even.¡±

    ¡°Good. Can you¡­do me a favor?¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    Only now did Mina offer her the gift of eye contact, hollow as it was. ¡°I¡¯ll trade you. I¡¯ll fight for you if you get mine over with, too.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but flinch. ¡°You¡­want me to do it now?¡±

    Mina shrugged. ¡°It can be in the morning, if you want. I don¡¯t know the next time I¡¯ll see you. Just¡­the sooner, the better. I want it done and over with. I don¡¯t wanna be sitting on it anymore. I don¡¯t like knowing it¡¯s in there. I still want to be a Maestra, I just¡­I don¡¯t want it to be there.¡±

    ¡°You already know what it is?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m 100% confident about what it is.¡±

    Even as the Ambassador, Octavia disliked the way she couldn¡¯t resist hesitating. There was a fine line between prying and blindly agreeing that she was afraid to walk. Something in Mina¡¯s words felt trusting enough to warrant privacy, and she didn¡¯t particularly like the idea of sharing the situation with River. The subsequent explanation wouldn¡¯t have been her place to give, anyway. Surprising as it was, this was a better time than the morning, and their scathingly unfortunate trip to the Cursed City was on an unpredictable timetable. She wasn¡¯t sure how to get back to Selbright from Tacell alone, anyway.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I can do it now, if you want.¡±

    Mina sat up straight. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. We can¡­get it over with. The sooner, the better, right?¡±

    Mina¡¯s more gentle smile, for once, was welcome--faint as it was. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia did what she could to return the favor with one of her own. Her eyes wandered, particularly given the way Mina stayed mostly glued to her seat. ¡°So, uh¡­where¡¯s your partner?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry,¡± Mina apologized quickly.

    To Octavia¡¯s surprise, there was no case. There wasn¡¯t even a need for the girl to get up. She was like Renato, in that way, in that her partner rested close to her heart--literally. Her fingers delved into the inner linings of her cardigan, down into pockets Octavia couldn¡¯t see from her side of the table. She saw rustling. Then, she saw glimmering, shining. She saw two halves of silver, so carefully shaped and pristinely glistening beneath the soft lights of the kitchen.

    Mina held it with such care, tiny as it was for a legacy so vicious. Every little motion with which it spun and shifted in the open air, dangling preciously, only added to the triangle¡¯s radiant splendor.

    ¡°She¡¯s little,¡± Mina clarified, ¡°but she packs a punch. Don¡¯t judge a book by its cover.¡±

    ¡°I-I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Octavia stammered. ¡°She¡¯s pretty. What¡¯s her name?¡±

    ¡°This is Savior¡¯s Resplendence. I¡¯ve¡­had her since I was a kid. She means a lot to me.¡±

    As always, the beauty of a Harmonial Instrument alone was enough to bring a smile to Octavia¡¯s face. She waved, a smaller wave than usual for an equally small instrument. ¡°Hello. Nice to meet you,¡± she offered.

    Mina raised an eyebrow. ¡°You say hi to them?¡±

    Octavia flushed. ¡°I-I mean, there¡¯s a Muse in there, somewhere. It¡¯s¡­polite.¡±

    Mina smirked. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re Heartful, alright. I¡¯m sure they get a lot out of that kind of Ambassador.¡±

    Whether it was a compliment or an insult remained to be seen. Octavia liked to imagine that Mina was the type to settle on the former--at least, in her case.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry in advance,¡± Mina offered sadly, cupping the small metal fragments in her palms. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna like it. All I ask is that you don¡¯t judge. It really was an accident. I just¡­don¡¯t want to think about it anymore.¡±

    Octavia wished beyond wished it were that simple from her end--a toll she could watch once and discard the pain of for life thereafter. In a way, a miniscule part of her was envious. ¡°I would never judge. I promise you, I¡¯ve seen some pretty bad tolls. Really bad, actually. I¡¯m not minimizing it in any way, but I¡¯ll be okay. This is¡­what I do. I¡¯m used to it.¡±

    Mina smirked once more, even as she extended the triangle across the table. ¡°What was your worst toll?¡±

    Octavia gulped. That was an exceedingly personal question. Given that her worst toll thus far had directly involved Mina¡¯s father, she bit her tongue somewhat. ¡°The man who killed my sister,¡± she answered with shocking coolness.

    Mina¡¯s face contorted with disgust. ¡°God, what the hell? What is wrong with your life?¡±

    She never thought she¡¯d laugh over such a horrifying topic, but Mina¡¯s reaction got to her anyway. ¡°I ask myself that question a lot.¡±

    Mina shuddered. ¡°Alright, maybe mine¡¯s not that bad by comparison. But it¡¯s still bad,¡± she added quickly.

    Octavia''s smile was soft. ¡°I¡¯ll get through it.¡±

    Mina, too, smiled back, equally soft in a way Octavia enjoyed. ¡°If you¡¯re sure, then. Whenever you¡¯re ready. She¡¯ll like you, probably.¡±

    Octavia tapped one finger upon the cool metal of the triangle with as much cautious care as she could. It was a pattern that was slowly becoming muscle memory, and she was slipping right back into a routine that had grown to reject conscious effort. ¡°I¡¯d like to meet you,¡± she implored gently. ¡°Can we talk for a bit?¡±

    Her prayers were answered with ease. She was gradually getting used to the splendor of the Essenced, brilliant yellows that had once been somewhat blinding no longer stinging her pupils with as much fervor. Their forms, as they settled into radiant existences for the Heartful alone, had been growing on her. Luminous hues of golds so befitting of their electrifying legacy were a treasure to witness.

    She was grateful for the way she could appreciate them in much the same way she could the other Muses, lest she feel like a poor Ambassador. For such a small vessel, the feminine Muse that greeted her eyes with lustrous beauty was of average stature. It didn¡¯t make her any less resplendent than her namesake, and the richness of her voice spoke to the pleasure of her presence.

    ¡°Greetings, Ambassador,¡± she offered with a bow. ¡°I am Raisare of the Essenced. It is a pleasure.¡±

    Octavia waved. ¡°Hi there. Octavia. Ambassador. Nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°You good with sticking around for a bit if we just¡­wipe the slate clean, Rai?¡± Mina asked casually, her eyes floating upwards.

    The Muse nodded. ¡°As you wish. I am in no hurry, my child. Do what must be done, and I will accept my guidance with grace when the time is right.¡±

    Mina''s smile, offered to a Muse clearly cherished, was just as pleasant. Even from afar, their bond was enough to warm the Ambassador by proxy. ¡°As long as you¡¯re good with it.¡±

    It was the same as always, on cue as she¡¯d expected. ¡°Mina Sostoviri, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    ¡°Ready?¡± Octavia asked.

    Mina¡¯s face fell, and it hurt to see. ¡°I¡­you promise you won¡¯t judge?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I promise.¡±

    Mina took a deep breath. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Even if she could reach across the table, Octavia had never witnessed a toll while sitting before. It was a mildly uncomfortable sensation. She closed her eyes, lowered her fingers, and embraced death for the happiness of another once more. It was routine in the sickest way.

    Dying, too, was far preferable to the thought of challenging the blossom and the flame once more. Octavia wondered at what point she¡¯d come to that conclusion.

 69. Mistakes and Mementos

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Seeing Samuel¡¯s visage in four separate tolls had to have marked some sort of new record. It was more than she¡¯d seen Drey, even. Kissing him was far, far more awkward, even with lips not her own and love not hers to give. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure how she was going to look him in the eyes after this, should they meet again. She wasn¡¯t even sure how she was going to look Mina in the eyes later. In her defense, the latter had absolutely no way of knowing.

    Octavia was foolish, somewhat, in the way she couldn¡¯t help but focus on Samuel more than her actual stranger. She was well aware of that much. It was a reflex from her toll-born investigation of Drey¡¯s unfortunate butterfly effect, searching for hints of more closely-guarded secrets in lieu of Samuel''s personal life. It wasn¡¯t that Octavia was disinterested in her stranger, beautiful as she was and happy as she could be. If the smile on Samuel¡¯s face upon her entry into a room meant anything, the feeling was more than mutual.

    She was every bit as lovely in the soft ivories of matrimony as she was in the plainer fabrics of a life lovingly made in the home. It was endearing to see a man burdened with the weight of so many secrets return to fresh, warm meals and unwavering adoration. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but wonder at what point he''d begin dabbling in Drey¡¯s more sinister affairs. Would it show on his face as he crossed the threshold into that beautiful abode? There was a very, very low chance Priscilla might be in this toll. The thought made Octavia¡¯s heart pound.

    Seeing Mina with her hair growing well past her shoulders was a bit of a surprise. It was cute that she¡¯d kept the same barrettes all these years.

    She was beloved, relentlessly so. Samuel¡¯s long hours--presumably at SIAR already, if his familiar taste in clothing had been anything to go by--didn''t afford him the comforts of day after day spent with his daughter in his arms. That wasn''t the case for her stranger, a homemaker as she was. The snippets and flashes Octavia found were bright and shining for more reasons than one, overflowing with the happiness that accompanied motherhood.

    The woman whose eyes she stole loved fiercely, shaping Mina¡¯s world with just as much affection as that with which she¡¯d blessed Samuel. For that, too, Octavia felt warm. The magic of her presence drew a smile from Mina¡¯s lips each and every time, and it spoke to her splendor in equal measure. In Mina¡¯s defense, she was small. Octavia doubted she was old enough to truly express anything but love for such a mother just yet.

    Her stranger didn''t cling, nor did she suffocate her daughter. Mina grew, somewhat, given free rein of the world despite her tender age. She was hardly old enough to read the books Samuel had begun to show her, her little hands still struggling to reach high shelves and lift heavy objects. Still, she wasn''t restricted, and it was mostly for the better. It was not, perhaps, so wonderful when she brought with her any manner of the outside world into what had once been a tidy house.

    Mud was the least of it. Caterpillars were a favorite. Mina''s familiar bright grin was already well under development as she proudly thrust her new discoveries into the face of a beloved stranger. As to what she would return with on any given day, it was anyone¡¯s guess. It was amusing, somewhat, how supportive this woman was of her uncouth behavior--young or not.

    What¡¯s that, sweetheart?

    A snail.

    Where did you find it?

    A leaf.

    It¡¯s very cute. You should put it back, though. It lives outside. Can we say bye together?

    Okay.

    Somewhere along the way, it seemed, Mina had lost her interest in nature. Octavia chalked it up to the wonders of childhood alone, a world still so yet unexplored that the oddities of the great outdoors hadn¡¯t yet had a chance to unsettle her. It was still funny.

    What¡¯s that?

    A mushroom.

    Go wash your hands. Did you put it in your mouth?

    Can I?

    No.

    She made a mental note to ask if this was a persisting interest, at least.

    What¡­is that?

    A triangle.

    Where did you get a triangle?

    Outside.

    Yes, but¡­where?

    On the ground.

    It was just¡­there?

    Yeah.

    Does it belong to someone?

    I dunno. Can I keep it?

    I¡­suppose, for now. If we find whoever owns it, we have to give it back, okay?

    Okay.

    She didn¡¯t use it right away. It was initially decorative, displayed for at least several days with great love and care. It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia had ever seen a Harmonial Instrument wear down or grow particularly filthy--although she was guilty of polishing Stradivaria out of courtesy from time to time. Mina, too, had an identical idea. She boasted of her find to Samuel, at one point. It was something inorganic, for once, that spoke not to infestation or food poisoning.

    What do I do with it?

    It¡¯s an instrument, sweetheart. See that part? You have to hit it.

    Really hard?

    Be gentle. Tap it nicely. Hold it like this, okay?

    My fingers feel weird.

    It¡¯s little. You¡¯ll get used to holding it.

    They¡¯re all tingly.

    The metal¡¯s cold, huh?

    Not really.

    For as small as those fingers were, Mina mastered its grasp fairly quickly.

    When you tap it, it¡¯ll make a really pretty sound.

    I wanna do that!

    Her stranger¡¯s laugh was bubbly, just as beautiful as herself. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll sound wonderful.

    I can do it. Watch!

    Again, she laughed. Show me.

    Okay.

    Where Octavia usually found the darkness that came with death, she instead found utter, blinding white. It was instantaneous, quicker than her borrowed eyes could blink. It was the most abrupt ending to a toll she¡¯d ever had.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She hadn¡¯t even registered that it ended, initially. Octavia jolted as she came up, recoiling with such ferocity that her chair squeaked against the floor. It was a miracle that what remained of her tea hadn¡¯t spilled. It had been awhile since a toll had shaken her, even those which had been relatively gruesome. Whether it was the sudden conclusion or the content itself, Octavia wasn¡¯t sure. She¡¯d ruled out familiar faces in tolls upon coming to Tacell. It was her fault for forgetting Samuel¡¯s, even in passing. It took her a moment to catch her breath.

    Mina smirked. ¡°I told you it was bad.¡±

    Octavia winced, waving her hands hurriedly. ¡°N-No, it¡¯s okay! I really have¡­seen worse.¡±

    Mina crossed her arms. ¡°I mean, the tolls I have seen you witness had you reacting a bit more calmly than that.¡±

    She hated to admit that her heart was still racing. ¡°It was just¡­surprising.¡±

    Mina rested her cheek against her hand once more, her smirk slipping clean off of her face. ¡°Yeah, well, it surprised me, too. Bet that was a new experience for you.¡±

    Mina¡¯s morbid sass was getting difficult to respond to. Octavia still tried her best. ¡°It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve seen one of my friends¡¯ parents in a toll, at least.¡±

    She was gambling, taking her chances on words that would either hurt the Maestra or resonate with her well. Mina¡¯s demeanor was hard to pin down verbatim. To her immense surprise, it worked, and a new smirk grew in place of one that had fluttered away moments before. ¡°We¡¯re friends, then?¡±

    Octavia smiled bashfully. ¡°I mean, I¡­like to imagine.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve only known each other for a few weeks.¡±

    She beamed instead. ¡°I¡¯ve made lifelong friends in much less time than that.¡±

    Mina cocked her head. ¡°Heartful, Heartful, Heartful, right to the core. Who needs a Soulful Maestro when you¡¯re this easy to read?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Mina waved one hand dismissively. "Nothing. Keep being yourself. I¡¯ll hold up my end of the bargain when the time comes.¡±

    ¡°I¡­thank you,¡± Octavia said. ¡°I mean it. You really don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°What are friends for?¡± she teased gently. ¡°Thank you for not¡­judging me.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I would never.¡±

    ¡°Do you want more tea?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. I like the way you make it.¡±

    Mina¡¯s grin was growing on her. ¡°The Ambassador likes my tea. One hell of an honor.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Octavia laughed. The silence between them as Mina delicately stole her teacup was comfortable, in a way--particularly relative to the brutal toll she¡¯d just been privy to. With Mina¡¯s back to her as she handled every drop of honey and tender leaf with care, she hoped the same grin was waiting for her when the girl turned around again. Octavia didn¡¯t quite expect the sigh.

    ¡°You¡¯re easy to talk to. I like that. I¡­like that you don¡¯t judge.¡±

    She awaited Mina¡¯s return with a smile of her own. ¡°You¡¯re fun to talk to, to be fair. You make it easy.¡±

    ¡°I used to hate my lightning.¡±

    Octavia paused, the smile she¡¯d held onto fading fast despite her best efforts. Mina met her not with a grin, but with soft eyes and a full cup.

    ¡°Can you¡­really blame me?¡± she joked loosely. ¡°My dad seriously wanted me to stop being a Maestra. For a while, I did, too. There¡¯s still some days when I think about calling it quits early, even though I know that time isn¡¯t too far around the corner to begin with.¡±

    Octavia accepted her steaming seconds with quiet grace, offering her full attention and muted hurt on the Maestra¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°It¡­wasn¡¯t until Tacell became a thing that I actually got to meet another Essenced Maestra, let alone one who¡¯d made a mistake. Granted, it wasn¡¯t the same mistake, but it was a mistake nonetheless. I guess the difference is that I didn¡¯t pay for my mistake with¡­myself, really.¡±

    ¡°Is it someone who¡¯s still around?¡± Octavia asked.

    Mina nodded with a soft smile. ¡°Mint taught me how to be proud of my lightning again. I owe her that. I¡¯m grateful to the Ensemble for everything they do, but I¡­I¡¯ll always have a soft spot for my Essenced siblings. The ones who¡¯ve learned to love that legacy, and who fight through the danger it comes with.¡±

    Her smile was warmer than tea, and worth quite a bit more. Octavia gave her the same. ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you have each other. Still, you get along well with people outside your legacy, too. I think you and Francisco are fairly close, if I¡¯m interpreting that right.¡±

    Mina scoffed. ¡°Wrong tree. That Essenced boy you hang out with, though? Not half bad. Is he ever coming back here? What does he like to eat for dinner?¡±

    Octavia smirked. ¡°Eww.¡±

    ¡°Am I stepping on your toes, there?¡±

    ¡°Also eww.¡±

    She laughed. ¡°To each their own, I suppose. As far as playing nice outside of my legacy, I suppose I can make a bit of room for some Heartful company from time to time.¡±

    Octavia beamed once more. In Mina''s presence, it was becoming a reflex. ¡°I¡¯d like that a lot.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m excited to get to fight like hell, for once,¡± Mina said, reclaiming a grin of her own. ¡°I¡¯ve never gotten to go all-out. When you¡¯re ready, I¡¯ll be there. You can count on me, Ambassador.¡±

    It was a warm thought, her words much the same. There was, perhaps, an irony to be found in the way Octavia¡¯s loathsome butterfly effect had begun with Drey and ended with Mina. It was bittersweet, a trickling rain that trailed all the way to a radiant thunderstorm. She had half a mind to write to Samuel once more, to thank him for the Maestra he¡¯d blessed the world with--even for all he¡¯d lost to a different world, so unfamiliar and dangerous.

    With her own pain on the horizon, it still felt good to be the sponge for the pain of another. For all of the superstition the girl found in legacies, it was Mina''s heart that Octavia prayed to protect. She prayed to keep the spectacular grin that sent lightning through her blood, just as much.

    <hr>

    By comparison, it was impossible to protect a soul that wasn¡¯t by her side. The thought was nauseating. The news was enough that Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe, temporary or otherwise. Panic was instant.

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡±

    Viola nodded. ¡°It won¡¯t be for long.¡±

    Fighting the pain in her voice was impossible. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°They need the help. The more Soulful Maestros they have, the better. It¡¯ll be easier to find this person, especially since this whole search is kind of¡­experimental.¡±

    ¡°But why do you have to go?¡± Octavia whined.

    Viola stifled a laugh. ¡°Because I¡¯m Soulful, silly. This may come as a shock to you. This is a good chance to hone my gift, too, selfish as that is.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t go.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hands were atop the Maestra¡¯s own before she could blink, the motion as reflexive as it was desperate. She clung to Viola for dear life, even as the latter flinched beneath her sudden grasp. ¡°Stay with me,¡± Octavia pleaded.

    This time, Viola did laugh, albeit softly. ¡°What, you gonna miss me?¡±

    Octavia hated the way her voice cracked. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Viola¡¯s face fell. ¡°I¡­really won¡¯t be gone that long, I promise. We¡¯ll find her and we¡¯ll bring her right back.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°What if it takes a while?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s part of why I¡¯m going--so that it doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What am I supposed to do without you?¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes were as soft as her words. ¡°Octavia, you have everyone else. I know Renato¡¯s good to you, and you have Harper and Madrigal--¡±

    ¡°But they¡¯re not you!¡± she cried, standing on the edge of tears. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be here!¡±

    Viola sighed gently. ¡°Why me?¡±

    ¡°Because!¡±

    ¡°Because why?¡±

    ¡°Because I said so!¡±

    Viola smiled. ¡°That¡¯s not a very good reason.¡±

    Her teasing was lost on Octavia, distressed as she was. ¡°You¡¯re important. I don¡¯t want to be apart from you.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°You know, I¡­don¡¯t actually think we¡¯ve been apart that much since this whole thing started. At all, really, or at least not for very long.¡±

    Octavia nodded sadly. ¡°I don¡¯t want to start now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back before you know it. Keep doing what you¡¯re doing. Keep yourself busy. Don¡¯t do that thing where you sit around with your own thoughts and drive yourself insane.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°Yes you do,¡± Viola said with a smirk. ¡°You absolutely do.¡±

    Octavia flushed. ¡°I-I¡­how do I know you¡¯ll be safe?¡±

    The same smirk was endless. ¡°What, you don¡¯t think I¡¯m a strong enough Maestra to protect myself?¡±

    ¡°N-No, it¡¯s not that!¡± Octavia reassured hurriedly, shaking her head much the same.

    ¡°There¡¯s a bunch of other Soulful coming. Briar¡¯s coming along, too. I don¡¯t know much about him just yet, but I feel pretty confident with an Apex by our side. I¡¯ll be okay. I promise.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t quite enough to ease her racing heart. Viola tapped her fingertips against the back of Octavia¡¯s hands repeatedly, still bound as she was in the Ambassador¡¯s grip.

    ¡°And you¡¯ll stay safe for me, too, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded once more in silence. It was enough to earn a smile once more.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotta let go,¡± Viola murmured. ¡°They¡¯re waiting on me.¡±

    ¡°W-Wait,¡± Octavia begged. ¡°Can you give me a second? Don¡¯t leave yet.¡±

    When her hands were suddenly freed once more, Viola raised an eyebrow as she flexed her once-constricted fingers. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Stay there!¡±

    ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave yet! Just wait a second!¡±

    If she had any objections to being left outside, they were inaudible to Octavia. Her speed served her well in taking the stairs two at a time, her boots slamming against the wood so fervently that she feared she might leave dents. Even now, her heart was pounding from stress rather than exertion.

    At the very least, it didn¡¯t take her long to find. She¡¯d always kept it in the drawer of her nightstand, easily accessible for evenings when she couldn¡¯t sleep. It wasn¡¯t quite perfect. It was close enough, satisfactory in most ways. It was her fault for being picky, particularly with the finer details, and there were still aspects she chided herself over faltering on. She was only mildly self-conscious.

    Octavia cradled it tenderly in her hands all the way down the steps, taken just as quickly as she¡¯d come. It would be a miracle if the entire cottage hadn¡¯t heard her frantic flight, let alone her blaring heartbeat. This, too, was a piece of her heart, after all. She wondered if she should¡¯ve varnished it first. She kicked herself for not having the foresight to pick up finishing materials while she was still in Coda. There was absolutely no way she¡¯d find them out here.

    Even before the Maestra she couldn¡¯t stand to see depart, she still debated surrendering a job mostly done. Maybe it meant little. That would sting more, perhaps, although she could understand why.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Viola asked with worry.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t quite panting as she caught her breath, but it was surely enough to contribute to the apprehension she could feel splashed across her face. It took two hands and more willpower than it should¡¯ve to make her offer, cupping her little creation delicately.

    ¡°T-This is for you,¡± she breathed, every wobbling word touched by anxiety. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure when to give it to you, but I feel like now¡¯s a good time. M-Maybe if you get lonely, you can look at it and¡­think of me.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. It was a shame she couldn¡¯t go back in time and swallow her last sentence, struggling to contain the embarrassment that came with it. She was almost afraid to look Viola in the eyes, and it took conscious effort to do so.

    The sparkle she found made her heart pound in a different way. ¡°You made that?¡±

    Octavia nodded quickly, her braids whipping her cheeks in the process. ¡°I-It¡¯s not perfect. I didn¡¯t get to varnish it. I forgot to get varnish when we were in Coda. Maybe I should¡¯ve painted it. Your favorite color is blue, right? I didn¡¯t get any paint, either, though, but maybe I could dye it with something. A-And it was my first time trying to carve anything, so I had trouble getting the little branches symmetrical. I think some of them are longer than others. See this one? It almost broke. I didn¡¯t--¡±

    The finger that pressed against her lips was startling, perhaps just as much as those that settled atop her little balsa snowflake with care. ¡°It¡¯s perfect. Is it¡­really for me?¡±

    With her words stowed away, Octavia could only nod yet again. Viola beamed.

    ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± she breathed. ¡°I love it.¡±

    The butterflies in Octavia¡¯s stomach weren¡¯t quite as unpleasant as usual. With the theft of her art came the return of her speech. ¡°R-Really?¡±

    The way Viola gazed at it in her own hands with such adoration was heartwarming, turning it in every direction as she inspected the tiny sculpture. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it safe. If¡­I was Willful or something, then, what would you have made?¡±

    Octavia shrugged, fighting to control her smile. She failed miserably. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know. Maybe, like¡­a little fire, or something.¡±

    Viola scoffed. ¡°What¡¯s a fire shaped like, exactly?¡±

    ¡°That would¡¯ve been a problem for a different me.¡±

    Viola laughed. It was wonderful.

    When she thrust the snowflake directly in front of Octavia¡¯s face, the balsa just inches from her lips, Octavia nearly stumbled backwards. She blinked.

    ¡°Okay, now kiss it.¡±

    Again, Octavia blinked. Then, she blushed--hard. ¡°E-Excuse me?¡±

    Viola smirked. ¡°For luck. Safe travels, and all that. It¡¯ll be my little good luck charm.¡±

    Octavia waved her hands frantically, still unable to battle the scarlet that plagued her cheeks. ¡°Y-You don¡¯t have to go that far!¡±

    ¡°But I want to, and you made it, so that means you have to be the one to bless it. Just one little kiss. Help me out here.¡±

    Why the task threatened to make her heart burst out of her chest, Octavia had no clue. ¡°F-Fine,¡± she whined.

    In retrospect, varnish probably wouldn¡¯t have tasted great, nor would it have been particularly safe to get in her mouth. Paint wouldn¡¯t have been much of an improvement. Even just pecking her lips against balsa, as quick and vehemently awkward as the motion was, was surely not the greatest for her health. It definitely did things to her mentally, on a more indescribable level.

    Viola grinned, satisfied. ¡°See? That wasn¡¯t so hard. Thank you very much.¡±

    ¡°You are so weird,¡± Octavia muttered, exceedingly conscious of her more-than-visibly-evident embarrassment.

    The feeling of the Maestra¡¯s arms thrown around her in earnest was a welcome compensation. She froze beneath the Soulful girl¡¯s sudden embrace, the satin of her bow brushing gently against Octavia¡¯s neck as she nuzzled close. She was warm.

    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be back soon,¡± Viola whispered. ¡°Take care of yourself.¡±

    Octavia had wondered exactly how long she¡¯d be able to stem her tears. This, apparently, was the breaking point. She wrapped her arms around Viola in turn, burying her face against the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I already miss you.¡±

    Even muffled, she could hear Viola laugh. ¡°I didn¡¯t even go yet.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget about me, okay?¡±

    Octavia giggled through her tears. ¡°You wish.¡±

    When they parted once more, there was little left to be self-conscious about as her preemptive loneliness dripped down her cheeks. Ever so gently, Viola captured one tear with a thumb, banishing it from Octavia''s skin carefully.

    ¡°Cut it out. If you don¡¯t stop doing that, I¡¯m not gonna want to leave.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna do it harder now.¡±

    Viola laughed again. No matter how many times she did it, it was still just as lovely.

    ¡°Good luck,¡± Octavia whispered through her tears, summoning her brightest smile.

    Viola waved the balsa snowflake. ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty of it right here.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Octavia stammered. ¡°I¡­be safe. Come back soon.¡±

    Viola nodded with a brilliant smile of her own. ¡°I will. Wait for me.¡±

    ¡°I always will.¡±

    Seeing Viola turn on her heel and leave her side for the first time in months was perhaps the most painful experience of all, necessary as it was. There was lament to be had in how much preparations for the Hell on the horizon were taking from her, even temporarily. Even so, even in the midst of the way her eyes swam with tears and her heart threatened to break in two, something pulsed in Octavia''s soul that felt good. As the Maestra¡¯s image faded further and further away with every step towards her valiant mission, the smile Viola left in her wake was, perhaps, a good luck charm of its own.

 [EXTRA] 69.5. High Voltage

    She¡¯d never met another Maestro before. Meeting more than one at once was jarring. That should¡¯ve been enough, and yet every word out of their mouths was worse than the last. Really, it was only one of them. He talked a lot.

    ¡°Hey, uh, you¡¯re a Maestra, right?¡±

    She¡¯d known him for ten seconds. He hadn¡¯t even said his name yet.

    She raised an eyebrow, one hand still glued to the doorknob. ¡°Who¡¯s¡­asking?¡±

    He gave a two-finger salute, paired well with a grin. ¡°Both of us are Maestros. We¡¯re looking for more people like us. Do you know what a Maestro is?¡±

    Mina nodded, still more than confused as she eyed them up and down--mostly him, nonchalant as he was. ¡°Yeah, of course. Both of you are?¡±

    The quieter one nodded back. His smile was softer, by comparison, and he simply waved. ¡°We¡¯re both from a place to the--¡±

    ¡°Do you know what a Harmonial Instrument is?¡± the louder boy asked, just slowly enough for his words to come off as condescending.

    Mina frowned. ¡°Uh¡­yeah? I¡¯m a Maestra. That¡¯s¡­literally part of what that comes with.¡±

    The boy with the gloves was undeterred. ¡°We came from somewhere west of Selbright. It¡¯s a place with--¡±

    ¡°Do you know what a legacy is?¡± the loud boy pressed, his gestures now equally condescending.

    ¡°Dude, yes, I know! I promise you, I know! Who is this idiot?¡± Mina snapped, her eyes on the quiet one.

    ¡°Look, we¡¯re just used to having to explain it!¡± the boy with the cap whined. ¡°It¡¯s a reflex!¡±

    The other one chuckled softly. ¡°Sorry for all of this. I¡¯m Briar. This is Francisco. Like I said, we¡¯re from a little place to the west of Selbright. We¡¯re looking for more Maestros.¡±

    Mina crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe casually. ¡°Do I even wanna know how you found me?¡±

    She¡¯d come to the formal conclusion that there was no way to get the loud one to shut up. She wasn¡¯t even talking to him. He grinned anyway. ¡°Briar¡¯s Soulful. He¡¯s got this gift that lets him--¡±

    She held up one flat palm in front of her. ¡°I know what Soulful means, thanks. That clears it up enough.¡±

    The Soulful boy in question raised an eyebrow of his own. ¡°You¡­sound like you know quite a bit already. Are you acquainted with any other Maestros?¡±

    Mina shook her head. ¡°You guys are the first other ones I¡¯ve met, actually.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re about to meet a whole lot more,¡± Francisco interrupted with too much volume. She had a feeling it was intentional, given the exaggerated gestures that came with it again. He was almost annoying. ¡°You¡¯re probably not gonna believe this, so just keep an open mind. There¡¯s a place full of Maestros near here. I mean, it¡¯s a little bit of a walk, but it¡¯s near enough. There¡¯s lots of us. Tons of us. The more of us we can get, the better. We¡¯re all waiting on one person to show up, but until then, we need as many as we can fi--¡±

    ¡°Tacell, right?¡±

    His face fell. So, too, did that of the boy at his side.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­talking about Tacell,¡± Mina finished plainly, resting her head against the doorframe.

    Slowly, Francisco¡¯s face contorted from a blank slate into utter shock. ¡°How the hell do you know about Tacell? Are you serious?¡±

    Briar blinked, his reaction far less loud. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­been there before?¡±

    ¡°You know about Tacell and you¡¯ve never met another Maestro? How does that even work?¡± his companion cried, outright grasping at his cap in exasperation.

    She answered the more tolerable of the two questions, let alone the two boys in general. ¡°I¡¯ve never been there. I just know of it. I know where it is. I know what it¡¯s for.¡±

    Briar paused. ¡°You¡­know about the Ambassador, then?¡±

    Mina nodded silently.

    ¡°How?¡±

    She gathered her thoughts for a moment. If they were Maestros, there was no harm in sharing. ¡°My dad. He¡¯s one of the people who helped build it. He helped the last Ambassador set it up.¡±

    She could¡¯ve sworn Francisco was going to faint, his eyes wide enough to swallow the sun. ¡°Your dad helped build Tacell? Wait, your dad knew the Ambassador? Does he know the current Ambassador?¡±

    Ideally, he¡¯d pick one question at a time. Mina shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t talk to him about it. I don¡¯t really talk to him about any of this stuff. That¡¯s as much as I know.¡±

    They were quiet for a moment. She didn¡¯t particularly blame them. It didn¡¯t make it any more of her business.

    ¡°You know what it¡¯s for, then,¡± Briar repeated slowly, echoing her words. ¡°We¡¯d be¡­glad to have you, if you¡¯re willing to come. We ourselves don¡¯t have any leads on the Ambassador yet, but we¡¯re doing what we can in the meantime. Would you be willing to speak with your father about them?¡±

    Mina shrugged. ¡°I¡­guess. Didn¡¯t really expect to get dragged into it.¡±

    ¡°Make her talk to River,¡± Francisco whispered.

    She raised an eyebrow. She didn¡¯t need to press, and Briar answered what questions she¡¯d already been silently generating. ¡°At the very least, there¡¯s someone we¡¯d like you to meet. The fact that you¡¯re related to one of the founders of Tacell is¡­fantastic, honestly. It¡¯d mean a lot to us if you¡¯d--¡±

    ¡°You want something out of me, then? Because of my dad?¡± she tried coolly, adjusting her crossed arms in the slightest. This had been extensive. They were cursing her with unnecessary amounts of sunshine.

    Briar shook his head. Francisco nodded. She rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not sure what you expect me to do for you. I don¡¯t know you people. I¡¯m not the Ambassador. You know where I am, now, for whenever you-know-what has to happen. That¡¯s enough, right? You sure demand an awful lot of strangers. If you¡¯re asking me to play messenger, you¡¯re not being subtle about it.¡±

    Briar sighed. ¡°We¡¯re sorry. We¡¯re not trying to force you to take on a role that isn¡¯t yours to deal with. I promise you, we have this process mostly sorted out amongst ourselves. Still, none of us were there when Tacell was first established. We¡¯re just working with what we were given.¡±

    ¡°Look, don¡¯t stress over it, alright?¡± Francisco offered with a nonchalant shrug of his own. ¡°Can we at least, like, make it up to you? You said you¡¯ve never seen it, right? Give it a chance. You don¡¯t have to stay. Let us give you a little tour. Come back with us, meet our leader--¡±

    ¡°And be your messenger.¡±

    He flinched. She smirked. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna stop until I say yes, are you?¡± Mina asked half-heartedly.

    ¡°It helps if he gets to meet them all, anyway,¡± Briar added. ¡°It¡¯s easier to keep track. You¡¯re really close by, so that¡¯s extremely helpful on its own. We¡¯re sorry to ask so much of you on such short notice.¡±

    ¡°Hey, do you live in this house by yourself? Like, is your dad here? Can we just talk to him?¡± Francisco pressed, rising on the tips of his toes slightly. His best efforts to peer over her shoulder were blighted by her angle, and Mina shifted in the doorway solely to make it worse.

    ¡°No, he¡¯s not here. I live alone,¡± she clarified, battling her rising annoyance. ¡°He lives in Solenford.¡±

    She probably shouldn¡¯t have given that part out. It was too late to take back. If nothing else, it was vague enough to mean little. If they couldn¡¯t find the Ambassador, they wouldn¡¯t be finding him any time soon.

    His face lit up far too much. ¡°Damn, you get this whole place to yourself? That¡¯s crazy! We have to share those little cottages in Tacell, and sometimes we can¡¯t even--¡±

    She¡¯d had enough.

    ¡°Are you Strong or Willful?¡±

    Francisco bit his tongue. She stared him down, content to drink in his shocked silence.

    ¡°I-I¡­what?¡± he stammered.

    Mina didn¡¯t budge, fixing one pointed finger squarely on the boy. ¡°I¡¯m right in the middle between those two. Either you¡¯re Strong or you¡¯re Willful. Which is it?¡±

    In lieu of an answer, he traded glances of surprise with Briar instead. Granted, the Soulful boy wore far less astonishment by comparison. Francisco¡¯s eyes flickered back and forth between the two Maestros for a moment.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­Willful,¡± he finally admitted. ¡°How the hell did you know that? You¡¯re Soulful, then?¡±

    Mina shook her head with a proud smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t need to be. It¡¯s written all over you. I mean, you could¡¯ve passed as either one, and I would¡¯ve believed it. You¡¯re not Soulful, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    Briar stared at her incredulously. ¡°That¡¯s¡­very impressive.¡±

    ¡°Okay, what are you, then?¡± Francisco asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

    Mina tensed. She stiffened in the doorway for just long enough that Francisco¡¯s eyes drifted to the Soulful boy¡¯s own. She wouldn¡¯t let him take the truth. It wasn¡¯t his to announce.

    ¡°Essenced,¡± she muttered, both syllables strained.

    Francisco nodded slowly. ¡°Yeah, I could see it.¡±

    She didn¡¯t let them dwell on it. ¡°Tacell¡¯s not ridiculously far from here, right? I know it¡¯s not super nearby, but could we make it there before it gets dark?¡±

    If the topic change was jarring, Briar didn¡¯t show it. He, too, nodded. ¡°Not by much, but by enough. We¡¯d have to go now, though. We honestly didn¡¯t expect to go back so soon.¡±

    ¡°We were gonna just stay in Selbright for the night,¡± Francisco explained. ¡°Wait, can we stay at your house when we come back?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± she hissed, more than exasperated. ¡°Dude, I just met you! Okay, you¡¯re definitely Willful!¡±

    Briar chuckled. ¡°We appreciate you hearing us out. I promise you won¡¯t be disappointed. I hope we¡¯ve kept it the way your dad would¡¯ve wanted it to be.¡±

    Mina scoffed. ¡°He¡¯s not dead, you know. Your leader. What¡¯s his legacy?¡±

    Francisco raised an eyebrow. ¡°River? He¡¯s Spirited. Why?¡±

    She stifled a laugh. ¡°You have a Spirited leader? Like, of Tacell? This should be good.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m kinda seeing the Essenced part,¡± she heard him whisper to his left.

    It was the first time she¡¯d had the chance to practice. It really was as easy as she¡¯d been taught, for what she knew of them. There was pride that came with precision, and Mina enjoyed their surprise a bit too much. A place full of Maestros would be fun to experiment with, if nothing else, given how every flavor of heart and soul would be on full display. Reading them would be a blast. It was a personal challenge that rang far too gratifying. She would¡¯ve made for a splendid Soulful Maestra, were she born that way.

    It would¡¯ve been better than what she had.

    <hr>

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±

    She could see it on his face immediately. It didn¡¯t matter that she¡¯d never met one before.

    His grip fell somewhere between delicate and firm. She squeezed harder than she should¡¯ve, probably. ¡°I¡¯m Mina. I live over in Selbright. These two guys dragged me all the way out here. You¡¯re River, right?¡±

    He smiled softly. ¡°Correct. I¡¯m River. I¡¯m the leader of the Maestros of Tacell. We¡¯re happy to have you here.¡±

    His words were every bit as soft. His whole demeanor was soft. How he¡¯d made it to being a leader was beyond her, and the confidence in his voice was the closest indicator she could find. Had she not known what she knew, Mina could¡¯ve guessed him to be Heartful--provided her interpretation was fair. Still, for what various mental images she¡¯d concocted of the Spirited, he fit at least one of them with absolute perfection. It was almost satisfying to be so utterly accurate.

    ¡°You¡¯re Spirited, right?¡±

    It slipped out. It wasn¡¯t worth apologizing over.

    River took it in stride, nodding proudly. ¡°Also correct. And yourself?¡±

    She was getting tired of that question. Again, she was stiff.

    ¡°E-Essenced,¡± Mina stammered. She kicked herself for doing so at all.

    To her surprise, his smile managed to brighten. River''s gaze fell to the right, and the girl whose eyes she¡¯d eternally earned cursed her with the same stare still. Mina hadn¡¯t figured her out yet.

    Where she tried to be friendly, the aura of intimidation was almost distressing. It was subtle, and yet unmistakably present. She couldn¡¯t find the drive to offer her hand again. ¡°It¡¯s, uh, nice to meet you, too,¡± Mina tried, willing herself to maintain eye contact.

    The girl only cocked her head. It left her sweating.

    ¡°Okay, so, the thing is, her dad is actually one of the founders of Tacell,¡± Francisco gushed, his voice every bit as enthusiastic as his gestures. ¡°Like, he knew the Ambassador and everything. The old one, I mean, but still!¡±

    River¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really? That¡¯s¡­amazing. Is that true?¡±

    His gaze fell back to Mina. Oddly-soft was preferable to unnecessarily-sharp, and she indulged him. ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t know a lot about any of it, though, like I told them. I stayed out of it all. I don¡¯t know anything about where the Ambassador is, either. Can¡¯t help you out much with that, so¡­sorry, if that¡¯s what you wanted me for.¡±

    He waved his hands defensively. ¡°N-No, not at all. No need to apologize. Just meeting you is enough.¡±

    Mina shifted her weight onto one foot, resting her hands on her hips comfortably. ¡°I like what you guys did with the place, at least. You seem like you¡¯ve got this whole thing pretty under control. You manage all this yourself?¡±

    River shook his head with a smile. ¡°I could never. Briar, Francisco, and Mint have helped with more than I can put into words. The four of us handle Tacell together, and we work to improve it every day.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s bein¡¯ modest,¡± Francisco teased with a dismissive wave. ¡°River does damn near everything. We just kinda fill in where we¡¯re needed. Hell, half of it¡¯s on Briar, if anything.¡±

    His words were only of partial importance. Mina tapped one finger against the open air, hovering over each Maestro in turn. ¡°Francisco. Briar. River,¡± she identified accordingly.

    Each nodded in turn. She paused, and her gaze drifted to the one place she¡¯d fought to avoid. By comparison, the girl¡¯s sharp eyes had waited patiently for her own. Once more, she tilted her head, crossing her arms comfortably. Mina hesitated.

    ¡°Mint?¡± she tried quietly.

    The girl, too, nodded.

    Mina was silent for a moment, and they briefly matched. ¡°It¡¯s¡­nice to meet you.¡±

    Again, the girl only nodded in response.

    Mina¡¯s eyes flickered to River. He smiled the same soft smile she was slowly growing to expect. It was Francisco¡¯s voice, instead, that filled in the gaps from behind.

    ¡°She¡­doesn¡¯t talk. Can¡¯t, really,¡± the boy clarified, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. ¡°Messes her up if she tries.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    There was curiosity. It would¡¯ve been cruel to push. It wasn¡¯t that she hadn¡¯t noticed the scar, sprawling and climbing as it was. Splintering along Mint¡¯s cheek, every glance at the girl¡¯s face left it front and center. Mina refused to stare. Still, the added context left her wondering.

    Silent or not, she was present. She was conscious, she was visible, and she was more than capable of understanding every word that left every mouth. It wasn¡¯t worth prying into her persona by proxy. Mina knew the answers she¡¯d receive would be limited, and still it would be polite. She held the girl¡¯s gaze with mild discomfort.

    ¡°What¡¯s your legacy?¡± Mina finally tried.

    Her best guess, at present, left the girl neatly labeled as Strong--provided her interpretation of that was correct, as well. She looked the type, powerful and confident with her posture alone. It would be gratifying to be correct, although Mina was satisfied to be educated all the same. Of Mint, in particular, she was substantially more interested. She was subtle. Her counterparts weren¡¯t.

    Slowly, one finger arose between the two Maestras. Mint gestured back and forth between them accordingly. When Mina only blinked, the girl continued to do so several times over. It took time for Mina¡¯s eyes to widen.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­Essenced?¡± she murmured.

    Mint nodded yet again, her expression blank where her gaze remained dangerous.

    There was, objectively, no reason for Mina¡¯s heart to skip a beat. It was beyond her control. She was torn between questioning further and swallowing her words eternally. Beneath the girl¡¯s staring, she felt smaller than ever. It never occurred to her to break eye contact.

    ¡°You guys are legacy siblings,¡± Francisco teased at her back. ¡°You¡¯re besties by blood. This is your first time meeting another Maestro with the same legacy, right?¡±

    That morning, she¡¯d never met any Maestros. This was surreal. ¡°Y-Yeah,¡± Mina stammered.

    ¡°There¡¯s quite a few more Essenced Maestros here,¡± Briar offered. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to meet with them, if you¡¯d like.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t her full concern. The razor-edged eyes that had run her through, intentionally or otherwise, had softened in the slightest. The prolonged eye contact was as unbearable as it was unavoidable, for how conversation was one-sided and stifled. She stared. Mint stared back. More times than Mina would¡¯ve preferred, her attention drifted to the scar. She doubted the action went unnoticed. She was being spoken to, supposedly. She wasn¡¯t processing any of it.

    When Mint broke their line of sight first, the sigh of relief Mina breathed was nearly dizzying. The girl¡¯s focus was offered downwards instead, slender fingers making for the soft bag pressed against her hip. Gentle rummaging brought with it little noise, save for the tiniest of muffled rattles. Fashionable black gave way to yet more precious sounds, and the instrument she withdrew into cautious hands was as small as it was intriguing. Mina traded anxiety for interest, eyeing the tambourine intensely.

    Mint trailed two fingers along the skin of the instrument, tapping delicately as she caught Mina¡¯s gaze again. She motioned to the tambourine once before gesturing to the Maestra opposite herself in turn. Mina flinched. Again, it took a moment to interpret.

    ¡°You¡­want me to get my instrument?¡± she guessed.

    Mint nodded. Mina¡¯s heart pounded. It hurt.

    ¡°Did you even bring it with you?¡± Francisco asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you brought a case or anything.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t need to,¡± Mina murmured.

    She didn¡¯t give him a chance to push. It took effort to keep her hands from trembling, and yet she praised herself for suppressing the reaction. Slowly, Mina slipped her hand into the interior of her cardigan, carefully hooking the sturdy strings around her fingers. When she withdrew the cool iron, both halves glistened brilliantly beneath the spare sunshine. Descending or not, the remnants of the afternoon did justice to the tiny metal, and the triangle sparkled splendidly as it dangled aloft. She extended her hand to Mint carefully, the little instrument following suit.

    Francisco¡¯s gasp of endearment behind her was outright condescending. ¡°Oh my God, it¡¯s so cute!¡±

    Briefly, her head snapped to him instead. His expression was far too elated. She rolled her eyes so harshly that it almost hurt.

    ¡°That¡¯s your Harmonial Instrument, then?¡± Briar asked, far more calm by comparison.

    Mina nodded. ¡°Yeah. This is Savior¡¯s Resplendence.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t minded the myriad of eyes on her until now. If anything, they¡¯d almost been a novelty. Now, she shied away from their curious inspections. It was under more than Mint¡¯s gaze alone that she felt small this time. Even River, for all of his natural-born softness, was doing little to alleviate her growing discomfort. She shirked his smile in favor of Essenced eyes. It was a surprise even to herself.

    The silence was still distressing regardless. ¡°That¡¯s your instrument, right?¡± Mina added quickly, gesturing to the tambourine accordingly.

    As always, Mint nodded.

    ¡°That¡¯s Sunstryke,¡± River offered with the same smile. ¡°They¡¯re excellent partners. Mint is a wonderful Maestra.¡±

    ¡°Are we supposed to be doing a meet and greet, or something?¡± Francisco tried, already slipping the straps of his case off his back. ¡°Briar, get Panacea Pure out, we all have to match.¡±

    Briar settled one hand onto the Willful boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Just let them be for now.¡±

    ¡°Sunstryke,¡± Mina repeated slowly.

    The Essenced nod she earned was expected. Mina fell silent, her attention once more falling to the tambourine. Mint was watching her, maybe. She didn¡¯t bother to look up, Savior¡¯s Resplendence having long since been cupped in hesitant palms. If her interest drifted to another instrument entirely, she feared what knots in her stomach would come with it. It was one of those days, apparently. She hoped it didn¡¯t show.

    Mint raised her head. The gaze that had rested so neatly on her Essenced counterpart was flung to a Maestro of another legacy entirely. Well past Mina¡¯s shoulder, the look she cast beyond was sharpened once more. Mina¡¯s eyes followed the tambourine as one outstretched arm brought the instrument level with the Willful boy at her back. She turned her head. He¡¯d physically recoiled, outright cringing as he shook his own head fervently.

    ¡°Oh, hell, no! Why me?¡± he cried.

    ¡°Right now?¡± Briar asked with surprise.

    Mina blinked. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    River crossed his arms as he eyed Mint in turn. ¡°Is¡­there a reason?¡±

    ¡°Why is it always me? Pick River! You never pick River!¡±

    Mint¡¯s focus was on the Spirited boy alone, her eyes flickering to Mina briefly. It took time for River to settle into his usual smile, just as gentle when it came.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Mina confessed.

    ¡°She wants to spar for you,¡± River explained. ¡°I suppose you could also consider it a ¡®thank you¡¯ for coming here. You¡¯ve never seen other Maestros fighting, right?¡±

    Mina shook her head. ¡°No, I¡­haven¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Have you ever fought before?¡±

    It was a loaded question. For the sake of the butterflies in her stomach, she chose to take it literally. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­fought Dissonance a couple times. Just a little bit. Not much.¡±

    His smile brightened somewhat. ¡°Then I think you¡¯ll enjoy this.¡±

    ¡°River, can you, like, take one for the team, here?¡± Francisco begged, gesturing dramatically with his hands. ¡°Seriously, it¡¯s never you! Switch with me for once, good God!¡±

    River laughed softly. ¡°You¡¯re very talented. You know how to put up a fight. I¡¯m sure Mint appreciates that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the reason and you damn well know it!¡± he hissed.

    Mina couldn¡¯t stifle a smirk. If nothing else, the idea of Francisco being humbled in the most fantastic way was highly amusing.

    He grumbled and spilled obscenities all the way through unzipping his case, his own instrument far larger than Mint¡¯s by comparison. There was a moment in which Mina was convinced size alone would turn the tide in his favor. Still, Mint never faltered, stealing rustling steps deeper into the sprawling meadow with only a little tambourine to show for it. With her bag discarded gently in the plush grass, she hardly bothered to stretch. Cracking her neck was the most she seemed to settle on.

    Mint spared time to meet Mina¡¯s eyes again. She did it more than once. Gone were the sharpened edges Mina had earned upon arrival. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint what had replaced it. Whatever it was, it was comfortable. Mina didn¡¯t mind.

    ¡°Are we doing Apexes or no Apexes?¡± Francisco called to his Essenced opponent, adjusting his grip around his instrument.

    Mint shook her head. He shrugged. ¡°Good with me,¡± he replied.

    ¡°Apexes?¡± Mina questioned aloud.

    River nodded, his focus firmly ahead. ¡°Do you know what an Apex is?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Mina admitted. ¡°Never heard of it.¡±

    Francisco braced against the soft earth, his fingers settling neatly along every fret. ¡°Hey, is this supposed to be a demonstration? Like, are we just messing around and showing off, or--¡± [?]</a>

    He got his answer through action alone. Action was electric. Action crackled. Action sizzled, sparked, and skittered with every innocent rattle of a humble tambourine. Every miniscule motion Mint made as she lunged left voltage woven in her wake. Flashing golds, blinding and surging, were born of pitchless sounds that rang dangerous all the same. She was a lightning bolt of her own accord, striking with every powerful step as she slashed their gap. She was shockingly fast, and even Francisco was left to recoil as stylish plasma bore down upon him.

    The tambourine was well at home in her deft fingers, and each motion was unfathomably natural. Wrapped in electric heat as it was, the Essenced Maestra practically carried a thunderstorm in her hand. Were Mina to stare directly at every rippling flash, the strain on her eyes would be dangerous. Curling currents crawled along Mint¡¯s skin in the most mesmerizing way, trickling golds tangling around an arm adjacent to the essence of lightning. In lieu of a tambourine, she¡¯d stolen nature¡¯s wrath clean from the clouds above. It called her home, and its pulse was magnificent.

    The plasma that countered hers, then, was brilliant and abundant in another manner entirely. Where Mint¡¯s rhythm carried no harmony, Francisco¡¯s scorching chords unleashed hellfire. His movements were as fluid as his song, and his swift fingers left an inferno bursting beneath his touch. From every string was born blasting heat, and the look of distress on his face betrayed the unforgiving wrath of his flames. Spiraling as they were, each lash of blazing scarlet and orange scalded air that once crackled.

    Plasma met plasma, and Mint didn¡¯t hesitate to blight him with electric violence. They were intangible in tandem, and yet surging gold struck against interloping fires with every downward swing of her wrist. The steady taps and rattles that accompanied every harnessed bolt were continuous, and her assault never waned. She showed zero fear in the face of the will of fire. It was remarkable, given exactly how much of it there was.

    ¡°Damn, chill!¡± Francisco pleaded above his song, gritting his teeth. ¡°If you shock me again, I¡¯m gonna get pissed!¡±

    Mint ran an identical, if not opposite, risk. She knew his flames, maybe, acquainted as they were. Where she carved a path with swift steps, he held his ground. From afar, the roar of his raging wildfire was audible--perhaps more so than even the steady crackle of Mint¡¯s voltage. Only the cries of their Harmonial Instruments intervened, and the sound was somewhat beautiful. Streaming crimson surged and swelled far too close to the Maestra time after time, and yet she circled Francisco regardless. His fluid flames offered up a scorching sea. Even so, she dashed well between every crashing wave.

    So, too, did she crash much the same, unleashing her electrical prowess with forceful swings and flicks of her wrist. Again did white-hot gold meet scathing scarlet, sizzling as they mingled. The size of Mint¡¯s instrument was a blessing, and Mina grew ever more enraptured tracking her every movement. As to what Mint¡¯s end goal was, weaving between Francisco''s blazing assault, Mina was unsure. She¡¯d never seen them fight. She¡¯d never seen anyone fight.

    ¡°Both of them have Apexes.¡±

    Mina raised her head, prying her eyes away from the battling Maestra against her will. ¡°What?¡±

    River never tore his gaze from the quarrel, clinging to a smile. ¡°Briar does, too. They¡¯re¡­special. They¡¯re strong.¡±

    Mina couldn¡¯t keep her attention off Mint for long. It was reflexive. ¡°I mean, I can see that. What makes them special, exactly?¡±

    River crossed his arms comfortably once more. ¡°Their partners are the strongest of their legacies. As such, so are they. That doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t have to try, though.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¡¯s our win condition, exactly? The usual?¡± Francisco called, never once stilling his fiery song.

    Briar cupped his hands around his mouth. ¡°Just go with the usual, yes!¡±

    He groaned with great exaggeration. ¡°But it hurts when she does it!¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll just have to win,¡± River teased gently, raising his voice in the slightest.

    Francisco found time to glare daggers into the Spirited boy. ¡°Oh, shut the hell up! You should be the one standing here!¡±

    River laughed. So loud was Francisco¡¯s growl of exasperation that it rose well above the cacophony of violence. Searing flames and crackling electricity collided in glorious bursts of color beneath skilled touches. Mint¡¯s all-too-close approach was enough to birth pursuit from irritation, and an inferno once indiscriminate now gave chase. His melody was precise, his fluid chords explosive. The cascading fires that rushed endlessly from between Francisco¡¯s fingers sliced a clean path through the open air, besieging Mint with unforgiving heat. For more than a moment, Mina genuinely feared for Mint¡¯s safety. She tensed, gripping Savior¡¯s Resplendence just a bit too harshly in her clammy palms.

    She was every bit as flexible as she was fast. Mina¡¯s breath snagged in her throat.

    Mint was equally as fluid. She was equally as surging, equally as flowing, electrical in every right as she threw herself down onto her hands. Upon the soft earth, she was just as quick, tumbling several times over with racing flames at her heels. Once, twice, three times she made her inverting escape, the infernal pursuit lost on her.

    Flickering fires lashed out at the innocent grass below, scorching black where once had been a Maestra. With pulsing plasma, every bit as brilliantly gold, still encircling her skin from her shoulder downwards, she never surrendered her precious lightning. Her current was immortal, and she was forever sparking as she evaded his ruthless blaze. Mina¡¯s heart pounded from watching alone.

    ¡°The strength they have is¡­dangerous,¡± River continued. ¡°They have to train harder than most.¡±

    The knot in Mina¡¯s stomach was slowly twisting once more. It wasn¡¯t the best time. Part of her wished he¡¯d stop talking altogether. ¡°I¡­figured as much.¡±

    ¡°Their legacies can be dangerous. To possess the power of an Apex on top of that is somewhat terrifying.¡±

    She really, really wished he¡¯d stop. Her hands felt numb. The small metal wasn¡¯t quite so cold anymore. It didn¡¯t ease the way her skin grew hot and her heart skipped a beat.

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­never had to stand in those shoes. I can¡¯t wrap my head around being anything but Spirited.¡±

    Mina eyed him uncomfortably. ¡°What?¡±

    Still, his smile was faint. ¡°The essence of lightning is hazardous. I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t need to tell you that much.¡±

    She felt sick. Logically, there was no way he could¡¯ve known. This was no longer enjoyable.

    ¡°In my opinion, it might be the most dangerous of them all,¡± River went on. ¡°That¡¯s part of what makes Mint such an incredible Maestra.¡±

    Mina blinked. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    The Maestra in question was an endless well of stamina. No amount of stylish evasion nor roaring flames was a deterrent, and she dodged every ember that licked at her skin with aplomb. She bounced on her heels slightly as she regained her balance, darting sharply to the Willful boy¡¯s left. With Sunstryke thrust high towards the blue skies above, she hardly needed to call for a storm born of broiling clouds.

    One rolling rattle of a tambourine sufficed instead, and she tore thunder from the shining sky as she threw her arm downwards. Lightning followed, blinding gold crashing to earth with a sickening crack. The ground shook beneath Mina¡¯s feet, and Francisco outright jumped as the deadly bolt crashed far too close to his position.

    ¡°Oh my God, don¡¯t even start with me!¡± he screamed. ¡°We¡¯re not doing this today!¡±

    River was immune to his distress. His eyes were for their battle, and his words were for Mina. ¡°Mint has worked harder to master the essence of lightning than any other Essenced Maestro I¡¯ve ever met. To have an Apex on top of that has made things¡­complicated. She¡¯s had her setbacks. She¡¯s struggled. Every time, she¡¯s gotten back on her feet. She loves being a Maestra more than she fears her legacy.¡±

    Mina¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°She was afraid of it?¡±

    He nodded in the slightest. ¡°She wasn¡¯t always perfect. She¡¯s suffered through the worst parts of her legacy, just as she¡¯s embraced the best of it. She¡¯s¡­made mistakes. She has to live with that. It doesn¡¯t change who she is.¡±

    Even now, Mina refused to stare directly at the scar. She still refused to ask explicitly, and she kept her puzzle pieces purely mental. She somewhat feared River would track whatever involuntary movements of her eyes would follow. Spirited as he was, he didn¡¯t quite seem the type to tear her apart. Every crack that followed precious rattles should¡¯ve taken precedence, beautiful lightning striking the earth again and again in glorious flashes of gold. The thunderstorm born of a clear day spoke not to fear. Mint didn¡¯t smile. Still, there was only confidence where apprehension should¡¯ve lay. With her eyes firmly on Francisco and her body surrounded by a relentless inferno, she was undaunted.

    ¡°I love being Spirited,¡± River went on. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine anything else in the world I¡¯d rather be. In the same way, I hope everyone can come to love the legacy they were born with. Maybe that¡¯s just wishful thinking on my part, but I believe that everything happens for a reason.¡±

    Mina would never take her eyes off Mint again, at this point. Francisco¡¯s hellish assault was eternal, and his fingers flicked rapidly against every string as scarlet swirled endlessly. Still, there came a point when his surging flames waned in the slightest--secondary to horror, probably, as he backpedaled away from charred grass below. Where sizzling plasma had struck the earth moments before, he¡¯d recoiled sharply several times over. He took his flames with him, his fluid chords tinted with apprehension as he maintained his fiery song. Mint didn¡¯t let him breathe. Mint hardly let him play in the first place.

    He knew it was coming, maybe, for how he winced the moment she lunged. Sunstryke was at her side, the chronic hum in the air just barely audible above Francisco¡¯s hesitant notes. Mint was as fast as Mina had learned her to be, her arm aloft and glittering plasma stinging her fingertips once more. She was the smallest of conduits, and a streaming current still adorned her skin like a brilliant circuit. Three slashes, horizontal and crackling in their own right, carved a path through what remained of the fiery sea. The fourth was precise, accented by an innocent rattle and a delicate flick. It wasn¡¯t quite a true strike. It was close enough.

    If Sunstryke harbored the tiniest of thunderstorms, then Mint cursed Francisco¡¯s hands with the tiniest of bolts. The flash of gold that burst from between shaking fingers gave the illusion of electricity cast from Mint herself. She was a bolt of her own accord, after all, forged in lightning as she was. Plasma opposite the will of fire crashed down on hands buried in flames. Francisco outright yelped--albeit in a much higher pitch than Mina knew his voice could go.

    Uncurling his fingers from the frets was reflexive in the wake of Mint¡¯s stinging voltage, and the guitar fell to the ground with a heavy, pitiful thud. Francisco swore sharply, clutching his singed hands together as what remained of a fiery sea flickered and burst into the open air. Stray embers were caught along the wind, and Mint, too, came to rest.

    ¡°Every friggin¡¯ time!¡± Francisco hissed. ¡°Every time! Would it kill you to get creative?¡±

    ¡°Mint wins,¡± Briar called.

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware!¡± Francisco growled.

    Mina eyed the resting guitar uncomfortably. The idea of discarding Savior¡¯s Resplendence so haphazardly was off-putting. She¡¯d already deemed him unconventional, if not annoying. Her first impression of the Willful continued to worsen. ¡°He really just¡­drops it like that?¡±

    River chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Valiant Kiss is strong enough to take a few hits. Francisco is a fantastic Maestro, too.¡±

    Debatable.

    At the very least, he paled in comparison to his opponent, and Mina couldn¡¯t stop thinking about it. He didn¡¯t take defeat well, swearing as necessary. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t like it if I did it to you!¡± he berated, anguished eyes upon his Essenced combatant. ¡°It hurts! I¡¯m not even exaggerating!¡±

    Mint tilted her head in the slightest, her neutral gaze speaking where words faltered.

    ¡°Oh, you think it¡¯s funny, huh?¡± he growled.

    River applauded, beaming. ¡°Well done, both of you. You two were fantastic.¡±

    ¡°Oh, hell, no, don¡¯t give me that!¡± Francisco snapped, gesturing aggressively towards the Spirited boy. ¡°River, I swear to God, get Renegadria and get your ass over here! I¡¯m not kidding! I¡¯m done!¡±

    He only laughed once more. It solely served to fuel the Willful boy¡¯s personal fire, and Francisco bristled eternally where his flames had faltered. He was every bit as loud as he¡¯d been that morning, and it was almost enough for Mina to roll her eyes.

    Mint caught them first. The Maestra straightened up, shaking her head slightly as she adjusted her fraying curls. When she met Mina¡¯s gaze, her eyes were soft for her Essenced counterpart alone. Where Mina had found only sharpened determination in the face of surging fires, the look Mint offered was comfortable. It was indescribable and inviting all the same, and Mina clung to it longer than was necessary. At least once, with context, her eyes flickered to the scar. They most definitely were not supposed to, and she strongly feared Mint noticed. She kicked herself for the reflexive action.

    Mina earned no hostility. Instead, she earned a smile.

    It was faint, mild, and gentle, if not somewhat self-assured. Still, it was the first smile she¡¯d ever seen grace the girl¡¯s lips. Her dimples left the scar following along, the splintering markings trailing satisfied skin. It was a beautiful irony, and Mina adored her resilience. She, too, was beautiful. The grin that erupted in return was instinctive, warm in every way. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    Savior¡¯s Resplendence wasn¡¯t heavy, for once. Her hands weren¡¯t numb. She wouldn¡¯t have minded numbing them with lovely lightning instead, should it love her back. For all she¡¯d resisted Tacell, Mina now lamented shying away from the settlement. Messenger wasn¡¯t an awful career choice. It would give her something to do, she could rationalize. It would hardly be for River, let alone the other two.

    From what Mina knew of the Essenced, she could hardly understand herself. By comparison, Mint was perfect for her legacy, in more ways than one. For once, Mina didn¡¯t mind the one thing they had in common. She embraced it.

 70. Second Thought

    She ran out. The minute she ran out, Octavia¡¯s mental state went from bad to worse.

    Her temporary ban on witnessing tolls and guiding Muses, once she had burned through her residual pool of the unwilling and unfit, left her with--quite literally--nothing. Free time was an agony, a luxury to many that came as a curse to her instead. It wasn¡¯t that she enjoyed dying gruesome deaths time and time again, although she¡¯d unfortunately grown accustomed to that much in the worst way. Still, it was something to do, a manner to contribute and make progress towards a greater goal. Her mental math was stagnant--seventy-three to go, a byproduct of two additional unwilling stragglers found in the far reaches of a town she¡¯d forgotten the name of.

    Up until now, her pace had been steady, having settled into a comfortable routine that spoke to just-as-comfortable progress in a timely fashion. She¡¯d spent well over a month in Tacell, with at least a reasonable handful of liberated Muses to show for it. Part of Octavia regretted that her pace wasn¡¯t quicker, in truth. She wondered if there were Muses who felt the same, those who waited even now in the hands of more capable Maestros for her to get her act together. There were days where she wondered if Seraphim¡¯s Call would hate her, had its Muse known how much she hated the idea of liberating it. Its twin fared no better--perhaps even worse.

    With Josiah¡¯s scathingly-elaborate preparations for the storming of the flame underway, there was little for her to actually do to contribute. Most of the Maestros that were willing to step into the fray alongside her were accounted for. Samuel had offered what assistance he could, the Soulful Maestros chasing his guidance accordingly--including one she continued to mourn the absence of each and every waking moment.

    Octavia didn¡¯t bother asking Josiah how reaching out to Allison Ivory was going. She didn¡¯t bother asking Josiah anything. She didn¡¯t want to see Josiah, really. The thought of his cold gaze upon her was enough to instill fear and distress into her heart. For whatever reason, she kept her distance. He seemed to have everything under control. If it kept the weight of the Blessed and Cursed Cities alike off of her back, she was more than happy to let him handle this. Most of her was grateful.

    Whether or not she was doing a solid job concealing her rose-flavored agony remained to be seen. The Viola-shaped hole in her heart already had her on edge enough, and it was one more burden to carry at a time when she was more than struggling. She¡¯d already slipped somewhat in spilling her puzzle pieces in front of others who hadn¡¯t known, now reaping what she¡¯d sown in the form of overly-abundant gentleness. From Harper, at least, it was of debatable origin--it was partially in his nature by default. From Madrigal, it was noticeable.

    Usually, they arose around the same time, two girls born of the blessings of nature long since conditioned by the warmth of the waking sun. Their steps were often light in tandem, their movements throughout the cottage soft as they stifled their giggles and hushed their morning greetings. The risk was ever greater downstairs, two out of three boys far lighter sleepers than was reasonable.

    The Spirited Maestra¡¯s boyfriend, if no one else, would¡¯ve hypothetically slept through the cottage collapsing on top of him. Octavia enjoyed the company of another who bathed in the comforts of sunrise, although her waking-up partner¡¯s ultimate goal of breakfast preparation was of higher priority. It was somewhat startling for her to beat Octavia out of bed this morning, if not with that motive alone.

    There was a sobering sadness that came with the realization of permitted volume. If she so chose, Octavia could descend the stairs at a normal speed. The Soulful companion she¡¯d come to tread so lightly around in the early hours was nowhere to be found. Madrigal, at least, was a constant that she could rely on--even if her advance presence in the kitchen was a shock. It still smelled good. Octavia was grateful for that.

    ¡°You¡¯re up early,¡± she whispered with a yawn.

    With her hands already well-occupied with skillets and whisks, Madrigal beamed brighter than the sunrise itself. ¡°Good morning!¡± she whispered back with enthusiasm.

    Octavia smiled weakly. ¡°Good morning. Couldn¡¯t sleep?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, her freshly-tied buns bouncing along. ¡°I just wanted to get up early today.¡±

    Honestly, even for Madrigal and all of her cooking prowess, her culinary blessings smelled better than usual. ¡°What are you making?¡±

    ¡°Pancakes,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re your favorite, right? I think.¡±

    ¡°You remembered,¡± Octavia confirmed, beaming herself. ¡°I¡¯m surprised.¡±

    If Madrigal¡¯s smile were any brighter, she¡¯d risk burning the food she was offering so much love to. It was almost dangerous. ¡°I try to remember everybody¡¯s favorites. I wanted today to be a pancake day.¡±

    Octavia giggled. ¡°We used to have a designated pancake day at my house.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll make another pancake day!¡± the Spirited girl cheered just a bit too loudly. The hot skillet was aloft just enough that Octavia feared for the little newborn fluff still blooming within. She winced.

    ¡°Oh God, please be careful with that,¡± Octavia murmured with haste.

    Madrigal laughed quietly. ¡°How do you want your eggs cooked?¡±

    Octavia''s smile settled into something softer. ¡°Is scrambled okay?¡±

    ¡°Is that your favorite?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to make things a certain way just because they¡¯re my favorites, you know,¡± Octavia reassured with a chuckle. ¡°I like whatever you make. You know that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I wanted to make some special stuff today,¡± Madrigal insisted.

    Octavia raised an eyebrow affectionately. ¡°That¡¯s¡­nice of you. Can I at least help?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to!¡±

    ¡°But I want to.¡±

    ¡°If you really want to, then we can cook together,¡± Madrigal offered happily. ¡°That sounds fun.¡±

    Frankly, Octavia was somewhat fearful of compromising Madrigal¡¯s wonderful cooking with what were relatively amateur-to-average food preparation skills of her own. Still, if the Maestra was going to go this far on her behalf, it felt only fair. She rolled up the sleeves of her nightgown, blending in with the atmosphere of Madrigal¡¯s culinary theater as seamlessly as she could. ¡°Give me something to do, anything that helps. I don¡¯t wanna mess up whatever you¡¯re doing.¡±

    Even with her eyes firmly upon the skillet, nursing each batch of batter to fluffy perfection, Madrigal''s beautiful smile filled the room. ¡°There¡¯s some fruit that I put on a cutting board over there. Can you cut it up into little pieces for me? I need them to be kind of tiny.¡±

    Octavia did what she could to oblige, curling her fingers as she slid a newly-adopted blade swiftly into the skin of a strawberry. ¡°Like this?¡±

    ¡°Perfect!¡±

    Octavia smiled as she worked, the gentle sounds of their collaboration a wonderful backdrop that warmed her heart. ¡°It¡¯s not fair that you know my favorite foods and I don¡¯t know yours. What¡¯s your favorite food, then?¡±

    Madrigal barely hesitated. ¡°Strawberries! I looove strawberries. They go great on everything. If strawberries were the last food in the world, I¡¯d still be happy. Do you ever put strawberries in your pancakes?¡±

    Octavia laughed softly. The Maestra''s enthusiasm for the little fruit atop her cutting board was somewhat contagious. ¡°I¡¯m willing to try.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna make some of them with strawberries in them, then!¡±

    Knowing Madrigal, she could put dirt in a pancake and still make it taste delicious. ¡°What, uh, what¡¯s your opinion on mushrooms?¡± Octavia tried half-heartedly.

    ¡°Which ones?¡±

    ¡°All of them.¡±

    Madrigal bounced on the tips of her toes happily. ¡°I like them. They¡¯re fun to put in soup.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t disagree one bit. She had a worse, oddly-specific idea, concocted largely with a smirk. ¡°What¡¯s your opinion on cherries?¡±

    Seeing Madrigal hesitate was somewhat surprising. ¡°They¡¯re really sweet, so I almost like them. I just don¡¯t like the way the stems feel. It¡¯s uncomfortable. The skin feels weird sometimes, too. You know, I haven¡¯t eaten cherries in awhile. Maybe they¡¯re too sweet. I don¡¯t know how I feel about them, actually. Why are you laughing?¡±

    ¡°No reason.¡±

    Madrigal was content to let her have her moment of unreasonable amusement, at least, getting a bit too much out of a ridiculous joke made to herself alone. Even ignorant to the source of her laughter, she, too, laughed as well. Between this and the loving environment of hospitality only Madrigal could create, it was a bliss Octavia regretted not wading her way into sooner.

    ¡°I¡¯m done with these. What else can I help with?¡±

    ¡°Can you take over with the pancakes? I was gonna start peeling the potatoes. Plus, I think they¡¯d be happy if you gave them some love!¡± she said with the same smile Octavia adored.

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare object, switching places with Madrigal carefully. Again, their coordinated efforts settled into something peaceful--a silence filled only by gentle sizzling, dicing, and scents that made her heart as joyous as her stomach.

    ¡°Do you like Tacell?¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­happy being here?¡± Madrigal asked softly.

    Octavia¡¯s smile was just as soft. ¡°Yeah. I like it a lot.¡±

    ¡°What do you like about it?¡±

    Octavia poked at one bubbling, immature pancake with the spatula cautiously. ¡°It reminds me of Silver Ridge. Even this place kinda reminds me of Silver Ridge. This wasn''t exactly what my house looked like, but still. It¡¯s¡­peaceful, and it¡¯s really pretty. For what I have to do, I think this is the nicest place I could do it.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s own smile settled into something indiscernible. ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay if there¡¯s days where you aren¡¯t happy, too.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s face fell. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay if you¡­have days where you don¡¯t feel well,¡± she offered gently. ¡°And days where you¡¯re scared or upset. Everyone has days like that, even if some¡­people have them more than others. Some people have more reasons to have bad days than other people, and that¡¯s okay, too.¡±

    She knew what Madrigal was getting at. It was supposed to be reassuring. Why did it hurt?

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay if you want us to leave you alone when you--if you have one of those days. Just know that all of us are here, and we always will be, if you want somebody to be there with you. And no matter what happens next, no matter where we go or what we have to do, we¡¯ll be there all the way through that, too. We won¡¯t leave you.¡±

    It was supposed to feel nice. It was supposed to feel safe. Instead, it made Octavia¡¯s heart beat faster. It didn''t feel good.

    Madrigal''s smile never faltered, regardless of what rested behind it. ¡°A heroine is never supposed to give up, right? So, I¡¯m never gonna leave the Ambassador, no matter what. We can get through everything, as long as we¡¯re together. Even if it¡¯s¡­just a little bit at a time. We¡¯re a team.¡±

    Maybe she needed a heroine. It would¡¯ve been nice. It would¡¯ve been preferable to shouldering weights she didn¡¯t want to shoulder. Would it make her a bad Ambassador? Octavia''s stomach hurt. Finding a smile herself was harder than it looked.

    ¡°Y-Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­appreciate it. Thank you.¡±

    Again did the comfortable atmosphere of cooking settle upon them, the heavy beating of Octavia¡¯s heart now stirred into the mix somewhat. It was unpleasant, a sour splash to an otherwise sweet feeling. She couldn¡¯t keep her false smile for long.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­making really wonderful progress,¡± Madrigal praised quietly. ¡°I think all of the Muses are really happy to go home.¡±

    Octavia nodded, doing what she could to give her love to a ripe pancake atop her spatula. ¡°I hope so.¡±

    ¡°I¡­hope ours aren¡¯t jealous,¡± she joked.

    Octavia shook her head with a smile--genuine, this time. ¡°They¡¯re patient, I think. Most of them. They offered to help, and they know it¡¯ll be their turn soon. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re jealous at all.¡±

    ¡°Are you gonna miss Stratos?¡±

    She hadn¡¯t given it much thought. It burned, somewhat. ¡°Yeah. Probably. I know he has to go, though. I want him to be happy. He¡¯s¡­been down here a long time. They all have.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia eyed her subtly. Madrigal''s smile, once bright enough to challenge the dawn sunbeams that flooded the room, had evaporated. That, too, burned.

    ¡°We should cherish the time we still have with them,¡± Octavia added quickly. ¡°We should spend time with them, and make memories. We should treasure what we do have. Let¡¯s just¡­take it one day at a time, and make the most of what we have left.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s smile was still absent, her eyes glassy as her cutting slowed. ¡°We should¡­be happy for what we do still have left, then, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Yeah. Don¡¯t you think so?¡±

    Madrigal, too, nodded, albeit with hesitation. ¡°I think we should make the most of the time we have left as Maestras. I think we should¡­¡±

    She trailed off. Octavia did what she could to fill in, somewhat uncomfortable with Madrigal¡¯s flat affect. ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­live in the present. We can worry about the future later.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Madrigal murmured, her voice monotone.

    It was a sentiment that was exceedingly ironic. Octavia was well aware of that much. If she could take her own advice, perhaps the sentiments she¡¯d been offered in return wouldn¡¯t have felt so unsettling. It was hard to imagine Stratos leaving, in truth. It was hard to imagine anything that lie beyond the two Harmonial Instruments that next awaited her touch.

    It was only distraction after distraction up until she was thrust into Hell, and it was getting agonizing to an unfathomable degree. This, too, was a distraction. Warmth itself was temporary, another distraction. Octavia appreciated it. She hated it. She didn¡¯t know how to feel about it. If she could cling to happiness, if she could stuff it into a bottle and hold it close to her heart, she would in an instant. Even now, it was slipping.

    ¡°Ouch!¡±

    She was lucky she hadn¡¯t outright dropped the skillet. The impact of the scorching iron with her feet would''ve surely left much more severe of a wound than whatever she could do to her hand. It was her fault for not paying attention, her left wrist stinging instantly as she recoiled from the hot metal. She clutched her hand and squeezed tightly, searing pain throbbing across her skin.

    ¡°Octavia!¡± Madrigal cried, her knife falling to the cutting board with a thud.

    Octavia whined in quiet pain, watching with anticipatory dread and annoyance as her skin began to rapidly redden. For how heated the skillet had been, she wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if it blistered later. She was vaguely aware of the way Madrigal was salvaging the metal from the flame, sparing a budding pancake from a crispy fate. If Octavia¡¯s reactions were anything to go by, she could at least understand why Madrigal wouldn¡¯t ask if she was alright. That was clear enough to see.

    Ultimately, she did deserve it. It didn¡¯t particularly occur to her to move or ask for assistance, somewhat preoccupied with inspecting her burn and contemplating her own mistake. She was good at making those. The way Madrigal stared down her injury just as hard was incredibly uncomfortable, regardless.

    It took effort to will herself to free her hand. Octavia''s fingers curled into a fist out of reflex as she battled the waves of stinging pain that rolled across her skin. In that way, perhaps, Madrigal could see her burn better, concern surely stinging her own heart in turn. It was how Octavia knew her to be. She wasn¡¯t used to the staring, nor the degree to which it lasted. The Maestra was silent, the residual sizzle of the liberated skillet the only offset to her soft breathing. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± Octavia murmured quietly.

    She didn¡¯t respond. Her eyes were solely on Octavia¡¯s wrist, the first tell-tale signs of blistering teasing her skin in the form of scarlet patches. While the pain was by no means dulled, Octavia¡¯s attention had shifted substantially. Madrigal only continued to stare, wordless and expressionless as she fixated solely upon the injury. When Octavia drew back her wrist slightly, so, too, did Madrigal''s eyes follow along.

    ¡°Hey, Madrigal?¡± Octavia tried once more.

    Nothing still. She lowered her head somewhat, doing what she could to steal that blank gaze for herself. Octavia''s best attempts were futile. Madrigal¡¯s focus was anywhere but on her words. She didn¡¯t move, nor did she emote. It took several more seconds of staring before Octavia watched as Madrigal¡¯s fingers began to tremble. Her breathing was sharper, louder. Still were her eyes empty and fixated.

    ¡°Madrigal--¡±

    ¡°Good morning.¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice absolutely terrified her, and it was a second miracle that Octavia didn¡¯t burn herself once more on the open flame. Still, she jumped, yanking her burn out of Madrigal¡¯s field of vision. ¡°G-Good morning,¡± Octavia stammered.

    He offered a tired smile, brushing his unkempt bangs out of his eyes. ¡°Whatever you guys are making smells good. Did you sleep well?¡±

    She never did. At the very least, Harper''s gaze was obscured enough to spare her for now. ¡°Y-Yeah,¡± she lied.

    It wasn¡¯t enough to save her in full, and those eyes widened the moment they found her hand now clutching at her forearm. ¡°Did you burn yourself?¡± he asked with soft worry.

    Octavia averted her own gaze. ¡°I-I¡­¡±

    Harper was at her side quickly, tenderly peeling her hand away as he replaced it with his own. His inspection was gentle in a way that never brushed against her gradually-blistering skin. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    The worry in his eyes was genuine, and she doubted he was looking for a contradiction in her words. The ones she offered were mostly truthful, anyway--physically, if nothing else. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, really. It wasn¡¯t that bad.¡±

    He winced. ¡°Do you want me to get Josiah? He--¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    She declined far, far too loudly. She didn¡¯t even realize her volume until it was too late, immediately regretting her harsh outburst. Given the way Harper recoiled, she felt even worse. Damage control was immediate and mostly futile.

    ¡°N-No, it¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t wake him up. He¡¯s¡­he needs his rest. Please.¡±

    Even with his head tilted and his face pained, Harper spared her inquiries she knew she probably deserved. She appreciated it. ¡°He¡­gave me some stuff for burns awhile back. Aloe, or something. Will you let me give you that, at least?¡±

    It took a moment for her to agree, nodding in silence. If it was Harper, that was alright. She chanced a glance at Madrigal, largely unpetrified. Even so, the girl still eyed Octavia with worry and heavy breaths, eyes glassy as they hurriedly chased her wound. That, too, didn¡¯t escape the sharp gaze she¡¯d come to be wary of.

    ¡°Madrigal?¡± Harper asked. ¡°You okay?¡±

    Her smile was finally back, bright and beaming--if not forced and strained. ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you¡¯re here! You probably know a lot more about dealing with burns than I do, what with your legacy and all that. I¡¯m¡­no good with medicine stuff. Take good care of Octavia, okay? I¡¯ll make sure to have a nice breakfast ready when everyone feels better. That¡¯s my medicine!¡±

    It was a poor excuse. It was enough for Harper. It wasn¡¯t quite enough for Octavia, although she kept her objections to herself. The way Madrigal¡¯s eyes still lingered on her burn even as she left the comfort of the kitchen wasn''t lost on her.

    Pancakes with strawberries weren¡¯t half bad, evidently. It was the lasting strain in Madrigal¡¯s smile that was more bitter on Octavia¡¯s tongue than anything.

    <hr>

    She got over it, thankfully. By sunset, Madrigal had stopped eyeing her bandages with such unsettling focus--for the most part. Her eyes still flickered to the concealed wound from time to time, although not so much that it raised substantial concern for Octavia. It wasn¡¯t her greatest concern, the burden of nightfall again bringing with it the very raw risk of unconscious torment. It had been getting worse on a nightly basis, lately, and she knew the exact reason. She knew both of them, really.

    Viola had chided her about sitting around alone with her thoughts. In reality, there was little alternative. Those thoughts were complex, the feelings that accompanied them even more so. Octavia had entertained talking them out with any of her three readily-available options, provided their platitudes had been genuine. She still resolved to steer clear of a fourth, at least for now.

    Staring at the ceiling of her bedroom had done nothing. Staring at the ceiling of the salon wasn¡¯t much better, although she could at least enjoy the dying fire on the hearth once more. She entertained the idea of dragging Stradivaria downstairs with her, doing what she could to find solace in his voice instead. Of him, too, she feared sentiments that would do little to truly ease her anxieties. This was miserable. Viola had read her like a book, somehow, right down to the part about driving herself insane.

    Octavia pulled her knees up to her chest uncomfortably, tossing her eyes into what was left of the fire. It was a shame she couldn¡¯t borrow someone else¡¯s eyes, the stagnation of the one task she¡¯d come to find a rhythm for growing and festering painfully. If she cheated, if she broke through the terms of their preparatory plan and performed the Witnessing anyway, would anyone notice? There were still a substantial amount of Maestros left in Tacell. What was one or two less? Would they out her to River? To Josiah, even?

    She feared one of those outcomes more than the other. It wasn¡¯t the one she was expecting. Octavia didn¡¯t like that she was wary of him in the first place. That was new.

    In truth, she had one option. It wasn¡¯t a good option, nor was it a safe option. Her memory was jogged in part by stagnation on the couch in the dead of night again. It was an option by which she doubted anyone would give her a hard time, an outlier that served as a loophole to the unofficial ban. Whether or not she could truly cross that bridge in full remained to be seen, given that she¡¯d be lucky if she wasn¡¯t burned to a crisp.

    Octavia took her chances. Tangible fear was better than those she couldn¡¯t touch just yet. The steps she took towards the stairs were instinctive, a natural reflex to grab Stradivaria¡¯s case and bring him along. Even so, her hesitation was twofold--she couldn¡¯t communicate her lack of hostile intent, for one. She¡¯d be lucky if she could communicate at all.

    Do not go back to that place again.

    That, too, she feared, the sharp reprimand in his voice burning more than any light that could scorch her skin. Her choice was a double-edged sword. It was the first time Octavia had left him behind in weeks, the weightless sensation on her back and shoulders outright disorienting as she left.

    Creeping out from the safety of her cottage in the still of the night was suddenly far more intimidating, her every step tinged with vulnerability that she didn¡¯t enjoy. The rustle of the grass beneath her feet as she walked was substantially less comfortable in the dark, the soft atmosphere of an autumn evening somewhat lost on her without his company. She sincerely considered going back on multiple occasions. It wasn¡¯t that Tacell was dangerous, at least not to her knowledge. He was her light--literally. A defenseless Ambassador was an oxymoron, somewhat. She fidgeted, her empty hands useless without his straps to cling to for comfort.

    Octavia remembered where the cottage was, vaguely. It wasn¡¯t a particularly short walk, given its relative isolation versus the other abodes. The thought of being attacked once more did serve to make her heart race, although something in her stomach gave her a shred of hope she opted to cling to instead. Her second issue came in the form of getting in, knocking having proven to be fundamentally useless.

    She wondered if the boy had left the door unlocked intentionally, any true risk of harm in Tacell sincerely close to zero. Octavia was well aware of that much. Why she opted to knock anyway was inexplicable, and she wrote it off as a reflex. Actually twisting the handle led to her stomach twisting along with it. She had half a mind to dive behind whatever protection her eyes landed on first the moment her boots crossed the threshold.

    ¡°Theo?¡± she called into the dark.

    That was just as much of a reflex. She kicked herself for it, at least.

    Octavia¡¯s movements were slow, her heart was pounding, and her eyes were darting into every conceivable corner soaked in shadow. It was only the soft glow of the moon that offered her reprieve, spared from competition this time as it bled through translucent curtains onto the hardwood. It wasn¡¯t quite enough to guide her path in full, but it was a start.

    She sealed herself in the dark with a click of the door behind her, her unseen assailant surely lurking out of sight. It didn¡¯t matter that he was ten. She still couldn¡¯t shake from her mind exactly how powerful his light had been, nor how the razor-sharp eyes of a child had fought to slice her in two.

    Every step was tentative, shaky and unsure as the floorboards creaked slightly beneath her feet. She questioned whether his other senses compensated for what he lacked, although she couldn¡¯t prove by how much. There was little comfort in knowing her minute movements would go unheard, given how many other ways her presence could be detected. Then again, that was the point. She had an idea as she walked, raising her hands aloft in a preemptive gesture of surrender. It was a somewhat tiring gesture to maintain, but it was perhaps the difference between offering the goodwill of the Ambassador and being blasted full of scorching radiance.

    Octavia remembered the voice. It, too, was silent, a new development that served as the inverse to her distress last time. If he had a Harmonial Instrument, it surely harbored a Muse. She took her chances, her own voice given at least somewhat of a use.

    ¡°Are you¡­still in here?¡± Octavia tried. ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador. You were¡­calling for me last time. I¡¯m not going to hurt you, I promise. Let¡¯s talk, okay?¡±

    When she heard nothing, she sighed. Her arms were starting to hurt. ¡°Listen, you¡¯re the one that called me, not the other way around. Can you at least tell me why? If you want to be left alone, you have to tell me that, too. I¡¯m not psychic. Please?¡±

    The footsteps that rapidly tapped against the flooring behind her made her jump, and Octavia nearly screamed. It was a panicked reflex to reinforce her motion of surrender, her arms raised ever higher and her face surely straining with much the same terror. That much was a natural reaction to the daggers that pinned her soul, a deadly gaze coupled with the mouth of a piccolo where words didn''t greet her.

    The boy was tense, his distance more than close enough to seriously wound her if desired. Never did his relentless glare spare her, even for a second. He locked eyes with her forever, his Harmonial Instrument raised and ready at a moment¡¯s notice. All it would take was a single note. Octavia gulped, petrified. Even blinking was a risk.

    As still as she was, waving one paralyzed hand peacefully was possibly the stupidest decision she could¡¯ve made. It was free of consequence, at least, Theo¡¯s eyes darting towards her most minimal movement instantly. It was with less urgency that his bitter gaze traveled to her other hand, aloft and equally barren. He eyed her up and down, and she felt small under the ruthless inspection of a child almost half her size. Octavia¡¯s breaths were shallow, the movements of her shoulders a risk she didn¡¯t want to take.

    Theo took one, two, three, four steps backwards from her. His eye contact was unwavering, endlessly piercing as he held her in place with hostility alone. Ever so slowly, he lowered the piccolo from his lips, still tensed and gripping the instrument tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He slipped it under the crook of his arm carefully, surrendering his offenses in favor of freed hands. He curled his fingers inwards and raised one arm aloft to his shoulder, emulating a motion Octavia knew exceedingly well. It still took a moment for his imitation of a violin to click.

    She waved her hands frantically, shaking her head much the same. ¡°No, no, I don¡¯t have it! I¡¯m unarmed! I¡¯m not gonna hurt you, I swear!¡±

    Again, Octavia winced at her own folly. It really was a reflex. She hoped her hurried gestures at least got the point across.

    Theo tilted his head as he lowered his arms, returning his grasp to the piccolo alone. Octavia was sweating under his glare, embarrassed as she was to admit it.

    You are alone, then?

    She¡¯d heard that voice. It was unmistakable, for how many times it had pleaded and beckoned to her. To hear anything besides ¡°help me¡± and ¡°Ambassador¡± in such a timid tone was off-putting, but welcome nonetheless. Octavia nodded, her eyes flickering to the piccolo instead.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m alone,¡± she said softly. ¡°I¡­came by myself. I didn¡¯t bring anyone with me.¡±

    He is not with you?

    ¡°Who?¡±

    Him.

    Octavia paused. ¡°River?¡±

    Theo averted his eyes, and Octavia breathed a deep sigh of relief over her newfound freedom. Still, the lack of response from the unseen Muse didn¡¯t make her feel much better. ¡°Is there¡­something wrong with River?¡±

    No.

    Octavia hesitated to press further, the soft, feminine tone as weighted as it was meek. The atmosphere definitely wasn¡¯t helping, her rapid heartbeat still not fully under control in the dark. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she settled upon instead.

    It was Theo who answered, as inexplicable as his response was for her. He raised one hand, quickly motioning with his fingers again and again at a speed she couldn¡¯t keep up with. It wasn¡¯t for lack of trying, given that she¡¯d already started to forget the signs for her own name somewhat.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡®Miracle Agony.¡¯

    Octavia raised her eyes largely out of reflex for the voice in her head, even cognizant of its origins. ¡°Is that what he said?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°That¡¯s a¡­dark name,¡± Octavia confessed.

    She was well aware that the comment was somewhat biting. Still, it was the truth, to her. The Muse took it well enough, the same calm voice soft as ever. I know. Even so, it is the one I chose.

    Octavia paused. ¡°What¡¯s your real name?¡±

    Her eyes went to Theo, initially, half-expecting another series of gestures she couldn¡¯t process. When he was motionless, it was all she could do to wait patiently. She waited, and waited, and waited, until she was somewhat convinced she¡¯d forgotten to ask the question at all.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer if you don¡¯t want to. It¡¯s--¡±

    Mixoly.

    Octavia tested the name on her tongue. ¡°Mixoly?¡±

    Yes.

    This Muse was of few words, if nothing else. Octavia did what she could to fill in the gaps where possible. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    She was silent, a reciprocated greeting shunned immediately. It was mildly disheartening. Octavia fidgeted somewhat.

    ¡°Can I¡­see you?¡±

    Why?

    That, as the Ambassador, wasn¡¯t a question she could recall being asked. ¡°I-I¡­you don¡¯t have to if you don¡¯t want to,¡± she repeated.

    There was silence once more, at least briefly. Are you certain you are alone?

    Octavia nodded. ¡°No one¡¯s with me, I promise.¡±

    You were not followed?

    The thought was unsettling. ¡°I¡­no, I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    Not now. Perhaps soon. I apologize, Ambassador.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t feel pressured. You can stay in there if you want. We can just¡­talk like this.¡±

    That is preferable.

    Theo¡¯s eyes flickered down to the piccolo in his grasp before piercing Octavia once more. Again, he cradled it under his arm, freeing his hands to motion quickly in her direction. She winced, especially given the same volatile hostility in his gaze yet again as he did so.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand,¡± she admitted.

    ¡®Don¡¯t make her upset¡¯, he says.

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Is he¡­talking about you?¡±

    It is alright, my child. I¡­trust in the Ambassador.

    Theo winced. It was the first expression she¡¯d seen on his face that wasn¡¯t filled with loathing and aggression since they¡¯d met. He didn¡¯t move, cupping the piccolo in both palms with great care. His hands were silent.

    It may not be so.

    Theo shook his head, his eyes soft as he gazed upon the instrument.

    I will¡­be alright.

    He shook his head harder, gritting his teeth.

    I will at least attempt. What follows remains to be seen.

    He squeezed his eyes shut.

    I would like to imagine.

    She was eavesdropping.

    ¡°E-Excuse me,¡± Octavia began nervously, ¡°can he¡­hear you?¡±

    If the Muse found the question ignorant, she said nothing of it. In his heart, just as you can.

    Octavia nodded. It made enough sense, somehow. ¡°If I say something to you, can you tell it to him for me?¡±

    What would I relay for you, Ambassador?

    ¡°Just¡­hypothetically.¡±

    Then yes, I could.

    It was somewhat uncomfortable to converse with a Muse she couldn¡¯t quite see, having largely been spoiled by face-to-face encounters. There was an almost comical dichotomy in how gentle Theo¡¯s eyes were upon his partner and how violent his gaze was upon Octavia. It gave her chills, child or not.

    ¡°You¡­said you needed help,¡± Octavia tried. ¡°What do you need? How can I help you?¡±

    I begged for your aid before I knew he was by your side. It is not safe now.

    Again came the same vague accusation. ¡°Who are you talking about?¡±

    Ambassador, you must not trust in his words. You are in danger.

    ¡°What are you talking about? Whose words?¡±

    Now is¡­not the time. He is shrewd. He will suspect you. You are not supposed to know me, nor I you, Ambassador. It is for this reason that you must be on your guard.

    Confused as she was, the weight of the Muse¡¯s words was enough for lead to settle into Octavia¡¯s blood. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Return alone. Return with care, and not for long. Return only when darkness falls and no eyes are upon you. Do not tell him. You must not tell him.

    ¡°Mixoly, I don¡¯t get what you¡¯re talking about. Who is ¡®he¡¯? Is it a Maestro?¡±

    Leave now, lest your absence raises such suspicion. Return when¡­when you are able.

    ¡°Mixoly?¡±

    Please do not¡­leave me for long.

    ¡°Mixoly, if I¡¯m in danger, you need to tell me from what. I can help you, I promise. I¡¯ll do whatever you want, and I¡¯ll help with whatever you need. I¡¯ll send you home, I swear, but I need to know what you--¡±

    Do not trust Stratos.

    It was a sentiment she¡¯d heard only once before, and on far calmer lips--luminescent or otherwise. It was a suggestion that was still enough to send a chill down her spine, unsettling in concept alone. What she¡¯d once dismissed as the byproduct of a potential feud between two very different Muses was now reiterated from one of Stratos¡¯ own legacy. The reflex to defend his honor was instant, if not shaky.

    ¡°W-Why would you say that? He¡¯s precious to me!¡±

    Please, Mixoly implored quietly.

    Her singular plea was weak enough that Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to argue. It took conscious effort to relax fists she wasn¡¯t even aware she¡¯d made. She couldn¡¯t bear to look at the Muse¡¯s vessel, with Theo¡¯s sharp expression not much of a welcome improvement.

    Go now and return soon. I will¡­tell all. Believe what you will, Ambassador.

    Mixoly¡¯s words stung enough that she didn¡¯t need to be told twice, truthfully. She resisted the urge to storm out, to shatter what little rapport she¡¯d begun to build with a voice that had begged for her aid. As to whether she was building rapport with Theo, she had her doubts, given the way he glared at her once more all the way out the door.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    It echoed in her head, and she very much did not like it. Would she be a poor Ambassador if she were hesitant to help such a Muse? She¡¯d helped Ethel, after all, although his words of reproach had been offered at the point of no return.

    She chanced one last look behind her into the cottage, Theo still glowering at her from beyond the threshold. Once more, very slowly, he motioned to her with heavy movements. His eyes were enough to make her blood run cold.

    ¡°What¡­is he saying?¡± she asked aloud to the Muse.

    The voice hesitated. Octavia deserved that, somewhat, given her harsh dismissal of such a soft warning. Still, she appreciated the translation that was kindly offered regardless.

    ¡®If you hurt her,¡¯ Mixoly spoke, ¡®I will kill you.¡¯

 71. Ebony Lost

    ¡°They found her.¡±

    Octavia was grateful for Harper shaking her out of a nightmare, given how frequently they blighted her. The words he offered in its place were somewhere on the cusp of a dream and a nightmare themselves, for the implications that they came with. It took them a moment to register as she sat up, doffing the covers. Fighting to give him her full, groggy attention took effort.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The Ebony Maestra,¡± he murmured urgently.

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. ¡°Where was she?¡±

    ¡°Some really remote town in the southeast. I¡¯m amazed they found her at all.¡±

    ¡°And they¡­brought her back?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    That, too, had implications. Octavia was on her feet almost instantly. ¡°Where is she?¡±

    ¡°Selbright,¡± Harper said. ¡°She¡¯s staying with Mina. It was the easiest option.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d they get her to agree to come?¡±

    Harper bit his lip. When he didn¡¯t answer, Octavia was almost afraid to ask again.

    ¡°Harper, how did they¡­get her to agree to come with them?¡±

    ¡°It¡­wasn¡¯t very nice.¡±

    Octavia tensed. ¡°Did they¡­threaten her or something?¡±

    Harper sighed. Where Octavia had gotten up, he sat down on her bed instead. ¡°I didn¡¯t know this until this morning, but¡­Josiah apparently gave a message to Briar, and¡­Briar gave that message to this¡­Maestra.¡±

    ¡°What did he say?¡±

    The look Harper gave her hurt. ¡°¡®If you don¡¯t come with us, we¡¯ll tell the Velrose clergy where you live.¡¯¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened, her heart dropping into her stomach. Already, she was starting to sweat. ¡°That¡¯s awful! Why would he do that?¡±

    ¡°I know there¡¯s no Velpyre clergy left to hurt them anymore, but I don¡¯t know all the details of how that works. I¡­imagine getting sent back there wouldn¡¯t end well for her. Not considering what happened,¡± he said sadly.

    ¡°That¡¯s cruel!¡± Octavia cried. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why he¡¯d do something like that to her!¡±

    Harper shrugged half-heartedly. ¡°It worked. Maybe that was enough for him.¡±

    She struggled to swallow her ire, a Josiah-bound snowball that seemed to grow larger every second she thought about it. ¡°I¡­what happens now?¡±

    ¡°Now we drag her into this, I guess. I don¡¯t know who¡¯s going to be the one to try to convince her, but--¡±

    ¡°I already know exactly who it¡¯s gonna be,¡± Octavia spat.

    Harper recoiled at her venom. ¡°I¡­Octavia, I get why he did it, even if it was messed up. He wouldn¡¯t actually do it. You know that. I know that. After everything he¡¯s been through, you seriously think he¡¯d report her?¡±

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling heavily. ¡°No, I¡­I don¡¯t. I don¡¯t think so, at least. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Selena¡¯s mother. He wouldn¡¯t,¡± Harper said.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m worried he would,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he chided sharply, soft as his tone was by comparison.

    Even so, she hardly had the drive to apologize. If Harper were to look into her eyes right now, he¡¯d find only the truth of her distrust. She didn¡¯t give him the chance to press. She didn¡¯t want to, going out of her way to give her gaze anywhere except to the boy who could tear it apart.

    ¡°Are all of the Soulful in Selbright?¡± Octavia asked.

    He shook his head. ¡°Just the ones that live there. The rest of them came back.¡±

    ¡°All of them?¡±

    Harper¡¯s smile, if nothing else, was welcome. ¡°All of them.¡±

    ¡°Is--¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Octavia hoped the way she barely let him finish wasn¡¯t unforgivably rude, although the knowing smile he sustained on her behalf spoke to the contrary. He didn¡¯t object when she sped through the motions of tossing her boots on haphazardly, not so much as caring to formally change out of her nightgown. For now, for at least this moment, being Octavia took priority over the appearances of being the Ambassador. This was too urgent. Her heart couldn¡¯t be placated a moment longer.

    She heard him laugh softly at her urgency as she nearly kicked her own door down, the wood slamming with a harsh bang into the wall. She only somewhat regretted the way it probably awoke the rest of her housemates, provided the same news hadn''t already awoken them. This news, by comparison, was her own emergency. They¡¯d understand.

    Octavia nearly tripped going down the stairs on no less than two separate occasions--an impressive feat, given the small quantity of steps to begin with. The only thing that moved faster than she could was her heart, racing so far ahead of her that she¡¯d surely never catch up again. It had been weeks. Logically, there was no reason to be nervous, and the fleeting thought was almost humorous. It would almost certainly get her teased and laughed at--although that, too, wouldn''t be entirely unwelcome.

    Octavia never made it outside. She didn¡¯t need to. The only treasure she could desire from the excursion, clad in familiar royal blues and crowned with fluffy satin that had come to stain her eyes, had come home to her instead. Her visage hadn¡¯t changed in the time they¡¯d been pried apart. Octavia¡¯s explosive smile just barely outdid her tears.

    She didn¡¯t care who saw. She didn¡¯t care what conversation the girl was well-engaged in. She didn¡¯t care what companions, around which she was currently comfortable or not, were present at her side. It wasn¡¯t enough to keep her from practically leaping from the steps, tackling the girl with such force that she nearly collapsed to the ground. It was by a miracle that she remained upright, stumbling as Octavia¡¯s weight crashed into her in full. It was all the latter could do not to break down in her arms, relieved and joyful to embrace her again. She was aware of the way her voice cracked as she cried the Soulful Maestra¡¯s name. Once more, she didn¡¯t care.

    Viola¡¯s hesitation, born of shock, was temporary at best. She returned Octavia¡¯s embrace, albeit with less overwhelming urgency and more amusement. ¡°I¡¯m gonna assume you missed me, then?¡± she guessed with a laugh.

    ¡°Whatever gave you that idea?¡± Octavia teased through tears she couldn¡¯t restrain.

    The feeling of Viola¡¯s bow brushing against her cheek made her heart sing. ¡°I could be wrong. Maybe you liked your alone time. Maybe I should go again. Sorry to intrude.¡±

    Octavia only hugged her tighter. ¡°I¡¯ll chase you down and drag you back here if you try.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll just have to be faster than you.¡±

    Octavia scoffed. ¡°You are the absolute last person who could ever outrun me.¡±

    Viola¡¯s laugh, stolen from her for so long, was a miracle to hold close again. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s not a bad thing.¡±

    ¡°Okay, you have to share. We missed her, too, you know,¡± Harper joked from the stairs, leaning against the wall with a casual smile.

    ¡°But not as much as I did, so I take priority. Get in line,¡± Octavia joked back.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get special privileges just for being the Ambassador, you know.¡±

    She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. He did the same right back. Viola giggled, still bound in Octavia¡¯s embrace.

    Octavia was glad, somewhat, that her frantic descent hadn¡¯t woken up the entire cottage prematurely. That part, thankfully, had already been done on her behalf. She was only somewhat distressed at the way her warm hold on the Maestra suddenly increased from a world of two to three, spirit spontaneously thrust into a mix of soul and heart alike.

    ¡°We missed you soooo much!¡± Madrigal cried, one arm thrown around either Maestra in a way that stole Octavia¡¯s breath. ¡°We were all so lonely without you! We thought about you every day, and you were always in our hearts! We never forgot about you!¡±

    ¡°Why do you people keep acting like I died or something?¡± Viola asked with another giggle.

    ¡°Good to have you back, Vi,¡± Renato offered with a grin. ¡°Missed ya.¡±

    ¡°Harper, tell me if he¡¯s lying.¡±

    ¡°I sincerely don¡¯t know what I expected.¡±

    There was a part of Octavia that was afraid to look to her left, should she find the physical capacity to peek past Madrigal¡¯s endless squeezing. She knew he was there. She¡¯d heard his voice as she¡¯d raced to Viola¡¯s side, surely having gone straight to business the moment she¡¯d arrived. If she chanced a glance at him, if she broke the spell that came with the warmth of blessed reunion, would the ice in Josiah¡¯s eyes freeze her heart and sting her soul again? She didn¡¯t want to risk it.

    Octavia did it anyway. She hadn¡¯t, under any circumstances, expected the faint satisfaction that had settled onto his lips. Even with his arms crossed and his gaze stern, still he found the consideration to smile. It wasn¡¯t warming, but it was more than relieving. She could breathe.

    When the moment passed, when Octavia was free once more, the joy in her heart was edged out somewhat by the dread that threatened to take its place. If Viola was here, it was as Harper had said--her return wasn''t without reason, and apparently not without success. In the worst way, Josiah was surely satisfied with the outcome. Perhaps she should¡¯ve been, too.

    It didn¡¯t make a single word that left his mouth any easier to handle. It didn¡¯t pull Octavia from the auditory threshold of bells or no bells that she teetered on each time he spoke lately. Even now, fresh from the elation of reuniting with her Soulful companion once more, she was right back on that borderline again.

    ¡°You were saying, then,¡± Josiah resumed, a conversation long interrupted brought to life once more. ¡°She¡¯s in good health?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s definitely not happy, that¡¯s for sure,¡± Viola muttered.

    Josiah blinked slowly. ¡°I can¡¯t particularly blame her.¡±

    ¡°That was a low blow. Seriously.¡±

    ¡°It worked.¡±

    ¡°Are you actually gonna do it?¡± Octavia murmured, the question still burning a hole in her mind even now.

    The eyes that met her were cold enough that her heart pounded. For a moment, she genuinely, truly feared he¡¯d say yes. Josiah''s actual answer wasn¡¯t much better.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to tell the clergy. However, I¡¯m going to hold onto that for a little bit longer.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Viola asked.

    He sighed. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m bluffing. We¡¯re gonna keep it that way. If we don¡¯t, there¡¯s absolutely no way we¡¯re going to be able to convince her to go down there. That¡¯s to say nothing of actually getting her to form a bond with Seraphim¡¯s Call again in the first place. I highly doubt guilt-tripping would work. Never stopped her before.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°Guilt¡­tripping?¡±

    Josiah was silent for a moment. ¡°Nevermind. Just¡­know that this was the best option, and maybe even the only option. I didn¡¯t do it because I wanted to. I did it because it would work.¡±

    Renato crossed his arms uncomfortably. ¡°Does she¡­know what she¡¯s gonna have to do?¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m going to go talk to her. There¡¯s a non-zero chance she could call my bluff and try to escape. If that happens and she goes somewhere else, we¡¯d have to start over. I don¡¯t want to have to keep catching her and dragging her back again and again.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about her like that.¡±

    The words were out of Octavia¡¯s mouth before she realized they¡¯d left. They were enough to draw the piercing gaze she hated. She met it with her own, resolute for once in defense of a woman she¡¯d never met.

    ¡°Like what?¡± Josiah asked coolly.

    Octavia did what she could to glare steel into his soul. ¡°She¡¯s¡­from the same place as you. She dealt with the same people you did. Doesn¡¯t that matter to you?¡±

    He didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Of course it matters. This matters too, though. We need to be able to get to Seraphim¡¯s Call, whatever that takes. It¡¯s not optional. You know that. I know that. We don¡¯t have a choice.¡±

    ¡°We have a choice to be kind,¡± she urged.

    ¡°Not with this.¡±

    It was in words she wasn¡¯t supposed to hear that Octavia had heard of others¡¯ distaste for Josiah¡¯s coldness in recent weeks. Now, though, they stood silent, seemingly content to let her take control of a confrontation she lamented dealing with at all. ¡°Let me go with you.¡±

    Josiah narrowed his eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me to talk to her alone, then?¡±

    Steadying her breath was a nightmare, the effort of keeping her voice level just as difficult. ¡°I¡¯m¡­the Ambassador. I have the right to be there. I have the right to be involved.¡±

    Octavia was glad he was Essenced. She was glad he wasn¡¯t Willful, let alone a Maestro anymore. It was a combination that would¡¯ve stricken her down on the spot, for how harshly his eyes speared into her heart and came out the other side. ¡°You want to be involved in planning all this, then?¡±

    There was nothing in her life that she wanted less.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    That alone was a risky answer. He wasn¡¯t stupid. He¡¯d seen her break down at least once. If anyone could put the pieces of her rosy puzzle together from context alone, it was him. His suspicions weren¡¯t subtle.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    Octavia contemplated modifying her terms. She opted against it, any mentions of making a sole exception or finding a sudden motivation surely a hint at ulterior motives of kindness. If she tried to sneak into his head, she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he interpreted her intentions as sabotage. That would be an entirely different battle to fight with him.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Josiah glared. She glared back, the fire she''d concocted beneath her pupils not quite enough to bore through the ice in his own. Octavia held her breath.

    ¡°We¡¯re going in the morning, then. We¡¯re going by ourselves. I remember the way back.¡±

    What should¡¯ve let her breathe a sigh of relief only made her stomach twist into a knot instead. The idea of walking alongside him for roughly twelve straight hours, unfeeling as he¡¯d been, was a misery in and of itself. Part of Octavia liked to imagine he might soften up somewhat. Most of her doubted it.

    ¡°What are you planning on telling her?¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice was far more level than her own, calm and composed to a degree Octavia wished she could emulate. It didn¡¯t quite match with the slightest splash of hostility that painted his face.

    It hardly rattled Josiah. ¡°It¡¯ll be fast. I¡¯ll tell her that she won¡¯t have to stay for long. She can get this over with and go back to whatever it is she¡¯s doing with her life.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan for her?¡±

    ¡°We get her down there, she bonds, Octavia guides the Muse in Seraphim¡¯s Call, and we get her out. It¡¯s that simple.¡±

    ¡°If she refuses?¡±

    ¡°Same threat.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you have to deal with all of this. I know you don¡¯t have anything against her.¡±

    ¡°She has every right to hate us. Believe me, I don¡¯t want to have to do this to her.¡±

    Harper¡¯s eyes widened. His face fell. It wasn¡¯t subtle.

    Josiah froze, unable to tear his eyes away from the Willful boy¡¯s own. Each of their gazes flooded with different flavors of pain. The moment he took the bait, he gritted his teeth. Octavia wanted to vomit.

    Josiah didn¡¯t give anyone else a chance to process the depth of an otherwise-shallow exchange. It was with far less joy than Octavia¡¯s flight that the bang of the front door rattled the cottage on his way out. It was the most emotion she¡¯d seen him emit in awhile. She almost preferred it this way.

    <hr>

    Octavia hardly processed most of the twelve hours it took to walk to Selbright once more, regretful not to be in River¡¯s company this time around. It would¡¯ve been far less stressful than walking on eggshells around a lightning bolt waiting to strike, for how on edge Josiah seemed to be. He was dead silent nearly the entire voyage, save for occasional reminders for Octavia to hydrate or insistence that she rest for a while. She was surprised to even receive those, somewhat beginning to doubt the degree to which he''d truly suppressed kindness.

    He was unstable, her understanding of a boy she¡¯d spent so much time with quickly slipping away. She thought about making idle conversation, the emotional distance between them driving her downright insane. She summoned the strength to try at least once.

    ¡°I wish¡­Selbright was closer. It¡¯s tough that we have to keep walking back and forth like this.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t getting her far. ¡°It¡¯d be nice to get to look around Selbright at some point. We could¡­put aside a day or two for it. I think that¡¯d be interesting.¡±

    ¡°Not anytime soon.¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡­nevermind.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t give her anything to work with. She didn¡¯t bother to try again for several hours, and even that had been fruitless.

    ¡°It¡¯s starting to get colder.¡±

    ¡°Are you cold?¡±

    It was interaction, at least. ¡°No, I mean the weather. Maybe we should get warmer clothes.¡±

    ¡°We can put time aside to get stuff in Selbright, if we really need it. Just for that.¡±

    ¡°Do you like cold weather?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t particularly care.¡±

    He didn¡¯t particularly care about anything, apparently. ¡°Do you have a¡­favorite kind of weather?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Octavia gave up again.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Even if she were to bide her time conversing with Stradivaria, there was little she could think of to say regardless. Her thoughts were idle, passing bursts of negativity that she couldn¡¯t quite quash despite her best efforts. She¡¯d managed, at least temporarily, to calm her pounding heart long enough to get her through dealing with this small facet of her task from Hell.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t quite growing numb to the thought of the blossom and the flame--not in the absolute slightest. Even so, her pain was somewhat muted, for now. She was underwater, hopelessly adrift in dark depths through which all was muffled and still. Surely, she would have to come up for air eventually. She wondered if Stradivaria would understand, if she could pull him down with her into that dark place.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    That, too, was its own dark place.

    Josiah¡¯s borderline impatience had led them to flee the cottage while the stars were still burning out against the morning sky. As such, they''d had the chance to cling to a bit more shimmering sunshine than the trip to Selbright usually afforded. She was thoroughly impressed by Josiah¡¯s ability to locate Mina¡¯s house of his own accord, relative to his singular voyage to her home from the opposite direction entirely. Given the frequency with which Octavia and company tended to show up at Mina¡¯s house unannounced, she was beginning to wonder if they were intruding. Apparently, in this instance, Mina hardly minded.

    ¡°Well, hello,¡± she greeted with a bit too much enthusiasm, leaning against the doorway.

    Octavia waved, grateful for her first friendly interaction in over twelve entire hours. If Mina¡¯s eyes were anything to go by, it wasn''t for her.

    Josiah didn¡¯t so much as crack a smile. Still, he at least raised one hand in a quiet wave of his own. ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I was expecting company,¡± Mina added, her voice dripping with something Octavia couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. The way she twirled a strand of hair around one finger was equally puzzling.

    Josiah tilted his head, his expression neutral. ¡°Do you mind having us?¡±

    Mina''s grin was different. It painted a picture that made Octavia raise an eyebrow. ¡°Not one bit.¡±

    ¡°Appreciate it.¡±

    ¡°You are always welcome here. Stay as long as you''d like, my Essenced friend.¡±

    For whatever exceedingly low tone Mina was taking with him, Josiah was largely unfazed. ¡°Is she here?¡±

    ¡°Straight to business, then. I respect it. She¡¯s in the salon. Are you in the mood for anything to eat? I can make you whatever you want.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± he said coolly, practically pushing past her on the way in. Mina rolled her eyes with a smirk.

    ¡°What kind of tea do you like?¡± she called.

    Josiah raised one hand dismissively behind him. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    Mina watched him pass her by for far longer than was necessary. Octavia tried and failed horrifically to stifle a smirk of her own.

    Mina wasn¡¯t immune to it, although it didn¡¯t quite quash her grin. ¡°Damn, he¡¯s the hard to get type. That¡¯s kind of hot.¡±

    ¡°You are absolutely shameless.¡±

    ¡°And you dropped him right at my doorstep. One hell of a gift from a friend. Please do that more often.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t keep her smile for long. ¡°We¡¯re¡­not exactly here for fun.¡±

    Mina crossed her arms, her satisfied grin falling in turn. ¡°I kinda figured. You want me to give you guys some space?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I feel bad doing that to you in your own house.¡±

    Mina rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I want to be a part of whatever talk is about to happen. She hasn¡¯t been a bad guest at all. She¡¯s actually pretty nice. I feel kinda weird that everyone seems to have it out for her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re really not gonna wanna hear this conversation, then,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°Just know that there¡¯s a¡­reason.¡±

    Mina sighed. ¡°I figured as much. I¡¯ll stay out of your way. If you¡¯re gonna start yelling, try not to be too loud.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about all this,¡± Octavia said sadly. ¡°It¡¯s one more thing I¡¯m dragging you into.¡±

    Mina shook her head with a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t be. Besides, your little peace offering over there more than makes up for it. It¡¯s gonna be pretty cold out tonight. Tell him the house has poor heating. Tell him my nice warm bed has enough room for two peop--¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly regret elbowing Mina in the stomach, although the playful blow wasn''t nearly as hard as it could¡¯ve been. ¡°Does your dad know you act like this?¡± she muttered rhetorically.

    It was more tempting to stay with Mina, joking and teasing where applicable, than it was to face the weight of the confrontation she knew awaited beyond the threshold. True to her word, Mina did give them space, content to depart down the hallway without objection. The distant sound of a door closing gently left Octavia sealed in a sizable room that felt far too small. Two embers of a flame that had long since raged and died had already locked eyes, inseparable and unmoving. He stood. She sat. Neither blinked.

    The woman delicately placed her teacup atop the salon table, not daring to peel her eyes away from Josiah¡¯s as they pinned her in place. ¡°Hello,¡± she offered, her voice soft.

    She didn¡¯t sound like Selena. She didn¡¯t particularly look like Selena, either, the long locks of her hair that challenged the night sky perhaps the only thing that aligned the two acolytes. She was mature, composed, graceful in her own way--even under the crushing pressure of the boy who stared her down.

    Her eyes were different, more like the deep forests of Josiah¡¯s than Selena¡¯s own. She wasn¡¯t Selena. For the absolute force with which Josiah''s gaze sought to tear the woman down to her soul, he wouldn¡¯t find the fallen acolyte. They¡¯d never met, Octavia realized. She watched him try anyway, wordless and utterly fixated on her face alone.

    The woman averted her eyes, desperate to escape his intrusive glare. ¡°I-I¡­I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve never gotten the chance, no,¡± Josiah said quietly.

    For the briefest moment, Octavia caught the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

    The woman¡¯s best efforts to break the loaded silence between them were respectable. ¡°I¡¯m¡­Celestina,¡± she tried.

    Josiah didn¡¯t blink. ¡°I know who you are.¡±

    The way those fingers became fists wasn¡¯t quite as subtle, nor quite as fleeting.

    The discomfort on the woman¡¯s face was substantially more visible than Josiah¡¯s, a different flavor than the boy¡¯s own. Even in the face of his apathy, she still strived to offer peace. ¡°And¡­you are?¡±

    ¡°I was your daughter¡¯s best friend.¡±

    The words didn¡¯t leave his mouth calmly, low as his voice was. They rattled all the way out, tailed by shaky breaths that Octavia watched him fight to suppress. That, too, wasn''t subtle. Either this woman took no heed willingly, truly didn''t notice, or Octavia simply knew the boy too well to dismiss his invisible ire. She feared for whatever would leave his mouth next.

    ¡°I¡¯m Octavia,¡± she interjected quickly, desperate to steal the former acolyte¡¯s attention. ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador. It¡¯s¡­nice to meet you.¡±

    There was a relief that came with those soft, confused eyes upon herself instead of the boy whose glare threatened to tear her to shreds. It didn¡¯t make her feel any better about drawing Josiah¡¯s silent hate towards herself instead. Octavia shuddered under the sensation of the daggers spearing into her back.

    ¡°Likewise,¡± the woman reciprocated. ¡°The¡­Ambassador, you said?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. She¡¯d forgotten they were starting from nothing, the former Maestra¡¯s understanding of the world she¡¯d left behind undoubtedly close to zero by now. There were gaps to be filled. They weren''t small. She wondered how much she could trust Josiah to offer his wisdom in a neutral manner, although the way his shoulders still rose and fell just a bit too fast made her fear for his impartiality. She took the lead as best as she could.

    ¡°There¡¯s¡­something I¡­need to do to help everyone. We need your help with part of it, just for a little while. Has anyone told you anything?¡±

    Celestina shook her head sadly. ¡°I don¡¯t understand any of this. I don¡¯t want to do this.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not up to you.¡±

    The violence in Josiah¡¯s words was venomous enough to sting Octavia¡¯s blood, and the hurt that filled Celestina¡¯s eyes made her feel sick. Octavia returned his glare, even with his vicious attention no longer upon herself.

    ¡°Have I done something wrong? Is this my punishment?¡± Celestina pleaded.

    Josiah closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. It did little to steady the waver in his voice. ¡°We don¡¯t intend to keep you here. We need you for one task and one task only, and then you can go back to the life you were living. It won¡¯t take long, and you¡¯ll be protected. No harm will come to you. We¡¯ll make sure of that.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Celestina asked nervously. ¡°Are you going to put me in danger?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s irrelevant.¡±

    ¡°You abduct me and you threaten me,¡± she spat, ¡°and you won¡¯t tell me if you plan to hurt me?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t plan to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±

    Josiah gritted his teeth. ¡°Then don¡¯t believe me. It¡¯s still the truth. Do the one thing we ask you to and we¡¯ll let you go.¡±

    Celestina narrowed her eyes. ¡°And if I refuse?¡±

    ¡°You know what¡¯ll happen,¡± he hissed.

    No longer was this woman meek and timid as she¡¯d been upon their arrival, now meeting Josiah¡¯s deadly glare with fire in her own eyes. It was befitting of the flame she¡¯d once been. It wasn''t lost on Octavia, the way she seemed to bite back as hard as Selena--at least from what she¡¯d gathered in the brief time she¡¯d known the ill-fated acolyte. That, if nothing else, they seemed to have in common. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder if Josiah noticed the same, or if her observation was even slightly accurate in the first place.

    The former acolyte backed down first, the unbearable tension between the two forged in the same Hell gently lessened. ¡°What are you asking of me?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t hesitate, his voice harsh and cold. ¡°Come with us to Velpyre and become a Maestra again. It¡¯ll be brief. You¡¯ll be freed of that role for good in less than a day. It¡¯s like I said. We need you for one thing and one thing only.¡±

    It was the name of the Cursed City, ultimately, that seemed to strike fear into her heart at last. Celestina¡¯s eyes widened, flooding with terror. ¡°You¡¯re¡­going to make me go back there?¡±

    Josiah paused. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left down there anymore.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s terror was, momentarily, stemmed by the confusion that trickled in. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°There is no Velpyre left,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no one. There¡¯s nothing. It¡¯s a hellhole filled with nothing but Dissonance. There¡¯s¡­no clergy.¡±

    The way his biting tone seemed to soften somewhat upon his final sentence wasn''t lost on Octavia, either, relentless as his other sentiments had been thus far. For how Celestina¡¯s horrified eyes softened in turn, it seemed to alleviate the fear that hung unspoken in the air.

    ¡°There¡¯s no acolyte.¡±

    Those words, at least, were absolutely dripping with poison. Octavia couldn¡¯t bear to look at Josiah''s expression. She had a feeling she knew exactly what she¡¯d find.

    It was a reflex, somewhat, that Octavia searched for the same reaction on Celestina¡¯s face that Josiah surely hunted for. She looked for shock, grief, perhaps the heartrending depiction of indifference and unfeeling. She found only muted surprise, averted eyes, and a moment of silence that challenged the boy head-on.

    ¡°I¡­how?¡±

    ¡°It was too much. She took everything down with her. She had every right.¡±

    ¡°Selena?¡± Celestina murmured softly.

    ¡°Not that you would know.¡±

    Josiah''s venom took hold instantly, seeping into the woman¡¯s bloodstream with such fervor that the hurt in her eyes nearly burned Octavia. He was going too far. It wasn¡¯t her place to intervene. She needed to. She couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Is she¡­¡±

    ¡°She suffered all the way until the end, alone, with no one she could share that burden with. You have¡­no idea what she went through. You have no idea what she was left to deal with. She was a child.¡±

    Whatever discussion was to be had regarding Seraphim¡¯s Call had been left by the wayside. Octavia¡¯s heart was pounding. Josiah¡¯s voice was rising. He was shaking.

    ¡°She was a child. She could hardly walk. She couldn¡¯t even reach the friggin¡¯ keys. It was sick. Sometimes they had to physically hold her so she could play, because her little body couldn¡¯t handle the strain of pushing that hard every day.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice was wavering, the white-hot fire in his eyes wrathful and lethal in equal measure. His fists had clenched so tightly that Octavia sincerely feared he might lose circulation. Celestina didn¡¯t dare breathe, pinned by his rage.

    ¡°You want to be afraid of the clergy? I know with certainty you had a family. You had people there. You had support. What did she have? She didn¡¯t have a mother. She didn¡¯t have a father. They were all she had. I was all she had.¡±

    Celestina, too, was trembling. ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°I hope your freedom was worth it, because she never got hers--not for a second. Never in her life did she get a shred of peace. She never had a single moment where she could truly, sincerely live without the fear that someone was going to hurt her again. Keep her name out of your mouth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m--¡±

    ¡°She hated you,¡± Josiah growled. ¡°She despised you. You left her there. You got out. She didn¡¯t. You didn¡¯t care.¡±

    The former acolyte¡¯s eyes swam with tears. ¡°Please--¡±

    ¡°She said she wished you¡¯d never given birth to her. She loathed that you had the audacity to bring her into a world like that.¡±

    ¡°I never meant to hurt her,¡± Celestina whispered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me!¡± he finally screamed. Octavia jumped.

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying! She was my dau--¡±

    ¡°She was not your daughter!¡± Josiah shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. So heavy was the blow that the house practically shook, the bang of his fury undoubtedly enough to garner Mina¡¯s attention somewhere. ¡°You lost the right to call her that the moment you stepped into the sun! She is not your daughter! She will never be your daughter!¡±

    Tears dripped solemnly down Celestina¡¯s cheeks, her hands gripping the hem of her skirt for dear life. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to live like that anymore!¡± she sobbed.

    ¡°You think she wanted to? You sincerely think she wanted to? She was a child! She was a friggin¡¯ child! What the hell kind of mother lets her child take the fall like that? It should¡¯ve been you!¡±

    ¡°Please!¡±

    ¡°Maybe I should turn you in! Why the hell do you get to taste freedom? Why the hell did you get away with it when they broke her spirit every single day?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Celestina begged, her desperate eyes wide with horror.

    ¡°Josiah, stop it!¡± Octavia pleaded. Her hands were aloft, hesitant fingers stilled on the way to his shoulders as she contemplated pulling him away. The distance between the two Velpyre survivors was startlingly close, and she couldn¡¯t guarantee with 100% certainty that the boy wouldn¡¯t take physical action. Still, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to touch him.

    For an instant, fleeting as the lightning he carried in his blood, his eyes struck her down with the same. The fury he harbored shocked her to her core, just as she¡¯d feared for so long. It mattered not that it was misplaced. For just a moment, she was afraid of him.

    ¡°You want to deal with this? You deal with it, then! To hell with the clergy! If she doesn¡¯t go down there, I¡¯ll kill her myself!¡±

    ¡°Knock it off!¡± Octavia snapped. It was empty hostility, the waver in her voice more than audible.

    Celestina¡¯s whimpering was enough to reclaim his rage, by which that unforgiving lightning struck at her heart again and again with his gaze alone. Octavia inched closer to him, particularly given the way one of his feet slid threateningly forward. She was becoming seriously convinced that he might lunge at her.

    Even with his volume lowered somewhat, his wrath was unrestrained and raw. His voice shook with the effort of leveling his ire. ¡°She¡¯s not here to hate you anymore. I will give you all of her hate until the day I die. If I had my way, I¡¯d drag you down and drown you in it. You deserve that. It shouldn¡¯t have been her. It wasn¡¯t meant to be her. I hope you choke on that hatred every day you¡¯re alive.¡±

    ¡°Stop!¡± Octavia growled. This time, she couldn¡¯t help but put her hand on his shoulder. It was instinctive. It was a poor decision, and his head snapped to her instead. So, too, did she earn the same scorching lightning once more.

    ¡°This is your problem now. You wanted to be here so badly? You do it.¡±

    Somewhere, in the depths of his hatred, he was kind enough not to hurt her, to not meet her physical touch with violence. It wasn¡¯t enough to still him in full, and he launched himself out of her grip instantly. He more or less sprinted, the slam of the delicate door to his graciously-lent room once again enough to nearly rattle the house. She heard at least one additional bang that followed, mysterious in its own right, from much the same direction. She made a mental note to apologize profusely to Mina later on behalf of his highly-audible aggression.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    The former acolyte and her quiet sobbing took priority, eyes cast upon the carpet in shame. The sight was pitiful. Octavia didn¡¯t hesitate to settle in beside her, although her hesitation managed to creep well into her words.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay,¡± she lied. ¡°Just¡­leave him be.¡±

    For all of Octavia¡¯s distaste with Josiah¡¯s rage, she couldn¡¯t apologize on his behalf. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to undermine his pain. In the worst way, he hadn¡¯t been entirely, completely, 100% unjustified, and the knowledge sat like bricks of lead in Octavia¡¯s stomach.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± Celestina whispered, her voice cracking.

    ¡°Most people¡­don¡¯t,¡± Octavia offered softly. She wished she didn¡¯t, either.

    ¡°The¡­blossom?¡±

    Residual as it was, the echoes of Josiah¡¯s wrathful cries were somehow louder than the bells. It was a deterrent she loathed. ¡°It¡¯s the same. The clergy really is still there.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t tell them where I live,¡± Celestina pleaded through her tears once more. ¡°Please. It doesn¡¯t matter that they can¡¯t send me back down there. They¡¯d still punish me on their behalf.¡±

    It was the least of the vengeance they¡¯d take, surely, given the manner by which the flame had burned the blossom to a crisp. Octavia wasn¡¯t cruel enough to make the woman¡¯s suffering any worse right now. She didn¡¯t lie so much as she did deflect. ¡°If you help us with this, there won¡¯t need to be a Velpyre anymore. No one will ever need to go down there for anything again. There¡­really is nobody left. We¡¯ll make sure no one hurts you.¡±

    Celestina sighed, her breath rattling all the way out. ¡°That boy. He¡¯s¡­of the flame as well?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°He got out. He¡¯s the only person left alive who did. He was¡­telling the truth about your daughter--about Selena. I don¡¯t know very much about their relationship, but they grew up together, from what I understand. They were really close. She¡­meant a lot to him.¡±

    Celestina wiped her eyes as she calmed. ¡°Then I¡¯m¡­glad Selena had such a person by her side. Did you know her, as well?¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t look her in the eyes. She felt dizzy in the slightest. ¡°A little bit. I-I didn¡¯t know her for very long, and I didn¡¯t get to know her very well. I can count the conversations we had on one hand. It would¡¯ve been¡­nice to get to know her better.¡±

    She was grateful when Celestina didn¡¯t fight for her attention, content to fold her hands in her lap instead. ¡°Then I¡¯m glad for what you did offer to her.¡±

    There was a part of Octavia that desperately wanted to pry, partially on Josiah¡¯s behalf. She wanted to know why this woman had chosen to abandon an innocent child to such a horrific fate, or whether or not she was regretful. She wanted to know if this woman would¡¯ve made the same choice over again, knowing what she knew now.

    It wasn¡¯t what she was here for. The tables had turned, and it was now she who was entrusted with the responsibility of calm and logical reasoning. It was Josiah, rather, who was out of sight, battling emotions she couldn¡¯t begin to fathom.

    ¡°We¡­need to get rid of Seraphim¡¯s Call, once and for all,¡± Octavia explained, doing what she could to suppress the deep discomfort in her soul that trailed each word. ¡°You¡¯re the only person in the world who can help us.¡±

    ¡°That boy said I¡­must become a Maestra once more, then,¡± Celestina murmured.

    ¡°A Maestra, yes,¡± Octavia said firmly, ¡°but not an acolyte. You don¡¯t¡­ever have to be an acolyte again.¡±

    Celestina eyed her with silent sorrow. It hurt.

    ¡°You don¡¯t even have to play,¡± Octavia offered gently. ¡°You just¡­need to be there. We¡¯ll do everything else. No one will make you play.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡±

    ¡°I swear.¡±

    ¡°If that boy tries, then?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let him.¡±

    There was no reason she needed to, logically. To force her into such a position would be cruel and unnecessary. Even if Octavia hesitated to defy Josiah in most aspects of his planning, it was one caveat she refused to let slide. She¡¯d stand up to the lightning that struck her down where she stood, if it came to that.

    ¡°She has¡­every right to hate me,¡± Celestina said softly.

    ¡°Selena?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, weighing the possible cruelty of the words that sat in weight on her tongue. It felt almost manipulative. ¡°Maybe this is¡­a way you could make it up to her.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Octavia still couldn¡¯t make eye contact. ¡°You¡¯d be getting rid of the one thing that caused her the most grief. I think that would¡­mean something to her.¡±

    Celestina was almost inaudible, her voice tiny. ¡°Do you really think so?¡±

    Truthfully, even Octavia wasn¡¯t certain if it was entirely a lie. ¡°I do.¡±

    Celestina hesitated. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this out of fear,¡± Octavia said. ¡°You could do this out of love.¡±

    It really did feel manipulative, and the sensation made her stomach churn. Still, Octavia couldn¡¯t fully disbelieve her own words. It was almost a sick comfort, hastily woven along the way. She hoped Selena wouldn¡¯t hate her for it.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid to go back there,¡± Celestina confessed.

    ¡°We all are.¡±

    That was no lie.

    ¡°When¡­would we go?¡± she asked.

    Octavia fiddled with the hem of her dress. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Soon, I think. It¡¯s not up to me. That boy, Josiah, he¡¯s planning most of this. He would know.¡±

    ¡°I fear he may kill me before we get there,¡± Celestina said, her words bitter.

    Octavia frowned. ¡°I won¡¯t let him hurt you, either. Don¡¯t be afraid of him.¡±

    She was a hypocrite.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± the former acolyte echoed gently. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely name. I know I deserve his hatred, but to know he¡¯s from Velpyre as well is¡­comforting, somewhat. Is that wrong?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s wrong at all. You guys are the only ones left.¡±

    ¡°Would he be going down there again, as well?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Not just him. Myself, and¡­a lot of other Maestros. We¡¯re gonna fight our way through, if we need to. You won¡¯t be alone. Like I said, we¡¯ll protect you.¡±

    Celestina was quiet for a moment. Eventually, she closed her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± she murmured. ¡°For this, and not for a moment longer.¡±

    Where Octavia should¡¯ve breathed a sigh of relief, she still found her throat dry and her heart lodged firmly within it. It was almost too good to be true. Part of her knew Josiah would strangle her, instead, for offering gratitude. Ultimately, she was the Ambassador. It was her right. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said.

    ¡°Consider it my final obligation to that wretched flame, provided you can assure me it will never torment another soul in that manner again.¡±

    Again did Octavia nod. ¡°With Seraphim¡¯s Call gone, there would never be another reason, I don¡¯t think.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    She hesitated to press, to further skirt the line of innocent questioning and malicious manipulation. ¡°Are you¡­doing it for Selena, then?¡±

    Celestina didn¡¯t respond immediately. She tangled her fingers together loosely in her lap. ¡°Perhaps¡­not just for her alone. Perhaps I owe it to others I have wronged in my absence as well. I¡­wish only that I could see her face. I wonder what type of girl she grew up to be. Was she beautiful?¡±

    Octavia lost her breath. ¡°She was.¡±

    The first smile she¡¯d ever seen grace Celestina¡¯s lips came at the expense of her own lucidity. ¡°For such a beautiful flame to burn in such an awful place¡­I¡¯m certain she was a gift.¡±

    Octavia counted every last one of her blessings that Celestina¡¯s eyes were once more closed in quiet repose. She was somewhat grateful that the image of her daughter unseen was bringing at least a fragment of peace to the former acolyte¡¯s heart. It didn¡¯t help the way Octavia¡¯s blood bubbled, her heart pounded, her stomach twisted into knots. It didn¡¯t help the way the bells, faint as they were, echoed somewhere far off, just as they had the day that flame was snuffed out.

    It shredded her soul to pieces to imagine what this woman would feel knowing exactly how her daughter had perished. Octavia resolved to guard that horrid truth with her life. This time around, she couldn¡¯t shake the concept of the Ebony bloodline truly dying by her hands.

 72. Threshold

    She gave him space. In reality, she was afraid to do anything else.

    Octavia was afraid regardless, her assumption of the looming judgment day more than correct. She couldn¡¯t avoid Josiah entirely, not with the way she was roped into final preparations again and again. Granted, it wasn¡¯t by his hand alone--the Ensemble, with her own companions in tow, contributed to ironing out their multi-step plan to recapture the Cursed City and free the forsaken Muse that languished within.

    The journey from Selbright to Velrose wouldn''t be intolerably long, but still enough that she would be left to steep in her hellish thoughts for days. Octavia had little to do to prepare of her own accord, largely delegated to waiting patiently with the few days of peace she had remaining. She¡¯d forgotten that Velrose only accepted outsiders on Sundays. There was an irony to be found there, somewhere.

    Her nightmares were worsening. Some were new, unexpected in their own right. She dreamt of striking down her own mother with her light. Toll nightmares weren''t necessarily uncommon, but they often battled with the bells for precedence. That was, of course, assuming visions of a charismatic conservator didn¡¯t edge them out, staining the reds of autumn with far more sinister reds in her sleep.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t remember the last time she had a good dream, let alone a good night¡¯s rest. To witness the pains of another all over again in the unconscious world was a twofold toll that she constantly lamented. Even in her dreams, she couldn¡¯t escape a different kind of Hell.

    To the credit of the four people most privy to her suffering, they did what they could to distract her in their own unique ways. Octavia respected their efforts, and she indulged in their best attempts to comfort her. In a way, their presence and engagement did ease her pain somewhat. They made her laugh, they made her smile, and they made her feel loved.

    She didn¡¯t have the heart to tell them the way that it wouldn¡¯t be enough to erase the dread in full. It didn¡¯t matter how tightly they held her, how many jokes they told her, how many delicious meals they made for her. It was always there, sitting in wait patiently as the day crept ever closer. It was behind closed doors that she thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it yet more. For what that entailed, Octavia hoped they couldn¡¯t hear. She wasn¡¯t confident.

    In the last two days leading up to their departure, she hardly saw Josiah at all. He was isolated, either bound almost exclusively to his room or hopelessly adrift somewhere in the midst of Tacell¡¯s grassy seas. The passage of time didn¡¯t particularly fill her with a desire to hunt him down. Octavia wondered if anyone else bothered.

    Even now, she struggled to battle the thoughts that told her to run, give up, and surrender her drive to stand as the Ambassador once and for all. It wasn¡¯t as though there was no alternative, especially in Tacell alone. It had been some time since she¡¯d spoken to Faith, given her lack of tolls to offer as bait for the Heartful Maestra¡¯s company. Octavia contemplated whether or not this would be a good time to ask about the garden. She worried that she wouldn¡¯t be able to get through a full sentence without outing the dread that threatened to tear her apart.

    The isolation that came with her pain was a pain in and of itself, as a result. Octavia would see them all soon enough, anyway, coagulated on behalf of a mistake made not so long ago. She missed Mina. At least she¡¯d be able to be thankful for that.

    There was peace to be found in action.

    Granted, it apparently was an action she wasn''t supposed to be taking.

    It was the fault of her nightmares, really, for reminding her of an alternative to fitful sleep. In the wake of all that was to come, one spontaneous warning that had aggravated her was no longer painful. It was more curious than anything, inexplicable and borderline nonsensical.

    She was beginning to memorize the way with substantially more ease. Octavia was starting to get used to the darkness of Tacell beneath the sky of an autumn¡¯s night. It was easier, the second time around, to cope with the weightlessness on her back and shoulders. For the accusations of his sharp suspicions, he¡¯d had yet to say a word to her--hostile or otherwise.

    Octavia wondered how much gentle coaxing it would take to get the Muse to offer her visage in full, given the distress that the request had prompted last time. She resolved to strike a balance between respect and encouragement, even as curiosity ate away at her slowly. She hoped she could start by maintaining her neutrality with the boy whose hostility towards her seemed endless, regardless of how many times she attempted to reassure him of her harmless intentions.

    Fearing the wrath of a ten-year-old boy was somewhat humiliating, particularly as the Ambassador. If nothing else, he surely brought pride to his legacy. Even with the chill that just the memory of his wrath sent down her spine, Octavia still found a faint smile for herself over the thought.

    He really did seem to leave his door unlocked regularly. The third time around, Octavia still had absolutely no idea how to convey that she was present at all. She made the same decision as last time, her surrender instant and visible. The dread of light was a dread she could tolerate.

    ¡°Theo?¡± she called.

    Octavia kicked herself immediately. That was a habit she sincerely needed to curb.

    The silence and darkness inside of his cottage would never get any easier to tolerate, most likely. Each and every step she took, each and every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet, was still just as unsettling as both of her prior intrusions. Once more, the moon was somewhat useless, and the beams that brushed her boots and skin only aided her pupils in the slightest. It wasn¡¯t as though she had the option to rectify the situation herself, her one means of doing so safely tucked away in her bedroom.

    Octavia had a feeling her Heartful counterpart wouldn''t be interested in using his hostile light for her benefit, should she ask. She wondered if he knew the stress the atmosphere placed her under every time she ventured into his abode. She wondered if it was intentional.

    Octavia found him in a way her heart didn¡¯t especially enjoy, practically exploding out of her chest in fright as the door slammed shut behind her. It wasn¡¯t of her own accord or by her own hands. When her head whipped in the direction of the sudden bang, her suspicions of his purposefully-constructed atmosphere of tension were somewhat validated.

    Cornering the Ambassador was a bold move. Octavia again cursed the way by which a single piccolo and the deadly eyes of a child could make her sweat to such a degree. She forgot to wave for a moment, her best attempts at portraying peaceful intentions lost somewhere in a strangled scream of surprise.

    She raised her arms higher, doing everything in her power to ooze defenselessness. There definitely had to be a better way to do this, especially if it was going to become routine. Octavia held her breath.

    This time around, his inspection wasn¡¯t subtle, nor was he content with simple signs. She struggled to resist the urge to retreat, to claim one step back for every step the boy took forward. Again was his Harmonial Instrument threateningly aloft, tethered to his lips and ready to strike her where she stood at the first sign of resistance.

    With soft, measured footsteps, Octavia watched as he circled her once over, scanning every facet of her body up and down with the same razor-edged eyes. She thought once more to insist verbally on her harmless nature, biting her lip to suppress the reflex again. It occurred to her, at least, that there was one party who could hear her pleas.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± she said, her voice wavering somewhat, ¡°I¡¯m here. I didn¡¯t bring Stradi¡­I didn¡¯t bring Stratos. I¡¯m alone,¡± she self-corrected.

    Theo came to stand before her once more, his head tilted and his gaze locked with her own. Ever so slowly, he lowered his guard, unblinking as the piccolo descended from his lips.

    You have¡­returned, Ambassador.

    Octavia nodded quickly, her arms once more growing tired from her endless gesture of surrender. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to just leave you here.¡±

    The eavesdropping was an instinct, particularly given her inability to understand the boy who stared her down otherwise. It is alright, she heard the Muse reassure softly. There is no need to fear.

    The way Theo averted his eyes and gritted his teeth spoke to aggravation that didn¡¯t particularly make Octavia feel safer. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief, lowering her arms at last. They ached.

    ¡°I¡­I wanted to see you again,¡± Octavia offered. As to why, she couldn¡¯t quite explain.

    Even given the risk, you have chosen to return. You are, perhaps, befitting of the kindness and bravery born of your title.

    Octavia flushed beneath her praise. ¡°I-I just¡­you said you had things to tell me. I¡­wanted to know what.¡±

    Does he suspect you?

    ¡°If you¡¯re talking about Stratos, he hasn¡¯t said a word to me since the first time I ever came here.¡±

    At that time, then, what did he say?

    ¡°He just¡­said to never come back here again.¡±

    That is all?

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Mixoly was quiet for a moment. There was a certain awkwardness that came with staring at Theo in her stead, given the degree to which she seemed to prefer her material vessel. Octavia had found a second motivator to coax the Muse into greeting her face-to-face, apparently.

    Of the others, what have they said?

    ¡°What¡­others?¡±

    Your kind and mine alike. What have you heard of this place?

    Octavia wrung her hands together uncomfortably. ¡°River said that the other Muses tell everyone to stay away from here. He said he doesn¡¯t know why. He guessed it had something to do with Theo being Heartful. They don¡¯t know what he did wrong. I¡¯m not mad at him for attacking me.¡±

    It is not he of whom you were warned.

    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    To shun one with such a powerful heart of light, I could perhaps understand the rationale. That is the one and only sin this boy has committed, and not at all of his own accord.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Octavia confessed. ¡°Is there something wrong with being Heartful?¡±

    Theo crossed his arms, grasping the piccolo firmly in one hand. Even if it was a relief that the violence in his eyes didn¡¯t greet Octavia¡¯s own, the quiet hurt that had replaced it didn¡¯t feel much better.

    This child could not, under any circumstances, become the Ambassador. They must see to it that the thought does not cross the minds of their own, lest their efforts be wasted. That is the¡­simplest explanation.

    It wasn¡¯t the best time for Faith to flicker through her thoughts. The decision wasn''t conscious. ¡°Did he¡­want to be the Ambassador?¡±

    Theo shook his head. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened, her shock apparently not subtle. Theo¡¯s eyes drifted downwards to his Harmonial Instrument before returning to hers. It made enough sense that Mixoly wouldn¡¯t leave her own partner out of the conversation, silent and unseen as her translations were. What it would be like to hear with her heart alone, Octavia still couldn¡¯t imagine.

    I doubt there is little he could desire less.

    ¡°Then¡­why does it matter?¡± Octavia murmured.

    It was with great hesitation that Theo raised the piccolo aloft, gesturing to the glistening instrument for additional emphasis. Octavia watched his motions carefully and wordlessly, confusing as they were.

    It is as I have stated. It is not he of whom you were warned.

    It clicked. Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°They¡­don¡¯t want me to be around you?¡±

    The Muse was silent. Octavia wasn¡¯t content. ¡°Why?¡±

    Do you¡­enjoy being the Ambassador?

    The deflection was frustrating. Octavia said as much. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    I shall, in time. This, too, is relevant to such. Do you enjoy your role?

    Octavia tangled her fingers together. ¡°I don¡¯t think I enjoy it, necessarily, but it¡­needs to be done. Somebody has to do it. I like to imagine I¡¯m decent at it by now.¡±

    Why?

    Octavia paused. ¡°Why¡­what?¡±

    Why must it be done?

    ¡°So that¡­all of the Muses can go home,¡± she said half-heartedly. It almost came out as a question. ¡°So they can return to Above again.¡±

    Why must it be you?

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be. It could be any of the Heartful. I just¡­volunteered.¡±

    Why would you do so?

    She kept the full truth close--at least for now. ¡°I want to finish what the last Ambassador started.¡±

    You feel obligated, then?

    Octavia froze. She didn¡¯t like the wording of Mixoly¡¯s inquiry. ¡°I-I¡­wanted to do this. I chose to.¡±

    And you are certain of such?

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re getting at,¡± she answered, her voice sharper than intended.

    You took on the task willingly, then.

    ¡°Yes, like I said.¡±

    You knew what it entailed in full.

    ¡°I¡­yes. In terms of what I needed to do, yes.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    That wasn¡¯t entirely a lie. The strands of the spider web that she''d tripped over later were irrelevant to the concept of the Witnessing, at least prior to beginning the arduous task itself. It was still something that took her a moment to consider.

    Who is it who gave you the option?

    ¡°Stratos.¡±

    Naturally.

    Mixoly¡¯s words weren¡¯t quite venomous, lacking in the vitriol that Octavia had somewhat expected. The second time around, they were more so loaded and mysterious than they were abrasive. She tilted her head, the anger she believed she¡¯d find instead replaced with befuddlement.

    ¡°Do you have a problem with Stratos?¡±

    I am impartial, individually, although I see how it may appear that way.

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± Octavia said softly.

    Your task, then, Mixoly continued, the topic not crushed beneath the weight of yet another. His words. They were the first you had heard of such a duty?

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Do you understand what it means to be the Ambassador?

    It was a loaded question, one that Octavia hesitated to answer. If she was wrong, at this point, she wasn¡¯t sure what she''d do with herself. ¡°The Ambassador is a¡­bridge between worlds. They¡¯re a bridge between our own world and yours--Above. They perform the Witnessing. They guide your way home. They can hear your voices.¡±

    And when your task is through?

    Octavia hadn¡¯t given it much thought. The logical answer seemed the most plausible. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­stop being the Ambassador. The Dissonance will be gone. Hopefully, the world will be back to normal. That¡¯s the goal, at least.¡±

    But what of you?

    She smiled gently. ¡°I¡¯ll go home. I have lots of new friends to spend time with. I know there¡¯s still a lot I have to do before then, but I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡±

    Her smile was drowned out by Mixoly¡¯s words, indifferent to her muted happiness. And of the others? Of my brethren?

    ¡°You¡¯ll all be home. I like to imagine you¡¯ll all be happy. I don¡¯t know a lot about what Above is like, but if it¡¯s big enough for ninety-six of you, then I at least hope you all get along,¡± Octavia tried.

    Ninety-six.

    It was more of a statement than a question. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure how to respond. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I think I¡¯m making good progress. It¡¯s not very fast, but I¡¯ve already guided about--¡±

    Ninety-six?

    The second time, it was definitely a question. Octavia only stared at the little instrument. ¡°Yes, ninety-six. Like I said, I¡¯m--¡±

    Who told you there were ninety-six?

    For a moment, Octavia wasn¡¯t sure how to respond. Technically, there were two answers to this question. One was much simpler than the other, her mentor far more familiar and far more accessible by comparison. ¡°Stratos.¡±

    Mixoly was quiet. Octavia wasn''t ignorant to the way Theo¡¯s fingers curled inwards somewhat, clasping the piccolo just the slightest bit tighter.

    There are ninety-seven.

    Octavia blinked. They were empty words, suspended in the air meaninglessly and unable to settle onto her skin in full. It took time, several loaded seconds before Mixoly¡¯s words had the chance to send chills down her spine and trip up her heart.

    ¡°What?¡±

    There are not ninety-six. There are ninety-seven. I am not surprised you were told otherwise, in truth.

    Again, she blinked, significantly more fervently and plagued with far more confusion. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t they¡­say that?¡±

    I am certain they would far prefer their ranks to number ninety-six.

    Briefly, Octavia searched for any semblance of shock or surprise on Theo¡¯s face. She found nothing even somewhat close, his eyes neutral and his posture indifferent. His attention was offered far more to his Harmonial Instrument than to the Ambassador, regardless. If Octavia had to guess, it seemed as though the revelation was in no way news to him.

    ¡°W-Why are you telling me all of this?¡± Octavia asked nervously. ¡°Why are you asking me all of this?¡±

    I seek your aid, just as I hope to offer mine in return, Ambassador.

    ¡°What do I need help for?¡±

    I have once said that you are in danger. That has not changed. That will not change. So long as you carry this burden, it shall be so.

    Octavia winced. ¡°I know it¡¯s dangerous. I knew that when I signed up to be the Ambassador. I¡¯m well aware of that, I promise!¡±

    You do not understand my words.

    ¡°Mixoly, I appreciate that you¡¯re worried about me, but this really is something I want to do. It¡¯s okay if the¡­things I have to do are--¡±

    You truly, truly do not understand my words.

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°Then help me understand. What do you want from me?¡±

    You must choose what to believe. I cannot make you. I cannot force you, and I will not force you. If you wish to accept what is upon the surface, there is little I can do. Should you summon the drive to delve beyond what you have been given, I will await you in the depths of what cannot be spoken.

    ¡°You¡¯re not--¡±

    I will say what they will not, the Muse spoke softly. I will do what they will not. Your trust is yours alone to give.

    Octavia fell silent. It wasn¡¯t that she hadn¡¯t formulated a single question since Ethel¡¯s departure, but they¡¯d been minute and far between. They were inconsequential, largely, and nothing that kept her awake at night. Still, with one number alone, Mixoly had slashed a hole in her thoughts that had begun to fester in a way she couldn¡¯t stifle.

    Ambassador, what next will you do?

    Considering her entire reason for voyaging to Theo¡¯s home in the first place was for the sake of avoiding that thought, she wasn¡¯t especially comfortable with it arising once more. At the very least, Mixoly¡¯s voice, timid as it was, was pleasant and soft enough that it deterred the bells for now. ¡°I-I¡­we¡¯re going to guide the Muse inside of Seraphim¡¯s Call. And¡­presumably, the one inside of Valkyrie¡¯s Call, after that.¡±

    I see. I commend your devotion to their well-being. I wish you luck.

    There was no way the Muse could¡¯ve known of the Hell that awaited her in Velrose or Velpyre--two nightmares of her own making, unique in flavor and tethered to that which rested both above and below her. Octavia did what she could to accept the blessing with grace. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    When next we meet, you may¡­offer me your choice. I will respect your decision to bestow or withhold your trust.

    Theo¡¯s eyes on her were peaceful, if not judgmental. It was a different kind of pressure, ever-present and yet not crushing enough to shatter her soul. Octavia still gave her attention to the little piccolo alone. ¡°Mixoly--¡±

    I ask, Ambassador, that you¡­hold my true name close to your heart. It is for our safety in tandem. No one must know, and of this, I implore you once more to hold your tongue. If you must refer to me, in any context, my false name will suffice. I do pray that such should not come to be.

    Octavia averted her gaze. ¡°Your other name is so¡­harsh. Can I call you something nicer?¡±

    Mixoly paused. Such as?

    ¡°It¡¯s Miracle Agony, right?¡± Octavia began quietly. ¡°Can I¡­call you Miracle? Just that.¡±

    I am no miracle.

    ¡°It¡¯s softer. And¡­just you being here is a miracle. You¡¯re all little miracles.¡±

    I am one who brings only suffering to miracles. My presence is far removed from a miracle. My presence is a curse.

    ¡°I know none of you want to be here, but I like having you here. Meeting all of you has been a miracle. I¡­I want to get to know you better,¡± Octavia insisted.

    You may come to regret that decision.

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    Mixoly paused. Call me what you will, Ambassador.

    It was a tiny victory, one that Theo didn¡¯t offer his hostilities towards. He was still, cradling that little miracle in his embrace delicately. When he met her eyes again, she half-expected him to change his mind, to pin her with that burning aggression as usual. It was his hands, carefully adjusted to accommodate the piccolo now resting atop his forearms, that spoke on his behalf. His signs were slower, calmer. Octavia gave them her full attention, unable to help the way her eyes flickered to the Harmonial Instrument the moment his hands stilled once more. A verbal plea was unnecessary, apparently.

    ¡®Don¡¯t tell anyone about her.¡¯

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°Tell them¡­what? Have they never met your partner?¡±

    Theo hesitated. He tried again, a similar series of signs that brought his fingers together and apart the slightest bit slower. ¡®Don¡¯t tell anyone that you¡¯re coming here,¡¯ Mixoly translated.

    She nodded gently. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    Once more did he hesitate before signing further. ¡®If you ever bring the violin again, I will hurt you.¡¯

    It should¡¯ve been a stronger threat. It should¡¯ve shaken her more. The hint of sorrow in his eyes that fizzled just beyond the wrathful fire wasn¡¯t quite invisible. The way he¡¯d opted to intimidate her with words of harm rather than death wasn''t lost on her. There was no voice in which she could find a waver, any hint of desperation or something more. Something was different. She wasn¡¯t afraid.

    It wasn¡¯t even necessarily for Mixoly¡¯s sake that she would keep Stradivaria away from this place, for whatever reason they¡¯d requested in tandem. Even with the aggression that still crossed his face, the gentle eyes Theo offered to his faceless partner again and again finally spoke to the Heartful legacy she knew him to have. The light that had blighted Octavia, perhaps, could at least warm another instead.

    <hr>

    Octavia technically didn¡¯t need the passport--either of them. They¡¯d worked out the finer details of the voyage already, the sheer amount of paper-bound permission they¡¯d need otherwise an annoyingly-high hurdle. One passport, in all its leathery, rosy beauty, she could still trace every facet of with one trembling fingertip. Again and again did she observe the tactile sensation of the inlaid emblem dipping beneath her skin, the budding blossom greeting her silently.

    To this day, she wasn¡¯t sure why she¡¯d ever had the audacity to keep it. For all the city had stolen from her, physically and emotionally, it was a memento of the worst mistake she¡¯d ever made. She hadn¡¯t held it in her own two hands in what felt like ages. Even now, its violet twin rested silently in her backpack. Octavia had even less of a use for that one. It wasn¡¯t as though there was anyone left to check it anymore.

    ¡°You kept it, huh?¡±

    Renato¡¯s voice behind her almost made her drop the passport entirely. If it had slipped through the slats of the platform, she probably would¡¯ve killed him--as miserable of a memento as it was. It was somewhat of a humiliating position to be caught in.

    Octavia sighed. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    He didn¡¯t joke, nor did he smile, nor did he make any attempts to get her to laugh. He was content to meet her on the bench, close enough that their shoulders lightly touched. ¡°Staring at it isn¡¯t stressing you out?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can get much more stressed,¡± she confessed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna bother with askin¡¯ if you¡¯re okay. I already know the answer.¡±

    Octavia appreciated his honesty, despite the lump she slowly felt rising in her throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for.¡±

    ¡°I should be over this by now.¡±

    It was the weakest smile she¡¯d ever seen cross his lips, more of a gentle upturning of one corner than a true expression of anything positive. ¡°Tell me who you sound like right now.¡±

    She wished she could do the same, to offer any shred of emotion that wouldn¡¯t result in her breaking down in full right there in the open. Counting the Maestros that were boarding was far easier, a distraction that would give her at least several seconds of reprieve from the dread that clogged her soul. Octavia didn¡¯t recognize many of them. A few she knew in passing from Tacell, although she¡¯d be hard-pressed to remember their names. She couldn¡¯t find Mina. She saw exactly half of the Ensemble.

    Not a single person who climbed the steps carried one-tenth of the fear and pain in their eyes that their Ambassador harbored. It hurt. It burned. As to what they would think if they knew of her terror, she was afraid simply to guess.

    ¡°This is your SIAR.¡±

    His words pulled her out of her new distraction. ¡°What?¡±

    Renato kicked his feet lazily back and forth beneath the bench. ¡°This place is for you what SIAR was for me, I¡¯m guessing. It¡¯s gonna suck. I¡¯m definitely not denying that it¡¯s gonna suck. Even now, thinking about going back to SIAR again still makes me feel sick. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m ever gonna get rid of that entirely.¡±

    Octavia clutched the little passport tightly. ¡°Is it¡­still as bad?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Not as bad. It doesn¡¯t rip me apart as much as it used to. Actually going back was Hell. After that, it¡­didn¡¯t hurt the same way as before. It¡¯s a little bit better.¡±

    Octavia was quiet. She didn¡¯t flinch or resist when she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders, cherry oak fingers settling delicately upon her. She didn¡¯t care who saw. She didn¡¯t have enough emotion to cobble together any form of self-consciousness.

    ¡°Maybe this¡¯ll do the same thing for you,¡± Renato offered softly. ¡°Maybe going back will¡­make things easier. It doesn¡¯t have to be right away. Just remember that we¡¯re going back there for a good reason. We¡¯re going back there because you¡¯re a good person. I figure I don¡¯t need to tell you you¡¯re not on your own at this point. I mean, hell, look at everyone who ended up coming with us.¡±

    She¡¯d looked over and over again. It wasn¡¯t as much of a comfort as it should¡¯ve been. If anything, it was a gateway into guilt. Octavia hoped she wasn¡¯t bruising the leather with her fingernails.

    ¡°And you¡¯ve got us,¡± he added, patting her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve always got us, if nothing else. We¡¯re not leaving you anytime soon, no matter how bad you wanna get rid of us. You¡¯re not¡­gettin¡¯ rid of your soldier that easy.¡±

    Octavia wished she had the heart to crack a smile. It was buried somewhere she couldn¡¯t salvage. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want me to call you that.¡±

    ¡°Changed my mind. Decided it sounds cool. It¡¯s fine if you do it. Only kind of soldier I wanna be.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Renato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with notable discomfort. ¡°I¡¯ve got this...jerk of a brother. Can¡¯t stand him. He worked his ass off to be the kind of soldier my folks wanted him to, and I swear it made him even more of a bastard along the way. I sure as hell wasn¡¯t letting them do the same thing to me. If I¡¯m gonna fight for anyone, it¡¯s gonna be for you. That¡¯s the kind of soldier I wanna be.¡±

    Octavia blinked her way through the tears she could feel bubbling up. If she spoke now, she worried her voice would crack.

    Renato stroking her hair gently was her breaking point. ¡°And¡­sometimes I think it would¡¯ve been way nicer to have a sister than a brother. Can¡¯t say I¡¯d ever manage to get her braids right, though. I dunno if she¡¯d mind. Maybe the pancakes could make up for it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t deserve you,¡± Octavia finally sobbed. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve any of you. I don¡¯t deserve any of this. I can¡¯t--¡±

    He held her close, pulling her into his arms in full as she buried her face in his shoulder. Octavia lamented the way her tears were surely staining his vest. The pine scent of his cologne was comforting, something she hadn¡¯t had to herself in quite a while--somewhat excessive as it was. The urge to break down completely was overpowering. She nearly did, the little passport sandwiched between them as she wept.

    ¡°How many damn times do I have to tell you people that I can¡¯t handle pretty girls crying?¡± she heard Renato scold playfully. ¡°Don¡¯t do that to me, braids.¡±

    Octavia sniffled, squeezing one palm through their embrace to wipe her eyes. ¡°You think I¡¯m pretty?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t read into it,¡± he chided.

    ¡°What are we now, exactly?¡± she joked weakly.

    Octavia felt him chuckle, and it eased her heart somewhat. ¡°Don¡¯t play this game with me, Tavi, I swear to God.¡±

    She almost managed a laugh of her own. She almost managed a smile to accompany it. She at least managed the warmth that came with reciprocation, returning his embrace just as tightly. Renato poked at one of her braids.

    ¡°You ready?¡±

    ¡°Not really, no,¡± she admitted.

    In pulling away from him, Octavia wasn¡¯t left with much of a choice. She caught a glimpse of passing seafoam, briefly, as Tacell¡¯s leader climbed the steps of the train one by one. It left only four people in his wake, patiently awaiting her presence beside the same stairs as she began to feel the rumbling beneath the platform. She no longer had a choice, as much as she wished otherwise.

    Even now, she was reminded of the way she¡¯d held the rose-splashed passport with such bright eyes and hope as they¡¯d departed from Coda the first time. All too long ago, she''d been eager to delve deeper into the Maestro world, chasing a future that surely led to somewhere happier than this.

    In one hand, Octavia clung with all of her heart to the memento of the blossom, unnecessary and overpowering all the same. In the other, she wrapped her trembling fingers tightly around Renato¡¯s own. The smile he offered her was kind and genuine.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get through this,¡± he said softly. ¡°All of us. I promise.¡±

    And to his credit, it wasn¡¯t just his Strong words that pledged his protection to her heart. It was a Spirited wave, a Willful smile, a Soulful gaze that offered reassurance in their own special ways. It was the way they tried to distract, distract, distract, to chip away at the endless dread and fear that she knew would crash over her like a tidal wave several days from now. Octavia didn¡¯t mind distractions. She didn¡¯t mind company. She felt aimless, floaty, the same underwater helplessness she¡¯d learned to accept in the depths of a toll quite some time ago.

    ¡°Try to get some rest.¡±

    Lightning struck deep, deep into the depths of the ocean she¡¯d plunged into. Octavia couldn¡¯t dive down far enough to avoid it, nor could she walk fast enough down the aisle to escape his gaze. It was unreadable, Essenced eyes that ensnared her against her will, shocking her heart for a fleeting moment. They were words she couldn¡¯t attribute to kindness or hostility, much as she was unable to figure Josiah out lately. Her dread, too, was electric.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna need it.¡±

 73. Reflowering, Part I

    Her peace didn¡¯t last. She figured it wouldn¡¯t. The moment the train started moving, every fear became reality. She hated upon hated that she could partially blame the lightning that pierced her heart.

    It had been a substantial amount of time since Octavia had spent the vast majority of a train ride bedbound. Granted, the circumstances at the time had been somewhat different, although the correlation of both instances with the same city was somewhat ironic. At the very least, she wasn¡¯t neck-deep in unfathomable grief this time, nor was she filled head to toe with a frothing desire for revenge and bloodshed. It was the calm before the storm, mostly respected by the thirty-something Maestros that had opted to accompany her in her treacherous task.

    There was, ultimately, a perk that came with the title of Ambassador in the form of justified isolation. ¡°Getting some rest¡± had truly been a viable excuse, much to her surprise. There were four specific Maestros--with one bonus companion--that she was aware saw through her ruse instantly, for all of their prior comforts and insistence on support only days prior. Still, they didn¡¯t push.

    She¡¯d mostly run out of tears three days into the voyage. The trembling, sweats, and nausea were extensive, stretching well into the present. The bells were endless, as were the sights that followed her into unconsciousness. Wood carving was enough of a distraction, when she could steady her hands enough to do so. At present, Octavia could hardly sit up straight without the room spinning.

    She¡¯d been counting the days to a degree that she¡¯d never fixated on before during their travels. It was a death sentence. Even she wasn¡¯t sure how she¡¯d react the moment she stepped through the gate again. She wasn¡¯t sure what would be worse, frankly--witnessing Seraphim¡¯s Call in the depths of that violet-stained Hell, or witnessing Valkyrie¡¯s Call atop the place that had haunted her soul for months. Octavia had one more night of peace. If her dreams had anything to say about it, it was sure to be anything but.

    Stradivaria?

    I am here.

    Octavia sighed, rolling onto her side. Sorry. I just...wanted to know you were there.

    I always am.

    She had half a mind to pull him into the bed with her, to feel the cool mahogany against her heated skin as she sought the slightest smidge of tactile comfort. She didn¡¯t want to move. Moving was hard, and her head felt heavy. The weight of her thoughts surely wasn¡¯t helping.

    I don¡¯t know what to do.

    Regarding?

    I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m really scared, actually.

    I know.

    Octavia scoffed. I think everyone knows, at this point.

    There is nothing shameful about fear. It is natural. It is universal.

    But not about this.

    Not everyone has seen through your eyes.

    Not everyone had made such an unforgivable mistake, either. Even now, she still wondered what River would think if he knew exactly how the prior acolytes came to perish in the first place. She wondered what all of them would think, really. Conserving the honor of her title was the least of it. She pulled the covers up to her chin, gazing across the room at Stradivaria¡¯s case as her heart pounded painfully.

    I don¡¯t want to do this.

    It is admirable that you would strive to do so regardless.

    Maybe you chose the wrong Ambassador.

    We did not. Of this, I am certain.

    Maybe you chose the wrong Maestra.

    Of this, too, I am certain I have not erred.

    They weren¡¯t words Octavia could believe, no matter how hard she tried to trust him. It burned. How many more times would she have to fail in front of him before it sank in?

    What if I can¡¯t do this?

    You must have faith in yourself, just as others have faith in you.

    There¡¯s nothing to have faith in. I got people killed. I¡¯m the reason we¡¯re even in this mess.

    It is I, too, who has faith in you.

    There¡¯s other Heartful Maestros out there. There¡¯s ones who wouldn¡¯t hesitate.

    Do you no longer wish to be the Ambassador?

    It was a loaded question with no simple answer. It wasn¡¯t a question she¡¯d ever truly given much thought to, not after her initial acceptance of the task to begin with.

    Octavia closed her eyes. She wasn¡¯t particularly sure what to say. In a way, the idea of relinquishing a title under which she¡¯d already given so much effort to help others hurt severely. In another way, a different Ambassador could perhaps shoulder the blossom and the flame instead. In a perfect world, maybe there could be two. Maybe they could take turns. It would¡¯ve been so, so nice to not be alone.

    Do you enjoy being the Ambassador?

    This was absolutely not the time. She shook Mixoly¡¯s words out of her head.

    I don¡¯t know, Octavia finally answered.

    For what reason do you hesitate?

    Maybe another Ambassador would be better at dealing with all of this.

    You are a fine Ambassador as you are, fearful or otherwise. So, too, was your sister fearful at times.

    She shifted uncomfortably, the mention of Priscilla¡¯s name enough to make her heart race in a different way. Priscilla?

    There is no one who is truly fearless. We, even, are not free from the grasp of such fear. It is what actions we take in the midst of such terror that speak to the truth of our hearts. Your sister was no different.

    Octavia¡¯s tears weren¡¯t quite as dried and stemmed as she¡¯d thought, apparently. She fought to keep them behind closed lids, the corners of her eyes doing an excellent job at betraying her best efforts. What would she think of me if she saw me like this?

    She would understand. She, too, would speak to the splendid Ambassador you¡¯ve become. I am certain she would be proud not only as your sister, but as she who carried such a title not long before yourself. She would take comfort in the strength of her successor.

    I don¡¯t feel strong.

    You are.

    She dabbed at her eyes with the edges of the covers. Part of her still desperately wished to return to Tacell, to forsake two Muses alone who didn''t choose their fates. The simple thought, brief as it was in passing, made her feel guilty enough for her stomach to twist into knots. It was the opposite of what she was supposed to believe, let alone actually do.

    I wish only that she were by your side once more, he offered with soft initiative. I¡­truly believe she would guide your way through such pain. Her heart was kind, in this way. Of this, I am certain you need no explanation--you, who loved her more than I. She, too, would wage battle on your behalf. To stand alongside her in the dark, would that not bring you peace?

    The idea wasn¡¯t upsetting. The thought of dragging Priscilla to Velpyre, specifically, was. I wouldn¡¯t want her to be involved in this.

    She would be, for you and you alone.

    How do you know?

    I know of her love.

    Octavia bit back a sob she didn¡¯t realize she was guarding. Do you think she would¡¯ve done all of this? If she were in my shoes, would she still have¡­faced that? Would she have dragged everyone down, made the same decisions, cried the same tears?

    She would have. She would have persevered, much the same as you.

    I miss her.

    I know.

    The stinging in her heart had changed flavors. It was solid, predictable, sorrowful. Octavia knew it well. It was somewhat preferable to her prior agony, intangible as it was. Perhaps the deepest scarlets of autumn were a more welcome burn than bells. To fight alongside Priscilla would¡¯ve been a dream, although the necessity of fighting in the first place was not to be cherished. It would still be an excuse to see her face once more.

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the chance to bathe in her bittersweet memories for long. Whatever three sharp knocks hit the door without remorse were enough to nearly launch her pained heart out of her chest. There wasn''t a single face she wanted to see right now, soft and delicate as such eyes and words may have come. Even Viola''s presence would¡¯ve been uncomfortable, the thought of her unstable distress on full display before the girl enough to make Octavia''s stomach churn. She stiffened beneath the covers, clinging tightly to their warmth.

    ¡°What?¡± she called, significantly harsher than intended. She regretted it almost immediately.

    Octavia didn¡¯t get an answer. She got a visitor--impatient, uncaring, or both as they shirked a formal invitation. The sliding door gave way to the absolute last person she wanted to see right now, the only one capable of making her blood pump harder and her heart race in the worst way.

    She wanted to hide. She¡¯d never wanted to hide before, and the thought was embarrassing. She¡¯d thought her fear of lightning to be momentary and fleeting, the thunder it fostered crashing only upon a former acolyte who¡¯d earned his wrath. It took conscious effort not to pull the covers over her head.

    He didn¡¯t even stop at an observation of her bedbound state. He outright invited himself, her own permission apparently unnecessary. It was mildly infuriating, equally as insensitive and cold as he was.

    He¡¯d done enough. She couldn¡¯t take anymore. She really, really couldn''t take another dangerous word out of his mouth, not for all he was putting her through. Fear became frustration.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Octavia asked, again far too sharp despite her intent. This time, she wasn¡¯t quite as regretful.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    He took the venom in her words with enough grace that her frustration evolved, settling onto the bed across from hers without a care in the world. ¡°Visiting.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°Just wanted to be in here for a bit.¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°You didn¡¯t even ask.¡±

    His eyes, in turn, weren¡¯t even on her. He was rifling through his bag instead, her words apparently of no particular concern. It was incredibly aggravating. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I needed to.¡±

    ¡°It would¡¯ve been nice,¡± Octavia hissed. Whatever poison she harbored was no longer subtle. She didn¡¯t care.

    He smirked, now carefully leafing through his journal instead. ¡°You¡¯re mad at me, then. That¡¯s fair.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad.¡±

    ¡°I can hear it.¡±

    She scowled. ¡°No, you can¡¯t.¡±

    The sound of pencil scratching away at delicate paper was irritating. Everything was irritating. ¡°Yes, I can.¡±

    ¡°What would I even have to be mad about?¡±

    ¡°A lot of things,¡± Josiah said plainly. ¡°Pressuring you into all of this, for one. Maybe you¡¯re mad about me threatening Selena¡¯s mother. Maybe you¡¯re mad I made a bunch of other Maestros come along to deal with this. Maybe a few of those at once. You have options.¡±

    ¡°I would¡¯ve had to do this eventually, anyway.¡±

    His tone was calm and collected. That, too, was irritating. ¡°Yes, but I made you do it early, and now you¡¯re mad at me. Again, that¡¯s fair.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad at you!¡± Octavia practically shouted.

    ¡°Case in point,¡± he said, gesturing to her lazily with the end of his pencil.

    ¡°Do you want me to be mad at you or something? Can¡¯t we just get this over with and forget it happened? Don¡¯t make this harder than it needs to be.¡±

    ¡°I promise you, I¡¯m not trying to make anything more difficult. I¡¯m not trying to be difficult, either. I¡¯m just not a good person. You should know that by now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll work out fine. You¡¯ve got everything under control. You planned everything out. Your plans usually work,¡± she conceded half-heartedly. Even then, her words still tasted bitter.

    Again, Josiah didn¡¯t grace her with his direct attention. The background sounds of his writing were starting to drive her insane, as was his exceedingly rude pattern of ignoring her. ¡°It has holes. I¡¯m not perfect.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a surprise,¡± Octavia spat.

    ¡°So you are mad at me,¡± he murmured calmly.

    ¡°I mean, you don¡¯t seem worried one bit about the possibility of this going wrong. People could get hurt, you know. Seriously hurt.¡±

    ¡°Worrying about it isn¡¯t going to help anything.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t prove Josiah¡¯s words were targeted. Still, it was enough to make her blood boil. ¡°Right, because you don¡¯t need to worry about anything. Everything always works out for you in the end. Must be nice.¡±

    For the briefest moment, he side-eyed her silently. Immediately afterwards, paper took priority once more. Octavia was fuming.

    ¡°You don¡¯t even care, do you? Out of all people, I thought you¡¯d be the one person who cared. I thought you¡¯d be the one person who understood. You don¡¯t have to act cold about it. You¡¯re allowed to be upset.¡±

    ¡°Do you want me to be upset?¡±

    She bit her lip. ¡°A little bit! It¡¯d be nice to see that you gave a damn!¡±

    ¡°I do give a damn.¡±

    ¡°Then act like it!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a time and a place for that.¡±

    Again did his words prick her like personal thorns. She wouldn¡¯t bother trying to hide her anger anymore.

    ¡°Everything¡¯s so nice and neat and calculated with you,¡± Octavia growled, sitting up straight as she clenched the covers with ire. ¡°Everything¡¯s so perfect as long as you get to be the one making all the decisions. It must be so nice to just be able to turn your emotions off like that, to decide that you don¡¯t need anything but the satisfaction of being smarter than everyone else. Does it make you feel good to look down on people that feel things? To look down on those irrational people who think with their hearts instead of their heads?¡±

    Once more, he glanced at her in passing alone. Once more, too, her words meant less than the agonizingly-grating scratching of lead on paper.

    ¡°You just¡­say things! They just leave your mouth without you so much as considering how they might hurt someone else! But it¡¯s okay, because it¡¯s the ¡®truth¡¯, right? And the truth is supposed to hurt? All you care about is getting your own answers to your own questions, and whoever you step on for that comes second. I mean, hell, you even picked a fight with the Muses! The Muses, for God¡¯s sake! Is there anyone you don¡¯t think you¡¯re better than?¡±

    The third time Josiah repeated the same pattern, it was downright condescending. Octavia wanted to slap him.

    ¡°Maybe you should be the Ambassador if you¡¯re so good at rationalizing! Maybe you don¡¯t even need to be a doctor! It¡¯d be a good career for you! You¡¯d be great at tolls if you¡¯re such an expert at being cold and heartless! Who needs nightmares every freakin¡¯ night, right? Who needs the constant dread of knowing you¡¯re about to die in whatever number of ways? Have you ever died before? Would you like to? It¡¯s fun! Is it easier just to keep score? To make your cute little lists and your cute little notes about everything and anything that I have to just about kill myself to do? You came in here just to do this? What, are you gonna torment me about what I haven¡¯t done yet? Is what I have done not enough? Nothing¡¯s enough for you, is it? It¡¯s great knowing that whatever I have to say isn¡¯t more important than playing around with that freakin¡¯ journal!¡±

    Josiah offered it to her from afar, spreading the pages wide with his fingers silently. Only now was she freed from the ceaseless scratching, his pencil lowered where the tortured pages had instead been raised aloft. Every line was still dark and sharp enough to see, even from her side. Octavia¡¯s eyes widened.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t get your braids right,¡± he admitted. ¡°Needed a reference.¡±

    It had been a substantial amount of time since he¡¯d last shared his artwork with her. She¡¯d never actually bothered to ask him how long his drawings took, particularly relative to the level of love and detail he seemed to put into each and every stroke of lead. It was a scene she¡¯d been privy to firsthand, given her crowning role at its very center.

    Octavia wondered how Ethel was doing. It was incredibly impressive that Josiah had managed to capture the spectacle of the Muse¡¯s departure with such careful, miniscule markings and scratches. Even devoid of Ethel¡¯s radiant golden splendor, the illustration was more than enough to evoke the memory in her head once more. Josiah, too, had recalled her own visage with equal attention, if not more. Seeing herself recreated so perfectly, particularly given the incredible skill offered to every last crease of her dress, was breathtaking.

    For as much as he¡¯d portrayed his distaste for Etherion, with equal disdain for the Muse who called the vessel home, it was an homage of love. There was irony in the way the Muse¡¯s own Maestro was nowhere to be found in the scene. It was the Ambassador, instead, who clasped the clarinet, along with every bit of painstakingly-shaded rosewood that came with it. The Harmonial Instrument was just as stunning by itself.

    Octavia had no words. She could only stare at Josiah, his eyes soft as he let her drink in the fruits of his artistic labor. The gentle rumbling beneath them as they traveled onwards was their only interruption, quiet and distant.

    ¡°I¡¯m still not sure if I got them right. I always have trouble with them,¡± Josiah continued.

    She blinked. ¡°Al¡­ways?¡±

    Josiah nodded, his expression neutral. ¡°Yeah. Chronic problem when I draw you.¡±

    Octavia pulled the warm covers up to her chest slowly, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline of her outburst. ¡°Do you¡­draw me a lot?¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°You give me a lot to work with.¡±

    She flushed, averting her eyes. Josiah cradled the open journal between his hands once more, resuming his artistry with somewhat more gentle motions. ¡°Can you turn your head a little bit?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t object. Obliging was a lot easier than coming to terms with whatever had just left her mouth. Her stomach hurt. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Josiah said softly, his attention still offered to his art alone. ¡°I keep saying I¡¯m not a good person. I¡¯ve come to terms with that already, for better or worse. It¡¯s more of a statement than an excuse.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°You¡¯re not a bad person. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re a bad person at all. I didn¡¯t mean any of that. I¡¯m just¡­frustrated.¡±

    ¡°With me.¡±

    ¡°With myself.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to be frustrated, although I¡¯d much prefer you to be frustrated with me instead of yourself.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be.¡±

    ¡°I do get upset, by the way. It¡¯s just¡­not in the same way you do. Maybe that looks heartless on the outside. I could see why.¡±

    Octavia clenched the covers just the slightest bit tighter. ¡°Are you¡­afraid to go back?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not something I plan to think about right now,¡± Josiah said. ¡°I can deal with that later. There¡¯s a lot that¡¯s going to happen all at once. I want to be ready for that as much as I can. I don¡¯t want you to have to carry all of that alone.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t say no.¡±

    He smiled faintly. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

    The more he spoke, the worse Octavia felt--for a different reason than her previous rationale. It was highly unfortunate that she couldn¡¯t claw back every vicious word that had left her mouth, hypocritical as she¡¯d been with her accusations of heartlessness. She bit her lip.

    ¡°It¡¯s surreal to think that I¡¯m not supposed to be here.¡±

    Octavia stared. ¡°What?¡±

    Josiah kept his smile as he drew. ¡°Just¡­drawing this reminded me of that, a little bit.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s smile brightened somewhat, the weight of his words irrelevant. ¡°Cadence saved my life. Had the cards not fallen where they did, in the weirdest series of events imaginable, I wouldn¡¯t be here right now. I wouldn¡¯t be talking to you, and I wouldn¡¯t be drawing this.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head with confusion. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand.¡±

    ¡°Her gift,¡± Josiah explained quietly. ¡°She touched me, remember? I mean, touching is a bit of an understatement. Ran right the hell into me. She could¡¯ve very easily gone down a different hallway, I could¡¯ve very easily have been coming out of a different room, she could¡¯ve not been there at all. I would¡¯ve¡­never seen the Dissonance coming. I would¡¯ve died that day.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s¡­how you got out?¡±

    ¡°It took me a while to figure it out. I had to think about it for a bit. It¡¯s even more surreal that I ended up with her partner. I owe her my life. I hope letting him go did her justice, somehow.¡±

    Octavia brought her knees up to her chest, forgoing the warmth of the covers. ¡°She was down there, too. When it happened.¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°I remember.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad she made it out. I imagine her toll wasn¡¯t very pleasant.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one more thing you guys had in common, I guess. Even if it¡­wasn¡¯t a good thing.¡±

    He smirked. ¡°Guess I wasn¡¯t really the sole survivor that day.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you¡¯re here. And I think you were supposed to be here,¡± Octavia said gently. ¡°I think everything happens for a reason. I don¡¯t know how we would¡¯ve figured any of this out without you. I like having you here.¡±

    Josiah''s smirk softened into something she enjoyed. ¡°I like being here. I like being with you guys.¡±

    When he gave that smile to her instead of to her own two-dimensional depiction, it was warm. Octavia returned it with just as much satisfaction.

    ¡°You¡­said you have other drawings of me?¡± she asked timidly.

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah. Not just you, though. You¡¯re not my only inspiration ever.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not that vain. I was just curious, jerk.¡±

    Josiah chuckled. ¡°Do you want to see?¡±

    She grinned. ¡°If you¡¯ll let me.¡±

    ¡°Just a heads up, the braids might not always be the best, like I said.¡±

    ¡°I mean¡­now¡¯s a good time to practice, if you want.¡±

    To find the warmth of his smile in his eyes for once instead of ice was wonderful. ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on that, I think. We¡¯ve got time.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a lot of time. It was time she¡¯d dreaded, time she¡¯d filled with desperate pleas of silence in her head and peace in her heart. It was time she¡¯d feared in earnest, one last night before the colors of her nightmares blighted her eyes in daylight. It was fitting, then, that Octavia¡¯s reprieve came in only black and white, comfortable monotone born of skilled hands and gentle strokes. Pencil scratches where once had been bells were far more welcome sounds, transfigured from something annoying into something that eased her heart.

    Where she¡¯d feared his cold and indifferent lightning, Josiah brought her sparks that tenderly buzzed against her soul. She¡¯d seen this side of him before, although not for some time. For now, at least, Octavia''s worries were soaked up by the one person who perhaps understood them the most--for better or worse.

 74. Reflowering, Part II

    The sea of grass that rippled beneath her boots carried not the peace she¡¯d come to associate with Tacell, but she remembered it all the same. The distant roar of the ocean, too, was not to be forgotten. From the open air of the startlingly barren train station, there was little salty scent of which to speak--something she otherwise may have lamented in any other city.

    Octavia flexed her fingers. She dug her fingernails into her skin. She swallowed deep breaths of cool oxygen again and again until her lungs burned. She was very much awake, and she was very much alive.

    To stand there, even far enough that the walls captured her eyes long before the one structure she dared not look for, was surreal. So many times in the past several months had she seen the blossom time and time again in her dreams, every splash of otherwise-beautiful color and structure assailing her eyes all too often. In the most detached way, she was filling in the gaps.

    She remembered the grass being taller, or so she could¡¯ve sworn. She remembered the sky blessing her with a softer blue, although she blamed the turning of the season for the wispy clouds that threatened the autumn sun. Again, Octavia offered up the skin of her palms to her desperate fingernails. She nearly drew blood.

    She wasn¡¯t dreaming. It was here. It wasn¡¯t sinking in, and she was floating.

    Someone was talking to her. A few people were, the cadences of their voices taking turns battling for her attention. Octavia knew them. She couldn¡¯t assign them to names or faces. She¡¯d stepped into a photograph, a toll of her own making that left her suspended and disoriented. Her feet were moving. So, too, behind her, were others doing the same. She knew not how many.

    If she touched that wall, if she stepped through that gate, her dream would surely burst. She would surely awaken. She¡¯d expected to tremble, to sob, to break down and scream. Maybe she would, soon enough. For now, Octavia could hardly process its presence.

    Something was in her hand. Something was pulling her onwards, matching her slow pace and never tugging hard enough to hurt. Something was squeezing her. Something was stroking her skin along the way. Her head was spinning. If the dizziness was coming first, she was sure the nausea would have its turn later.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never actually gotten to be a visitor before.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t underwater. She was somewhere high above the clouds, out of her own body and looking down on herself. She was only semi-conscious of the physical sensations that met her skin, her ears, every possible vessel of perception that wasn¡¯t her blurred sight.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been above before. I¡¯d never actually bothered to go outside until¡­you know. It¡¯s weird coming back in from the other direction.¡±

    Upon those clouds, he brought his thunderstorm, as gentle as the calm rain in his voice that brushed against her skin.

    ¡°You need two passports to get out out, at least if you start from down there. Took me a while to get the first one. Never bothered with getting the second one. It was only really good for getting some sunshine, anyway. The food up above wasn¡¯t as much of an improvement as they¡¯d like you to believe.¡±

    He didn¡¯t shock her.

    ¡°I stole a medical textbook out of the library up here, once. I never gave it back, so don¡¯t tell them. It¡¯s still down there. What were they gonna do, come get it? I thought about doing it twice. Never made it through the whole thing because someone thought it¡¯d be funny to keep taking out my bookmarks over and over. I got her back eventually.¡±

    He didn¡¯t strike her down.

    ¡°I started cutting pages out of whatever book she was reading. I¡¯d wait until she wasn¡¯t looking and figure out which part she was at, and then I¡¯d cut out the next page so carefully that she wouldn¡¯t notice it. She¡¯d get really confused because the stories would start making less and less sense every time she sat down to read them again. It took her months to figure it out. She deserved it.¡±

    He didn¡¯t try to reassure her, to tell her everything would be fine, to remind her of the support she should be grateful for.

    ¡°It¡¯s actually not that bad up above--aesthetically, I mean. I respect the architecture. The people are pretentious as hell, and I¡¯d sooner die than have to make five minutes of idle conversation with any of them, but it¡¯s a sight for sore eyes. Just don¡¯t let anyone make it out to be more elegant than it actually is. My first time above, I watched a kid pee in the plaza fountain. This place isn¡¯t exactly a gift to mankind.¡±

    Josiah was kind.

    ¡°You said you were thinking about getting warmer clothes, right? They have stuff here, if I remember correctly. Can¡¯t say a lot of it is going to be very fashionable. Everyone here dresses horribly. At least below, I could wear whatever I wanted. If I had to wear formal clothes up above all of the time, I think I would¡¯ve gone insane. I¡¯ve never had to wear anything with a tie, and I sure as hell am not starting any time soon.¡±

    Josiah was warm.

    ¡°I¡­do actually like cold weather. The seasons below were¡­weird. It snowed. When I was a kid, that was my favorite time of the year. I should¡¯ve been more subtle about it, because someone kept putting snow on my bed. A lot of it. It¡¯s very, very annoying to try to dry wet linens outside in the winter. Somehow, that made it funnier for her.¡±

    Josiah was understanding, patient as he matched her every step towards the gate.

    ¡°I mean, when we¡¯re¡­all done, if you want to mess around up above, we can. I don¡¯t know how much of it you got to see last time, but they really like their Maestros up here. I already told Allison there were going to be a ton of them. I don¡¯t know if the people who live here will know on sight. I doubt it. They¡¯re probably going to be confused as hell when thirty-something people come streaming in at the same time, though. I can show you the handful of restaurants I did get to try, although I don¡¯t know if all of them are still standing. Again, food isn¡¯t anything to die for, but it¡¯s at least a novelty. I know I keep brushing you off about going to Selbright together. If you want to just go back to Tacell after this, we can. Otherwise, I can take you on a Velrose date.¡±

    She could feel his hand. She could feel his touch. Even if she couldn¡¯t feel her heart, every uneven beat out of touch with the last, she could feel the way her lips curved upwards in the slightest. She could feel the way hoarse words managed to bubble out of her constricted throat.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­asking me¡­on a date?¡±

    Octavia saw him smirk. ¡°I would like to clarify up front that the word ¡®date¡¯ doesn¡¯t necessarily indicate romantic interest. Putting that out there.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­definitely¡­what it means,¡± she breathed weakly.

    ¡°If you¡¯re into me, just tell me. You don¡¯t have to go in circles.¡±

    She giggled. It was faint, and it felt good, the looming shadows of the walls be damned. ¡°You wish.¡±

    Josiah rolled his eyes playfully. ¡°I¡¯m not the one hung up on the ¡®date¡¯ part. You¡¯re projecting a little, I think. Sort your feelings out and get back to me when you¡¯re ready.¡±

    Even if his words gave her the strength to find color in the waking world, to float back down into her own body and feel the earth beneath her feet, it wasn¡¯t entirely enough. There was still a gate, and there was still the blossom beyond it. They weren¡¯t the same guards, nor did they demand passports on sight. Still, it was a sight familiar enough to make her heart pound.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t nauseous yet. She had a feeling that would change the moment she was physically within the suffocating grasp of the Blessed City once more. She clung tightly to Josiah¡¯s hand, and he didn¡¯t dismiss her one bit. She squeezed. He squeezed back, if not more gently.

    It was River who took the lead, although Octavia shouldn¡¯t have been as surprised as she actually turned out to be. It was always somewhat jarring to see him carry himself like the leader he truly was, an air of confidence following in his wake as he stepped forward. She¡¯d seen mostly his gentle side several times over, soft-spoken as he was. His spirit was on full display, unflinching and unwavering, at the very head of their haphazardly-assembled Maestro army. Undaunted by the unfamiliar walls that towered high above him, he brought that seafoam tide front and center.

    ¡°We¡¯re here to meet with the acolyte,¡± he stated firmly, his voice clear as crystal. ¡°We¡¯ve come with the Ambassador. She¡¯s expecting us.¡±

    It was a sentence that was surely foreign on his lips, his understanding of the blossom and the flame in full definitely close to zero. Octavia could imagine Josiah training him on what to say. He¡¯d played the part beautifully, flawlessly enough that their passage was utterly unimpeded.

    ¡°We¡¯ve been made aware,¡± one guard answered simply. ¡°Do what you must.¡±

    ¡°Welcome to Velrose,¡± the other offered.

    It was a welcome she¡¯d never wanted to receive again.

    Octavia practically strangled Josiah¡¯s fingers. Still, he was calm. He squeezed back far more softly than she had.

    It took everything in her power to move her feet forward, to shift from rolling grass to firm cobblestone as Josiah wordlessly fell into step with her once more. He was ahead of her in the slightest, pulling her along subtly. It was still notable enough for her to recognize his quiet urging, lest she try to run and hide. Octavia couldn¡¯t blame him, necessarily, given the way she staggered immediately upon looking upwards.

    It was instinctive, a reflex she¡¯d already long since anticipated would happen the moment she set foot in the Blessed City once more. It was still there, still rising high above the blossom beneath the crown of the shining sun. Even from here, she could capture the blinding glare of the bell¡¯s bronze against the rays of the autumn sky. It was silent, for now.

    She¡¯d forgotten all about the timing. She¡¯d forgotten all about the frequency of the tolling--thrice daily, if memory served. It was mid-afternoon. As to where that placed her on the acolyte¡¯s schedule, she was unsure. At such a close range, she would die. The sensation of every toll rippling through her blood once more would surely do her in for good.

    Cover!

    That wouldn¡¯t help.

    Cover!

    But she could still hear it anyway.

    Cover!

    Did it matter if it was tolling or not?

    Octavia!

    Her wide eyes went up. Her wide eyes went down. Could she remember exactly where on the ground they¡¯d landed?

    Octavia!

    One trembling hand was already aloft, desperately cupping her right ear. Oxygen was scarce. She couldn¡¯t stop staring. She found the nausea. Her knees shook. Her vision swam. Her head hurt. Was it obvious?

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    The angle at which Josiah had stepped in front of her was calculated and careful, just enough to shade the glare of Valkyrie¡¯s Call with his body. The shadow he cast upon her in turn wasn¡¯t entirely unwelcome, and he claimed her horrified eyes for himself. He reached for the hand that covered her ear futilely, the one he hadn¡¯t yet adopted. His grasp was gentle, both of her hands in his as he walked backwards slowly. Octavia hoped he wouldn¡¯t trip.

    ¡°Are you tired at all?¡± he offered.

    Octavia shook her head slowly. It didn¡¯t help the dizziness at all. ¡°N-No.¡±

    ¡°Remember, the street slopes upwards, so it¡¯ll take a bit of effort to walk. If you get tired, let me know and we can take a break for a bit. We can let everyone else go ahead.¡±

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t¡­want to¡­slow anyone down,¡± she murmured.

    He shook his head instead. ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What¡­time is it?¡± Octavia asked breathlessly.

    Josiah peered over his shoulder--whether to steady his backwards steps or to assess the tower he sought to obscure, she wasn¡¯t certain. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Octavia pleaded. ¡°Please tell me.¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t play,¡± he said calmly. ¡°She¡¯s not going to ring the bell for a few days, at least not on their regular schedule. I made sure of it. You won¡¯t hear anything. You¡­don¡¯t have to worry.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°Why?¡±

    Josiah tilted his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to hear it.¡±

    It was enough to send relief flooding through her veins, her heart skipping several consecutive beats. She wished she could offer him a smile to accompany her gratitude. ¡°Thank you,¡± Octavia whispered, her voice nearly cracking.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be gone soon, anyway,¡± Josiah continued. ¡°You¡¯ll never have to worry about it again. Seraphim¡¯s Call isn¡¯t the only reason we¡¯re here, remember?¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    The knowledge of assured peace helped substantially, and she found the strength to pull one of her hands from his own. Her silent affirmation of personal calm was enough to reassure him, and Josiah faced forward once more. Never did she dare to release his other hand, warm and soft as it continued to be. The sight above her didn¡¯t burn quite as severely. It was easier to see, at least, her eyes focusing easier as they walked.

    Velrose was much like she''d remembered it, the actual visage of the blossom not enough to drag her into memories she wished to forget. It was true that she could recall the Dissonance, the screaming, the running and panic that came with the catastrophe. It didn¡¯t hurt nearly as much as the agony that she¡¯d found atop the bell tower, and it never would. The city really was beautiful, and that, too, hadn¡¯t changed.

    Octavia recognized a handful of miniscule landmarks in passing--shops she¡¯d walked by exactly once, places she¡¯d seen people congregate in peace. She found the fountain again. She found the inn. She found the exact spot where Harper had coaxed her into a song of joy in unison, the first time she¡¯d ever played alongside him. She found the general location that Renato had awaited her, a somewhat-unsettling feat of tracking at the time that she was now eternally grateful for. She tried not to look for the place she¡¯d reunited with Drey. She had enough to worry about, clinging to what little slivers of happiness the city had brought to her instead.

    ¡°Alright, not gonna lie, this place kinda rules,¡± she heard Francisco admit from behind her.

    It was hard to keep track of who was where, and Octavia was practically adrift in a Maestro sea. She held fast to Josiah. He didn¡¯t object in the slightest.

    ¡°Uh, you¡¯re¡­probably gonna change your mind about that fairly soon,¡± she could hear Harper warn.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because the whole city¡¯s a freakin¡¯ cult,¡± Renato grumbled.

    Josiah sighed. ¡°Just¡­tolerate it. Ignore whatever you hear. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve changed any of their philosophies since you-know-what, and frankly, I don¡¯t want to know.¡±

    People were staring. It was only fair. Octavia gulped, their prying eyes just a bit too much to handle--even distributed amongst the Maestros as they were.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Celestina?¡± Josiah whispered.

    Initially, Octavia thought it to be a question for herself. It was only when she heard Madrigal¡¯s voice so near, quiet and calm, that she realized otherwise.

    ¡°She¡¯s with Viola,¡± Madrigal whispered back.

    ¡°Spread something around for me, okay? Don¡¯t let anyone mention that she¡¯s from Velpyre while we¡¯re here. Not a word.¡±

    Madrigal winked with a smile. ¡°You can count on me!¡±

    Octavia caught the tap tap tap of Madrigal¡¯s sandals against the cobblestone as she took off, a bit too enthusiastic relative to the weight of her task. It raised a point that bothered her, somewhat.

    ¡°Does¡­Allison know?¡± she asked timidly.

    ¡°Allison knows,¡± Josiah answered. ¡°The clergy doesn¡¯t. No one else does, either.¡±

    ¡°Does the clergy know we¡¯re going down there? Or, at least¡­why?¡±

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s an Allison question. As to whether or not they¡¯re going to put two and two together, I don¡¯t know. We¡¯ll just have to be quick.¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°Should we¡­tell everyone not to mention that you¡¯re from Velpyre, too?¡±

    He smiled sadly. ¡°That¡¯s not as important.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s important to me,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Hey there, Heartful.¡±

    Octavia was surprised, honestly, how much Mina¡¯s voice brightened her spirits. It was mildly startling how quickly the girl had appeared at her opposite side, blessing her with a grin and playful eyes she¡¯d missed. Even in the depths of her stress, she couldn¡¯t fight the faintest smile.

    ¡°Mina,¡± she acknowledged with soft happiness.

    ¡°You ready to get this party started?¡± the girl asked with more excitement than was necessary.

    Still, it was charming, in a way. ¡°This is serious. Remember, we need to be careful and safe. Please don¡¯t do anything rash.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fiiiiine,¡± Mina reassured, waving one hand dismissively. ¡°We¡¯ve got enough firepower here to take on the world. We¡¯ll back each other up and come out on top. You know how it is. Like I said, I¡¯m looking forward to going all out. I¡¯ve never really gotten the chance to fight.¡±

    ¡°Even the Dissonance?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Not much of it. Teeny bit here and there, but nothing that wasn¡¯t over quick.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°You know, we¡¯re not exactly here to experiment.¡±

    ¡°Make the most of what you¡¯ve got,¡± Mina said.

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the chance to chide her. Mina¡¯s eyes had already drifted too far to the left. Her grin dipped into something much more concerning.

    ¡°Hey there, lightning bug,¡± she teased, her voice dripping with charm. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you in a hot minute. You¡¯re gonna be fighting, too, then?¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°What did you just call me?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not gonna fight, but he¡¯s gonna help with lots of other stuff,¡± Octavia clarified.

    ¡°Aw, I was hoping to see my fellow Essenced friend in action,¡± Mina whined. ¡°Suit yourself. I¡¯ll keep you safe, I promise.¡±

    ¡°I¡­appreciate it, but I¡¯ll be fine, really,¡± Josiah reassured.

    Octavia watched with a knowing wince as Mina¡¯s eyes trailed down to her hand, currently clasped tightly in Josiah¡¯s own. She knew exactly where that grin was headed.

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Platonic.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°I mean it.¡±

    Josiah side-eyed the Ambassador. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡±

    Mina¡¯s snickering was enough to make her sigh. With a roll of her eyes, Octavia offered her attention anywhere else she could. She could feel the way the incline had begun to bring pressure to her calves, a notable marker of progress. It wouldn¡¯t be long. She tried to ignore the eyes all around that still settled upon their makeshift army. Her own found Mint, and Mint¡¯s found nothing. Octavia blinked, confused.

    The way by which Mint¡¯s gaze had been obscured was baffling. Carefully tied beneath her fluffy hair was a thick strip of white cloth, long and opaque, that wrapped around her eyes time and time again. From here, Octavia couldn¡¯t tell with certainty if Mint had any line of sight, given how tightly bound the haphazard binding appeared to be secured. Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one with a walking companion.

    She found Briar, hand-in-hand with his fellow Ensemble member as he led her forward carefully. Mint didn¡¯t stumble, nor did she hesitate as she walked--an apparent gesture of full trust in the Soulful boy¡¯s guidance. If the display was less perplexing, it would¡¯ve been endearing, in that manner.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on with her?¡± Octavia murmured under her breath.

    Mina followed her gaze. ¡°Mint¡¯s gift is a bit too strong. They have to do this every time she leaves Tacell. Otherwise, a lot of innocent people get screwed over, and we can¡¯t really fix it once it happens.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Mina crossed her arms. ¡°Did someone already tell you how gifts from Apexes work a bit¡­differently?¡±

    Octavia nodded. Mina cocked her head.

    ¡°Mint¡­doesn¡¯t need to touch someone to use hers,¡± Mina explained. ¡°She¡¯s just gotta look at them. Once she makes eye contact, it¡¯s over. People¡¯ll be seeing Dissonance for life.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s¡­awful.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, we¡¯re getting rid of the stuff soon enough, anyway. Hopefully, that helps a bit,¡± Mina offered.

    ¡°She can take the blindfold off in a little while,¡± Josiah assured. ¡°She¡¯s not going to need it where we¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s it, then?¡±

    Briar¡¯s distant voice brought Octavia¡¯s attention dead ahead. Like all else in the city, it was just as she¡¯d remembered. The stained glass was just as resplendent, just as breathtaking as it showered the cobblestone below in every imaginable color. So, too, were they bathed in the same luminous rainbows of artisanal perfection, the one and only admirable aspect of the Velrose Church upon her eyes yet again. The angels were still crafted with every last glassy fragment of love, the central piece that had caught her eye so long ago equally magnificent.

    With context this time around, she could assume that the small, lovingly-depicted girl who raised her hands to the heavens was none other than the acolyte herself. As to the radiant, rainbow-tinted angel who sparkled down on her with open arms, she hadn¡¯t quite dissected the scene in full just yet. It was still beautiful regardless, and she wasn¡¯t the only one starstruck by the splendorous masterpieces high upon the church¡¯s exterior.

    It was for that reason that Francisco¡¯s crass reaction felt almost disrespectful. He whistled. ¡°Damn, are you sure this place sucks?¡±

    ¡°I promise you, it sucks,¡± Harper muttered.

    Even as most of them made for the steps, the one Maestro that lingered caught her eye, somewhat. She had to physically tug at Josiah¡¯s hand to get him to turn around, given the way he¡¯d continued to pull her gently along. Octavia couldn¡¯t quite motivate herself to let go, nor did she want to. She was grateful when Josiah relented, content to be dragged by the Ambassador instead. She was more interested in the single pair of eyes that found interest not in the spectacle of masterful art, but high above, in the one place she¡¯d fought not to raise her own gaze to.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Octavia asked.

    He didn¡¯t answer, his head tilted back and his attention aloft. How he tolerated the sun¡¯s glare that surely bounced from the bronze down onto him was beyond her.

    ¡°Is there¡­something up there?¡±

    Renato finally blinked. ¡°It¡¯s¡­nothing.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s up with you?¡±

    Renato pulled his gaze back down to earth, although not without one last flicker up above. ¡°Something¡¯s just¡­off. Dunno how else to explain. Don¡¯t sweat it.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯re gonna get left here. Out of the two of these places, this isn¡¯t the one I¡¯m more worried about gettin¡¯ abandoned in, but I¡¯d still rather not.¡±

    Neither of them pressed. Even as both Josiah and Octavia chanced a passing glance at the same spot he¡¯d stared at extensively, they found nothing of merit besides the one memento of Octavia¡¯s suffering. Knowing it would be silent on her behalf continued to ease her heart, even if its visage alone still made her somewhat dizzy.

    River had already knocked. He¡¯d already given his brief spiel a second time over. He was doing a fantastic job, for all intents and purposes, at leading their little army into unfamiliar territory--for those of Tacell, at least. Octavia doubted the inside would bother her. She was correct, for the most part, and the plush velvet beneath her feet was just as smooth as she¡¯d remembered. There was no choir, no visible clergy, not even another soul to impede their voyage into the depths of what should¡¯ve been a holy place. They¡¯d known, after all.

    As to the lengths Allison had gone to to prepare for their arrival, she was unsure. There was no warmth in the candles that burned freely on the walls, little flames guiding their way down a path that had begun to ring nostalgic. The murmurs and mutters behind her were in excess, echoes that bounced down every corridor and drowned out River¡¯s words.

    Their single, willing guide--clergy-affiliated, if the robes were anything to go by--was out of earshot, humbled somewhat beneath the piercing gaze that crashed forward in powerful waves again and again. River''s presence was just as powerful. It was, ever so slowly, starting to sink in, as to how he¡¯d managed to take the helm of Tacell in the first place. It felt safe.

    It was the chapel. She¡¯d been correct. Her heart pounded as the doors opened before her, glass-guarded sunshine above flooding the sanctuary in excess as it spilled onto plush maroon below. Octavia, too, was bathed in the same, recoiling somewhat as the sudden light splashed into her eyes. It burned, the memory of standing before an angel in white perhaps burning just as much. It was a reflex to search for her face, to chase her afterimage with wide and desperate eyes upon the central pedestal.

    She¡¯d hardly known the acolyte, familiar with her grace and her wrath in equal measure. Even so, she¡¯d been majestic. She¡¯d been lustrous. Octavia chose to believe in her kindness, had the fate of the flame not intertwined so closely with her short life. Her graceful angel was gone. She dared not think about how the girl had been lost.

    She squeezed Josiah¡¯s hand. He squeezed back. If she grasped with her other hand, if she reached out, could she pull from thin air the sound of the acolyte¡¯s voice greeting them once more?

    There was no Sonata. There would never again be Sonata. Where she had once stood was the closest echo Octavia would ever get.

    Allison Ivory had, physically, remained as Octavia remembered her. It hadn''t been more than several months since their last encounter, and the child was still exactly that. She was once more slammed with the pang of sorrow that accompanied the sight of such young Maestros and Maestras. In this case, so, too, came guilt in equal measure. It was technically Octavia who¡¯d bound this child to Valkyrie¡¯s Call, for better or worse.

    Her pearl-tinted robes had been hemmed at last, finally sparing her the pains of battling a tripping hazard with every step. Her soft skin was every bit as fair, her cascading locks were every bit as beautifully blonde, and her wide eyes that challenged the gentle sky were just as round and inquisitive.

    It was those eyes in which Octavia found the changes that had besieged the little acolyte since their last meeting. Where once had been curiosity now rested only sorrow. Her movements spoke to fatigue, as did her face overall. Whether it was emotional or physical in nature, Octavia couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. She was given that weak gaze in earnest, a gently-burning confidence she¡¯d never once found in the child¡¯s little heart now on full display. Perhaps that was purely by force, and guilt rippled through her blood yet again.

    Octavia claimed Allison¡¯s attention alone for a moment, the Ambassador and the acolyte locked in the loaded acknowledgement of a silent reunion. Her stomach lurched. A thousand apologies settled onto her tongue, and it was by sheer willpower that she bit them back.

    Whatever clergy guide had led them this far was as silent as the little acolyte, shirking an introduction in favor of River¡¯s own. He was respectful, maybe even too much so. Octavia wondered exactly what sort of image Josiah had painted for him of the acolyte¡¯s role, given the way he dropped to one knee and bowed his head low. To see him humbled in such a manner almost reminded her of the courtesy he¡¯d offered upon greeting the Ambassador for the first time.

    With one hand over his heart, his voice was every bit as confident. ¡°Lady Acolyte, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. My name is River, leader of the Maestros of Tacell. It is an honor.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that.¡±

    They were the first words Octavia had ever heard leave the child¡¯s mouth, for how closely she''d previously clung to her sister¡¯s robes. She had once hidden in the former acolyte¡¯s shadow with such instinct that Octavia had never heard her small, soft voice, imbued with a quiet firmness as it was. She again clasped Josiah¡¯s fingers desperately. Again, too, he reciprocated in peace.

    Allison motioned for River to rise. ¡°It¡¯s okay. You¡­don¡¯t have to do that,¡± she repeated quietly.

    River obliged, unshaken as he rose to his feet. He didn¡¯t apologize for his courtesy, content to watch as the acolyte laid both hands over her own heart. She, too, bowed her head in the slightest.

    ¡°I¡¯m Allison Ivory, the Velrose Acolyte. It¡¯s¡­nice to meet all of you. Thank you for being here.¡±

    With his free hand, Josiah offered a similar gesture of respect, fingers settling over his chest. ¡°Thanks for answering my requests, and thanks for having us in the first place. We¡¯re definitely in your debt. We¡¯ll be quick, we promise.¡±

    ¡°How many of you are there in total?¡± she asked timidly.

    ¡°I believe there¡¯s thirty-two of us,¡± River offered.

    Allison nodded, her long hair brushing her arms with every motion. ¡°That¡¯s a lot.¡±

    ¡°We needed every last one of them,¡± she heard Viola murmur under her breath.

    When River¡¯s eyes flickered to her, the acolyte''s own followed along. Viola flushed, her voice louder than expected as she spoke mildly out of turn. She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, clapping one hand over her mouth.

    ¡°Vi¡­ola?¡±

    The syllables on the acolyte¡¯s lips drew wide eyes from multiple sources, not the least of whom was Octavia. The Maestra in question blinked. ¡°W-What?¡±

    Octavia watched in awe as Allison¡¯s eyes roamed the room, settling on additional Maestros in turn one at a time. So, too, did their respective faces flash with surprise at the gentle sound of their own names. ¡°Madrigal. Harper,¡± the Velrose Acolyte said softly.

    She¡¯d already met Allison¡¯s tired gaze once. Never had she herself forgotten the little acolyte¡¯s name, even if it hadn''t naturally sat at the forefront of Octavia¡¯s memories versus that of the child¡¯s sister. Of the opposite, she hadn¡¯t stopped to fathom. With thirty-two Maestros to choose from, the way Allison singled out the four she¡¯d met only once before made her heart swell.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± she said at last.

    Octavia could hardly squeak words out of her dry throat. ¡°You remembered.¡±

    And when the little acolyte nodded, her own words in turn were impossible to pinpoint. If they were kind, if they were hateful, if they were hostile or welcoming, Octavia would never know. In that small voice, pinned by those small eyes, the newest Velrose Acolyte managed to tear her heart in two and sew it back together all at once.

    ¡°I could never forget you.¡±

 75. Inverse, Part I

    It was interesting, somewhat, that River was content to share his role at center stage with a boy he knew to not even be a Maestro. As to the Ambassador, that, at least, made perfect sense. Letting go of Josiah¡¯s hand had been distressing, particularly given the cold that settled onto her palm immediately after she¡¯d uncurled her fingers. Still, Octavia¡¯s drive to offer a good first impression was again eating away at her, and that didn¡¯t necessarily entail clinging to the comfort of another in front of the Velrose Acolyte.

    Actually sitting in the chapel was jarring. If there was a God to pray to that day, she would¡¯ve prayed to be anywhere but here. With so many bodies present, even in the large expanse of the room, the lack of echo somehow unsettled her even further. She shifted closer to Josiah instinctively.

    For better or worse, there was a fourth companion that had taken a front-row seat to the acolyte¡¯s words. It only made sense, given the manner by which the same title had sat upon her shoulders years before. She¡¯d had the common sense to sit far, far from Josiah, well beside River instead. Josiah didn¡¯t object. He didn¡¯t even turn his head, fixated on the active acolyte of the blossom alone. It was for the better.

    ¡°Which¡­one did you want to do first?¡± Allison asked softly.

    ¡°Seraphim,¡± Josiah answered. ¡°It¡¯s going to be the more difficult of the two by far, and we honestly might need your help a bit.¡±

    ¡°My help?¡±

    ¡°Just in the case of an emergency. Are you¡­comfortable enough with Valkyrie?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°It took awhile to get used to playing, but it wasn¡¯t as hard as I thought it¡¯d be. It¡¯s big, but it¡¯s not heavy. It¡¯s nice to me.¡±

    River crossed his arms. ¡°It¡¯s honestly impressive that you can play such a large Harmonial Instrument yourself. It makes sense, fundamentally speaking, but still.¡±

    ¡°If it was a normal bell, there¡¯d be no way. I¡¯d get hurt. I still have to jump really high, though, and that¡¯s hard. Sometimes my ankles get sore.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. She wasn¡¯t fond of the idea that the acolyte¡¯s partner brought pain to her in any capacity, particularly relative to her age. Again, she swallowed the guilt that came with her sickening butterfly effect.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to put you through more than you can handle,¡± Josiah continued. ¡°That having been said, Valkyrie¡¯s Call would be an absolute last resort. If we somehow screw up, if something slips out of there, you¡¯d still have the means to fight back up here.¡±

    ¡°But if we guide the Muse inside Valkyrie¡¯s Call, wouldn¡¯t Velrose be safe?¡± Octavia tried. ¡°They can¡­protect whatever place is most important to their Maestro. That¡¯d be Velrose, in this case, right?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to risk it. We don¡¯t know how much, and we don¡¯t know how far that extends. For all we know, it could just be the church. It could be one specific part of the city. Hell, it might not even be the city. There¡¯s no way of guaranteeing with 100% certainty that it¡¯ll be Velrose. I don¡¯t trust that damn spider web.¡±

    River raised an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    Octavia winced. Josiah, too, gritted his teeth. ¡°Nothing. Just know that this is the safer option. If Allison is up for it, I trust her. If not, there¡¯s a few other things we can try, but they¡¯re not nearly as effective. Again, if we play our cards right, it hopefully won¡¯t even come to that.¡±

    Allison closed her eyes briefly. There was a moment, fleeting as it was, where Octavia hoped she would decline. She wondered how much of the acolyte¡¯s decisions were obligations rather than personal choices. ¡°I can do that.¡±

    Josiah took a deep breath. ¡°Good. That takes care of things above. Obviously, our main problem is¡­gonna be below.¡±

    ¡°I know most of what you wanted to do from what you told me,¡± Allison offered quietly. ¡°Did anything change?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Everything¡¯s still the same.¡±

    The boy side-eyed River. River nodded once, and Josiah did the same back.

    When Josiah rose to his feet, Octavia immediately lamented the lack of warmth at her side. In its wake came a sudden sense of vulnerability that left her cold and lonely. His footsteps didn¡¯t echo, both secondary to the muffled room and the vivid velvet that met his every step below. Even so, there was something powerful in the way he carried himself, brimming with a confidence that rivaled River¡¯s own.

    Where the acolyte had largely spoken to the three siege organizers alone, Josiah showed no fear in staring down thirty-two Maestros at once. It reminded her of Vincent¡¯s trial, somewhat, a shining display of self-confidence that was still equally as impressive to remember.

    River preceded him. ¡°This is Josiah,¡± he said, gesturing accordingly. ¡°He¡¯s an expert on Velpyre. He organized all of this. He has a plan for how we¡¯re going to make this work.¡±

    Even with River¡¯s weighted introduction, Josiah was unfazed. He didn¡¯t so much as clear his throat, his projection perfect and his voice made of crystal. He stuffed his hands in his pockets nonchalantly.

    ¡°Here¡¯s how this is gonna go,¡± he spoke, his volume flawless. ¡°You might¡¯ve noticed on the way here that this city slopes upwards towards the church. That¡¯s just how it¡¯s built. Down below, it¡¯s the opposite. The whole city gradually slopes downwards towards a different church entirely, and that¡¯s where we¡¯re headed. Seraphim¡¯s Call is a stationary Harmonial Instrument that lives in that church. It¡¯s a straight shot in a straight line--or, at least, it should be. It¡¯s gonna be dark. We¡¯re probably going to have almost zero visibility. When I say it¡¯s gonna be dark, I mean it, because the Dissonance sure isn¡¯t gonna help anything. I¡¯ll say it again--we can¡¯t prove with absolute certainty that there¡¯s Dissonance down there at all. If there is, we can¡¯t say how much. Just know that if we were to try to take the Ambassador there alone and the worst-case scenario really did happen, she would die. So would we.¡±

    Octavia shuddered at the thought, hugging herself tightly as she dug her fingernails into her shoulders. More so than her own death, she couldn¡¯t stand to imagine those of the people she loved. Her stomach churned for a different reason than usual.

    ¡°If you have a legacy that makes any sort of luminescence, that¡¯ll be beneficial. We¡¯ll do this in pairs, for the most part, and try not to put the same legacies together if we can help it. Do not, under any circumstance, try to go off by yourself intentionally. Velpyre is an entire city. It¡¯s roughly the same size as the one above it. If you get separated and you end up by yourself, you¡¯re going to be in serious danger. At this point, I really hope I¡¯ve¡­made myself clear about what this is going to entail.¡±

    He took a deep breath. ¡°This is your last chance. Once we go down there, there¡¯s no backing out. I can¡¯t give you a taste of anything you¡¯re going to see ahead of time, so you¡¯re just gonna have to take my word for it. This isn¡¯t normal Dissonance. I¡¯m speaking from experience. There¡¯s a very real risk that you might get hurt. There¡¯s a¡­very real risk that you might die. There¡¯s no shame in self-preservation. No one will judge you. If you have your doubts, voice them now. If you don¡¯t want to do this¡­back out now.¡±

    Josiah paused, scanning the miniature Maestro crowd in silence for a moment. Octavia watched the way Allison did the same, as did River. The Ambassador, too, was not immune, her heart pounding with every flicker of her eyes. She wouldn¡¯t have blamed a single hand that arose. In truth, she waited patiently to see at least several.

    When she found none, she wanted to cry--whether from relief, joy, or something else entirely, she wasn¡¯t sure. She¡¯d expected the four sets of eyes that fixed her alone with soft smiles and confident grins. Mina shaking her head with a powerful smirk of her own, albeit offered more to her Essenced preacher, brought equal peace to Octavia¡¯s heart. She found muted variants of the same from many eyes and gestures in every pew, widespread and honest. She almost smiled to herself in turn.

    River did give her a smile instead, warm and comforting. Octavia appreciated the gesture. Josiah himself closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

    ¡°Good,¡± she heard the Essenced boy murmur under his breath.

    Octavia watched as Josiah pulled one hand from his pocket, raising three fingers aloft. ¡°We have three main objectives once we¡¯re down there.¡±

    He reduced that quantity to one. ¡°Number one is getting the Maestra for Seraphim¡¯s Call to the church. She¡¯s going to have to bond with the instrument again if we¡¯re going to make this work. If she dies, it¡¯s over. She¡¯s not a Maestra until she makes it there. For now, she¡¯s just a normal person. She¡¯s going to need protection, and hopefully a solid amount of it--especially in the dark. Under no circumstances can she be separated from at least one Maestro at any point in time.¡±

    River raised his hand. ¡°We¡¯ll take care of that. The Ensemble will escort her. Even if one or two of us get separated, somehow, we have three Apexes on our side collectively. We¡¯ll be able to get her there, provided we know where we¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°She knows the way there,¡± Josiah said bitterly. ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem.¡±

    Rather, his bitterness wasn¡¯t overwhelmingly obvious to anyone but Octavia and the former acolyte in question. The latter recoiled beneath his subtle venom, casting her eyes to the carpet below as she folded her hands sadly in her lap. Octavia did what she could to put his words aside.

    Josiah raised a second finger. ¡°Number two is getting the Ambassador to the church. Once Seraphim¡¯s Call has a Maestra, she¡¯s going to have to perform the Witnessing as soon as possible. Ideally, guiding the Muse inside the instrument will come shortly after that. That¡¯s our main priority. The Ambassador is a Maestra, obviously, so she at least has some form of protection. It doesn¡¯t change the fact that she¡¯s the Ambassador, and if she dies, that¡¯s the end of that. Navigation isn¡¯t an issue. I¡¯m going with her.¡±

    Octavia breathed a sigh of relief. The thought eased her racing heart somewhat.

    ¡°That still leaves a need for additional protection,¡± he continued. ¡°Her situation isn¡¯t quite as strict as Seraphim''s Maestra''s, but it¡¯s still pretty serious regardless. Getting separated would be a problem.¡±

    ¡°Are you seriously asking this question? Like¡­seriously?¡±

    Renato was on his feet with judgmental eyes and a voice that matched just as perfectly as he crossed his arms. Whatever eyes he drew to himself, abundant as they were, were apparently irrelevant. ¡°If you honestly have to think for more than two seconds about who¡¯s got this covered, we¡¯re gonna need to have a talk later.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of this one,¡± Harper said with confidence, offering Octavia a playful wink.

    Madrigal was practically the only person who could challenge the muffled atmosphere of the echoless room as she sprung from her seat, arms aloft enthusiastically. ¡°No harm will come to the Ambassador on our watch!¡±

    Viola¡¯s soft smile made Octavia''s heart skip a beat. ¡°We won¡¯t let you down.¡±

    They were words for her and her alone, Octavia¡¯s eyes meeting the Soulful girl¡¯s calmly. She, too, couldn¡¯t help but smile. For the briefest moment, she tore her satisfied gaze away long enough to find Josiah¡¯s own, drinking in much the same scene. He battled the faint smile that flickered across his own lips, hunting for his composure once more.

    He inhaled. He exhaled. He raised a third finger. ¡°And number three is going to be the hardest part. Obviously, we¡¯re going to have to get out. By that point, we¡¯re gonna be in deep enough that just retracing our steps might not be an option. That means we¡¯re¡­more than likely going to have to take it out--all of it.¡±

    River¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°The Dissonance? All of it?¡±

    ¡°All of it,¡± Josiah repeated firmly.

    The distressed murmurs that rippled through the chapel were not subtle, hushed as they were. Josiah blinked slowly.

    ¡°By that point, we should¡¯ve made solid progress. We have the strength for it for sure, collectively. We¡¯ve got a good distribution of legacies. We¡¯ve got four Apexes. We¡¯ve got the Ambassador. In the worst-case scenario, we¡¯ve got the Velrose Acolyte, and Valkyrie¡¯s Call is nothing to mess around with. Ideally, being partnered with another Maestro should help with any stamina issues a bit. Remember, at the end of the day, this¡­keeps people safe up above. It keeps them from ever having to worry about this stuff getting out again.¡±

    ¡°Three Apexes.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes snapped to River¡¯s. River¡¯s own were sharp, unwavering. Octavia gulped.

    Josiah was silent for a moment. Unflinching, he chose his words slowly and carefully. ¡°That¡¯s what I said. Three Apexes.¡±

    It took another several seconds for River to back down, content to blink at last and observe Josiah¡¯s explanation peacefully. It was true that Octavia benefitted from the power of at least one Apex on her side. It was equally true that she¡¯d nearly forgotten about her assigned secret. She was grateful Josiah hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°I know that was a lot,¡± Josiah said. ¡°I know you guys probably have questions. I¡¯ll do what I can to answer them, if there¡¯s anything.¡±

    It took a moment for any hands to rise at all, and Octavia initially believed his points had sunk in in full. A boy she¡¯d never met before raised his hand at last, still bound to his seat. ¡°What do we do if someone gets hurt? What happens if someone ends up Dissonant?¡±

    River rose to his feet once more, taking over for Josiah. The latter didn¡¯t object. ¡°In terms of getting hurt, there¡¯s slightly more Spirited in this group than any other legacy, and we planned for that ahead of time. There¡¯s not quite enough for everyone to partner with a Spirited Maestro, but we can get pretty close. Be careful, regardless. We don¡¯t want them using their gifts too much if we can help it. As for Resonating, it¡¯s going to be tricky to do while still watching your back. It¡¯s preferable for you to find another Maestro to help you out, if it comes to that. If not, be really, really cautious.¡±

    ¡°Resonating?¡± Octavia asked quietly.

    River lowered his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s¡­restoring a Dissonant person to a Resonant state. You¡¯ve never done it before? You know what it means to be Dissonant, right?¡±

    Octavia winced. His second question warranted a simple answer. As to his first question, she¡¯d only ever truly attempted once, and in this very church--atop it, rather. To this day, she hadn¡¯t yet been successful. ¡°I-I know what it is, I just didn¡¯t know it¡­had a name. I knew what being Dissonant meant.¡±

    He nodded, satisfied. She was grateful when he didn¡¯t press her as to her success rate. Octavia didn¡¯t think she would¡¯ve been capable of giving an answer in a steady voice.

    A different Maestra offered an aloft hand instead. ¡°What are our greatest risks in terms of getting injured?¡±

    Josiah once more took the lead, counting on his fingers openly with every word. ¡°Dissonance, obviously. We¡¯re in absolute darkness, so friendly fire is a very real concern. Same goes for any personal injuries, like usual. Again, it¡¯s gonna be pitch-black down there, so try to be aware of your surroundings and don¡¯t get hurt by anything around you.¡±

    ¡°I have a question, actually.¡±

    Viola¡¯s voice was somewhat surprising, as was her hand in the air. Josiah tilted his head as she spoke. ¡°If¡­someone were to get hurt by Dissonance itself, what could even be done about that? Being Dissonant I can understand, and I know Dissonance can kill on its own, but is there a¡­plan for that? Is just¡­getting someone away from it enough?¡±

    Again did River interject. ¡°Dissonance doesn¡¯t¡­always make someone Dissonant. I shouldn¡¯t need to say that. That being said, it takes its time to kill. It¡¯s vile in that way. If the Spirited can intervene before someone hits the point of no return, we can help.¡±

    ¡°Like a poison,¡± Octavia murmured, eyes wide.

    River nodded. ¡°Exactly.¡±

    So, too, did Viola¡¯s own eyes widen in turn. ¡°At the¡­same cost?¡±

    ¡°At the same cost,¡± River repeated quietly. ¡°So try not to be exposed to it directly for too long. There¡­is a point of no return, like I said. Once you¡¯re past it, we can¡¯t do anything.¡±

    Viola was silent, the crushing weight of his words falling upon Octavia¡¯s shoulders simultaneously. She wondered how common the knowledge was, given the way even Josiah¡¯s face was strained. For all she¡¯d believed about Dissonance, it was incredibly troubling that she still continued to learn more about violet agony every day. There were newly-born butterflies that swirled in her stomach over the idea of sending people down into a foggy abyss, knowing what she knew now.

    ¡°Anything else?¡± Josiah asked after a quiet moment.

    Some Maestros shook their heads. Most were still and silent themselves as they clung to his every word. Octavia was no different.

    Josiah closed his eyes briefly. Even after the efforts of all of his well-projected speaking, he still found the strength to keep his voice strong and level. ¡°You¡¯ve all got until morning. If you want to train, train. If you want to rest, rest. If you want to do something to clear your head, do it now. We¡¯ll stay here for the night and meet in this exact room in the morning. If you get lost, one of us that knows their way around this place will come find you, so don¡¯t worry. Do whatever you need to do to get ready to fight. That¡¯s¡­everything I¡¯ve got. If you¡¯ve got any other questions for me later, feel free to ask. I¡¯ll be around.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here if you need me, too,¡± the Velrose Acolyte said softly, her voice nearly inaudible beneath Josiah¡¯s firm tone. It was enough to draw at least several eyes from several Maestros as they departed, Octavia¡¯s own included as she lingered.

    Again was she tempted to spill every last one of her apologies to the girl who sat meekly atop the pedestal, an improper usage of a structure meant to evoke grace. Her little legs barely touched the ground, and she kicked her feet back and forth absentmindedly. Octavia resisted the urge to stoop to her level, partially fearful of appearing condescending.

    ¡°Thank you for doing all of this for us,¡± she offered.

    Allison¡¯s wide, round eyes met her own innocently. ¡°You¡¯re the Ambassador, now, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Is it scary?¡±

    ¡°It can be, sometimes,¡± she confessed.

    Allison averted her eyes quietly, kicking her feet harder. ¡°Mommy met the last Ambassador before she died. That Ambassador got to meet Valkyrie¡¯s Call. I haven¡¯t gotten to hear Valkyrie¡¯s voice yet, even though I really want to. I¡¯m excited to meet them, even though I know they have to go afterwards.¡±

    The news wasn¡¯t a surprise. She¡¯d seen Priscilla¡¯s voyage to Velrose in a toll not so long ago, although there was no conceivable way Allison would¡¯ve been old enough to have met Priscilla--let alone remember her. If nothing else, the visage of the Muse within the bell was a peace she could offer to the little acolyte. She had no other tangible apology to give. ¡°We¡¯ll meet them together,¡± Octavia said gently.

    Allison had never once smiled since Octavia had laid eyes upon her yet again. She didn¡¯t start now. ¡°Do you think Seraphim¡¯s Call has been lonely without a Maestra?¡±

    The question hit Octavia in the stomach. For one born of the blossom, she¡¯d hardly expected an acolyte of Velrose to care. ¡°Maybe,¡± she tried anyway, stifling the waver that threatened her voice.

    ¡°I wonder if Valkyrie would get lonely without a Maestra. It¡¯s sad to think about. I hope that, soon, Seraphim won¡¯t have to be lonely anymore.¡±

    Octavia clasped her hands together tightly, nearly strangling her own fingers. She absolutely did not dare bring up the extended topic of the flame, of all things, to the very crown jewel of the blossom. It was a controversy she refused to indulge in with a child. ¡°When Valkyrie¡¯s Call leaves, what¡¯s going to happen to the bell tower? I know¡­Velrose is known for that, I think.¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°We¡¯ll get a new bell. It¡¯ll be a normal bell. Maybe nobody will notice, and I hope everyone is still happy.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t that be harder for you to ring?¡± she asked sadly.

    ¡°Yes, but I¡­want to try anyway. I¡¯ll get stronger. If I get strong enough, I can make everyone happy. That¡¯s what the acolyte is supposed to do.¡±

    Again, Octavia wanted to cry. It was largely Renato who had painted a rough and rugged image of the strength of sound for her. It was a bold and boisterous legacy forged in unapologetic prowess, the likes of which she could only fathom upon the hands of the unrefined. To see its blessing not only coursing through the blood of such a small child, but doing so with such utter grace and delicacy, was equal parts startling and beautiful.

    She was beautiful, every bit as beautiful as her sister. Even if it was the youth of her heart that still blinded her to the ominous relationship of a blossom and a flame, her very heart, too, was perhaps even more beautiful than the late acolyte¡¯s had been.

    ¡°I miss Sonata.¡±

    There was no way Octavia could keep her tears at bay any longer. She wasn¡¯t the only one, beaten only by seconds.

    ¡°I really miss her. Nobody wants to talk about her anymore.¡±

    An empty chapel had filled only with the sorrow of the young Velrose Acolyte, bleeding into that of the Ambassador¡¯s in turn. The small child¡¯s eyes swam with tears, unreleased only by the grace of gravity as she raised her head to Octavia.

    ¡°All they want to talk about is being the acolyte. When I try to talk about Sonata, they only want to talk about how nice of an acolyte she was. She was lots of other things, too. She would read to me, and she would play with me, and she would take care of me when I didn¡¯t feel good, and she showed me how to love Valkyrie.¡±

    The Strong girl¡¯s sorrow fell to the carpet in earnest, dripping onto her pristine robes along the way. ¡°The clergy is nice to me, but all they want to talk about is being the acolyte, too. That¡¯s all anyone wants to talk about. I miss Sonata. I really, really miss her a whole lot.¡±

    Her little shoulders heaved with sobs. ¡°Do you miss her, too?¡±

    The bells were irrelevant. The memories of the acolyte¡¯s blistering hands were irrelevant. The cries of her name, the orders to shield herself from the nauseating bong of every vicious toll, the look in her eyes as she fell, all were irrelevant for that moment alone. Octavia couldn¡¯t help that they were there, nor that one name alone could bring back so much she wished to forget.

    There was an acolyte who surely loved that name in her place. There was an acolyte for whom she dared not shun that face, graceful and elegant as it had been. She would put aside the wrongful wrath and that which tainted her impressions in favor of comfort. For how many times in the past several months the Velrose Acolyte¡¯s face had been seared into her mind, she wasn¡¯t entirely lying.

    Octavia practically lunged as she threw her arms around the child, her own tears trailing freely down her cheeks. ¡°I do miss her.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t save the newest Velrose Acolyte from her sorrow, nor did she dare to steal the girl¡¯s rightful tears as she cried gently in Octavia¡¯s arms. She couldn¡¯t open her mouth to apologize directly. She couldn¡¯t ask how much the child knew of her sister¡¯s demise in detail, well aware that she was the sole witness to the downfall of the blossom and the flame. Octavia refused to ask what it had been like that morning, to wake up from the warmth of her bed and bind her soul to Valkyrie¡¯s Call in the worst way. It wasn¡¯t her right. It wasn¡¯t her place. It wasn¡¯t what her heart could stand.

    Instead, Octavia gave what love she could to the third acolyte she¡¯d forsaken, alive and well as she was. With her heart sinking and her tears flowing, it was the least she could do. At the cost of her life, she swore never to fail the Velrose Acolyte again.

 76. Inverse, Part II

    Twice now had her greatest trial in the Blessed City been marked by the rising sun--once graced by summer¡¯s warmth, now graced by autumn¡¯s breeze. She cherished the few minutes she opted to soak it in, the sight of the sunrise outside the walls of the church somewhat enough in its own right to ring bells in her head. She quickly shunned the idea, satisfied enough with the cool air of dawn that she¡¯d managed to swallow.

    Octavia should¡¯ve been panicked, frightened, shaken in some way that spoke to the absolute mortal peril that awaited roughly thirty minutes from now. Instead, she didn¡¯t find peace so much as an overarching numbness, a disconnection from her own spirit that left her floating aimlessly once more. It didn¡¯t hurt, and she drifted in the depths of her little sea like a jellyfish.

    There came a revelation that it may have been worse if they were going up. It was true that Hell awaited them below in a literal sense. However, it wasn''t the Hell that haunted her. It wasn''t the place she¡¯d witnessed her first death, long before the title of Ambassador had settled upon her shoulders. It didn¡¯t mean she was looking forward to it--she doubted anyone was.

    The doors to the staircase had been formally sealed. It wasn¡¯t a particularly strong seal, but a symbolic barrier nonetheless. It hadn¡¯t taken much Maestro-assisted effort to annihilate, and it was the carefully-tuned strength of sound that made quick work of passable masonry. She was impressed that Renato hadn¡¯t blown the door clean off its hinges. River, too, had offered his wide-eyed praise, for what that was worth.

    The stairs that spiraled downwards were just as she¡¯d visually remembered, the echo of dozens of footsteps off of every wall somewhat adding to the tension of descent. Octavia was in no hurry, although the confidence of River before her was somewhat encouraging to trail. It was difficult to hold Josiah¡¯s hand all the way down, given the narrow width of the steps themselves. Stradivaria on her back wasn¡¯t helping. She feared hitting whoever was behind her with its case, should she stumble.

    On occasion, she squeezed Josiah''s hand. As expected, he squeezed back. It was becoming routine, and she was content to cherish it all the way down. It was as long of a descent as she¡¯d remembered. No one spoke. No one breathed. In her defense, the breathing concern may have been unique to her alone, and it took conscious effort to find oxygen in the dim, damp staircase. Octavia had never been truly claustrophobic before. There was a first time for everything.

    She recalled the insignia of the flame upon the cobblestone, the miniscule chime that crowned its visage, the vast expanse that offered the calm before the storm. The ominous room that had felt so large at that time was still just as such with thirty-two Maestros in its grasp, if not even more intimidating. Octavia was vaguely aware of the way they trickled down the steps behind her one by one, content to stare with mild confusion at the sizable metal plate that claimed the center of the room.

    ¡°Where¡­is it?¡± she heard Francisco ask.

    Josiah tilted his head in the direction of the insignia. ¡°Down there.¡±

    Francisco¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Seriously? Damn, when you said ¡®below¡¯, you really meant it.¡±

    ¡°I can hear it,¡± Madrigal murmured.

    It was an observation that made Octavia¡¯s heart sink and her stomach twist into knots. She didn¡¯t need to put her ear to the floor below to hear the screeching as it bubbled through the metal. It was loud--louder than she¡¯d ever heard, in truth. For a moment, she couldn¡¯t breathe. She was simultaneously incredibly relieved and exceedingly horrified.

    For one, they¡¯d been terrifyingly correct in their assumption of Hell awaiting them below. In contrast, they¡¯d made an equally correct decision in bringing along their makeshift army. It didn¡¯t necessarily ease her fears in the slightest regarding opening the metal gate itself. She found a new and unsettling horror in the form of infrequent creaking that accompanied the screeching, so close to the tips of her boots that she hardly needed to bend down. It was a pressure she didn¡¯t need to see to believe, swelling and bubbling deep beneath her.

    Josiah¡¯s assertion that this Dissonance wasn''t the same as that which she¡¯d grown accustomed to may very well have been an understatement, if her all-too-correct instincts were telling her anything. She was practically standing atop a volcano, trusting only in a plate of questionable thickness to guard her from the explosive violet underfoot. The idea of opening the gate was growing more and more dreadful to the point that she''d begun to sweat. Given how Octavia heard cases either calmly settling against the stone below or clattering to the floor haphazardly, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she was the only one afraid.

    ¡°How do we actually open it?¡± Briar questioned from afar. When Octavia cast her eyes to him, he was well in the midst of unlocking his own partner¡¯s case. She hurriedly began to do the same.

    Josiah, having no partner to prepare, simply adjusted the strap of his bag across his shoulder. He gestured to the little bell that sat oddly out of place upon the floor, just barely missing the edge of the iron plating. That, too, Octavia could vaguely recall. ¡°This thing activates a mechanism underneath the stairs down there that moves the barrier. Hopefully, it still works. There¡¯s another mechanism in this room to open it in the event that it fails, but this is definitely the easiest option.¡±

    A Maestro she¡¯d never met crossed their arms skeptically. ¡°That little bell is enough to open this?¡±

    Josiah nodded calmly. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s all that¡¯s separating us from what¡¯s down there right now.¡±

    It was a thought that rattled Octavia in earnest, and she didn¡¯t especially enjoy thinking about it. The screeching was at a level volume, steadily audible as it was. It wasn¡¯t loud, nor was it soft. It was muffled and strangled, an ominous backdrop to every word that left the Maestros¡¯ mouths. She couldn¡¯t shake it from her ears, no matter how hard she tried to focus.

    She found some distraction in mild awe at the sheer amount of Harmonial Instruments greeting her eyes one by one. Some she¡¯d seen before, perhaps once over or in infinite abundance. Some she¡¯d never seen in her life, either by the hands of those she knew or in the grasp of those she didn¡¯t. Even if it wasn¡¯t her priority, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder what many of them sounded like, what lovely songs they could sing in peace if given the chance.

    It occurred to her that, today, she would hear only melodies of violence and defense. She felt a preemptive lament in her heart. Octavia took comfort in the ones she''d long since engraved into her soul. She took comfort in the one she cradled in her own arms, hugging Stradivaria to her chest anxiously.

    Renegadria was a sight for sore eyes once more, and she had no objections to River¡¯s partner greeting her again. It wasn¡¯t an intentional reunion, nor was it one intended to be joyous. His gaze was sharp and confident, and she trusted in the seafoam that rippled steadily before the little bell guarding them all. His fingers settled over the keys.

    ¡°Right,¡± he began, ¡°is this everyone?¡±

    To Octavia¡¯s left, Mint nodded. ¡°Thirty-two. I counted,¡± Francisco offered.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Celestina?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s here,¡± Briar called, delicately guiding the former acolyte forward.

    Octavia was absolutely not immune to the fear in the woman¡¯s eyes, subtle and yet vivid all at once. They flickered to Josiah exactly once, although he refused to return the same gaze. Whether she feared the flame itself or the agony that rested within it, Octavia was unsure. Both were surely viable options.

    River didn¡¯t need to verify the Ambassador¡¯s location. She waved weakly. Even now, he smiled for her. She did what she could to smile back, weak as it was.

    ¡°We¡¯re pairing off legacies, then. Raise your hand if you¡¯re Soulful,¡± he ordered.

    The Maestros at large obliged, a fair amount of hands rising from their respective instruments. Even given his clear presence in the Ensemble, Briar, too, did the same. Octavia watched as at least one of those hands left a familiar flute, steady eyes flickering to her own with a fleeting smile.

    ¡°Willful.¡±

    Again came the same, somewhat smaller in quantity and yet still abundant. River genuinely had done a solid job distributing his selection amply enough. Francisco, too, didn¡¯t hesitate to offer his clear cooperation. She cared more about Harper¡¯s, given the way he winked at her reassuringly.

    ¡°Essenced.¡±

    Mint and Mina''s hands rose in relative tandem. Their instruments were both small enough that their movements were somewhat similar, each one falling quietly to their sides in careful fingers despite their physical differences. Mint was still. Mina¡¯s grin made up for the girl¡¯s lack of emotion. When it was offered to Octavia, too, she took it with grace and a grateful heart.

    She side-eyed Josiah, briefly. The way he tipped his hand back and forth was enough to get the tiniest of giggles out of her. It made him smirk, and that in turn made her happy.

    ¡°Strong.¡±

    There weren¡¯t quite as many Strong Maestros along for their siege, although the ones they had brought came bundled with the determined eyes Octavia would¡¯ve expected to see. Without a Strong Maestro in the Ensemble, their lacking numbers were slightly more striking. Celestina raising her hand was somewhat of a surprise, meek as the motion was. Renato outright offering an entire salute and an all-too-powerful grin of his own was far more anticipated. There was her soldier, she supposed.

    ¡°Spirited.¡±

    River wasn¡¯t kidding about his selection process.

    Of the thirty-two Maestros, nearly one-third of them raised their hands--himself included. He offered them slightly softer gazes as he assessed the ranks he¡¯d assembled, and she had a vague idea as to why. Octavia¡¯s heart raced over the idea of the gifts that sat in wait upon every hand that brushed the air. There was no telling how many times over they¡¯d already been put to use. There was no telling how many collective years of potential happiness and dreams were pooled between them all.

    She wondered how River kept track. She wondered, in the dark, how they¡¯d keep track at all. If she squinted, she could¡¯ve sworn she saw Madrigal¡¯s hand trembling on the way up. The smile took a moment, eyes tinted with untraceable discomfort offered in tandem with the beam she gave to the Ambassador. Even with two fingers cast over one eye in a victorious, playful V, it did little to hide her unsettled gaze.

    It did little to keep Renato¡¯s eyes from landing on her heavily, his once-elated expression cold. Harper did the same, plagued with concern in his own. So, too, did Viola, albeit softer. Given that it was the Spirited girl¡¯s own eyes that rested on Octavia¡¯s, there was nothing she could do but hold her distressed gaze.

    Ever so slightly, Octavia shook her head. If Madrigal saw, she made no indication, only lowering her hand in time with the remaining Spirited Maestros. Octavia could only pray, now, for all they¡¯d begged their heroine to cherish what she had.

    ¡°Heartful.¡±

    In their little army, there were only two. It wasn¡¯t exactly an unexpected number, although Octavia was aware that Tacell carried yet the slightest bit more in their ranks. So distracted was she by her concern for Madrigal¡¯s well-being that she nearly missed her call to action, forced to jerk her hand upwards quickly once it registered. She had only one companion, and it was the one she¡¯d somewhat anticipated seeing.

    Faith raised her own hand, trembling with substantially more fervor than Madrigal. Octavia wondered if it was for a different reason entirely, given the way the arm around Jadareverie was shaking just as much. She tried to catch the girl¡¯s eyes, to offer a shred of reassurance in the face of the Hell waiting below. She failed. Why River had even bothered to account for the two Heartful Maestros he surely knew were there, Octavia wasn¡¯t sure.

    ¡°Good,¡± River said quietly. His commands were substantially louder by comparison, his voice crystal clear and confident. ¡°Ensemble, we¡¯re with Celestina. Ambassador, you have your circle.¡±

    Those explicitly acknowledged split up accordingly, and Octavia welcomed the comfort of familiar faces by her side once more. The prior division had been stressful enough, and the smile she offered was at least mildly genuine.

    ¡°See, this is why the cool group name would¡¯ve been a good idea,¡± Renato muttered.

    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna think of one, do it now,¡± Harper whispered harshly.

    ¡°Something with the word ¡®Ambassador¡¯ in it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not even trying. Be creative.¡±

    ¡°I''ve got it!¡± Renato whispered back. ¡°The Orchestra. Because, like, they already took the Ensemble. And it¡¯s still themed.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re six people,¡± Harper hissed. ¡°That¡¯s not what an orchestra is.¡±

    ¡°Would it kill you to be flexible?¡±

    ¡°Will you two shut the hell up and focus?¡± Viola snapped.

    They made her giggle. It was a relief, and Octavia found a deeper breath than she¡¯d been able to summon before. Josiah hadn¡¯t left her for a moment, and she relished the warmth of his body heat beside her. She nudged his hand gently. Even out of her grip, he nudged back. It was weaker.

    ¡°Everyone else, pair off with one other Maestro. Spirited, don¡¯t pair up with another Spirited Maestro. Anyone with a legacy that¡¯s luminescent, same thing, don¡¯t double up. If there¡¯s someone you work well with, don¡¯t be afraid to stand by their side,¡± River ordered.

    Mina rolled her eyes. ¡°I mean, you took my person. Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have to make a new friend today.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll find a way,¡± Francisco teased with a smirk.

    Given how uncomfortable Faith looked as she searched for a partner, Octavia had half a mind to recommend that she pair with Mina--although that would break the luminescence rule, provided she was understanding correctly. The Heartful girl gripped her viola tightly, eyes cast at the floor rather than meaningfully at any of the other Maestros. Again and again she eyed the Ensemble, and Octavia couldn¡¯t help but feel bad for her.

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to leave your side once we¡¯re down there,¡± Viola said, resting one hand atop Octavia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll do everything we can to stick together.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be pretty dark. If we get split up, we¡¯ll still fight to find our way back to you,¡± Harper added, his own hand brushing softly against her other shoulder as well.

    Renato stretched dramatically, Mistral Asunder well at home in his false fingers as he flexed them comfortably. ¡°Speak for yourselves. I¡¯m not losing her. Got a bit of a countermeasure for that.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll¡­make it through this, just like we make it through anything!¡± Madrigal cheered. The wobble in her voice was apparent, the tiniest tremble of her fingers even more so as she held fast to Lyra¡¯s Repose. Even with one confident fist aloft in the air and a smile just for the Ambassador, her distress was somewhat obvious. It drew attention, localized as it was.

    ¡°Maddie.¡±

    Madrigal lowered her hand, tilting her head. ¡°Yes?¡±

    Renato¡¯s grin had slipped clean off of his face. In its place, Octavia found only soft eyes and a blank expression. It was with care that Mistral Asunder didn¡¯t spear into Madrigal¡¯s buns as he rested one cherry oak hand atop her head, patting gently. She didn¡¯t smile. Neither did he.

    ¡°Listen to me. You wanna get out there and fight like hell, then fight like hell. I¡¯ll hunt you down and back you up if you get lost. I know you¡¯ve got Lyra, and I know you¡¯re gonna kick ass. I¡¯ve got no doubt about that, not even a little bit. You¡¯re gonna nail it, just like you always do.¡±

    His hand came down. It came up, beneath her chin, and leveled his chilled eyes with hers. She didn¡¯t resist.

    ¡°But I know what¡¯s going through that pretty head of yours. Don¡¯t do it. I don¡¯t care what happens. Do not do it. Please. For me.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes shimmered. ¡°Renato, I--¡±

    ¡°I will get on my knees and beg if I have to. Don¡¯t hurt yourself like that. Don¡¯t do that to yourself ever again. If they wanna mess around with all that stuff, let ¡®em. You¡¯re more than your legacy. There¡¯s a whole lot of stuff I wanna do together with you when all of this is over, and I¡¯m gonna need a whole lot of time for it. Don¡¯t¡­take that away from me, princess. Don¡¯t take that away from us.¡±

    Madrigal struggled to escape his pleading gaze, her eyes watering dangerously. When she found the same sentiment on the faces of each of her companions, there was little argument left to make. She wiped her eyes with her palms before tears could be shed, nodding solemnly as she pulled away from him.

    Renato didn¡¯t quite let her escape. He wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back quietly, her buns pressing into his skin and Lyra¡¯s Repose pressing into her own stomach in turn. Two years was more than enough. If she could give it back, if she could trade her own, Octavia would¡¯ve done so in a heartbeat. It hurt to think about.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± she heard River call, ¡°we¡¯re good here. At your ready, then.¡±

    Octavia hadn¡¯t even noticed the way the room had come to a standstill, tranquil and organized. Mina and Faith had both ended up with Maestros she¡¯d never seen, although their respective demeanors regarding their situations were relatively opposite of one another. One seemed far more excited than the other, and Octavia still couldn¡¯t figure out exactly how.

    Celestina had folded her hands in front of her, trembling in the process as she stared with relentless horror at the iron plate below. Even now, the background sounds of creaking and screeching served as a petrifying calm before the storm, placated and sealed away from her vulnerable soul. Octavia breathed in. She breathed out. She battled the way her own hands shook against Stradivaria.

    ¡°Ambassador.¡±

    It was a title she, at this point, was so used to finding on any lips except those she¡¯d come to know well. When Josiah called for her, nudging her hand once more, it was surprising by comparison. He smiled faintly.

    ¡°A little pep talk never killed anybody. They¡¯re all here for you. We¡¯re all here for you. I¡¯m sure a few words from their Ambassador would be a good motivator.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I-I¡¯m not really good with speaking to crowds. That¡¯s your thing.¡±

    He smirked. ¡°Guess you¡¯re gonna pick up a new skill today, my fearless leader.¡±

    She sighed. It wasn¡¯t as terrifying as what awaited below her by a longshot, but the timid steps she took to the edge of the insignia were heart-pounding in a different way. For how many eyes were upon her, she was almost dizzy. It took conscious effort not to close her own eyes. Octavia couldn¡¯t even fixate on a comforting face, given the way by which all of them were out of her peripheral vision.

    She opted for Mina. It wasn¡¯t her best plan, but it was a solid point of fixation as she spoke. The Essenced girl waved. She resisted the urge to wave back.

    ¡°U-Um,¡± Octavia began nervously, nearly digging her fingernails into Stradivaria, ¡°t-thank you all for doing this. I¡¯m¡­sorry it came to this, and I¡¯m sorry that this ever happened in the first place.¡±

    She bit her tongue, at least momentarily. They weren¡¯t exactly the words she wanted to let out of her mouth in front of every Maestro who clung to them. She tried again.

    ¡°What happened to this city was awful. It wasn¡¯t fair, and it wasn¡¯t right. All Dissonance comes from somewhere, and this place is no different. Today, we¡¯re not just fighting for Seraphim¡¯s Call, but¡­maybe we can bring a little bit of peace to the people who need it.¡±

    That, too, was a half-hearted thought. Should she turn around, she might find the disagreement upon Josiah and Celestina¡¯s faces. After all, per the former¡¯s words, most of the city had deserved its fate. Octavia tried once more.

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call might only be one Harmonial Instrument, but it¡¯s a Harmonial Instrument regardless. If you¡¯re still here, if you¡¯re down here and ready to fight, I¡¯m¡­assuming you like your partner. Maybe you love your partner just as much as I do. They¡¯re¡­precious to us--all of us, I¡¯d like to hope. We all want our partners to be happy, and we all want them to be able to go home. I¡¯m sure Seraphim¡¯s Call wants the same thing.¡±

    This, at least, was something her heart could believe in.

    ¡°Think about how far you¡¯d go for your partner. Maybe this is a little bit too extreme of a situation to imagine them in, and that¡¯s okay! But¡­I¡¯m selfish. I love all of them, and I want to go that far for every last one of them. Maybe that makes me a bad Ambassador, because I¡¯m putting you all in danger for it. If that was you down there, though, wouldn¡¯t you want someone to go that far for you?¡±

    Octavia saw nods. She saw Mina¡¯s grin yet again, bright and vivid. Faith was still as she soaked up every word.

    ¡°You¡¯re all wonderful Maestros and Maestras--not just because you¡¯re strong, or because you¡¯re great at fighting, but because you cared enough to be here. Your legacy doesn¡¯t determine that. It doesn¡¯t matter to me if you¡¯re Willful, or Soulful, or Spirited, or anything. It doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re here for me, or if you¡¯re here for Seraphim¡¯s Call. It doesn¡¯t even matter to me if you¡¯re here because you¡­just want to fight!¡±

    Mina snickered. Octavia smiled.

    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­happy that you¡¯re here. There¡¯s a lot of you I¡¯ve never met before, and maybe after this, w-we could¡­get to know each other better. I¡¯d like to meet your partners, too. I know I¡¯m not the greatest Ambassador in the world, but I still want to do whatever I can to help everyone. If you¡¯ve made it this far, then¡­thank you for believing in me. Thank you for giving me that chance.¡±

    She hugged Stradivaria. ¡°Please...keep standing by my side.¡±

    They didn¡¯t clap or cheer, for which Octavia was incredibly thankful. The subsequent embarrassment might¡¯ve killed her before the Dissonance did. Still, every soft smile that was offered to her in unison, even upon faces she was still working to memorize, was enough to send chills down her spine and love through her blood. She beamed.

    Mina mouthing the word ¡°Heartful¡± to her repeatedly had her stifling a laugh. Only Faith withheld a smile of her own, glassy eyes discarded at her feet. Octavia wished she had the time to comfort her fellow Heartful, given the fear that was sure only to rise ever further once the floor beneath them surrendered.

    Josiah¡¯s hand upon her shoulder was warm. ¡°Pretty good. I¡¯m impressed. You would¡¯ve gotten extra points if you made one of them cry, but it was a solid first try.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes playfully. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I tried at all.¡±

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± he asked, his smile slipping.

    Hers did the same. She took a deep breath. ¡°This is as ready as I think I¡¯m gonna get.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°For Seraphim, alright?¡±

    ¡°For¡­Seraphim,¡± Octavia echoed quietly.

    Josiah didn¡¯t wrap his fingers around the tiny rope of the bell immediately, but his proximity to it was enough to make her heart race. His voice was clear once more. ¡°It¡¯s¡­not going to come out peacefully. It¡¯s not gonna stay down there. We can¡¯t let it get up the stairs. If it gets out of the church, even with Allison up there, we¡¯re gonna have a repeat of the last time this happened on our hands. People will get hurt. We have to be able to either push it back, withstand the initial onslaught, or both.¡±

    He turned to Briar, of all people. ¡°You have an Apex. Out of curiosity, how strong is your ice?¡±

    Briar tightened his grip on his bow, the fingers of one glove strained taut around the handle. ¡°Extremely.¡±

    Josiah adjusted his bangs. ¡°Can you make a wall?¡±

    Francisco grinned. ¡°Damn, thought he¡¯d never ask.¡±

    River smiled, albeit softer. ¡°Believe it or not, he¡¯s actually pretty good at that.¡±

    ¡°Whether it¡¯ll be enough to handle all of this remains to be seen,¡± Briar countered. ¡°I can at least take the back.¡±

    ¡°Do you need the other Soulful?¡± Josiah asked.

    Briar shook his head. ¡°I should be fine.¡±

    Josiah nodded. ¡°Good. As far as going forward, we can¡¯t just defend. That¡¯s important, too, but we¡¯re going to have to blast through it somehow. It¡¯s gonna take everything we¡¯ve got. Most of you are in pairs. If¡­one person¡¯s on offense and the other¡¯s on defense, we can make this work. The Ensemble and my circle will be fine with that. Mint and Francisco have two more Apexes. That should help with firepower.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll show you firepower,¡± Francisco teased with the same brilliant grin, cracking his knuckles. How he could pull off such a feat one hand at a time was beyond Octavia, but it was more than audible. She was at least thankful he didn¡¯t drop his partner.

    Mint tapped her Harmonial Instrument twice with two delicate fingers for emphasis. The tiny, muted rattles that her gentle motions made would¡¯ve been almost cute. Granted, what surely rested beyond her fingertips, when desired, would make her partner far more threatening. Octavia wondered if she¡¯d get to see either Ensemble member in action.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much of it is actually going to rush out and how much is going to stay down there, but last time wasn¡¯t pretty. Last time wasn¡¯t the entire city, and last time didn¡¯t sound like this.¡±

    Josiah hardly needed to emphasize the screeching and creaking, the metal plating practically groaning beneath the pressure of the agony straining against it. His brief, fleeting moment of silence was more than enough to prove a point.

    ¡°Once I pull this,¡± he spoke with a careful firmness, ¡°there¡¯s no going back. Get ready.¡±

    Briar¡¯s song was beautiful, actually.

    It was like Octavia''s own, if her own was notably richer and deeper. She was grateful for Stradivaria¡¯s size, given that the instrument could nestle comfortably against her shoulder and be moved without effort. It was fitting, then, that it was Briar who¡¯d stepped up to the task of sealing off their gate to Hell from the innocent blossom above, his towering glacier climbing high enough to kiss the ceiling. Octavia doubted it took little effort, given the gorgeous blue pigment that dove deep into the thickened crystal. Even from afar, her eyes deemed it impenetrable.

    It shimmered somewhat under the weak candlelight that lined the walls, pitiful as it was in the face of such borderline artwork. Whatever doubts she¡¯d had about the boy¡¯s ability to stand up to the Dissonance en masse were quickly quashed by the sight of what qualified more as a barricade than a simple wall. Even if she could hear his icy melody at the moment, she lamented that she¡¯d only gotten to witness his masterful playing for several brief moments prior to the crafting of the crystal shield. Octavia hadn¡¯t earned the chance to pin down what kind of wood the cello was made of. It was going to bother her until she figured it out.

    She raised Stradivaria to her shoulder, laying the bow carefully atop the bridge as always. Her fingers tensed. She readied her blood for the bubbling surge of heat she knew would come, should she cry out for it. She gave her eyes only to Josiah, his grip tight around the feeble string of the little bell. Octavia was vaguely aware of other instruments rising into position around her, whether in her immediate vicinity or distantly at her back. For a moment, she watched his fingers tremble. He closed his eyes.

    Josiah didn¡¯t dare look when he pulled down, one swift motion that brought the tiniest ting to her ears. It resonated clear above the screeching, far more audible than she¡¯d expected. Only her own rattling breaths were louder.

    Octavia knew of the delay, now aware of the manner by which the mechanism below her feet would take its time. In the shortest moment of peace that she could be granted, he outright sprinted behind her, the clacking of his shoes against the cobblestone challenging the muffled screeches instead. He was the only one who dared to move.

    The iron was next. The moment it budged, even in the slightest, she braced herself against the floor. Her breathing quickened. The screeching grew louder every second. The more the plate scraped against the floor, rumbling all the while, the more the agony plagued her ears unseen. It was no longer distant.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    Josiah was the one thing that she could hear above the noise, for how close to her he was. He¡¯d stepped up slightly, content to stand next to her rather than hide behind her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving your side down there, no matter what. I¡¯m gonna follow your every step, whether you see me or not. If I¡¯m in front of you, I¡¯m there. If I¡¯m behind you, I¡¯m there. I¡¯m gonna fight to keep it that way.¡±

    It was the first time Octavia had seen Dissonance since her encounter on the train to Solenford. That time, it had been Velrose-flavored. Its Velpyre equivalent, if the unfathomable volume of the screeching was any indicator, was one thousand times worse. The metal slid ever further, a crescent hole evolving into something wider and deeper. She couldn¡¯t see the stairs through the slit. She couldn¡¯t see anything except the violet smoke that had started to seep slowly upwards in faint wisps.

    ¡°I have nothing. I¡¯m not a Maestro anymore. If I get separated from you, it¡¯s over. I will die.¡±

    They were no longer wisps. They were no longer subtle. They were thicker, cloudier. They were sneaking out from that little gap ever faster, enough that Octavia''s muscles were straining from the effort of staying at the ready.

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to pressure you.¡±

    Bang. She¡¯d heard that sound once before, so long ago, in this very room.

    ¡°But I¡¯m entrusting you with my life.¡±

    Bang. It came once more, louder. Josiah''s voice was shaking.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he said, his breath rattling, ¡°please protect me.¡±

    Bang. Bang. Bang. It was unbearably loud, a pounding against metal that almost hurt her ears. She had an awful feeling that she knew where this was going, if the agonizingly-loud creaking that followed each time was any indicator. She could see dents. She could see cracks, the supposedly impenetrable iron be damned. Only violet filled the gap, sneaking its way through every crevice and rising unevenly.

    She was aware of the way Josiah had tilted his head backwards. Octavia chanced a glance sideways. He was mouthing something to himself silently, eyes closed. Then, it was a whisper. She couldn¡¯t hear it, even as he repeated the same motions with his lips again and again. Every bang and agonizing screech drowned out even her own breaths. It didn¡¯t drown out his.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know. I take it back, please, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    If she really, really tried, she could catch at least that much.

    Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

    Another crack. Another. Another. Another. Another.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t reach for his hand, not for how all of her attention needed to be on Stradivaria. She desperately wanted to, given the way he trembled so viciously and the way his eyes had grown so wide with fear as they¡¯d opened. His ragged breaths were somehow steady. His false smirk was strained, distressed, his fingers shaking viciously as he struggled to brush his bangs out of his face.

    ¡°God,¡± Josiah muttered, his voice wobbling, ¡°doing this backwards is gonna suck.¡±

    The moment it gave way, she remembered words that she¡¯d expected to have forgotten by now, for how often she¡¯d heard Stradivaria¡¯s voice time after time since then.

    The ear-shattering screeching that followed the barrier¡¯s demise was so intense that she feared the Maestros behind her might succumb to the onslaught of dizziness. The iron plate burst clean from whatever mechanisms had held it in place, outright launching from its positioning above the city staircase and cracking the ceiling. Initially, there was a split-second fear that it would fall and crush them. Where it landed was the least of her concerns, ultimately, given the absolute flood that blotted out every ounce of light her pupils could hunt for.

    Octavia didn¡¯t need to look for anyone else¡¯s reactions. She didn¡¯t need to listen for the notes and melodies that would spear into the dark. It didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d be too slow. If the Dissonance from Velrose on the train had been fast, then this Dissonance would hardly let her blink. It was surely not the same Dissonance Josiah had managed to outrun.

    Protect him.

    She¡¯d done it once. She had to do it again. She just needed to be faster.

    Octavia didn¡¯t bother to plead with her heart. It came out of her mouth first.

    ¡°Give me everything you have!¡± she screamed.

    And you will have all I can give.

    He crushed her. His pressure was blinding, obliterating, agonizing to a degree that she could hardly stand. It was exactly what she wanted, far stronger than that which she¡¯d strived to tolerate atop the roof of the train that night. She couldn¡¯t feel her fingers, although she knew they burned white-hot and moved at the speed of the light she¡¯d become. She couldn¡¯t move her legs, the sheer gravity of his power practically crumpling her as the weight of pure radiance weighed her down.

    She was a conduit once more, an exploding sun that swallowed Stratos¡¯ light and sent it back tenfold--maybe more. She didn¡¯t close her eyes this time. If it burned, it burned, and by God, did it burn. Her blood filled with stars, and her fingers burst with the supernova that coursed through her veins. She couldn¡¯t hear her own song--both secondary to the deafening screeching and the audible, sizzling heat that threatened to sear the very air around her. Octavia knew her fingers were moving. She knew she was playing. That was all that mattered.

    Her surroundings were meaningless, her comrades unseen. She could hardly even see the Dissonance itself through the wrath of the sun she birthed before her. She felt it with a force that would¡¯ve surely threatened to snap her bones in half and tear her muscles in two, were she not tethered by the pressure of his surging brilliance. It was in her every pore. It followed her song outwards along strings she couldn¡¯t see and notes she couldn¡¯t hear.

    She¡¯d made a shield once, a desperate bubble that had spared an innocent boy from a cruel fate in this very place. Back then, it had taken nearly all of her strength just to stand strong within that sea, fighting for her life to hold her breath and keep from drowning. Today, Octavia challenged the very ocean itself head-on, her own luminous sea crashing down onto wailing violet without remorse. Her throat ached, somewhat, and it was only then that she became aware of her own screaming. For how long she¡¯d raged aloud, she was unsure. It didn¡¯t matter.

    If she were to be pushed back, she would push forward harder. If that flood of agony were to surge upon her, her valiant brilliance would surge right back. If there were those, defenseless, who pleaded for her protection, then she would sooner lay down her life than her light. She stole everything he had, devouring any shred of scathing luminescence that Stratos could bless her with. Octavia played for lives both her own and not, a meteor content to burst the sky wide open--murky, hazy, and vile as her sky was.

    She threw her head back, gasping for oxygen to fuel her stars. She slashed at the strings viciously. It was with a cry that nearly ruptured her throat that she, too, gave everything she had from within to without. This time, her seared eyes were wide, wide open.

    The blackened sea gave way beneath her onslaught, screeching and fizzling as it surrendered violently to the strength of the sun. Octavia couldn¡¯t see how much, and she couldn¡¯t see how far. Still, the degree to which she felt her pressurized light meeting less and less resistance was indicative enough. It truly was like an ocean, for how her radiance nearly cleaved the writhing violet fog in two. It went deep, shooting far, far down the length of the obscured stairs into a city plagued by much the same agony. It wasn¡¯t enough by which to carve a continuous path, but it was enough for her to see to the bottom. It wouldn¡¯t last.

    Octavia hardly needed to catch her breath, and that alone was startling. Her muscles only ached in the slightest, her fingertips lonely in the absence of the light she¡¯d stolen. Her body yearned for more, in a way. It was a new feeling, and she didn¡¯t particularly hate it. His love felt right. It felt natural.

    ¡°Wow,¡± she heard River breathe in disbelief.

    There was a moment of collective disorientation, truthfully, though she dared not look back to witness it. Her window of opportunity was closing, even if the purple wisps that still hugged the floor below hadn¡¯t quite been quelled in full. She had her path down, unstable as it was. What awaited beyond that was anyone¡¯s guess, and her passage surely wouldn''t last. She didn¡¯t give River the chance to lead. It was his fault for sharing that leadership with the Ambassador, after all.

    ¡°Now!¡±

    And she didn¡¯t bother turning around, ignoring the pounding of dozens of footsteps racing against the cobblestone. She gave no heed to the clinking of brass and wood and every material in between as they rose into position between skilled fingers. All that mattered was the way she shared Stradivaria¡¯s bow with a hand not her own, one she hadn¡¯t yet claimed of her own accord. With a fire in her heart that she couldn¡¯t quell, it was without fear that Octavia dragged the boy who¡¯d outrun agony into his own Hell once more.

 [EXTRA] 76.5. Successor

    The stairs were always the worst part.

    She could tolerate the rest. She was already used to the robes, for how she¡¯d donned them for so long already. These ones were thicker, a bit, and yet still scraped the floor in much the same way. She¡¯d almost tripped too many times to count. It took time for them to notice, just as it took time for her to speak with them at all. It was easier to move now, at least, and it made every step simpler to take. She could tolerate the eyes on her. She could tolerate the actual deed. She could tolerate the title in name alone, and she¡¯d already tolerated the worst that came with it--born of crushing messages and cursed skin alike.

    She raised one hand to the back of her neck, her fingertips not daring to breach the draping blonde shielding the wound. She feared touching it. It still hurt each time she turned her head the wrong way. It made climbing that much harder, given the way by which she struggled to look up.

    The steps were endless thrice over, up and down again. Several weeks had done little to help her adjust, although she was fairly certain her legs were growing stronger. She¡¯d thought to ask the clergy to carry her when her feet began to blister and her muscles began to ache. She strongly doubted they would. They spoke far too highly of her strength. She appreciated it and hated it all at once. Sonata would¡¯ve let her be weak, maybe.

    They¡¯d let her do it alone today, at least. Allison liked the peace that came with isolation. It kept her title out of their mouths and the job at her leisure. She wasn¡¯t rushed. She could enjoy what little there was to enjoy, empty as the world below otherwise felt. For that and that alone, she could endure the ascent, her beading sweat and her aching calves irrelevant. The city came second, crass as it was for the blossom to say. She liked the song better.

    The little acolyte embraced the breeze so high above the Blessed City, the softest gust of a summer¡¯s morning a welcome reprieve upon heated skin. Dawn graced the bell tower splendidly, rosy pinks splashing the waking sky as delicately as their namesake below. The silence was surprisingly beautiful, and the world above was hers to hold close. She alone could shatter its peace in the most lovely way. It was her birthright, made bitter by praise and expectation. That was the frustrating part. The actual task was all her heart could ask for.

    She didn¡¯t hate tolling the bell. Not in the slightest did she regret blessing the city with Valkyrie¡¯s song, although there were days when she thought to keep it to herself. It was a feeble dream, and yet one that made her smile weakly to herself. It was her partner, after all. Technically, that was her birthright, too. It was a thought equally warm, and she treasured its calming cry. It awaited her with a sparkling shimmer and the stolen splendor of morning, the palette of dawn splattered upon resplendent bronze. For Valkyrie¡¯s Call alone, she could smile.

    One little hand trailed gently along the metal, just barely warm as it soaked in newborn sunshine. She preferred every color of the skies over Velrose that was caught in its reflection, and yet her own visage staring back felt almost intimate. Petting a bell was silly, probably. She did it anyway. Sonata might¡¯ve thought she was weird.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± Allison murmured. ¡°It¡¯s time to wake up now.¡±

    Talking to the bell was also silly, more than likely. For how close Sonata and Valkyrie had been, she liked to imagine the idea wasn¡¯t hers alone. At the very least, Valkyrie¡¯s Call never made fun of her about it. It was nice to her in that way.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty outside today,¡± she went on softly, patting the bronze with a delicate touch. ¡°We have to say good morning to the city, too.¡±

    If the clergy heard her talking to the bell, she wasn¡¯t exactly sure whether they¡¯d think her a devoted acolyte or an insane one. It was another benefit of being alone.

    ¡°Can you help me today like always? I¡¯ll do my best. We can do our best together.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as though the bell would ever answer. Still, it was the closest she¡¯d get to companionship, and Allison swore she felt it in her heart. She had nothing to lose, should she cling to the feeling. She let her fingertips linger along the ever-warming metal for a moment longer before rescinding her touch.

    With the dawn as her witness, she traded bronze for rope. The thick, rugged texture between her palms was never quite as comfortable as the smooth feel of the bell itself, and she had a preference. Regardless, Valkyrie¡¯s Call was Valkyrie¡¯s Call, and she loved her partner all the same. Were it not for the physical strain, she probably would¡¯ve enjoyed the action that came with eliciting the song.

    As it were, it was the product alone that she treasured right now. Actually ringing it was more difficult than she would¡¯ve liked, and the rope alone was tricky to simply grasp. She¡¯d seen Sonata do it a handful of times. She¡¯d emulated the positioning as best as she could, although it came somewhat more naturally up close. It still left her sore, and the stairs always made it worse.

    On the bright side, she was powerful, little or not. She held the city in her hands, and its guardian in her grasp. Not one person would miss her song, and it was a happiness she could shower Velrose with in full. It wasn¡¯t enough of a thought to make her smile on the way up. It was still a solid motivator to start.

    With more effort than was desirable, Allison braced against the floor of the bell tower. So, too, did she push hard off the limestone, leaping as high as was possible as she clung to the tolling rope. Her size was a detriment, and each toll always left her hanging awkwardly from the glimmering rope as she pulled. It had always amazed her that her body weight sufficed at all, and she concluded it to be her partner¡¯s miracle. She was floating, suspended delicately aloft at the apex of the Blessed City. Where she fell to earth, Valkyrie¡¯s Call sang in her place. It was her favorite part.

    Logically, it was everyone¡¯s favorite part, and she couldn¡¯t blame them one bit. The bong that erupted at her side echoed harshly throughout her soul, blighting her eardrums with a volume that she was still getting used to. She didn¡¯t dislike it at all. Every sensation she earned in the wake of the loudness was well worth the tolerance.

    Her heart was happy, reverberating with every crystalline toll. Her blood pulsed gently, and the way by which it rippled from her head to her toes felt equal parts electric and magical. Allison was ringing in her own way, her skin vibrating and every part of her following suit. Valkyrie¡¯s song rained onto the city below, carrying far along the winds of morning with every heavy pull of the tolling rope.

    When she fell to earth, she kicked hard, sailing high above once more. She was most definitely sweating, and her ankles hurt after six tolls. Still, she persisted for Valkyrie¡¯s sake. It was supposed to be for Velrose¡¯s sake, granted--and, partially, it was. They deserved Valkyrie¡¯s song just as much as she did, and she held the right to its blessing in her hands. It was her miracle. Regardless, it took two to grant a wish, and she couldn¡¯t leave Valkyrie¡¯s Call to do all the work. The thought helped her stifle the ache, and she buried her residual distress in the warmth of the bell¡¯s resonant song. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Eight tolls was satisfactory, and Allison descended to the floor of the tower with grace. Valkyrie¡¯s Call set her down gently, as always, and she trusted its guidance. Velrose was most definitely awake now. In the aftermath, she was always torn between continuing and resting. Were she stronger, let alone bigger, she sometimes wondered if she could ring the bell endlessly. The thought of offering up Valkyrie¡¯s song until the city got sick of it always made her giggle, and she wondered if it was even possible. The bell was simply too wonderful to hate. Even the clergy wouldn¡¯t be mad, surely. Sonata would¡¯ve told her to let Valkyrie take a break. She wouldn¡¯t have disagreed.

    Sonata could¡¯ve tolled the bell forever, maybe. She was the best at it.

    With her feet flat on the floor of the tower once more, the slight bite of soreness sunk into her ankles at last. It would dissipate soon, hopefully. Allison''s blood was still resonating, somewhat, and she treasured the residual sensation while she had it. The echo of Valkyrie¡¯s song still bounced off her soul preciously from within. Her hands tingled where a rope had graced them moments before, her skin warm and light. She¡¯d asked the clergy about the sensations before. They weren¡¯t all universal, apparently. It was one more thing that was special between her and her partner alone.

    Sonata had felt them, too, probably. She wished she could¡¯ve asked.

    Allison once more exchanged materials, discarding rugged rope in favor of smooth metal. It still rumbled beneath her touch, her skin vibrating as she laid one palm flat upon the bell. She rested her body weight against Valkyrie¡¯s Call, pearly robes clashing with deep bronze tints as she embraced its warmth at her back. It wouldn¡¯t budge. It never did. She stole the rising sun with her eyes, peeking through rosy clouds and sprinkling rays onto her shoes.

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    It was a similar morning, at that time.

    We must hurry.

    Nowadays, at least, she could walk. They¡¯d never made her run up the stairs again. She didn¡¯t particularly want to.

    It matters not if you know how. It will guide you. You are our hope, little blossom. Deliver us from sin, Lady Acolyte!

    It should¡¯ve been precious. There should¡¯ve been warmth, the first time. She¡¯d had suspicions as to the blood that splattered the rope beyond where her hands could reach. To this day, she tried not to think about it much. She didn¡¯t always do a great job.

    Please!

    It wasn¡¯t as though there was an alternative. Sonata would¡¯ve wanted her to, anyway.

    ¡°I¡­hope I¡¯m a good acolyte for you,¡± Allison murmured aloud.

    She earned nothing. It was natural.

    Allison rested her head against the bronze, the nape of her neck stinging slightly as blonde spilled in excess onto the metal. ¡°I hope you¡¯re¡­happy with me. Do you like it up here? The city is really nice from this high up. You can see everything.¡±

    Once more, Valkyrie¡¯s Call was silent. It would be several hours before she could hear it again.

    ¡°Do you get lonely when I¡¯m not up here? I feel bad leaving you all by yourself at night. Do you get cold? Maybe I could¡­stay with you, just one time.¡±

    The clergy surely wouldn¡¯t allow it. Were the acolyte to freeze to death at the side of the blossom¡¯s guardian, the city would fall to pieces. They¡¯d have no acolytes left, and that would be a different problem altogether. It was still a nice thought.

    She stroked the bronze with dangling fingertips, embracing the smooth sensation beneath her touch. ¡°Did Sonata used to talk to you like this? Am I weird for talking to you? It makes me happy. I like it when we¡¯re together.¡±

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    There was no one else left to be together with.

    ¡°Do you have a favorite?¡± Allison asked, her eyes cast far to the sky beyond. ¡°Between me and mommy and Sonata, who do you like best? Did you have a favorite acolyte?¡±

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    You are our blessing.

    She had two, once. Now, she had neither.

    ¡°I think they were both really great acolytes, just in different ways. I think they both loved Velrose a lot. They loved you a lot, too.¡±

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    You will play thrice daily. Your song honors her sacrifice, little blossom.

    Velrose needs you. You are your hope.

    Blessed is the blossom.

    ¡°I love you just as much. Maybe I can love you even more than that,¡± Allison offered softly.

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    There was nowhere else for worldly love to go.

    She turned to face the bell with slow steps, dodging her reflection to the best of her ability. Were Allison to see iridescent garments inherited and cascading blonde stolen, her once-resonating heart would burn. If another acolyte entirely stared back, she¡¯d have to surrender her partner. There was someone who rang the bell far better. It had simply been awhile. Sonata surely hadn¡¯t forgotten how, for all of the years she¡¯d guarded Velrose so lovingly.

    She wasn¡¯t Sonata. She didn¡¯t want to be Sonata. She didn¡¯t want there to be another Sonata at all. Her one and only regret would be losing Valkyrie¡¯s companionship, and it would still be a trade more than worth it. She hoped Valkyrie¡¯s Call wouldn¡¯t resent her for the thought, should her thoughts be too loud.

    Allison tapped her forehead delicately against the bronze, the warm metal kissing her skin. ¡°Do you ever miss them? I miss them a lot. I think it¡¯d be fun if we were all acolytes together. I don¡¯t know if we¡¯d be allowed to do that. Would it be okay if we shared? Would that make you upset?¡±

    She didn¡¯t mind the silence. From here, that was warm in its own way.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy I get to be your acolyte. I¡¯m happy you let me play you. I hope you love me, too.¡±

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    Blessed is the blossom.

    You are our hope.

    You are our savior, Lady Acolyte.

    There was no one left to love her the right way, either.

    The sun was cresting. Her aches had mostly been discarded, blunted by quiet companionship with one who wouldn¡¯t answer. The downside to fluffy robes was the heat, and extended exposure to the hot summer sun would be uncomfortable. She had time before the day broke in full. She still had to descend, if nothing else. She didn¡¯t look forward to that, either.

    She regretted leaving, regardless. She always regretted leaving, even if she¡¯d be back soon enough. Allison sighed. She patted the bronze once more, three uniform taps that graced her skin with shimmering warmth.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back later, okay? Wait for me. I love you.¡±

    Were she to hear it back, it was all her heart would ever need. Even once would be enough. She supposed simply having Valkyrie¡¯s Call in her heart should¡¯ve sufficed, and that comfort was enough to keep her soul light already. Still, it would¡¯ve been wonderful. She hadn¡¯t heard the words in awhile.

    Shunning the bell was hard. She¡¯d feel the consequences of the tolling on her body once she started the descent, more than likely. Allison left the peaking sunrise at her back and made for the staircase, solemnly content to fall to the depths of the church once more. Free of Valkyrie¡¯s grace, there was only her. Where their focus fell not to their guardian, it fell to their blossom.

    No longer would her world be for two, nor would her song be private. Velrose would claim her, and she would be the acolyte of all. It was necessary. It made her want to stay. Sonata might¡¯ve chided her for that. The encouragement, born of scolding or otherwise, would¡¯ve been delightful.

    Blessed is our blossom.

    She was tired. She was always tired. Were she to peer over her shoulder and steal the bell¡¯s soft splendor with her eyes once more, Allison would never find the drive to depart.

    Our acolyte has fallen.

    By choice or not, that was the one and only reason she could.

 77. Burn the Rope, Part I

    The darkness on the way down, let alone the path forward, had been emphasized many times over. It still did no justice to the actual sight, or lack thereof, that greeted Octavia at the bottom of the stairs. Velpyre had never been a bright place to begin with, a city cursed by a kidnapped sun. It was only the crumbs of sunshine that tumbled through the stone ceiling, on occasion, that offered any semblance of salvation from damnation to eternal darkness. She didn¡¯t even have that. There had been streetlamps, scattered and dim in their own right. Octavia didn¡¯t bother trying to look for them, given her exceedingly poor visibility. That option, too, she lacked.

    It was a darkness she could never have fathomed, a Hell of another kind augmented by the unbearably loud tell-tale screeching that enveloped her on all sides. She couldn¡¯t see the Dissonance. If the way her head spun and her useless vision blurred were any indicators, it was there without question. It wasn¡¯t nearly enough to deter her. It wasn¡¯t enough to deter those who¡¯d streamed down en masse behind her.

    She couldn¡¯t cling to Josiah for long, not given the way her plummeting visibility instantly warranted the light she so desperately needed. He was close enough, and Octavia could hear his labored breathing as he trailed her every footstep hurriedly. Already, her ears were giving way to sounds all around, foreign and beautiful in equal measure. The vast majority were unrecognizable, if not notes and harmonies she could pinpoint to specific instruments--presumably.

    River had a point about the glistening treasure that was a luminescent legacy down below. Those blessed with both crackling flames and spearing lightning alike flashed their strengths in her peripheral vision like fireworks. Octavia, too, exploded to the best of her ability, fighting with every slash and swish of the bow to weave melodies of her own luminescence. They were precious, swirling and searing as they surged deep into the mist unseen. It was a beacon, a pulsing guide that parted the way forwards just a bit at a time. Now, more than ever, she offered thanks to her own efforts in learning to play effectively while mobile.

    ¡°Are you there?¡±

    ¡°I am!¡±

    It was with significant effort and stray ribbons of radiance that she could see Josiah¡¯s face in passing, illuminated for a brief moment at her side. Even if there was no sigh of relief to breathe, Octavia offered silent thanks for that, as well.

    ¡°Alright, I know you said it¡¯d be dark, but damn!¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fully see his partner, not with the vivid clouds of violet that veiled his visage. Still, the flames Francisco brought to life with his resonating chords were explosive, pulsing and swirling in a way that was as gorgeous as it was effective. The quantity alone spoke to his possession of power she knew to belong to an Apex, and it was well at home in his deft hands. It was a kind of harmony she wasn¡¯t privy to often, his song fast and flawless as his fires surged forth.

    It was through him that the Ensemble was clear, roughly ten feet to her right as they stuck close to one another. At their center, Celestina sprinted with everything she had, perfectly ensnared in a triangle of powerful guardians. Each and every time the Dissonance threatened to close the small window of visibility between the Ambassador and the former acolyte yet again, Francisco cut it down in the most mesmerizing way. Octavia tried not to trip. If she really, really squinted, she could make out the strings flicking against his bare fingers--buried in flames as they were. For only the passing glance she¡¯d stolen earlier, distracted as she¡¯d been, she made a mental note to figure out what kind of wood that was, later, too.

    ¡°Can you see us?¡± she heard River cry.

    If Octavia narrowed her eyes and stole the very edges of Francisco¡¯s flames with her eyes, she could find him at the head of their unit. ¡°I see you!¡± she called back urgently.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± he asked above the screeches.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s your circle?¡±

    Octavia had a split second of panic, her eyes darting beyond the edges of her ambling light with horror. There was a moment during which she feared the worst, and she fixed her terrified eyes on Josiah. His own, not nearly as worried, scanned the dark for much the same as her. Octavia opened her mouth to cry out, to plead for them one name at a time.

    When she found swirling flames aloft to her left, as well, her heart crawled its way out of her stomach. They weren¡¯t the flickering, powerfully-delicate chords and notes of a guitar. They were notes she knew by heart, and the sight of Harper''s face brought with it the very faintest images of more yet around him.

    ¡°Okay, this kinda sucks,¡± Renato complained loudly.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Josiah?¡± Madrigal called.

    It was a question Octavia hoped she wouldn¡¯t have to ask too often, if at all. ¡°I¡¯m here!¡± Josiah called calmly, raising his hand through the dark.

    ¡°Remember to breathe once in a while,¡± Viola chided, unseen.

    And Harper did, gasping as Royal Orleans left his lips for a moment. ¡°Easier said than done!¡± he cried.

    The moment his embers began to flicker and fade in the open air, he went right back to the same with what oxygen he¡¯d gathered. Between the five of them, this was going to be a problem. At the very least, Francisco didn¡¯t need to rely on his breath. To Octavia¡¯s credit, neither did she. She pushed down on each string just the slightest bit harder, praying for the radiance in her blood to burn just the slightest bit brighter.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tire yourself out!¡± she called to Harper. ¡°I¡¯m here, too! Just stay close to me, all of you!¡±

    ¡°That was kind of the plan!¡± Viola half-teased, her voice taut.

    ¡°River,¡± Josiah shouted, ¡°it¡¯s a straight shot to the church! Stay on the main road and you¡¯ll be fine! The whole city leads to the church naturally, so keep going forward and you¡¯ll hit it for sure!¡±

    Distantly, on the cusp of Francisco¡¯s flames once more, Octavia saw the Spirited boy nod. ¡°Got it!¡±

    ¡°If we get separated, meet us there! We¡¯ll be right behind you!¡±

    ¡°Understood!¡±

    The darkness was only half of Octavia¡¯s problem, given the way the other half was its catalyst in the first place. It was exceedingly difficult to avoid touching what she could hardly see. Any attempts to ascertain the quantity of Dissonance in any given direction were mostly futile. True, natural darkness had intertwined so closely with that born of pain and suffering, and there was no point in searching for violet where color would escape her regardless. The idea that desperate flames and a guiding light were the only things between her and being swallowed by vicious smoke was downright nauseating. The actual nausea wasn¡¯t helping.

    ¡°You¡¯re there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± Josiah offered again.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell where any of it is!¡± Viola cried.

    Even if Octavia could hear the shrill screams of Silver Brevada, the screeching was far too loud for her to capture the sounds of crystal sailing through the air. She knew it to be true, for how hard each note was pushed from Viola¡¯s lips. Where she was aiming was anyone¡¯s guess.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna get worse the further we go!¡± Josiah called. ¡°The closer we get to the residential areas, the more--¡±

    ¡°Move!¡± Octavia screamed, nearly barreling into him as she lunged. It was a miracle that she''d noticed the fast-moving trail of mist gaining on him at all, poised to crash into his side without hesitation. She was as quick as she could be. Her heart pounded as her blood surged and the brilliance beneath her fingertips followed suit. Her rays took flight, spearing through the air and sinking deep into the writhing agony that targeted Josiah. Without a moment to spare, it had burst with an intolerable shriek that made her dizzy. It was distressing, in a way, that she¡¯d gotten so used to it over time.

    Her sudden attack was enough to thoroughly rattle Josiah, and his breaths were rattling just as severely. He recovered from his stagger as quickly as possible, stumbling somewhat as he pressed onwards again.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m fine!¡± he called back.

    She winced at the wobble in his voice. ¡°Where¡¯s the residential area, then?¡±

    ¡°I-I can¡¯t tell where we are!¡± Josiah admitted. ¡°I¡¯m trying not to look down too much, but this still looks like the main road!¡±

    ¡°Get behind me!¡±

    Again, she¡¯d hardly had the time--or the visibility--to notice the speed at which the Dissonance had closed the gap between her and whatever room she''d had to sprint. Octavia''s heart nearly stopped, for how close her face had come to the tide of blackened fog swirling ruthlessly before her. It was sudden enough, too, that Josiah had nearly slammed into it in turn. She skidded to a stop, her boots chafing the ground below with far too little friction as she spilled her pulsing brilliance onto Stradivaria¡¯s strings. Again was she spared by the tiniest of windows, her light quickly swallowed by the surging Dissonance in turn. Just as the rising mass screamed, she wanted to do the same.

    ¡°Where¡¯s River?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    That was exactly what she¡¯d been worried about. It finally happened.

    Even if Josiah couldn¡¯t explicitly prove that they were entering an area he¡¯d come to fear, the ever-thickening artificial darkness was serving as a highly suspicious indicator. The moment she ceased to witness Francisco¡¯s bursting flames, his searing song stolen from her ears, Octavia began to panic somewhat. Keeping up her light in the face of pure terror was a struggle. Her fingers trembled against the strings.

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t see him! Where are they?¡± Octavia shouted, her voice wobbling.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Josiah reassured. ¡°We planned for this, remember? They know where to meet us! They¡¯ll be fine! Keep going!¡±

    Again was she besieged, although this time from the right. Again was her reaction time pushed to the limit, a trial by fire as to how quickly the stars could burst from her blood. Octavia fired every ray she could fabricate in such a short window, spearing the Dissonance that set upon her without mercy. Once more, it screeched, and once more was she forced to battle the dizziness that came with its all-too-close presence.

    Running was getting difficult. Where she¡¯d been blessed by speckled fireworks on the edges of her vision before, the most luminous of legacies sparing her from the depths of darkness, she was now finding less of the same. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn it was getting darker, if that was even possible. If Josiah¡¯s words were to be believed, it was perhaps the Dissonance that was growing thicker, instead.

    She felt a breeze, far too distant for her liking. It was residual, not meant for her vicinity. The singular, strongly-audible swear that came with it didn¡¯t match. They were puzzle pieces of a voice and a legacy she couldn¡¯t put together. They weren¡¯t necessarily coming from the same direction.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± Octavia called desperately. ¡°Renato!¡±

    For a moment, a singular icicle finally made it past her head, cutting through the pitch-black agony that challenged her northwestern flank. It sailed clear past one of her braids, and she was thankful that it had missed by several inches. Josiah¡¯s concern regarding friendly fire, it seemed, was also not without reason. If Octavia pushed hard enough, if she let the luminous pulsing beneath her skin burn hot enough, she could just barely see the satin bow that bounced with every frantic footstep. The Maestra struggled to keep up, and Octavia lamented her inability to slow down by much.

    ¡°Viola!¡± she cried anyway.

    ¡°I¡¯m here!¡± Viola called back, her voice far more level. ¡°She¡¯s over here!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna be honest with you, I don¡¯t even know where I am!¡± Octavia overheard.

    ¡°Play so I can see you!¡±

    Granted, the raging flames of Royal Orleans, for as vivid and bright as they were, were at least enough to challenge the opaque veil of violet with a scarlet glow. Octavia could hear enough subsequent shrieking that she assumed Harper had hit something, if nothing else. Whether or not it was intentional remained to be seen.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how that¡¯s supposed to help me figure out where you are!¡±

    ¡°Where are Madrigal and Renato?¡± Octavia asked with panic.

    Viola shook her head, her face still just barely visible. ¡°I don¡¯t know! I think I heard them, but I don¡¯t know where they ended up!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s breath hitched in her throat. ¡°Neither of them can see!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll be fine!¡± she reassured. ¡°Worry about yourself and we¡¯ll figure something out!¡±

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Octavia called, her voice wavering once more.

    ¡°I¡¯m still here!¡±

    His words were close, borderline glued to her side. For that, she counted at least one blessing.

    ¡°Keep playing!¡± Viola shouted.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡±

    Harper¡¯s voice was fainter, the glow of his flames through the writhing clouds of Dissonance weaker. His melody was nearly inaudible, swallowed by the song of agony itself. At the very least, Octavia could imagine that Renato and Madrigal had each other. In the worst-case scenario, one had an Apex. One had a legacy crowned by incredible power. If Harper ended up alone, she feared the worst.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± Octavia screamed. It took effort to steer the flight of her luminous attacks, channeling what little resistance she¡¯d offered in front of her towards the direction of his dim glow instead. Over and over, she hurled ray after ray into the murky fog. Every screech was far from a victory, even as it gave way bit by bit. She chipped away at the writhing wall with everything she had, adrenaline flooding her veins and her fingers trembling as she slashed her bow across the strings desperately. ¡°Keep playing! Don¡¯t stop playing!¡±

    Her light outlasted Harper''s. Her voice did the same. When Octavia could no longer find the little glow that had grown so distant, she wanted to cry. Viola gritted her teeth.

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave him alone!¡± Octavia wailed.

    ¡°Someone will find him!¡± Viola attempted to reassure once more, doing what she could to assault much the same clouds as Octavia. ¡°There¡¯s Maestros everywhere, even if we can¡¯t see them!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not that many! Please, we can¡¯t just leave him there!¡±

    Josiah grabbed her wrist and pulled. In her surprise, Octavia forgot to fight back.

    ¡°Remember why we¡¯re here!¡± Josiah chided. ¡°Trust him! Trust all of them, okay? Trust that they can fight for themselves!¡±

    In reality, they hadn¡¯t actually made it more than roughly ten hasty steps forward, as frantic as each step had been. They were quick. Viola was not. It dawned on Octavia far too late. In the five seconds it took to sink in, it wasn¡¯t enough to yank her wrist out of Josiah¡¯s grip.

    Octavia sprinted in reverse, claiming the steps she¡¯d just surrendered with frantic desperation.

    ¡°Viola!¡± she screamed at the top of her lungs.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    ¡°Where are you?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t see you!¡±

    Octavia played for her life, undaunted as she charged directly towards the thick, rolling mass of smoke that had barred her path backwards. Even as she poured her light into it time after time, her hands shaking as her blood bubbled and radiance blasted forth from every string, her efforts were futile in the face of concentrated agony. She knew the Soulful Maestra was there. She could hear Silver Brevada screaming on the other side, a hellish partition crashing between them that she couldn¡¯t force her way through.

    ¡°Octavia!¡±

    ¡°Viola!¡±

    It was fainter. Octavia had surpassed desperate. Closer it came, wisps of violet stinging the tips of her boots. She didn¡¯t budge, stinging the wall right back.

    ¡°Keep playing! I can hear you! I¡¯m still here!¡± Octavia cried, her voice cracking.

    ¡°Keep going!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop playing!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll find you, just keep going!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop playing, okay? Don¡¯t stop! Show me where you are!¡±

    It was burning her face. It was searing her skin, hot and cold all at once. Even in the dark, Octavia knew it was there, staring her dead in the eyes and awaiting her with agony¡¯s kiss. She¡¯d felt it before, and she knew it would hurt fiercely. She refused to move.

    ¡°Viola!¡±

    There was nothing. It was starting to burn.

    ¡°Viola!¡±

    Octavia probably would¡¯ve let it swallow her whole, had the collar of her dress not been yanked backwards sharply enough to choke her. She stumbled into firm arms that grasped her tightly through her tears, Stradivaria trembling in the confines of either hand.

    ¡°You have to trust her, too!¡± Josiah reminded, holding her close. ¡°They¡¯ll all be okay!¡±

    ¡°She can¡¯t see!¡± Octavia sobbed. ¡°She can¡¯t see anything! She can¡¯t run! She can¡¯t breathe!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a Maestra, Octavia!¡± Josiah argued. ¡°She made it this far! Don¡¯t underestimate her! You¡¯re better than that! You absolutely have to trust them--all of them!¡±

    ¡°Josiah--¡±

    ¡°Please!¡±

    The look in his eyes hurt. Somewhere between confident and fearful, his gaze as he met her own was punctuated by shaky breaths and equally-shaking hands clamping down on her shoulders. Octavia found eyes that she hated more than the ice that had frozen her blood solid. She hated them more than the lightning that had threatened to strike her heart. For all defensive intents and purposes, she, too, was now technically alone. There was little a humble knife could do to strike back against agony.

    Protect him.

    There was one singular person that she absolutely could not afford to lose in the dark.

    Octavia swallowed what burning sobs she could, nodding without the hope and resolution she wished she could carry. Josiah couldn¡¯t take her hand, settled upon Stradivaria as it was. Regardless, he still stuck tightly to her side as they charged onwards. Octavia''s own footsteps were shaky and hesitant, laced with a drive to plunge into the darkness and scream for what had been lost. Josiah alone kept her facing forwards, the afterimage of sharp, stinging eyes on her own fresh enough to burn. He matched each of her steps almost perfectly, and she clung to his voice in desperation above the screeching that assailed her on every side.

    ¡°I can still see the road,¡± Josiah called, even close as he was. ¡°We¡¯re still going the right way! How are you holding up?¡±

    It was taking effort to balance offense and defense alike, punching deep into the mist that skirted far too close to her arms and ankles for comfort. Octavia¡¯s typical method of building a radiant reserve was fruitless. The degree to which all of her light was so frantically needed quashed any concept of clinging to her luminous arsenal. The swirling ribbons and pulsating orbs that typically orbited her with patience instead were put to use instantly, one after another.

    Time and time again, it was hardly enough, and carving a path forward alone was a feat in and of itself. The battle to steady her breathing was far more tethered to panic than any true threat to her stamina. Even so, the latter wasn¡¯t flawless. She gritted her teeth.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay!¡± she half-lied.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she had an alternative. They were already in peril just by virtue of being here in the first place. To come to a stop now was to seal their fate once and for all--his, especially. Octavia was aware Josiah knew better than to offer a reprieve, regardless. She still did the same.

    ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Octavia hated that she couldn¡¯t keep her eyes on him at all times, her attention torn between survival and companionship. She¡¯d stopped counting the searing rays that had launched from her speedy fingertips, the awful dichotomy of her luminous melody and the sounds of suffering incarnate cursing her ears ruthlessly. It was on her left. She blasted it back with sizzling slashes of her bow once more.

    ¡°How close are we?¡±

    Her divided light laid claim to as much of his face as possible, and even then found far too little of his visage for comfort. Josiah shook his head, narrowing his eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t tell! We haven¡¯t been going for that long! It¡¯s still at least another--¡±

    It was on his right. With her blinding blasts came raging fear, eating away at her heart. She regretted how close she¡¯d had to aim, just barely missing his shoulder. Octavia wondered if she¡¯d burned him in the process, a thought that made her heart beat ever faster. Josiah¡¯s wide, alarmed eyes did little to confirm or deny her suspicions.

    ¡°I-It¡¯s still at least another ten minutes¡¯ worth of running at this speed, at minimum!¡± he continued, his voice shaking.

    ¡°Ten minutes?¡± she repeated with shock.

    ¡°At least! I-I can¡¯t make out any landmarks in the dark, even with your light!¡±

    It was at her back. Was there a point in striking through it if she sought to flee from its vicious grasp? Octavia could feel the scathing, icy sensation licking at her ankles once more. She had to be faster. She prayed he could, too. Was this what he¡¯d felt like, in his darkest hour?

    ¡°Don¡¯t turn around!¡± Josiah yelled.

    ¡°I know, I know!¡±

    It was far too close, tangling with her braids and kissing the back of her neck. Even if she couldn¡¯t see it, the screeching burrowed deep into her eardrums. Octavia had to fight to keep her eyes open, what little visibility she had already succumbing to the blurring and spinning she loathed. Her fingers felt sluggish. It was Hell. That was ironic.

    Octavia felt a sharp tug around her wrist, at which she truly did stumble to the ground. It was more of an assault on her person than a guiding touch. She found herself violently yanked sideways, rather. She crashed to the ground below, and the rough texture bashing into her knees was enough to drag a cry of pain from her throat. Something--someone--was draped over her back, their body heat in stark contrast to the scalding adrenaline that besieged her veins. Octavia panted. So did they.

    ¡°Stay down!¡± Josiah ordered weakly.

    It was by sheer luck that they¡¯d dodged just enough to the right to seize a moment of safety, the smoky tide at their heels surging past without drowning them in turn. Octavia didn¡¯t want to look. She didn¡¯t want to hear it, although that part was inevitable. It surely wouldn¡¯t be the only instance of such rapid coagulation, and she didn¡¯t want to be prone for whatever instance targeted her next. In contrast to the shrieks of violet agony, she could just barely capture distant and beautiful harmonies unknown. They were scattered, granted, although she at least counted more than one.

    ¡°I hear Maestros,¡± she offered, spared of the need to shout with his face so close to hers.

    That didn¡¯t last long. Josiah jerked her swiftly to her feet, and she staggered into his arms. ¡°Their job is to fight. Our job is to run. If we find one, we can pair up for an escort. Otherwise, we don¡¯t have the leeway to seek one out ourselves.¡±

    ¡°How are you so calm?¡± Octavia asked, her hands shaking as she raised Stradivaria to her shoulder yet again.

    Josiah shook his head, his face strained. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get the chance to digest his words. The manner by which the horrifyingly-close screeches edged ever closer to their position shattered her one reprieve. Already, his hand was around her wrist, and the way he tugged her forwards was perhaps a reflex--Stradivaria be damned. ¡°Come on!¡±

    She didn¡¯t fight his spurning, although she was forced to at least reclaim her hand from his iron grip. Her light was as steady as ever, equally powerful and equally abundant. The issue laid not in her shimmering prowess, but in the plentiful false darkness that only continued to condense and swell. It was an endless process that felt useless. She repeated her eternal cycle of sprinting, firing, targeting, succeeding, and nearly succumbing. Octavia had pure adrenaline to thank for salvation. It was a hellish pattern only content to change directions with every radiant blow.

    Josiah¡¯s singular, sharp swear startled her. He repeated it once over, then twice and thrice with panic and wide eyes.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Octavia cried above the audible agony.

    His fearful gaze flickered forward and to his feet several times consecutively. ¡°We¡¯re not on the main road anymore!¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long we¡¯ve been off of it, either!¡±

    Her heart struggled to burst from her chest. ¡°The city slopes downwards, though! Can¡¯t we just keep following what we feel?¡±

    ¡°We can try, but it¡¯s not overwhelmingly obvious on the outskirts!¡±

    ¡°And you think that¡¯s where we are?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where we are!¡± Josiah shouted. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what direction we¡¯re facing!¡±

    Octavia could barely breathe. She doubted any amount of light, given their current situation, would be enough to gather a clear enough view for reorientation. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    Josiah paused. Octavia could hear him exhale sharply, even sprinting as he was. ¡°We might actually need to find a Maestro at this point! Maybe several of them! It¡¯s probably gonna take more than just the two of us to find our way down there from wherever we are!¡±

    If Octavia listened closely, she could still hear songs both sharp and soft alike, seemingly far-off in every direction. She swore, too, that she could capture the absolute faintest flashes of scarlets and golds through the billowing clouds. They were consistent. If she wished, she could select one alone and hone in on any given luminous target. The idea that one might be Harper gave her just the smallest smidge of hope, and she prayed with everything she had that each of them were safe--perhaps even together.

    ¡°There¡¯s ones with luminescence out there! I can see them! If we pick one and--¡±

    Octavia had been distracted. It was absolutely, undeniably her own fault. It was her fault when her fingers just barely burst with radiance in time, and it was her fault when the light that the violin shot deep into the raging haze wasn¡¯t enough to stave off yet more that lay behind it. It singed her cheeks, it scalded her neck, and it stung her hands with such unforgiving brutality that she screamed.

    It was a detriment of the worst kind that she¡¯d learned to tolerate the numbing qualities of Dissonance, standing semi-strong in the face of vertigo and debilitating fatigue that once would¡¯ve had her unconscious by now. It left her with pain, and she questioned whether or not such an experience was truly universal.

    The force that repelled her was entirely tangible, bilateral upon both of her shoulders.

    It was as gentle as it was desperate, as heavy as it was fleeting.

    Unaccompanied by pleas for aid or cries of suffering, it was Josiah, instead, who silently disappeared into the dark on her behalf.

    On the very last vestiges of her dying light, her burning fingers long since stilled, the fire bubbling in his eyes instead was doused only by the terror that it fueled. She would never forget that look on his face as long as she lived.

    The briefest moment of disorientation and disbelief evolved into a devastating and explosive grief for that which her gaze couldn''t capture. She knew he was there. She couldn¡¯t see him. That was enough to rip her soul to pieces. Her own shrieking put the agony that had swallowed him to shame.

    ¡°Josiah!¡± Octavia wailed. ¡°Josiah, Josiah, Josiah, Josiah!¡±

    Nothing.

    His name was on every anguished note, her plea upon every despairing harmony. It didn¡¯t bring Josiah back, nor did her light deliver unto her his silhouette. Panic was an understatement. There were precisely two people within the Hell of the Cursed City for whom isolation instantly flipped an hourglass to demise. His clock was ticking. It was the only thing she was supposed to have prevented.

    Octavia had been to Velpyre one time and one time only, a voyage which she had wished on every star in the sky to never repeat. Without her missing guide, she, too, was absolutely lost. It was far from her primary source of panic, the true Hell of loneliness in the dark settling onto her shoulders. It took everything in her power to strike a balance between saving her strength and screaming his name as she ran aimlessly.

    She considered begging for Stratos¡¯ blessing once more, eager to be consumed by his light and send it back tenfold into the abyss. That would leave the concern of being bound in place, a singular and localized assault with no known finite radius. By the time she was through, her path cleared once more, Josiah could very well already be dead--or worse. He might not have even been in her vicinity anymore, provided he¡¯d managed to break free of the wrathful fog that had laid claim to his body. From her angle, it had seemed brutal. Octavia knew this scenario to be eerily similar to one he¡¯d endured not so long ago. She clung to the idea that Josiah could outrun agony a second time over. It was all he had.

    It was all she had, too, given the lack of luminosity that was adjacent to her current position. Every flickering glow and spark in the distance was opposite to Josiah¡¯s last location, and she was again stumbling blindly about in the dark. Her cycle of self-preservation was still just as endless, the Dissonance still just as deadly.

    Octavia cast her eyes high in desperation, begging for the slightest pinpricks of sunshine from above to penetrate the ruthless pain below. Even now, the screaming smoke rose far too high, blotting out the crumbs of light she could¡¯ve been granted. She had half a mind to wonder if it could slip through cracks so tiny, speckled as they were. It was a problem she could only leave in the hands of the Velrose Acolyte alone, should the girl make such a discovery.

    Octavia had no idea how long she¡¯d been running. She had no idea how long they¡¯d been fighting. She had no idea where she was. Stradivaria, in her skilled hands, came bundled with confidence. It wasn¡¯t her life she feared for. It was those she couldn¡¯t see, those she struggled to hear, those she knew to be defenseless. Was he running? Was he scared? Were his eyes still just as fearful and his determination just as fabricated? Tears pricked at the edges of her own. She wasn¡¯t quite sobbing as she played, but she could hear the audible sizzle each time one plopped upon the burning strings.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    It was a voice she¡¯d only heard a handful of times over, meek and sorrowful as it was.

    It was diagonal, closer and closer as its owner found her right flank. Octavia had to guess, initially. It wasn¡¯t one with whom she was well-acquainted, and it certainly wasn¡¯t one she¡¯d expected to find alone. There was no song for her ears to latch on to, nor any luminescence she could¡¯ve begged for. There was only the swish of a skirt that grazed her own dress with every hurried step, somewhat slower than her own. Octavia''s eyes widened. For her and her alone, she absolutely needed to make an effort to slow her sprint.

    ¡°Celestina?¡± she yelled.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± the woman called above the Dissonance, her voice somehow still just as soft.

    Octavia never stilled her hands, although stemming her tears was a different story. ¡°I-I¡¯m fine!¡± she struggled to stammer. ¡°How are you here? Where¡¯s your--¡±

    ¡°Hey there, Heartful!¡±

    She found her luminescence in words alone, her heart igniting with sparkling solace. The former acolyte wasn''t truly alone, trailed close by a grin nearly bright enough to challenge the darkness on its own. There was no sigh of relief to breathe. She could at least conjure one in her head.

    ¡°Mina?¡± Octavia cried with surprise.

    Mina nodded, even with her steps hurried and her hands occupied with tiny metal. ¡°Did you miss me?¡± she teased.

    Octavia blinked what sorrow she could from her eyes, sending at least some of her radiance swirling and spiraling around Celestina¡¯s body. She doubted her Maestra partner had the legacy privileges to offer the same protection. ¡°How did you find me?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± Mina shouted. ¡°She did!¡±

    The woman in question was silent, content to trust in Octavia¡¯s luminous defenses as she ran onwards. Octavia eyed her with significant confusion, even if she couldn¡¯t claim the same focused gaze for herself.

    ¡°What do you mean? How did you know where I was?¡±

    ¡°We got separated!¡± Celestina yelled back. ¡°There¡¯s not a lot of us le--¡±

    ¡°Yes, but how did you find me?¡±

    ¡°I knew where you were!¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I could sense you!¡±

    Octavia stared her down. ¡°You¡¯re not a Maestra!¡±

    ¡°I know!¡± Celestina cried.

    ¡°Figure it out later!¡± Mina interrupted. ¡°Eyes forward!¡±

    Octavia understood her point immediately. She¡¯d been lucky to make it a solid minute uninterrupted in a straight line. Her streaming light had largely been a deterrent for the billowing violet that sought to press her from the sides, and she was grateful. Her luck had run out, as could ultimately be expected.

    She nearly skidded to a stop in the face of the Dissonance that barred her path forward, yet another barrier of writhing, shrieking agony that greeted her with only malice incarnate. She stood up well enough to the dizziness and exhaustion that followed its proximity. Celestina wasn''t quite as lucky, staggering and nearly losing her balance. Even within the minor safety of Octavia¡¯s swirling radiance, it wasn¡¯t enough to shield her senses.

    Celestina was frail, somewhat. Octavia had her work cut out for her, offense and defense cleaved clean down the middle yet again. Sweat dripped from her brow in place of what was once tears, still fizzing out on the superheated bridge of the violin. Her obstacle wasn''t stationary, nor was it squarely before her eyes alone. So, too, was her peripheral vision compromised. The way she took several steps backwards was instinctive, and she braced herself against the ground. Managing two types of light at once was going to be a trial by fire.

    ¡°Let¡¯s take ¡®em out!¡±

    Mina never pushed her to that point. Neither did the Ensemble member who put Octavia¡¯s speed to shame, her eyes razor-sharp as she kicked hard off the ground. In reality, there was another person in Octavia¡¯s own circle, too, that Mint could challenge athletically. [?]</a>

    Whether or not that was secondary to what was possibly not mortal prowess was semi-irrelevant. Just as Octavia had learned to keep her light in reserve, the breathtaking display by which the thunderbolts surged and crackled around the girl was unfathomably impressive. It was a first impression of true mastery of a legacy, the likes of which Octavia had never seen granted to the wrathful plasma streaming about her body.

    How Mint wasn¡¯t shocking herself with every effortless vault onto her hands and every unflinching tumble across the open air, Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to wrap her head around. She wasn¡¯t nearly as forceful as Renato, nor did her momentum carry her anywhere even slightly as high. Her flexibility was on a different level entirely, and she didn¡¯t hesitate to put it to incredible usage. Even as the Dissonance grazed her in passing, it never once touched upon her skin. Instead, it met only the surging discharge that flickered around her entire being.

    Mint raised her arm high the moment her feet touched solid ground one more. All it took was one shake, one seemingly-innocent little rattle, and a forceful downward swing of her wrist. She struck agony down, her lightning crashing deep into the cloud that absolutely screamed in turn. It was given no reprieve, and each rattle and tap that followed birthed only more of the same. They trailed her every motion, guided by skilled fingers that left Octavia briefly convinced the girl was harnessing such power on her own.

    From a distance, the legacy appeared to be almost hers to keep, with how perfectly her Harmonial Instrument served as an extension of herself. Every sizzling flourish, crowned by feats of evasive speed and flexibility that sent her tumbling both airborne and not, was mesmerizing. Octavia couldn¡¯t look away, not with the honed precision by which the girl beat upon the wailing violet again and again and again. She was perfect.

    ¡°You¡¯re killing it out there, Sunstryke! Knock ¡®em dead!¡± Mina cheered.

    Mint grinned devilishly.

    It was a face not her own, a look Octavia would sooner expect from Mina instead.

    ¡°Naturally.¡±

    It was the first word Octavia had ever heard leave the girl¡¯s mouth. It was achingly familiar.

    ¡°And you, child, will you not stand your ground? Come, prove your worth and show the Ambassador the brilliance of your legacy!¡±

    In the heat of battle, the dripping, cocky charisma wasn¡¯t as annoying. Mint was moving too quickly for Octavia to hunt down the Apex in her eyes. The voice was enough. She had to wonder how much of the Maestra¡¯s movements were truly her own, as suspected. If Madrigal¡¯s several instances of surrender to a greater power were anything to go by, there was at least some component of personal prowess to be considered. It was still an absolutely spectacular sight.

    Mina answered the Apex¡¯s challenge without fail, an all-too-eager grin of her own spreading rapidly from ear to ear. ¡°Don¡¯t need to tell me twice!¡±

    If it was Mina¡¯s first time fighting in earnest, Octavia never would¡¯ve guessed. Her eyes were as sharp as the lightning that coursed through her blood, for how quickly she chased down the plague of writhing smoke that threatened her back. So preoccupied was Octavia with guarding Celestina that she hadn¡¯t noticed its approach. Mina wasn''t even slightly as athletic as Mint, whether augmented by the magnificent power of an Apex or not. It didn¡¯t impede her determination one bit, her hurried flight towards the Dissonance rather than away commendable in its own right. Octavia had wondered for days how such a little Harmonial Instrument could do any true semblance of damage. As it turned out, Mina was a beautiful conduit.

    Savior¡¯s Resplendence wasn''t dissimilar to Stradivaria, really, at least in how Octavia recognized that firm and confident grip. In the wake of the sizzling bolts that were born upon every tender tap of a tambourine, the glimmer captured along each metal edge was majestic in its own way. There was something so like Mina in how she wielded the tiny rod as a weapon itself, its size notwithstanding between her rigid fingers. It was so small, truthfully, that the buzzing sparks crackling in her hand almost appeared to be hers to keep, too. Only Mina¡¯s delighted grin, unbending and growing ever brighter with each measured step towards the darkness, was more electric by comparison.

    She skidded to a halt before the plague of murky purple, well-illuminated by both Octavia¡¯s residual radiance around Celestina and Mint¡¯s thunderous assault. The luminescence between the three of them was a blessing, growing yet more splendorous. Mina¡¯s contribution couldn''t be dismissed in the slightest.

    The cute, innocent little ting of the rod striking upon iron brought with it the most explosive golds Octavia had ever seen.

    The blessing of Mina¡¯s legacy quite literally erupted forth, splintering thunderbolts raining from on high haphazardly before her. They were plentiful, distributed, and not limited to a single billowing target. The Dissonance outright scattered. The craters she¡¯d blasted deep into the violet speared into each cloud with such ferocity that even the glow from within prompted Octavia to squeeze her eyes shut. The sound was intolerable, the screeching far outmatched in volume. Even from here, Octavia could sense the aura of pride that rippled around the Maestra.

    Mina turned her head to face yet more of the same, undaunted and just as elated in the face of agony itself. Once more, with a flick of her wrist, the very air around her seemed to dry to a crisp. Octavia could feel the stray hairs of her braids standing on edge as the atmosphere began to crackle. Mina, too, wasn''t immune to frazzled hair and sparking fingertips. With another ting, she brought the full prowess of the essence of lightning smashing down into the fog below. This, in its own way, was breathtaking. Octavia huddled closer to Celestina as she played, encircled of her own accord by lightning that struck against false darkness again and again.

    Octavia bore witness to the spectacle for a solid minute, steeped in awe at the stamina and skill of both Essenced Maestras. They worked incredibly well in tandem, filling in what gaps the other had silently left. Their lightning often crossed paths in much the same way, wordlessly taking turns beating upon the earth whenever one¡¯s sharp focus had shifted somewhere far more important. If there was a partner Mina would¡¯ve done excellently down here with, it was surely the one that would¡¯ve forced her to break the luminescence rule. That was, too, surely worth it.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your little boytoy?¡± she heard Mina call above her crackling storm.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Lightning bug! Where is he? He was with you, right?¡±

    Her heart had never stopped pounding, and she had never forgotten about him for a moment. Still, Octavia cursed herself for becoming occupied with Celestina¡¯s protection over Josiah¡¯s, even essential as it was. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know! We got separated!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s Essenced! Can you see his lightning anywhere?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Mina, he¡¯s not a Maestro!¡±

    Mina¡¯s eyes widened, even as she maintained her focus. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I guided the Muse in his Harmonial Instrument! He was a Maestro before, but he¡¯s not anymore! He¡¯s defenseless right now! I need to find him or he¡¯ll die!¡± she cried.

    Mina clicked her tongue. ¡°Guess that explains why he wasn¡¯t planning to fight,¡± she muttered, just barely audible. ¡°And here I thought we were a match made in Heaven!¡±

    Mina cast her eyes back to Mint. ¡°Help me out!¡±

    ¡°As you wish,¡± the Apex¡¯s charismatic voice came on Mint¡¯s behalf.

    Mina pinched the tiny string firmly between her fingers, the iron below it glistening as it dangled freely. ¡°You okay by yourself? We can¡¯t leave Celestina! Where River and Francisco ended up is anyone¡¯s friggin¡¯ guess!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t want to say yes. She didn¡¯t particularly have a choice. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine!¡±

    Mina bent her knees slightly. ¡°We¡¯re gonna give you somethin¡¯ to work with! You¡¯re only gonna have it for a few seconds, so make the most of it! Good luck, Heartful!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get to question the Maestra. Still, she withdrew her light, trusting in Celestina¡¯s momentary safety beneath their skilled defenses. Given their legacies, the Ambassador, too, saw fit to brace. Against what, she was unsure.

    ¡°Prepare yourself, child!¡± the Apex called.

    ¡°Hit me!¡±

    Mina arched one arm far back, her knuckles nearly scraping the ground. With impressive force, she lobbed the edged iron high, high into the air above Octavia¡¯s head. Octavia¡¯s eyes followed instinctively as it rose ever higher, initially puzzled by Mina¡¯s sudden surrender to utter defenselessness. She figured out the girl¡¯s wild rationale in the most startling way.

    Mint, with yet another rolling rattle and firm tap of her palm atop the skin of the tambourine, brought her brilliant bolts sailing just as high. The collision was devastating, the makeshift lightning rod that was Savior¡¯s Resplendence splintering the girl¡¯s electricity like a river. The sound was borderline unbearable, the resulting boom surely stretching far and wide across Velpyre.

    The luminosity that followed was practically blinding in turn, fleeting as it was. It crackled and lingered, echoes of sparking thunderbolts jittering through the atmosphere in the aftermath of the strike. Celestina had squeezed her eyes shut. Octavia had to fight to keep hers open, the intent of Mina¡¯s actions dawning on her at the last possible second.

    Her eyes darted frantically in every conceivable direction, her way newly paved by the brief dome of lightning that had crowned her sight and the earth beneath her. The way the Dissonance screamed under the weight of the assault was the least of Essenced successes, her illuminated and accessible paths far more important. Octavia clung to every last fizzling spark that evaporated into the air, each crumb of fleeting light just barely enough to bless her for seconds more. Blood rushed through her ears, just as adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her window was shrinking.

    Far, far to her distant left, she spotted what she believed was the main road. Octavia recognized the streetlights, dim and useless as they were. She couldn¡¯t quite see the church over the buildings and houses, although it wasn''t even slightly her priority at the moment--ironically. She made the absolute tiniest of mental notes as to its location, provided she could stay oriented long enough to follow in that direction again.

    In her peripheral right, by comparison, trailing the absolute outskirts of her vision, she could¡¯ve sworn she saw the canvas of a bag. She recognized the color, so out of place amongst murky violet.

    She was sprinting before Stradivaria had even touched her shoulder. She didn¡¯t bother with Josiah''s name, clinging to the last vestiges of Essenced luminosity for dear life. The path that had opened in that direction would surely close with the imminent coagulation of the Dissonance once more. As darkness came down upon her, the residual radiance of guiding thunderbolts fizzling out for good, her own begging light was all she had left.

    With every slash of the bow, Octavia begged for his face and his safety. She begged it was him in the first place rather than a trick of the light, temporary as it had been. As to how long he¡¯d been alone in here, she¡¯d lost track of time. It felt like an eternity of her own making.

    Slowly but surely, she was becoming aware of the congealing agony she¡¯d feared, the darkened walls closing in on her again with screeching she couldn¡¯t block out. She ran faster. She played harder. Alone, her speed served her well. If time was of the essence, if she couldn¡¯t play with everything she had, then she could absolutely run with everything she had, instead. Whether or not she could outrun Dissonance remained to be seen. It was a feat she would have to share with another, should she pull it off.

    Octavia did what she could to balance her radiance and her frantic sprinting in equal measure, as difficult as it was. Her blood boiled and burned, her brilliant beams sailing deep into the mist that again rose to threaten her skin and singe her body. Should it hurt her, it would do little to impede her desperate search. So, too, did her wide eyes dig deep into the same darkness over and over.

    With a passing ray that spiraled into the billowing clouds, she could¡¯ve sworn she saw his flannel shirt. This time, she opted to hurl his name from her lips. ¡°Josiah!¡±

    She got nothing in return. She repeated her motion, the same brilliance punching a uniform hole into the screaming fog as it gave way in the slightest. Octavia confirmed her sightings, a familiar canvas bag meeting her eyes once more. ¡°Josiah, I¡¯m here! I¡¯m here! Josiah!¡± she cried at the top of her lungs.

    Again, she got nothing. He was on his feet, if not stationary. She¡¯d feared the worst in the form of the boy dead on the ground, and her eyes flooded with tears of relief. As to why he refused to run further from the clouds that gained on him, she wasn¡¯t certain.

    Octavia did everything she could to fight on his behalf, launching her scathing light with desperation at each writhing plume of smoke that came too close for comfort. She found success in their shrieking, although the way by which she was forced to do so time after time was incredibly disheartening. Part of her wanted to plead with him to run. Most of her was solely fixated on his well-being as she drew ever closer.

    ¡°Josiah, are you alright? Are you okay? I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so sorry!¡± Octavia wailed.

    There were a multitude of gazes he could¡¯ve given her, although some she would¡¯ve preferred far more than others. The piercing, icy glare, she could live without. The harsh, devastating lightning, she¡¯d do anything to avoid again. The kind warmth that wrapped her up and eased her soul, she would die for. In the end, any variant of that calming stillness she¡¯d found in his eyes time after time would¡¯ve been welcome in her desperation.

    Initially, why Josiah would choose to raise his pitiful little blade into the darkness was beyond her. There was nothing to be done against the agony that descended upon them with weapons of this world. She knew he was aware, and at first found the gesture to be symbolic. It wasn¡¯t high, although his grip was notably firm. She looked to him with great confusion.

    She lost her peace. In its place, she found only violet, seizing the calm in his eyes she admired. For how low Octavia had plunged into Hell, there was perhaps no deeper she could go.

 78. Burn the Rope, Part II

    Josiah didn¡¯t scream.

    Josiah didn¡¯t move.

    Josiah didn¡¯t run, nor did he emote.

    Where she looked for fear, she found none. Where she looked for pain, she found glass in his gaze. Glass came with indigo, and indigo carried agony. It was one thing they had in common. On sight alone, her agony was of a different flavor entirely.

    And when Octavia looked upon his shoulders instead, the wisps that oozed aloft from both in tandem froze her blood. It was the only fate for him that she feared worse than death. It was the only fate for anyone that she feared worse than death. Josiah stared her down, unblinking. Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe.

    In the dark, she knew the sickening aura plaguing his body was surely there, wrapping him up like a toxic blanket and smothering him from within. She wondered how much was inside. She wondered how long he¡¯d been exposed. How ironic, then, that he¡¯d been the one to suggest to her the theorized myriad of varied reactions to the vile substance. This was his. For a different reason entirely, Octavia was lightheaded.

    Yet again, it was a knife that barred her path at the hands of one blighted by agony. She didn¡¯t want to do this. She absolutely couldn''t do this--not to him. There was a brief moment where the tip leveled with her eyes, one arm extended in utter silence. She knew what was coming, and Octavia struggled to control her violent shaking.

    It never made it to her. He never took a single step. He never made one effort, no matter how feeble, to close their little gap. Instead, Josiah''s arm curved inwards, his own fingers trembling around the hilt of the blade. His movements were slow, and Octavia followed them desperately with her eyes. She watched it rise higher and higher, his own dead eyes narrowed and his shoulders heaving with the effort of labored breaths.

    The moment the sharp edges of the steel pressed deep into his neck, Octavia lost her breath in full. She outright screamed. Josiah didn¡¯t break the skin, instead stalling as his hand shook viciously. His free palm rose to meet the same hilt, wrapping around to match his trembling fingers in tandem with an unbreakable grip. His breathing quickened ever more, his skin bending threateningly beneath the weight of the blade.

    From her current position, Octavia could see the tiny beads of blood that began to pool beneath the razor-sharp edges. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were as sparse as they were clouded, wispy trails of purple sporadically painting his skin. Even now, in such an awful state, she watched with absolute horror as Josiah gritted his teeth.

    His volume was low, his voice strained, the tone of his words stolen and distorted to a degree that made Octavia feel ill. Still, it was unmistakably him.

    ¡°Help¡­me.¡±

    The way by which his arms shook laboriously spoke to efforts of withdrawal, futile as they were. His best attempts to lower the blade were in vain, anything but a choice of his own.

    ¡°Help¡­me. Please.¡±

    Josiah closed his eyes with grace far beyond what matched the violet within, even as he trembled.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    There was a time when she would¡¯ve hesitated. It was a time long forgotten, a time not now.

    Octavia managed precisely one strangled cry of his name before she felt her fingers moving. It was instinctive. Her aim, too, was just the same. He¡¯d given her the perfect opportunity, his soft desperation providing the only angle she¡¯d needed. The radiance that boiled beneath her fingertips fought to find its way deep into his soul, bursting forth from every string and descending upon him without hesitation.

    Every beam surged and spiraled down past his lips and into the depths of his body, by which he was practically aglow from within. She¡¯d once wondered if it hurt. It was still a small burden in the back of her mind. Octavia was amazed she could aim so clearly, given the way her eyes were swimming with tears.

    Josiah didn¡¯t resist. He didn¡¯t struggle, nor did he pull away like so many she¡¯d seen fight against the expulsion of such agony before. It was at least enough to still his hands, his stiff fingers relaxing and loosening around the hilt of the blade as it slipped from his skin. Only now could she fully see the bubbles of blood that crept from his wounded pores, small as they were in the open air. They were shallow, and thankfully so. It was still a terrifying sight, a call far too close, and currently only one of her many pressing concerns. Even now, his eyes were closed. Josiah met her scorching love with equal grace and patience.

    Octavia had never done this before--not successfully. She didn¡¯t plead with Stratos. She didn¡¯t beg him for his guidance, nor his aid, nor his steady voice to lead her down a path of safe success. She didn¡¯t have the time. She didn¡¯t have the drive. Her last attempt at purifying Dissonance besieging a person from within had ended in disaster, a testament to inability and incompetence that had fundamentally ruined her.

    Even now, even as her scalding fingers moved frantically and she searched desperately for the sensation of tightness inside of him, the irony wasn''t lost on her. She knew where she was standing. She knew who it was that she was assailing with her light. There was no room for error, just as had been the case before.

    This time, she was stronger. She knew better. It was hopefully enough. It had to be.

    Octavia remembered what it felt like--at least, what it was supposed to, if the instructions she¡¯d been given so long ago were anything to go by. The brilliant bridge that stretched from the scroll down into his body shimmered vibrantly under the weight of every note. She scoured for the pressure she knew to rest within, the concentration of agony that claimed Josiah''s soul and cursed him with pain.

    The longer she searched, the more she fought to stem her panic. There was no telling how long he¡¯d been exposed, nor how far gone he truly was. Her only point of comparison, by experience, was an extreme outlier. She narrowed her tearful eyes, struggling to ignore the way each freed droplet of fear and regret trickled down her cheeks.

    When Octavia met with resistance, it was equal parts wonderful and horrifying. She braced herself against the ground, her muscles straining with the effort of claiming it for herself. Even if she couldn¡¯t see the violet that had tormented him from within, she could feel her tender light latching onto something semi-solid. She strained against every string, a desperate song that sent her glimmering bridge pulsating and vibrating with the efforts of maintenance.

    Even now, Josiah was still and calm, surrendering peacefully to the war of light and agony inside of his soul. The knife had long since slipped from his hands, and his hands had long since fallen to his sides. She knew she was crying out, her arms burning with the weight of crushing pressure upon her muscles. It was heavy, far more resistant than the boy it cursed. Octavia fought with everything in her heart, her fingers screaming in pain as the rugged strings cut into her skin. She didn¡¯t care. From her light came every last ounce of love in her heart.

    She felt something give way. It burst, and it was a miracle.

    Octavia still pitied the undeniable distress that surely came with the expulsion in full, the billowing violet that exploded from beyond his lips ejecting high into the air above. Josiah''s head jerked back with such involuntary force that she feared he might¡¯ve snapped his neck. The pressure of forces far beyond him ultimately served as the only catalyst for keeping him on his feet. Her swirling radiance followed every single ounce of blackened agony upwards and outwards from his body. Entire clouds of suffering screeched and writhed as they dispersed, encircled by and surrendering to vicious luminescence.

    For Josiah, it wasn''t over quickly, her reaction time be damned. Her bridge of radiance fizzled and dissipated with a quiet sizzle, the strings along the frets vulnerable to much the same sound. Josiah was cursed to expel the agony within himself for nearly half a minute collectively, crowning his pain with a round of harsh coughing and choking. He collapsed to his knees. Octavia did exactly the same.

    Octavia outright dropped Stradivaria, the violin and bow clattering carelessly to the ground below. She clasped her hands against either of Josiah''s cheeks, pulling him close and fighting for eye contact. She was practically screaming directly into his face, dazed and disoriented as he was.

    ¡°Josiah! Josiah!¡± Octavia cried again and again.

    She found warm color unmarred by violet, even glassy and distant as it was. His body was heavy, and she struggled to grasp his shoulders in time. Octavia shook him violently. ¡°Wake up! Josiah, look at me, please!¡±

    Josiah coughed several times over, blinking slowly. His eyes moved, somewhat, and they drifted to her own.

    ¡°Oc¡­tavia?¡±

    Octavia wanted to cry. She did. She threw her arms around him in full, burying her face in his shoulder. She gave up on restraining her tears, content to stain every inch of his shirt collar with regret and sorrow.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± she wailed. ¡°I¡¯m so, so sorry! I didn¡¯t mean to leave you! Josiah, I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    She felt one hand settle delicately atop her back, weak as the gesture was. ¡°It¡¯s¡­okay. I¡¯m¡­okay,¡± he murmured.

    Octavia shook her head, her braids brushing against his violet-stained cheeks. ¡°No you¡¯re not! You¡¯re not okay!¡±

    Josiah¡¯s head came to rest against her own, his cold skin meeting hers. ¡°Yes¡­I am.¡±

    Octavia could do little except sob. Even with the knowledge of the screeching that still blighted her ears in the background, it was unfeasible to let him leave her arms again. Agony grew closer, the tiny, repulsive light she¡¯d managed to craft on the boy¡¯s behalf now dissipated in full. It left her with a growing enclosure of that which she could hardly see, cursed to embrace him on the ground in the dark. It didn¡¯t burn yet. It didn¡¯t freeze her skin yet. It would, soon enough. Releasing him was its own Hell, especially given the way he just barely kept himself upright rather than sprawled out on the ground.

    She had to lunge for Stradivaria, doing everything she could to settle the instrument onto her shoulder while bound to the chilling ground herself. Even now, she struggled to doff her tears in favor of resolve. She couldn¡¯t let him get hurt twice. As to where it was coming from, she had little idea. She played softly, hesitantly, her gentle light a golden guide that swirled around the two of them slowly.

    It wasn''t even slightly a solid defense. It was enough to illuminate her immediate surroundings, upon which she saw only the false darkness she¡¯d feared. It writhed, it screamed, and it billowed in equal measure--as she¡¯d so sickeningly expected. This time, it was nearly all-encompassing, and she paid the price for staying eternally still. Octavia struggled to rise to her feet in the midst of her song.

    Still, Josiah looked up at her calmly, eyes half-lidded and words absent. She had to try.

    It took most of what Octavia had left to strengthen her soft glow, largely aching from the efforts of purifying the suffering within Josiah. She slashed the bow back and forth across the strings to the best of her ability, pouring what surging light of the sun she had left in her veins onto Stradivaria¡¯s bridge. It was white-hot, to her relief. She could work with the consistency, for now. So, too, was it at least somewhat blinding, enough that she could circulate it around them both with a radiating heat that could challenge the stars.

    Whether or not she could keep it up was a different question entirely. The Dissonance didn''t advance on her, granted. Even so, she was taking a far more defensive route than an offensive one. Her fingers hurt. Her arms hurt. Most of her upper body hurt, for what it had taken to spare Josiah from pain.

    He kept watching her. That, too, hurt, especially given how her light flickered.

    Octavia battled to the best of her ability, even as every muscle screamed and her fingers were chafed raw against the copper. It wasn''t rewarding, given the way the bubbling heat in her blood had begun to cool against her best wishes. Her pores no longer oozed the boiling radiance she hoped to birth, and her searing song couldn''t keep up with the smoke that rose ever higher around her.

    She gritted her teeth. She tried, and tried, and tried again. At some point, she prayed. At some point, she screamed. If she begged Stratos again, would he offer up the same blessing? Could her body withstand it for a second time?

    Josiah was still watching her. What more could she do? That was its own Hell.

    Her fingers were bleeding. Her radiant ribbons were fading, fizzling into thin air and melting into the darkness.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t think.

    She heard footsteps. In truth, they weren¡¯t footsteps so much as they were sounds of effort in general, something hitting the ground distantly again and again.

    ¡°Set me up, Vi!¡±

    ¡°Got it!¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t see behind her. She could hear the shrill notes she¡¯d grown so accustomed to, regardless, from deep within the darkness that threatened her back. Her eyes widened at the sound, a crisp and beautiful noise that brought ease to her aching heart by its song alone.

    She didn¡¯t have it for long. The blast that followed knocked her off her feet, crystal spearing in every conceivable direction to such a degree that she could¡¯ve been skewered. She was lucky she found herself on the ground once more, for how explosive the boom that followed shattering ice had been. Each newly-annihilated, razor-edged icicle that speared into the indigo fog hit its mark with incredible accuracy--although missing with such an abundance of Dissonance would¡¯ve been practically impossible.

    The screeching was nowhere near as loud as the concussive burst. She supposed she should¡¯ve been thankful for the dichotomy that had dulled her senses, at least momentarily. Bits and pieces of stray crystal rained around her like glass, and she winced as several came too close for comfort to Josiah. Whatever tears threatened her this time were born more of joy than anything.

    ¡°Viola!¡± Octavia cried.

    The Soulful Maestra came first, sprinting through her path in the darkness as she barreled into the Ambassador. Octavia did, genuinely, shed at least a handful of tears over the embrace, breathing in Viola¡¯s scent and warming her heart with the girl¡¯s proximity in such a Hell. ¡°You¡¯re okay!¡± Octavia exclaimed.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± Viola assured, holding fast to the hands that trembled around Stradivaria. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Octavia strongly debated answering honestly. With the darkness settling upon them yet again, the last vestiges of her light fading and flickering into nothingness, she was almost grateful for the way it hid the lies on her face. ¡°I-I¡¯m alright! How did you--¡±

    ¡°I found him, and he found--¡±

    ¡°I told you I had a secret weapon, didn¡¯t I?¡± Renato teased with confidence, the brilliance of his grin filling in where her light failed. At close range, she could just barely catch the silhouette of a playful salute. ¡°Soldier of the Ambassador, at your service!¡±

    Viola raised an eyebrow. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    It took everything Octavia had to steal back her bow from warm, comforting hands. It took even more, albeit physically, to strain and scrape any residual radiance from the bottom of her heart. What little she found in feeble notes ambled in weak orbs and ribbons along the open air, just barely enough that she could keep the two Maestros in her sights. Her fingers hurt severely, still rubbed raw and stinging fiercely with every brush against the strings. She struggled not to wince in front of them.

    When Viola¡¯s eyes drifted downwards, the Soulful girl recoiled somewhat. ¡°Josiah?¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m fine,¡± he stammered, his voice notably more stable than it had been moments before.

    Light had found his eyes in full, and his palms had resisted the ground below as he carefully rose to his feet. Once more did he stagger in the process, a subtle motion that didn¡¯t escape Octavia. His knees were still shaking, his breaths still rattling. He was definitely lying, try as he might to hide it. ¡°Just a bit dizzy,¡± he insisted, his words nearly buried beneath the agony around them.

    Octavia refused to call him out on it. She didn¡¯t give Viola the chance. ¡°Where are--¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Renato interrupted. ¡°We haven¡¯t seen either of ¡®em yet!¡±

    ¡°Even if I can tell their legacies apart, I can¡¯t pick and choose who I follow from this far away,¡± Viola explained with frustration. ¡°I tried! This was genuinely a coincidence!¡±

    ¡°And a damn lucky one, too!¡± Renato interrupted. ¡°Hope you know I was going this way with or without you!¡±

    ¡°Your light definitely helped,¡± Viola offered to the Ambassador regardless. ¡°Fighting in the dark has been rough!¡±

    ¡°Do you¡­think you two can get us back to the main road?¡± Josiah tried, his voice still wavering. ¡°We need some help! I-It¡¯s too much to handle ourselves!¡±

    Renato cracked his neck. ¡°What do you think we¡¯re here for?¡±

    ¡°Can you¡­give us a bit of a guide?¡± Viola asked tentatively.

    Truthfully, Octavia couldn¡¯t. Even the pitiful quantity of light she was managing to cling to at the moment was pushing it, her little glow just barely enough to get by. She didn¡¯t dare let Viola know the extent of her pain. She was slightly honest, if nothing else. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much more I can take!¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Viola paused for a moment. ¡°Can you keep that much up?¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure how to answer, her hands aching with every gentle motion against Stradivaria. ¡°Not for long!¡±

    Viola raised Silver Brevada to her lips once more. ¡°Stay close behind us and hold your light up for as long as you possibly can! We¡¯ll deal with the rest! If we¡¯re gonna go, we need to do it now before you run out!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t argue. Her bigger fear, really, came in the form of the boy she didn¡¯t quite trust to stick as close to her anymore. Impaired as he was, fresh from conquering an internal Hell, sprinting would likely leave him far behind at some point. Even when Josiah fixed her with a soft, determined gaze, the fatigue in his eyes was clear to see. She couldn¡¯t risk it.

    ¡°Stay close to me,¡± she demanded, lingering within his earshot alone. ¡°I¡¯ll slow down!¡±

    Josiah shook his head weakly. ¡°I¡¯ll keep up! Don¡¯t slow down for me!¡±

    ¡°Please!¡± Octavia pleaded. ¡°Please let me do this!¡±

    She could see the way his lips parted for a moment, an argument in wait never breathed into the air. When he fell silent, there came a relief. Josiah didn¡¯t protest. He did, at least, move close enough for her to feel his warmth at her side. That was enough. Even if she couldn¡¯t quite convince him to go ahead, to stay firmly in her line of sight as she focused on the Maestros before her, it was a start. It was a comfort she struggled to hold fast to.

    ¡°You got me covered?¡±

    ¡°Go for it!¡±

    How they¡¯d managed to make it this far in the dark was beyond her, their respective gifts in combination notwithstanding. The chance of successfully challenging writhing fog with almost no visibility was surely zero, if not nearly so. With her pitiful light at their backs, the feeble aura of Octavia¡¯s weak radiance pulsing and wavering, they were still condemned to the same. It didn¡¯t deter them one bit, and they pressed on without hesitation. Even if it wasn¡¯t the greatest time for her to take note of their interaction, Octavia was floored by how effectively such a specific duet worked in tandem with one another. It was its own miracle.

    Renato¡¯s precious agility in the dark was a double-edged sword, a complete gamble he took with every tumble forward. He more than risked barreling clear into whatever awaited unseen before him, Octavia¡¯s weakened brilliance only just barely capturing the tails of rising violet. Even so, when Mistral Asunder met with the glaciers born of Silver Brevada, the boy himself was a weapon upon the darkness.

    Viola¡¯s fingers were just as quick as Renato¡¯s movements, adjusting to the speed of his forward momentum with grace and power alike. They weren¡¯t quite comparable to the incredibly impenetrable walls born of Briar¡¯s icy songs. Still, the crystalline barriers she brought forth immediately before the Strong Maestro were more than enough. It was a shame her light couldn''t send them shimmering further, although Octavia was grateful for the idea that it may have made Renato¡¯s job easier.

    Viola¡¯s ice wasn''t uniform, and the degree to which the quirk was intentional only dawned on Octavia long after its destruction. The jagged, frozen barricade was no match for a Harmonial Instrument that had once conquered even fortified steel with ease. With a cry of effort, Renato brought the strength of sound careening into Viola¡¯s ice, the resulting boom ringing in Octavia¡¯s ears remorselessly.

    Viola, for all of the effort she¡¯d poured into crafting such sturdy frost, found success in keeping the remnants of it that way. What could¡¯ve devolved into a display of splintering surrender instead transformed every little fragment into a weapon all its own. They were numerous, overpowering, and unfathomably fast, dozens of icy bullets piercing into the darkness. The velocity the sonic burst had pumped into each razor-edged shard sent them sailing onwards infinitely, surely plummeting to earth only somewhere Octavia couldn¡¯t see.

    As to those that lingered just a bit too close, spared from vicious propulsion by the initial blast, Renato refused to spare them. With quick, unforgiving flicks of his wrists, the stray crystals, too, became just as deadly. To stand on the other side of such an assault would¡¯ve likely run Octavia through. It did just that to whatever screaming haze barred his path in the shadows.

    Octavia could see the ground. She could see forward, undeterred by cloudy agony. Even if it wouldn¡¯t last forever, it was a chance she was desperate to seize. Despite her inability to still her pitiful song, even for a moment, she was sure to flicker her anxious gaze to Josiah almost constantly. To his credit, he really did keep up, his wobbling sprint as resolute as it was weak in its own right. Should her light finally fail, she knew exactly where her hands would go next--voluntary or not.

    ¡°Higher!¡±

    ¡°Do it!¡±

    Renato went up. He came down hard, the incredible propulsion that Mistral Asunder so frequently blessed him with in the heat of battle a gift once more. Viola¡¯s barrier, horizontal and aloft as it was, served as more of a shield than anything. It hardly mattered, given the way he ruptured it with another forceful boom. Viola¡¯s lethal, shattered crystals rained down upon the Dissonance like arrows, a hail of frost that bit into the fog from on high. Octavia¡¯s one regret was the incompatibility of the ruthless strength of sound with the beautiful melodies of other legacies. It wasn¡¯t exactly her top priority.

    ¡°I can¡­see it, I think,¡± Josiah panted, his own stamina visibly failing.

    He was slower. Octavia, too, slowed. ¡°The main road?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡±

    ¡°Again!¡±

    ¡°Right!¡±

    It was a struggle to run in the wake of every blast, as effective and desperately needed as they were. The ground practically shook beneath her feet on each impact, and she stumbled more than once. Reorienting herself was hellish to her screaming fingertips, blood oozing in earnest onto the warm copper. It was a miserable feeling, and she now couldn¡¯t help but stifle whimpers of pain with every note. Octavia was aware that the one person who could help was at her side. Even so, even if she had the time to recover physically, her compromised stamina was a threat all its own. Running was getting difficult, and that wasn¡¯t an option.

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m positive! Go right!¡±

    ¡°Can you make it thicker?¡±

    ¡°I can try!¡±

    There was a reprieve in the familiar, smoother patterns that rose to greet the soles of Octavia¡¯s boots at last. If she squinted, she could see as Josiah saw, structures illuminated somewhat by their onward assault. She gritted her teeth at the flecks of glassy crystal that stung her legs, residual and rapid in their kickback. Her lungs, too, were beginning to fail her. She was still unsure exactly how much of her physical distress was secondary to fighting and how much was secondary to saving Josiah¡¯s life. It was an exhaustion unlike any she¡¯d ever felt, steadily growing like a snowball with every racing footstep.

    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be¡­much longer!¡± Josiah shouted breathlessly. ¡°I recognize¡­some of these buildings!¡±

    Octavia, too, was borderline breathless. ¡°Do you think¡­Celestina made it?¡±

    ¡°On your right!¡±

    ¡°I see it!¡±

    Octavia nearly stumbled once more, the quaking beneath her feet almost unbearable to tolerate. Again was she uncomfortably blighted by stray ice that peppered her bare skin. She nearly dropped Stradivaria¡¯s bow in the process of hunting for her balance and breath.

    ¡°I would¡­think so! She had¡­two friggin¡¯ Apexes with her!¡±

    ¡°Again!¡±

    ¡°I know!¡±

    That time, she nearly dropped the entire violin. She gritted her teeth.

    ¡°I¡­saw her before! She¡­only had Mint and Mina! They didn¡¯t¡­know where Francisco and River¡­ended up!¡± Octavia panted.

    Josiah¡¯s exceedingly labored breaths were only growing more so by the minute. ¡°We¡­have to trust that¡­they can get her there! This is the¡­Ensemble that we¡¯re¡­talking about!¡±

    ¡°You hangin¡¯ in there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Pay attention in front!¡±

    ¡°Let me have it!¡±

    It was Josiah who nearly fell. Catching him was a reflex, her momentary lapse in light be damned. Octavia grabbed his sleeve, yanking him forward just sharply enough to keep him on his feet. Resuming her song after the blessing that was rest was nightmarish, every muscle aching anew and her skin pleading for mercy. It was a kind of burning that made her cry out in pain, buried beneath each bursting boom as it was.

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡±

    Josiah¡¯s words didn¡¯t settle onto her, initially. It took him a second try to get her attention, pained as she was. ¡°Octavia, there!¡±

    In the depths of the deepest darkness, it was impossible to bear witness to the visage of the church in full. It would¡¯ve taken luminescence far beyond what she was capable of emitting at the moment to claim its humble splendor. She knew what was supposed to rest beyond. Where the road terminated and the stairs distantly began, she would surely find her precious path to Seraphim¡¯s Call. It was a beautiful sight alone.

    She couldn¡¯t play harder. Even so, she could run faster. Seemingly emboldened, so, too, could Josiah. Every ear-shattering boom of Mistral Asunder was challenged by the thunderous beating of her heart.

    ¡°I see it!¡± Octavia cried.

    ¡°Is that it?¡± she heard Viola ask above the noise, prying the flute from her lips.

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Josiah answered. ¡°I know where Seraphim¡¯s Call is! If we can get Octavia in there, we¡¯d just need to wait for Celestina!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long we can wait!¡± Viola called.

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do without her! We don¡¯t have a choice!¡±

    Octavia could hear Renato groan dramatically. ¡°See, that¡¯s what we get for being early!¡±

    In truth, Octavia was somewhat convinced the Ensemble would¡¯ve made it to the church first, their pitch-black obstacles aside. There was something horrifying about being expected to stand still and battle the Dissonance from the absolute heart of the city, and her own heart only raced faster with every pounding step towards the doors. At the very least, this had been Josiah¡¯s home for years, absolutely bitter as the return was. If anyone could fumble their way to Seraphim¡¯s Call in utter darkness, it was him. Staving off the Dissonance in a single room was a feasible feat.

    At no point had she stopped to consider, nor did she want to, exactly how many bad memories one little church could harbor. She found out the hard way.

    They never made it within twenty feet of the Velpyre Church itself. The very last of the light she had was enough to prove a point she didn¡¯t want to make. Wrathful smog climbed high along every exterior inch of the sacred building, billowing outwards in equal measure. The entire place, at least visually, spoke to the illusion of utter infestation.

    Whether it was solely a blight upon its outside perimeter remained to be seen, although Octavia highly doubted it. The sickening agony of an entire city gone too soon made sense, distributed and intense as it was. For those who¡¯d been completely and totally forsaken by their prized acolyte, then, their suffering was perhaps a thousand times more severe. It showed. It was deserved, horrific as the sight was.

    It didn¡¯t make Octavia¡¯s entry any easier. Her body gave out at last at what was perhaps the worst possible moment, every effort to steal yet more sparse radiance from Stradivaria utterly fruitless. It was a miracle she was still on her feet at all, Josiah acting as her anchor once she¡¯d lost her balance. She gasped for oxygen she couldn¡¯t find, her defenseless companion no better off. It left them staring down that which was invisible, well aware of its abundance and bloodlust.

    From what she had observed with the last vestiges of her light, the Dissonance was somehow thicker. It was louder. It was aggressive, a testament to the regrets of those burned alive by their beloved flame. Octavia knew what Selena¡¯s vengeful Dissonance had looked like, and it was far from what she stood before now. With either portion of Stradivaria grasped loosely in her shaking hands, there was little to do but tremble before the unseen.

    ¡°Uh, you saw that, too, right?¡± she heard Renato call ahead of her.

    Viola was nearly speechless. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°How the hell are we gonna deal with that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! It¡¯s¡­a lot!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you think?¡± he snapped.

    Even if she couldn¡¯t see Viola, Octavia swore she could feel the Maestra¡¯s eyes on her. ¡°Are you¡­out?¡±

    It tore her heart apart to say yes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I can try! I¡­¡±

    Moving her fingers was torture. Everything hurt fiercely, and the simple motion of trying to raise Stradivaria to her shoulder sent shooting pains down her arm. She cried out involuntarily, her best efforts to hold back her suffering completely in vain.

    ¡°We¡¯ll¡­figure this out!¡± Viola offered, her voice wavering. ¡°Take it easy!¡±

    Octavia shook her head, as invisible as she knew the motion to be. ¡°I don¡¯t want to put that on you!¡±

    ¡°We want to! Let us do this!¡± Viola argued.

    ¡°Should we, like, back off, or something?¡± Renato called.

    At her side, Octavia could at least see Josiah narrow his eyes. ¡°We don¡¯t have anywhere to go! It¡¯s behind us, it''s around us, it¡¯s on every damn side! I don¡¯t think we¡¯d be fast enough to get away, either!¡±

    It was getting louder. She feared it was advancing, even if she couldn¡¯t tell for certain. As to how much, that, too, was a terrifying mystery.

    ¡°Vi, can you go get someone?¡± she heard.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your little magnet thing! Do the same thing you did for me and--¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t leave you here!¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice!¡± Renato shouted. ¡°Just be quick about it!¡±

    ¡°There has to be a better option!¡± Viola pleaded.

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s either that, or we try to take this stuff on ourselves! I don¡¯t know about you, but I¡¯m not a big fan of trying to hit stuff I can¡¯t see!¡±

    His words burned, even unintentionally. She knew she should¡¯ve been able to remedy that situation. Octavia could still barely breathe.

    ¡°Then we¡­have to at least try!¡± Viola cried.

    Octavia¡¯s heart was cracking into pieces, her stomach twisting into knots. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡±

    Viola either didn¡¯t hear or didn¡¯t care. ¡°Just take your best guess where it is! We¡¯ll definitely hit something!¡±

    ¡°Man, this is gonna suck!¡± Renato groaned loudly.

    Octavia wanted to scream. She wanted to plead for them to run. She wondered what she was doing here. Even Josiah at her side, clenching his fists and staring into the pitch-blackness much the same as herself, wasn''t immune to eyes filled with horror and apprehension. For all of the determination she¡¯d found at the worst of times down here, Octavia found none of it in his gaze now. It was a torture all its own. If she reached for him now, she had nothing left to offer. She had nothing left to offer regardless.

    She struggled, fought, begged, pleaded with sheer willpower alone to raise Stradivaria even an inch. Her best efforts, each and every time, brought only severe pain and scathing regret. She wasn¡¯t the slightest bit sorry for saving Josiah. She was, with all of her heart, sorry for her inability to bounce back. Octavia could hear it behind her, even if she couldn¡¯t feel it just yet. There was little to be done besides stepping blindly forward, and Josiah did the same. It happened twice. Thrice.

    It was a death sentence that, even now, she still couldn¡¯t fathom falling victim to. She couldn¡¯t imagine it happening to him again. At the height of what minimal resolve she had left, Octavia could at least do the Maestros before her the courtesy of keeping her opened eyes on the darkness. To shut them was to shirk their sacrifice, however it would end. She wouldn¡¯t look away.

    ¡°Where do you want it?¡±

    ¡°Forward!¡±

    ¡°How much?¡±

    ¡°All of it!¡±

    Her eyes, dilated as they were, filled with raging reds so bright that her pupils pleaded for mercy. It was a fast movement, outright streaming past her with a burning wake in tow. She was forced to raise one hand desperately over her face, for how truly close the scathing embers had come to her body. They weren¡¯t meant for her. It was a fact she could deduce immediately, although the searing path carved through the darkness was anything but uniform.

    The flames that left only blasts of blazing breezes behind outdid the weak radiance she could¡¯ve provided ten times over, spiraling unnaturally as it encircled every Maestro in turn. The surging inferno far outpaced that of the violet which caved beneath it, blighted by incredible heat that singed each writhing wisp. It was as offensive as it was defensive, skillfully maneuvered in a way that spoke to perfect control. Not a single Maestro moved an inch, lest they end up viciously burned.

    Even long after a gap had been forcibly cut between each Maestro and the Dissonance that advanced so rapidly, the intense embers that lingered in the open air still flickered like stars. Suspended as they were, drifting upon something yet unseen, it was enough to grant Octavia some semblance of desperately-needed sight. More importantly, they sounded absolutely beautiful together. Their faces, safe and sound, were enough to nearly bring her to tears alone.

    ¡°Madrigal!¡± she cried, her voice cracking. ¡°Harper!¡±

    With her fingers still plucking away at Lyra¡¯s Repose, it was all Madrigal could do to offer a wink and a beaming smile. ¡°Found you!¡± she exclaimed happily.

    Harper was far less elated, his eyes instantly pooling with worry. ¡°Are you guys okay?¡±

    Again, Octavia was tempted to admit the truth. In the dark, to be fair, he would¡¯ve likely had trouble finding it himself. ¡°I-I¡¯m¡­we¡¯re¡­I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re safe, both of you!¡±

    That, at least, was true. The relief that flooded Viola and Renato¡¯s faces--particularly the latter--echoed her sentiment perfectly. ¡°You were starting to get me worried there for a minute, Maddie!¡± the Strong Maestro called. ¡°What took you so long?¡±

    ¡°I can think of a few things,¡± Harper half-joked on the Maestra¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°What is that?¡± Madrigal asked, her voice more so painted with surprise than fear.

    Blessed with the aid of Harper¡¯s residual embers, the glimpse of abundant Dissonance before the church offered a far worse image versus what Octavia had been picturing. It swirled and surged in billowing, screeching clouds that rose much higher than the agony she¡¯d seen drifting throughout Velpyre thus far. Even if the Dissonance didn¡¯t quite span the full height of the church, it was practically a barrier in its own right, a tide upon the doors and stairs that more than barred her path. She shuddered just observing the scene, preemptively fearing the tidal wave that threatened to crash down onto them at any moment. Knowing there was, logically, so little she personally could do to punch through the darkness in any capacity twisted her soul inside-out.

    ¡°Okay, so, apparently, we have to get through that,¡± Renato explained, his voice touched by annoyance.

    Harper winced. ¡°Are you serious?¡±

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call is inside,¡± Viola reminded. ¡°Octavia has to be able to get in there!¡±

    ¡°This is gonna suck,¡± Harper muttered.

    Renato rolled his eyes. ¡°Trust me, I feel you!¡±

    ¡°How long can you keep up your fire?¡± Viola asked, already raising Silver Brevada back into position.

    Harper¡¯s eyes flickered to Madrigal. She smiled. ¡°We think we found a solution for that!¡± he said.

    ¡°I can¡­help!¡± Octavia cried.

    It was a desperate and empty offer, useless in the face of her suffering and exhaustion. The way by which she faltered under every gaze she drew to herself was mortifying, her arms giving out the moment she tried to raise the violin to her shoulder. Again were her movements crowned by shooting pains, and she couldn¡¯t help but cry out against her best wishes. She struggled to steady her breath, her muscles throbbing intensely from the attempt alone.

    ¡°Catch your breath!¡±

    Viola¡¯s voice, gentle as her words were despite her volume, was surprising. ¡°What?¡± Octavia panted.

    Beneath the soft glow of every floating ember, her illuminated smile was lovely. ¡°Bet you never thought I¡¯d be saying that to you, huh?¡±

    ¡°We can handle it! Save your strength, okay? There¡¯s still more you need to do in there!¡± Harper added, Royal Orleans brushing against his lips once again.

    Even if Madrigal still couldn¡¯t find the leeway for any of her many, many enthusiastic gestures, her vibrant words and beaming smile were just as effective. ¡°We won¡¯t let you down, Ambassador!¡±

    ¡°Keep your eyes on us,¡± Renato offered with a grin, ¡°and we¡¯ll give you one hell of a show!¡±

    It was a reflex, the way she opened her mouth to object. Already, her pleas for them to stand down, to spare themselves from agony incarnate, were bubbling up in her throat. Her words were never freed, stemmed only by warm fingers settling softly atop her shoulder. She nearly jumped, startled by his sudden touch--even welcome as it was. He couldn¡¯t take her hand, and she couldn¡¯t take his, for how desperately she still clung to either portion of the violin. Still, he rested his free hand atop her own, wrapping his fingers around the bow in conjunction with hers.

    Josiah couldn¡¯t do battle--not with his legacy, surrendered for a greater cause, nor with the feeble self-defense by which he would challenge darkness itself. He could, instead, battle fear on her behalf, his words forged into gentle weapons and his kind gaze serving as her shield. He had his own way of fighting, whether for himself or otherwise. Perhaps more than physical protection, it was what she needed most.

    ¡°Remember why we¡¯re here,¡± he spoke quietly, his voice so close to her. ¡°You already know what I¡¯m gonna say. If you don¡¯t trust their strength, then trust the Muses that stand beside them. If you don¡¯t trust the Muses that stand beside them, then¡­trust yourself for choosing people who love you this much.¡±

    Octavia''s eyes widened. She wondered if that included him. It was a concept that warmed her heart in the dark, racing as it was. The adrenaline that flooded her veins wasn''t for herself alone, nor was the hope she fought for her life to cobble together. If she could honor a sacrifice in the darkness with her gaze, she would certainly offer up everything she had for a victory.

    She did as she was told. She didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off of them.

 79. Burn the Rope, Part III

    ¡°Where do you want it?¡±

    ¡°Same as before!¡±

    ¡°Right!¡± [?]</a>

    The efficiency with which Madrigal and Harper worked in tandem was breathtaking. The Willful boy¡¯s scathing flames were augmented vividly by Spirited gales that captured every last ember. Even as his scorching song brought powerful fire to life, he surrendered control with great trust and zero hesitation. Madrigal took hold of his flames beautifully, weaving a flaring storm in any conceivable pattern or direction she wished. It reminded Octavia of Mint¡¯s lightning, somewhat, pushed and pulled with skillful prowess and utter focus.

    He was fuel for her guidance, and she stole all he could graciously give. Beneath her swelling, swirling winds, his flames, too, did the same, as deadly as they were aglow. Ironically, it was a Maestra spared from a luminous legacy who burned brighter than even Octavia, the searing heat of the sun manipulated with every crystalline note. She didn¡¯t waste a single ember.

    Whatever visibility they needed, she provided in excess. So, too, was it again offensive in turn, burning deep through the cloudy violet that Madrigal illuminated with her flaming song. Again and again she encircled them all--a bursting gale that could¡¯ve scorched them fiercely, should her focus slip. They hardly needed to worry, for how they continued to fight regardless. Even from a distance, their unshakable trust in Madrigal was plain to see. She left them room to work.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll end up breaking it?¡±

    ¡°Probably!¡±

    ¡°Should I care?¡±

    ¡°God, just hit it!¡±

    It was a wide circle, aflame and brilliant as it was. It was more than enough for Renato to capture his momentum, simultaneously blessed with the explosive power of Mistral Asunder below him. He threw himself downwards, the tips of either drumstick tapping against the innocent ground delicately. By comparison, the bursting boom that sent him sailing upwards was anything but. Every calculated movement by which he positioned himself accordingly set him level with the Dissonance besieging the entrance, as high as it rose.

    Even finding himself somewhat below the absolute peak of the wispy agony scaling the church, it was more than enough. Silver Brevada had done him justice, the thick crystalline shield Octavia had seen earlier now diagonal to his feet. He was airborne. Her ice was low, close enough to the Dissonance that the screeching mist kissed it freely. Octavia already knew what was coming next.

    There was lament to be found, somewhat, in the way the glacier that now shimmered gorgeously beneath Madrigal¡¯s stolen fire was to be so ferociously shattered. He wasn¡¯t content to submit to gravity alone, embracing the touch of Mistral Asunder against the open air once more as his ankles cleared his head. His angle was perfect, his velocity mildly horrifying. The speed at which Renato launched himself down upon the ice was that of a comet, the precise and resounding boom that followed once more just barely sparing him from shattering instead.

    The shockwave was flawless, and the resonating burst found Viola¡¯s sturdy barrier exploding into hundreds of pieces. If each jagged, spearing fragment of crystal had been quick to pierce the false darkness before, then this was an instant blow. The force of the blast was enough to downright rupture the fog as it screeched ever louder. Even before he truly did give in to gravity at last, Octavia could still see the radiant, prideful grin on his face.

    Where he¡¯d turned her frosted shield into a hundred arrows, he managed to turn stained glass into a thousand shards of an absolute mess. That, more than likely, was unintentional. Octavia winced as the resounding shockwave reverberated violently through the exterior of the church. It was, unfortunately, just as effective against the clinging Dissonance as it was consequential to the antique building itself. The artisanal, angelic craftsmanship she''d appreciated every hue and shining color of rained down onto the church steps pitifully. There was probably at least some irony to be found there.

    The moment his feet touched the ground, she saw Renato cringe. ¡°I, uh, I¡¯m not going to Heaven when I die, am I?¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t going in that direction anyway!¡±

    He clicked his tongue in annoyance, rolling his eyes for good measure. ¡°Just do it again already, damn!¡±

    Bitter words aside, Viola did as he requested. Renato repeated the same relentless assault several times more, his setup and delivery of such a powerful blow somehow seeming to grow ever faster. The Soulful Maestra showed no fear from afar. Her swift fingers and shrill notes were well-paced as she lined up her icy barricades for him to blast apart again and again. Her eyes followed him perfectly, given the erratic and unpredictable fighter she was aiding.

    For how dense and frosted Viola¡¯s ice was, there was no concern to be had in the face of the blaze that skirted past her over and over. When she stopped to catch her breath, it was earlier than usual. Renato didn¡¯t scold her, content to let her rest for far more briefly than Octavia was used to. In the absence of her ice, he still struck at the murky smoke that surged upon the stairs of his own accord.

    Viola wasn¡¯t the only one for whom breath control was a matter of life and death. She found her composure fairly quickly, the mouth of Silver Brevada touching her lips once more. ¡°Watch your breathing!¡± she cried.

    Harper obliged, ripping Royal Orleans from his face as he gasped sharply. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as you¡¯d think it¡¯d be, actually!¡±

    Without his continuous, masterful song to fuel her fiery gale, Madrigal still held fast to the flames she¡¯d already laid claim to. Even now, they graced the air with speed and strength of equal prowess as that of before. Her circle was largely impenetrable--on any given side she could focus on, at least. Every feverish note and every rapid pluck of the strings brought the burning gust streaming faster, a variable firestorm that she strived to stretch for as long as possible.

    No less than once, Octavia was aware of the way by which the scarlet comet threaded behind her. She found the same vivid flames carving yet another gap between herself, Josiah, and the Dissonance that crept closer to them from the back. Her eyes followed each ember lingering in a blazing wake, the afterimage settling onto her pupils as the heated air warmed her skin. Madrigal winked at her confidently yet again. Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle the tiniest of smiles.

    There was an irritation to be found in the stubbornness of the church¡¯s agonizing plague, if Renato¡¯s face was anything to go by. Even as he beat upon every last veil of violet again and again, pumping the fog full of lethal frost in the process, it wasn¡¯t enough. Progress was made. Still, where he found reprieve, yet more smoke would rush to meet his ministrations shortly after. He wasn¡¯t tired. He was annoyed, apparently.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if this is working out!¡± he groaned, even in the midst of yet another crystalline assault. ¡°Can we hit it with anything else?¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s face lit up. ¡°I have an idea, but--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good with that!¡± he called.

    Harper raised an eyebrow. ¡°She didn¡¯t even--¡±

    Renato didn¡¯t bother to face him directly, engrossed in his frozen violence as he was. ¡°Yeah, but if it¡¯s Maddie¡¯s idea, it¡¯s definitely a good one, so I¡¯ll go with it!¡±

    Madrigal beamed, turning to the Willful boy at her side. ¡°How high can you aim?¡±

    Harper tapped his fingernails against Royal Orleans with a proud grin. ¡°Pretty freakin¡¯ high!¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Perfect! I need you to trust me, okay?¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°O¡­kay?¡±

    With only an elated smile in her wake, Madrigal was sprinting, her flaming wind discarded as it slowly fizzled into the darkness. For a moment, Octavia was concerned they would be plunged into pitch-blackness yet again. The radiance on Madrigal¡¯s face not only made up for it, but endured as the light faded. ¡°Renato!¡± she cried.

    It took him a moment to retreat, bursting away from the Dissonance with a boom that still landed him on his feet. Initially, he seemed puzzled, staring the Spirited Maestra down blankly as she dashed towards him.

    On the edges of the fading fires, her eyes flickered down to the ground. Then, up to the ceiling of the city they rose instead. When they at last landed on Renato¡¯s own, his grin was explosive.

    He, too, was sprinting, set on a collision course with Madrigal. Either half of Mistral Asunder sat eagerly in wait between his skilled fingers, and his face was far, far too enthusiastic. ¡°Oh my God, you have no idea how bad I¡¯ve wanted to do this!¡±

    ¡°Harper!¡± she called, never once taking her eyes off of Renato. ¡°I need you to hit me with everything you¡¯ve got! Don¡¯t hold back, no matter what!¡±

    His eyes widened, pooling with shock and fear. ¡°W-What? Hit you? Like, literally?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll know when! Trust me!¡±

    Harper raised Royal Orleans to his lips tentatively. ¡°Are we sure this is a good idea?¡±

    Whatever qualms he had were lost on her. Renato, too, was immune to the Willful boy¡¯s concern, already spinning one half of Mistral Asunder excitedly between cherry oak fingers. ¡°How high do you wanna go, princess?¡±

    Madrigal was absolutely glowing. ¡°As high as you can get me!¡±

    Renato gave her a wink. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be gentle! Ready?¡±

    ¡°Ready!¡±

    It was on the absolute edges of Renato¡¯s fine-tuned assault that Octavia could hear a familiar plea--one she¡¯d heard solely a handful of times before. It was a twofold siege of her senses.

    ¡°Take my hands!¡±

    For you and you alone.

    Madrigal held fast to either end of Lyra¡¯s Repose, closing her eyes as one tip of Mistral Asunder pressed delicately up against her stomach. The result was roughly what Octavia had expected, although the boom that followed was far lighter and far softer than those she¡¯d grown accustomed to. It was a carefully-adjusted strength she¡¯d felt for herself before, albeit in a circumstance with far greater consequences for error on Renato¡¯s part. Madrigal didn¡¯t flinch, flail, or even cry out with any flavor of emotion as she was launched high into the air. If her own trusting plea was anything to go by, it made sense--given that Madrigal wasn¡¯t the one withstanding the blast.

    True to his word, Renato had been gentle, his sonic burst directly against her fragile body measured and restrained. As a result, he hadn¡¯t hit her with any unfathomable amount of force, by which he surely could¡¯ve launched the Maestra well into the blossom above if he so desired. He struck a balance between height and rationality that left Madrigal looking down at the church from on high, not quite cresting its full height. It was close enough, and she was an angel in her own right. Octavia waited for any further contribution on Renato¡¯s part, whether that consisted of ensuring her safe return to earth or returning her to the open air well above their heads. It didn¡¯t matter. She never came down.

    Madrigal¡¯s song was sharp, fast, and foreign, birthing vicious notes that Octavia had only heard several times over. With her wispy melody came rushing gales, audible even from a distance, that wrapped her up and blessed her body. In truth, the ferocity of her storm was louder than even the screeching agony that fought to outmatch its whirling winds. Only Madrigal¡¯s fingers moved with any true significance, every crystalline cry that escaped her swift motions weaving yet more relentless gusts into her vortex. It was amazing that she could play while suspended on her back, the angle at which Renato had sent her flying ultimately landing her almost upside-down. It was far, far more astonishing that she was suspended at all.

    If the looks on Harper and Viola¡¯s faces were anything to go by, Octavia wasn¡¯t the only one harboring the same shock and awe. Renato took Madrigal''s feat instead with a brilliant grin that threatened to split his face in half. With each passing second, Octavia could swear the Spirited storm only grew ever stronger, the rushing winds increasing steadily in volume until they were practically screaming above its roar.

    ¡°Look, I know I said I could aim high, but I didn¡¯t know she meant that high!¡± Harper cried.

    Already, Renato had broken into a dead sprint towards the Willful boy. ¡°Give me what you¡¯ve got and I¡¯ll get it there! We¡¯ve done this before, remember?¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t ignorant to the split second that Harper flinched, Renato¡¯s spontaneous approach enough to put him under pressure. Still, he bounced back quicker than expected. ¡°If we could stop doing it under these circumstances, that¡¯d be nice!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t so much that Renato gave him room to breathe--literally--as it was that Harper matched his speed. Renato didn¡¯t flinch in the face of Royal Orleans¡¯s broiling flames, openly scathing the air before him in coagulating pulses of luminous orange. The flickering fireball that sailed in his direction was met without fear or reluctance. Instead, he greeted its unforgiving heat with cherry oak tips, flicking his wrists upwards with a bang that sent the boy¡¯s fire flying. It didn¡¯t matter that Harper¡¯s condensed inferno, scorching and all-consuming as it was, had hardly survived the ascent.

    Where they¡¯d once found a gorgeous burst not dissimilar to fireworks before, the strength of both Maestros in tandem had since evolved into something visibly more lethal. Octavia genuinely feared for Madrigal¡¯s safety, at least momentarily. The wrath of a scattered sun was dragged with ease into her swirling storm, Harper¡¯s splintered embers circulating about the Spirited girl like infernal stars. Once more was her wind a harrowing fuel, his kidnapped flames only augmented in her care. If Renato¡¯s annihilation of Viola¡¯s ice was deadly, then his obliteration of fire itself was undeniably fatal to those in its sights. Wrapped in Lyra¡¯s love, Octavia knew not a single flickering flare would singe one hair on Madrigal¡¯s head.

    Harper didn¡¯t hesitate to repeat the same process, and neither did Renato. True to his word, the aim Harper possessed sent each scalding fireball startlingly high. It wasn¡¯t quite enough to reach Madrigal, given the thirty feet or so that Renato had sent her aloft. It was Renato, again and again, who closed the gap between them. With every tumble both upon the earth and blasting into the open air, the strength of sound served his body and prowess well as he blessed Harper¡¯s flames with desperately-needed momentum.

    Bang after bang after bang saw the bursting flames erupting into searing sparks, painting Madrigal¡¯s streaming vortex with pulsing hues of scarlets and oranges alike. Slowly but surely, flame after flame, she, too, was evolving into her own fireball. Madrigal was the nucleus of her personal sun, her swift song unbending and unflinching. She almost seemed to disappear behind the veil of flames that wrapped her up.

    ¡°I think she¡¯s gonna need more than that!¡± Renato called.

    Harper winced on the edges of a much-needed gasp. ¡°What else am I supposed to do?¡±

    Renato¡¯s mischievous grin spoke to something that worried Octavia, if she remembered that specific look in his eyes correctly. ¡°She said she wanted everything you had, right?¡±

    Harper nodded. ¡°I mean, yeah, but I¡¯m not sure what else I can--¡±

    ¡°Take a deep breath! You¡¯re gonna need it!¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°Uh, okay?¡±

    ¡°When I say everything, I mean everything, alright?¡±

    Again did Harper nod, albeit with notably more confusion. ¡°R-Right! I think?¡±

    ¡°And if you¡¯re gonna scream, do it now!¡±

    Harper blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    His screaming came late, anyway. Renato moved much faster than him, for once, and Octavia already knew it would turn out this way. Madrigal wasn¡¯t the only one Renato was content to send airborne today, although she¡¯d been the far more willing party between the two Maestros he¡¯d targeted. Harper, by comparison, did not take kindly to Mistral Asunder scraping against his torso, even careful as the motion was. The delicate boom that elicited panic and horror surely rippled through his blood, much the same as Octavia had felt herself before. He held fast to Royal Orleans all the way up, although whether his death grip was a reflex remained to be seen.

    Harper kept his eyes open, at least, glued with terror to the distant ground below as they were. He tumbled no less than twice, almost definitely an unintentional side effect of such a haphazard ascent. The way by which he was still screaming served as confirmation of Octavia¡¯s suspicions there. Renato seemed pleased enough with himself. He¡¯d gotten to torture most of them, at this point.

    It took Harper far more than just a moment to reorient himself, let alone to gather his composure some thirty or so feet off the ground. For all the air that had surely left his lungs in the process of panicking the entire way up, he found plenty more still. It was undoubtedly by sheer willpower alone that Harper traded his dread for his strength, raising Royal Orleans even as he continued to ascend ever further. Like Madrigal, he, too, had ended up at a compromising angle, poorly oriented in a way that saw him nearly parallel with the ground so far below.

    Again, it was the same will that drove him to keep his eyes open that brought his focus upon Madrigal, leveling the bell of the trumpet with her not-so-distant storm. She was indifferent to Harper¡¯s flames, explosive as they were at such a close range. He truly did gift her with every last ounce of air he could expel into his fiery song, the lethal heat that erupted forth surging relentlessly into her ceaseless gales. Were she not who she was, were Madrigal not blessed with the powers that she possessed, she would surely have been burned to cinders beneath the incinerating wrath that was the will of fire.

    Octavia watched with wide eyes as Harper made the most of the breath he was given, pumping the swirling tempest full of his violent inferno. Where she¡¯d once wished desperately for some semblance of luminescence, Octavia now nearly found herself covering her eyes in the face of the blinding blaze. From where she stood, she could feel the hot breeze whipping against her bare skin.

    Madrigal was the sun, undeniably. Hidden deep beneath the cover of every gusting flame, the firestorm she commanded so perfectly was as horrifying to witness as it was spectacular. Octavia sincerely couldn¡¯t hear the Dissonance. She could hear Harper screaming on the way down, at least, the descent doubling the severity of his panic.

    She never once believed that Renato would actually let him fall. The Strong Maestro effortlessly met him halfway with his own style of bursting ascent, cherry oak upon the earth sending him high enough to capture the boy with ease. Whatever inversions he was content to submit to on the way down, Harper didn''t seem nearly as pleased with.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ever do that again!¡± Harper snapped, visibly shaken.

    Renato shrugged, his own grin unperturbed. ¡°But it worked, didn¡¯t it?¡±

    As to the Spirited star in the darkened sky, a beacon of scorching brilliance so far below true sunlight above, her song grew somehow louder. Her notes were more clear, every facet of Lyra¡¯s melody in hands unseen speaking to indescribable ability. If Octavia squinted, she could¡¯ve sworn each pulsating wisp and lash of flickering scarlet was brightening further. She could¡¯ve sworn the storm, in turn, was moving faster, heated gales from afar now searing her cheeks in earnest. Silver Brevada was almost inaudible beneath the spirit of wind unleashed, shrill notes drowned out by the blazing squall high above. What mattered more was Viola¡¯s actual contribution, familiar as it was.

    ¡°Now!¡± she cried desperately, her voice just barely enough to outdo the roar of the storm.

    Whether the frozen barricade, high-rising and visibly sturdy once more, would be enough was debatable. Octavia knew Viola¡¯s ice was strong, but the firestorm Madrigal quite literally held in her hands was a solid contender for that which could threaten her shimmering glacier.

    Still, the crystal wall that encircled the three Maestros was all they had, and Viola¡¯s own ballad of protective frost only served as a prayer to withstand what was to come. Octavia had half a mind to dart behind the same icy shield with Josiah in tow, given the horrifying strength of the sun that still pulsed and surged above. Instead, she simply opted to brace. He did the same at her side.

    There was no cry of effort on Madrigal¡¯s part, no emotion that spoke to exertion or a weighted attempt at attacking. Lyra made it look easy, her powerful fingers tangled with Madrigal¡¯s own as they were. Octavia didn¡¯t dare blink as she clung to every note of ruthless strumming, the full force of the storm rapidly unraveling. Like a gushing river, the inferno that streamed on ferocious gales bore down into clouded darkness below, and the hellfire of an angel was unleashed onto screaming agony without mercy. It was endless, an entire sun unwoven as quickly as it had been born and gifted to the mist in a blinding blaze.

    Madrigal could¡¯ve passed for the partner of the Apex of Will, at that moment, rather than the Muse she loved so dearly. Her stolen flames, swollen and pulsating, scathed and scorched unforgivingly upon every conceivable surface of the church¡¯s exterior. Even if she couldn¡¯t quash the Dissonance in full, the fog that rapidly gave way beneath the fiery assault mingled with flickering embers alone as it fizzled into screeching nothingness. It was more than enough. Octavia could see the doors. Octavia could see anything.

    Madrigal wasn¡¯t satisfied until every single fleeting spark of Harper¡¯s kidnapped fires was put to use, cutting deep into any murky violet that writhed threateningly in their peripheral vision. It took time for the eternal sun to finally flicker and die, Harper resuming his own luminous song in a hurried attempt to preserve what had been lost. It left Madrigal falling with grace, her gales giving way to gravity as she descended headfirst towards the ground below. Initially, Octavia panicked, more than concerned for whatever exhaustion surely came with such a feat. She gave up on that fear quickly, given who she was talking about.

    Madrigal opened her arms wide with only absolute trust and a beaming smile to break her fall. It was more than enough, and he hardly needed to meet her in the air to scoop her into his exuberant embrace. His dazzling grin paired perfectly with hers.

    Renato pressed his lips to her cheek, his smile split so wide that he could barely do so in the first place. ¡°That was friggin¡¯ awesome! That¡¯s my girl!¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s bubbling laugh was enough to carve a path through the darkness in its own way. The knowing smiles that assailed Octavia on every side were warmer than even the sun she¡¯d witnessed moments ago. It wasn¡¯t enough to calm her racing heart. Even so, it was enough to piece it back together. She found a smile of her own once more, weak as it was.

    ¡°We can¡¯t waste this opportunity,¡± Josiah interrupted her thoughts, gripping her wrist loosely. ¡°This is our chance to get to Seraphim!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t object, the stray upturn of his own lips not lost on her. ¡°What about Celestina?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°They¡¯ll find their way in! We need to get you down there!¡±

    ¡°Are we all going inside?¡± Harper asked in between breaths.

    Viola picked up where he left off. ¡°There¡¯s no way there isn¡¯t Dissonance in there, but what if more of it comes in from here? We¡¯d be stuck!¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Octavia winced. The idea of splitting up again was nauseating, especially intentionally. She didn¡¯t enjoy the idea of spending too long debating, even if the Dissonance hadn¡¯t reclaimed the front entrance just yet. She knew better than to assume that the church doors would stay liberated forever. ¡°Are there any other entrances?¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°This is the only one! We go in this way and we come back out this way! That¡¯s our only option!¡±

    Harper¡¯s radiant flames flickered and faded briefly once more. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have much of a choice but to go in! By the time we come out, maybe it¡¯ll be easier!¡±

    As the veil of true darkness slowly settled upon Octavia like a blanket, she awaited the return of his breath with patience. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much progress we¡¯ve actually made collectively! I thought the light from above would be back by now, at least!¡±

    When the flames relieved her dilating pupils once more, she, too, was relieved in turn. ¡°I thought it would be, to be honest!¡± Josiah shouted. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was possible to underestimate exactly how bad it would be down here!¡±

    The way by which the distant screeching was beginning to grow closer yet again was deeply unsettling, their voices forced to rise ever louder. ¡°It makes sense!¡± Viola yelled. ¡°I mean, it was an entire city, to be fair!¡±

    Josiah gritted his teeth. ¡°Yeah, but that shouldn¡¯t be--¡±

    Octavia hushed him with a raise of her hand, Stradivaria¡¯s bow nearly hitting him in the face in the process. The melody that accompanied the flickering fires was not that which she¡¯d come to expect from Royal Orleans. She¡¯d heard it earlier. It was her fault for not recognizing the degree to which they were faster, more fluid, almost disorienting to witness in the dark. Born of chords she was still growing used to, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the surging glow that pierced through the pitch-blackness. Francisco was equally as loud, as she was also growing to expect.

    ¡°Oh, damn, you guys are quick!¡±

    ¡°Nah, you¡¯re just slow as hell!¡± Renato half-teased.

    It was mostly impossible to see the warm tides of seafoam eyes in the dark. She could hear his beautiful song, invisible as it was in his Spirited hands. Francisco¡¯s flames were nothing in the face of Renegadria singing its stormy song to her instead. Octavia cherished the winds that rippled through every crevice of her braids. His gales sliced with little hesitation through what smoky agony had barred their own path forward. She''d never seen him fight.

    Even on the edges of Francisco¡¯s illuminating embers, brilliant as they were, Octavia could still hardly capture the Maestro¡¯s face. What little she did steal with her eyes was remarkable, the storm upon the sea in his own a sight to behold. He played with grace and great skill, his deft fingers weaving together gusty melodies that were as lovely as they were dangerous. Octavia almost hesitated to call his name. The idea of disturbing his focus, the concept of tearing him away from harmonies that had captured her heart, was distressing. It was more distressing to bottle up her relief.

    ¡°River!¡± she simply exclaimed.

    Octavia could see his smile. It had never been bright enough to light the darkest rooms. It was a gentle candle, instead, that glowed just enough to satisfy her soul. Her name in his voice, clear as it was above the noise, was just as soft as ever. ¡°Octavia! Are you alright?¡±

    It was a question that was getting more difficult to answer, even if she was inching closer to the truth. ¡°We¡¯re okay! Where¡¯s Celestina?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here!¡± she heard accordingly. The former acolyte in question raised her hand as she sprinted, trailing closely behind the Essenced Maestra who¡¯d guarded her so viciously earlier. Octavia had half a mind to wonder exactly who was in control of Mint¡¯s exceedingly-skilled hands at the moment, silent as she was once more.

    Between Harper and Francisco in unison, their collective line of sight had improved marginally. Octavia lamented her inability to contribute, her muscles continuing to throb painfully. At the very least, she was thankful for their faces in full. She watched as River¡¯s eyes drifted to the boy at her side, his fingers still wrapped delicately around her wrist.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± River asked, ¡°where do we go from here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more than willing to bet there¡¯s a lot more Dissonance inside the church,¡± he answered. ¡°Ideally, we¡¯d have people to deal with what¡¯s already inside and people to keep more from getting in!¡±

    River nodded. ¡°Should we split your circle and ours?¡±

    ¡°I think we¡¯ve got this place figured out pretty nicely by now,¡± Harper said. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot more room to fight out here!¡±

    Madrigal smiled. ¡°We won¡¯t let a single teeny tiny bit of darkness get through!¡±

    The remaining Maestros nodded in agreement themselves, even as Octavia strongly hesitated to do the same back. She wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the idea of going alone. The thought made her hands tremble, clenched around either portion of Stradivaria as they were.

    The gentle squeeze around her wrist helped instantly. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± Josiah reminded firmly. It was enough.

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll get you guys down there!¡± River called. ¡°If you just show us where to go, we¡¯ll do the rest!¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°Right!¡±

    ¡°Go before it comes back!¡± Viola cried. ¡°Don¡¯t wait any longer!¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart sank, even as Josiah tugged her forwards. ¡°But--¡±

    Viola smiled gently. ¡°We¡¯ll wait for you, Ambassador! Do your best!¡±

    As to whether or not her best would suffice, Octavia didn¡¯t dare begin to question. She held fast to the image of Viola¡¯s smile all the way inside, grateful for the way someone else had opted to throw open the church doors rather than herself. She wasn¡¯t sure if she would¡¯ve had the strength, physically or emotionally, to do it twice. The one familiarity she could cling to with genuine comfort was the boy who she¡¯d uncovered within its walls so long ago, now offering her all of his hope at her side. She wished she could beg for Josiah to grasp her wrist tighter. He did. She thanked whoever had answered her prayers in such a place.

    The interior of the church was just as smothered in much the same true darkness as she¡¯d expected. Francisco¡¯s resilient flames offered a reprieve that covered far more area than she would¡¯ve anticipated inside. His song echoed down every hallway, even those yet unseen upon entry, in a way that wasn¡¯t entirely unwelcome compared to the screeching. They were surely not the type of flames the clergy who¡¯d once claimed the Velpyre Church for themselves would¡¯ve desired. They were the closest this place would ever get again. Octavia shuddered at the thought.

    ¡°Which way?¡± Francisco asked quickly.

    Josiah closed his eyes for a moment, muttering something under his breath. ¡°Left, straight, left again, and right!¡±

    Even with the vibrant luminescence augmented by the power of an Apex, there was only so much Francisco could do at once. As such, there was no real way to carve a fiery path in full that would lead Josiah to such a firm choice of direction. There were no interior landmarks of which to speak. For as long ago as Josiah had fled from the suffocating grasp of the church¡¯s walls, the route to Seraphim¡¯s Call was surely instinctive. Octavia didn¡¯t press him on it. She would never, more than likely. He hardly even waited for anyone to express their understanding, bolting headfirst into the depths of the dark with her still seized tightly in his grip.

    Whether he trusted the Ensemble or was simply impatient was debatable. There was a balance to be struck between the boy¡¯s necessary navigation through his broken home and the equally-necessary offense it would take to get them to Seraphim¡¯s Call. His directions had been simple enough, easy to memorize and execute in turn. It was River who stuck closest, an even distribution of their collective strengths serving them well in guarding the three cornerstones of their mission. Even if Mint couldn¡¯t bring thunderbolts striking down into the rolling agony inside, her rippling sparks and scattering jolts were enough to deter whatever chased them down.

    Francisco, largely supportive as his role was, still scorched and seared his way through the bitter fog as was needed. River¡¯s footsteps matched pace almost perfectly with Josiah¡¯s, if not slightly faster when necessary. Again, Octavia was blessed with Renegadria¡¯s stormy melodies, the razor-edged gales born of the accordion slashing into the darkness relentlessly before them. The residual breezes that rustled her braids were still not unwelcome, especially given the beads of sweat that rolled from her brow.

    Octavia was aware of Celestina panting distantly, somewhere in the general center of their formation. She resisted the urge to turn and assess the woman¡¯s safety. In a flickering, passing thought, Octavia briefly wondered where Mina had ended up, close to the former acolyte as she¡¯d been. It was a concern that took little priority in the face of her current situation. As to how the former acolyte was holding up emotionally, particularly relative to their present location, Octavia feared asking at all.

    ¡°That one!¡±

    ¡°There?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    River nearly kicked the door to the chapel down. The amount of Dissonance inside of the room, startlingly, was far less than Octavia had anticipated. It was enough that it still took effort to safely garner a path forward. Still, the screeching that scraped against her eardrums was far more tolerable. Her chronic nausea was weakening, her enduring lightheadedness easing somewhat. It was nearly a breath of fresh air, an oasis relative to the circumstances and location.

    She stole as much of that fresh air as she could, physically and emotionally alike. Doubled over on her knees, much the same as Josiah, she put her trust in the Ensemble to give shelter to the Ambassador as she caught her breath. It wasn''t misplaced, even as the atmosphere crackled and burned around her.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, then.¡±

    River¡¯s soft words didn¡¯t do the Harmonial Instrument justice. For as much as Octavia loathed the city and the church alike, Seraphim¡¯s Call had been innocent. This moment in time was no different, and it was every bit as magnificent as she¡¯d remembered. Every pipe that climbed the walls to kiss the ceiling was still admirable. Every glistening key of all-too-ironic ivory and ebony shone brilliantly in the wake of Francisco¡¯s melodic embers. Every facet of resplendence would forever put mortal craftsmanship to shame, and the beauty of the instrument greeted Octavia¡¯s eyes in full once more.

    It didn¡¯t bring to her heart the devastation its twin had cursed her with. The thought of its Maestra, reluctant as she¡¯d been for her entire life, did. She beat down the thought again and again, willing herself to consider only the context of their primary objective rather than Selena¡¯s fleeting smile.

    Francisco whistled. ¡°It¡¯s¡­big.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s exactly how I remember it,¡± Josiah murmured. ¡°Not that¡­anything would¡¯ve changed.¡±

    His words were heavy and pained, his eyes a perfect match. Octavia made the choice to lay Stradivaria upon the plush carpet at last, opting in full for Josiah¡¯s gentle touch instead. This time, it was her turn to reach for him. She squeezed. He squeezed back. It was harder than usual, and his eyes never left the instrument. On occasion, they flickered to the black stool that awaited a Maestra even now. Octavia had a feeling she knew why.

    ¡°Now we¡­is it as simple as it sounds?¡± River asked hesitantly.

    Josiah hadn¡¯t looked Celestina in the eyes since the night they¡¯d met. Octavia wasn¡¯t particularly confident in whatever words would leave his lips once he did. Celestina tensed long before he turned to face her. The gaze he fixed her with, ultimately, was as sharp as it was fatigued.

    ¡°Make a bond with Seraphim,¡± he demanded quietly. ¡°That¡¯s all you have to do. We won¡¯t ask for anything else.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s eyes darted to Octavia. The Ambassador did what she could to offer her unspoken warmth, fleeting as it was versus the colder boy she was tethered to. The woman¡¯s fingers twitched.

    ¡°I¡­how?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out.¡±

    Again did she look to Octavia for guidance. In truth, Octavia didn¡¯t have a definitive answer to give her, and the process was well beyond her. Every bond she was aware of amongst her companions--save for exactly one--had been a natural occurrence born simply of fate. As to the outlier, a moment of peril had prompted a consensual partnership that was not to last long. The latter was her only frame of reference, especially given exactly how brief this partnership was to be by comparison. All Octavia could offer her was a nod of reassurance.

    They were quiet as the former acolyte took slow, shaky steps down the aisle. For as much effort as she put into steadying her breath, her best attempts were largely futile. In the absence of Dissonance, at least temporarily, Francisco had traded his song for their first shred of natural light since their descent into the Cursed City. With the last of his Willful embers, his delicate sparks had splashed across long-forgotten candle wicks along the walls. It was as calming as it was unsettling, genuine silence in a single room blessing the Ambassador with a tense reprieve.

    If she strained, Octavia could still hear the distant cries of wailing Dissonance throughout the remainder of the church. For now, she felt secure. Logically, blessed with a Maestra or not, the haven of Seraphim¡¯s Call was the safest place she could be.

    Celestina adjusting the stool beneath herself was somewhat surprising, moving ever closer to the organ uncomfortably. She didn¡¯t play, and yet her fingers came to rest atop the keys all the same. They trembled against the ivory, unblemished by the passage of time and spared even by the faintest coat of dust. She gazed blankly into the hardwood immediately before her, meritless as it was compared to any given glance in any other direction. Her breath rattled on every exhale.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­been awhile,¡± Celestina said quietly.

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare move, fighting to harness even the slightest reverberation of a response that wasn¡¯t necessarily hers to hear. She wondered if Celestina knew her reunion wouldn''t be entirely private. She wondered if the woman would care, for how desperately she¡¯d once battled to flee her partner¡¯s embrace.

    ¡°How long has it been since I¡¯ve sat here?¡± Celestina asked. ¡°How long has it been since I¡¯ve touched you?¡±

    Josiah squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. It didn¡¯t break her focus.

    The former acolyte paused. ¡°Do I¡­deserve to touch you once more?¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t squeeze so much as he did strangle her fingers. Octavia winced, stiffening under his grip. In her current hold, it was nearly impossible to reciprocate, even delicately. She tried regardless. It was barely enough to get him to relax, returning at least a hint of her circulation.

    ¡°I¡­I left you. I left you alone, and I understand if you don¡¯t want me by your side again. It wasn¡¯t your fault. The fault was all mine, and I¡¯m¡­so sorry that this is what it has come to.¡±

    Octavia could feel Josiah shaking. She didn¡¯t have the heart to turn her head. She could only squeeze his hand. He could only squeeze hers in return, gentler.

    Celestina rested her forehead against the hardwood softly. ¡°I cannot ask for forgiveness. To desire freedom, I don¡¯t think that is a sin. To abandon the hope of another in its place¡­that is different. If I could have been by your side until the end, maybe this would never have happened.¡±

    His trembling was fervent. Octavia squeezed. He didn¡¯t reciprocate.

    ¡°Maybe she¡­did you more justice than I could¡¯ve. Did she love you? Did she fear you? Did she hate you? How did you feel?¡±

    She squeezed. He still didn¡¯t answer back.

    ¡°Even if she loathed you, she was¡­there. You felt her touch. Was it gentle? Was it careful? What was she like?¡±

    Octavia tried once more. Josiah flexed his fingers weakly against her own.

    ¡°For her to stand by your side every day, in this place¡­is a bravery beyond what I can imagine. You, who knew her since she was a young child, did you watch over her as she grew? Did you¡­ever see her smile? Was it beautiful?¡±

    And when she found the strength to turn to him, tears ran down his cheeks freely.

    Celestina stroked two keys with delicate fingertips. ¡°Am I wrong to take the position she took so often on my behalf? Am I wrong to touch where her hands graced you when I did not?¡±

    Through gritted teeth, he stifled his sobs, shoulders shaking in their place.

    ¡°Would you¡­let me feel her in your song, the one she played with you so many times over?¡± Celestina whispered, her voice hoarse. ¡°Just¡­once more?¡±

    He clung to her hand for dear life, trembling viciously.

    I will honor your resolve.

    Where Octavia¡¯s eyes widened, Josiah¡¯s only dripped with bitter sorrow.

    And with the first clear, echoing note that Seraphim¡¯s Call had breathed in far too long a time, Octavia¡¯s blood rippled with something indescribably pure.

    Celestina¡¯s song was unlike anything she¡¯d ever heard, even from this Harmonial Instrument specifically. It was gentle, somewhat nostalgic in a way she couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. Octavia had been privy to the melody of Seraphim¡¯s Call before, reluctant as it was. It was the first time she¡¯d ever heard the instrument sing with such grace and love, its clear sound soaking into her blood and pulsing against her soul. Again and again did the warm sensation wash over her in waves equal parts airy and overwhelming.

    She couldn¡¯t move, nor did she dare to try, in the face of an inexplicable harmony that vibrated throughout her entire being. It was as wonderful as it was disorienting. She couldn¡¯t manage to move her fingers, try as she might to squeeze Josiah¡¯s hand once more. She could, at least, hear his ragged breaths as he struggled to swallow his sobs beside her.

    Where Celestina closed her eyes, her fingers moved naturally and fluidly regardless. Every gentle stroke upon every shining key was unhesitant and elegant. Octavia didn¡¯t need to imagine the robes, nor the title, nor the environment necessary to nurture such an ill-fated flame. For what it was worth, the blood of an acolyte had never left her body. The blood of a Maestra, too, still ran through her veins, obvious with every trusting motion alongside her partner.

    Much like her song, she, too, was just as beautiful to witness. It was surely a privilege to have the chance to love, and even now Octavia couldn¡¯t help but envy the woman¡¯s soft experience on Selena¡¯s behalf. This was far from Selena¡¯s song, and yet still so similar all the same. For more reasons than one, the Ambassador was moved. She struggled to stifle her own sorrow. She failed, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes.

    What Octavia couldn¡¯t see, she could still feel in excess. Every echoing note brought with it a resounding echo in her own heart, coursing through her skin and muscles. So, too, could she practically feel the ground rippling beneath her feet, a sensation she initially dismissed as a hallucination. Only the looks of awe on the faces of the Ensemble served as any sort of confirmation, and the sounds that reverberated in the very atmosphere smothered them lovingly.

    Octavia was distantly aware of the wavering screeching, should she strain her ears enough to listen for the agony over the weight of Seraphim¡¯s song. It was of little immediate concern. Instead, she split her attention between cherishing the warmth that the melody brought to her heart and the boy at her side who broke it to pieces.

    Josiah¡¯s hand in her own still trembled relentlessly. It matched well with the way he¡¯d cast his closed eyes high, his head tilted back as he quietly wept. His efforts to restrain his sobs weren''t perfect, and cries occasionally escaped his throat from time to time. He didn¡¯t bother to wipe away the tears that bitterly streamed down his face. Instead, he withstood the song of Seraphim¡¯s Call with his own resilient grace, heartrending as it was. Octavia squeezed his hand, fighting against the strength of sound pulsing through her blood. Only once did he reciprocate. It was enough. It was more than enough.

    In reality, the tender moment Celestina shared with her previous partner wasn¡¯t eternal. It didn¡¯t change Octavia¡¯s perception as to the contrary. Even long after only the residual echoes of the organ¡¯s singing radiated throughout the chapel, Octavia could still feel the ripples in her soul. She couldn¡¯t move. She wasn¡¯t the only one, nor was she the sole observer who clung to silence.

    Celestina¡¯s soft words were the only thing that offset the sound of Josiah¡¯s struggles to regain his composure. Octavia was grateful for the way no one stared at him as he wiped his eyes on his sleeves, battling uneven breaths that still threatened to choke him up and begin his sorrow anew. Placing her duty as the Ambassador before his well-being was its own kind of torture.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    You have returned, Octavia heard in exchange.

    ¡°Are you furious with me?¡±

    Why would you believe so?

    ¡°I abandoned you,¡± Celestina breathed. ¡°I left you so suddenly. How¡­long did it take for you to find companionship again?¡±

    Several years.

    ¡°She was young.¡±

    Very.

    ¡°Did you¡­love her?¡±

    I did.

    ¡°Even if she didn¡¯t love you?¡±

    Were it so, the fault could never be her own. She was a forsaken child. What love I could give would never be enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry,¡± Celestina whispered, her voice cracking.

    You, too, were forsaken. For that, I cannot express my sorrows enough. It is by my--our--hands that you have suffered so.

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡±

    The words that had left Octavia¡¯s mouth, to most, were without context. The eyes that fell upon her, collectively, were largely confused as she approached the former acolyte. With shaky steps and balled fists, she did everything she could to maintain what composure she had in the face of a song that had left her knees weak.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­not true?¡± River asked softly.

    It wasn¡¯t Celestina that Octavia stared down, but rather the very Harmonial Instrument itself. Her eyes rose high along its gorgeous, scaling visage, drinking in every facet of its splendor once again. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. Valkyrie¡¯s Call didn¡¯t do anything wrong, either. What people did to you isn¡¯t your fault--either of you. These cities aren¡¯t your fault. The horrible things that have happened inside the church aren¡¯t your fault. People hurting other people wasn¡¯t your fault. Don¡¯t¡­say that. You didn¡¯t ask to be here.¡±

    She, too, seemed to desire less than to call this place her own.

    ¡°Then you two had a lot more in common than you think.¡±

    The deep, gentle masculinity that challenged Octavia was quiet for a moment. You have come all this way, Ambassador?

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    What would possess you to do so, in the wake of such suffering?

    ¡°You.¡±

    You would go so far for one such as myself?

    Again, she nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you behind.¡±

    Where she found temporary silence, the voice warmed her from the inside-out. Yours is a heart stronger than any that could be imagined. No words will do my gratitude justice.

    Octavia smiled weakly. ¡°I¡¯m¡­Octavia,¡± she offered, folding her trembling hands over the heart he so praised.

    And he was beautiful.

    The silky glows that wove the very strength of sound itself before her eyes were always pleasant. They were ever more so in the wake of the effort it had taken to find him. The Muse that emerged from nothing to something for the sole purpose of meeting her gaze was resplendent. His elegance was angelic, his presence as pure as his voice. The luminous, muted ivories that besieged her weren''t dissimilar to that of an angel¡¯s wings, in turn.

    His existence alone was ethereal, hauntingly lovely in a way that stood in stark contrast to the perceived brutality of his legacy. Logically, she knew none but a Heartful could¡¯ve seen his divine visage in full. Had those who¡¯d practically worshiped his vessel known of the angel born of song that rested within, Octavia wondered how different a city Velpyre would¡¯ve been.

    All eyes were upon him, instead, and Octavia couldn¡¯t blame them one bit. Celestina¡¯s own were positively radiant, wide and shimmering with wonder. Humbled as she was, Octavia watched her bow her head low, hands resting over her own heart in turn.

    ¡°I-I am Celestina Ebony, heir to the--former¡­heir to the¡­Ebony family. I could not deserve to call myself the Velpyre Acolyte once again,¡± she said hesitantly.

    Josiah, if he had qualms with her words, didn¡¯t address them. He, too, met Octavia where she stood, his face still somewhat red from the efforts of suppressing his pain. He raised his eyes high, just the same as the Maestras he flanked. His calm, even voice betrayed his prior sorrow. ¡°You¡¯re¡­Seraphim¡¯s Call,¡± he observed aloud.

    The Muse nodded, bowing slightly to the Ambassador. For as divine as his image was, it made Octavia¡¯s heart skip a beat. ¡°I am Seraphe. I have long dreamed of meeting the Ambassador. That my wish would become reality in such a place is surely the work of destiny alone.¡±

    Octavia waved meekly. ¡°We¡¯ve met before, remember? Just¡­one time, but we¡¯ve met.¡±

    Again, he nodded. ¡°I would not forget you.¡±

    And when he turned to Josiah, the same words were somewhat more striking. ¡°As to you, child. I could not forget you, as well.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°How many times has your voice fallen upon this sanctum?¡± he questioned gently. ¡°How many times have I borne witness to your melancholy and sorrow alike within these walls? Before me, how many times is it that you have been by her side? You had offered her all that I was powerless to give. I could not forget, nor would I ever.¡±

    Again, Octavia watched as Josiah¡¯s gaze glistened with pain unshed. He squeezed his eyes shut once over. ¡°I¡­you watched us, then? You¡­watched over us.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°For how long?¡±

    ¡°As long as you have watched over her.¡±

    Despite his best efforts, not all of his tears remained caged. At least two broke through, slipping through the cracks of Octavia¡¯s heart on their way down. She¡¯d known Selena for so short a time, and even that was enough to curse her soul with grief. She couldn¡¯t imagine. She wouldn¡¯t try to imagine. All she could do was bless him with her silence and the chance to grieve with one who¡¯d guarded that flame just as closely.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­think she actually hated you,¡± Josiah reassured, his voice unmistakably wavering. ¡°She hated them. She hated what they made her do. You were¡­stuck somewhere in the middle of that. If things weren¡¯t how they were, if she was given a choice, I think it would¡¯ve been different. She didn¡¯t deserve anything that happened to her, but you didn¡¯t, either. They hurt you, too.¡±

    The Muse didn¡¯t acknowledge him immediately, Josiah¡¯s words hanging in the open air. ¡°As to what title she was given, it meant little. As to what role she played, that, too, meant little. This very place, so inconsequential, has brought only suffering in my name. It is a shame I will never escape. From what I have witnessed within these walls, I have lost faith in this world many a time. I will not ask for forgiveness, for in truth, my feelings have not changed. I would not fault you for your ire.¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°I absolutely couldn¡¯t agree with you more.¡±

    ¡°We want to get you out of here,¡± Octavia offered quietly. ¡°We don¡¯t want you to have to be here alone anymore. We all fought so hard to make it here to you. Will you¡­let us help you?¡±

    Part of her had expected an instant affirmation, particularly given his gruesome situation for so long. When Seraphe¡¯s gaze drifted to Celestina, Octavia was somewhat surprised. So was the former acolyte.

    ¡°You are fine with such a departure? After so short a reunion?¡± Seraphe asked.

    Celestina smiled faintly. ¡°This is the least that I can do. I, too, came all this way for you. To play by your side again--to choose--is a miracle I will never forget. I hope to offer what should¡¯ve been offered to you so long ago, my Seraphim.¡±

    ¡°There is a strength in your blood that endures even now,¡± he offered. ¡°I will pray for your happiness. May you find in your future what you could not find by my side.¡±

    Celestina nodded. ¡°Thank you for¡­watching over my Selena.¡±

    ¡°I will carry her with me for eternity.¡±

    Octavia battled tears in place of a smile for the Muse. Even if Josiah didn¡¯t opt for a smile of his own, he still fought his own pain all the same. Selena¡¯s name alone burned. In that way, the flame loved by so many in the chapel had never truly left the room. Octavia did what she could to steady her breathing in light of the grief that lingered around her. She stepped forward ever further, gazing down upon the glistening keys.

    From this distance, every last facet of ivory and ebony that eagerly awaited her touch was even more pristine and inviting. She wondered exactly where Selena¡¯s fingers had settled atop them each and every time she¡¯d played. She wondered if she could follow in the acolyte¡¯s shadow, if she tried.

    ¡°It was¡­nice to meet you,¡± Octavia said softly. ¡°I¡¯m so happy you get to go home.¡±

    From this angle, she couldn¡¯t see him. Still, she could hear his voice, warm and angelic all the same. ¡°I will watch over you from afar, Ambassador. I will pray for your happiness as well. Know that I am in your debt, should you¡­see this task through to the end.¡±

    She smiled just as softly. ¡°I¡¯ll make this quick. I¡¯m excited for you to get to see everyone again.¡±

    Seraphe was silent. Octavia raised her hands above the keys preemptively. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± she offered.

    ¡°Celestina Ebony,¡± she heard him begin.

    Even now, her eyes glazed over every key. For how unblemished the surface of each was, it was impossible to pinpoint Selena¡¯s exact motions or identify any lingering fingerprints. Octavia supposed it was a piece of the acolyte she would never find on her own, reclaimed by a world that had never been hers to stumble upon.

    She wondered what Selena would say, were she here to see such a spectacle. Her fingers dipped lower with anticipation. It was the closest she would ever come to emulating the acolyte, if even for a moment. It was enough to elicit a smile.

    ¡°Your toll has been paid 14,378 times over.¡±

 80. The Price of Absolution, Part I

    Octavia fell to her knees.

    She didn¡¯t bother asking if she¡¯d misheard. She¡¯d caught his words plain as day, clear as crystal. It was logical. It made sense. It was her fault for not stopping to consider the cost of his freedom, given all that his former Maestra had stolen away. There had been a part of Octavia, months ago, that had fleetingly entertained the idea that Sonata alone served as his gruesome passage to his place Above once more. Even now, with a stray thought that numbed her in passing, she wondered if she¡¯d find Sonata in there, somewhere. There was surely nowhere else the acolyte could be.

    There were no cries of surprise, no outbursts of shock, no expressions of input in any capacity from a single soul behind her. She still gazed upon the keys from below, her fingers high aloft and stationary just inches away from any given block of ivory. They trembled delicately. Octavia struggled to cling to the number in her head, wavering as it was. She repeated it inwardly again and again.

    Her record was three. To this very day, her record was three. It wasn¡¯t sinking in. She withdrew her hands, and they fell loosely to her sides. Her breath was far steadier than she¡¯d expected it to be.

    Initially, Octavia refused to turn her head. In the terrible silence, she still found nothing from a single onlooker whose eyes rested on her back. She could vaguely imagine the words that had clogged each of their throats respectively. She could imagine the looks on their faces in turn. She could imagine their own conclusions, their decisions to let the Ambassador make her next move without impediment or challenge.

    No amount of pleading would change the quantity. No amount of begging would alter the caveats of her task. She could surrender right here and now, should she simply ask Stradivaria nicely. The more she thought about it, the more strongly she felt the urge. She couldn¡¯t quite bring herself to ask, distantly as he rested up the aisle.

    Octavia raised her eyes high to the Muse alone with agonizing slowness. She didn¡¯t speak a word. She knew what was missing, and she awaited his input. Even with only an eyeless gaze to fix her with, she could feel his pity upon her disbelieving face. It was almost welcome.

    ¡°Now, Ambassador,¡± Seraphe continued softly, ¡°see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.¡±

    It was her permission to proceed. For all of her honeyed words of salvaging Seraphim¡¯s Call, it was the final obstacle that barred her from her task. With his gentle, crushing words, the initiative was hers to take. Still, her hands were useless, her fingertips brushing only carpet instead of his vessel. They were waiting on her. They hardly needed to say it. It didn¡¯t give her any more drive to move an inch. Seraphe didn¡¯t scold her, nor did a single Maestro who watched on. Octavia was frozen in time, staring blankly at the instrument.

    It took far more effort than it should¡¯ve to turn her head towards Josiah, raising her eyes just as slowly as before. Whatever he found in hers was surely worse than what she found in his, for how he recoiled at the sight. His own shock was tangled with absolute terror as his gaze met her own. The manner by which their breaths matched perfectly was as calming as it was disorienting. She wasn¡¯t the only one in utter disbelief. A small, meek part of her almost wished he would pressure her into it. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure if it was a relief or a detriment that he remained deathly silent, only staring her down with horror.

    She ran through every possible motivation in her head. She found Seraphe, Selena, Josiah, and Priscilla. She wondered how long it would take. She wondered how much she could tune out. She wondered how much she¡¯d be forced to see.

    Josiah¡¯s gaze contorted into something she couldn¡¯t interpret. Whatever it was, it burned fiercely. His hands had long since balled into trembling fists at his sides. He didn¡¯t move. He could only stare. Octavia could only stare back. If there were other Maestros in the room, she would never have remembered them. There came a point when his eyes were too painful to look at any longer, inexplicable as his face was. She peeled her own away slowly, returning them to the keys of Seraphim¡¯s Call yet again.

    She could beg Stratos. She still had time to beg and plead with Stratos.

    Octavia cycled through every motivation in her head one by one, taking turns lingering upon each slowly. Seraphe deserved to return to Above. Selena deserved the honor of his departure. Josiah deserved the world. Priscilla deserved her courage.

    Even lifting one hand halfway from the carpet was a trial, low-hanging as it was. She hesitated, her fingers spread loosely in the open air. She couldn¡¯t tear her eyes away from the ivory that shimmered above her head. From here, she could reach. It was low enough. It wouldn¡¯t be hard.

    Selena deserved better. Josiah deserved better. Priscilla deserved her strength.

    If Octavia thought of the same hand as someone else¡¯s, it was a bit easier to raise it higher still. Perhaps, if she tried, she could be somewhere else. She could watch herself from on high, floating in a nightmare from which she¡¯d awaken shortly.

    Josiah deserved love. Priscilla would¡¯ve given all the love she could give.

    Octavia could reach. She could definitely reach. Her fingers were higher than the lowest rung of keys, still awaiting her gentle touch. At least physically, it would be so, so simple. All she had to do was move. The lead in her blood froze her in place. Her heart pounded so loudly that she could hear it. She felt dizzy, her breath only now battling to flee her lungs. She¡¯d already forgotten the number. She knew it was impossibly high. There was no rationalizing. She could feel Josiah¡¯s eyes.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve done it.

    Her fingers twitched.

    Would Priscilla have done it?

    They curled inwards, an involuntary movement.

    It wasn¡¯t as though Priscilla had ever witnessed a single toll before.

    There was no oxygen in this air. There was no fresh blood left in her body to fuel her beating heart. Octavia strongly contemplated asking for the number again. She wondered if it would help at all. It was more than 14,000, if her weak memory served. She made the poor decision to ask a far worse question instead, for as many times as she¡¯d chided herself not to do so.

    Stradivaria?

    I am here.

    His distance was irrelevant. She didn¡¯t need to see him, so far behind her as he was.

    Would¡­Priscilla¡­

    Octavia couldn¡¯t think straight. Even in her own thoughts, she couldn¡¯t find the words she needed. Stratos filled in where she found nothing.

    She would.

    It wasn¡¯t enough. It wasn¡¯t enough of a motivator by a longshot. His voice was just as useless, as much as she wished it could be stronger. The strength she¡¯d hoped to find was absent, and that, too, struck terror into her heart. It was an agonizing loneliness. Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t speak. The adrenaline that besieged her sought only to scald her from the inside-out rather than bless her with the drive she so desperately craved. Her vision was already doubling. She opted to go numb. It was the best she could do, and she stole Stradivaria''s words to dull her pain on the way there.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve done it.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve done it.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve done it.

    Priscilla would¡¯ve done it.

    And it was with a scream that tore her heart clean from her body that Octavia threw her hand down onto the keys, her entire soul crashing deep into the dark.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was Hell.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was Hell.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was Hell.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was a kind of Hell she¡¯d never thought possible.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was inescapable.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It couldn¡¯t be blocked out, nor could it be dismissed.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    There was no looking away with eyes that weren''t hers to close.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Some were only children. They deserved far more than the flame they¡¯d been cast into at birth.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Some had thrived in the dark, the worst the world had to offer. They deserved what they''d gotten.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Some had laid their hands upon a girl who''d sought only to live a life of freedom. Every last one deserved the most gruesome of deaths they''d suffered.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    To possess the hands that broke her bones, scarred her skin, beat her down, starved her, tortured her in every conceivable way, such was its own Hell. To possess the ears that drank in her every pleading scream and cry for mercy, such was its own Hell. To be burdened with the eyes that saw her mangled, bleeding, sobbing, shaking, bruised, trembling as she played again and again and again, such was its own Hell.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia would never sleep again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Maybe she could never look Josiah in the eyes again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She looked for him. Sometimes, she was successful.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Sometimes, he, too, was not immune to her borrowed violence. The sight of his blood on her strangers¡¯ hands was a fate far, far worse than death.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She wondered how many of these people Selena actually knew, for what fate she¡¯d condemned them to.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    For how much of her life was solitary, she wondered if Selena knew any of them.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    In truth, Octavia lost count almost immediately.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    If she was coming up again, she was going back down almost instantly.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She couldn¡¯t remember doing more than screaming so hard that her throat surely bled. Even that had long since faded into silence.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    How long it had been was anyone¡¯s guess. How far along she was, too, was anyone¡¯s guess.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    And, for a while, she truly was convinced she''d died. There was no other explanation. She couldn¡¯t move, whether within the confines of a toll or without.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Something was warm.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Something was atop her own fingers, the ones that shook and trembled so viciously that they''d nearly gone numb.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    It was not herself who touched the keys, but something that lowered her fingertips to the ivory time and time again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was gentle, steady, evenly-paced. Over and over, someone guided her hand to where it was needed most.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She was vaguely aware of the way by which her body had given out. Here, too, something was warm. Something held her close.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Her brief moments upwards were as much of a blessing as they were a curse. It was a warmth she could cling to before plunging back down into the darkest depths of the ill-fated flame.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She wasn¡¯t sure how long it took before she finally reached the point of disconnection, by which she hardly processed the sights she saw and the sounds she heard. She didn¡¯t bother trying to count. True death would¡¯ve been preferable. True death would¡¯ve been quiet.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia had never thought to beg for death before. This was the first time.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was Hell.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Can you try to say it again?

    Acoright.

    Almost there. ¡®Acolyte¡¯, sweetheart.

    Agoright.

    ¡®Acolyte¡¯.

    Aco¡­lyte?

    Wonderful! Great job!

    She couldn¡¯t unblur. She couldn¡¯t focus. She could hear, as deep underwater as she was. It was muffled. She knew the words regardless.

    What does it mean?

    An acolyte is someone who protects others. They protect the whole city. It¡¯s an acolyte¡¯s job to watch over everyone and keep them safe.

    Do they have to wear those weird clothes?

    The answer was a laugh she¡¯d never heard.

    They¡¯re just ceremonial, honey.

    Cememonial?

    And her borrowed fingers that pointed and inquired were so, so tiny.

    ¡®Ceremonial¡¯. If mommy wants to wear comfortable clothes after she rings the bell, she can.

    Why do you have to ring the bell so much?

    Because that¡¯s what an acolyte does. The acolyte is friends with Valkyrie¡¯s Call.

    Who¡¯s Valkyrie¡¯s Call?

    Every question out of her little mouth was from a voice so equally little.

    Valkyrie¡¯s Call is my partner. We¡¯re very good friends, and we love each other very much.

    Do you love them more than you love me?

    I could never love anyone more than I love you, sweetheart. Don¡¯t worry about that.

    Can I be friends with Valkyrie¡¯s Call, too?

    If you become the acolyte, you can.

    I wanna be the acolyte!

    Maybe someday, my love.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t feel her own stolen smile. She knew it was there. It was incredible, the way this Hell would only be satisfied once none of her soul was left. She would never weigh the crushing destruction of her heart that she found after Drey¡¯s toll against anything. This was going to be a close second. She was already dead. There was nothing left to take.

    It¡¯s so pretty!

    This is my friend, the one that I told you about. Do you remember their name?

    Valkivie¡¯s Call!

    ¡®Valkyrie¡¯s Call¡¯, but you were really close! Good job.

    This is the bell that you ring all the time?

    It sure is.

    Does it hurt? It looks heavy.

    Octavia had wondered the same thing, once. To know that those little hands would grow to falter upon the same rope they now stroked so tenderly and enjoyed with glee was its own torture. When she would eventually look down and see the damage firsthand, she knew she would carry it for life--same as everything else.

    It doesn¡¯t hurt.

    Someday, it would.

    Can I play?

    It¡¯s too big for you.

    Then how can you do it?

    Because we¡¯re friends. Valkyrie¡¯s Call helps me. If we weren¡¯t friends, I wouldn¡¯t be able to.

    It¡¯s warm!

    Because it¡¯s sunny outside today. The bronze can get really hot when the sun comes all the way up, though, so be careful.

    Her light had been hotter, maybe.

    I wanna be friends with Valkyrie¡¯s Call so we can play together!

    Remember what I told you, sweetheart? You have to be the acolyte to be able to ring the bell.

    Then I wanna be the acolyte!

    Like I said, you might be the acolyte someday. You have to be patient.

    Every toll of those she¡¯d known usually came with regret, differently-flavored yet typically bitter. For some, it was words unspoken. For others, it was that she couldn''t do more, or perhaps that she¡¯d done too much. For a tiny, ignorant Sonata, she lamented so desperately that she couldn''t turn back time and warn this child of what such a burden entailed. In that way, maybe, she could¡¯ve been spared.

    Where Octavia had come to note her grace on the cusp of adulthood, she found the most gentle exuberance and muted elation in youth.

    I¡¯m gonna be the acolyte someday!

    Why, that¡¯s marvelous, little Sonata! What led you to such a choice?

    I wanna be friends with Valkyrie¡¯s Call! And, um, I wanna protect the city, too!

    Such a noble goal. You will surely succeed your mother with grace. You will make a fine acolyte, one day. We will look forward to it, little blossom.

    It was the first of many times she¡¯d be blessed with such a title of endearment.

    She told anyone who would listen.

    I wanna be the acolyte.

    That¡¯s wonderful, little Sonata. Do you know what that entails?

    Um, I have to ring the bell a lot, and I have to protect the city. Oh, and I have to wear weird clothes.

    You are not wrong. It is the acolyte who carries the burdens of Velrose itself, our beautiful blossom who absolves us of suffering. To be the acolyte is to become our hope. Will you do that for us?

    Yes!

    It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia could expect the clergy to lead her in any other direction, anyway.

    Do you mean what you say?

    I¡¯ll do what I need to do in order to prove myself. What will it take?

    You can follow me, my dear. I will teach you what I have learned. Understand, though, that being the acolyte is not as effortless and glamorous as it is made out to be. It is still laborious. It will still take copious amounts of effort to master such a role, for all it necessitates. Are you certain this is the path you wish to walk?

    I am.

    And there was even less glamor in that which should¡¯ve been left in the dark, two worlds which never should¡¯ve met. One world never should¡¯ve had the misfortune to exist at all.

    Below us?

    It is the flame that warms our blossom. We are not to touch it, just as it is not to touch us. Even so, there are those who go between the two cities. There is no worth to a flame that does not warm.

    Do we¡­not get along?

    That is irrelevant. Simply know that Valkyrie¡¯s Call has a twin, and it is buried far below in that place. It is essential. The blossom and the flame are symbiotic.

    Why does there need to be two of them? Doesn¡¯t Valkyrie¡¯s Call make people happy enough? Why would it have a twin so far down there?

    For their own protection, my love.

    What do they¡­need protection from?

    The same as us.

    And that is?

    For all of her bluster of becoming the acolyte, Sonata didn¡¯t learn of the truth until she was eight years old. To her credit, it was still sooner than Octavia had learned--given that she¡¯d grown up around Stradivaria, herself.

    What is it called?

    Velpyre.

    If they have one, too, does that mean they have an acolyte?

    Yes.

    Can I meet her?

    You can never go down there.

    Why?

    This, too, is a burden of the Velrose Acolyte.

    At the very least, Sonata grew with another acolyte at her side. It was a blessing Octavia knew her counterpart of the flame had not been so kind as to receive. She grew to be beautiful, even if her face was largely unseen. She grew to be graceful, as could be expected. She grew to be resolute in the face of training beyond what Octavia had initially attributed to an acolyte¡¯s responsibilities. There was, in fact, a religious component. It was somewhat unsettling.

    The timeline overlapped, somewhat. Octavia squinted through her pain and past her stranger¡¯s field of vision for anything she could find. She was aware that Sonata had once laid her eyes upon Priscilla, and she knew that Priscilla was no stranger to the Ivory family. It was a frustrating hunt, maddening in every way. It was a better distraction than holding her weakened breath and preparing for what would undoubtedly be the worst death of all.

    Sonata was blessed with two acolyte companions, really. One, like herself, wouldn''t come to lay her hands on the tolling rope of Valkyrie¡¯s Call until long into the future. She was still lovely and perfect in every way, and adored much the same. Second only to her mother¡¯s hands did Octavia¡¯s stranger coddle the child more. Every touch was surely warm, every smile was surely radiant and soft. Allison was small. Sonata was, too, technically. How small did a child need to be to contrast with such a burden on the horizon?

    Priscilla¡¯s visage was fleeting. It was singular. It was the one and only flicker of light Octavia could cling to in the darkness, a memory hallmarked mostly by the sight of Stradivaria alone. It was a taste of the stark reds of autumn that Octavia had long dreamed of in between her nightmares. There were no words to be exchanged, no sweet sentiments to be remembered in her wonderful voice. Her departure was all that Sonata had found fit to hold close to her most striking memories, it seemed. If Octavia could¡¯ve reached out and wrapped her hands around the one, singular spark of beauty in such a Hell, she would¡¯ve clung so tightly her fingers would¡¯ve bled. The fingers she borrowed would bleed soon enough, regardless.

    Fourteen was debatable, most definitely still a child in some ways. The burden of loss was a secondary weight, still just as crushing. It was perhaps more so. It wasn''t sudden. That didn¡¯t help.

    And what tears had stained more informal robes of preparatory training now stained those of refined responsibilities.

    It was fast.

    Valkyrie¡¯s Call didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Sonata didn¡¯t have a choice but to shirk the same wait.

    And when her lovely, cascading locks of blonde brilliance fell by the wayside, parted and draping her shoulders in excess, she was almost perfectly still. It didn¡¯t change the way her tears were largely involuntary. It didn¡¯t change the growls of suffering through gritted teeth. It didn¡¯t change the way Octavia¡¯s borrowed fists clenched and trembled in her lap, balled as they were and pressed deeply into shaking knees. There was nothing to hold. There was no one to hold. There were only pearly fabrics to grasp desperately at and a partner to pray to from afar.

    Try not to touch it.

    It took effort to catch a glimpse in the mirror. It matched with Selena¡¯s of so long ago. The Harmonial Crest was supposed to be resplendent and wonderful. Instead, the familiar perversion was downright sickening. It was sacrilegious. Octavia only saw it burnt into Sonata¡¯s fair skin once. It was enough to endure in her head for the rest of her life.

    She was revered.

    My acolyte.

    Lady Acolyte.

    Our beloved acolyte.

    In a way, she found her love.

    Do you hear my voice?

    I do.

    Is this what you wished for?

    I believe so.

    I can sense your strength. You will endure, just the same as those before you. You are resilient.

    Thank you.

    I will be by your side.

    And¡­I will be by yours.

    That was where her tale had ended, after all.

    I¡­cannot leave?

    The Velrose Acolyte is bound to Velrose alone, lest the city be endangered in her absence. Surely you understand, Lady Acolyte.

    I¡­yes.

    It was not without struggle.

    Are you ill, Lady Acolyte?

    I¡¯m not feeling well this morning, no.

    What ails you?

    I¡¯m¡­lightheaded. I¡¯m fatigued, and I¡¯ve become sick several times over. I¡­wish to rest for a bit.

    You¡¯ve a responsibility.

    I can hardly stand.

    You have my sympathies, Lady Acolyte, truly. That does not change what must be done. You may rest after your duties have been completed in full. There are those who depend upon you even now. It will surely not take long, for you are efficient and skilled. You are our blossom, after all. We wish for your prosperity.

    I¡­understand.

    It was not without poisonous praise, tethered to venom plaguing another.

    Could the Velpyre Acolyte be brought here, perhaps?

    That worthless flame, in all of her incompetence, must remain below, much the same as you are to remain above. I sincerely, sincerely apologize for her inability, Lady Acolyte. I understand that she has only worsened your troubles.

    I¡¯d like to speak with her.

    There is no option to do so.

    Could someone else speak to her, on my behalf?

    What would you wish for them to say?

    I¡­would like to know why, for one.

    Perhaps she cares not for the suffering of her people, nor those above. She is selfish, Lady Acolyte. She is far from the graceful and beautiful blossom you have come to be. She is a flame that only seeks to burn with malice and resentment. She cannot be trusted.

    And there is no circumstance by which I may meet her?

    None.

    She lost.

    You cannot.

    She gained.

    You are beautiful.

    She lost.

    You must.

    She gained.

    You are our hope.

    She lost.

    It is not a choice.

    She gained.

    Blessed is our blossom.

    The whiplash, the back and forth of emotional tugging that tore at Octavia¡¯s borrowed self from either side was borderline unbearable. She didn¡¯t need to feel it. Seeing it sufficed. Hearing it was adequate. It was never enough to draw forth tears, let alone objections. There were plenty of days where it was enough for those slender, graceful fingers to tremble ever so slightly around the tolling rope as they pulled. And again, she pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and pulled.

    And pulled.

    And pulled.

    And pulled.

    And pulled.

    And pulled.

    Do you¡­know who we are?

    You four are Maestros, are you not?

    It took over 14,000 tolls straight for Octavia to catch a glimpse of herself. It had been awhile. For a time, it had stopped being jarring, given how often it was happening consecutively. Now, in the embrace of rose-colored suffering, her own visage was blurred and surreal. She was almost unrecognizable. She couldn¡¯t remember smiling like that. She couldn¡¯t remember looking like that. It was hard to remember what she looked like at all, for the eternity she¡¯d been down here.

    And from there, she knew the tragedy that was to come.

    You¡¯re a Maestra.

    Correct.

    Guardian?

    I¡¯d like to introduce you to Valkyrie¡¯s Call.

    It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia could ever forget.

    I have a task for you four that I can entrust only to Maestros.

    And that, too, she¡¯d committed to memory forever.

    Valkyrie¡¯s Call has a twin, and the Velrose Acolyte does not serve alone.

    How was it that the blossom spoke more softly of the flame than anyone above?

    You¡¯re the acolyte, correct? I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.

    Did it matter, for what had occurred?

    How¡­old is she?

    The same as you.

    You¡¯re certain?

    It matters not. She matters not.

    I wish to speak with her again.

    Lady Acolyte, know that such a worthless flame cannot do as you have done. Left uncontrolled, she will burn the blossom she is meant to warm. I see the curiosity in your eyes. You must snuff it out, should it be for her.

    But--

    Do not object. Do only what is to be done as the Velrose Acolyte. Do not question. Do you understand? It is for the salvation of the blossom. Your hesitation will hurt others. Is that what you wish? Is that the acolyte you wish to be?

    I--

    Is this what your mother would want? Is such an acolyte the blossom she would¡¯ve hoped to raise?

    No.

    Then shun the flame and embrace the blossom. It is the only path for you.

    I understand.

    And when it happened, Octavia could do nothing.

    She could expect it.

    She could wait patiently.

    She could regret, with every fiber of her being, her decision to become the Ambassador.

    What do we do?

    What must be done.

    She would see the other side of the story soon enough, she supposed. Would it be worse? Would it be better? One was numbed by agony, perhaps. One was wide awake all the way down. Selena was still beautiful. No amount of sorrow and suffering would take that away from her, even as she raged in her darkest hour.

    Cover!

    She cursed Stratos.

    Cover!

    She cursed each and every Muse who had ever made light of her role in turn, one by one.

    Cover!

    She cursed Stratos twice over.

    There is no worth to a flame that does not warm!

    I am not worthless!

    Octavia had never noticed the way her stolen hands trembled so fiercely around that rope before, even long before they''d bled and oozed in earnest.

    Octavia!

    It was the last word she ever said.

    It was not the last thing she ever saw.

    That curse was layered, those delicate palms so viciously blistered and chafed.

    The light that had promised to spare her, too, was surely a curse as it faltered before Sonata''s broken eyes.

    When the violet rage in Selena¡¯s gaze pierced deep into Octavia¡¯s own soul, it felt as if the flame herself had crawled her way down into the depths of Hell to strangle the Ambassador instead.

    There was no nobility to be found in self-sacrifice at such an age.

    And while Sonata had swallowed a cry of fear on the threshold of death, it was not meant to be. Octavia had not once, in the time she¡¯d memorized each facet of the scene, ever considered the display to be a farce. If Selena was face-up, it left Sonata face-down, the ground rushing to meet her all too quickly without the grace she deserved. At such a height, in the precious moments down to contemplate her short life, Selena¡¯s lasting wrath in her grip was the least of her concerns.

    Screaming was a reflex, acolyte or not. It was another sound Octavia could add to her eternal portrait of that morning. The sobbing and pleading in the seven seconds it took the Velrose Acolyte to reach the bottom were permanent fixtures of the Ambassador¡¯s soul. Octavia would take them to her grave. She was already there.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

 81. The Price of Absolution, Part II

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

    If that was her voice, Octavia didn¡¯t recognize it. She didn¡¯t remember saying a word. It had to be someone else. Whatever name they were shouting, muffled as it was, sounded vaguely familiar. She wondered if it belonged to her. When the world went black, it was quiet this time.

    She was drifting, vaguely, in and out of what she first assumed to be the infinite darkness that marked a toll. Down and up she went, again and again, drowning in a sea that merged the waking world with one so adjacent to death. With her eyes closed, she was warm again. Something was wrapped around her. Something was carrying her. Octavia didn¡¯t mind. She only cared when she fell into nothingness once more, involuntary as the voyage was.

    Down, she was cold. Up, she was warm. It was a process that repeated time after time for what she was convinced was an eternity, and she wondered if she''d been granted the true death she¡¯d wished for at last. She preferred the warm side. It took far too much effort to cling to it, and she lost out to the cold more often than she would¡¯ve liked.

    There came a point when Octavia could hear, and she heard nothing. There came a point where she could move, and her body ached so fiercely that she didn¡¯t dare. The idea of opening her eyes was miserable, and she opted to stay in the dark. No light fought to sneak its way past her closed lids. She was eternally grateful for that small peace.

    Something rested heavily upon her, enveloping her on every side. It was soft and warm, and for that, she was also grateful. It was only the painful, collective throbbing of her muscles that kept her from surrendering to the cold side yet again. When she fought to move even an inch, she found only hurt, and she could feel herself wince.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    If it had been anything above a whisper, it surely would¡¯ve hurt her ears. Octavia thanked whoever would hear her prayers that the unseen voice greeting her was exactly as quiet as she needed it to be.

    ¡°Did I wake you up?¡±

    She still didn¡¯t want to open her eyes. The idea of light flooding her pupils was agonizing just to think about. She couldn¡¯t move her head, anyway, heavy as it was. She wanted to answer. She¡¯d forgotten how to speak, the process of forming words absolutely impossible.

    ¡°You can go back to sleep if you want.¡±

    It was a nice thought. Octavia strongly contemplated the offer. It was taking substantially longer than she would¡¯ve liked to put a name and face to the voice that reassured her. Against every part of her that screamed and pleaded otherwise, she fought with all she had to open her eyes. It wasn¡¯t as bright as she thought it¡¯d be. Really, it wasn¡¯t bright at all. For how blurred the world was, she supposed that complicated matters, somewhat.

    No amount of blinking, even slowly, was pushing the fog from her eyes. She received the dim atmosphere with gratitude, the weak glow of candlelight far preferable to that of the sun she dreaded. Given the way her head, too, was throbbing, any other environment might¡¯ve been torture to endure. Octavia shifted slightly once more, only achieving the same united pain that echoed across her entire body. Everything hurt. This time, she whimpered lightly.

    ¡°Are you in pain?¡±

    Nodding, even weakly, took an absurd amount of effort. The way her unkempt braids unraveled yet more with every brush against the pillow was distressing, insignificant as it was. She lamented that she couldn¡¯t move to fix them.

    ¡°Can I¡­get you to take something for it? Do you want something?¡±

    The idea of doing anything more than simply nodding or shaking her head was much more than she was capable of at the moment. Octavia opted for the latter action, the haze that blighted her eyes parting enough to grace her with tranquility.

    ¡°Could I at least get you to drink something?¡±

    Again, she shook her head. He eyed her with concern.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to end up dehydrated, provided you aren¡¯t already. Please?¡±

    It probably would¡¯ve made it easier to speak. Where she found the drive to do so was a mystery, even to herself. ¡°Jo¡­siah,¡± she whispered hoarsely.

    He rested his elbows on the bed, leaning closer to her. ¡°If you drink something, I¡¯ll leave you alone. I promise.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes wandered, his pleas irrelevant. Wherever she was, it was almost nostalgic. She couldn¡¯t place why. Still, the feeling prodded at the back of her mind again and again to the point of discomfort. The window curtains felt strangely familiar, somehow. ¡°Where¡­am I?¡± she finally asked, strained and dry as her tiny voice was.

    Josiah rested his head on the covers, too. ¡°My room.¡±

    That made enough sense. She wasn¡¯t particularly sure if she liked the confirmation that she was still in Velpyre. To be fair, she wasn¡¯t certain exactly what she¡¯d been expecting otherwise. It was much quieter than anywhere else in the city, if the last several hours had been anything to go by.

    ¡°You¡­really should drink something. I¡¯m honestly kind of worried,¡± he insisted softly.

    ¡°Why?¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I don¡¯t¡­need anything.¡±

    Octavia strongly entertained asserting that she was alright altogether. That was a complete and utter lie. At least physically, he of all people would surely figure that out.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for a full day,¡± Josiah admitted. ¡°You haven¡¯t had anything to eat or drink that whole time. You¡¯re probably dehydrated, like I said. It¡¯s not gonna make you feel any better. It¡¯d be¡­nice if you would--¡±

    ¡°A day?¡± Octavia asked quickly, far faster than she should¡¯ve. She nearly choked--although on what, she wasn¡¯t sure. It took her a moment to catch her breath again, and his hands helplessly aloft in worry towards her still offered little aid.

    Josiah nodded, at least. ¡°Yeah. You¡¯ve been¡­out for awhile.¡±

    The thought alone was alarming. The idea of spending a full day unconscious in Velpyre specifically was alarming, too. ¡°What¡­happened? With everything?¡± she pleaded faintly.

    He sighed, tapping his fingertips against the blankets. ¡°You guided Seraphe. If nothing else, be proud of that. We did what we came here for. I¡¯m¡­really proud of you. Everyone is.¡±

    Octavia wondered if he knew she couldn¡¯t remember. She had half a mind not to tell him, and went with that option instead. The comfort she thought she¡¯d find in the knowledge of her success was utterly absent, with only emptiness in its place. ¡°Is¡­everyone okay?¡±

    Josiah hesitated. When he briefly averted his eyes, her heart sank. ¡°Nobody died. We can¡­count our blessings there. Everyone¡¯s alive. They¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    She didn¡¯t like his tone. ¡°Did anyone get hurt?¡± Octavia pressed urgently.

    Again, he hesitated. ¡°There were a handful of people who got hurt. Again, they¡¯ll all be fine. It was taken care of.¡±

    ¡°Hurt how?¡±

    ¡°In different ways. I tried to help where I could, if it was that kind of hurt.¡±

    Octavia watched his eyes flicker to the covers, relatively adjacent to her sides. She flexed her fingers experimentally beneath their warmth. For as much as it burned and ached to do so, she could feel something soft and somewhat fluffy pressing firmly against her skin. It was with incredible effort that she wriggled one hand free of the blankets¡¯ comfortable embrace.

    Her eyes roamed over each and every victim of Stradivaria¡¯s desperate assistance, tightly bound and well-secured in ample gauze that didn¡¯t quite hurt. It felt strange to move. The tiny red splotches that speckled several of the bandages were few and far between. He¡¯d cleaned her up well. Versus what River¡¯s immediate solution would¡¯ve been, Octavia far preferred Josiah¡¯s skills.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered.

    Josiah nodded. ¡°If they hurt or they start bleeding again, please tell me.¡±

    ¡°The¡­rest of the people who got hurt,¡± Octavia continued relentlessly. ¡°Are they¡­¡±

    ¡°I already know part of what you¡¯re gonna ask. No, Viola and all of them are fine. They¡¯re still down here. They were waiting for you to wake up.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart hurt more than her body. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to inconvenience them,¡± she whispered.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± he reassured. ¡°I promise you didn¡¯t.¡±

    She bit back apologies. She was sure they¡¯d return later.

    Josiah sighed quietly once more. ¡°As to the¡­other people who got hurt, most of them weren¡¯t that bad. Dissonance-related, like they said, so there wasn¡¯t much I could do personally. There were a few who were a bit worse off than others, but still manageable. They¡¯re a little shaken.¡±

    He paused. Octavia wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°Did¡­anyone get--¡±

    ¡°There were two people,¡± he interrupted, ¡°who were hurt very, very badly.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Who?¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Josiah watched her reactions with care. ¡°I want to preface this by reminding you that no one died and everyone is alive. It just might take some people longer to recover than others,¡± he said softly.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I know that, but who got hurt?¡±

    ¡°Remember that¡­thing River said about the ¡®point of no return¡¯ with Dissonance? Both of these people got overwhelmed and ended up right on that border. They didn¡¯t pass it. That¡¯s what matters.¡±

    ¡°Josiah,¡± she asked more sharply, ¡°who got hurt?¡±

    He was silent for so long that she wanted to reach out and shake his shoulders. He wouldn¡¯t look at her. ¡°One was a Willful Maestra I¡¯ve never met. She got separated and ended up by herself. She had to deal with too much Dissonance at once and got caught up in it. By the time someone found her, she was in awful shape. It¡¯s a miracle she¡¯s alive. She¡¯ll probably need a few days to recover.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip as he finally met her anxious gaze. Even then, it still took far longer than she would¡¯ve liked for him to open his mouth.

    ¡°The other one was Mina,¡± Josiah murmured.

    Octavia sat straight up in the bed so quickly that she cried out in pain, her entire body cursing her for the sudden movement. It didn¡¯t stop her from panicking, and it didn¡¯t stop tears from immediately springing to her eyes. ¡°Mina?¡± she repeated, her voice cracking instantly.

    Josiah¡¯s hands were on her shoulders immediately relative to her hurried adjustment. ¡°Again, both of them are alive! They¡¯ll be fine in a few days! From what I was told, Mina ended up in a similar situation. If it¡¯s even possible, she might¡¯ve been closer to that threshold than the other Maestra was. She--¡±

    ¡°How are they both even alive?¡± Octavia wept.

    Josiah¡¯s face was strained to a degree that broke her heart. ¡°You know how.¡±

    Her stomach twisted into knots. ¡°The¡­Spirited?¡±

    He nodded slowly, just as strained. ¡°Yeah. They didn¡¯t get to...pick and choose with those two. For the people with lesser injuries, it could wait. They could regroup and strategize so they could distribute their burden properly. For Mina and that other Maestra, it was¡­whoever they came across first. They didn¡¯t have a choice.¡±

    Octavia knew her face was most definitely not reassuring him, for how her tears were painting the covers of his bed. She¡¯d have to apologize later. She appreciated the way he didn¡¯t stop on account of her sorrow, although she could only clutch the blankets ever tighter with every word. She hoped it wouldn¡¯t compromise her bandages.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who the Maestro that dealt with the Willful Maestra was, but¡­the person who found Mina first was River.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. ¡°How much?¡±

    He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply on her behalf.

    ¡°Josiah, how much?¡± she practically screamed.

    Josiah didn¡¯t dare look at her, let alone open his eyes in full. ¡°Ten years.¡±

    Following the four seconds it took his words to sink in, Octavia was outright sobbing her heart out. She could barely think straight, her head spinning. It didn¡¯t matter that they were both alive. This, in its own way, was a casualty. She grieved for him regardless, gasping for air. She could feel the way Josiah¡¯s grip on her shoulders tightened in the slightest.

    ¡°Octavia, please remember that this is what he chose to do. This is what he wanted. This is what all of them wanted.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± she wailed. ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still alive. You can still talk to him. Do you want to talk to him?¡±

    Octavia shook her head desperately, her frazzled braids whipping against her tear-stained cheeks. ¡°He¡¯s so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Why would he do that?¡±

    ¡°Because Mina would¡¯ve died if he didn¡¯t! That was the alternative!¡±

    ¡°Why did it have to be him?¡± she sobbed.

    ¡°Octavia--¡±

    ¡°This is my fault, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that. Not again. Please.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s true!¡± Octavia cried.

    Josiah cupped either side of her face gently. It was almost startling. ¡°None of this was your fault. Every single person that came down here knew exactly what they were getting into. They were given the opportunity to back out over and over, and they still chose to fight. They fought for you, and they fought for Seraphe, and damn it, Octavia, we succeeded. There¡¯s nothing left. Not a bit of it.¡±

    She sniffled, fighting the hiccups that wracked her body. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°We got all of it. There¡¯s no Dissonance left. The whole city is¡­there¡¯s nothing.¡±

    It was tough to wipe her eyes with all of the bandages. Octavia tried anyway. ¡°How?¡±

    Josiah paused. ¡°We¡¯re pretty sure it was Celestina.¡±

    When she blinked, stray tears in waiting plopped down onto the covers. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand.¡±

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call is an¡­extremely powerful Harmonial Instrument, if it¡¯s used correctly. There¡¯s a reason they started worshiping the damn thing. It¡¯s not like it wiped everything out in one shot, but we think that Celestina playing was enough to get pretty close. From there, we were able to get the rest of it. It¡¯s not like I ever wanted this place back again, but¡­we have it. It¡¯s here. It¡¯s peaceful.¡±

    Even bandaged along every joint, Octavia still settled her fingers over his. ¡°Is everyone still here?¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°Most of them went back to Velrose already. The rest are leaving pretty soon. Like I said, our circle was just¡­waiting for you to wake up first.¡±

    Her eyes watered again. He withdrew his hands, and she lamented their absence immediately. ¡°We don¡¯t have to stay,¡± Josiah continued. ¡°If you want to rest more, we can. If not, we can go back up. I¡­I¡¯m at least grateful I got to get some of my old stuff back. I don¡¯t have to buy warmer clothes now, I guess. If--¡±

    ¡°I saw Sonata,¡± Octavia whispered, her voice threatening to crack once more.

    Josiah was silent for a moment. ¡°You don¡¯t have to talk about whatever you saw in there. If you want to talk about it, you know I¡¯ll listen.¡±

    ¡°Do we have to do Valkyrie?¡±

    ¡°We still do,¡± he reminded softly. ¡°We can take our time.¡±

    Her heart hurt. Everything hurt. She didn¡¯t want to think about it, and that was nothing new. Thousands of deaths had followed her up, in a way. Her soul was yet another casualty outside of the dark. Her breaths were far more shallow than she would¡¯ve liked.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry. You shouldn¡¯t be blaming yourself. This was my fault. If you¡¯re gonna blame anyone, blame me.¡±

    Octavia raised her tired eyes to him. He stole his away, casting them to the floor. ¡°What?¡±

    He never once looked at her. ¡°I could¡¯ve stopped this. I didn¡¯t. I was selfish, and I got people hurt. It was a guess. I couldn¡¯t¡­prove that¡¯s where it would--¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Octavia asked.

    Josiah¡¯s voice was as quiet as it was pained. ¡°Ethel.¡±

    She could only stare. ¡°What about him?¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°I think this was the¡­place closest to my heart, for lack of better words. It¡¯s ironic. I hate most of it. I wanted it to drown in all the pain it deserved. It¡¯s what she would¡¯ve wanted. It felt¡­wrong to take that from her.¡±

    What was left of Octavia¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Josiah--¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could¡¯ve gotten rid of all of it,¡± he said softly, ¡°but I think it would¡¯ve helped. The church, at the very least. If I could take it back, I would. Please, don¡¯t¡­blame yourself.¡±

    Octavia had no tears left. Instead, she felt the way her soul burned. ¡°Then you can¡¯t blame yourself, either.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t nod. He didn¡¯t affirm her words in any capacity. That burned just as much.

    Octavia had run out of sorrow to spare. All that was left was numbness. ¡°I want to go back up. I don¡¯t want to be down here anymore. I¡¯m sorry. I know this is your home, but I--¡±

    He shook his head, and he finally found a smile--false or not. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t want to be down here anymore, either. Let¡¯s¡­go get you something to eat, okay? We¡¯ll go slow. If it hurts too much to walk, tell me. Someone can carry you.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s Stradivaria?¡±

    Josiah tilted his head towards the table behind him. ¡°He¡¯s here. It¡¯s okay.¡±

    The sight of Stradivaria¡¯s case, at least, took something off of her shoulders. ¡°I¡­okay,¡± Octavia breathed.

    ¡°There¡¯s¡­one detour I want to make in here before we go. You don¡¯t have to come if you don¡¯t want to, but I don¡¯t want to leave without doing it. I can drop you off with the others and they can take you up.¡±

    Octavia shook her head weakly. ¡°I want to go with you. Please don¡¯t leave me.¡±

    He averted his eyes. ¡°It might make you upset.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. I still want to go with you.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t push her, even after his smile had long since fallen. ¡°If you¡¯re sure. Tell me if you change your mind.¡±

    Actually getting out of the bed was agonizing. For as much as he helped her in the process, every ache and pain she¡¯d managed to collect over time had her strongly reconsidering his offer of medical assistance. Had she not been in the Cursed City, Octavia would¡¯ve thought about climbing right back into the warmth and safety of Josiah¡¯s bed and spending the rest of her life there. It wasn¡¯t as though she was particularly fond of the idea of going back to sleep ever again, knowing what was surely awaiting her there forever. That left her on her feet and in his hands, miserable as the sensation of movement was.

    His detour wasn¡¯t particularly far. It didn¡¯t even land her outside of the church. Granted, Octavia wouldn¡¯t have known where to find the exit in the first place, given how disoriented she felt at the moment. In the absence of screeching and playing, the dead silence of the holy building was as terrifying as it was calming. Had he not held her hand gently and loosely in his own, she likely would¡¯ve interpreted it solely as the former. Even now, clad in bandages as she was, Josiah still reached for her first. Octavia still let him lead.

    She¡¯d never seen the room he brought her to, only a short walk from his own. What short corridors and small turns it had taken to get there, he knew by heart, twisting and turning instinctively. It largely reflected his own, humble and dim in the absence of any true light. Whatever gentle candlelight had once provided any semblance of a glow had long flickered and died, instead leaving the little candlestick to gather dust uselessly on the table. It was pitiful, in a way. Otherwise, it was tidy--a bed well-made, belongings in their places, shelves organized with books and trinkets.

    Octavia liked the drawings. She liked all of the drawings, plastered and peppered upon every wall in turn. She recognized the pencil strokes and the shading. She recognized the subjects, somewhat. Some were less elegant than others, and some were downright sloppy in a way that seemed almost foreign. One of the pillows had what appeared to be a bloodstain in the corner, long since dried and crusted over.

    ¡°I hate that she kept the crappy ones.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice didn¡¯t echo, muted by the gentle enclosure of four decorated walls. Where candlelight was absent, the smallest of smiles that touched his lips sufficed as a replacement glow.

    ¡°I kept telling her to get rid of them. She kept making up some garbage about it being the ¡®evolution of the artist¡¯ or whatever. Some of these aren¡¯t even mine, don¡¯t get the wrong idea. She tried to do the same thing. She hated hers more than I hated mine. I told her that if I wasn¡¯t allowed to get rid of my old ones, then she wasn¡¯t allowed to get rid of hers, either. She used to call it the ¡®wall of shame¡¯. It was so stupid.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Is this¡­¡±

    His eyes softened, glistening as they were. ¡°Selena¡¯s room. I¡­haven¡¯t been here in awhile. It¡¯s exactly the same as I remember it.¡±

    Octavia battled the lump that rose threateningly in her throat. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be sorry about. I want to be here. I want to remember her.¡±

    It was just as difficult to battle the stream of apologies that again yearned to escape her lips. She never made it there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you back to everyone. I promise I¡¯ll take you back up soon. Could I have just¡­two minutes here? Just to¡­be here again?¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask. We can stay as long as you want. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±

    The melancholy in his smile hurt. There were no tears. She could hear the pain in his voice regardless. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t step any further than the entrance. He didn¡¯t explore, he didn¡¯t rummage, and he didn¡¯t lay a single finger on a single memento. He didn¡¯t attempt to enter the bubble of memories that rested beyond the threshold, content only to drink in the flame¡¯s one sanctuary with gentle eyes. Selena¡¯s room remained exactly as it had been the day she was lost, undisturbed by both time and Josiah¡¯s own hands. The same hands, one alone, were offered only to Octavia even now. He was delicate.

    He squeezed. She squeezed back.

 82. Sacrifice

    One look at her face upon climbing the steps into Velrose was enough to deter every question that she could¡¯ve been asked. It didn¡¯t matter from who, and it didn¡¯t matter how gentle. Octavia wasn¡¯t even sure exactly what they were seeing, nor did she particularly care. Even now, she couldn¡¯t help but disconnect from her own body, an involuntary decision that left her floating in clouds she couldn¡¯t come down from.

    If someone spoke to her, she couldn¡¯t hear it. If someone touched her, she could hardly feel it. Josiah was an exception. She couldn¡¯t pinpoint a reason. Octavia thought about sleeping again. She was afraid to, and she didn¡¯t dare let her mind wander to why. There were moments when her exhausted eyes would drift down to her hands, bandaged as they were, and still expect to find blood not her own.

    Josiah had offered respite. She couldn¡¯t decide whether or not to take it, halfway riding her high of utter numbness--although he¡¯d at least insisted on fresh air. Octavia was still somewhat torn between getting out of Velrose as quickly as possible and picking up whatever pieces of her heart hadn¡¯t disintegrated. It would take as many as she could get to claw her way to Valkyrie¡¯s Call, let alone find the strength to perform the Witnessing. The amount of times she¡¯d gone through Hell in the past several hours was so astronomical that she was left counting each and every sin she''d ever committed.

    As to what could warrant such punishment, Octavia could only land on a handful of concepts. One of them was here, and it was being shoved in her face again and again. She deserved it. She was waiting on the ¡°silver lining¡± Viola had suggested she¡¯d find in all of this. She was still holding out for the way the suffering would ¡°make things easier¡±, as Renato had implied. They were insulting sentiments in her swirling pool of muddied thoughts.

    You have done phenomenally.

    She wanted him to shut up.

    I am¡­so immensely proud of you.

    She needed him to shut up.

    Octavia, I¡­you have done what few others would have done for our kind. Know that you are--

    ¡°Please stop talking,¡± Octavia begged aloud, her volume just a bit too high. ¡°Stop. Not right now. Please.¡±

    Josiah side-eyed her with concern. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡­nothing,¡± she murmured. ¡°Not you.¡±

    His eyes widened slightly in realization. ¡°Got it.¡±

    And Stratos, in turn, obliged at last. I will grant you your peace. Should you need me, know that I am here.

    It wasn¡¯t his fault. She was aware that she should¡¯ve at least offered thanks or a simple apology, and yet she couldn¡¯t find the drive for either one. Ultimately, the butterfly effect had led to her own hands. He wasn''t at fault for crowning her the Ambassador. He wasn¡¯t the one who''d brought Velpyre to its knees. He wasn¡¯t the one who''d made Selena¡¯s life a living Hell. Octavia knew she should¡¯ve been grateful just to have him on her back. She was barely grateful to be alive, right now.

    And she should¡¯ve been grateful for Viola¡¯s voice--any of them, really, for how many times they¡¯d tried to interact with her in some capacity since reuniting. Their smiles were useless. Their words of comfort and affirmations of success were worthless. Octavia felt bad. She couldn¡¯t help it. She wanted so, so badly to be done. Knowing more was left to come was a dread all its own, even in the exact opposite direction as it was. A lack of Dissonance at the top of the bell tower did not at all mean anything would be easier for her. The repeated implications as to the contrary were infuriating, and she had to resist the urge to snap at them a few times over it.

    She didn¡¯t have the energy to deal with a single other Maestro. Her own companions were enough. Octavia thought about checking in on Mina, bedbound as she knew the girl to be. She didn¡¯t have the heart. When River awaited her on the church steps, she had other concerns, and what was left of her soul immediately flooded with sorrow. She didn¡¯t have the strength for this, either.

    His smile meant nothing. The warm seafoam that tried to comfort her in gentle waves meant nothing. His soft voice meant nothing, even for how elated he seemed to be just to see her. ¡°Octavia,¡± he greeted calmly.

    She didn¡¯t so much as attempt to reciprocate his joy in the slightest. Clinging to Josiah was all she could manage, and she was glad River didn¡¯t call her out on it. ¡°River,¡± she offered, nearly monotone. ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you¡¯re safe.¡±

    He tilted his head endearingly. ¡°I¡¯m¡­glad you¡¯re safe, too. I¡¯m glad everyone¡¯s safe. How are you feeling?¡±

    None of his business.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­I¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    Doubtful.

    ¡°How¡¯s the Ensemble?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    ¡°They¡¯re all fine. Mint needs a little while, I think. She¡¯s not supposed to--¡±

    ¡°Ten years, huh.¡±

    The words were out before Octavia could stop them, tinted with bitterness she couldn¡¯t withhold. River recoiled beneath their weight.

    ¡°I¡­what?¡±

    ¡°Mina,¡± Octavia said sadly, simply.

    River paused. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you upset?¡± Octavia asked, somewhat louder than intended.

    River shook his head. ¡°Octavia, I knew what I was doing. I wouldn¡¯t have volunteered for this if I--¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you care?¡± she snapped. ¡°Why do you value yourself that little?¡±

    River¡¯s eyes flashed with hurt. For a moment, she almost regretted her words. ¡°I do value myself! I know what I did, and I would do it again, but that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t value myself. I already told you that this is what I was born to--¡±

    ¡°Cut the crap! Stop rationalizing it! Stop making it sound more noble than it actually is, because it¡¯s not! You think it¡¯s brave, but it¡¯s not! You think it¡¯s selfless, but it¡¯s not!¡± Octavia cried, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s tragic! It¡¯s not something to be idolized! You weren¡¯t put on this earth to hurt yourself for the sake of other people, so stop twisting things around to make it look that way!¡±

    River winced. ¡°You realize what would¡¯ve happened if I hadn¡¯t done it, right?¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m grateful for that, River! I¡¯ll always be grateful for that, from the bottom of my heart! That doesn¡¯t mean you have to be okay with it! I¡¯m not okay with it!¡±

    ¡°Why do you care so much about what happens to me?¡± he asked softly, his voice wavering. ¡°This is my--¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re my friend, idiot! What kind of question is that? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re being careful and then do things like this!¡±

    ¡°I really, genuinely didn¡¯t have a choice!¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Josiah urged quietly, settling his free hand atop one shaking shoulder.

    Biting back her venom was agonizing. Keeping her tears at bay was just as such. She was surprised she had any left in the first place. It took far more effort than it should¡¯ve to comply with Josiah¡¯s attempts to diffuse.

    ¡°What¡­happened?¡± Viola murmured. Truthfully, Octavia had forgotten they were even privy to her outburst.

    Josiah squeezed her shoulder, a nonverbal plea for her to keep her anger behind her teeth. He answered in her place. ¡°Mina got hurt. It was life-threatening. River used his gift to heal her, and the price was¡­steep.¡±

    ¡°Very,¡± Octavia hissed. He tightened his grip. She wasn¡¯t sorry.

    Octavia hated the way they only eyed him with concern and horror. She wished just one singular other person would be furious with him for the way he treated his own life¡¯s worth. It wasn¡¯t as though she was enjoying hers much right now. Maybe she had ten years she could offer him back. She wondered if Stratos could help her make it possible, somehow.

    ¡°How¡­much did you say it was?¡± Harper asked.

    ¡°Ten years,¡± River said calmly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be proud of it!¡± Octavia snapped.

    ¡°Octavia, stop,¡± Josiah warned, his voice dangerously low.

    How could she? The way not one voice scolded him, even now, was miserable.

    ¡°Any life-threatening injury,¡± River clarified, ¡°will almost always cost this much. It¡¯s not something I can help. I was prepared for it to happen, someday. In reality, it¡¯s a¡­small price to pay for someone¡¯s entire life, when you think about it. It¡¯s something a Spirited Maestro can only do a handful of times in their life.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you scared?¡± Viola prodded bluntly. ¡°You don¡¯t know how long you¡¯re going to live for. You don¡¯t know when you¡¯re going to die. Now you have¡­even less of that. If I were in your shoes, I might¡¯ve hesitated.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I made my peace with it a long time ago.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve only ever had to use my gift once.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s voice was soft, almost inaudible. Her eyes were on the ground rather than River--let alone anyone. ¡°Back then, I didn¡¯t know what the cost was, but I still would¡¯ve done it anyway if I knew. I¡­think I know what you mean.¡±

    River smiled gently. ¡°It¡¯s¡­something that I think our legacy can understand a bit differently.¡±

    Octavia was, under no circumstances, ignorant to the way Renato¡¯s hollow eyes had pooled with ice. Had they been aimed at River rather than nothing at all, the Spirited boy surely would¡¯ve frozen over. He was silent.

    ¡°Still,¡± Madrigal continued, fidgeting somewhat, ¡°I didn¡¯t have to use as much as you, so I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°How much was it?¡± River asked.

    ¡°This is a bit of a dark conversation, isn¡¯t it?¡± Renato interrupted, his voice perhaps as cold as his eyes. The false grin he wore was strained, if not mildly distressing to witness in the first place.

    Viola was just close enough to him that her quiet objections were localized. ¡°If she wants to talk about it, let her. Please.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want her to.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    He didn¡¯t argue further. When Renato crossed his arms uncomfortably, Octavia was still conscious of the way he was staring down River with borderline malice. His false fingers trembled somewhat.

    ¡°Two years,¡± Madrigal continued quietly, ignorant to Renato¡¯s interruptions. ¡°I used two years. I know that¡¯s not a whole lot compared to how much you used.¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°Every bit counts. There¡¯s no need to compare. It¡¯s not a competition.¡±

    ¡°At the time, I didn¡¯t actually know how to use it,¡± Madrigal admitted, swaying idly as she conversed. ¡°I was just really scared and upset, and then it happened. I thought the person I was helping was gonna die. But they were¡­okay afterwards, so it all worked out. I didn¡¯t find out about the cost until a lot later.¡±

    Renato trembled just the slightest bit more. He gritted his teeth.

    River raised an eyebrow. ¡°That person¡¯s life was in danger?¡±

    Madrigal nodded sadly. ¡°Yeah. They would¡¯ve bled out if I didn¡¯t--¡±

    ¡°Did you say two years?¡±

    Again, Madrigal nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    River eyed her warily. ¡°Are you¡­sure you didn¡¯t mean ten?¡±

    Madrigal blinked. ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­two. It was two years.¡±

    River was silent for a moment. ¡°Madrigal, I think you might want to talk with your Muse again, because there¡¯s no way that it was only two years.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes widened. So, too, did Octavia¡¯s, her heart dropping into her stomach. At the very least, Madrigal stole her exclamation of surprise with far more grace than she would¡¯ve used. ¡°What?¡± she said with soft confusion.

    ¡°Either it was roughly the same cost as mine, or your person¡¯s life wasn¡¯t actually in danger. There¡¯s absolutely no other options. There¡¯s¡­no conceivable way that you saved a person¡¯s life with your gift and only used two years of your lifespan. It¡¯s not possible.¡±

    One of those options was utterly horrifying. The other one was implausible and puzzling. With complete certainty, Renato¡¯s death that night would¡¯ve been unavoidable, had Madrigal not intervened--the bleeding was simply too severe. Octavia¡¯s anger towards River, at least, had now largely melted into befuddlement. It didn¡¯t quite erase all of it in full.

    Her confusion wasn¡¯t isolated. In fact, it was widespread, the implications of River¡¯s assertion painted in different manners on every face. Octavia wondered which of them had clung to disbelief. Madrigal seemed to be one of them. In the wake of the incredibly loaded silence, River sighed.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he asked quietly, ¡°are you going to rest for a bit before you--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting it over with today,¡± she growled.

    And that, too, was somehow a catalyst for puzzled and shocked eyes to fall upon her instead. Even Josiah seemed taken aback. In truth, it was not at all that she wasn¡¯t afraid. She was terrified out of her mind, well aware that her heart would again crumble to dust the moment she had the bell in her sights once more. The fury in her blood, should she direct it away from River, could carry her further than she¡¯d expected. Octavia welcomed the way it burned and boiled in her veins.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Viola asked incredulously.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she bit back.

    The sooner she was done, the sooner she could return to the peace of Tacell, anyway. If she was going to crumble to dust, she would much prefer to do it in tranquility. Whatever day it was was beyond her, given how long she¡¯d slept and how far off her perception of time was becoming. It would take until at least Sunday for the opportunity to get out. Technically, she had time. Objectively, anger might¡¯ve been stronger than numbness. She had to try while she had the chance.

    Renato tapped the tip of his shoe against the ground uncomfortably. ¡°Do you¡­want us to go up there with you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    That was a surprise even to herself. Octavia regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she squeezed Josiah¡¯s hand far tighter than she should¡¯ve with bandages on. He squeezed back, as always.

    ¡°Can I go with you?¡±

    His voice was a relief, frankly, an escape from her bold declaration. She hoped he couldn¡¯t see her panic, given that she could certainly feel it. Josiah''s eyes only offered her calm. ¡°Please?¡±

    She had the slightest feeling she knew why. She wouldn¡¯t press. It was the least she could do to repay him for anything and everything. Octavia nodded. ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    If there was any semblance of jealousy or objection, no one gave any indications. River, for as out of place as he now appeared to be, at least tried to grant his best wishes with a straight face. ¡°Good luck, Ambassador,¡± he tried. ¡°We¡¯ll all¡­wait for you. Do your best.¡±

    She had nothing else to say to him. Ignoring him likely wasn¡¯t her kindest option. She was eternally grateful when her own circle kept their supportive platitudes to themselves. She couldn¡¯t even find words for Josiah, who¡¯d been kind enough to offer her an escape route. Octavia wondered how much anger it would take to make it to the top of the bell tower. If it could be artificially generated, that would help matters. She could think of Drey, which was always easy. She could think of Portia, perhaps. If she really wanted, she could think of the fact that she¡¯d managed to come up from Velpyre alive. She could think of the fact that even death hadn¡¯t been kind to her.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    That was irrelevant. She could be as angry as she wanted at him for truly, genuinely believing in her.

    <hr>

    The steps to the tower were exactly as she¡¯d remembered them. They spiraled, they curved, and their pillared corridor echoed all the way up. Every breath she could possibly have breathed within its tight walls would¡¯ve bounced off and returned to her ears. Volume wasn''t a factor, although the current weight of her breaths didn¡¯t help that part even slightly. It was equally as damp and condensed as she¡¯d remembered, the chilling dew of morning surely not doing the stone walls any favors with condensation.

    Air circulation was debatable. Octavia would hardly get any regardless, given how difficult it was to inhale any reasonable amount of oxygen. Its height was dizzying. Even if she were to tilt her head backwards and gaze high, high above, the quantity of stairs she would need to climb to reach the top was scathingly abundant. That, too, she remembered vividly. It came to her attention, in passing, that Josiah had never scaled these steps before. Part of Octavia wondered if he¡¯d be okay with the climb, at least physically.

    It wouldn¡¯t matter much if she couldn¡¯t take the first step.

    Whatever anger she''d hoped to cling to all the way to the top evaporated from her blood the moment one boot had touched the initial stair. Octavia tried again and again to will herself to push, to take the simple action of bending her knees and rising higher. Her legs had pooled with lead, her body overall not faring much better. Her heart, for how hard it was pounding, didn¡¯t seem to need much exertion to prompt its frantic beating.

    Given that Allison had preceded them, she had half a mind to wonder if the bells she was hearing were a cruel prank. Josiah had promised her silence, at least for several days. Even so, here they were again, horrific to a degree that she usually didn¡¯t have to endure. She typically didn¡¯t have to breathe in the same scents, to feel the same rugged sensations of her skin scraping the stone walls for support. They were achingly familiar. They were her missing puzzle pieces. It was sickeningly perfect.

    If Octavia wanted to, she could be there. She didn¡¯t want to. It wasn¡¯t a choice.

    It didn¡¯t matter that she¡¯d already seen Sonata¡¯s toll. It would fix nothing, ultimately, and the fresh sight had only served to rip her skin clean off her body all over again. Even now, she absolutely couldn''t shake the desperate screaming out of her head. She still knew she never would. She could see both of them, even if Selena¡¯s entire life possibly awaited her at the top of the endless climb before her. Her last ascent had been panicked and determined, hopeful in a way that still spoke to self-confidence. Octavia missed it. She wondered how bad coming down would be, given what that had followed. She didn¡¯t remember much of that part, to be fair.

    They were so loud. They were so, so loud. She covered, and the bandages only irritated her ears. If she slammed her head hard enough against the walls, maybe she¡¯d lose her sense of hearing entirely. That would be nice. Octavia wanted to scream, perhaps even louder than Sonata. She could¡¯ve sworn the bells were somehow getting louder. Maybe she¡¯d simply lose her hearing the hard way. Squeezing her eyes shut wasn¡¯t blurring their faces, contorted with fear and agony as they¡¯d been.

    She needed to be angry. She needed to be numb. She had neither to cling to. Even if there was time to change her mind, it would still need to be done. Valkyrie¡¯s Call would still sit high above, out of reach and awaiting the Ambassador¡¯s touch. She thought of surrendering again. This wasn¡¯t healthy. There was nothing left to give.

    Octavia lost her wrists. For how weak she''d become, it surely didn¡¯t take much effort for anything to pull them away. Covering her ears wasn¡¯t helping one bit, regardless. Tugged forwards as they were, her surprise outdid her immediate reflex to resist. She gave in by one step exactly.

    ¡°God, this is a lot of stairs. This is gonna kill my knees. Not really looking forward to it.¡±

    Again, he pulled. Again, she surrendered, just one step more.

    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly an athletic person. You¡¯ve got me beat by quite a bit on that. I like being indoors more than being outdoors, and that was kind of how I grew up. That¡¯s¡­probably obvious, huh? Not really a lot of reasons to go outside.¡±

    Climbing stairs backwards was dangerous. Josiah did it anyway.

    ¡°I mean, when I used to go above and below again, I had to use the staircase down there--which still wasn¡¯t exactly a breeze, but it was better than this. It definitely doesn¡¯t need to be that high. There¡¯s plenty of churches that put their bells way lower. Again, this whole city is so dramatic.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off his, lest she fall to pieces right here and now.

    ¡°Did you ever stop to consider my date offer? We still have to kill a few days after this before we can get out of here. Why the hell they don¡¯t have trains coming and going more often is beyond me. Well, actually, that¡¯s a lie. Barely anyone comes here, so I kind of get it. It¡¯s so stupid that we ended up on a train again. My fault for not thinking about that one longer. I¡¯m sure Harper thought it was funny, at least. Can¡¯t stand him.¡±

    However many steps she¡¯d gone up, she¡¯d lost track. There was more oxygen available than usual.

    ¡°Did I tell you what he did to my aloe? He ended up with all my freakin¡¯ aloe. He¡¯s a little injury magnet. Every time he practices, he gets burned somehow because he¡¯s screwing around and trying to learn new stuff. I stopped treating him myself and just gave him the whole jar. Now, I have to go get more because he can¡¯t exercise a shred of caution. Is there aloe in Tacell? I feel like there should be aloe in Tacell, somewhere.¡±

    Up and up and up she was climbing. Somehow, he, too, was doing the same.

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying this to be condescending or arrogant, but...genuine question, how did you guys even survive before I got here? Like, I feel like at least one of you gets injured in some capacity on a weekly basis. Sometimes, you rotate. I mean, I say ¡®you guys¡¯ like I¡¯m not part of ¡®you guys¡¯ as a whole, but you know what I mean. I still swear Harper¡¯s the worst about it, though.¡±

    Octavia was afraid to check her distance. It wasn¡¯t as though looking over her shoulder was possible, not with the angle Josiah was pulling her along at. Still, this couldn¡¯t have been good for him, physically. With her cracked voice and dry mouth, she fought for her life to say as much.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­gonna get hurt¡­going backwards.¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°It¡¯s kind of fun.¡±

    ¡°I can¡­walk. Go¡­forwards.¡±

    Josiah took a startlingly long time to accept her words, unfurling his fingers from one of her wrists slowly. Even if the steps were too narrow to walk beside her, he never released her other wrist in the slightest. If he stopped pulling, gentle as the motion was, Octavia worried she might freeze in place forever. The bells were softer, even ever-present as they were.

    ¡°This might sound silly out loud, but...do you want to start a garden in Tacell, or something? I know a few of the Maestros have one. Not just, like, the food ones, either. Maybe this is a little ambitious, but I thought it¡¯d be fun to try to grow my own medicinal stuff. Herbs and succulents, and all that. It¡¯d keep me from having to go to Selbright, and I think it¡¯d be an interesting experiment. Like I said, though, I didn¡¯t really grow up in nature. I don¡¯t know a lot about that kind of thing. Could you teach me?¡±

    Even lightheaded, it was getting easier to see straight. ¡°Teach you¡­how to grow stuff?¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    He smiled. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m gonna end up killing everything. We didn¡¯t really have a lot of plants in Velpyre because we¡­well, we didn¡¯t really have a lot of sunlight. When I was little, Selena told me she was upset about that. I made her a bunch of little paper flowers and left them all over her bed. I don¡¯t think I folded them properly, but she still kept them anyway.¡±

    ¡°What happened to them?¡± she asked, more clearly than expected.

    Josiah shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, actually. Maybe she¡¯s still got them stashed somewhere. It was a lot. Easily thirty or forty. Tried to make them colorful. Looking back, I think it would¡¯ve made her laugh a lot more if I drew, like, a single crappy flower and stuck it to the wall.¡±

    Octavia stared at him silently. His face fell. ¡°Does it¡­hurt you when I talk about her?¡±

    It was a loaded question. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure how to answer, nor was she entirely sure how she felt in the first place. There¡¯d been a time when Selena¡¯s name alone had made her sick, through absolutely no fault of the acolyte¡¯s. It wasn¡¯t fair. ¡°N-No.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay if it does. I can stop.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Tell me¡­more about her. I-I didn¡¯t really know her for very long, so most things I know about her are from¡­you.¡±

    Josiah''s smile, when it returned, was warm. ¡°I¡­this is gonna sound so embarrassing. I¡¯ve daydreamed a few times about her being part of this little mess. Sometimes, I wonder how she would¡¯ve gotten along with everyone if she knew them for longer than she had. I know she wouldn¡¯t have been able to take Seraphim along with her, but I don¡¯t think she would¡¯ve cared if it meant she could get out of Velpyre in the first place. I think she would¡¯ve loved Coda. I¡­think she would¡¯ve loved you guys.¡±

    Octavia resisted the urge to avert her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think we made a very good first impression.¡±

    Again, he shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. You had no way of knowing. Neither did I. You got stuck in the middle, and it was really crappy that you ended up as a messenger. I hope that wasn¡¯t the lasting impression you got of her. She¡¯s¡­not a bad person, I promise.¡±

    She shook her head quickly. ¡°N-No, I never meant to imply that! Of course she¡¯s not!¡±

    Josiah chuckled. ¡°No, I know that¡¯s not how you meant it. It¡¯s alright. She had more than enough people who thought she was, though. For that tiny amount of time you guys knew her, I think having more than just me on her side made her happy. She¡­didn¡¯t show it.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    ¡°I know her,¡± he spoke with mild pride. ¡°I know her better than anyone could ever. Maybe it¡¯s a bit arrogant of me to be proud of that. We grew up together. That was the closest I could possibly imagine being to another person. I¡¯d be willing to bet she knew me better than I knew myself, sometimes. It went both ways.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t bring herself to smile. She still, even now, couldn¡¯t bring herself to assess her progress over her shoulder. She was convinced she could feel a breeze, somewhat distant as it was. She didn¡¯t dwell on it. ¡°I¡¯m¡­happy that you guys had each other.¡±

    The way Josiah smiled when he spoke about Selena was different. Octavia liked it. When the same smile clouded with melancholy, his eyes following suit, she wasn¡¯t quite as satisfied. ¡°There¡¯s days where I think about what she saw up until the end in my head. I didn¡¯t get to say goodbye to her. That¡¯ll always bother me, to tell you the truth. Even now, this is retracing her footsteps a bit, isn¡¯t it? She was here. Maybe that should make me feel worse, but it¡¯s almost doing the opposite. There¡¯s probably something messed up about that, I know. To¡­see through her eyes at her lowest, I know I¡¯ll never really get that chance. I know that¡¯s not something I should want. It still doesn¡¯t stop me from thinking about it every now and then.¡±

    When Octavia fell silent, he relented with wide eyes and apologies. ¡°Sorry, wait, that¡¯s not what I meant. I¡¯m not trying to make light of it. I¡¯m not trying to say it¡¯s something you should--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she reassured, shaky as her hand was in his own. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry we can¡¯t switch places.¡±

    When she offered nothing more, he didn¡¯t give her anything to work with but a gaze of immediate regret. Octavia sighed weakly. ¡°That¡¯s why you wanted to come up here with me, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Josiah tore his eyes from hers. It hurt to lose them. ¡°You have every right to be mad at me.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not. Maybe I would¡¯ve done the same thing, in your shoes.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­prove she¡¯s going to be the toll for Valkyrie¡¯s Call. It was just a feeling. I¡¯m sorry to put this on your shoulders, especially after everything you¡¯ve already had to deal with.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± Octavia fought to offer calmly. ¡°I would¡¯ve had to do it anyway. I think it might be her, too. If it is, at least someone can benefit from what I have to do. That¡­makes it easier.¡±

    If she could trade her role with another for one single toll, she still would¡¯ve hesitated somewhat. Provided the final toll awaiting her in Velrose truly was one more ill-fated acolyte, she was still the only survivor of the struggle atop the bell tower that day. The idea of sharing that scene with prying eyes, even hypothetically, was enough to send a wave of nausea crashing over her again.

    She was hit by a second one the moment the sky-high breeze of autumn kissed her in full. She earned another. Then another. If she vomited in such a sacred place, she wondered where her soul would go when she died. She wondered if the worst option would outdo how she already felt.

    Octavia stumbled upon reaching the top of the stairs, the overpowering dizziness and disorientation enough to nearly knock her flat on her back. It wasn¡¯t as though she could perform the Witnessing without looking at the Harmonial Instrument in question. For as large as Valkyrie¡¯s Call was, it would¡¯ve been an impossible feat regardless. She didn¡¯t care if Allison saw the way her eyes surely filled with glass. She hardly registered that Allison was here at all.

    Josiah caught her on the way down, hooking his arms quickly beneath her own as her vision blurred. For as substantially as the strength of sound had ravaged her body from the inside-out each time Valkyrie¡¯s Call had cried out to her, it was in complete silence that she was most shaken.

    Octavia didn¡¯t cry. She didn¡¯t scream. Not a tear left her eyes, nor did any rise to meet them in the first place. Words were a fantasy she couldn¡¯t grasp. If she scoured every last inch of the tolling rope with her eyes, if she chased down every single fiber that those slender hands could¡¯ve clung to so desperately, maybe she¡¯d still find Sonata there in the worst way.

    There wasn¡¯t a speck, nor a shred, nor a patch, nor a drop of the Velrose Acolyte¡¯s anguish painting the bell in any capacity. It had been some time, after all. Still, she couldn¡¯t be blamed for expecting at least one stain. In some sick way, she would almost have preferred it.

    Octavia stared down Valkyrie¡¯s Call. Valkyrie¡¯s Call stared back. Her eyes flickered, at least once, to the railing that had swallowed both acolytes whole in tandem. Even now, she could trace their exact path there with her eyes, if she chose. She didn¡¯t particularly get to choose, for how instinctive of a motion it was. If she peered over the rail once more, maybe they¡¯d still be down there. Maybe the stains were still there. Under no circumstances could she summon the courage to check.

    She was vaguely aware of Allison¡¯s eyes on her, and surely Josiah¡¯s as well--the latter, granted, was likely a byproduct of her continued security in his arms. Octavia never did figure out exactly who''d discovered their bodies first. It bothered her far more than it should¡¯ve, as with so many other things.

    Of all places she would¡¯ve expected to hear bells, she found none. It was as much of a relief as it was vehemently unnatural. In her defense, this was the last place she¡¯d ever genuinely heard them. They hadn¡¯t stilled in peace. If Allison were to play now, so, so close to her, Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to fathom her own reaction. She didn¡¯t try. She could hardly stop floating as it was, further above the bell tower than was necessary.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    Where she would¡¯ve expected to hear Josiah¡¯s voice, she found the little acolyte¡¯s instead. The wide eyes that challenged the bright sky overhead fixed her with innocent curiosity, and it didn¡¯t quite hurt. ¡°Thank you for¡­coming up here. I know there¡¯s lots of stairs.¡±

    Octavia nodded so slowly that the motion didn¡¯t even register at first. ¡°I-I¡­it¡¯s¡­okay,¡± she struggled to breathe.

    Josiah did everything in his power to balance hoisting her to her feet with efficiency and gentleness. He was largely successful, her small bout of staggering notwithstanding. He still kept himself close, lest she have the same reaction once more. For that, Octavia was grateful. ¡°Thanks for meeting us here,¡± he offered to Allison quietly.

    She nodded as well, her hands folded neatly over the skirt of her robes. ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t think you were gonna want to meet Valkyrie so soon. I thought Seraphim would¡¯ve made you tired.¡±

    That was the most powerful understatement Octavia had ever heard. Deep inside, some part of her could¡¯ve died from laughter. ¡°I wanted to get them both done quickly,¡± she answered instead.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes were barely for Allison in the first place, continuing to bore holes into the bell as they were. Allison¡¯s gaze upon her partner was far softer by comparison. Their size difference was still incredibly striking, even relative to that of the acolyte before her. Even now, the mental image of Allison ringing the bell wasn¡¯t something Octavia could wrap her head around, try as she might.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­I get to meet Valkyrie, so I¡¯m happy,¡± Allison murmured. ¡°Even if it won¡¯t be for very long.¡±

    She almost felt bad, for how dismissive her urgency was to the child. ¡°I-I¡­I¡¯m sure Valkyrie¡¯s Call is looking forward to meeting you, too.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t smile. Never once had Octavia seen her smile, and that hurt in its own way. If this was what it took to make the little acolyte happy, maybe that was worth something, too.

    When Allison only eyed her semi-expectantly, she could feel herself sweating. It took far, far more effort than it should¡¯ve to depart from Josiah¡¯s radius in any capacity. He trailed behind her, at least briefly. At the foot of the bell, the space he gave her was as necessary as it was highly unwelcome. Her audience of two wasn¡¯t a problem, numerically speaking. They were, perhaps, the two people in the world most in need of her touch upon Valkyrie¡¯s Call. How unfortunate, then, that it was the one place of which she¡¯d sooner sear her fingers off than lay her hands upon.

    You are afraid of me.

    Octavia recoiled. The steps she stumbled backwards were few, yet notable. Whether or not it was an accusation was debatable, the deep and resonant tone in her mind echoing so much like the vessel it claimed. Her heart would surely never return to a normal rhythm again, given how these last few days were treating her.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± she heard Josiah ask with worry.

    Am I correct?

    She didn¡¯t acknowledge Josiah. She could barely acknowledge the voice that pressed her. That¡¯s¡­not true.

    You run from me.

    Octavia shook her head. It¡¯s not you.

    You hide from me.

    Again, it¡¯s not you.

    Then for what reason have you sought to evade me?

    The degree to which her fingernails were digging into her own palms was painful, slicing their way through the bandages in earnest. It wasn¡¯t important. I don¡¯t want to be here. Not because of you, but because of something that happened.

    What is it from which you run?

    Octavia gritted her teeth. This wasn¡¯t their business. I made a mistake. I don¡¯t like to think about it. That¡¯s all.

    You blame yourself.

    Under no circumstances was she going to tear up in front of Valkyrie¡¯s Call. It was the poorest possible first impression she could think of making, even if it wasn¡¯t quite her first. And if I do?

    Then such blame is misplaced.

    You don¡¯t know that.

    I say so with certainty.

    How?

    I was there.

    Her blood froze in her veins. To be fair, the puzzle pieces were there, spilled and well-worn as they were. It wouldn¡¯t have taken a miracle to smash them together.

    The blame lies not with you.

    Had she not been the Ambassador, Octavia was certain her voice aloud would¡¯ve cracked instead. This was the only blessing she could count. It wasn¡¯t Selena¡¯s fault, either, or Sonata¡¯s. They needed help. I couldn¡¯t give it to them. Who else¡¯s fault could it be?

    My own.

    Octavia¡¯s breath hitched in her throat. What?

    And that of Seraphe, as well.

    Again, she couldn¡¯t help but shake her head. I don¡¯t understand.

    It is our presence that has led to such tragedy and suffering. The blame lies not with our own, but with those amongst this world who would walk a path of corruption and depravity. In some ways, it should have been anticipated.

    Octavia did what she could to meet the instrument with eyes as soft as their partner¡¯s own. But you didn¡¯t do anything wrong, either. Neither of you. You didn¡¯t ask for this.

    How ironic it is, that such which was so reprehensible became unavoidable. It was not by our own volition. It was loathsome. It was, and is, a torture. This is far from a path we had ever wished to tread. Please understand, Ambassador, that this was not our choice. This is not what we hoped to become.

    Her fists trembled more fiercely than she would¡¯ve liked. I know you didn¡¯t want this.

    We did not wish to be deified.

    I¡­get it.

    We did not wish to interfere.

    I know.

    We would not walk the same path as she.

    Octavia paused. It took a moment for her fingers to uncurl, for her eyes to widen. Where she¡¯d battled shaky breaths out of fear, she found only uneven rattles of confusion in their place. She didn¡¯t have the heart to press her bandaged fingertips to the bronze. The words she found were aloud, instead, untethered to the privacy gifted to the Ambassador alone. It wasn¡¯t a dismissal so much as an invitation.

    ¡°Show me what you look like,¡± she whispered. ¡°I want to see you.¡±

    Where Sonata had once compared Seraphim¡¯s Call and Valkyrie¡¯s Call, a picture of parallel identities had been painted. Several times over, she¡¯d heard them decreed as ¡°twins¡±, or another variant of the same. Octavia understood now. He was the splitting image of Seraphe in every way.

    The Muse that met her eyes could, quite literally, pass as his twin. He was breathtakingly beautiful, much the same visage of radiant masculinity as his counterpart so far below. Angelic in equal measure, the milky brilliance that wrapped him up and speckled the air he claimed was far more divine beneath the shimmering rays of the sun.

    Upon the backdrop of the bell, glistening gorgeously under a shining day, he may have even been more resplendent than Seraphe altogether. Octavia¡¯s mouth felt dry. Once more, she patiently awaited the moment when angel wings would surely unfurl and the divinity he so rejected would bless her in full. She consciously resisted the urge to bow her head in his presence, uncomfortable as the reflex was. She could hardly tear her eyes from him in the first place.

    Octavia''s first attempts at an introduction made it absolutely nowhere. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±

    He filled in where she left off effortlessly. When he bowed to her instead, her breath fled her body altogether. It felt undeserved and surreal. She had half a mind to beg him to stop, to straighten up and leave the humble gesturing to someone far less regal.

    ¡°I am Valkyria,¡± he spoke softly, ¡°the Apex of Strength.¡±

    Whatever introduction she¡¯d cobbled together on her lips fizzled out instantly.

    Josiah, behind her, was apparently equally as baffled. The space he¡¯d respectfully given her was dashed in an instant, and his own wide eyes were hers to observe in full. ¡°Did¡­you say Apex of Strength?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°That is correct.¡±

    Every word that left him was one Octavia couldn¡¯t think straight enough to say herself. Even if the sentiments were there, they surely never would¡¯ve found any coherent form of expression. Josiah was the translator she didn¡¯t know she needed. ¡°This¡­whole time?¡± he continued in disbelief.

    Again did the Muse nod. ¡°Long have I languished atop this place. To be in the presence of the Ambassador at last is a miracle of which words will do no justice.¡±

    Even if she couldn¡¯t acknowledge his incredible status, Octavia could at least acknowledge her title. The stammering wasn¡¯t intentional, nor was the way the depth of her own bow nearly dragged her braids against the stones at her feet. ¡°I-I¡¯m Octavia, the Ambassador. I-It¡¯s wonderful to finally meet you.¡±

    She bit her lip immediately. For how long she¡¯d dreaded facing him, she wondered if he could tell exactly how much of that was a lie. She wondered how much of it was a lie, herself. He didn¡¯t press her on it.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­they¡¯ve been looking for you,¡± Josiah explained breathlessly. ¡°I just¡­how? I never thought it¡¯d be¡­you.¡±

    ¡°Did¡­you know?¡± Octavia asked, her gaze flickering to the starry-eyed acolyte instead.

    It was amazing that she could get Allison¡¯s attention at all, given how wonderfully fixated she was on her partner¡¯s divine image. ¡°I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re talking about. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    She should¡¯ve expected as much. ¡°That¡¯s¡­okay.¡±

    For how little the newest Velrose Acolyte was by comparison to the Muse, it was no surprise when he lowered himself to her level. The sight was almost endearing, even as their notable size difference continued to endure. She gazed upon him with only curiosity in place of fear. His bow of respect wasn''t offered to the Ambassador alone.

    ¡°And you, my child, we finally meet,¡± he spoke gently. ¡°It is a pleasure.¡±

    Allison hesitated for a moment before returning his bow, although not quite as deep as Octavia¡¯s own. ¡°My name is Allison. It¡¯s nice to meet you, Valkyria. I like your name.¡±

    ¡°I like your name, as well.¡±

    It was the first smile Octavia had ever seen grace the young acolyte¡¯s face, beaming and beautiful in the face of his praise. It was the first warmth she¡¯d felt in her heart in what felt like far too long. It was one of the only things she¡¯d hoped for, and it was a single prayer she¡¯d finally had answered. Octavia could¡¯ve cried. She almost did.

    ¡°Thank you for being my friend.¡±

    ¡°And of you, I say the same. I feel your love.¡±

    ¡°I do love you.¡±

    ¡°I know it to be true.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to interrupt them. For as long as Allison had longed for this, and for as much as she''d lost, she deserved at least one moment of happiness. Josiah didn¡¯t push.

    ¡°Was I a good acolyte?¡±

    ¡°You were, and you are. You are a wonderful partner, above all else. You bring grace and beauty to your legacy in abundance, and your strength is to be admired.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so nice. I knew you¡¯d be nice.¡±

    ¡°How could you be so certain, my child?¡±

    ¡°I just knew.¡±

    It took Octavia a moment to realize she was smiling, too. It felt unusual. It felt good.

    ¡°Does it hurt when I play you?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. Does it pain you?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt. I get sore, sometimes. They make me do it a lot. If it¡¯s for you, though, it¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°I¡­apologize that my presence has caused you such grief.¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m happy I got to be with you. That makes it worth it.¡±

    ¡°For every manner by which I have brought suffering unto you, you would still say so?¡±

    ¡°I like you. I like being with you. I like knowing that you¡¯re there. It makes me less lonely.¡±

    ¡°I would not have faulted you for your hatred, for what agony you have surely endured.¡±

    ¡°I would never hate you. Mommy loved you, and Sonata loved you, so I love you, too.¡±

    It was apparently obvious that Octavia was about to become emotional, for the way Josiah gently rested one hand upon her shoulder. She rested her bandaged fingertips atop his own quietly, grateful for his presence alone.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to go home soon, right?¡±

    ¡°I will not forget you.¡±

    ¡°Will you get to see Seraphim¡¯s Call again?¡±

    ¡°I believe I will.¡±

    ¡°Are you excited?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    ¡°Can you say hi for me? I never got to meet Seraphim. I wanted to do that, too.¡±

    ¡°I shall. Will you be alright in my absence?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be lonely.¡±

    Valkyria chuckled softly. It was a sound Octavia enjoyed, somewhat. ¡°You are honest.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true. I¡¯ll miss you a lot. I don¡¯t have anyone left.¡±

    ¡°I will be in your heart, as will you be in my own.¡±

    ¡°Promise?¡±

    ¡°I do.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t at all that Octavia had any fleeting desire to return to Velrose after this. Still, she could at least write to the little acolyte. Someday, maybe she¡¯d find the strength to do more. It was a bridge she¡¯d cross once her heart stopped stinging.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­okay now,¡± Allison offered softly.

    At first, Octavia believed her words to be for Valkyria yet again. When those round eyes fell upon herself, instead, it took her a moment to recognize their intent.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to say goodbye,¡± Allison clarified. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ready for Valkyria to go home and get to see his family. What do I have to do, Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything. I¡¯m gonna take care of everything else. It¡¯s alright.¡±

    Allison nodded quietly. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Octavia raised her eyes to the Muse, who reciprocated her gaze. ¡°You¡­said you didn¡¯t want to be deified. I get that, but¡­you said something else, too.¡±

    Valkyria hesitated. ¡°This city is a farce, as is that which rests below it. I am to blame for my misplaced trust, for the way I had once spoken of Above to one of my own from so long ago. So, too, came forth such an imitation, a blasphemous perversion of a realm so sacred in a world so impure. It was, and is, a sickening display. I will admit to dreams of casting judgment upon them as the deity they chose me to be, and yet I could not dare to interfere. This is no Above.¡±

    ¡°Above,¡± Josiah breathed slowly, ¡°and below.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s breathing quickened. ¡°That¡¯s¡­sick. That¡¯s disgusting! Is that really why?¡±

    ¡°I do not disagree with you, child,¡± Valkyria said sadly.

    ¡°What about the blossom and the flame? What the hell is that about? The acolytes? The¡­all the restrictions? Where¡¯d that come from?¡± he practically cried.

    Valkyria shook his head. ¡°As to those, I know not. Representations of purity and sin, I have come to presume. Their origins are not of my own words, nor those of Seraphe. Of this, I am certain. It is¡­unsettling.¡±

    Josiah exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as he battled for his composure. ¡°They don¡¯t deserve you. If nothing else, I¡¯ll¡­feel better when you¡¯re back where you¡¯re supposed to be. I¡¯m sure you will, too, and I hope Seraphe does, as well. No amount of me apologizing is going to do a thing.¡±

    ¡°I am appreciative of your sentiments, regardless. I am aware of Seraphe¡¯s prior predicament, from what my own has told me. If it would not trouble you to answer, might I know who he chose to call his own in his final moments upon this world?¡±

    Octavia froze. She almost didn¡¯t have the heart to look at Josiah¡¯s face. To her immense surprise, he seemed far, far calmer than she¡¯d expected him to be. For a brief moment, he threw his eyes at the floor of the bell tower.

    ¡°Celestina Ebony. Former acolyte of the Ebony family. She was his partner, once. She¡­ran away,¡± he explained quietly.

    ¡°Yet she chose to return?¡±

    Octavia wouldn¡¯t dare say why. Josiah shirked the exact same admission. ¡°Without her, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to get home. You guys didn¡¯t exactly make it easy to find a solid partner. We didn¡¯t even know if she could reforge her bond with him at all. We¡­didn¡¯t have a choice but to try.¡±

    Valkyria fell silent for a moment. ¡°It was¡­only in the blood of our own legacies that we could trust. In these false sanctuaries, we carried little faith in those whose strength was not of pure intent. I assure you, we never intended to bring them suffering. It seems that is what became of our actions, nonetheless. He surely had never left her blood in full, even long after he had been shunned by her hands. To know that they were reunited at last is a comfort of sorts.¡±

    ¡°Did she¡­know?¡± Octavia tried. ¡°That he didn¡¯t forget about her?¡±

    ¡°I would like to imagine,¡± Valkyria offered. ¡°Even should we part with our own, we will always be bound by blood from afar. It matters not with whom we next stand alongside. Only in our departure from this realm would that be lost.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted slightly. ¡°I¡­like to imagine she knew, too. I know why she left, but she¡­seemed good to him. I wonder if he missed that.¡±

    ¡°I am grateful he found his peace,¡± Valkyria said gently, ¡°and I pray that she did, as well.¡±

    Octavia inhaled. She exhaled. Neither breath was calm, let alone steady. ¡°I¡­want to grant you your peace, too. You deserve it. You deserve better.¡±

    ¡°I will not impede your efforts, Ambassador, nor will I seek to stifle my relief. I will not offer platitudes you have surely heard time and time again from my brethren. I will simply give my gratitude, once and once alone. I hope it will suffice.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t need praise. I just want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.¡±

    ¡°And I wish the same unto you, for all you have surely been through.¡±

    Octavia tensed. It took effort to relax her fingers, clenching and unclenching a fist she hadn¡¯t even realized she was holding. She met his gaze with every ounce of false calm she could scrounge up.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± she lied, ¡°whenever you are.¡±

    The Muse paused. Octavia closed her eyes. The trembling was involuntary. Logically, there was no possible way for Valkyrie¡¯s Call to come even remotely close to the toll count of its partner so far below. It still didn¡¯t stop her heart from pounding, her blood from rushing, her knees from shaking. She didn¡¯t watch Allison¡¯s face as Valkyria borrowed her name. She couldn¡¯t bear to watch anything, lost only in prayer after prayer as she was.

    ¡°Allison Ivory,¡± he spoke, ¡°your toll has been paid once over.¡±

    Once.

    ¡°Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    And she was all but confident.

    And when she turned her head, cracking her eyes open slowly, Josiah, too, had concluded the same. She wasn¡¯t sure what to expect--anger, hurt, fear, any other myriad of distressed emotions. The faint smile that had crossed his lips was incredibly jarring. He offered it to her, and she accepted it with immense disorientation.

    ¡°I knew it,¡± he murmured.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure what led her to call his name. ¡°Josiah?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s her,¡± he continued softly. ¡°She¡¯s in there.¡±

    Octavia gulped. ¡°Does that¡­bother you?¡±

    He shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ¡°On the contrary. I know where she is now. It takes a weight off my shoulders.¡±

    She didn¡¯t get to respond. His words were as gentle as his eyes. ¡°You said you wished you got to know her better, right? This is the best possible way you could get to know her. Hope there¡¯s nothing too embarrassing in there. Now I¡¯m kind of nervous, actually. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll¡­be in there quite a bit. If you get lonely, look for me, okay?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I¡­okay.¡±

    ¡°I know how it ends,¡± Josiah continued, somewhat more serious. ¡°I know you know, too. I don¡¯t¡­want to dismiss a lot of what you¡¯re gonna see. Her life wasn¡¯t pretty. She went through a lot, and I wouldn¡¯t wish the things she dealt with on anyone. I¡¯m sorry you have to do this at all. I¡¯ll be here for you when you¡¯re done, no matter what happens or what you see in there. I lived to see a lot of it. I know how much it sucked, even from the outside looking in.¡±

    Again, she nodded, stretching her fingers experimentally. ¡°O-Okay.¡±

    She didn¡¯t get to lift her other hand, even if she would¡¯ve wanted to. Josiah squeezed it ever so gently, the smile on his face matching beautifully. ¡°You¡­don¡¯t have to tell me everything. You barely have to tell me anything. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m curious to hear about all the ridiculous things she did that I don¡¯t know about. I¡¯d love to find out where she hid all the stuff she used to steal from me, too. That¡¯s¡­not that important. Just whatever you¡¯re willing to spare. I¡¯ll take the highlights, if you¡¯re willing. Okay? The¡­nice stuff. I know she¡¯s got nice stuff in there. I know her.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t return his smile. She nodded again anyway. ¡°Okay.¡±

    He squeezed her hand once more. She squeezed back. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­wait for you,¡± he said softly.

    She was immediately lonely the second she was freed from his grip, only glimmering bronze awaiting her touch instead. She hoped her bandages wouldn¡¯t get in the way, frankly, a problem she¡¯d never had to deal with before. Her fingers trembled on the way up, as she¡¯d more or less expected. It was involuntary.

    Octavia offered her eyes only to the surface of Valkyrie¡¯s Call, struggling to ignore her own reflection just barely visible upon the metal. It was the second-least welcome sight she could hope for at the moment. She dreaded engaging with the first.

    She wondered if she would¡¯ve been panicking more, had Josiah not painted for her such a soft picture of what would surely be one of the most brutal tolls imaginable. It was by no means Selena¡¯s fault. If she really, truly hoped to understand the acolyte, then his words definitely held water, at least logically. Still, the idea of suffering what Octavia knew her to have suffered was not a pleasant image.

    At the very least, Josiah would be down there with her. If his words were to be believed, he would be down there with her quite a bit. That alone was a comfort. She wondered if that, too, was how Selena had felt.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t bear to look at her own reflection a moment longer, nor could she physically witness the moment it happened. She squeezed her eyes shut, battling the way her body rejected oxygen as her palm came to rest flat against the warm bronze. Diving into the dark was much easier when she was already there.

 83. Broken Wings

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It shouldn¡¯t have surprised her, logically, that her very first flash entailed some of the most horrific screaming Octavia had ever heard in her entire life.

    Of all the shrieks of pain and agony she¡¯d witnessed, to hear such shrill wails of terror and hurt from the mouth of a child would haunt her forever. Her vision blurred, her perspective shifted wildly, and her borrowed hands were so, so small. Octavia could never move them regardless--not of her own accord, at least. Her stranger couldn¡¯t, either, to be fair, bound as they were in grasps so much larger and stronger.

    Already, so young as she was, her night-black locks were long and vivid, flowing freely over her shoulders as she gazed at the floor. No amount of flailing--nor sobbing, nor begging, nor promising--was successful in freeing her little body of restrictions. It took several people to hold her in place, for how viciously she fought back. Even out of context, Octavia wanted to cheer her on.

    Is it done?

    I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s deep enough to stay.

    Give it to me. Take my place.

    Here?

    Yes.

    She heard the sizzle that came with the desperate screams and cries once more. Octavia got her context. Every misplaced apology that fell from the tiny acolyte¡¯s mouth was broken, unrefined, unpolished. Her sentence construction was poor. She was far, far too young. Knowing what she knew now, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder exactly how much of this truly was Seraphe¡¯s choice.

    You are to play thrice nightly. There is a schedule to be upheld.

    What is it?

    This is Seraphim¡¯s Call. It is the guardian of Velpyre. You, little acolyte, are the flame that shares its warmth with us all. You must carry such an honor with pride and grace.

    But I don¡¯t know how to play.

    It will guide you.

    I can¡¯t reach.

    We will aid you.

    Do I have to?

    You must.

    They gave her no reprieve. There was no window between the moment she donned the colorful robes, too big for her tiny body, and the moment Octavia began to memorize each and every one of their faces respectively.

    What if I don¡¯t want to?

    It is not your choice.

    Octavia fought with all of her might to overhear even the slightest indication of Selena¡¯s age. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure she wanted to know, in truth. To her credit, size be damned, Selena really did try--at first. It was a thankless job, with zero motivation or reward besides the weakest of praises and the most convoluted of sentiments. There was surely no way for a child so young to understand. Even Octavia could hardly understand.

    She made it a month. Threats worked for a while. Threats held no water if not delivered on. Octavia was left wondering how low a person had to fall to break the leg of a child who could hardly speak in full sentences. By the end of this toll, she wondered how many of Selena¡¯s different screams she would¡¯ve collected, balanced carefully atop a shelf she wished she could smash to pieces.

    How a child was to grow without food was beyond her. How a child was to play with broken fingers was beyond her. How a child was supposed to sleep well during the reprieve of day peppered in burns and bruises was beyond her. She was a pendulum between compliance and rebellion. It was either submission to an unending task too taxing for her little body, or suffering in place of a song. There was no alternative. Even in times where Octavia prayed with all of her heart for the tiny acolyte to accept her fate in peace, it was the strength in her blood that surely led her to struggle time and time again.

    They wouldn¡¯t kill her. She wondered if Selena knew, even young as she was. She still couldn¡¯t read. Weak as she was, walking was laborious. There was no drive for enjoyment, no zest for life. She saved tears, largely shed in private between whispers for those who weren''t there to coddle her. It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia had found them anywhere in this toll to begin with. She knew they would never come. For all the kindness she¡¯d offered to Celestina, she understood Josiah¡¯s wrath just the slightest bit more with every flash.

    The beauty of Seraphe¡¯s melody in Selena¡¯s little hands was irrelevant, given its cost. Either it sang, or she suffered. Sometimes, she received both outcomes, for how strained the mere act of playing could leave her. It made sense--she was small. The instrument was large. The stretching and fumbling that came with it, even guided by the hands of a Muse, was undoubtedly beyond what she could be expected to handle. For how often she heard of that which would¡¯ve made her just as small, so high above, it might¡¯ve been twice as insulting.

    How humiliating that a flame cannot warm the blossom it is meant to nurture.

    But I¡¯m trying!

    Do not lie.

    I¡¯m really, really trying!

    Do you know how they speak of you above? Do you know the venomous words they say about the Velpyre Acolyte? She is of no merit, they say. She is a worthless flame, they say. Tell me, child, what kind of acolyte would put up such resistance to a responsibility so sacred? There are those who would be humbled to stand where you do! To be blessed with what it is you possess, it is an envy shared by so many! Still, you would squander it? And for what?

    I didn¡¯t do anything wrong!

    Where is the grace we would come to expect from the blossom? How could we claim that for ourselves in this place? What have we done to deserve such a fate? The Velrose Acolyte is to be revered! So, too, should the Velpyre Acolyte, should she not? Would you disagree?

    Please let me go!

    Would you disagree, Lady Acolyte?

    Please!

    Where Sonata hadn''t learned of Velpyre until long into adolescence, Selena learned of Sonata¡¯s home before she was old enough to write. It wasn''t a lesson relayed with kindness. It came with welts, instead.

    And even in the moments where Selena was granted reprieve, even in the times between her thrice-nightly torment where she was forced to choose between submission and punishment, she found little. She wandered. She slept. She gazed vacantly, most often. Where a child should have been engrossed in play, Selena was instead prodding at bruises that had yet to heal, or perhaps watching raindrops pool outside with only muted interest. She hardly ate, provided her compliance was deemed passable enough to warrant a full meal. She largely spoke when spoken to.

    Can I go outside?

    Why?

    I¡­want fresh air.

    Remain within sight of the church. Go no further than the steps. Should you vanish from sight, you will be found and punished. Do you understand?

    Yes.

    It was the closest she ever got to asking for anything personal. That, in itself, was exceedingly upsetting to witness. Even when she found the energy to make it to the front steps, she had no drive to do more than simply sit and drink in the darkened city. It was no safer outside for a child in such a hellish environment than it was within the walls of the church. Octavia wondered, for Selena, which was truly the worse option. Sometimes, her tears painted the steps. Sometimes, only her exasperated breaths, little as they were, filled the stuffy atmosphere.

    There were those amongst the clergy who treated her with somewhat more kindness than others, fanatics of the flame as they were. Never once did they even remotely reach the level of true coddling for the acolyte. Octavia, too, committed them to memory them one by one. Softer eyes were notable, softer words just as such. Where some had turned to violence, some at least attempted to lead her more calmly down a path of compliance. Little by little, Selena singled them out.

    She separated them. Some hit harder than others. Some were quicker to anger than others. Some were more likely to let her off with a warning than others. There was no fair reason in the world that a child should¡¯ve been strategizing a path to safety in the wake of rebellion. Octavia already knew, even from the most minimal insight into Selena¡¯s short life, that the world was far from fair to the Velpyre Acolyte.

    She strategized in a way that more than befit her legacy, strength flooding her veins well before Selena could conceptualize its definition.

    She played.

    She played.

    She didn¡¯t.

    She played.

    She didn¡¯t.

    She suffered.

    She suffered.

    She played.

    She didn¡¯t.

    She suffered.

    She played.

    She suffered anyway.

    Perhaps it was symbolic, or perhaps she truly still believed it to be a plausible counterattack to a role that had strangled her. It was futile to Octavia, and horrifying to watch again and again. For Selena, in eyes that she borrowed and couldn¡¯t witness herself, she might¡¯ve found hope. Octavia hated to imagine how long it would take for the same hope to burn out, much like the flame herself. She had scars now. They were visible, when the Ambassador bothered to look. The amount of them that had accumulated over the course of only several short years was also horrifying.

    In her moments of reprieve, she still constantly debated between resistance and compliance. It was hardly a reprieve in the most literal sense. She was spite itself, a tiny flame burning only with a spirit Octavia couldn¡¯t fathom. If she could reach out through the toll and wrap her hands around that little flame, nurturing it with the true kindness it deserved, she would¡¯ve. It wouldn¡¯t have been a question.

    Someone beat her to it.

    I¡­like your clothes.

    What?

    They¡¯re kinda weird. Why do they look like that?

    I¡­

    I¡¯m sorry. Was that mean?

    I¡¯m¡­

    Are they heavy? Do they get uncomfortable?

    U-Um¡­

    As long as you like them, that¡¯s okay.

    I-I¡­don¡¯t like them.

    Why not?

    I just¡­don¡¯t.

    Can you wear something else?

    I¡¯m¡­not allowed.

    Why not?

    I¡¯m just not.

    That¡¯s not fair.

    He was just as tiny as she was.

    Are you lonely? You¡¯re all by yourself.

    Yes.

    Can I sit by you?

    Why?

    I want to.

    Why would you want that?

    I just do.

    And he was every bit as vulnerable to the cruelties of the world.

    Do you want to come play with me somewhere else? It¡¯s kinda hard to do anything here.

    I¡¯m not allowed to leave.

    What? Why?

    I just can''t.

    Says who?

    Everyone.

    What if you¡­don¡¯t tell them?

    I¡¯ll get in trouble.

    Even if we¡¯re really careful?

    If I get caught, I¡¯ll get hurt. I don¡¯t want to.

    They hurt you?

    A lot.

    That¡¯s not very nice.

    Yeah.

    And even so, he was every bit as kind as a child as Octavia knew him to be now.

    Why are you¡­here? There¡¯s nothing in this place.

    There¡¯s a song that gets played here a lot that I like. I can hear it from my house. I wanted to come hear it from up close, but I think I¡¯m too early. Maybe I can wait here for it to happen.

    You¡­like it?

    Yeah. It¡¯s pretty.

    The smile he gave Selena was different. It was one Octavia had never seen before.

    You like my song?

    That¡¯s yours? You play that?

    Yeah. I play it a lot.

    That¡¯s awesome! You¡¯re really good at it!

    I-I¡­thank you.

    Can I listen to you play it next time?

    I can ask.

    If not, I can just listen from out here. I¡¯m sure I can hear it really well from this close.

    Will you come back if I play?

    I can come back anyway.

    And Octavia couldn¡¯t see her own borrowed smile, but she wondered if one was there.

    What¡¯s your name?

    I¡¯m Josiah. What¡¯s your name?

    I¡¯m¡­Selena.

    She had her motivation. It wasn¡¯t spite. It wasn¡¯t unnoticed.

    It wasn¡¯t as though the quality of her playing had changed, necessarily. Regardless, even Octavia could hear just the slightest difference in Selena¡¯s song--Maestra experience or otherwise. Her demeanor was more of note, her compliance more visible to those who''d sought to hunt down her breaking point time after time. She hadn¡¯t given up in full by any means, although an outside view may have painted a different picture. Of the little Octavia had gathered of the Velpyre Acolyte, she at least knew her better than that.

    A handful of black and blue mementos gave way to more natural coloration, granted reprieve in a way Selena hadn¡¯t been offered in quite some time. Those that would take their place were far fewer in number. She didn¡¯t smile. It was a start, and Octavia knew from experience that she¡¯d find one in there someday.

    They still spoke poorly of her, regardless. True to her own words, there was little to be done to truly placate the greed of those who sought the flame¡¯s warmth. It was more infrequent. Their poison stung her heart on occasions fewer and more far between. It had taken submission she¡¯d fought to avoid gifting them so desperately. Even then, that much wasn''t permanent. It was surreal to expect such a young child to feel ashamed or humiliated in the face of self-made defeat. When Octavia found no emotion of the sort, then, it was a relief.

    Did you¡­get to hear it?

    Yeah. I could hear it yesterday, too.

    Did you like it?

    I liked it a lot.

    And you¡¯ll keep coming back if I play, right? Promise?

    His little laugh was far too sweet for such a bitter place. I told you, I¡¯ll come back anyway. I like seeing you.

    Me?

    You live here, right? I live that way. It¡¯s a little bit of a walk, but it¡¯s worth it, if you¡¯re here.

    Why are you being nice to me?

    Because I want to.

    If you spend too much time with me, you might get hurt.

    Why?

    They don¡¯t like it when I¡¯m happy.

    I¡¯m not afraid.

    Her routine picked up a new stop, each and every day. Her wandering wasn¡¯t aimless. Selena ate. She slept. She still resisted, somewhat, granted, but not to the same degree. They wondered aloud, and in her fear, she hesitated. Octavia would¡¯ve done the same.

    You¡¯ve been different as of late, little flame.

    I¡­I don¡¯t know what you mean.

    You are not so unrefined. You do not burn so uncontrollably. Follow this path, and you may very well grow to warm the blossom properly.

    Um¡­okay.

    What has changed you in this way?

    What?

    Your rebellious spirit is not to be dismissed, despite all who would seek to tame it. You aren¡¯t one to give in so easily. What has changed your mind, then, Lady Acolyte?

    N-Nothing.

    You will not be punished for the truth.

    I don¡¯t believe you!

    I give my word.

    Even on the outskirts of explicit uprising, Selena didn''t cease her self-preserving strategizing for a moment. It was strange to be privy to her thought process, careful as she was about her softer confidants. In that way, for how she, too, had learned of their faces, Octavia was her partner in crime from afar. By Selena¡¯s caution alone, it was perhaps one of the few times in her life that such trust was rewarded.

    Wow, it¡¯s so big!

    This is Seraphim¡¯s Call. It makes the song you hear every night, the one that I play.

    And you play this all by yourself?

    Yeah.

    That¡¯s so cool! Can I watch from in here the next time you do it?

    I-In here?

    Yeah! Is it okay if I see it up close?This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    I-I¡­I don¡¯t know. What if I mess up?

    I don¡¯t know how to play it, so I wouldn¡¯t even know if you did. Whatever you do, it¡¯ll be great. I know it.

    Her life was small. It was caged, a tragedy behind four grandiose walls and sealed under the guise of false faith. It was largely empty, hallmarked only by a single song and one prerogative alone. Selena had so little to share, even to a boy raised under an empty sky. Still, what she did have became his. What she could show met his eyes. What she could offer, he admired with grace and awe.

    It was a tiny world in which Octavia¡¯s eyes had only found sorrow and suffering, and he was so, so out of place. Like a puzzle piece dropped onto a foreign board, the way by which Josiah fit himself into Selena¡¯s life was as unnatural as it was wonderful. It didn¡¯t take long for the clergy to spot the discrepancy in much the same puzzle, more intrigued than offended.

    Whatever clicked, clicked. There was no pushback. Even if she wasn''t broken, even if she wasn''t the submissive flame they hoped to handle, Selena was tolerable enough. She played enough. She met the threshold of freedom, for what the word could afford the Velpyre Acolyte specifically. It was enough to keep her skin unblemished, at least mostly. It was enough to keep her conversations unimpeded. It was enough to keep them away from her and close to him, whether inside her holy Hell or out.

    I don¡¯t actually want to do this.

    Do what?

    Any of this.

    What, the acolyte stuff?

    Yeah.

    I don¡¯t¡­really blame you. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to do it, either. They won¡¯t let you leave, right?

    And they hurt me.

    I don¡¯t get why they¡¯re hurting you.

    Because I don¡¯t play whenever they want me to.

    You have a schedule, right?

    Three times a night. If I don¡¯t stick to that, they¡¯ll punish me.

    Then¡­why don¡¯t you just do it?

    I have to do the same thing constantly for the rest of my life, and that¡¯s still not enough for them. All I ever hear about is how bad of a flame I am, or whatever. Why should I? Why should I give them what they want?

    Because it keeps you safe.

    Maybe it¡¯s worth risking.

    I don¡¯t want you to get hurt.

    It might be worth it.

    It didn¡¯t matter how they grew. It didn¡¯t matter how he teased her about her height, or how she found it easier to tie her hair back rather than battle its length. Where her flame kindled their warmth, so, too, did her spite grow in tandem. Selena carried it with her everywhere, a memento of a grudge against her little world. Octavia couldn¡¯t blame her, not for how many times she still incurred their wrath. Every laceration was a battle scar. Every bruise was a war wound. Every last blow that rained down unto her head was a testament to her resolve. It was a fight Selena picked of her own accord again and again rather than surrender what was the birthright of Velpyre itself.

    It surely hurt, nonetheless. Octavia came to learn exactly which of her prior scars from youth were not to heal as she aged. By eleven, there was little of Selena¡¯s body that hadn''t yet succumbed to unfathomable agony at one time or another. Even if Josiah couldn¡¯t comprehend her motives, he could at least catch her burning spirit as it crashed to the earth every time.

    God, it hurts! Stop it!

    I can¡¯t just leave it like that!

    Please don¡¯t touch it!

    I don¡¯t have a choice! Stay still for a minute, okay? If I don¡¯t, it¡¯s gonna get infected, and you¡¯re gonna get sick.

    What even is that?

    It¡¯s first aid stuff. One of us ought to learn, at this point.

    Why?

    I can think of a few reasons.

    Wait, stop, stop! That hurts!

    Just deal with it for a second. It¡¯ll go away.

    That really, really hurts! Stop it!

    Like I said, you aren¡¯t exactly leaving me with a lot of options! Could you please just¡­pick your battles, for once?

    You know why I can¡¯t! God, this sucks! It hurts too much, I can¡¯t do it! Please!

    You wouldn¡¯t have to deal with this if you¡¯d just do what they tell you! Just listen to them for once, Sel!

    It wasn¡¯t all painful, at least. By now, even without a mirror, Octavia could hear her own stolen smile. She could sense it in every laugh and observe it in every joke. She was aware of its existence when he drew near, and even caught the way it lingered in his wake once or twice. Josiah was as much of a fixture as Seraphim¡¯s Call was in her life. When her hands weren''t on Seraphim¡¯s Call, Selena was at his side, instead.

    I can¡¯t feel anything.

    Because you¡¯re not even slightly near the right place.

    Are you sure you¡¯re not just, like, I don¡¯t know¡­dead?

    Did you want me to be?

    Not particularly.

    Look, move your fingers to the left a little bit. Only use these two. Otherwise, you¡¯re just gonna feel your own pulse.

    Is it supposed to be obvious?

    It¡¯ll be noticeable.

    Wait, I think I feel it! You¡¯re not dead!

    Debatable.

    Do mine again!

    I just did yours. Are we checking to see if you¡¯re dead? Did you die in the last ten seconds?

    Maybe. You can¡¯t be sure until you check.

    You¡¯re so stupid. Give me your hand.

    It was far, far from the only time.

    Which ankle was it?

    The left one.

    Do you¡­want me to--

    It¡¯s not bleeding. It just hurts. I don¡¯t think anything¡¯s broken. They got me pretty good, though.

    It¡­sucks to see you do this to yourself over and over, you know.

    You think I want this?

    I don¡¯t. I know for a fact that you know what I mean.

    I can¡¯t let them have their way. I¡¯m sorry. No one else will stand up to them. There¡¯s nothing worth--there¡¯s so little in this freakin¡¯ city worth protecting.

    Are you ever scared?

    Every single time. It doesn¡¯t get any easier. I¡¯m used to some of it, but it¡¯s¡­hard knowing exactly what¡¯s waiting for you the minute you refuse. I know it doesn¡¯t make a lot of sense out loud.

    I¡­kinda get it.

    What are you doing?

    If it¡¯s too much, just¡­do this. And I¡¯ll¡­do this, so you know I¡¯m here.

    If¡­what¡¯s too much?

    Anything. Everything. Here, practice with me.

    Right now?

    Yeah.

    It was the first of many.

    Selena was a pendulum of agony and happiness, a candle burning at both ends. She was unstable, unpredictable, still just barely manageable beneath the care of those who fought to mold her. Octavia had long since lost count of how many times Selena¡¯s name had shared a sentence with that of the acolyte above, and never in a positive context. To know that the same correlation would leave her own lips someday soon stung her heart with regret. It didn¡¯t matter if she hadn¡¯t known. She knew now. That was enough for it to ache.

    Every flash found Octavia flipping a coin between Seraphim¡¯s Call and Josiah. It was endless, a repeating cycle of the only two notable fixtures of the acolyte¡¯s existence. Pain was sprinkled between his companionship, granted, and yet it didn¡¯t take up quite so many fragments of Selena''s memory as Octavia would¡¯ve expected. When her hands didn''t grace her partner¡¯s keys with reluctance and boiling spite, they were wrapped so tenderly around Josiah¡¯s own. He squeezed. She squeezed back.

    What are you doing here?

    I¡­got into a fight with my parents.

    So you ran to the church to beg for forgiveness? Let your perfect and amazing and spectacular flame absolve you of sin. And beautiful, I forgot beautiful.

    I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re gonna be happy or angry about this.

    About¡­what? What¡¯s wrong?

    My family¡¯s moving to Selbright. I told them I didn¡¯t want to go, and we got into one hell of an argument. I¡¯ve been talking with the clergy for the past hour. They said that as long as you were okay with it, I could¡­stay here. Permanently.

    You¡­this is your chance to get out of Velpyre.

    I don¡¯t care.

    Why?

    The look on Josiah¡¯s face wasn''t for Octavia, her own eyes long since left by the wayside. It was a brilliance she still clung to on Selena¡¯s behalf. Because you¡¯re here, idiot.

    And the tears that clouded Selena¡¯s eyes, in turn, only compromised his glow momentarily. She was upon him, emotional and joyful in equal measure. Whatever scolding left her mouth was empty and tainted with laughter. Even if Octavia couldn¡¯t feel warmth through the arms of another, she could sense it in Josiah¡¯s embrace and witness it in his smile. Her heart, too, was warmed by Selena¡¯s generous flame, spreading her elation to a soul she¡¯d never again meet.

    Octavia knew, logically, that Selena continued to resist. She knew, from Josiah¡¯s recounting, that the girl¡¯s suffering hadn''t ceased as she aged. The abrasions and injuries that still peppered her arms and legs in every flash made that abundantly clear. Josiah, too, was not immune to suffering after he¡¯d sunk deeper into the cracks of Selena¡¯s life. Whatever pain he claimed for himself, physical rather than collateral and emotional, always came on the heels of Selena¡¯s defense. More than once, they bled together. Sometimes, it was laughable--at least, for them. Sometimes, their humor was a bit too dark. Sometimes, that was what it took to get by.

    Have you ever thought about dying before?

    You know literally everyone has, right? That¡¯s normal.

    Isn¡¯t your job, like, to prevent that?

    You know I don¡¯t even know if that¡¯s what I want to do yet, right? But yes, I¡¯ve thought about dying. Like I said, it¡¯s normal.

    Have you¡­thought about dying any time soon?

    Have you?

    How long do you think we¡¯re gonna live for?

    I mean, you¡¯re an angel, so you¡¯re gonna live forever.

    Oh, stop it. You¡¯re making me blush.

    Acolytes and angels are the same thing.

    We live in Hell.

    Tell me something I don¡¯t know.

    I don¡¯t exactly think I¡¯m the acolyte they¡¯d consider an angel. They want the other one. It¡¯d be funny as hell to switch places with her for a day. She wouldn¡¯t last a second in my shoes.

    To hell with whatever they ¡®consider¡¯ you. You¡¯re perfect the way you are.

    If¡­I die, you realize they¡¯d have nothing left, right?

    The clergy?

    The city.

    In terms of?

    Maestras. Seraphim would just¡­be there. They could worship the freakin¡¯ thing day in and day out, if they wanted to, but they¡¯d never hear it again. There¡¯s no Maestras left after me. I¡¯m not having kids. At least, not in this place.

    Did you want to have children one day?

    Selena sighed. Octavia¡¯s vision shifted somewhat as she flung herself onto the bed. I mean, it¡¯d be nice. I¡¯ve¡­thought about getting married and raising a little family. I think everybody has, at some point. I sure as hell can¡¯t do it here. If I have kids in this place, I¡¯m condemning them to the exact same fate.

    Josiah smirked. I seriously hope that¡¯s not why they let me move in.

    Selena blushed brightly, for the red Octavia caught splattered in her peripheral vision. Josiah snickered. When he ended up with a faceful of pillow, he only laughed harder.

    Shut up, idiot! I¡¯m serious! This whole bloodline dies with me! It¡¯s¡­so crazy to think about. I have that power over them, and they can¡¯t do anything about it. They¡¯re desperate. I¡¯m all they have left. It almost feels good to know I can¡­take everything away from them. Whenever I want.

    Where are you¡­going with that?

    What would you do if I died?

    Josiah paused. Keep all of your organs as a memento. Put them in a little jar on a shelf. Admire them daily.

    What would you¡­actually do if I died? I¡¯m serious.

    He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

    I think part of me would die, too. What¡­would you do if I died?

    Kill myself.

    Josiah recoiled. God, Sel, could we go down any other road, please?

    I¡¯d have nothing left. That¡¯s the truth. And I¡¯ll tell you what, it would feel so, so good to drag this place to Hell. Real Hell. Do you know how tempting it is to just¡­let the damn Dissonance do its thing?

    Would you at least try to find something to live for?

    Nope.

    Seriously? There¡¯s nothing?

    I¡­don¡¯t want to be alone again. I can¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry. You can be mad at me about it, if you want.

    I¡¯m not mad. I just¡­don¡¯t really like imagining that. Like I said, angels can¡¯t die. You¡¯re¡­gonna live forever.

    It was a thought Octavia wanted to cling to just as badly as Josiah did. Every syllable burned. There was nothing left for her to regret that she hadn¡¯t regretted already. Here, at least, she could beg for him to savor every last moment he had with the acolyte. Their hands were inseparable. Their presences were just the same.

    Selena¡¯s pendulum was lopsided, perhaps by far too much. Octavia knew of the injuries. She could no longer see them happening. Instead, all she got were his jokes. All she found was his smile. All she heard was his laugh, and all she imagined feeling was his hand wrapped around her borrowed fingers time after time. It was the happiest she¡¯d ever seen him. It was the happiest she¡¯d ever seen Selena, just the same.

    So long ago, Selena had found only pain. Now, even as Octavia sifted through every last fragment and flash of the acolyte¡¯s memories, she found only Josiah, instead.

    That¡¯s stupid.

    They were words to no one, offered alone in the dead of night.

    No, that¡¯s stupid, too.

    Accompanied only by utter darkness and a pillow clutched tightly, every word fell solely upon the air.

    What if¡­no, that¡¯s worse. God, that¡¯s so much worse. Ugh!

    Octavia was glad she didn¡¯t need to breathe, given exactly how long Selena saw fit to suffocate herself. The muffled groaning was almost comical, the vibrations of the bed as she flailed in aggravation perhaps equally so.

    How do I even do this? the acolyte muttered, exasperated. I¡­I¡­damn it!

    Octavia didn''t envy the pillow, for the amount of torture Selena was putting it through.

    I mean, like, what¡¯s the worst he could freakin¡¯ say? Besides, like--oh God. Nevermind. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

    She¡¯d heard Selena distressed many, many times over. She¡¯d heard her pain in a myriad of different ways she¡¯d surely never forget, no matter how badly she wanted to. This was a different flavor. It was a different tone. The way her fingers grasped at the pillowcase loosely did little to hide the tiniest of trembles.

    He¡¯s gonna think I¡¯m joking.

    For a moment, Octavia heard nothing. She could see faint movement, the way by which Selena¡¯s shoulders still rose and fell. She couldn¡¯t see her own lips, nor could she feel words leaving her mouth. She couldn¡¯t bear witness to the motions that came with silently breathing syllables instead, emulating speech not meant to grace her ears. Selena only clung ever tighter to the pillow, tapping her forehead weakly against the fluff.

    Once, and only once, it was a whisper, pressed deep into the fabric and hidden far from the vulnerable night. In her compromised sanctuary, it was the safest place she could put it. Octavia had to strain, private as it was.

    I love you.

    They were words not hers to hear.

    Nor were they his.

    For every skillful drawing he showed her with pride, for every wound he tended to with care, for every laugh he brought bubbling up from the depths of her shattered heart, they were never his to hear.

    For every time she squeezed, and every time he squeezed back, and every flash and snippet that besieged Octavia¡¯s eyes so rapidly, still, too, could Selena only smile.

    For every act of rebellion, for every moment in which she raged against a cruel fate that burned her alive, Selena kept in the dark that which she never permitted to glow.

    Octavia tried to focus. Her best efforts to cling to words she knew too well were in vain in the face of those she¡¯d so carelessly stolen instead.

    Shut up. You¡¯re so stupid. You¡¯re not my knight.

    I could become one, if you¡¯d let me.

    I thought they said six.

    You¡¯re sure it wasn¡¯t five?

    I mean, I really thought they said six.

    By comparison, they held so much less weight.

    There is no helping this place!

    I bet she would¡¯ve said all this to you directly.

    She wouldn¡¯t have said a word to my face. That¡¯s the kind of coward she is.

    She¡¯s not a coward.

    Then you know nothing about her. And you know nothing about me.

    By comparison, they held so much less warmth.

    You say that like the church will kill you.

    They wouldn¡¯t dare. They¡¯re running out of Maestras.

    There was a tremble in Selena¡¯s fingertips as her hair fell in waves along her arms. Octavia had never noticed it before. She wondered for how long she''d stared at the scar, back then. Beneath her own eyes, foreign at this distance, she felt vulnerable.

    Thank you for everything.

    She wasn¡¯t the one to thank.

    You¡¯re the acolyte, correct? I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.

    You know nothing of suffering.

    Know your place, you worthless flame!

    It was surreal, to have seen the tale from three angles now. Octavia struggled to cling to the warmth of Selena¡¯s silent confession, to block her ears out from what pain and suffering erupted from her throat instead.

    Get off of her!

    Josiah!

    Sonata, please!

    I¡¯ll kill you!

    They were cries she¡¯d heard before. It was the first time she¡¯d heard such a flavor of agony in Selena¡¯s voice, heartbroken as it was. For the first time, just the same, Octavia was left to question its origin. Freedom no longer served as her sole suspicion.

    Where is he?

    It does not concern you.

    Where is he?

    You will not see him again.

    What? Let go of me! Stop it!

    Leniency was a mistake. Complacency was a mistake. How shameful, that it took the acolyte above to put our own flame in her place. You are a disgrace.

    Shut up! Shut up! I don¡¯t care! Where¡¯s Josiah?

    Should you disobey again, he will be killed.

    Even beaten and bloodied as she was, she went limp. What?

    Should you flee again, he will be killed.

    Her shoulders heaved. Her breaths were ragged. Her body shook in excess, physical pain notwithstanding.

    Should you attempt to see him again, he will be killed. Know this to be true.

    It wasn¡¯t just the escape plan.

    Things will change. Together, Lady Acolyte, we will redeem this city. You must play your part. It is not an option.

    Octavia had never been so Dissonant in a toll before.

    There is yet time to live up to the grace of the blossom. There is yet honor that may be restored to the flame.

    It was exceedingly rare that the Ambassador was cursed with horrifically-donned veils of violet in the dark. It did happen, and it was sickening every time. Still, in one thousand ways, Selena had always been unique. Selena¡¯s eyes, blessed--rather, cursed--with the same sight as herself, offered a striking perspective of newborn agony in bloom. It was the only blossom Velpyre would ever have.

    And where Octavia would¡¯ve searched for the truth of the Dissonance that had annihilated a city and besieged yet another, there was so little to see out of a gaze clouded with nothing but violet and hatred. She could hear it with ease, vicious as every last screech was. If Selena knew Josiah was still down here, she wondered if it would¡¯ve changed anything. She loved him, after all.

    It wasn''t a miracle, then, that her broken eyes on his at the foot of the steps were without rage. Octavia, too, had been spared of her wrath. She wondered, to this day, if it was by proxy. Selena loved him, after all.

    And the ire and spite Selena had so carefully cultivated for years upon years spilled in full onto the blossom she loathed. It followed her hands as they grasped and tore. It followed her feet as they raced towards the acolyte. It followed every ounce of her hatred, muddied by hazy agony as it was and still every bit as memorable.

    There is no worth to a flame that does not warm!

    I am not worthless!

    I am not worthless!

    I am not worthless!

    Even as Octavia¡¯s light burrowed futilely down into the depths of Selena¡¯s heart, her rage was relentless. Octavia had fallen prey to her own light once before in a toll, although under far more intentional circumstances. There had been a certain kind of Hell in the way Sonata had pleaded for her life. There had been an equal kind of Hell in the way Selena had simply struggled.

    Octavia had wondered if it hurt, for how far gone Selena had been. River had mentioned the ¡°point of no return¡± not so long ago, and she now thought to wonder if Selena had crossed that threshold of her own accord. It did nothing to absolve her of guilt, in passing or otherwise.

    Still, Selena was perhaps numb in a different way. Josiah was here, even now, in snippets Octavia had never expected to find. They weren¡¯t distorted. They weren¡¯t compromised. They were clear as crystal, every shining memory of his voice and his smile and his laugh just as such. They were abundant. They were flashing, and flashing, and flashing. It wasn''t a flash for the Ambassador¡¯s eyes alone. She loved him, after all.

    And even well after she¡¯d lunged, even well after the blossom had decided upon the death of the flame, Selena brought his visage with her all the way down. Not once did she scream, even with Sonata¡¯s own shrieks of horror plaguing her ears. Upon Selena¡¯s eyes, mired in suffering incarnate as they were, Octavia drank in the acolyte''s first and last sunrise as she plummeted. So, too, did Selena imagine squeezing his hand as she crashed into the world below.

    Perhaps he would¡¯ve squeezed back. She loved him, after all.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia¡¯s tears had beaten her to lucidity. She didn¡¯t sob or scream. She barely even registered her return from the dark in the first place, her closed eyes flickering open slowly. The sun that assailed her pupils only made them water further, although she surely would¡¯ve let every tear drip onto the warm bronze anyway. Her breath hitched in her throat, the lump behind it suffocating her in turn. She fumbled for her words. Where she found none, she was offered a lifeline.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± she heard. ¡°Are you¡­alright?¡±

    Josiah¡¯s voice was enough to make her bite her lip, quivering as it was. It had nothing to do with not breaking down in front of an Apex. It had everything to do with not breaking down at all. Octavia couldn¡¯t so much as shake her head. Her shoulders did enough shaking for the rest of her.

    ¡°A-Allison,¡± she just barely murmured, her voice wavering, ¡°if you¡¯re¡­gonna say goodbye, do it now.¡±

    The little acolyte didn¡¯t question her. The Muse that gazed down upon her without judgment, too, reserved his words. Whatever sentiments they had to offer one another were their own business. She couldn¡¯t process them. She could hardly process anything. Her breath rattled on every exhale, and her best attempts to choke back her sobs were rapidly failing. The hand that settled onto her shoulder didn¡¯t help one bit.

    ¡°Hey, are you okay?¡± Josiah murmured, far too close for her comfort.

    She didn¡¯t dare look at him. She threw her eyes at the floor of the bell tower, her tears following the same path downwards. Octavia knew he would pry. She owed it to him, somewhat. It was still too much. It was all too much.

    He offered his hand. For once, she didn¡¯t have the heart to take it.

    ¡°Please talk to me,¡± Josiah implored gently. ¡°I know it¡­probably wasn¡¯t pleasant. You¡¯re not alone, okay? I¡¯m here for you.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t bring herself to look up. She raised her voice instead, viciously shaking as it was. ¡°V-Valkyria,¡± she tried. ¡°A-Are you¡­ready?¡±

    Whatever moment he¡¯d been granted with Allison had sufficed. She, too, didn¡¯t object, and it was his voice that she heard over the acolyte¡¯s. ¡°At your ready, Ambassador. I will not offer my gratitude twice. I will, however, offer my blessings.¡±

    ¡°Y-You, too,¡± she struggled to reciprocate. Even raising her hand was a task, and not at all secondary to the bandages that still bound her fingertips. Every muscle had pooled with lead, weak and heavy from sorrow she couldn¡¯t escape. It was miserable.

    It took effort to rest her palm upon the bell once more, even large as it was. Octavia laid her forehead against it in turn, biting back her sobs ever more. It was a trial to speak the words without her voice cracking. When she tried, they still weren''t immune to the fierce wobble that threatened their sanctity.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain,¡± Octavia said shakily, ¡°and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

    She could feel the bell giving way, even without raising her head. She could feel the way her palm met with less resistance, her forehead greeting much the same. It still took effort for her to straighten up. The spectacle of an entire bell disappearing before her eyes was equally as resplendent as the departure of the angel above her.

    For all intents and purposes, both displays of dissipating divinity, shimmering beneath the open sky, should¡¯ve touched her soul. Octavia had no soul left to touch. She couldn¡¯t look directly at Valkyria, who left for Above with no further parting words. She couldn¡¯t look directly at Allison, yet another acolyte she¡¯d pained atop the tower in her own, miniscule way.

    ¡°Octavia.¡±

    She didn¡¯t want to look at him. She didn¡¯t have a choice, for how close he was to her. Still, he battled for her hand. Still, too, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to surrender to his kindness.

    Josiah pleaded as much with his eyes as with his words. ¡°Please talk to me. Please. It doesn¡¯t have to be about that. I just want to know that you¡¯re alright. We can¡­deal with all of that later. It¡¯s not important right now. Are you¡­okay?¡±

    Octavia was bound to the bell, for how long it would take to dissipate in full. It left her stuck, rooted in place by his gaze just as firmly. There were no words she could offer him, affirmative or negative. The highlights he''d begged for were all she¡¯d brought along. They were all that rose to her tongue, and they were all she could curse him with.

    ¡°She loved you.¡±

    For a moment, Josiah stared her down, and she could only do the same back. Whatever sobs she¡¯d been restraining only fought harder to escape, and she couldn¡¯t stop a handful from slipping out of her throat. The light in his eyes died.

    The hand that had cupped her shoulder so gently slipped from her dress, and the fingers that had been offered to her curled inwards as he recoiled. The steps Josiah took backwards, poisonous as the gift of the Ambassador truly was, were surely reflexive. Octavia didn¡¯t blame him one bit. The glass that blighted his gaze was predictable, and it didn¡¯t hurt any less to see. To know that there was nothing she could do to ease his pain, let alone nothing she could do to stop him, was agonizing. She wondered whose agony was truly greater.

    He didn¡¯t cry. He didn¡¯t sob. He didn¡¯t scream, shout, argue, or berate her. Octavia wished he would¡¯ve. Instead, Josiah turned sharply on his heel and abandoned her atop the bell tower, disappearing deep into the stairwell quicker than she could think to call his name. Octavia couldn¡¯t find it on her tongue, regardless, for how dry her throat felt. All she could do was choke out the sobs he hadn¡¯t cried of his own accord.

    It was an eternity before she felt nothing against her palm, a cool breeze replacing warm metal that had risen to meet her skin. It was the second time she¡¯d caused such pain to another in this exact place. The bell was wholly unnecessary, never to toll again. Where it had stood was now only an uncanny expanse of emptiness, a vast grave for what she wished she could erase just as easily. It was here that Octavia, in the false sanctuary that was the blossom above rather than the flame below, fell to her knees once more.

 84. Nothing

    Octavia didn¡¯t descend the bell tower alone, granted. It wouldn¡¯t have been the first time. Still, there was a comfort in coming down with another acolyte in tow--for once. Her steps down weren''t as shaky as she would¡¯ve expected, although she recognized the degree to which she was thoroughly numb on her last foray downwards. There was, to the credit of those who had insisted on it, a comfort that came with knowing she would never again have a reason to scale the bell tower. For once, it wasn¡¯t her top priority. Her heart had already fallen, shattered, and scattered along every last step of the staircase.

    She didn¡¯t want to know where Josiah went. It wouldn¡¯t have been the first time the truth of the Ambassador¡¯s privilege burned someone she loved. She wondered if she¡¯d just made the same mistake twice. She wondered if it was what he¡¯d needed to hear. She was thankful, more than anything, that the Velrose Acolyte respected her sorrow. Even quiet as it was, she knew her hitching sobs were echoing somewhat off every wall. It was enough to make her the slightest bit self-conscious.

    Octavia--

    She physically shook her head, her braids beating against her tear-stained cheeks. Please. Not right now. Please!

    Stratos didn¡¯t press her, nor did he offer a reminder of his presence. Octavia didn¡¯t have the strength. She didn¡¯t have the energy. She didn¡¯t know what she needed, nor did she know what she wanted. In that way, perhaps her descent wasn¡¯t so dissimilar to that of last time, after all.

    Octavia was hardly lucid for the majority of her return, by which she reached the foot of the staircase with relative calm. "Calm", to be fair, was subjective, given the way she still wanted to vomit for a thousand other reasons. She raised one hand to her throbbing head, biting back another round of sobs that came with the mental image of Selena¡¯s smile.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± she heard a tiny voice offer.

    To face Allison, distraught as she was, was a nightmare. It took everything in Octavia¡¯s power to keep herself together as she spoke. ¡°Yes?¡±

    The Velrose Acolyte fidgeted shyly, regardless of what little attention round, inquisitive eyes could offer. ¡°Thank you for letting Valkyria go home. Thank you for helping. I¡¯m¡­really happy I got to meet him. I¡¯ll be happy about that for the rest of my life.¡±

    For that, too, Octavia wanted to cry. She stumbled over her words. ¡°T-Thank you for¡­being there for him. And¡­thank you for helping us with everything. We couldn¡¯t have done any of this without you.¡±

    Allison took her gratitude with little more than a nod. ¡°I¡¯m happy I could do something to help. I don¡¯t¡­think I understand all of the Ambassador stuff, even if I get most of it. Still, I¡¯m glad I got to be helpful to you. I hope I¡­did a good job.¡±

    Octavia took the little acolyte¡¯s hand without hesitation, squeezing gently. ¡°You did amazing. You¡¯re wonderful.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re gonna be happy that Valkyria is gone,¡± she confessed. ¡°I think they¡¯re gonna be mad at me.¡±

    ¡°We can talk to the clergy, if you want. We can tell them that it was for something important. If they really cared about Valkyria that much, they¡¯d understand.¡±

    That was a lie. Knowing what she knew of Velrose and its origins, Octavia strongly doubted the explanation would suffice--genuine or otherwise. More prominently, the idea of interacting with the clergy of her own volition was nauseating in and of itself. It was an empty promise, although it would be more than possible to pass to someone else. She¡¯d already berated River. She¡¯d already broken Josiah. There weren¡¯t many options left.

    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll still want me to be the acolyte?¡± Allison asked timidly.

    It wasn¡¯t a question Octavia could answer. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know. I-I would think so. They love you. The whole city loves you.¡±

    ¡°They love the acolyte that¡¯s a Maestra,¡± Allison corrected. ¡°They love the acolyte that rings Valkyrie¡¯s Call for them. Without that, will they still want me at all?¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°If¡­they let you leave, you can always come with us, you know. You don¡¯t have to stay in Velrose.¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°I want to be the acolyte. This is¡­the place mommy loved, and Sonata, too. I want to be able to protect it for them, however I can.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help the way her hand found Allison¡¯s head, an instinctive gesture of comfort that she only noticed well after it happened. ¡°Remember to be Allison. You¡¯re not just the acolyte. You¡¯re more than that.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t give her a smile in return. The pressure of the girl¡¯s body against her own was more than enough, her embrace as hesitant as it was feeble. For as small as she was, her little face pressing up against Octavia¡¯s torso was briefly startling. ¡°And you¡¯re not just the Ambassador,¡± Allison murmured. ¡°You¡¯re Octavia.¡±

    Octavia pulled her close, doing what she could to avoid smothering the Strong child. She was content to let silence do the talking. At the foot of the bell tower, with so little for the acolyte to show for her title, it was the Ambassador who was to blame. Even so, not a drop of hostility fell from Allison¡¯s lips.

    To be comforted by a child well under half her age was disorienting. It didn¡¯t matter. She was as warm as the bronze she had attended to so lovingly in the sunshine a thousand times over. Of those cursed to play at an age so tender, Allison was one that Octavia wondered if she''d truly saved in the wake of her responsibilities. Theirs were incompatible.

    There were, at least, some actions the Ambassador could still take responsibility for in Velrose. She didn¡¯t necessarily need to leave the church.

    It wasn¡¯t a long walk, although she felt badly for leaving the little acolyte behind in the process. As to what was left for Allison now, her primary objective quite literally having vanished into thin air, Octavia couldn¡¯t imagine. Her knowledge of the Velrose Church and all that came with its practices left many, many gaps she didn¡¯t wish to fill. It was more so the acolyte¡¯s place than her own to navigate the world in which she¡¯d been raised--for better or worse. Octavia had seen enough of the rules and customs she¡¯d needed to see through three sets of eyes, and only one set that she could truly claim as her own.

    She halfway wished she would¡¯ve paid more attention to the layout of the actual church, for whatever that was worth. Wandering by herself, even for relatively short distances, was unsettling. She knew where she was going, somewhat. Part of her wished she didn¡¯t have to.

    The quarters they¡¯d been graciously provided were largely adjacent to one another--both a blessing and a curse, in terms of noise control. It wasn¡¯t as though anyone was particularly loud during the evenings, when the time came, and Octavia was grateful that the vast majority of the Maestros had the common courtesy to practice well outside of their rooms. It still left stragglers, sometimes. She wasn¡¯t immune to the speckled handful of stray notes that slipped beneath at least two different doors on her way to the only room of interest.

    Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, unfortunately. Each muffled song was at least a slight offset to her approach. She had that much. It was enough of a distraction that it took her a moment to remember exactly which room, for how excitedly its Maestra had disappeared within on the eve of their perilous descent. Octavia would¡¯ve rather have heard her notes in passing, soft as they¡¯d surely be, versus anyone else¡¯s. She¡¯d be lucky if she heard them again at all anytime soon.

    She knocked, praying that her guess sufficed. It was the second time she¡¯d worried about searching for the same girl in the wrong place, and the thought was ironically nostalgic. Octavia held her breath.

    ¡°Come in. You don¡¯t have to knock.¡±

    Her voice was weak, heartbreakingly so relative to the spunk Octavia had long since grown used to. The Ambassador didn¡¯t shirk the invitation for a moment, anxious as she was to cross the threshold. Where she could only find the tiniest wave, the Maestra whose temporary shelter she intruded on offered her far too soft a smile.

    ¡°Hey there, Heartful. Took you long enough.¡±

    It was all Octavia could do to try to return the same, unstable and wobbly as her own smile was. ¡°H-Hey. How are you¡­feeling?¡±

    Mina¡¯s grin, feeble yet true, was much more welcome. ¡°Never better.¡±

    Her words were doubtful, given the way she struggled just to sit up in the bed. With her glasses folded neatly atop the nightstand, her hair devoid of the cute clips Octavia had come to appreciate, and devoid of a grin so vibrant, she could¡¯ve passed for a different person. Never since they¡¯d met had she seen Mina so frail and vulnerable, even as her bold words sought to boost what her fragile voice couldn''t. Octavia wrung her hands together, resisting the urge to wince at the sight.

    ¡°Are you in¡­any pain?¡± she asked nervously.

    Mina shook her head. ¡°Not really, just tired. It¡¯s annoying. Sick of bein¡¯ stuck in this stupid bed. I wanna get the hell out of here already.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart chuckled on her behalf. ¡°You and me both.¡±

    ¡°Tell you what, though, we kicked some ass down there,¡± Mina continued with far more satisfaction. ¡°It felt real good to get to fight like hell for once. Hate to say it, Heartful, but it was fun. Well, like, some of it. Not all of it, obviously.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. She hesitated to bring it up. She figured the topic would arise eventually, and she was correct. Of her own accord, Mina mentioned it herself, flopping her head back against the pillows with mild exasperation.

    ¡°Never almost died before, so that was new. I¡­guess I got carried away. That was my fault. Probably deserved it.¡±

    Octavia shook her own head viciously, kneeling down at the girl¡¯s bedside with little hesitation. ¡°Don¡¯t say that! You didn¡¯t deserve anything that happened to you. There was lots of Dissonance, and you did your best. You were amazing. I saw you fight, and to know you were fighting on my behalf was¡­incredible. You weren¡¯t even the only one who got hurt! There was another--¡±

    ¡°I screwed River over pretty bad, didn¡¯t I?¡± she mumbled.

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I¡­¡±

    Mina sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to sugarcoat it. I already know what happened. Never thought I¡¯d be on the receiving end. I don¡¯t really remember it that much. I wonder if he regrets that he had to do it.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. ¡°You know him. He¡¯s stubborn. He really thinks it¡¯s what he was born to do. I don¡¯t think he regrets it at all.¡±

    Whether or not Octavia wished for River to carry at least a sliver of pain over the weight of his decision didn''t matter. It wasn''t relevant to Mina¡¯s well-being. She opted not to think of it right now, lest her anger compromise her concern. It was an issue for later.

    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s stubborn, alright,¡± Mina agreed. ¡°He¡¯s one hell of a Spirited, though. I could almost see him being something else. Heartful, maybe. No offense, of course.¡±

    ¡°Why would that offend me?¡±

    Her grin was stronger, somewhat. ¡°You really want a guy like that as a legacy sibling? He can barely pull himself down from the damn clouds, sometimes.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards involuntarily. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind. River makes choices I don¡¯t agree with sometimes, but he¡¯s¡­nice. I like being around him.¡±

    Mina scoffed. ¡°My God, does lightning bug know you talk about him like that?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Geez, Heartful, leave something for the rest of us,¡± she teased. ¡°If you want River so bad, the least you can do is hand over what you¡¯ve already got. I¡¯ll take good care of him.¡±

    The urge to smack Mina¡¯s arm was a reflex, injuries or not. It was enough to make the Maestra laugh, and Octavia nearly did the same. It was much more like her, and much more like what Octavia had hoped to see upon finding her face again.

    When she calmed once more, Mina¡¯s tone was softer. ¡°Don¡¯t tell my dad I almost died, alright? I think it¡¯d kill him instead.¡±

    ¡°I have no reason to tell him.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t want me to be a Maestra in the first place,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t blame him, after what happened. He probably thought that would be me, someday. I mean, that wasn¡¯t exactly how it went down, but here we are anyway. If he knew that this is what almost did me in, the one thing he didn¡¯t want me to do, I think it would¡­hurt him more than all of this hurt me.¡±

    Octavia watched as Mina¡¯s hand slipped carefully into the lining of her cardigan, weaving between blankets for the sake of something so small. She managed to capture both pieces carefully with only five fingers to work with, sparkling as they were in the soft natural light. Up above, the sunshine that streamed through Mina¡¯s window did much more justice to the little curves than the dim candlelight below. For once, Octavia was appreciative of at least some aspect of Velrose. The rod and the iron itself dangled delicately from Mina¡¯s fingers, swaying gently in the open air as she held them aloft.

    When she extended her hand towards the Ambassador in the slightest, the gesture came with a half-hearted smile. ¡°I¡¯ve had my fun. I did what I wanted to do. I paid the price for it, yeah, but at least now I know what this world is really like. I hope I got you somewhere you needed to be, Heartful.¡±

    Octavia only stared at the glistening triangle. ¡°Are you¡­sure?¡±

    Mina averted her eyes. ¡°I¡­think so. I¡¯m pretty sure. You''ve gotta do it eventually, right? There¡¯s some days I think it¡¯d be fun to be a Maestra forever, and there¡¯s some days I think I¡¯d rather be anything but. I want to be proud of what I¡¯ve got, and it¡¯s gonna be trickier to take pride in something that I¡¯ve got nothing to show for. Even so, I¡­think this is what¡¯s best. I think Raisare deserves a break, anyway. She kicked ass just as hard.¡±

    Octavia patiently awaited the return of Mina¡¯s gaze, stilling her words until she had the chance. ¡°You can¡­still be proud of being Essenced, even if you¡¯re not a Maestra anymore. It doesn¡¯t just go away. Josiah¡¯s still Essenced, you know, and he hasn¡¯t been a Maestro for awhile. That¡¯ll never change. You¡¯ll always have a part of Raisare with you.¡±

    Mina rolled her eyes playfully. ¡°Oh, my sweet little Heartful, what am I going to do with you? And lightning bug owes me lunch for leading me on like that, anyway. Guess we¡¯re gonna match. It¡¯ll be a good conversation topic.¡±

    Octavia giggled, at least briefly. ¡°As long as you¡¯re¡­sure that this is what you want.¡±

    Mina nodded, extending her arm the slightest bit further. ¡°Yeah. Rai, what do you think?¡±

    It was crowded, somewhat, with a relatively small space for the Muse in question to greet Octavia¡¯s eyes. Nonetheless, her full splendor was every bit as strikingly beautiful and illustrious as always. Her golden glow, overpowering as it was, put the sunshine to shame. Every sparkle that graced Savior¡¯s Resplendence as it dangled quietly was a silent spark that tickled Mina¡¯s fingers in turn. If Raisare¡¯s luminous presence was enough to sting Mina¡¯s eyes, she gave absolutely no indication. Instead, she opted only to offer a grin that warmed Octavia¡¯s heart.

    Raisare bowed to the Ambassador once more, despite their prior meeting. ¡°If you would have me, Ambassador, I would be most grateful for your assistance.¡±

    Octavia smiled as best as she could. ¡°You two were--are--amazing partners for one another. I know you¡¯ll always be together, somehow.¡±

    Raisare cast her gaze down to the girl below her. ¡°I do not disagree,¡± she affirmed, her tone laced with warmth.

    Mina waved her free hand dismissively. ¡°Ah, knock it off, both of you. Don¡¯t go gettin¡¯ me emotional.¡±

    ¡°I speak what I mean,¡± Raisare said.

    Again did Mina roll her eyes. ¡°You were one hell of a troublemaker, you know that? Still, I¡­appreciate you stickin¡¯ it out with me. Thanks for giving me a chance, for whatever it was worth. It was good to have you.¡±

    ¡°And to you, my child, it is as the Ambassador says. Take pride in your blood, with or without such power in your hands,¡± Raisare offered gently.

    Mina chuckled. ¡°Whatever you say, Rai.¡±

    When Mina¡¯s eyes drifted to Octavia¡¯s, her fragile smile served as permission. ¡°Take it away, Heartful.¡±

    Octavia nodded, although not without a soft smile of her own. She relished the occasional ting of Savior¡¯s Resplendence clinking as it dangled, a sweet sound she regretted halting. Her bandaged fingers did an injustice to the little triangle, soaking up the sparkle she hoped to savor until the end. Instead, ever so gently, she cupped her hands around the metal, cradling both precious fragments with caution.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain,¡± she murmured, ¡°and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

    Mina watched along, and so did she. There were no tears to be shed, as Octavia had almost expected to find. Instead, in the wake of Raisare¡¯s gorgeous departure, challenging the sun¡¯s rays with every flickering shimmer, the speckled stars she left in her wake were met only with a grin. Mina was silent, drinking in a spectacle she¡¯d seen Octavia bless her eyes with several times over by now. Surely, at least, to bid farewell to her own partner was a different experience entirely. For as fatigued as she was, content or otherwise, she took it with grace. Octavia could feel her palms closing inwards as the cool iron escaped her skin, a somewhat unwelcome departure of its own.

    ¡°Not half bad, Heartful, not half bad,¡± Mina teased as she saw the deed through to the end. ¡°You¡¯ve got this down, at this point. And look, now you got rid of three of ¡®em while you were here. You got a bonus one, so you¡¯re welcome for the compensation prize. Thank me later.¡±

    Octavia giggled once more. It wasn¡¯t in the slightest that she¡¯d taken any satisfaction in sending Seraphe or Valkyria home, for what trials their guidance had necessitated. It was by the same difficulties that Mina was even bedbound in the first place, and the thought still made her feel ill. Her heart raced when she thought of the Muses that had awaited her both so high above and so far below, the strength of sound shaking her to her core without the need for so much as a single note. Instead, with her feet on the ground, she could take comfort in the essence of lightning as it flashed its vibrance before her.

    Even without Raisare, even without fingers that could dispel agony itself with the most relentless of bolts and sparks, Mina sparkled just as much. Her grin was just as electric. That smile was the one and only sliver of happiness Octavia found in Velrose that day, and she prayed for it to strike her heart again and again.

    <hr>

    Octavia had dreaded sleeping. She¡¯d had absolutely every reason to. Every suspicion she carried with her that would follow the path of her head to the pillow was correct.

    She¡¯d procrastinated, largely. Octavia wondered if she¡¯d driven anyone insane with the sound of her boots echoing up and down the hallway so late in the evening. She was driving herself insane, at least, and the fear that ate away at her heart over the simple idea of surrendering to the darkness only made it worse.

    She feared confiding in another, just the same, for how they would surely try to coax her into accepting unconsciousness regardless. She¡¯d expressed to them her struggles with toll nightmares before, sporadic and interspersed with her more regular plague of bells and broken light. Octavia longed for a good night¡¯s rest, if not just once more in her life. She was aware that it was wishful thinking, given what more still awaited her in the future.

    Are you alright?

    And when she ended up in her bed, it was Octavia who was confided in first. She resisted the urge to groan, casting her eyes aimlessly at the ceiling rather than at his case across the room.

    Not especially, no, she admitted. It was her first acknowledgement of his words in some time. Still, she didn¡¯t apologize.

    What ails you?

    Octavia rolled her eyes. He was almost being insensitive. What doesn¡¯t?

    If there is something on your mind, you are always free to confide in me.

    Stratos sounded identical to her companions. It wasn¡¯t exactly endearing, in his case. I don¡¯t really want to talk about it.

    I see. Know that I am here, nonetheless.

    I know.

    Even unspoken, it came out sharper than she meant for it to. Octavia almost regretted it. A part of her hoped it would make him uncomfortable. As to why, she had no idea.

    You have¡­done remarkably.

    Octavia sighed heavily. ¡°Please stop saying that,¡± she begged aloud.

    I only speak what is true.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to keep hearing about it!¡± she snapped. ¡°Stop reminding me that it happened and just¡­let me forget about it already!¡±

    If¡­that is what you wish, then I will not dwell upon it. We may simply look to the future instead.

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. Volume control was getting difficult. She did everything in her power to inhale and exhale at least once, shaky as her breaths were. I just want to go back to Tacell. I don¡¯t want to think about anything else for the rest of the time I¡¯m here. I don¡¯t want to do anything. I¡¯m tired. Please, just¡­let me have this. Haven¡¯t I done enough for now?

    Of course. I¡­did not mean to pressure you.

    She resisted the urge to admit that his words were doing so, regardless. I¡¯ll deal with¡­whatever comes next when we get back. I can¡¯t do anything else right now. I have nothing else to give. I don¡¯t want to be here, so just let me get that over with. Please.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Stratos paused. I understand, he offered at last.

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly believe him.

    As to when she fell asleep, she had no idea. She wouldn¡¯t have known that she was asleep, anyway. It was a roll of the dice, when she left the waking world, as to whether she kept her own eyes. At the onset of her task, her pool of potential masks to wear and shoes to don once more in her dreams was relatively small. She¡¯d relived several specific tolls multiple times over in the past, particularly prior to her voyage to Tacell. Steadily, the little settlement had sent a steady stream of fresh material trickling into the pond from which she fished for her next nightmare.

    Sometimes, she played them straight, a clean shot from start to finish of a life fully lived. Sometimes, they were twisted and repackaged, with elements added or removed like the sickest of puzzles. Already, before, had she imagined her mother in place of Mina¡¯s. At least once, Octavia had found her father where Harper¡¯s had fallen. There was a time, disgusted as she was to remember, where Drey¡¯s tear-stained blade had pierced her own heart rather than Priscilla¡¯s. It was material she hated to work with, a storybook she couldn¡¯t close. Try as she might to tear out the pages, every toll was yet another written in its place.

    Where Tacell had offered her a stream, then, Velpyre now flooded her with the sea.

    Even in the depths of a different Hell, up and down as she¡¯d gone, she was well aware of the way every face that met an untimely demise would follow her long after. It was impossible to memorize over 14,000 lives lived in one sitting, and yet there were more than enough that stood out. There were those that, as she feared, found her fingers coated in the blood and pain of another. There were many, many hands that were laid upon the innocent, a single sacrifice that now screamed vividly in her dreams. Her collection of the acolyte¡¯s agonized cries paid off in the worst way, and she had her pick. It was a recipe she couldn¡¯t stand to cook. The way by which she was forced to devour the sights and sounds of the Cursed City¡¯s suffering for eternity left her cursed just the same.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t prove that she wasn¡¯t dead. She wondered if it would matter. In silence, in the regretful peace that was the privacy of the church quarters, there were none of the comforting sounds she associated with the places she¡¯d come to call home. Between herself and the Velrose Church, perhaps a bell wasn¡¯t the only sound that could tear her apart. No sound at all but those she could string together was equally as torturous.

    Click.

    When something had the chance to wake her, it usually did.

    She¡¯d ended up as somewhat of a light sleeper over time, something Octavia could count her blessings for in the face of what panic haunted her routinely. Any opportunity to escape the crushing silence that kept her bound to an unconscious Hell was seized, no matter how small. Even so, in this place specifically, the sound that awoke her with a jolt was more akin to a curse that led her mind down a path far too dark. Any threats in the waking world, within the walls of the church, were perhaps almost equally as severe as those she endured in her nightmares.

    Octavia actually needed to catch her breath for several seconds the moment her eyes popped open, struggling to adjust to the dark. Her attempts to scan the room frantically with such low lighting were feeble, and her first reaction was fear. Stradivaria was too far to reach from the confines of her covers. If something was in the room with her, she¡¯d be defenseless, briefly.

    It took an unfathomable amount of willpower for her to crawl out of bed, still hardly able to stand in the wake of her exhaustion. Her only option for inspection was feeble candlelight, which she nursed to life at her bedside quickly and desperately. A precursory glance around the small expanse of her quarters was, at least, momentarily comforting--isolation, still intact as ever, was hers to claim. The paper on the table was new.

    One entire edge was semi-serrated, as though torn with great caution and care. The rest was well-intact, small as it was. It fit comfortably in her hand. Beneath the oppressive flicker of candlelight, the fresh, wet ink that she struggled not to smudge with her thumb was bleeding through the paper somewhat. She recognized the handwriting, vaguely. She couldn¡¯t quite place it.

    Octavia, her mystery letter began. She took it back to the bed, setting the candle delicately atop her nightstand.

    There aren¡¯t enough words in the world to thank you for all that you¡¯ve done for me. The lengths you¡¯ve gone to for people you¡¯ve never known are nothing short of extraordinary. If you weren¡¯t the Ambassador, you¡¯d be an angel. Maybe you can be both. You¡¯re surrounded by people who love you and will fight with everything they¡¯ve got to support you. I¡¯ve seen the things you¡¯ve overcome, both obvious and inside your heart. You¡¯re stronger than you know, and you should be proud of every step that you¡¯ve taken. I know how hard it can be to move forward when the world is ripped out from under you.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help the way she gripped the paper just the slightest bit tighter, her fingernails digging into the flimsy material. She strived to be gentle.

    Everyone has somewhere they¡¯re meant to be. For me, it was with you, and with all of the people you introduced me to. It was a family I didn¡¯t deserve, but I loved all the same, even if I didn¡¯t show it well. There are times when I¡¯ve wondered what would¡¯ve happened if you¡¯d refused to accept me after everything fell to pieces that day. I wouldn¡¯t have blamed you. I spent a very long time trying to figure out where I was supposed to belong after that. I found my answer, and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.

    Her eyes widened. She was starting to recognize the way each S curled ever so subtly, the gentle tilt that each letter carried along every stroke of black. The handwriting was finally starting to click. Octavia was on her feet once more, largely out of confusion.

    Recently, there¡¯s somewhere else I¡¯ve realized I¡¯m supposed to be. It¡¯s somewhere I should¡¯ve been for quite some time, and it¡¯s somewhere I¡¯ve thought of going before. Just like you refused to leave me behind, there¡¯s someone I¡¯m not meant to leave behind anymore, either. This isn¡¯t a choice I make lightly, and this isn¡¯t an impulse. I¡¯ve thought about this long and hard, and decided this is what needs to be done. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. None of you did anything wrong. To you, most of all, be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself for things that were beyond your control. Please know that this is what I want, and please believe me when I say that this is entirely my own decision. I¡¯m not afraid. I wish you the best of luck with everything, and I know you¡¯ll see all of this mess through to this end with great success. You¡¯ll always be my Ambassador. I¡¯ll see you again someday, hopefully not anytime soon. I¡¯ll wait patiently. I love all of you.

    Stradivaria was on her shoulders before she even made it to the last lines.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    She couldn¡¯t think. She couldn¡¯t breathe. All she could do was run, the door to her bedroom slamming behind her so loudly that it echoed down the hallway. She didn¡¯t care who heard. She didn¡¯t care if she woke anyone up. Already, Octavia could hardly see through the ocean that besieged her eyesight. Every step was staggered. She wanted to scream.

    With love, now and forever.

    This place had stolen everything. This horrible, horrible city and the one that lay beneath it had taken far too much from the world. Even salvaged, even freed of otherworldly agony, the mortal agony that it still harbored was inexplicable. It couldn¡¯t steal anything else away from her.

    Josiah.

    It absolutely could not steal one more precious piece of her heart away from her.

    There was no way to pinpoint with 100% certainty where he¡¯d gone. She had an extremely predictable idea, if a prior sentiment he¡¯d offered so recently was anything to go by. It would break her to do it alone. Octavia didn¡¯t have a choice. There was no time to call for help, and hardly any time even to call his name--rather, to scream and scream for him until her throat was raw. She¡¯d need every ounce of breath she could conserve, and she¡¯d need every bit of luck that could bless her guess. If she was wrong, it was over. Even now, if she was incorrect in her assumption of his methodology, it could very well already be over, somewhere unseen and shadowed. Octavia knew him better than that.

    The stairwell in the depths of night was one thousand times more intimidating than in the daytime, the scattered windows at every landing nearly useless in guiding her path. With only splinters of moonlight spared to lead her frantic flight, the musty stone walls that caged her on every side threatened to suffocate her at a moment¡¯s notice. It wasn''t a quick climb by any means, and one she loathed making each and every time.

    It didn¡¯t matter that there was no bell left to ring. It didn¡¯t matter that there was no Maestra left to ring it, the title revoked--for once--with peace and grace. The sound was absolutely devastating. Octavia could hear nothing else with each and every step. Running was making it far, far worse.

    Where Josiah¡¯s gentle touch and soft words had led her to the very place that had ruined her inside with such patience, she found no such reprieve alone. She yearned for it more than anything, begging and pleading with screams she couldn¡¯t emit for his comfort. Octavia needed his reassurance. She again needed someone to tell her they weren¡¯t real, her own Hell had long since passed, and her own mistakes had long since been made.

    Octavia needed him to say, with explicit certainty, that there wouldn''t be two dead acolytes crumpled on the pavement secondary to her incompetence when she reached the top. She needed anyone to tell her she wouldn¡¯t find much the same of the forsaken boy she¡¯d grown to treasure with all of her heart.

    Every toll of every invisible bell made her unbelievably dizzy, and her fingernails scraped along the stone walls in a desperate attempt to reclaim her balance. Her rapid ascent was staggered, somewhat, the echo of her boots pounding against every stair drowned out in excess by the noises that tortured her head. Any second now, she would slip, surely bashing her skull against some facet of the stairwell and spilling yet more blood upon the gem of the Blessed City.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. She couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d taken a breath, her vision blurred by tears and yet more. Every muscle burned as she pushed harder, her knees rising high and adrenaline threatening to poison her blood.

    She could see them--both of them, so clear in her eyes each time she blinked. Given the way she¡¯d stolen their own eyes one after another, their pain was clearer now than ever before. There were two smiles that would never have the chance to shine again. There was a sweet laugh, undeterred by suffering unmatched, that could never greet her ears once more. There was a bright gaze, proud and honest as it embraced a city meant to be protected, that would never more look upon anything with love. There was a girl born of budding blossoms and a girl forged in raging flames, both betrayed by a world that should¡¯ve shown them nothing but kindness and love.

    In her ears, one screamed and fought against a destiny that deemed her fire worthless. Surely her wrath had been twofold, born of love and hatred alike. One pleaded for her life, feigning acceptance of her death with a grace not hers to keep. Surely her hands were in agony again, just as Octavia had seen both from afar and up close. It didn¡¯t stop every last toll of the bell from shaking her very soul.

    She needed someone. She needed anyone. She needed anything, anything that would take her brain out of her head and tear the memories apart one by one. They were supposed to be gone. It was supposed to be over. Two cities, freed from the embrace of their captive angels, should have taken with them every burning flash that seared Octavia¡¯s heart.

    It didn¡¯t matter that she was still running--although for how long, she was unsure. Her lungs were on fire, her body in general not faring much better. She openly sobbed.

    It should¡¯ve been her.

    It should¡¯ve been her.

    Don¡¯t think about it.

    She couldn¡¯t help it. There was nothing but. To retrace these exact steps alone with identical urgency, there absolutely could be nothing but. It was just as she¡¯d feared.

    It should¡¯ve been her.

    It couldn¡¯t be him.

    His face flickered in her head, so briefly and yet so strongly. Octavia found precisely one scream at last. It held his name, and it echoed all the way up what little was left of her desperate climb.

    The breeze she found atop the stairwell was useless against her superheated skin. Even now, even with her feet firmly upon the limestone that crowned the highest point of the church, the bell that was nowhere to be seen still tormented her within. She¡¯d never scaled the tower at night before, the moon cresting high overhead a gorgeous sight above the Blessed City. It was a far cry from the splotchy pinks and oranges of sunrise that had watched over the acolytes¡¯ final moments with calm.

    Octavia wondered if he cared, if it was perhaps too different from the world the flame¡¯s broken eyes had seen as she''d succumbed to a fate she didn¡¯t deserve. There was a difference, then, in the way he chose to face the earth below rather than shy away from its view. Selena had fallen face-up, her last agonizing moments of life full of pure sky overhead.

    With his arms spread in just the slightest, Josiah, instead, had long since settled on the alternative. The railing held the weight of his careful balance well, perched so precariously atop the metal that it seemed one strong gust of the evening breeze would spell his end. Octavia knew he wouldn¡¯t care, save for the dissatisfaction of choosing his own terms. She could imagine the way he would roll his eyes all the way down. She couldn¡¯t imagine the sight of him once his body touched the ground again. The image burned the inside of her head. It was enough.

    Stradivaria crashed to the limestone, hastily discarded as she broke into the most desperate sprint she¡¯d ever made in her life. Octavia had gotten lucky before, in times of peril. Others had intervened. Circumstances had shifted. Up here, atop the very place that had twisted and broken her long after her struggle had ended, she would get no such reprieve. Even now, the bell tower of the Velrose Church fought to steal from her yet again.

    Her boots pounding against the stone were still softer than the beating of her own heart. If he knew she was there, never once did he acknowledge her. Octavia watched as the boy tilted his head upwards, drinking in the sky for a moment.

    One foot left the railing. Josiah didn''t fall with a cry, nor with words upon his lips at all. He departed the tower peacefully, silently, leaving the very world in his wake as Octavia saw his eyes close.

    She, too, jumped.

    The top of her boots hooked the bottom rung of the railing from beneath as she struggled with his weight, both hands trembling with a combination of effort and sheer terror. Her breath was uncontrollable, and Octavia was outright gasping for air as her tears splashed against his sleeve. It took everything she had to keep still, battling to stay grounded to the opposite side of the barrier from the boy dangling in her frantic grip. In the process of clambering for his wrist, he¡¯d swung inwards, his forearm surely pained by the sudden impact of rough granite against his bones.

    Josiah didn¡¯t struggle. For a moment, he didn¡¯t speak, either. All that filled the void was the sound of Octavia¡¯s own labored breaths, the unassuming autumn breeze grazing them peacefully, and the stifled sobs that she fought to restrain. There were no bells. Even now, even like this, his face was enough to scare them away.

    Octavia watched as his head drifted downwards, calm eyes taking in the city so, so far below. When they raised ever higher, they met her own, half-lidded and hollow as they were.

    ¡°You can let go now,¡± Josiah murmured. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    She shook her head desperately, readjusting her grip out of sheer panic. He was nowhere close to slipping. Still, the paranoia was absolute torture. Josiah watched her pain quietly.

    ¡°It really is okay. Don¡¯t worry. Close your eyes and look the other way.¡±

    Again, Octavia shook her head. Her best attempts at suppressing her sobs were in vain. He sighed, still relatively motionless as he hung perilously over the rim of the tower.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to see this,¡± Josiah admitted.

    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be doing this!¡± she cried, her voice cracking.

    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. I should¡¯ve known better. I¡¯m sorry for making you worry about me. Go back to bed. It¡¯ll be over quick.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere!¡± Octavia wailed. ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡±

    Josiah¡¯s soft voice was viciously unsettling, as though he was already dead. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to be here.¡±

    ¡°Of course you¡¯re supposed to be here!¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I survived that day by a complete stroke of luck and an absolute coincidence. This isn''t what was meant for me. I wasn¡¯t meant to get this far.¡±

    ¡°But that means something!¡± Octavia sobbed, her tears practically splattering against his face below. ¡°There¡¯s a reason you¡¯re still here! There¡¯s a reason you¡¯re with us!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like I said. I¡¯m not ungrateful. I really did cherish everything we did together, all of us. I don¡¯t regret that, Octavia. I don¡¯t regret any of it one bit. I¡¯ll miss you guys, all of you.¡±

    ¡°So why, then? Stay!¡± she shouted.

    ¡°She needs me.¡±

    Octavia could barely breathe, readjusting her grip once more. She was steady, her anchoring firm. He wasn¡¯t light, and yet he wasn¡¯t heavy, either. She couldn¡¯t hold him forever, and yet she¡¯d die before she let him go. She so desired to have him atop the tower with her, to see his feet touch something solid and his body escape the gaping grasp of open air. In Josiah''s gaze, she still found no fear. Never had Octavia wanted him to be afraid so badly.

    ¡°She¡¯s alone. She¡¯s been alone for too long. I can¡¯t leave her alone again. I won¡¯t let her down anymore.¡±

    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t want this!¡±

    ¡°She would.¡±

    ¡°How can you say that?¡±

    Again, Josiah closed his eyes. ¡°I know her. No offense, but I know her better than anyone ever will.¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth through her tears. ¡°I¡¯ve lived through her eyes! I¡¯ve been her! She only ever wanted for you to be happy!¡±

    ¡°She wanted us to be happy together. This is how we end up together again.¡±

    ¡°Why does it have to be now? You¡¯ll see her again someday, when you¡¯re meant to! I¡¯m sure of it!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m meant to right now.¡±

    ¡°Josiah, please!¡± she wept.

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­wait anymore. I¡¯ve made her wait for so long. I¡¯ve been hurting Selena for so, so long, and all this time, I had no idea. I can¡¯t go on knowing that. I can¡¯t do that to her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re her most important person! She doesn¡¯t feel that way, I know it!¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t get to live my life when she can¡¯t do the same.¡±

    ¡°Your life is precious!¡±

    Octavia screamed her words with such ferocity that she¡¯d shaken the city below. Josiah¡¯s dead eyes widened somewhat, taken aback by her volume. Her voice shook fiercely with every word.

    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be alive if she¡¯s not, but I am! Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be alive if I couldn¡¯t help Sonata, but I am! Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be alive if Priscilla isn¡¯t here with me, but damn it, I am! Maybe I don¡¯t want to be! There¡¯s people I want to be with again, too, but there¡¯s people I love here just as much! If I¡¯m still standing here after everything, if I¡¯m still alive after every single time I could¡¯ve lost my life, shouldn¡¯t that mean something?¡±

    Josiah was quiet. Octavia¡¯s voice battled her own sobs.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to see her again, someday. I¡¯m going to see the people I love again, someday, too. Until then, there are people who love you right now, both of us, that we can spend just as much time giving our hearts to. You have people who love you more than you could ever know. Make lots of memories and take them with you to her when the time really does come. You deserve to be happy just as much as she does.¡±

    ¡°This is what would make--¡±

    ¡°This would kill me,¡± Octavia whispered. ¡°This would kill us all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna guilt-trip me?¡± he said coolly.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to do whatever I have to to show you that your life means the world to me.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t make this difficult. Don¡¯t make yourself more upset,¡± he pleaded.

    ¡°If this is really and truly what would make you happy, then I¡¯m not letting you go alone.¡±

    Josiah¡¯s eyes widened in full, his body jolting beneath her grip. ¡°What?¡±

    The glare she fixed him with was as sorrowful as it was resolute. He flinched.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say things like that.¡±

    ¡°I mean it,¡± Octavia growled through her tears.

    ¡°You have a lot more to live for than I do. You just said it yourself. You don¡¯t really want to die,¡± he reasoned.

    ¡°I don¡¯t, but I will if it¡¯s for you.¡±

    Josiah narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp. ¡°Don¡¯t you have regrets? Aren¡¯t you afraid to die?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m terrified,¡± she admitted, sobbing.

    Little by little, his voice was rising. ¡°You¡¯re the Ambassador. If you die, they all have to start over. Everything falls apart. You leave behind all the people who were counting on you, and you throw that away over someone who threw away the one thing that could help you out. You wouldn¡¯t do that. I know you. You¡¯re not that stupid.¡±

    Octavia dared him with her eyes wordlessly, tears or not. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You matter.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t just¡­throw around sentiments like that!¡± Josiah snapped at last.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious!¡± she shouted back.

    ¡°Knock it off!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you be alone!¡±

    Josiah paused. He inhaled sharply, twisting the wrist she clung to so pleadingly in just the slightest. He didn¡¯t yank or flail, only adjusting himself enough that the act of grasping him grew ever more difficult. When Octavia continued to hold fast, he twisted further, and yet further still. He balled his fingers into a fist, tugging downwards slowly in a subtle attempt to break her grip. It nearly worked, even with two hands firmly upon him. All the while, his narrow eyes, tinted with pain, stung her with a piercing gaze she¡¯d grown to hate.

    Octavia compensated for his resistance in the form of surrender. She relaxed the hold one of her boots had around the railing, her body rapidly jerking forward with such force that her stomach lurched. Her life wasn¡¯t quite flashing before her eyes. Still, she was absolutely nearing the threshold as her entire torso dangled precariously over the rim of the rail. She knew exactly what would happen if she moved her other foot.

    Her eyes swam with fresh tears to the point that her vision was clouded. Even so, she stared him down just as hard. To have died so many times over as the Ambassador wasn¡¯t enough to numb her fear of succumbing to the same fate as the acolytes who haunted her. It was at least a comfort, in a sick way, knowing she wouldn¡¯t go alone. Her heart threatened to burst.

    Josiah¡¯s eyes softened, widened, flooded with hurt and shimmered with sorrow. He stilled in her grip, unmoving as she struggled to maintain her own balance with him in tow. His fist uncurled, his fingers trembling in its place.

    ¡°You¡¯re serious,¡± he murmured shakily.

    Octavia opened her mouth to answer, be it with sharp chiding or reassurance. All she choked out was a sob. Josiah could only stare.

    With a slight lurch of his body in the open air, he managed to swing his way close enough for his extended fingertips to just barely grasp the top of the railing. He didn¡¯t resist Octavia¡¯s grip, trembling with mild effort as he pulled. Octavia, too, grunted laboriously as she did the same, fighting to regain her balance and a solid foundation with which to support him. It took everything she had, every muscle in her body screaming and aching from holding him in place for so long. He contributed the most as he climbed back up the railing, turning his back on the welcoming void of the city below.

    Even when he threw his legs up and over the metal, even when his feet touched the limestone with an unimaginable calmness and quietness, Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the way her heart still threatened to burst. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to let go of his wrist, lest she blink and find him on the ground so far below.

    He wrapped his arms around her. It took effort to steal one of those arms from her relentless grasp, but he managed to do it anyway. Josiah was motionless, wordless even now. With his face well over her shoulder, his hair softly brushing against her cheeks, Octavia couldn¡¯t capture his eyes. Her own eyes were once more threatened by an ocean she couldn¡¯t fight, relieved and overcome with grief for what she¡¯d yet to lose all at once. He beat her to it.

    Josiah¡¯s breath rattled on each deep exhale, his embrace stiff and tense. It was tight, somewhat uncomfortable as he held onto her for dear life. What started as unsteady breathing turned into soft distress, cries Octavia could hardly make out. His fingernails dug into the fabric of her dress, curling inwards against her shoulders as they trembled fiercely.

    He buried his face close to the crook of her neck, so near that Octavia could feel his sorrow against her. When he began to sob, it was the worst sound she¡¯d ever heard leave his throat. It was the loudest sound she¡¯d ever heard leave his throat.

    ¡°I miss her,¡± Josiah wept. ¡°I miss her so much.¡±

    There was little Octavia could do but return his embrace, her own shaky grasp of feeble reassurance useless as she fell into step with his suffering. Once more, she couldn¡¯t support his body weight as he slumped against her, his own knees giving out under the pressure of his agony. This time, she really did follow him down. Upon the limestone, she let him sob his heart out in her arms. She refused to let him go.

    ¡°I can¡¯t take it anymore, I miss her, I miss her,¡± Josiah cried again and again. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. She was everything for me.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Octavia cried in turn, his tears much her own.

    ¡°She was the most important person in the world to me.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t deserve it. She didn¡¯t deserve any of it. She suffered, right up until the end, and I couldn¡¯t be there for her.¡±

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± Octavia sobbed.

    ¡°I had no idea that she¡­I didn¡¯t know. I¡¯m so sorry. I¡¯m so, so sorry. I can¡¯t¡­I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    ¡°She never told you,¡± Octavia mumbled through her pain, holding him tighter. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault.¡±

    ¡°I should¡¯ve known better!¡± Josiah shouted, his voice cracking. ¡°I knew her! I knew her better than anyone!¡±

    There was nothing to say. Octavia buried her face in his shoulder as well, staining his flannel shirt with the echoes of her sorrow.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see it that way,¡± he wept softly. ¡°Maybe I should have. Maybe I¡­should¡¯ve tried to. What would that have been like? Would it have made her happy?¡±

    ¡°She was happy just to be with you.¡±

    ¡°I could¡¯ve made her even happier,¡± he whispered. ¡°And that hurts so, so badly to know.¡±

    ¡°You did¡­everything you could,¡± Octavia offered, nearly choking on her words. ¡°We both did everything we could.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°She was my best friend.¡±

    ¡°She still is.¡±

    ¡°We spent our whole lives together. I don¡¯t know who I am without her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Josiah,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°You¡¯re precious to me. You¡¯re precious to all of us. We love you so much, no matter why you¡¯re here or what hurts you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not enough,¡± Josiah sobbed.

    ¡°It¡¯s everything.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to lie to me to make me feel better.¡±

    She pulled him closer, as close as he could come into her arms. ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± she breathed.

    Octavia could feel the way his entire body was shaking against her own, his sobs outright uncontrollable as Josiah shattered to pieces in front of her. She closed her eyes, rested her head against him, and let him do what he needed to do most. The tower that once gave a home to a bell instead gave refuge to the sound of sorrow, tethered to the grasp of the very same city. It was a place that had torn not only her own heart to shreds, but the boy who¡¯d outrun a fate worse than death.

    So high up, so distant from the sleeping streets below and those unaware of his want for eternal silence, it was a quiet Hell to be shared by those who mourned the same loss. Every tear Octavia shed burned as it rolled down her cheeks, settling into Josiah''s flannel sleeves in wet patches.

    For all the things she¡¯d lost to Velrose, for all the bell tower had cursed her with, her reclamation of its twin meant nothing. Her dual blessings of guidance had meant nothing. There was no victory to be found in such hurdles to be conquered. For once, in the face of the very place she¡¯d stood and lost her mind, she¡¯d finally managed to protect a piece of her heart. Octavia wept bitterly, holding fast to that piece as Josiah entrusted her with his pain. His life was the greatest blessing the blossom or the flame could ever bestow upon her.

 85. Lost and Found

    Every evening that followed for the remainder of her time in Velrose was equally as plagued by suffering Octavia wished to shed. Each day she spent awake had her looking for Josiah regularly, desperate for reassurance that he was still among the living. It was a pendulum of paranoia and agony that led the blossom to drive her mad. It was torture. Never for a moment did she think she¡¯d welcome a Sunday.

    Octavia spoke of the night atop the bell tower with Josiah to absolutely no one--and, to her understanding, neither did he. She looked upon him with fear of a different kind, and she worried it wasn¡¯t subtle. For how he turned away under her gaze every time, she was fairly certain she¡¯d found her answer. It wasn¡¯t so much that she sought to make him feel guilty as much as she dreaded him slipping too far from her sight.

    She, too, had once grieved twice over, if not thrice for Priscilla. In three places, her heart had shattered as she¡¯d pieced together a tale of the former Ambassador¡¯s end, and each had been more crushing than the last. In that way, she could more than empathize with him. To grieve anew was a Hell that had brought her mind to the darkest of places, too. She never did take him up on his date offer. She was lucky if she could think straight enough on any given day to process the passage of time.

    She tried to ignore the sunrise over Velrose on any given morning, if possible. It was a sight that still spoke to something deeply unsettling in her heart. Regardless, she¡¯d harnessed what little of the morning rays she¡¯d been willing to surrender to for the sake of at last readying for departure. The sooner she was back in Tacell, the sooner she could get to work on pretending that none of this had ever happened.

    Even the idea of returning to regular tolls was far preferable to being here at all. It would be a much more desirable distraction, and Octavia had more than her choice of candidates. A handful had even directly expressed their willingness to doff their Maestro status upon returning to Selbright or Tacell respectively, and she¡¯d made mental notes as to where to resume her work first. She owed it to them, anyway, for all they¡¯d done for her here.

    Her one and only regret was leaving the Velrose Acolyte behind. Octavia did end up promising to write, although she had nowhere near the mental fortitude to pledge a return visit. She wondered if she could convince someone to do so on her behalf, a little pink passport the only barrier between loneliness and companionship for such a small child. Octavia wished she could earn another smile to take along with her for the ride home, although she knew it to be wishful thinking. She settled for the tiny acolyte¡¯s warmth, instead.

    Given how sparse their exit route tended to appear in the first place, her relief was not immediate. There was almost an envy to be found in how many Maestros genuinely seemed to enjoy their last several hours in Velrose. She could still remember a time when she, too, had thought to enjoy the Blessed City. She hardly had the mental energy to enjoy existing, recently.

    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be here for another two hours, I think,¡± Viola offered. ¡°We¡¯ve got time, if you want to do anything.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Not¡­really. I just want to get out of here. I¡¯ll wait.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes were soft, although Octavia bristled somewhat under the concept of her possible pity. ¡°As long as we plan our walk back to the station pretty carefully, we should be fine. You¡¯ve¡­got time to rest, then.¡±

    Again, she shook her head, adjusting Stradivaria¡¯s case on her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ve done enough of that. I can just go back and wait by myself. If you guys wanna look around or get something to eat, you can. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±

    ¡°I want to worry about you,¡± Viola said quietly.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m gonna be fine,¡± Octavia argued. ¡°It¡¯ll pass. All of this will pass. I¡¯ll feel better once we¡¯re out of here. I just want to get back to Tacell. I¡¯m okay right now. I have you, I have Stradivaria, I have everyone. I¡¯m¡­fine.¡±

    It was a weak lie. It was weak enough that she could catch the disbelief on Viola¡¯s face, and she kicked herself for not making it more believable. Viola never got the chance to press her on it.

    ¡°You guys know it¡¯s going to be a little while, right?¡± Harper reminded, coming to a halt beside them. ¡°The train doesn¡¯t get here for a few hours. You don¡¯t have to be ready just yet.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I know. I just¡­wish it would come faster.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be out soon,¡± he tried to reassure her. It almost worked.

    ¡°Do you wanna go somewhere while we wait?¡± Madrigal asked, more chipper by comparison. ¡°There¡¯s lots of things to see. We were looking at some of the shops yesterday, and the stuff they sell is really pretty! We can get you a souvenir, if you--¡±

    Three Maestros cut her off with simultaneous, desperate, and silent motions of hushing. It wasn¡¯t subtle. Dark or not, it was enough to genuinely leave Octavia stifling a smirk.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one. Josiah, for as still as his face was and as empty as his eyes were, still fought the same upturn of his lips--faint and weak. His gaze met hers, and she met his. It was hard to hold onto for long. She gave in first. If nothing else, knowing he was there was enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­never looked around with you,¡± Octavia apologized quietly. ¡°I know you offered.¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t be. I¡¯ll make it up to you in Selbright. For real, this time.¡±

    She did what she could to gift him a smile, shallow and fragile despite her best efforts. For how his face stayed the same, she liked to imagine he appreciated it.

    ¡°Did you get to say goodbye to Allison?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Did you?¡± Octavia asked in return.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She fidgeted somewhat in the midst of their silence. Josiah wasn¡¯t done. ¡°There¡¯s¡­somewhere I want to go before we leave. I¡¯m not sure if you guys had anything in mind. You don¡¯t have to go with me. I can just meet you at the station.¡±

    Octavia still wasn¡¯t fond of the idea of leaving him alone. She loathed the tiny part of her brain that didn¡¯t trust him. Most of her heart simply missed him in his absence, for as close as they¡¯d been for the last several days. ¡°I don¡¯t have anywhere else to be.¡±

    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know if you¡¯re gonna get a lot out of it,¡± Josiah prefaced.

    Renato scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t get a damn thing out of this freakin¡¯ city in general.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    The Maestro bit his tongue. Octavia, too, was uncomfortable. ¡°Where¡­did you want to--¡±

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    Of every Maestra who could¡¯ve called out to her in the church itself, her first guess would¡¯ve been the one who claimed the sanctuary as her home. It would not, by comparison, have been her counterpart of the same title long ago. Octavia was floored that she was even still here. She assumed the former acolyte would¡¯ve made for the station as quickly as possible.

    Harboring Celestina in the church for a full week had already placed her on the border of disaster, her safety hinging on a secret kept by over thirty people simultaneously. Even now, she marveled at the idea of the former Velpyre Acolyte out in broad daylight amongst every unknowing citizen. Octavia still wondered of the consequences if they knew, collectively.

    ¡°Celestina,¡± she reciprocated, simply and softly.

    There was no case she could carry, no robes she could bear, no visual indication that would¡¯ve spoken to her prior life neither as a Maestra nor an acolyte. It was only the clothes on her back and the belongings on her shoulders that spoke to an existence beyond the walls. Octavia was sure she wasn¡¯t the only one counting down the seconds until she was freed of the blossom¡¯s looming shadow. ¡°I¡­how are you?¡±

    Their conversation was as strained as it was empty, for how little there was to say. ¡°I¡¯m¡­alright. I¡¯m ready to go, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Octavia said weakly.

    ¡°I heard you played Seraphim¡¯s Call,¡± Viola tried. ¡°And that¡¯s¡­part of why the Dissonance cleared up so quickly. You didn¡¯t have to do that, but you did anyway. Thank you for that.¡±

    ¡°You really helped us out of a tight spot,¡± Renato agreed. ¡°Weird to think we¡¯ve got the same legacy thing goin¡¯ on. Pretty neat stuff, actually.¡±

    ¡°You two are absolutely nothing alike,¡± Viola grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°It sounded really pretty. You¡¯re an amazing Maestra. I bet your partner was really happy to see you again.¡±

    Octavia recoiled inwardly at Madrigal¡¯s words, spoken far too lightly relative to the unknown weight behind them. Still, Celestina didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I was¡­happy to see him, as well, I think. It had been far too long.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t forget you.¡±

    At the sound of Josiah¡¯s voice, for how hostilely he¡¯d usually addressed her, she did flinch. Even neutral as they were, his words were still much softer than Octavia had expected. He didn¡¯t need to look at Celestina to speak, and he opted to keep his gaze anywhere but on her. It was perhaps for the best. He slipped his hands into his pockets.

    ¡°Valkyria said they¡­don¡¯t really ever leave you once you¡¯ve made a bond. If both of you are still out there, somewhere, you¡¯ll always have a part of each other. You ran away from being the acolyte, sure, but you¡­never really ran away from being a Maestra. That¡¯s just how it was.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s eyes widened somewhat. ¡°All of that time?¡±

    Josiah nodded to the steps below. ¡°Yeah. Do with that what you will. Love it, resent it, I really don¡¯t care. Just know that even if you didn¡¯t love him, he still loved you. And¡­know that both of them didn¡¯t want any of this to happen. It wasn¡¯t their choice.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s gaze glistened out of sight versus his own. ¡°Who could ever want this?¡± she asked aloud quietly.

    ¡°The sickest kind of people the world has to offer.¡±

    She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry. About everything.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡±

    Celestina recoiled. Even with his voice low, she didn¡¯t attempt to cut him off before any poison could touch her once more.

    ¡°Did Allison tell you where it was?¡±

    Celestina hesitated. ¡°Where she--¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She nodded slowly. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Josiah sighed. ¡°Make it up to me there. If you¡¯re serious, you¡¯ll go.¡±

    Again, albeit briefly, she hesitated. At last, Celestina nodded once more. ¡°I will.¡±

    Satisfied, Josiah turned to Octavia instead. ¡°It¡¯s behind the church. Sorry that you¡¯re gonna have to be here a bit longer.¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°Behind it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    At the very least, he didn¡¯t make her go back inside. It was easy enough to circumnavigate the building, and having an entourage eased her heart somewhat. The apprehension that came with continued proximity to the Velrose Church in general was palpable, regardless. Even now, Octavia wasn¡¯t completely and utterly convinced that routine bells wouldn¡¯t begin to toll with the passage of day. It was a distressing concept that followed every last footstep. She didn¡¯t have the strength to share it, just as she still didn¡¯t have the strength to look up.

    The only instance in which she¡¯d circled the back half of Velrose in general had both been mired in disaster and preceded even further suffering. Granted, the plummeting drop to the churning ocean beneath had laid beyond the walls rather than behind the church. The suspense still came with its own discomfort, and it wasn¡¯t until she finally laid eyes on the grassy plot that she could breathe a sigh of relief. Morbid as it was, it made sense. It was a church.

    It wasn¡¯t elegant, although no home for the deceased ever really was. It was populated enough, gravestones and markers speckled across the lush greenery with care and precise placement. Their materials were varied, their engravings and words of memory just as so. Some bore flowers of their own, either adjacently planted or laid at stone bases with great caution. Not one tribute to the departed was truly immaculate, weathered by nature and time. Still, each came splendidly close. Octavia was careful to watch her step.

    ¡°Is that¡­¡±

    ¡°Probably.¡±

    Whatever Josiah and Celestina had come to observe came well before Octavia¡¯s own realizations. One gravestone stood closer to a memorial than anything, given its sheer grandeur and abundant offerings. Roses in utter excess, soft pink and blooming as they were, lie freshly scattered in blossoms or by petals alone across the marble. It was gorgeous, at least from afar, and Octavia could even see the stray bits of petals past that a gusty breeze had carried across the cemetery. They were a fixture, raw as they were.

    As to what epitaph was engraved upon it, carved at an angle Octavia couldn¡¯t immediately see, it was perhaps long enough to warrant its own separate stone of homage. She was surprised someone¡¯s steady hands had been skilled enough to make the entire inscription fit.

    Blessed is our blossom, beloved and blooming beneath the morning sun. Blessed is our hope, that her salvation may be felt in every soul. Blessed is our acolyte, a savior in the darkest of hours. May we receive your grace in our hearts, and may your beauty endure for all time. Sleep peacefully, oh eternal blossom.

    Even in death, she wasn¡¯t free of their greed. Octavia couldn¡¯t help but bristle on Sonata¡¯s behalf, should her assumptions be correct. In that way, such an otherwise splendorous homage was lost on her, and the brilliant roses that had been lovingly dispersed at her grave may as well have withered. She didn¡¯t like imagining what the acolyte¡¯s body looked like beyond the grass and sod that sheltered her from the sun. Octavia didn¡¯t dare think about it--even though Sonata had been blessed with a softer landing, between the two of them.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on with that one?¡± she heard Harper ask quietly.

    Octavia followed his gesture towards the far end of the cemetery, almost out of sight versus the memorials that had obscured the view. The barbed wire was exceedingly confusing, and her initial suspicions led to a hazard lodged in a highly unfortunate location. As to what concern would warrant the perfectly-measured barricade, high-rising and firm, she was unsure. It was plain, sharp, and not as weathered as she would¡¯ve expected from exposed metal. As such, the flaking rust that peppered the grass in excess was inexplicable.

    Her eyes trailed downwards to yet more wire, crumpled and compromised as it lie helplessly in the sod. It bled a deep orange, and she had her answer. It wasn¡¯t any less baffling. The singular marker within, more of a haphazardly-placed blank rock than a true gravestone, only added to her befuddlement.

    Celestina covered her mouth in silence, her eyes watering in the process. Josiah shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°That¡¯s definitely the one. Figures.¡±

    Octavia gave him her attention instead. ¡°What¡­is that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s horrible,¡± Celestina whispered, her voice nearly cracking. ¡°How cruel.¡±

    Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. I can¡¯t imagine how many people would try to mess with it after all of that. This was probably the best they could come up with. I¡¯m shocked they bothered to bury her at all, considering what she did to their acolyte. Guess that comes with the title, for whatever it was worth.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to freeze, her own eyes widening with horror. ¡°Then, that¡¯s¡­Selena?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°It could¡¯ve been worse. I honestly wonder if they gave her a coffin.¡±

    Viola¡¯s fingers curled into fists. ¡°Josiah, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­messed up,¡± Renato added weakly, averting his eyes.

    Octavia didn¡¯t want to imagine what rested beneath the same plot, either--perhaps less than Sonata¡¯s own. The mental image alone was enough to put her on the threshold of bells she thought she could get through the day without. The longer she stared at the barren, forbidden grave, the worse her stomach felt. The hypothetical idea of Priscilla buried in such a disrespectful way was mind-numbing. She couldn¡¯t begin to fathom what was going through Josiah¡¯s head.

    Celestina¡¯s tears dripped down her cheeks freely. Her best efforts to keep her voice steady were relatively successful, regardless. ¡°Maybe we could¡­request to have her body moved. For all we¡¯ve done for both Velrose and Velpyre, perhaps Allison could aid in honoring our request.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Where would she even be moved to?¡± Josiah asked.

    Celestina hesitated. ¡°To¡­she could return below. That city is already a tomb, for all that was found. It would--¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    Celestina paused. ¡°Why?¡±

    Josiah inhaled sharply. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving her alone down there in the dark. She stays up here, no matter what. I don¡¯t care if it has to be like this, if that¡¯s the alternative. I¡¯ll die before I let her go back down there.¡±

    Once more did Celestina hesitate. Eventually, she gave a meek nod. ¡°I understand.¡±

    For a moment, Josiah was content to stare silently at Selena¡¯s caged resting place. Celestina folded her hands in wordless, tearful prayer, closing her eyes as sorrow dripped onto her intertwined fingers. For all of the tears Octavia wished she could cry, she couldn¡¯t find any in her one moment of need. In truth, she was surprised to find Josiah¡¯s eyes just as dry. As to why he was rolling up his sleeves, she was equally as surprised.

    ¡°How long did you say we have before we leave, again?¡± he asked aloud to no one in particular.

    ¡°The train doesn¡¯t come for a few more hours,¡± Madrigal said softly.

    Josiah stretched somewhat. ¡°That¡¯s plenty of time.¡±

    Octavia eyed him with confusion. ¡°For what?¡±

    She outright cried out on his behalf when he wrapped one palm around the wire, unflinching and unfazed. Every inch was razor-sharp, every barb jagged and ruthless. Josiah didn¡¯t so much as recoil under any given grip, even as his bare skin snagged on the hostile metal again and again. He didn¡¯t even wince. Most of those present did on his behalf, if not filling in verbally where his lack of painful expressions did not.

    ¡°Josiah, what are you doing?¡± Harper cried.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna get hurt!¡± Viola scolded.

    He was already pretty far along into that, his quiet suffering worsening as he climbed ever higher along the barricade. Every little spear that dug viciously into his palms and forearms breached his delicate skin with minor resistance. Beneath the pressure of his unhindered ascent, blood trickled steadily from his hands in scarlet streams.

    His arms were streaked in scrapes and abrasions that steadily oozed, although he was indifferent all the same. Whatever assault the acolyte¡¯s barrier could offer him meant nothing, and his only concern came in finding where to carefully balance every upward step. It wasn¡¯t a particularly long way to the top, although watching him slowly suffer in silence all the way up certainly made it feel far longer.

    Josiah fell with much more skill than Octavia would¡¯ve expected, given the height he¡¯d scaled and the damage he¡¯d sustained in the process. He didn¡¯t tumble at all as he vaulted over the top of the wire perimeter, the highest barbs snagging against his clothes slightly in the process. He landed on his feet with only a grunt and a minor stumble to show for his efforts. Josiah smeared his bloodied palms casually against his pants, content to ignore the wounds speckled about his forearms that still throbbed and bled.

    From this side of the fence, Octavia could hardly hear him, for whatever words were leaving his mouth. He was most definitely speaking, if the extensive motions of his lips were anything to go by. She could at least see him settle down comfortably before the poor excuse for a gravestone. He was apparently unfazed by the blades of grass that assailed his weeping palms when he leaned backwards comfortably. Of most importance was the fact that he was smiling for the first time in several days, bleeding and punctured or otherwise.

    Octavia watched him in utter silence for some time, his indecipherable and one-sided conversations floating vaguely past her ears. Sometimes, he sprinkled them with muted laughter. Sometimes, there were gestures. Sometimes, he brought out his journal, leaning contently against the stone as he either sketched or wrote for quite awhile. At least once, Josiah lifted the pages aloft, angled proudly towards the sun alone. It was the only time Octavia found her tears. She wasn¡¯t the only one. She could¡¯ve watched him for hours. She did.

    It was a smile she¡¯d seen tucked safely away, one that didn¡¯t match that which he''d offered herself or those she loved. It was for Selena alone that Josiah glowed so brightly, and Octavia had no doubt that his warmth could challenge even the acolyte¡¯s luminous flame. Where Selena¡¯s mother paid her respects in silence, her most precious person paid his respects in everything she loved most about him. More than any tolls or guidance, the shine in his eyes as he spoke to the acolyte so high above him was the one true victory Octavia could take back with her from Velrose.

    <hr>

    There was an overpowering urge to completely shut down the moment she set foot in Selbright, and not exclusively due to travel-borne fatigue. Octavia was running on utter fumes as she pushed her way through the tiny handful of tolls she¡¯d agreed to, small in number and yet sizable in effort. She didn¡¯t especially regret resuming her work, for all she¡¯d pleaded to step back into the role several days prior. Granted, fresh perils that were entirely untethered to the blossom or the flame were an excellent cleanser, as grotesque as the thought was for her.

    She never in her life thought she¡¯d be grateful for more tolls. So as not to dismiss the suffering of those whose eyes she stole and those whose partners she guided, she opted to take that secret to her grave. She was going to miss Mina, her best efforts to convince the girl to move to Tacell about as fruitless as Francisco¡¯s before her. Octavia knew the exact combination of words, untruthful as they were, to get her to at least visit.

    He, uh, I¡¯m sure he¡¯d¡­be happy to get to know you better, if you asked him. He¡¯s really nice.

    You¡¯re not gonna go gettin¡¯ jealous on me, right?

    I¡¯m not attracted to him, Mina, she¡¯d deadpanned. Seriously.

    He can¡¯t just come here? How the hell am I supposed to make him a loving home-cooked meal in the middle of friggin¡¯ nowhere?

    You can borrow our kitchen. Maybe we can¡­leave you guys alone for that? And you can stay with us for a few days?

    How alone?

    For dinner.

    Whose room am I staying in?

    My room, Mina.

    It was still a work in progress. She would handle Josiah¡¯s unknowing role in her plan later.

    Octavia almost cried the moment she was back in Tacell. It was borderline embarrassing to recognize the degree to which she¡¯d come to call it home. Really, anywhere besides Velrose was a blessing, and yet the familiarity of the settlement she¡¯d come to love brought warmth to her heart. Despite her best efforts to keep her elation subtle, she had suspicions that at least a handful of her companions had recognized her relief. She hadn¡¯t decided how much she cared yet, or if she cared at all.

    Her schedule was no longer rigid, her ban on witnessing tolls no longer active. At her leisure, she was technically free once more to act as she pleased. She¡¯d left reluctant Maestro territory, and what came in its stead was that of those who knew what was to come. For the first time since arriving in Tacell, she began to feel guilty.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d never guided the Muse of a Maestro hesitant to relinquish their role before. Even now, Octavia still regretted the way by which she¡¯d somewhat pressured Domino into surrendering Breileneth--for a good cause or not. She could now add Allison to that list of guilty guidances, too, she supposed.

    There was no explicit pushback in Tacell, for the most part. There were those who graciously volunteered, and she was more than thankful to not immediately begin the process of demanding and coercing. Of the Maestros she¡¯d spoken to in passing, most had been understanding, regardless. She hoped it would stay that way. She feared what would happen once it didn¡¯t anymore.

    Octavia stopped engaging with the mental math of it all. It was getting stressful to keep up with, and she assumed someone would fill in for her, eventually. She had a vague idea of the most likely candidate. It almost made her feel guilty to put even more weight on Josiah after the past several weeks.

    You have returned to your task so quickly.

    He, by comparison, was starting to drive her insane--well-intentioned or otherwise.

    Octavia had to fight not to roll her eyes. Yeah. I don¡¯t really want to sit around and do nothing. I told you, I just wanted to get back to Tacell, and then I¡¯d¡­do whatever came after that.

    And you are doing wonderfully. If I can be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to request my aid.

    She sighed, sprawling out half-heartedly across the bed. You don¡¯t have to keep praising me, you know. I¡­appreciate it, but I already know that everyone¡¯s happy about going home. Don¡¯t worry about it so much.

    I speak as I mean.

    You always do.

    He was quiet for a moment. Are you distressed?

    Octavia smirked at the ceiling. I¡¯m always distressed.

    I mean to say, rather, how are you faring emotionally?

    She pursed her lips. Stradivaria, I really don¡¯t¡­feel up to diving into all of that. I¡¯m doing my job. It¡¯s not exactly pleasant. Can you blame me for being a little upset, sometimes? Or, like, really upset?

    I do not fault you. Any in your position would surely feel the same. That is why I take such pride in calling you my own, Octavia, for how you strive to succeed in the face of sorrow.

    It was getting irritating. There was a time when it was endearing, and that time was no longer now. Look, could you just¡­lay off the praise a little bit? I know you mean well, but it kind of hurts, at this point. From you, from the other Muses, from everyone. I don¡¯t want any of you to praise me. I don¡¯t want to keep getting put on a pedestal over and over. Please, just¡­let me do this in peace. I already know you¡¯re thankful. That¡¯s plenty.

    The way he hesitated to respond almost made her feel bad. I understand.

    She did feel bad, actually. I¡¯ll¡­be sure to tell you if I ever need anything, just like always. I still want your help. I still need your help. Let¡¯s just do this one step at a time.

    I understand, Stradivaria repeated.

    Octavia sighed. I love you, she reminded.

    And I you.

    The silence that followed hurt, somewhat. She hadn¡¯t meant to essentially shut him up. A change of topic felt just as awkward, frankly. The idea of being alone in the room with him, knowing he possibly lie waiting with yet more pressing and prodding to come, was unsettling. Against her better judgment, she sat up with a mild stretch. One of her braids was fraying, and she at least put a moment aside to offer it love and attention.

    Are you going somewhere?

    Upon rising to her feet, she stretched in full this time. Just a walk.

    So late, once more?

    Octavia smiled, already slipping her boots on delicately. It''s how I clear my head. It¡¯s usually nice out, and it helps me sleep.

    You enjoy your solitude, then?

    She paused. Does that offend you at all?

    It does not. I simply fear for your safety.

    Tacell is pretty safe.

    The world has not been kind to you.

    Octavia scoffed. He wasn¡¯t exactly lying. I¡¯ll be fine, really. There¡¯s tons of Maestros around, anyway. If anything happens, there¡¯s lots of people who can help. I¡­really am okay.

    Return safely. I will await you with patience.

    She appreciated that sentiment, at least. Thanks. I¡¯ll be back soon enough.

    It was always odd to leave the cottage with only weightlessness on her back to show for it. It was always difficult to descend the stairs in silence, too, given the degree to which the moon had climbed high into the sky of an autumn night. It was true that the breeze was refreshing to her soul and her lungs in equal measure, and it was true that her excursions left her satisfied and less irritable compared to battling insomnia. It was not necessarily true that they cleared her head, for how many mysteries they tended to pack her mind full with. She¡¯d multitask, at least, as much as she knew she shouldn¡¯t be.

    <hr>

    This time, she remembered not to knock.

    Octavia still hadn¡¯t established a solid way to announce her entry into the cottage not her own, given that anything she could come up with was far from subtle--as was necessary, apparently. She had confirmed this time, with 100% certainty, that the door was always unlocked. As to whether or not that was common knowledge in Tacell, she was unsure. She doubted anyone cared, if so, given his lack of routine visitors. Octavia at least made the effort to pull the door shut behind her this time, lest he find her first and trap her like an animal again.

    She had one idea, offered not to him. It would be for the Muse alone, and she opted to keep her words silent.

    Mixoly?

    Octavia got nothing. It wasn¡¯t that surprising.

    Mixoly, she pleaded wordlessly again.

    When there was still no answer, she cupped her hands around her mouth. She got two syllables deep before remembering her prior discussion, biting her tongue as she quickly swapped aliases. ¡°Miracle?¡± Octavia called instead, twice over. ¡°Miracle?¡±

    I have told you, Ambassador, that I am no miracle.

    Her voice was a relief, even unseen. You¡¯re a miracle to me, remember?

    It was the first time Theo had met her without his Harmonial Instrument pressed threateningly to his lips. It didn¡¯t mean the piccolo wasn¡¯t still somewhat of a concern, given the way it remained half-aloft in his hands and poised to trail straight to wherever it was needed. Raising her arms in surrender, at least mildly, was still a reflex. Until he stopped greeting her with mild hostility, Octavia figured it would be.

    She really, really wished he¡¯d let a bit of light in every now and again. Octavia had half a mind to wonder if Theo preferred to have an edge over her, sticking to shadows and corners she couldn¡¯t catch. It never failed to startle her, no matter how slowly he actually emerged.

    He eyed her up and down, perching on the tips of his toes to peek over her shoulders. She turned in the slightest, offering a peaceful view of her barren back. It was enough to alleviate his primary concern, hopefully. When Theo backed down, she breathed a silent sigh of relief. A bit of trust would be nice, given that she hadn¡¯t gone back on her word since his first threat.

    ¡°Do you ever sleep?¡± she asked aloud. ¡°You¡¯re always awake when I get here.¡±

    Octavia was largely counting on her unseen interpreter. When Theo shook his head, she was grateful for the assistance. He cradled the piccolo in his arms precariously as he signed in return, slow movements accompanying his neutral gaze. Again, Octavia could only wait and hope.

    ¡®I wait for you,¡¯ he says.

    She needed to thank Mixoly more often for the help. Still, Theo¡¯s silent words were confusing. ¡°Me? What do you mean?¡±

    He paused. Then, he delivered yet more calm motions to her waiting eyes.

    ¡®In case you come, I wait for you.¡¯

    Octavia rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. ¡°I, uh¡­I¡¯m sorry for the inconvenience. You don¡¯t have to stay awake all night just for me. I know I haven¡¯t been here that much.¡±

    Theo shook his head. Again, he signed quietly, his face relatively unreadable in a way that was somewhat distressing.

    ¡®I can sleep when you¡¯re gone. No one comes here.¡¯

    Octavia frowned. ¡°Can¡¯t I just¡­come during the day? I¡¯ll still leave Stratos behind. All the other Maestros know that you live here, right? Does it¡­matter if anyone else knows I¡¯m coming? I mean, River for sure already knows that I met with--¡±

    Who among them is aware that you have returned to this place, Ambassador?

    The words were certainly Mixoly¡¯s alone. She eyed the little piccolo. Theo¡¯s gaze followed suit, drifting down into his arms. ¡°No one,¡± she reassured. ¡°I haven¡¯t told anybody. River¡¯s the only one who knows I ever came here, and just that¡­one time.¡±

    Of the Muses, as well, are any privy to our meetings?

    Octavia shook her head slowly. ¡°I haven¡¯t told any of them. None of them know. Even my friends don¡¯t know.¡±

    It must remain as such.

    ¡°I can¡¯t even tell my friends about you? I know they won¡¯t say anything.¡±

    You must not, lest you place yourself in yet more peril. To simply be seen here is a danger, and no longer can you feign ignorance as an excuse.

    She sighed. ¡°You¡¯re always so cryptic every time I talk to you. You keep telling me I¡¯m in danger, and you won¡¯t say how. You asked for my help, and I¡¯m not even sure what I¡¯m supposed to be giving. I¡¯m not going to pressure you to let me see you, but I just¡­don¡¯t understand you.¡±

    You must comprehend the risk that such knowledge carries.

    ¡°I mean, I want to understand you. I want to be able to send you home, too.¡±

    I, too, could hope for little more. Whether such is possible is determined by your hands alone, oh Ambassador. Have you made your choice?

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Regarding?¡±

    In whom will you place your trust? Will you delve beneath that surface and believe in my words?

    Octavia hesitated. ¡°I--¡±

    Will you strive to go beyond the path that Stratos has shown you?

    Her breath hitched in her throat. ¡°Are you¡­going to make me choose between you and Stratos? He¡¯s my partner. I can¡¯t just--¡±

    I will not force you to choose, Mixoly clarified softly. I will speak to that which he has not spoken. My word and his will not be alike. The truth, then and then alone, will be yours to decide upon, Ambassador.

    Even now, Mixoly continued to paint Stratos as a liar, although her cryptic words were just as befuddling as always. As to what he was supposedly lying about, her subtle accusations did little to calm Octavia¡¯s heart. She tensed. Lying to a Muse didn¡¯t feel great. In the worst-case scenario, she wasn¡¯t necessarily required to believe Mixoly. She hoped the Heartful Muse was at least honest about that sentiment.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­hear you out,¡± Octavia said with false confidence. ¡°I¡¯ll listen to what you have to say.¡±

    You will not enjoy it.

    She resisted the urge to scoff. She didn¡¯t enjoy much of anything that came with being the Ambassador anymore. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I want to know anyway.¡±

    For a moment, Mixoly was silent. Do you still wish to perceive me?

    Octavia blinked, taken aback for a moment. She nodded fervently soon after. ¡°Y-You mean, like, meeting you? Of course, if you¡¯re comfortable with it!¡±

    Theo¡¯s eyes snapped downwards to the instrument sharply. Even wordless, his gaze spoke volumes. He didn¡¯t budge, clutching Miracle Agony tightly in two small, white-knuckled hands. Despite how calmly his shoulders rose and fell, his tension was poisonous. Octavia didn¡¯t like it.

    It is alright, she heard Mixoly offer gently. Trust is to be reciprocated.

    Theo hesitated to react to her words. It took an extended period of time before he averted his eyes, hiding his gaze from Octavia in turn. Where words were lost, Octavia at least heard the sharp, exasperated exhale that preceded the light.

    She was so used to doing it herself. She genuinely forgot who he was, his heart just as radiant.

    The small stature of the Heartful boy made the Muse¡¯s emergence all the more ethereal to witness. Soft whites and gentle golds challenged the darkened atmosphere of the cottage, just subtle enough so as to not shame the moonbeams themselves. She wouldn''t have been out of place beside the same moon, for how muted and regal her radiance was.

    Mixoly came with grace and peace, luminous in a way that seemed nearly meek. It wasn¡¯t so much that her glow was meager, resplendent as it came. Still, it was far from the confident brilliance that Octavia had grown used to seeing upon Stratos¡¯ visage. Even Jasse, in their one fleeting encounter, had been far more luminescent. Where they were brightly-burning stars, Mixoly was a quiet twinkle, instead.

    By comparison to Octavia¡¯s own partner, she was small herself. She was nearly smaller than even Orleanna, and just as petite. Still, as could be expected of a Muse, she was certainly larger than both of the Heartful Maestros who bathed in her benevolent glow. Octavia couldn¡¯t believe she¡¯d opted to hide for so long. She was beautiful in every way, just as the Ambassador had suspected. She said as much.

    ¡°You¡¯re lovely,¡± Octavia praised with a gentle smile.

    Aloud, her voice was pleasing in a way Octavia had trouble articulating--her timid nature be damned. ¡°I do not deserve such praise.¡±

    Octavia curtseyed out of habit. Even upon realizing her mild error, she followed through. ¡°I¡¯m Octavia, the Ambassador. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°I am aware of who you are, though, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia stifled a chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­something I do when I meet a Muse face-to-face for the first time. I feel like it¡¯s polite.¡±

    Mixoly was quiet. ¡°Though you would know my name already, should I return the favor, then?¡±

    ¡°If you want,¡± Octavia offered. ¡°You don¡¯t have to if you don¡¯t want to. It¡¯s just a habit for me.¡±

    Regardless, Mixoly didn¡¯t object. Ever so delicately, Mixoly laid one hand over where her heart would rest, her faceless gaze cast down upon the Ambassador.

    ¡°I am Mixoly of the Heartful,¡± she spoke quietly, ¡°and I have committed a sin that cannot be forgiven.¡±

 [EXTRA] 85.5. Flickering Flame

    Hell was never meant to bear something so beautiful. Of any miracle that could¡¯ve been granted to a city so wretched, the acolyte offered up the only one that mattered. She was so, so lovely, in each and every way.

    She didn¡¯t take after her mother much. The closest she got was the hair, wispy as it still was. The warm chocolate in her little eyes was just as gorgeous as that in her father¡¯s own. Soft skin and tiny hands were precious in ways not meant for the Cursed City, and Seraphim¡¯s song was the poorest lullaby the Velpyre Acolyte could provide. Celestina was always shocked that it never awoke Selena, thrice over as it came each night. If anything, she could¡¯ve sworn the baby slept better. It was in her blood, maybe.

    Celestina lamented, and probably always would, her inability to embrace both worlds. Where one hand reached to coddle an infant, the other settled onto the keys of Seraphim¡¯s Call. There were twenty-four hours in a day, and the flame couldn¡¯t burn forever--try as she might. Either she was a faulty acolyte or a faulty mother. To be fair, she¡¯d spent most of her life being informed of the former. With her arms full of tiny love, that still hadn¡¯t changed. It might¡¯ve gotten worse.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure why he ever bothered asking. He always knew the answer, given the shadows permanently splashed onto her face. She humored him anyway. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    Celestina didn¡¯t earn a smile. Selena did, anyway. Kind fingers entangled with her own, grasping those that were so much stronger. ¡°Did she eat today?¡±

    She nodded, shifting the baby in her arms. ¡°Yes. I did what I could. She¡­seems fine. She hasn¡¯t cried much.¡±

    Solaire brushed his free fingertips along the budding tufts of Selena¡¯s hair. ¡°Would you like me to take her?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± Celestina reaffirmed--for a different reason, granted. ¡°I¡­wanted to spend time with her for a bit before nightfall.¡±

    Tiny sounds from a tiny infant were infinitely sweeter than anything Seraphim¡¯s Call could ever give to the Cursed City. Bubbling in her arms as Selena was, Celestina absorbed what innocent happiness she could borrow. It was the first smile she¡¯d conjured all day, exhausted or otherwise. A hand so small was still wrapped around Solaire¡¯s finger, and she couldn¡¯t claim the same. She settled for so many other warmths in its place.

    ¡°Should I give you some time alone?¡± Solaire asked. ¡°I don¡¯t want to take that away from you before you play.¡±

    Celestina shook her head, sharing the same soft smile with him instead. ¡°I¡¯d¡­like to spend time with you, too, actually. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d love the company, as well.¡±

    He raised his eyes to her, and her world of three was perfect. ¡°Of course. You never have to--¡±

    ¡°Lady Acolyte.¡±

    She jumped. Solaire recoiled in turn, sharply withdrawing from Selena¡¯s little grip. It was nearly enough to startle her, and sounds so recently pleasant grew tinted with something dangerously distraught. It was one more reason to hold her close.

    ¡°I-I¡­hello,¡± Celestina stammered, casting her eyes towards the carpet.

    He was somewhat new. She hadn¡¯t bothered to learn his name, nor did she want to. He¡¯d slipped into the role disgustingly well, and robes far from pure did him terrible justice. She wished he¡¯d forget her own moniker--although the title was a shield in and of itself. It was Celestina¡¯s one advantage.

    ¡°And Solaire,¡± he added, bowing in the slightest.

    Solaire returned his respects, strained or not. ¡°Good evening.¡±

    His smile was false, as were they all. Celestina hated where it landed, and she further loathed the way he drew near. ¡°How fares little Selena?¡±

    More than any other, that was the name she wanted off of his tongue. She pressed Selena tightly to her chest. ¡°She is¡­well.¡±

    If she had her way, the clergy would never lay eyes on her at all. Celestina knew better. In a perfect world, her arms would be a safer place for an infant. Solaire moved closer to her, and the feeling of him at her side was enough to steady her heartbeat. Fast as it went, she feared it would harm Selena.

    The man¡¯s eyes were on the girl. Celestina wished her soul was anywhere else. ¡°Wonderful. Already, she is beautiful. In that way, she is so like her mother. Surely, she will grow to be such a lovely fla--¡±

    ¡°How can we help you?¡± Solaire interrupted firmly.

    The way his fists were clenched at his sides wasn¡¯t lost on Celestina, even in her peripheral vision. Where his presence was her shield, narrow eyes were a sword forged on her behalf. The man didn¡¯t back down, his deceptive smile endless.

    ¡°I simply intended to give my greetings to the child,¡± he clarified. ¡°I¡¯m thrilled to see that she is healthy. Tell me, Solaire, do you and our flame plan to bear yet more children?¡±

    Solaire flinched. Celestina did the same. When his distressed gaze drifted to her, every word was instinctive. ¡°N-No. She is¡­precious. She will be our only child.¡±

    It was a half-truth. Given the Hell she lived in, she would never dare offer the rest to the clergy.

    It had taken long enough for his face to fall. ¡°I see. Still, minds do change. Do not shun the idea so soon, Lady Acolyte. Your flame is warm, and you were born to nurture. It is in your blood.¡±

    The moment his hand floated towards Selena, Celestina had to battle the urge to run. With certainty, her racing heart risked injuring the baby this time. ¡°Precious as she is, to know that she, too, will come to warm such a darkened world is a bless--¡±

    Her arms were vacated far too quickly. Solaire practically snatched Selena from her grasp, fast enough that he earned whimpers of surprise. Somewhere between urgent and gentle, it was a relief when he still opted to cradle her with care. It was the first time today that the infant grew upset. Celestina was hardly immune to the same.

    ¡°Lady Acolyte,¡± Solaire said strictly, stroking Selena¡¯s wispy locks, ¡°you should¡­go prepare for your duties. It¡¯ll be night, shortly.¡±

    She had time. She had an ample amount of it, really. Celestina¡¯s stomach sank. ¡°Solaire--¡±

    His eyes flickered back and forth between the clergyman and Selena, pooling with something tense. Keeping her breaths steady was as much of a trial as suppressing her tears. ¡°I-I¡­you¡¯re right. I will¡­go ready myself.¡±

    That was enough. She¡¯d figured it would be. For them, it always was, and devotion was the easiest path to leniency. Even so, the hint of displeasure on the man¡¯s face was not at all lost on Celestina. ¡°Right, then. Do what is necessary, Lady Acolyte. We will embrace your song with gracious hearts, as ever. I give my best wishes to little Selena.¡±

    The fact that he departed first was an immense relief, although she caught the harsh eyes that sporadically fell over his shoulder on the way down the corridor. It wasn¡¯t until he was out of sight altogether that she could stop shaking. She hadn¡¯t realized she was shaking to begin with.

    Solaire had, apparently. ¡°Celestina,¡± he said softly.

    Selena was near to crying, if her rising sounds of discontent meant anything. It hurt to hear. If Celestina reached for the baby, she had a feeling that Solaire wouldn¡¯t give her back. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t¡­¡±

    At the very least, she much preferred Selena in his arms versus anywhere near the clergy. ¡°I¡¯m¡­going to put her to bed,¡± Solaire murmured. ¡°Before they come back.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s eyes watered. ¡°I understand.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll watch her. Don¡¯t worry. Do what you must.¡±

    She still had time. She had too much of it, now, clogged with emptiness where love had once been. She nodded anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with her at sunrise.¡±

    ¡°Be safe.¡±

    The fact that he had to add it at all was damning. It never failed to crawl under her skin, a charm that kept her warm and scorched her veins all at once. Divorced from a galaxy she¡¯d so carefully cultivated, Celestina couldn¡¯t be less safe if she tried. Every facet of the cursed flame would see to that much.

    <hr>

    Seraphim¡¯s Call was the closest she would ever come to true sanctuary, if Solaire left her alone. Even then, the organ had been twisted and used in much the same way as the acolyte. Velpyre strangled them in tandem, and it was the only camaraderie she¡¯d find in a chapel so cold. The keys never warmed her hands. They got close enough.

    Part of her wondered if Selena could hear. She was torn between a louder song or a softer song, if so. The Dissonance was completely and utterly irrelevant. If Celestina had her way, the city would harbor a family of three alone. In that way, for once, Seraphim¡¯s song would be as sacred as the clergy made it out to be.

    Her rich melody tapered off, ringing notes blessing the stagnant air as they fizzled and died. Blood that had rippled so delicately steadied at last, stilling in her veins as her heartbeat grew audible. Fatigued as she was, the concept of simply sleeping in Seraphim¡¯s arms until her second song of the evening was tempting. It was all Celestina could do not to curl up against the keys altogether. She settled for resting her forehead against the hardwood, indulging in the remnants of rumbling vibrations.

    Seraphim was innocent. In the church, innocence was a rarity. Celestina still contemplated giving Selena a formal introduction. Given the cursed home in which she was raised, she¡¯d receive one someday regardless.

    ¡°Lady Acolyte,¡± she heard.

    Celestina didn¡¯t have the energy to be surprised. She had enough energy to raise her head, and that was the most she could muster. ¡°Yes?¡±

    She at least recognized him, versus her first interloper. In the throes of exhaustion, his name slipped her mind, and his face was all she had. For what sentiments blurred together in their voices, she couldn¡¯t be blamed. They were lucky that she could tell them apart at all, at this point. ¡°Are you through with your song?¡±

    Celestina tensed, settling her hands into her lap. ¡°I¡­yes, for the time being. The night is young.¡±

    His soft, singular hum was born of weak satisfaction. She was stiff in the face of his approach, still rooted to the bench of the organ. ¡°How are you feeling, as of late?¡±

    Celestina hesitated. As was so often the case, her eyes found the carpet. ¡°I¡¯m often fatigued. Still, I do try my best.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the man went on, his heavy footsteps muffled by the plush velvet below. ¡°To care for a child so young and to shoulder the flame all at once is no simple task.¡±

    That was an understatement. She despised doing one of those to begin with. ¡°It is a path I must follow,¡± Celestina said, her voice dreadfully unstable. ¡°It is what must be done, such that I could call myself the Velpyre Acolyte.¡±

    They were surely the words he was looking for. She¡¯d learned them well enough for that, every drop of honey in toxic sentiments enough to serve as a shield. When the man pressed anyway, her defenses cracked in turn. ¡°Solaire has assisted you in raising the girl. You are not alone.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t tell if it was a statement or an accusation. Celestina¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°I-I¡¯m more than grateful for his help, each and every day. He is a¡­wonderful father. He will surely raise her to be a¡­¡±

    More than anything, that was what they wanted to hear. It was the only thing she could keep from them, caged behind the weakest chains in her heart. The thought by itself left her nauseous, given the absurd amount of implications it came with.

    ¡°Seraphim¡¯s song grows dim.¡±

    Celestina flinched. ¡°What?¡±

    Sharp eyes shattered her desperate shield in full. ¡°You are not yourself, Lady Acolyte. You are not the marvelous flame we know you to be.¡±

    Her own eyes widened, by comparison. ¡°I have played diligently, and I have done all that is expected of me. I have--¡±

    One raised palm stifled what pleading explanations she could offer. ¡°That which would plague this precious city is banished still, yes. Even so, Lady Acolyte, what song you play has faltered. It does not cleanse the soul, nor does it ease the heart. It is hollow. We feel it in our blood.¡±

    Celestina rose quickly from her seat. ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡±

    The hand that struck her came fast and fierce, slamming against her cheek with such force that she staggered. She cried out in pain, gripping the corner of the organ for balance. Eyes simply sharp evolved into daggers, and hers pooled with horror in turn.

    ¡°Do not raise your voice to me, you wavering flame!¡± the man growled. ¡°Where is the grace we have come to expect from the blessing of our acolyte? What is the worth of an empty song? You would do better to birth an heir that could provide where you do not!¡±

    Celestina knew that was where this was going. It always was.

    His hands came tangled into her hair, grasping and pulling. The writhing was instinctive, futile as she knew it to be. He tugged. It hurt, as usual. ¡°They say that you¡¯ve declined to bear more children? You would shirk a bloodline so precious? In favor of sentimentality? Have you no shame, Lady Acolyte? Think of the flame! Think of Velpyre before yourself! That, too, is your duty!¡±

    ¡°Please, stop!¡± Celestina begged, feebly tugging back against his aching grip.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Her resistance was enough for her to earn the floor. The man¡¯s movements were swift, and one downward jerk of his arm was enough to send her hurtling to the carpet with a heavy thud. Of that, too, she cried out. ¡°You¡¯ve a fine husband! An upstanding man of the church who showers you with all you could need, and you would betray even that? Your song decays! It is the next generation of the Ebony family that is meant to carry the burden!¡±

    From below, Celestina threw her teary eyes high. Rebellion was a terrible, terrible idea. Regardless, he¡¯d involved Solaire. For that, she wouldn¡¯t stand. ¡°He loves me! He does not care that I serve as the acolyte, and he is happy with what we have! That¡¯s not the kind of person he is!¡±

    ¡°He does not love you!¡±

    ¡°Yes he does!¡±

    One foot came buried into her stomach. The tip of his boot speared into her, and thick robes did little to insulate her from a blow so strong. Celestina yelped, throwing her hands around her waist as she coughed. ¡°Silence!¡± the man shouted.

    Her gasping, winded breaths meant little to him. Not once did they serve to impede his ire. ¡°No longer are you the sole hope for this city, Lady Acolyte. Do not believe it to be so, lest your ego cloud your duties. That your flame would flicker and die, another would burn in your stead. She shall be beautiful.¡±

    He didn¡¯t need to kick her twice. Celestina was already nauseous for a different reason entirely. ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°That you would fall, she would rise. If you wish to thrive, I suggest you glow yet brighter. You are finite. Know it to be true, Lady Acolyte, for it is by Seraphim¡¯s will alone that you are treasured.¡±

    Battling the tears would¡¯ve been a waste. The man didn¡¯t see them regardless, discarded as she was on a carpet so cold. He turned and left her, making for the chapel doors and leaving a fallen acolyte in his wake. It was all she could do to hold fast to the sobs behind her teeth.

    ¡°I look forward to your song,¡± he said, never looking back, ¡°and I look forward to your guidance renewed. Gifted is our flame.¡±

    The slam of the doors echoed violently, and the vibrations against her skin were far from the gentle embrace she¡¯d come to know from Seraphim. Only then did Celestina surrender her sorrow, her bitter tears splashing to the floor. The physical pain was the least of it, aching and throbbing as much of her was. Most of her had already ached, anyway--that much was a constant.

    With Seraphim¡¯s Call as her witness, she wept. It was all she had left anymore. The way by which they¡¯d always find more to steal was incredible, and she wondered how low they could go. Given the Hell in which she lived, Celestina refused to underestimate them for a moment.

    <hr>

    Half of her expected them to rob her of what precious intermission she had, confiscating the hours in which her fingers weren¡¯t weaving salvation. It was faulty salvation, apparently, and Celestina cursed them in her head as many times over as it took. Leniency had been one perk of pregnancy, given that violence would threaten a tiny flame. A mother as she now was, that, too, was one less shield. To return to the same grueling pattern after several months of near-peace was as heartbreaking as it was anticipated. If she began the cycle anew, she could predict the same kindness on behalf of little embers. It was a disgusting thought, given the way they¡¯d be forsaken in turn, someday. It was what they wanted, ultimately. For that, too, she couldn¡¯t surrender.

    Celestina nearly stumbled into her quarters, still reeling somewhat from the disdainful assault. She loathed to admit the way her head was pounding well before the evening grew deep. Solaire was there with open arms, reaching where she staggered. He always was.

    ¡°Celestina?¡± he asked, his face immediately pooling with worry.

    For a moment, she didn¡¯t have the words to answer. Simply collapsing into his embrace was enough, and she buried her own face in his shoulder. His hand rose to cradle the back of her head, holding her just as close as he¡¯d once held a tiny child.

    ¡°What did they do?¡± Solaire murmured into her ear. ¡°What did they do to you, my love?¡±

    Celestina didn¡¯t want to cry. She couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°I can¡¯t do this again,¡± she said, her voice cracking.

    He only pulled her closer. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I¡­can¡¯t,¡± she repeated. ¡°I can¡¯t. I mean nothing to them. They think Seraphim¡¯s song to be weak, and they think it to be my doing. They think me to be disposable. Perhaps I am, for what I have¡­¡±

    The feeling of Solaire stroking her hair did little to alleviate her sorrow. ¡°You are precious. You are irreplaceable.¡±

    ¡°But not to them,¡± Celestina protested. ¡°They know what is to come, with time and patience. They will turn to her, in my stead. I have condemned her to that life.¡±

    ¡°That time is not now.¡±

    ¡°But that time will come! That day is nigh! Have they already made the decision?¡±

    ¡°They cannot sever a bond forged by Seraphim¡¯s Call alone,¡± Solaire argued firmly, never once compromising his warm embrace. ¡°It is not their place.¡±

    Celestina¡¯s bitterness spilled from her tears into her voice. ¡°And should Seraphim lack a Maestra? Should there be no acolyte at all?¡±

    Solaire was quiet. She pushed. ¡°I have cursed my life and hers all at once by bringing her into this Hell! I have ruined us both! I should never have brought her into this world! Even now, small as she is, it is not too late to spare her from such--¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± he growled. ¡°Don''t say things like that!¡±

    ¡°It is true!¡±

    ¡°She is precious!¡± Solaire snapped, finally freeing her from his warmth. Two strong hands clamped down onto Celestina¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Do you not love her, as I do?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s because I love her that I would save her from this suffering!¡±

    Where Celestina cried, Selena did the same. Her sobs outdid the baby¡¯s own, and still they snuck through the cracks of her broken heart. She threw her teary eyes into a crib once peaceful, safe from the grasp of a church so vile. It was her fault. One of them deserved solace, eternal or otherwise. She couldn¡¯t even provide that much.

    Solaire attended to her, scooping the wailing infant into his arms. That much was probably for the best, given the less-than-pure impulses that still flashed through Celestina¡¯s mind. She couldn¡¯t do more than fidget uncomfortably, steeping in what passing violence still stung in theory. Each time her eyes met Selena¡¯s own, the guilt that touched her was more painful than any blow the clergy could ever deal.

    Celestina was afraid to speak at all. It wasn¡¯t until Selena¡¯s distress had settled somewhat that she found the drive. Even then, breaching the same subject yet further was a risk. Solaire¡¯s ire was a world-shattering concept. She hugged herself tightly. ¡°I¡­fear they may kill me,¡± Celestina whispered. ¡°Is that so irrational?¡±

    It was Solaire¡¯s turn for silence, still holding Selena delicately. ¡°They would not do such a thing without an heir close behind. Selena is too young. She would not be suitable for the role. They know that, as do you.¡±

    ¡°Am I supposed to wait?¡± Celestina asked, her voice faltering. ¡°Am I supposed to count the days, and lament the time that she grows? What mother should be fearful of her daughter¡¯s own childhood? I can¡¯t stand this.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­what do you want to do?¡± Solaire tried. ¡°Will you resist? And how?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know anything anymore.¡±

    Again, he was quiet. He was quiet for long enough that Celestina feared she¡¯d offended him. So safe in his arms as Selena was, the way by which the girl had nearly fallen asleep wasn¡¯t lost on Celestina. Part of her was almost envious of the love Selena claimed for herself, at the moment. In no way could she be blamed.

    ¡°Get through the night,¡± Solaire finally offered softly. ¡°I want to¡­speak again at dawn. I will watch over her, as I have done. Cover your ears and block out their words, if you must. You are not worthless. Never will you be worthless. Please¡­remember that, my love.¡±

    Celestina had no choice but to nod. ¡°I¡­I will see you at dawn, then.¡±

    ¡°I love you,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°And I you.¡±

    She didn¡¯t want to leave. His eyes didn¡¯t give her the option. If Solaire didn¡¯t want her company, she wished he would¡¯ve said so. It left her looping through every last terrified phrase she¡¯d pelted him with, skimming for all that could warrant his disdain. Still, his face was soft. Celestina clung to that for as long as she could. She stole what of Selena¡¯s she could, provided she deserved it at all.

    To be banished to the cold Hell beyond four small walls of her own was miserable. Celestina¡¯s tears followed her out, silent or otherwise, and it was Seraphim¡¯s Call alone who would once more keep her company. She wasn¡¯t dead yet, whether or not the clergy wanted her to be. For what slipped through her fingers more every second, her heart had long since perished instead.

    <hr>

    The exhaustion that had trailed in her footsteps on a nightly basis had only continued to worsen, emboldened by a baby¡¯s cries beneath daylight. By no means was it Selena¡¯s fault. Celestina paid the price for it with lead-laced fingers and heavy motions, slogging through holy melodies by muscle memory alone.

    Seraphim¡¯s Call sang twice more into the depths of the night, its Maestra hardly conscious all the way there. She didn¡¯t dare leave the chapel in between, lest she be confronted and berated once more in the midst of pure fatigue. If they beat her down now, she would surely collapse. She thanked her partner for the safe passage she¡¯d been blessed with in an hour so dark. It was the first divine intervention she¡¯d earned in ages.

    Celestina battled her way to sunrise with what little strength remained. It didn¡¯t matter, given what would never shine upon her in the first place. Departing the chapel was a trial, as was navigating the hallway at all. There would, inevitably, come a breaking point, by which she would reach her limits and burn out in full. As to what would do her in, she had options.

    She was always tired. That was fair. She¡¯d long since surpassed furious, whether at the world or otherwise. Suppressed rage would choke her to death someday, probably. She was scared. She was petrified. She¡¯d begged for death several times over, in her worst moments of torment. For it to loom over her head indefinitely was a completely different terror. Slowly but surely, it was eating away at her soul, and Celestina was a pendulum between fear and numbness. Right now, that was the strongest candidate to strike her down.

    There were no tears left to cry. She didn¡¯t have the energy to make them. If Selena cried in her place, she had a feeling she¡¯d sleep through it. The baby was asleep. Solaire wasn¡¯t, staring silently into her crib. He never rose from the bed as the door opened, nor did he do more than give Celestina his gentle gaze instead.

    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± he said plainly.

    Celestina nodded, closing the door behind her. ¡°Yes,¡± she replied, just as plain.

    Solaire stole back his gaze. She hated how short of a time she¡¯d had it. Again, his eyes were on a sleeping Selena alone. Celestina settled down onto the bed beside him, resisting unconsciousness as best as she could.

    ¡°I want to get you out.¡±

    It took time to register that he¡¯d spoken at all. Celestina raised her head. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I want to¡­get you out,¡± Solaire repeated. ¡°Of Velpyre.¡±

    His words didn¡¯t sink in immediately. They sat on the surface of her skin, heavy and chilling. ¡°Solaire?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°I would blame their harsh words on bluster, usually. Still, what they¡¯ve said carries weight, if what you¡¯ve said is true. You have a successor now. Where once were empty threats may now come those of merit. You shouldn¡¯t stay here. If your life truly is in danger, then you must go while you have the chance.¡±

    ¡°Solaire,¡± she said again, her eyes widening.

    ¡°It is the only way by which I could save your life.¡±

    ¡°Out of Velpyre?¡±

    ¡°I believe I have a way.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°I will follow.¡±

    ¡°And Selena?¡±

    For a third time over, his eyes drifted to the infant, still tranquil and quiet. He echoed her silence.

    ¡°Solaire, what about Selena?¡± Celestina pressed.

    His voice was nearly inaudible. ¡°She will stay,¡± he murmured.

    The speed with which Celestina leapt to her feet left her dizzy, and she staggered immediately. It was a reflex all the same. ¡°We would leave her behind? With the clergy?¡±

    ¡°Should she come, there will be no acolyte,¡± Solaire clarified softly, never once matching her frantic gaze. ¡°Seraphim¡¯s Call will never sing again, and the city shall be defenseless.¡±

    ¡°To Hell with the city!¡± she cried.

    ¡°They will seek to reclaim their acolytes. They will hunt you down--both of you. You know them. You know the lengths to which they would go. Of you, in particular, the punishment would be steep. For the acolyte to elope is¡­unthinkable. Should they involve the blossom, there is nothing that could stop them.¡±

    ¡°I would forsake her,¡± Celestina stated, her voice wavering.

    ¡°Then you must make your choice. I cannot force you.¡±

    She still had no energy for tears. She had plenty for suffering, as always. Again did she follow Solaire¡¯s eyes to the same innocent child, devoid of robes as she currently was. She hated the same violent thoughts that flickered through her head once more, and she beat them back with all of the love she could muster. The urge to hold Selena close and never set her free was all-consuming. For now, she didn¡¯t dare lay one finger on the baby.

    ¡°If¡­I agree,¡± Celestina began, ¡°how would you do it?¡±

    Solaire hesitated. ¡°Those who guard the exit, I know them to be weak to coin. I¡¯ve seen as much once before. I can ensure that no watchful eyes bar our passage. I still possess my passport to the blossom, and I could procure another on the streets within a day¡¯s time. We will make it through the gates unhindered, as well. As to you, a disguise would be simple. I will lend you my clothes and all else you will need. We will¡­travel light. We¡¯ll take only what is necessary. We¡¯ll begin anew, Celestina, somewhere they cannot touch us.¡±

    A child so pure was necessary. A child so precious was worth taking.

    ¡°When?¡±

    ¡°Whenever you are ready,¡± he answered. ¡°I won¡¯t leave your side.¡±

    ¡°She would suffer.¡±

    ¡°I cannot bring you both.¡±

    Part of her wondered if he could save a soul so tiny alone. Given what she was considering, her own might not have been worth it.

    ¡°I love her,¡± Celestina whispered. ¡°I really, truly do love her. I swear it.¡±

    Solaire at last rose to his feet, gathering her into his arms. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I swear this on all that I am.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    It was one more way she stole him from Selena, his warmth nurturing a flame so much more experienced. In her defense, she needed it more right now. She owed Selena an apology for that. It was the least of what she owed, and the least of which she could ever repay. Even out of the Hell of the Cursed City, she¡¯d surely burn in true Hell someday. There was nothing to do but hold her beacon of hope ever tighter.

    She could blame the church. She could blame the city. She could blame Seraphim¡¯s Call, if she really wanted to. Ultimately, it was the Velpyre Acolyte who struck the match to ignite a new flame. Celestina did them the favor of dousing her own.

    <hr>

    It wasn¡¯t simple. It was still straightforward. Her footsteps were quick where her heart was the same. Her palms were clammy, and still her hand was locked in his own. Where he pulled, she followed. If it were her choice, she¡¯d never let go.

    If it were her choice, her arms would¡¯ve been full.

    Solaire had insisted that she didn¡¯t look back, her eyes forward for more reasons than one. Celestina had never left the church to begin with, and his guidance as they raced through the darkened backroads was essential. Every corner he led her around was new. Every shadow-clad alley he urged her through was new. Prying glares would¡¯ve been a risk. He skillfully wove his way out of the path of each, and not one gaze landed on her. Foreign as she was in anything but robes, she doubted they would¡¯ve known.

    If they ever met again, she wondered if Selena would recognize her. Solaire had gone so far as to cut her hair. It was all that had kept them similar.

    What bangs were left in the aftermath battered Celestina¡¯s eyes with every hurried step. Not once did Solaire let her slow, nor would she have stilled of her own accord. He¡¯d always been resourceful, and it was one of so many reasons she adored him. The amount of planning and execution he¡¯d managed in the short time before Sunday was incredible. She still hadn¡¯t wrapped her head around it. For how fast the world was spinning, Celestina couldn¡¯t wrap her head around anything.

    The urge to look back was destroying her. She¡¯d left the door ajar, by which the baby¡¯s cries would echo once she awoke. Someone would attend to her, hopefully. Someone would care for her, hopefully.

    The acolyte was at the stairs, and curious eyes were absent. Dawn was upon her, somewhere. Celestina hadn¡¯t slept. She¡¯d long since learned how to function without sleep, anyway. The adrenaline alone would keep a fizzling flame burning forever.

    It would be years before Seraphim¡¯s Call blessed the streets again.

    Solaire¡¯s hands were on the lever, unhesitant and swift. He pulled, blessing her with the flooding light of Heaven instead.

    Celestina sent a silent prayer to the church at her back. Seraphim would watch over Selena, maybe.

    So, too, was his grip unyielding up the steps, and Solaire forced her to steal them two at a time. She didn¡¯t resist. Exactly once, Celestina defied him, looking down at the city from on high. At the top, drowning in shadow, it was pitiful. It was repulsive. There was a child in there, somewhere, innocent and pure as her flame lay dormant.

    ¡°Celestina,¡± Solaire urged, tugging sharply at her hand.

    She brought her name up, and she left the acolyte behind. Another would someday pick up the title as it tumbled down into the dark. For that, flame or not, Celestina would burn within forever.

 86. Deceit

    Octavia hadn¡¯t left the comfort of her curtsey, her fingers still curled around either end of her dress skirt. It was jarring to hear Mixoly¡¯s name leave her own mouth, particularly aloud. It was even more jarring to hear the harsh accusation she leveled solely at herself. Octavia blinked.

    ¡°A¡­sin?¡± she asked, confused.

    Theo crossed his arms uncomfortably. Even now, he wouldn¡¯t look at her. She could swear he was gradually growing more tense, bystander to the conversation or otherwise.

    Mixoly only nodded. ¡°It is true.¡±

    Octavia almost didn¡¯t want to know. ¡°What¡­happened?¡±

    And when Mixoly didn¡¯t answer, she should¡¯ve known better. ¡°Ambassador, I¡­your excursion, that which you had spoken of previously. Were you successful in your mission?¡±

    The chronic deflection was getting irritating. Still, getting to see Mixoly¡¯s face was progress at last, for how many times she¡¯d needed to invade Theo¡¯s cottage to do it. ¡°I¡­you mean with Valkyria and Seraphe? Yeah. We got both of them out. They were able to go back to Above. It¡­took a lot of effort.¡±

    That was an understatement. Mixoly seemed satisfied enough with the answer. ¡°I congratulate you, then. I have no doubt they were more than grateful for your aid.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°Everyone¡¯s ¡®grateful¡¯. It kind of drives me insane.¡±

    ¡°Gratitude is as simple as it is sweet. It is abundant, I am certain.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    Theo owned a sofa. As to why he completely declined to use it, Octavia had no idea. He went straight for the floor, cross-legged and still more than content to dodge her eyes with everything he had. Only Miracle Agony found any gentleness in his motions, carefully settled in his lap. Confused as she was, Octavia followed suit, meeting him on the relatively-uncomfortable rug. The sofa would¡¯ve been preferable by a longshot.

    ¡°They have showered you with such praises, have they not?¡± Mixoly asked.

    Octavia nodded half-heartedly. ¡°I¡¯m not mad at them. Is it mean for me to say that I wish they¡¯d¡­stop? I¡¯m just doing what I¡¯m supposed to do. I don¡¯t want them to feel like they owe me or anything, but sometimes, I feel like a ¡®thank you¡¯ doesn¡¯t really make up for a toll. I know it¡¯s not their fault. God, I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s no nice way for me to say that.¡±

    ¡°And perhaps that is precisely why they offer such.¡±

    Octavia had to tilt her head back somewhat to eye the Muse above. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    To her relief, Mixoly wasn¡¯t ignorant to the motion. It wasn¡¯t as though a Muse could meet the Maestros at their exact level. Still, she did what she could to lower herself anyway. ¡°Praise is a weak compensation, but a compensation nonetheless. It is a false cure for the deepest wounds, as easily forged as it is freely given. I do not wish to imply that all gratitude you have received thus far has been artificial, but I could not believe every word.¡±

    It was almost a more hurtful suggestion than what Octavia had been thinking. ¡°You don¡¯t¡­think they¡¯re actually grateful?¡±

    Mixoly shook her head. ¡°On the contrary, Ambassador. They must not risk losing that which could pave the path to salvation. Tell me, then, what has Stratos told you of your performance?¡±

    ¡°Like¡­as the Ambassador?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. It wouldn¡¯t be especially polite to admit that was part of the reason she was here to begin with. ¡°He keeps telling me I¡¯m doing a good job. He was driving me insane in Velrose, but he meant well, I think. It¡¯s partially my fault. I go to him when I feel¡­lost.¡±

    ¡°As he should hope.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°He would not have you turn to another.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes, much like Theo¡¯s, found the rug instead. ¡°He¡¯s my partner. Isn¡¯t that normal?¡±

    ¡°He is anything but.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t help the way she gripped the hem of her dress just a bit too tightly. ¡°Mixo--Miracle, is there¡­something wrong with Stratos? You keep talking about him like this, and it¡¯s kind of upsetting. I know you said you don¡¯t have a grudge against him or anything, but you bring him up a lot.¡±

    It was only when Mixoly paused that Octavia looked up once more. The Muse captured her gaze quietly, her words much the same. ¡°Any who would call you their own would be of equal concern. It is by cruel coincidence that Stratos became your guiding light.¡±

    Her words weren''t helping. Octavia didn¡¯t enjoy the way her stomach was twisting into a knot again. ¡°He¡¯s good to me,¡± she argued softly. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­never had a problem with him.¡±

    ¡°He would be an absolute fool to incur your ire, let alone jeopardize your trust.¡±

    ¡°I do trust him. He¡¯s pushy sometimes, yeah, but he¡¯s never done anything bad to me. When I¡¯m scared, he¡¯s there for me. When I¡¯m in trouble, he gives me what I need to protect other people. He loves me.¡±

    ¡°Does he?¡±

    Two words alone were enough to make Octavia feel sick. She wanted to argue, if not at least to shout. It took effort to keep them from sinking in too deeply.

    ¡°H-He does,¡± she insisted, her voice shaking. ¡°He said so. He always says so.¡±

    ¡°He will speak of anything that must be said.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart hurt over the idea alone. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, I am not cruel, nor am I heartless--for as much as you could be led to believe otherwise. There are those among my brethren who do truly cherish their own, and the bonds they share will surely follow across the boundary. I, too, adore this child with all that rests within what is left of my heart.¡±

    Beneath her words, Octavia watched as Theo stroked the piccolo with one thumb gently. It would¡¯ve been endearing, if his eyes weren''t so burdened with quiet pain.

    ¡°Were it not one who claimed you as their own, I would perhaps not assert the same. Of Stratos, in particular, I am doubly sure of such deceit.¡±

    Octavia fought to keep her voice from wobbling any worse. ¡°So, none of my partners would love me, then? That¡¯s awful! What did I do wrong?¡±

    ¡°It is not you, child. It is the Ambassador who they would deceive with such love.¡±

    She froze. ¡°What does¡­that mean?¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s faceless gaze almost burned her soul, for how deep it pierced. It was growing uncomfortable. ¡°The role of Ambassador is not desirable. It is not glamorous, it is not kind, and it is not without inconceivable consequence. There are few, if not none, who would claim such a task willingly. Should it be surrendered, their salvation again hangs in the balance. They cannot afford to lose their Ambassador, my child. They cannot afford such surrender.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°But he¡­said it was my choice.¡±

    ¡°They cannot force you to cling to the role, and this much is true,¡± Mixoly asserted. ¡°Consider, though, did you truly choose to accept this responsibility? Perhaps, was it laid upon your shoulders instead?¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°He asked, and I chose to--¡±

    ¡°Think.¡±

    Octavia bit her tongue.

    ¡°Think very, very carefully, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia disliked the way her heart was pounding. Every accusation was trailing to confrontations she didn¡¯t enjoy thinking about. As to this one, she wasn¡¯t even particularly certain what she should be considering. Stratos had offered the position. He had explained. She had accepted. It was as simple as that. She¡¯d reached the point of having second thoughts regarding this discussion, and every jab at her partner was getting somewhat more distressing.

    He had never led her astray, and the implications that his love was false still stung to even briefly entertain. Octavia¡¯s thoughts weren¡¯t hostile towards him in the slightest, for as much as Mixoly may have desired otherwise. Every memory with him was pleasant, and those that weren¡¯t were born of companionship and trust in her darkest hours. His light had saved her so many times over, blessing her in abundance as she''d begged. Stradivaria''s voice had reached her each and every time.

    Temper your anger or you will lose your life.

    It was one of the first ways he¡¯d saved her, short of his pleas to stand down in the face of Drey¡¯s deceitful charisma.

    Don¡¯t.

    Stop!

    That had been her fault. His voice was too new, too foreign still. She hadn¡¯t yet found the bond she¡¯d so craved, as blessed with it as she now was. She hadn¡¯t so much as even found his name.

    She will be the one.

    Octavia¡¯s blood ran cold. She hadn¡¯t learned it from his lips alone.

    She struggled to control her breathing. It wasn¡¯t working, rattling as it was. The dread that pooled in her stomach shouldn¡¯t have been there at all, for how otherwise inconsequential such a tiny sentence would¡¯ve been. She replayed that voice in her mind thrice over. It wasn¡¯t his. It hadn¡¯t been.

    She is not ready!

    That one was.

    Her eyes rose to Mixoly¡¯s face painfully slowly, and she prayed her face didn¡¯t betray the shock that stabbed her soul again and again. The Muse drank in her revelations with peace and grace, nonjudgmental.

    Could you be the one?

    Had she even had the right to Lyra¡¯s voice, at that time?

    Above all else, do not trust Stratos.

    What would Ethel have said, should he have stood here right this second?

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± she finally breathed, ¡°what is¡­how?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t realize her error until it had already left her lips. If the Muse minded her true name being recklessly released into the open air, she didn¡¯t say so. ¡°I suspect your choice was irrelevant. An Ambassador who may be molded and trusted is not easy to come by. Your heart is pure, Ambassador, and I can attest to as much solely by virtue of your presence in this place. Know that there are those who would seize the chance to weaponize such kindness.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe at all. Even conscious of the way Theo was watching her quietly, she couldn¡¯t help the way she dug her fingernails into her thighs. ¡°A-Are you saying he¡¯s using me?¡±

    ¡°If you do not mind my asking, Ambassador, would he perhaps have an advantage?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she asked quickly.

    Mixoly was calm where Octavia was not. ¡°Is there something that would have made such coercion simpler? If not objectively, then through his eyes alone? If you were chosen, I suspect the decision came with certainty.¡±

    She was afraid to rack her brain again.

    When it clicked, she wanted to vomit. It couldn¡¯t be right.

    ¡°T-There¡¯s one thing,¡± Octavia whispered, her voice nearly cracking from fright. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know if that¡¯s what it is. I really, really, really hope that¡¯s not¡­he isn¡¯t like that. He¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°You do not have to share with me if you do not wish to do so. To simply be aware is to--¡±

    ¡°My sister was the last Ambassador,¡± she blurted out regardless. ¡°And he knows I¡­would do anything for her. Oh, God, Mixoly, that¡¯s not it. He wouldn¡¯t do that!¡±

    The coolness of Mixoly''s words still burned horrifically. ¡°I disagree. Were I to stand in his place, I would argue it could not be any easier.¡±

    Tears pricked at the edges of Octavia''s eyes. ¡°That¡¯s horrible! Why would he do that to me?¡±

    ¡°It is his purpose.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t quite blink them away. If she fought hard enough, she could hold them back, for now. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I have told you time and time again not to trust in Stratos,¡± Mixoly continued. ¡°It is not that I would¡­aspire for you to carry disdain for your legacy, my child. The light that shines upon your heart is perfect and pure in every way. In the same manner, though, I would implore you to exercise great caution around those with whom your blood is shared.¡±

    ¡°You mean¡­the other Heartful?¡±

    ¡°It is to our Lord of All that they answer, and it is his will that they will serve above all else. In that way, perhaps it is not necessarily Stratos who is to blame. Know, though, that he is the bridge between you and our Lord.¡±

    She was beginning to dread returning to her cottage at all, knowing he awaited her there. Thinking of Stratos as a threat was impossible. Her stomach hurt fiercely. ¡°Your¡­Lord. He has a name, right?¡±

    ¡°Lord Ramulus.¡±

    Octavia recognized it, forgotten as it had been. ¡°Lord Ramulus, then. Is he the one who chose me to be the Ambassador?¡±

    Mixoly nodded. ¡°It would be his final choice alone. That is not to say Stratos had no part in suggesting you for the role.¡±

    As much as Octavia would¡¯ve liked to divorce Stratos from the concept of involvement in such a plan, Mixoly was dashing every hope she had. ¡°Does everyone know about this? The other Muses?¡±

    Mixoly hesitated for a moment. ¡°They are¡­complicit, yes.¡±

    If the world could¡¯ve crashed down around her, Octavia wasn¡¯t sure she would¡¯ve been surprised. She struggled to focus, battling to keep herself from floating to a place far from her own body once more. It wasn¡¯t too late to distrust Mixoly.

    ¡°It is more complicated than that,¡± the Muse added.

    Octavia could hardly process herself talking. ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°They are aware of the situation, yes. They are aware of the role the Heartful play in securing their safe return, and they do not interfere. They will hold their tongues, and they will sing their praises. They benefit even from silence itself, should they be so privileged. They are not to speak of the farce.¡±

    ¡°But some of them are different,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°Some of them speak up! Ethel told me everything! He told me everything we asked him, even though he said it was dangerous! I don¡¯t know what he was in danger of, but that has to mean something, right?¡±

    Mixoly tilted her head. ¡°Ethel, you say?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    She paused. Her voice softened somewhat. ¡°He always¡­struck me as bold. If he would be honest with you, Ambassador, then perhaps I could respect him now more than ever. Of what has he told you?¡±

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°I know about the spider web.¡±

    ¡°The¡­spider web?¡±

    When even Theo raised an eyebrow at her, Octavia kicked herself over her free usage of the term. For the sake of covering it up, she spoke as quickly as she could. ¡°I know about¡­what used to exist, and what was destroyed. I know that the world we live in now isn¡¯t the same as what it used to be. I know about all the rules we don¡¯t know about yet, and I know about She Who Brought the World to Ruin. I know how the Dissonance got here. I already knew how to get rid of it, but he clarified a bit. He taught me other stuff, like the Apexes and the problem with the Spirited¡¯s gift. He was wonderful, and I don¡¯t think he was lying to me. He¡­told me not to trust Stratos, too.¡±

    Mixoly was silent for a moment. ¡°He told you of She Who Brought the World to Ruin?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I knew a little bit about it. Stratos also told me, but he said it was a sensitive topic. Ethel was the first one I could really talk to about it.¡±

    Again, she was quiet. ¡°And of Stratos, what little has he said?¡±

    Octavia shrugged. ¡°Just that it¡­makes him upset to talk about. He said she made a mistake. That¡¯s really all he would tell me.¡±

    ¡°A mistake,¡± Mixoly repeated.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    The silence that settled between them was painfully long. Even Theo made no movement to break it. He, too, was content to stare blankly at the little piccolo as he awaited her words unto his heart. Mixoly¡¯s voice in the wake of the stillness almost made Octavia jump.

    ¡°Of Ethel, then,¡± she continued, ¡°you had¡­asked of the danger he faced.¡±

    Once more, Octavia nodded. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t say what it was, just that talking was risky. He was worried about Stratos being there while he talked, too.¡±

    ¡°Stratos¡¯ loyalties lie with our Lord alone,¡± she clarified. ¡°Should one disclose what the Ambassador is not meant to hear, it is our Lord to whom he will report.¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°He would¡­out them like that? Why?¡±

    ¡°The path home that our Lord has so carefully crafted is highly fragile, and its provisions are unfathomable in number. There are those which are harmless, those which our own may discover without consequence. Of our legacies, our names, our gifts upon the blood, all of such are true.¡±

    Octavia waited for her to proceed, mostly. She liked the spider web analogy better. ¡°I¡­get that.¡±

    Mixoly paused for just long enough that the suspense made Octavia itch. ¡°There are some provisions, by comparison, which risk shattering all that was built, should they be disclosed to the Ambassador. There is that which the Ambassador was not meant to know, and that of our own, in turn.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Why?¡± she asked again.

    ¡°It is as I have stated, my child,¡± she said plainly. ¡°They cannot risk the Ambassador surrendering the position, should they learn of undesirable truths. Whether in correlation to the role or simply that which may impact the drive to guide, they are not to speak of what must not be spoken.¡±

    Octavia hesitated to ask the obvious. It took effort to get it out. ¡°Or¡­what?¡±

    Mixoly stared at her for far too long. How an eyeless gaze could leave her feeling so vulnerable was impossible to understand. ¡°At best, they will not return, and of this, I am certain. At worst, they will not exist. Of that, I cannot prove, and yet I strongly suspect it to be so.¡±

    Octavia had to resist the urge to leap to her feet, her heart pounding so heavily against her chest that she feared it might burst. ¡°They can¡¯t go back to Above? Wait, what do you mean they won¡¯t exist? Will they¡­die?¡±

    The way Mixoly would neither nod nor shake her head was overwhelmingly ominous, and Octavia hated it. ¡°All that our Lord does, he does for our brethren. If¡­it would serve a greater interest, I cannot say with certainty that he would not sacrifice one on behalf of all.¡±

    Octavia could¡¯ve choked. Her hands trembled viciously. She was vaguely aware of the lasting marks her fingernails were leaving in her skin, and she was surprised to find she wasn¡¯t bleeding just yet. ¡°T-Then¡­Ethel?¡±

    Only now did Mixoly shake her head. ¡°If you did not tell Stratos of his truthful tongue, then surely his ascent was secure. Fret not. Ethel is cunning, from what I recall of him. He would not have undertaken that which he could not tolerate.¡±

    Octavia breathed a deep sigh of relief. The idea of Ethel suffering for her choices was too much to bear, even in passing. ¡°But¡­aren¡¯t you afraid of being punished? You¡¯re Heartful. Do you answer to Lord Ramulus, too?¡±

    Mixoly was quiet. For a moment, Octavia wondered if she¡¯d even remembered to ask her question at all. When the Muse finally responded, her voice was far softer than was necessary. Octavia had to strain somewhat to catch her answer.

    ¡°I am exempt, in all things. That is the simplest answer.¡±

    Octavia wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°You¡¯re¡­what? What does that mean?¡±

    Mixoly averted eyes she didn¡¯t have. ¡°I do not follow the same ¡®rules¡¯, as you have phrased it. I have no fear, for I have nothing more to lose. He cannot curb my tongue, and it is for this reason that you are not to know me, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°What do you gain by telling me all of this, if you¡¯re being honest? Even if there really is no risk for you, what do you get out of it?¡±

    ¡°I still seek your assistance,¡± she said. ¡°This is only a fair trade.¡±

    ¡°I would¡¯ve¡­sent you home anyway,¡± Octavia clarified.

    ¡°It is not so simple.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Why not?¡±

    It was Theo, rather than Mixoly, who eyed her with something she couldn¡¯t place. It was unsettling. Even now, he clung to Miracle Agony in his palms, not quite choking the little instrument with his grip. Mixoly continued where Theo¡¯s hands were silent.

    ¡°It is¡­as I have stated, Ambassador. I am not bound by the same constraints. It is not by choice, and for what is to come, I apologize. Know, regardless, that I wish to return to Above, much the same as my brethren before me. If my truth is what would compensate for your struggles, I will unravel their deception to pay the price. As I have said, I pray it is a fair trade.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°You don¡¯t have to repay me anything. I would still--¡±

    ¡°I insist,¡± she pushed softly. ¡°I will not settle for weak sentiments when your life is in danger. Save me, Ambassador, and I will endeavor to save you.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. ¡°I¡­I keep trying to ask, but how exactly is my life in danger?¡±

    Mixoly hesitated. ¡°I will tell you time and time again not to trust Stratos.¡±

    ¡°You think he¡¯s going to hurt me?¡±

    ¡°For how close Stratos clings to our Lord of All as he watches over the Ambassador, I have strong suspicions he knows that which even I do not. Be on your utmost guard. He is clever.¡±

    Octavia gulped. She was not even slightly a fan of the fear that accompanied the idea of going back. How she was going to so much as speak to him after this was beyond her. It was a struggle to ignore how clammy her palms were, whether or not she¡¯d only just now noticed.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± she began, well aware she¡¯d long since shunned her pledge to guard the Muse¡¯s true name. ¡°I can¡­witness your toll, if you want. I-If it¡¯s different, I can at least try my best. That¡¯s what you want, right?¡±

    Mixoly shook her head. ¡°Not this night, my child. Already, I have kept you for far too long. If you wish to return once more, I will await you, as will my own. You must not allow him to suspect you under any circumstances. You must¡­tell him nothing of what I have told you.¡±

    Octavia, too, shook her head in turn. ¡°I-I wouldn¡¯t. I don¡¯t plan to.¡±

    ¡°Tell no one.¡±

    ¡°My friends, too?¡±

    ¡°Doubly so.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted awkwardly. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to face him.¡±

    ¡°You must shelter your truths,¡± Mixoly insisted, ¡°lest you incur his suspicions further. Carry on as always. Indulge his honeyed words, yet know them to be false in your heart. Do as he would hope.¡±

    ¡°So¡­fake it?¡± Octavia interpreted loosely.

    ¡°Precisely.¡±

    That, too, made her feel sick. One night alone had flipped her heart inside out. Lying to Stratos sounded miserable--her prior fibbing about her emotional state wouldn¡¯t hold a candle to whatever Mixoly was implying she should attempt.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­gonna come back tomorrow,¡± Octavia stated. ¡°Expect me, okay?¡±

    It would hopefully make up for the continued sudden entries into a cottage not her own. She looked at Theo when she spoke, partially, and she appreciated the way he nodded. That took care of at least one concern. His hands moved softly. Mixoly helped. ¡°¡®Don¡¯t let anyone see you,¡¯¡± she interpreted.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Do not rush yourself, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly warned. ¡°Balance is key. If you must placate those who would follow in your steps instead, do so. Long have I waited, and longer still can I do so with patience. Do not endanger yourself further.¡±

    Theo side-eyeing the Muse with discomfort was an unusual sight. Octavia couldn¡¯t ignore it as she rose to her feet. He didn¡¯t need to speak to disagree, whether with words or gestures alike. His face did the talking, and it was strange to see him at odds with his partner. She was almost afraid to leave them behind as she turned to the door, hesitating briefly before the threshold.

    Octavia peered over her shoulder in time with the flash that stained her peripheral vision. ¡°Mixo--¡±

    Recall my plea, Ambassador. Call me what you will, but guard my name.

    The Muse in question was nowhere to be seen, her luminous stature giving way to stray moonlight and a darkened abode. Only Theo could be found in her wake, the piccolo in his grasp serving as the sole momento of Mixoly¡¯s wonderous presence just moments before. Even with his narrow eyes trained upon the Ambassador, they, too, offered a gentleness she didn¡¯t quite understand. He was silent. The Muse was not.

    Make haste and be safe, Mixoly instructed. Be well, Ambassador.

    Octavia nodded weakly. ¡°I-I¡¯ll¡­help you. I promise.¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t press her, nor did she offer any further words of parting. Theo, just the same, was content to watch her leave in quick silence, unmoving and nearly unblinking. She¡¯d already known she wasn¡¯t supposed to be here, and stealing her way into the night was one thousand times more daunting on the way out than in. The moment one boot crossed the threshold, her heart was pounding far harder than was excusable for an evening walk.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t aware that she was sweating until the breeze tickled her hot skin. She wasn¡¯t aware that she was lightheaded until she tried to step briskly. She was aware that her stomach had filled with the most dangerous of butterflies, poisoning her with dread in excess. Her eyes clung desperately to the full moon above. It was a light beneath which she couldn''t hide, and she was paranoid in a way she couldn¡¯t shake. There were no shadows to veil her, should she need one. What she would actually hide from remained to be seen. What she would fear in the first place remained to be found, just the same.

    It was Mixoly¡¯s word against Stratos¡¯ actions, her accusations against his love. Octavia had known Mixoly for weeks, and she could count their total meetings on one hand. She¡¯d known Stratos for months, if not for a lifetime by proxy. He was practically a fixture on her back, an extension of her arms. What love she could feel in the moments his light surged through her blood was impossible to fake. In reality, Mixoly hadn¡¯t even been content to simply point a finger at Stratos alone. To imagine that Lyra would be just as deceptive, to imagine that Orleanna and Brava would seek to hide the truth, to entertain that Mente and Aste would lie to her by omission, every last concept burned her alive.

    The more Octavia thought about it, the worse the idea ate away at her heart. Breileneth, too, was complicit. So were Seliza, Rondelio, Raisare--even Valkyria and Seraphe, for all she¡¯d just gone through on their behalf. It was only in Ethel that she could place her trust, and she hadn¡¯t even been aware of the risk she¡¯d thrust upon him. She wondered what Josiah would say, if he knew. Octavia wondered what would come of her telling Josiah alone, for what the boy already knew of the spider web.

    She couldn¡¯t, apparently. It was going to drive her insane.

    She was a fool for losing track of time. Octavia could pin down the beaming moon with her eyes all she wanted. Even so, she knew she¡¯d be no closer to getting a feel for the length of her excursion. It had to have been at least an hour at the utmost minimum, if not more. It was the longest she¡¯d ever spent at Theo¡¯s cottage, and Stratos was already aware that she was out in the darkness of Tacell. As to how many times she could manage the excuse of ¡°not paying attention¡± to the growing evening, she was unsure. Just this once, it would probably suffice. She was grateful for the isolation of night now more than ever, and for the time it afforded her to chase her rapid thoughts.

    ¡°Octavia?¡±

    Her isolation shattered as quickly as her peace did. She jumped, and her heart almost left her chest.

    ¡°Is that you?¡±

    Octavia hadn¡¯t heard his voice since Velrose. Even if he was one of the last people she would¡¯ve expected to see in the dead of night, the presence of another person at all was enough to nearly scare her to death. Octavia contemplated ignoring him and pressing onwards, as feeble as she knew the idea would be. She could always run, although she knew nothing of his athleticism. Was she suspicious? Did he have anything to be suspicious of? She knew she was overthinking. It was a reflex.

    ¡°I, uh, yeah,¡± she ultimately stammered as she faced him. She prayed he couldn¡¯t hear her frantically-beating heart, incriminating in its own way.

    Francisco waved half-heartedly. ¡°Hey there. Where are you going this late?¡±

    Octavia faked a smile for him, doing what she could to meet his curious eyes with false confidence in her own. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep. I just wanted to--¡±

    And at the absolute last possible second, the knot in her stomach was her only alarm. She remembered.

    With as much subtlety as was possible, Octavia feigned a stretch, biting her sentence in half with care. She cast her vulnerable gaze high to the moon instead. ¡°I wanted to get some fresh air. Going for walks makes it easier to sleep afterwards, and it¡¯s a really nice night out.¡±

    The part about not being able to sleep wasn¡¯t exactly a lie. She prayed upon prayed that it would be a viable truth. If the Willful boy disagreed, he didn¡¯t say so. He simply smiled with a shrug of his own. ¡°Fair. We¡¯ll see if you still like doing the same thing in a few weeks, though. It doesn¡¯t get stupidly cold in this part of Mezzoria, but it¡¯s still annoying as hell.¡±

    Octavia clung to whatever light conversation she could. ¡°I mean, you already dress warm.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, every time I train anywhere even a little close to Briar, it doesn¡¯t help with a damn thing. I dunno how he can stand it. He still gets frostbite through those crappy little gloves if he¡¯s not paying attention.¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°He¡­gets hurt when he practices?¡±

    Again, Francisco shrugged. ¡°What can I say? Apexes are a pain in the ass, sometimes. Too strong for their own good. You wouldn¡¯t believe the amount of times I¡¯ve nearly burned my freakin'' fingers off. They can be hard as hell to control if you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    Octavia winced. Mina had already given her a pretty solid example in the Ensemble alone. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry.¡±

    He waved one hand with a dismissive grin. ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it. We¡¯re used to it, and we¡¯ve got it figured out. Look, if you¡¯re ever gettin¡¯ too cold, just come hang out with me. I¡¯ll play something to warm you up, okay?¡±

    She smiled--genuinely, this time. ¡°I¡¯d like that, if you¡¯d have me.¡±

    For a moment, he was satisfied with that smile, and she was content with his. When his face fell, it was immediately uncomfortable. ¡°Can I, uh, ask you something?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. Frankly, she feared the worst once more. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    Try as she might to avoid his gaze, the one that found her was far more distressed than piercing. ¡°Did you¡­get into a fight with River?¡±

    Octavia flinched. ¡°What?¡±

    It was Francisco''s turn to wince. He stole back his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. ¡°I know it¡¯s not my business, sorry. I just¡­he¡¯s been really out of it ever since we got back. He¡¯s got some eccentric little tendencies, but he¡¯s not usually this¡­sulky. He won¡¯t tell any of us what¡¯s up. We already knew about the thing with Mina, but he¡¯s not the type to give a damn about what that comes with. I know it¡¯s not that. He looks so damn sad. It¡¯s almost kind of pathetic.¡±

    Now her stomach hurt for a different reason entirely. ¡°He¡¯s¡­really that upset?¡±

    ¡°You said somethin¡¯ to him, then?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to face him head-on if she was going to admit to her malice. ¡°I¡­yelled at him about what he did for Mina. I-I get that it was unavoidable, but he was just¡­completely fine with it. That was ten whole years he¡¯s never going to get back, and that¡¯s on top of what he¡¯s already given up. God knows how much he¡¯s used altogether since the last time I asked him, too. Fourteen years is¡­unbelievable. I feel like he doesn¡¯t value his own life. I couldn¡¯t stand that he wasn¡¯t upset, not even a little bit. Is that really so unreasonable?¡±

    Francisco stared at her silently for a moment. ¡°He told you fourteen, huh?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s breath hitched. ¡°What?¡±

    When the boy clung to silence once more, she refused to entertain the same. ¡°It was...ten for Mina, and he said he''d used four in total before. Is it...more than that?¡±

    Francisco averted his eyes. The action spoke for itself. Her stomach lurched.

    ¡°How much?¡± Octavia pushed.

    His voice was steady where his face was strained. ¡°You don¡¯t wanna know the real number.¡±

    He was right about that much, for how her heart could¡¯ve burst right then and there. ¡°I--¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s¡­doing what he can to keep up,¡± Francisco continued. ¡°This is his way. It¡¯s just the kind of person he is.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked quietly, still battling her pounding heart.

    He sighed. ¡°River¡¯s one of the hardest-working people I¡¯ve ever met. You wouldn¡¯t know it by looking at him, and you sure as hell wouldn¡¯t know it by his freakin¡¯ legacy. He ended up in Tacell before any of us did, and he was already putting everything he had into gettin¡¯ it where it needed to be. It doesn¡¯t mean a damn thing that we¡¯re stronger than him. He¡¯s¡­the best of us. He doesn¡¯t see it that way. He gives everything he¡¯s got to compensate, and if that includes himself, then so be it. Nothing we say will make a difference. We¡¯ve tried.¡±

    Francisco crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto his other foot. ¡°Don¡¯t be mad at him, if you can help it. I don¡¯t particularly like it, either. None of us do. Still, he loves being a Maestro. Hell, it¡¯s his whole damn purpose. It¡¯s how he can make a difference, according to him. We can¡¯t stop him from burning himself out, but if this is what gives his life meaning, all we can do is be there for him when he needs us.¡±

    He rolled his eyes playfully. ¡°And he¡¯s pretty attached to you, so I¡¯m sure that didn¡¯t help any. You¡¯re gonna end up breaking his freakin¡¯ heart.¡±

    Octavia blushed. ¡°You mean¡­are you saying he--¡±

    Francisco smirked. ¡°Haven¡¯t figured that part out yet. Haven¡¯t asked. He sure as hell acts like it, sometimes.¡±

    Octavia did what she could to stem her fidgeting the moment she noticed it. She cleared her throat in the wake of her embarrassment. ¡°Is there¡­really nothing that would get him to change his mind? About using his gift so freely?¡±

    Francisco shook his head sadly. ¡°Trust me, if there was something that could, we would¡¯ve been all over it a long time ago. I¡¯m gonna be real with you, I¡¯m seriously worried about what¡¯s gonna happen when we find the Apex of Spirit.¡±

    Octavia froze. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°It might kill him.¡±

    Francisco¡¯s eyes flashed with something dark that made Octavia¡¯s blood run cold. She clung to the hem of her dress anxiously. ¡°What¡­do you--¡±

    ¡°He says he wants to,¡± Francisco continued, ¡°and I know he¡¯ll be nice about it, but it¡¯s¡­probably gonna destroy him. It¡¯s all he wanted. Don¡¯t get me wrong, he loves Rondelio, but not having an Apex is seriously doing things to that boy. I swear to God, nobody beats up River more than River beats up himself.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart hurt more with every word that left the Willful boy¡¯s mouth. ¡°I¡­please tell him I¡¯m sorry about what I said. I didn¡¯t mean to hurt him. I just wanted him to be safe.¡±

    Francisco tilted his head, sliding his hands into his pockets casually. ¡°I can tell him, sure. I think it¡¯d mean a lot more to him if you told him yourself, though.¡±

    She didn¡¯t necessarily disagree. Her heart continued to sink ever further on a downwards path. ¡°River¡­knows I¡¯m gonna have to guide Rondelio someday, right?¡±

    Francisco didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°He¡­does know that, right?¡± Octavia pressed weakly.

    He sighed once more. ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we get there. He knows. I know he knows.¡±

    The knot that was born in Octavia¡¯s stomach was impossible to untangle. This entire conversation had cursed her with more than one, regardless. She hated it.

    ¡°Look,¡± Francisco added, somewhat more upbeat, ¡°just¡­talk to him. If you want to apologize, go for it. It¡¯d make his day, I¡¯m sure, but even just seeing you would probably get him out of his own head for once. Give him a chance. He makes bad decisions, but he¡¯s not a bad guy. It would¡­mean a lot to me--to us.¡±

    Octavia smiled softly. ¡°You guys really care about him, huh?¡±

    He returned the same. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re the center of your little circle, right? He¡¯s ours. Be good to him, okay?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°You really ought to go to bed. It¡¯s late as hell. Nothing fun ever happens when it¡¯s my turn to patrol absolutely nothing all friggin'' night, so this was at least something. I appreciate the company. Want me to walk you back?¡±

    Octavia shook her head, keeping her smile intact. ¡°I¡¯m alright, but thank you. I¡¯ll see you around, okay?¡±

    Francisco grinned. ¡°See ya.¡±

    Even after she¡¯d turned on her heel, taking the sod below along with her, her heart still stung, somewhat. It would¡¯ve been easier if River was simply angry at her in turn, maybe. To know she¡¯d accidentally crushed him was, frankly, equally crushing. Already, she was experimenting with the right concoction of apologies in her head. There wasn¡¯t much she could do to undo what had already been said. As to her initial sentiment, she still didn¡¯t even feel unjustified. That, too, was frustrating.

    ¡°One last thing.¡±

    Octavia stopped, throwing her gaze over her shoulder. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    Francisco, too, was already on his way, adjusting his partner¡¯s case on his back. At least briefly, he stilled. Even facing away from her, his voice was calm and clear.

    ¡°Where were you actually going?¡±

    Her heart stopped. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡°I-I¡­I told you, I was--¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me if you don¡¯t want to,¡± Francisco offered. ¡°I was just curious. Weird thing to lie about in the middle of the night.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I¡¯m not...¡±

    Without turning, she saw him shake his head. ¡°I don¡¯t need to see it. I can hear it.¡±

    Her whole body trembled. Octavia couldn¡¯t help it. She couldn¡¯t manage to spill another stuttered word from her throat, and every last excuse she could cobble together fled instantly. It was a hole she couldn¡¯t dig herself out of.

    Francisco raised his hand dismissively, one departing step at a time sparing the Ambassador from interrogation she was powerless to escape. ¡°Sleep well. See you around. Don¡¯t get bit by bugs, and stuff.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t dare move, let alone breathe, until he was nearly out of sight. Even then, the breaths she did manage to gather were shallow and weak. She was aware that the moon only continued to rise ever higher. It didn¡¯t make it any easier to move. It didn¡¯t drain the lead that had pooled in her legs, or the dread that had edged out River¡¯s distress from her heart.

    With four innocent words, Francisco had become one of the most dangerous people in Tacell.

    And in her dismissal of every patrol, every reassurance of a Dissonance-free sanctuary, every highlight of a Maestro-laden paradise, Octavia had come to believe with all of her heart in the utter safety of her little haven. Even if Mixoly¡¯s words still warred with Stratos¡¯ actions, the discrepancies she¡¯d highlighted were undeniable, unshakable, and unignorable. In the span of one evening, every ¡°thank you¡± had become a risk, and every last face in Tacell had become a threat.

 87. Hesitation

    Octavia got her one free pass. Stratos didn¡¯t press her, despite her late return. She¡¯d been far less concerned about awakening her housemates, and she was extremely fortunate to avoid any issues there. Her heart was still pounding well into her dreams, following all the way into unconsciousness as adrenaline and dread trailed close behind. She could barely bring herself to turn her head towards Stradivaria¡¯s case in the first place. Her best attempts to sleep saw her fighting to drift off for another two hours after her arrival. Her thoughts were simply too fast.

    It took absolutely everything in her power not to let paranoia eat her whole. It was ironic, in a way, that she¡¯d been gifted a whole new emotional hurdle in the wake of the terror she¡¯d just shelved in Velrose. They¡¯d traded places. It was true that she wasn''t necessarily free of bells in her nightmares, and she knew she probably wouldn¡¯t be any time soon. Still, the echo that took their place in her head was gentler, feminine, and damning in four words alone.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    It was closer to a curse than anything. In every action she took, she weighed her outward appearance towards him and the world at large. Her inability to confide in a single soul, not even Viola, was agonizing. It was a brutal side effect of opting to trust in Mixoly¡¯s words, by which the isolation ate her alive. Keeping secrets was miserable, and it had never been a talent.

    Octavia was hyperaware in all she did, struggling to stifle so much as the idea of Mixoly¡¯s name in her head while not in her presence. She wondered how big of a problem it would cause to even utter her alias, on further thought. Every Muse that spoke to her made her heart race in the worst way. Every ounce of praise she received made her stomach twist into knots. They knew. All of them knew.

    To keep Stradivaria on her back through it all, to don a false smile and wear an innocent mask, was Hell. She may as well have tied a rope around her neck every time she slipped her arms through the straps of his case. If Octavia could simply ask him outright about Mixoly¡¯s trustworthiness, it would be over in an instant.

    She weighed the Heartful Muses again and again on a scale that brought her no closer to an answer. She knew Stratos. She hardly knew Mixoly. It still didn¡¯t explain so much that had occurred. Octavia wasn¡¯t entirely convinced he couldn¡¯t tell that something was off, and the thought haunted her excessively. Josiah had once told her she¡¯d make a terrible actor. If she was going to figure out exactly what was going on, she was going to have to prove him wrong by the widest margin possible.

    She did as Mixoly suggested. She faked it, carrying on to the best of her ability.

    Octavia hadn¡¯t quite figured out what to say to River yet, and she stashed her owed apologies to the side for the time being. She had told Mixoly that she would return tonight, and yet the Muse¡¯s subsequent warning of a need for subtlety had fostered second thoughts. On further consideration, Mixoly had a point--if she were to venture out each and every night, it wouldn¡¯t just be Stratos who would grow curious. She already had one set of prying eyes at her cottage that could pin her to the wall and drag out the truth, if he wanted to do so. She¡¯d learned the hard way that there existed another Willful boy who could tear her to shreds and rip out the same--inescapable in every manner.

    Again, her heart stung at the thought of hiding from those she loved. A tiny part of Octavia almost wanted to resent Mixoly for the sea she¡¯d pulled the Ambassador down into. She opted to offset last night¡¯s excursion with a schedule intended for false appearances. It was miserable to plan and harder still to execute.

    The tolls were genuine, at least. She managed two. One Maestro consented. The other, too, had done as such. Still, the pang of regret that she caught in the latter¡¯s eyes for a fraction of a second was destructive to her soul. Octavia couldn¡¯t ignore it. It burned.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do this.¡±

    ¡°Do what?¡±

    ¡°Force people to give up their Muses if they don¡¯t want to.¡±

    Octavia''s distress was punctuated with a heavy groan, and she cared little about the way the grass was starting to sneak into her braids. ¡°It¡­hurts,¡± she continued weakly.

    Viola propped her elbow on one knee, resting her cheek in her palm casually. ¡°There¡¯s not really much of a choice. We¡¯re gonna have to, eventually. We talked about this. They all need to go.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I feel like I¡¯m ripping something important away from everyone when I do this. I mean, people¡¯s entire lives have been changed by the Muses. People¡¯s entire lives have been changed by becoming Maestros. Is it wrong of me to hesitate about just¡­erasing all of that in an instant for someone?¡±

    ¡°Octavia, they were normal people at some point, too,¡± Viola reminded. ¡°They weren¡¯t always Maestros. They¡¯ll be able to go back to that, one day. It might take some getting used to, yes, but they can return to a normal life. That¡¯s a gift.¡±

    She shook her head, a strenuous effort that saw blades of grass brushing against her cheeks on either side. ¡°What if some of them don¡¯t want a normal life? What if this is their ¡®normal¡¯?¡±

    Viola shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s¡­like grieving, I¡¯d assume. You¡¯d lose a part of yourself, but it¡¯s something you¡¯ll come back from, eventually. It¡¯ll just take time. Remember, they know why you¡¯re here. They know what the Ambassador is supposed to do, and the ones that don¡¯t will come to understand.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it any better,¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°It still hurts people.¡±

    Viola cast her eyes down to the Heartful girl, splayed out on the ground as she was. ¡°Is this about something in particular?¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°Kinda.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    She was almost hesitant to say. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m starting to see it on people¡¯s faces when I guide their Muses, and there¡¯s¡­people I¡¯m worried about crushing in the future when the time comes.¡±

    ¡°Like who?¡± Viola prompted.

    ¡°River,¡± Octavia said sadly. ¡°From what Francisco told me, being a Maestro is his entire life. He puts everything he has into it, and he makes the most of it every day. They said he¡¯s worked really, really hard to get where he is. I¡¯m afraid to take all of that effort and happiness away from him when that¡¯s the one thing he loves.¡±

    Viola tilted her head. ¡°I thought you were mad at him.¡±

    Again, she groaned, hitting her head against the soft earth several times in irritation. ¡°I still am, a little bit. I hate that he doesn¡¯t value his life more. I know if I guide his Muse, he wouldn¡¯t be able to use his gift anymore, and that would keep him safe. Still, I think it would¡­break him.¡±

    Viola thought for a moment in silence. ¡°Then talk to him about it now, before it gets to that point. Maybe you can change his mind.¡±

    ¡°None of them can change his mind, Viola, and all of them have tried!¡± Octavia whined in exasperation. ¡°He¡¯s so stubborn! I feel like such a bad person knowing I¡¯m gonna have to take away what¡¯s most precious to him!¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t he have people that are important to him, too, though?¡±

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut in the midst of her frustration. ¡°I mean, he does, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s gonna be enough to satisfy him. I can¡¯t even blame people for ending up like this. They¡¯re like soulmates. I¡¯m taking away people¡¯s soulmates!¡±

    Viola sighed. ¡°River is one person. I¡¯m not trying to dismiss what he¡¯s been through, or what he¡¯s still going through, but this isn¡¯t the case for everyone. Not everybody will--¡±

    ¡°Do you know what happens to Madrigal when they go?¡±

    Her words were sharper than she''d intended, just as bitter on her tongue as they were in her head. They burned on the way out. Viola winced.

    ¡°I-I¡­she¡¯ll understand. She¡¯s¡­strong.¡±

    ¡°Lyra is everything to her. Lyra is her entire life.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, she knows what we¡¯re doing,¡± Viola argued. ¡°She¡¯s been helping with everything. Why would she be doing all of this with us if she wasn¡¯t prepared for whatever waited at the end? It¡¯s because she loves Lyra that she¡¯d help her go home. I¡¯m sure that--¡±

    ¡°Do you know what happens to Renato when they go?¡±

    Viola outright cringed. The borderline glare Octavia had fixed her with wasn¡¯t helping, and Octavia was well aware of that. When the Soulful Maestra fell silent, she relented.

    ¡°Yeah, that one keeps me up at night,¡± Octavia muttered. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have to say it out loud. I know he thinks about it.¡±

    ¡°He¡­knows it¡¯s temporary,¡± Viola squeaked out, averting her eyes uncomfortably. ¡°He knows it wasn¡¯t supposed to last forever. He¡¯ll get through it. I¡­know he will.¡±

    ¡°Even you,¡± Octavia pressed. ¡°Silver Brevada was your grandmother¡¯s. You both shared him, and he¡¯s part of both of your lives. Does that not make you upset?¡±

    She hesitated. ¡°We have so many other different kinds of bonds. Silver Brevada isn¡¯t the only thing that ties us together. There¡¯s a lot of memories there, yes, but there are plenty more that don¡¯t involve him.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. If she really wanted to, she could mentally run through the impact of every Muse on every Maestro--of the ones she¡¯d met, at least. There wasn''t a single one for whom a Harmonial Instrument didn''t play a key role in life, even of those who¡¯d tried to ensure otherwise. For the vast majority, it was for the better. She could hear one thousand times over of the benefits for the Muses, granted. It didn¡¯t do a thing for the Maestros left behind.

    ¡°You¡¯d be losing a part of Priscilla, right?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°What?¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes were as soft as her voice. ¡°Stradivaria is¡­what led you here. He¡¯s the tie between you and Priscilla, and he loved--loves--both of you.¡±

    She wanted to say it.

    ¡°Without him, we never would¡¯ve met. And if Priscilla had him, then I¡¯m sure he¡¯s been in your life for a long time.¡±

    She really, really wanted to say it.

    ¡°What you two have together is¡­amazing. I know you don''t really notice it from your side, but everyone can see how much you love him. When you fight together, you¡¯re both perfect. There''s...not many Maestros who are that close to their partner. I¡¯m almost jealous, honestly,¡± Viola half-joked.

    She so, so, so desperately needed to say it. It was impossible to hide.

    ¡°If you¡¯re having a hard time dealing with him leaving, you can talk to me about it. I¡¯m always here. I hope you don¡¯t think I¡¯m trying to dismiss anyone¡¯s pain, because I¡¯m not. I know it¡¯ll hurt, and I¡­know it¡¯ll probably hurt you, too. I know he¡¯s special. You¡¯re both special.¡±

    The only thing that kept every last word buried deep in Octavia¡¯s soul instead of erupting from her throat was a tactical glance to her left. His case rested peacefully in the plush grass, not so far from that of Silver Brevada¡¯s. It was just barely enough to stem the roaring wave of truths that threatened to burst from her lips any second. It was Viola. It was just Viola. It was specifically Viola. Surely Mixoly would understand.

    ¡°I-I¡­appreciate it,¡± Octavia stammered, her voice nearly inaudible.

    Honestly, it was a sentiment that might¡¯ve brought tears to her eyes up until precisely yesterday. Stradivaria had, indeed, bound Priscilla and herself together across the boundary of life and death. Octavia should¡¯ve been thankful--and she still was, mostly. She hadn¡¯t stopped to consider whether or not Stratos had been coercing Priscilla, as well, until this exact moment. Her blood boiled at the thought, even in passing. Shelving it was miserable. Viola¡¯s smile was her one compensation prize.

    When the Soulful Maestra rested her hand delicately atop Octavia¡¯s outstretched fingers, it was enough to impede her racing thoughts. ¡°Let¡¯s just take these one at a time. Keep doing what you¡¯re doing, and just know that time heals everything. Maybe start thinking about all the fun things you want to do once all of this is over. We have lives beyond Maestro stuff waiting for us, too. Look forward to that. I know I do.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t have to fight as hard to find a smile of her own as she thought she would. ¡°I¡­do. I do look forward to it.¡±

    With Viola beaming down on her brighter than the sunshine that kissed her face, she was happy. The warm touch that blessed her fingers made her heart sing. Still, it was nearly impossible to keep her eyes from flickering to the left far more often than she would¡¯ve liked. So long as Stratos was involved, if Mixoly was to be believed, Octavia¡¯s future was anything but clear.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    It really was starting to become an echo. It was still better than the bells.

    <hr>

    For how long it had taken her to summon the strength to knock on his door, Octavia was absolutely no closer to formulating a solid apology in the slightest. Playing it by ear was a terrible idea. She opted to do it anyway.

    By the third knock, she was growing impatient. Octavia entertained the idea that he outright wasn¡¯t present, and yet she couldn¡¯t think of any other logical place he would be. She added inquiries.

    ¡°River?¡± she called timidly through the door. ¡°It¡¯s Octavia. Are you there?¡±

    Nothing. She tried once more, sprinkling in her pleas. ¡°Can we talk for a bit?¡±

    Initially, her fifth attempt had been fruitless. When the wood suddenly gave way, her knuckles left to tap against open air, she flinched. He¡¯d missed the part that included her name, apparently. The distress that tainted otherwise peaceful seafoam was upsetting, knowing she¡¯d been the one to put it there. The moment he caught sight of her face, he tensed. It wasn¡¯t subtle.

    ¡°Octavia?¡± River asked weakly, his voice strained.

    She struggled to maintain eye contact, given how deeply uncomfortable he appeared to be. ¡°Hi,¡± she tried. ¡°I, uh¡­are you busy?¡±

    He shook his head, never pulling his gaze away from hers. ¡°Not at all.¡±

    ¡°Can¡­we talk for a little while?¡± Octavia asked once more, fidgeting somewhat.

    River nodded, opening the door wider. He gestured for her entry with startling calm. ¡°Of course.¡±

    Octavia was, in truth, surprised he wasn¡¯t aggravated with her in return. She¡¯d half-expected some sort of irritation on his part, especially for how he¡¯d absorbed so much of her frustration. Instead, he was quiet and clearly unsettled. As to the latter, she had a strong feeling that she was the catalyst. It might¡¯ve made the atmosphere less awkward if he¡¯d been angry, frankly.

    ¡°Would you¡­like me to make you anything?¡± River asked softly.

    And now he was catering to her. Octavia felt guiltier by the minute. ¡°I-I¡¯m alright, but thank you.¡±

    He wouldn¡¯t look at her. ¡°Let me know if you change your mind. I¡¯m¡­more than happy to make you anything you¡¯d like.¡±

    This was awful.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry I yelled at you,¡± Octavia blurted out at last. ¡°In Velrose. Over Mina. The thing with the¡­you know. I wanted to apologize. I know you were just trying to help.¡±

    At the sound of her apology, improvised as it was, River at least gave an honest effort to meet her eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t need to apologize. I can understand why you were angry. I didn¡¯t mean to upset you again.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t care about that. I just want you to be safe. The idea of that much of your life disappearing in an instant was¡­horrifying. It still is. I can¡¯t wrap my head around it, even now. I really want you to care about yourself. I want you to love your life.¡±

    He tensed ever further. ¡°I do care about--¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± she admitted quietly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡­really don¡¯t believe you.¡±

    River¡¯s face fell, his eyes pooling with hurt. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Octavia fell silent. There was no improvising whatever was to follow an accusation so harsh, and she struggled to choose her words carefully. ¡°You¡¯re¡­an incredible Maestro. You do so much for Tacell, and for all the people who live here. You¡¯ve done so much for me, and you took all of my friends in with open arms. You¡¯re a wonderful person. Still, you¡¯ve already used up so much of your lifespan, and you¡¯re¡­not even fazed. You work so hard, and you¡¯ve done so much to get to this point in your life. Aren¡¯t you afraid you won¡¯t get to enjoy the life you spent so much time making?¡±

    The shimmer in his eyes was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid. It¡¯s¡­part of what I want. Everything I do, I do because it¡¯s¡­¡±

    He trailed off. Octavia didn¡¯t let up. ¡°If you keep this up, you¡¯re gonna die young.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± River said quietly.

    ¡°And you¡¯re okay with that?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. She was starting to understand the dilemma Francisco had been talking about. There was an urge to press as to River''s lie, by which his true expenditure still eluded her. It wasn¡¯t the time, and he didn¡¯t deserve her panic right now. ¡°What is your¡­goal in life, exactly?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Do you have any dreams, or aspirations? What are you trying to get out of life?¡± she asked.

    River¡¯s voice was as gentle as it was timid. ¡°I want to help.¡±

    ¡°With¡­what?¡± Octavia asked.

    ¡°Everything,¡± he answered. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I was born Spirited. I¡¯m sure of it. There¡¯s a reason I became a Maestro, and I¡¯m sure of that, too. I was meant to do this. This is my purpose, and I can feel it in my heart. I¡¯m meant to¡­use what I was blessed with to do everything I can for the world.¡±

    ¡°But is that really what you want?¡± Octavia pressed.

    ¡°Nothing could make me happier,¡± he argued softly. ¡°This is all I¡¯ve ever wanted.¡±

    Octavia fought the waver in her voice. She refused to yell at him again, especially when he was like this. ¡°What are you going to do when you¡¯re not a Maestro anymore? What are you even going to have left? You shouldn¡¯t¡­build your entire life around this.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    Not yelling wasn¡¯t working. ¡°Because you¡¯re not going to be a Maestro forever, River! Rondelio has to return to Above eventually! You know that! You need to have something to live for after that!¡±

    She hated that the way his eyes glistened so vehemently was as lovely as it was. For what she¡¯d come here to do, Octavia was doing the exact opposite, and somewhat more severely than last time. She wondered if Francisco would be grateful to her for calling out River¡¯s poisonous aspirations or angry with her for pushing their leader nearly to the point of tears. To be scolded on his life choices by the Ambassador surely wasn¡¯t enjoyable. Octavia was torn between feeling horrible and justified.

    River was silent for long enough that she genuinely feared she might¡¯ve gone too far. When he did speak at last, it was almost inaudible.

    ¡°Have you ever felt like what you do isn¡¯t enough, Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia''s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡±

    He paused. ¡°Are there¡­days when you feel like you haven¡¯t done enough for your role? You have a tremendous task, and it¡¯s clear to anyone who sees it that you pour your heart and soul into what you do. Still, do you ever feel like it isn¡¯t enough? Like there¡¯s¡­more that you could do?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s fingers curled around the fabric of her dress skirt uncomfortably. She didn¡¯t particularly want to entertain the thought. ¡°I-I mean, honestly, yes. There¡¯s days when I wish it would go by faster, but there¡¯s a lot of Muses, and I know it takes time. I know I¡¯m doing what I can, and I know I¡¯ll get through them all, little by little. I try to be okay with that.¡±

    River threw his dangerously-shimmering gaze at the carpet. ¡°It¡¯s¡­incredibly disheartening to know that there¡¯s things I should be able to do, but can¡¯t. There¡¯s no satisfaction in what¡¯s already been done.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± she asked quietly. ¡°What is it you¡¯re not able to do?¡±

    His sigh was practically inaudible as well, tiny and faint. ¡°I¡¯ve always liked to imagine that a Maestro doesn¡¯t need an Apex to be strong. That¡¯s what I¡¯d really, truly like to believe, so maybe it¡¯s wrong of me to covet. Still, to stand beside them day after day after day, knowing what they can offer the world with their strength, it¡¯s¡­difficult. It¡¯s painful. I adore my partner, Octavia, and I always will. It doesn¡¯t change how much it hurts.¡±

    ¡°But you don¡¯t need an Apex to be strong,¡± Octavia reassured. ¡°I don¡¯t have an Apex, and I like to imagine I¡¯m strong. There¡¯s lots of powerful Maestros out there without Apexes. It won¡¯t even matter once they all go back to Above, River.¡±

    ¡°The Apex of Spirit is different.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What do you¡­mean?¡±

    River crossed his arms, vulnerable in a way Octavia didn¡¯t especially enjoy. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the Apex of Spirit would do to my gift, but I¡¯m sure it would be enough to help me do even more in life. That¡¯s the¡­other part that burns. I can¡¯t ignore that.¡±

    Ever so slowly, at the worst possible time, Rondelio¡¯s prior plea for Lyra¡¯s secrecy was starting to click. Octavia¡¯s heart sank. ¡°The Muses aren¡¯t supposed to be here. None of this was ever supposed to be here, including all of our gifts and our instruments. You shouldn¡¯t have been able to do everything you¡¯ve already done so far. You weren¡¯t always a Maestro. You had a life before this, and you¡¯ll have a life afterwards. You can¡¯t tell me that this is all you want, because you¡­had to have wanted things out of life before you met Renegadria. Go back to those. Bring them forward!¡±

    He shook his head sadly. ¡°I haven¡¯t¡­imagined a life after this. I didn¡¯t have any real ambitions before Rondelio and I became partners. I followed wherever the wind pushed me. I was aimless. Nothing was predictable.¡±

    ¡°Did you like it that way?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Octavia took a deep breath. ¡°Then we¡¯ll find something for you to look forward to. If we can¡¯t find anything, we¡¯ll just make something ourselves.¡±

    River eyed her curiously. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Maybe being unpredictable isn¡¯t a¡­bad thing,¡± she clarified gently. ¡°That¡¯s how you met Renegadria. If you give life a chance, there¡¯s so many other amazing things that could happen in the future. Not knowing what waits for you next is kind of scary, but it¡¯s exciting, too. We can face that together. We can find you something worth living for, even if we don¡¯t know what it is right now.¡±

    River was quiet for a moment. ¡°You don¡¯t need to do that for me.¡±

    ¡°I want to.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re my friend.¡±

    She really did enjoy the shine that came with seafoam. At this point, she wondered if he¡¯d ever catch on to exactly how often she stared. Of her fixation, at least, Octavia hoped he¡¯d stay ignorant. River didn¡¯t smile. It might''ve been wishful thinking, but she could¡¯ve sworn she heard otherwise in his voice.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­deserve that.¡±

    ¡°You do.¡±

    When Octavia couldn¡¯t find a smile on his lips, she offered her own instead. He only tilted his head thoughtfully.

    ¡°What do you plan to do with your life when your task is finished, then?¡± River asked.

    It was a loaded question. Octavia hadn¡¯t fully formulated an answer at this point, and she admitted as much with pride. ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet. I just know I¡¯ve made a lot of friendships that are gonna last for the rest of my life, and I¡¯m really excited to spend more time with everyone. There¡¯s a lot that I want to do with them. I¡¯m really, really looking forward to that. As to whatever else happens, I¡¯ll deal with it when I have to. I¡¯m happy just knowing there¡¯s something waiting for me.¡±

    River only stared. ¡°Even though you haven¡¯t known them for long? That¡¯s enough motivation?¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°It¡¯d be nice to spend time with you, too.¡±

    River smiled gently. It was wonderful.

    ¡°And you know what? You have a lot of people who love you, even if you don¡¯t know it. I¡¯m sure all of them would want to stay by your side after this is all over. It¡¯d be kinda hard for all of us to spend time together at once, but I¡¯m sure we could make it work. We might have to make reservations every time we go out to eat, though,¡± she joked.

    And it was soft and muted, but River laughed, too. It was as pure and crystalline as ever. It was perhaps even more wonderful than his smile. She¡¯d missed it immensely.

    ¡°That sounds¡­fun,¡± he admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d mind, if you¡¯d have me.¡±

    Octavia clung to the last vestiges of his laugh for as long as was possible. She strongly entertained the idea of trying to get him to do it again. ¡°You never have to ask.¡±

    ¡°What¡­kinds of things would you want to do together, then?¡± River inquired with the same smile.

    She hadn¡¯t intended to stay as long as she did, the afternoon giving way to the blossoming night with so little notice. Even as the sunshine bid her farewell through the curtains, Octavia never lost interest. It was definitely hours. He showered her with hospitality, and she returned his warm meals and steaming tea with her hopes and desires.

    He¡¯d surely enjoy Coda. He¡¯d get along well with Harper. He¡¯d adore every inch of Silver Ridge, and she¡¯d torment him with the woodworker¡¯s blood that ran through her veins. Octavia cherished every last facet of River''s laugh, and she fought for the same chimes to grace her ears again and again and again. She was successful each and every time. It was much better than any apology she could ever have hoped to assemble manually.

    <hr>

    With the rising moon came a choice she still struggled to make even now, despite her self-inflicted compromise. Up until last night, there were no physical obstacles to her midnight meetings with Mixoly. It was perhaps for the best that her encounter with Francisco served as a sobering reminder, as horrific and jarring as it was controlled. Truly, it could¡¯ve ended far worse. Going back was easier than getting there, at least in terms of the simple ¡°walking¡± excuse.

    Still, of the four Ensemble members she risked running into on any given night, Octavia was more than aware that not a single one wouldn¡¯t begin to raise an eyebrow at her behaviors eventually. One of them already had. Another had previously seen her venture into that exact cottage and tangle with that exact Maestro. Mixoly had spent so much time highlighting the apparent risk that Stratos posed that Octavia still couldn¡¯t figure out how concerned she should be about the others.

    That didn¡¯t stifle the itch to go back. Provided she was exceedingly careful, she could make it to Theo¡¯s cottage unseen and pace her time with Mixoly far more cautiously. She¡¯d more or less mastered the art of slipping in and out of her own abode unnoticed, although whether or not luck played a part still remained to be seen. At this very moment, she knew Theo was waiting for her preemptively, should the mere chance occur that she would appear on his doorstep. She hoped he at least slept well during the day.

    For how far Mixoly had called to her when Octavia had first heard her voice, she entertained the idea that the Muse could perhaps hear her in return. She almost tried of her own accord, and yet the idea of Stratos accidentally capturing her floating words instead was terrifying. There was no experimenting, at least right now.

    And the longer she gazed at the ceiling, the more agitated she became. She couldn¡¯t bear to look at his case. The room was borderline suffocating, and the fear that he could read every thought in her head washed over her again and again. For all the threads of the spider web that she didn¡¯t know, there was a renewed dread that came with ignorance. It hadn¡¯t bothered her before. Perhaps this was how Josiah had felt.

    Octavia fought the urge to groan in exasperation, lest Stratos press her on her audible distress. Silence, hopefully, was enough to keep up appearances, and she prayed her presence safe in bed would offer him something or another to be satisfied with. It didn¡¯t change the fact that she would eventually have to leave him again. That would surely breed concern.

    She had an idea. It was a strange gamble, one-sided as the risk was. The odds of him identifying anything more out of the ordinary than her simple action would be close to zero--or so she hoped. It was a solid way of faking it, to be fair.

    What are you doing?

    Octavia didn¡¯t grace him with an answer--at least, nonverbally--until she was well outside, embracing the crisp chill of the autumn night on her skin. She hadn¡¯t gotten to use the balcony much, although it had long been on her agenda to do otherwise. The brilliant moon still showered her in silky light she could only hope to compete with, and with its glow came the beauty of Tacell in full.

    If nothing else, in the midst of her paranoia, she could at least appreciate the serenity of nature crowned by the evening. In any other circumstance, she would perhaps add to its majesty. Right now, she was walking a fine line Stratos likely didn¡¯t know existed. Octavia wondered, briefly, if whoever was circling the radius of Tacell tonight would be privy to her deceptive song. She regretted the attention it might draw to herself in advance.

    It had been awhile. Once, it had been for bonding, and she¡¯d sought to grow as close to his heart as possible. Now, he was poisonous, and every motion was wary. Quietly and cautiously, she raised the violin to her shoulder. She played.

    Octavia was as soft with her song as was possible, although that still didn¡¯t matter much. Where she¡¯d typically showered him with questions and deep conversation, she swallowed every last word that could possibly bubble up from her throat. Those, too, were dangerous, lest something slip out that shouldn¡¯t. She was silent, eyes opened wide for once as she wove an aimless melody with no radiance to show for it. The moon served her well enough, and his warmth in her veins was the last thing she wanted to feel right now.

    Did you¡­wish to speak with me?

    She tensed. It was difficult not to let it show. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    If memory serves, such is your typical intent when we are together in this way.

    Octavia chose her words carefully. ¡°I just wanted to be with you. I¡¯m happy with that.¡±

    Is there¡­something on your mind?

    Her heart was racing much faster than it should¡¯ve been. She played louder. ¡°Not really. Like I said, I just wanted to spend some time together.¡±

    It has been awhile.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Whether that was a jab at her recent neglect or a genuine comment as to how long ago they¡¯d last played in peace, she was unsure. Octavia offered her attention to nothing in particular, opting temporarily for the moon above. She didn¡¯t give Stratos anything else to work with. He didn¡¯t need it.

    I¡­enjoy this, in truth.

    It was a sentiment he¡¯d never uttered aloud before. It was unsettling. It was perhaps more unsettling that he was initiating the conversation himself, filling in where she strived to leave gaps. ¡°Enjoy what?¡±

    Simply the act of being at your side, he clarified. To indulge in your company in times of peace is as much a comfort to myself as I could wish it to be for you.

    Liar.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± Octavia murmured, empty words that she wondered if he would dissect. This was new for him. Maybe he was desperate. Maybe she was reading far, far too much into this. It wasn¡¯t too late for honesty.

    I know you¡­do not wish to talk about your feelings, or that which you have seen, he said. I will not again remind you that I am here, for I know that you are aware. I do ask, though, how do your companions fare?

    She nearly halted her song. ¡°What?¡±

    Allow me to rephrase. Do you¡­find happiness in their company?

    Octavia wasn¡¯t sure where this was going. She didn¡¯t like where this was going, possibly, knowing what she knew about him. Her safety was irrelevant. If he, or any of his kind, laid one finger upon those she loved, she¡¯d snap the violin in half over her knee this very second. Her stomach twisted into knots, as always, and the effort of keeping up appearances grew ever more agonizing. ¡°I mean, of course I¡¯m happy around them. I love being with them. And as to your earlier question, all of them are doing fine.¡±

    You have surrounded yourself with people who care for you deeply. The lengths to which they would go for your needs are admirable, Stratos spoke softly.

    She was well aware of that much. To herself, it was a sentiment that warmed her from head to toe and made her heart flutter. From him, it felt loaded in a way she couldn¡¯t explain. She didn¡¯t like it one bit. ¡°Yeah,¡± Octavia replied.

    And it is clear to see that you care for them just as such. I am certain that they feel your love.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Maybe he was simply struggling to converse. It was a far more welcome thought than whatever else was floating by. She knew she had the opportunity to overdo it, to falsify the depths of her love and pretend to shower him with her adoration. She could claim the balcony as her stage, and she could act her heart out as she drowned him in falsehoods of blissful peace.

    Each and every time Octavia steadied an ¡°I love you¡± on her lips to offer up as a tribute, it fizzled and died the moment she thought of Priscilla¡¯s deception. Not knowing with certainty whether or not Stratos was truly as manipulative as Mixoly claimed was worse than being sure. If she were positive without a shadow of a doubt in her wake, maybe her paranoia would ease.

    If Octavia were as brave as could be, and if she walked that fine line so carefully that she achieved perfect balance, she could perhaps press him instead. It would need to be excruciatingly subtle. She would need to hold a gun to her head and squeeze the trigger with every word. Feigned innocence would only get her so far.

    Are there any Muses you don¡¯t get along with?

    He would ask why she wanted to know.

    Do you remember when I met Rani?

    He would ask why she remembered.

    What would you say makes the perfect Ambassador?

    It was much too direct.

    ¡°I do have a question, actually.¡±

    Yes? Stratos responded, slightly more enthusiastic than was warranted--especially for him.

    Octavia hesitated. She ran over every word in her head one more time. It was innocent enough, and relevant in a way that she could cover carefully. ¡°Valkyria was the last Apex we hadn¡¯t found. That was all of them. He¡¯s the first Apex to go back to Above, too, I think. I¡¯ve been¡­wondering. I know River and the others said that the Apex of Heart is your Lord of All. How am I gonna find him?¡±

    It came out perfectly. It was a start.

    And, by comparison, Stratos didn¡¯t hesitate. When the time comes, he will call for you. You need not worry. In that way, I suppose you could consider his location known.

    Her eyes widened somewhat. It wasn¡¯t quite the answer she¡¯d been expecting. ¡°He¡¯ll¡­call for me?¡±

    From this realm, our Lord awaits his own return with patience and grace. He is benevolent, and his ascent will follow in the wake of the ninety-five who precede him. It is in this way that he may watch over their guidance with care, for each and all. There exists a place to which the Ambassador alone claims the right of passage. When the time is right, he will lead you there. You will know.

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I¡­I have to guide him last, then?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°And I still have to perform the witnessing?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°Has he¡­already paid his toll?¡±

    Stratos paused. Yes.

    Octavia fought for a full, deep breath. This conversation was vaguely drifting in a different direction than she¡¯d anticipated. She tried to play as steadily as possible, willing her ceaseless song not to waver. ¡°I forgot his name.¡±

    That was a lie. Stratos didn¡¯t call her on it. Lord Ramulus.

    She embellished it for good measure. ¡°Oh, yeah. Rani. I remember you telling me now.¡±

    He was silent this time. There was a pattern blooming, and it was incredibly frustrating. When she wanted him to talk, he wouldn¡¯t. When she didn¡¯t, he would. Once more, the roles were reversed. Where she¡¯d hoped she could rely on him speaking of his own accord, Octavia would again be forced to pull the trigger. ¡°Do you think I¡­made a good first impression on him?¡±

    I do.

    She forced a false chuckle. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s your Lord of All. I¡­hope I¡¯m living up to his standards. I do worry a little about what he thinks of me as the Ambassador. I know I¡¯m not perfect.¡±

    Again, Stratos took her inquiry without argument. You are a fine Ambassador. I assure you that I am not the only one who would believe so. The sentiment is collective.

    It was vague, and not quite the response she wanted. Pushing any harder would likely land her in the cycle of praise she dreaded yet again. She¡¯d already established the degree to which that was unwanted, anyway. Octavia sighed.

    ¡°As long as I have you, that¡¯s what matters,¡± she lied as she played.

    As I would say the same.

    Until she was confident in Mixoly¡¯s accusations, it would be exceedingly difficult to catch Stratos in the middle of a lie. Even if she laid out traps in the form of yet more innocent questions and statements, she knew him to be sharp. If Octavia was going to pin him down for certain with subtlety, it would take more than what she already had. Theo was still awake. Mixoly was still waiting. Here she was, by comparison, with the one soul she was told not to trust in her arms. It was for a good cause--or at least she told herself.

    Octavia rolled her eyes inwardly. Never once had he questioned her motive. There was little deceit to be expected from a heart of light like her own, she supposed. It was a weapon she needed to cling to for as long as possible, even if serrating her love felt sacrilegious. If this was what it took to keep him from asking questions she couldn¡¯t answer, she¡¯d have to bear with it. She hoped Mixoly didn¡¯t mind taking turns, Heartful as she was. Octavia doubted it.

 [EXTRA] 87.5. Current

    He was still getting used to the voice in his head. He didn¡¯t hate it.

    It was warm, a companionship that followed in places he couldn¡¯t reach. It was as intangible as it was palpable, for how it had settled so comfortably inside. Every word was soft. Every sound was pleasant. Where only the world had offered its accompaniment, that which he couldn¡¯t see made for lovely company.

    You are not fearful, then.

    ¡°Am I supposed to be?¡±

    Not necessarily. Still, you have accepted such a bond with grace beyond those before you. Are you not apprehensive?

    River only smiled. ¡°You haven¡¯t given me any reason to feel that way.¡±

    I¡­see. I will not deny my surprise, all the same.

    ¡°I¡¯m enjoying your company, actually,¡± he confessed.

    And I yours, as could be expected. You are¡­interesting.

    His smile caught something slightly more playful. He couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°In a good way?¡±

    I would say so.

    River chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re interesting, yourself.¡±

    You embrace my voice, sudden as it comes. Such is not always standard, as I have stated.

    River adjusted the straps of the case on his shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. I kind of like it. You make for a nice little voice in my head.¡±

    The voice in question gave a soft hum of satisfaction in return. That, too, was nice.

    Solitude wasn¡¯t necessarily uncomfortable, and freedom wasn¡¯t necessarily undesirable. He didn¡¯t dislike isolation, and the blessings of nature were satisfactory companions in and of themselves. The little town had showered him with such in abundance, and he exploited every inch of sunshine he was given. It was nice. It was safe. It was secure.

    That was hardly the point, and the way by which civilization was nearly forgettable almost made him laugh. River hadn¡¯t even bothered to remember its name, coincidental as his crossing had been. Still, it was beautiful from beyond, its borders picturesque and thriving. That took priority. He indulged in it to his heart¡¯s content.

    It wasn¡¯t as though he had any other intentions. It wasn¡¯t as though he had any other plans in general. What was to come would come, and the autumn wind was once more at his back. It was as symbolic as it was literal, and he embraced the breeze that traced his skin so gently. If he could surrender to it altogether, he would. Apparently, in some ways, he could. More than his newest companion, he was still getting used to that.

    The accordion wasn¡¯t heavy, nor was it particularly out of place nestled against his back. The degree to which the sensation felt natural was almost jarring, and River was half-convinced he¡¯d been dreaming for several days. Everything was inexplicable, if not incredibly fascinating.

    The few times he¡¯d tried, it had felt wonderful. With winds far more mortal grazing his face beneath the sunshine, he was tempted to match them with his own. It sounded lovely last time. He could probably do it while walking, if he was careful.

    Where will you go from here?

    If the soft rustling of leafy canopies and swaying foliage didn¡¯t fill the silence, the voice would offer an intermission. It was gentle, and River¡¯s peace was shattered gracefully every time. Not once was it unwelcome. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡­never know, really. I like traveling, I guess. I go wherever my heart takes me. I¡¯m not sure how else to put it.¡±

    Do you have ambitions?

    He shrugged slightly, the accordion shifting in the case with a clink as he did so. ¡°To be honest, this is what I¡¯ve got. I don¡¯t like the idea of being tied down. I¡¯ll leave things up to fate, and I¡¯ll follow where that leads. If that takes me somewhere unfamiliar, then that¡¯s even better.¡±

    You seek the unknown, then?

    ¡°If it comes to me first.¡±

    Do you fear it?

    ¡°Not by default.¡±

    The voice in his head was silent for a moment. You fit your legacy well.

    River¡¯s eyes flickered towards the blue skies above, useless as he knew the motion to be. ¡°My¡­legacy?¡±

    You possess a spirit of wind. You are not aimless, but rather untethered. You are free. So, too, do you just as freely accept that which crosses your path. It would serve to illuminate your reception of my own spirit, then.

    He meant it literally, maybe--the wind aspect in particular, at least. ¡°A spirit of¡­wind,¡± River repeated slowly.

    That is to say, you are Spirited.

    He tilted his head. ¡°Is that a good thing?¡±

    It is wonderful.

    River smiled softly. Purely sentimental or not, his words were warm. The spilling sunlight from on high grazed his skin with a different type of warmth entirely, and the combination was serene. He was surely still dreaming. If he tried, he could surrender the tender earth beneath his feet in favor of the sky above. He was already floating, anyway.

    ¡°Do you have a name?¡± River tried. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t keep calling you ¡®the voice in my head¡¯ forever.¡±

    I go by the name of Rondelio.

    River¡¯s smile brightened somewhat, unseen as he knew it to be. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, Rondelio. I¡¯m sorry for not asking sooner.¡±

    And would you still wish that I call you River?

    He nodded. ¡°I¡¯m surprised that you remembered. Now I feel even more guilty.¡±

    I would not forget the name of my own. I am yours, as you are mine.

    Possessive or otherwise, it was a sentiment that somehow rang endearing. River chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m fine with that. I look forward to having you at my side, then.¡±

    And I, as to you, my child.

    That, too, felt soft. River liked it. Every sentence and affirmation seeped its way into his heart, droplet by droplet. He let it, and he embraced the satisfaction that followed in its wake. It answered one question, given that he¡¯d already salvaged a moniker for the instrument itself. As to what purpose the accordion had, he cared little.

    It was more than a novelty, and to call it such would be an insult. It was a gift he intended to unravel thread by thread, note by note as its gusting melody graced his soul. He was still strongly considering attempting to play while walking. He doubted he¡¯d attract attention so far from town, lost in the embrace of nature as he was. Greenery alone would be his audience, and he could perhaps outdo the delicate breeze that taunted him time and time again. River stopped considering, eventually. He submitted to the whim.

    He refused to lay the case upon the ground with anything more harsh than a careful thud, balanced and precise. Simplistic black was nearly an insult to the resplendence beyond, and the gracious sun did the instrument justice as he flipped the silver locks. He still hadn¡¯t quite gotten over how pristine it was, nor the way by which such splendor could be abandoned. He was better off for it, he supposed, and it was a blessing of fate.

    River hesitated to question it, stifling his ¡°what-ifs¡± in favor of smooth keys beneath his fingertips. Every vibrant hue of black and white alike shimmered preciously under the glowing sky, and yet more so with each minor movement. It was strange to hold firmly while moving, and straightening up in full with the bulky instrument in his arms was difficult. It would take practice, he supposed. He didn¡¯t mind the concept one bit.

    The song was more than worth it.

    It came naturally, perhaps more so than any feeling that had ever touched his blood. His hands moved of their own accord, and his fingers pressed on each glistening key in turn. The rich sound was as divine as the sensation it came with. River closed his eyes, indulging in the softest chill that was born beneath his touch.

    His blood rushed freely, palpable with every pulsing heartbeat. He was fluid from within, and tension was dashed in favor of something inexplicably malleable. Were he to exhale too sharply, he would forget where his breath ended and his spirit began. It spoke to nothing of the wind, the most delicate breeze born of his melody just barely teasing his hair.

    Where it missed, it fell, scraping the ground and ensnaring discarded nature. The scattering gale was miniscule and playful, by which crumbling leaves brushed against his ankles and swirled about his shoes. He wove the smallest of vortexes with every note, and it was infinitely tranquil. His spirit was as resonant as his soul.

    If he played harder, if he stole his awareness from the waking world and submitted to his trance in full, he could be just as free. He was the eye of his own storm, winds so lovingly crafted gracing him at every angle. It was wonderful. His smile was eternal, warm in place of chilling gusts that stole his heart.

    ¡°Your song is beautiful,¡± he praised above his Spirited harmony.

    And yet you are the one who has brought it into being.

    River beamed, never once stilling his fingers as they roamed over every key. ¡°You have two names, right? Would you like me to call you Renegadria or Rondelio?¡±

    Call me as you like. Both are true, somewhat. You hold my vessel, and you hear my voice. Each bears a title, put simply. Of either one, I¡­suggest you keep it close to your heart.

    River¡¯s attention was unevenly distributed, by which the soft winds born of a softer song still captivated him in every way. Still, the voice in his head was just as gentle, and every word paired well with the melody of his spirit. He didn¡¯t mind. The implications were more concerning. ¡°I figured as much, but am I supposed to keep you a secret?¡±

    For our safety in tandem, I would recommend so.

    Closed as his eyes were, he was somewhat convinced he¡¯d evaporated entirely. He didn¡¯t mind that, either. Guarding a song so breathtaking wasn¡¯t exactly a disheartening thought, if it meant it called his hands home. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe, then,¡± River swore with the same gentle smile.

    And I you, for you shall have my spirit.

    His heart felt as light as his gales. If he was making more, it was surely accidental. He didn¡¯t resist it, suspicious only by virtue of silky fabrics rippling against his skin. He¡¯d stopped walking, at some point, content to embrace only a streaming tempest on every side. ¡°It¡¯s¡­almost sad that I have to hide you away,¡± River said. ¡°Your power is lovely. You have so much to offer the world.¡±

    And yet, I say once more, I am nothing without a bond that holds true. Only through you, my child, is such a blessing upon this world possible. Your spirit is pure, and this realm is better for it. In that way, we are not so different.

    His hands slowed. So, too, did the winds that so wonderfully besieged his hair begin to settle. His song waned, his stormy melody tapering off with the most gentle of stifled notes. Each echoed, captured on his fleeting gales and carried well beyond the clouds as they escaped. Where his heart had beaten so freely and vividly, something different took hold. He couldn¡¯t place what.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­think we¡¯re as similar as you¡¯d believe.¡±

    What do you mean?

    River¡¯s eyelids fluttered open slowly, and he squinted as harsh sunlight stung his pupils. ¡°I don¡¯t really have anything to offer. I don¡¯t really have anything in the first place. This is¡­all I am. I¡¯m honored that you chose me as your partner, don¡¯t misunderstand. It¡¯s just¡­I don¡¯t think ¡®aimless¡¯ is a bad descriptor.¡±

    Are you bothered by such?

    River tightened his grip around the accordion in the slightest. ¡°You¡¯re the first thing I¡¯ve had to myself in a while. If I can do something for you, then that would make me happy. It would give me something to follow.¡±

    Rondelio paused. I¡­see. Know that your happiness is precious, my child. Still, do not feel indebted. We are equal.

    They were not. It was impossible.

    His power was divine. The mortal hands that took hold of his winds and stole his spirit were perhaps sacrilegious in their actions. It was another level of pleasurable, by which a storm not born of this world wrapped River up in utter bliss. It didn¡¯t make it any less sacred. There was nearly guilt that came with his indulgence, and River silently chided himself for it.

    In a vast world, he was small and shapeless. There was almost a comfort in the way by which they were both out of place, puzzle pieces matching only with one another. Whether or not he deserved to reach for them was debatable.

    Have I distressed you?

    His silence was suspicious, apparently. River shook his head, his windswept hair brushing against his cheeks. ¡°N-Not at all.¡±

    If you are troubled, I am here.

    River cobbled together a weak smile. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m--¡±

    It was faint. It came with rustling, and he initially believed it to be yet more foliage blighted by the cool breeze. Still, the sound was most definitely not from above, and his eyes flickering in every direction confirmed as much. It happened twice. The second time was softer, and yet undeniably below him. River¡¯s gaze drifted left, dropping off beyond where his footing was stable.

    Are you alright?

    Tentative steps brought him to the rim of the ledge, out of place with the path as it was. Where nature had flanked him so bountifully on the right, the opposite side spoke only to crumbling stone. It was unsteady on sight, and he feared treading too closely. Thrice over, he heard the same unmistakable ruffling of leafy greenery below. Upon the third instance alone, it came with a strangled sound, just barely audible and surely human. He couldn¡¯t pinpoint it, whether emotionally or otherwise. Peering was dangerous. He tried anyway.

    ¡°I¡­thought I heard something down there,¡± River clarified aloud for the voice in his head.

    Be careful.

    He intended to be. He watched his steps with care, the sprawling horizon beyond sadistically misleading in the face of a steep drop. It was angled, if he looked, cloaked in the pale grays of exposed stone and scattered earthy debris. He could descend with the most cautious maneuvering imaginable, albeit at the risk of tumbling some thirty feet at minimum. Deceptively-plush grass swayed at the base, and he feared colliding with it the hard way. If he strained his eyes, he¡¯d find that he wouldn¡¯t have been the first. His heart skipped a beat painfully.

    The case hit the ground with a thud far less gentle than the first time around. He couldn¡¯t help it, although he handled the instrument with far more care by comparison. River surrendered the accordion in favor of empty hands once more, shaking in their own right as he confirmed the sight yet again. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Whether or not they were alive was debatable. From so high above, the sprawled-out pale hues of skin amongst lush flora were his only indicator of tragedy in the first place. How long he¡¯d been following the trail was anyone¡¯s guess, to say nothing of where he was. The latter was his own problem, and little cause for concern. To whomever rested below, isolation was surely unintentional.

    Everything was a reflex. For the secret he was tasked with keeping, he didn''t dare shun the instrument in full. Hasty reclamation of the accordion upon his back, stuffed hurriedly within bulky confines, preceded his instincts alone.

    River¡¯s body moved before his thoughts could catch up, and he counted his blessings that a way down existed at all. It didn¡¯t make the descent any less precarious, by which every tentative placement of his feet was painstakingly slow. He was left to inch down the perilous slope, more or less, stray gravel clinging to his clothes and dust smearing soft silks. At least twice, River nearly lost his balance, for how he hardly had any in the first place. He held his breath all the way down, lest he, too, crash to the unforgiving earth below.

    What are you doing?

    There¡¯s someone down there.

    He didn¡¯t have the leeway to say it out loud. He struggled to string the words together in the midst of his concentration. They never left his lips, even as he found the opportunity to open his mouth.

    Even so, I say once more, please be careful.

    River¡¯s eyes widened. Distraction nearly did him in, and he ground his palms firmly against rugged rocks beneath his skin. Can you¡­hear me like this?

    Just as you can hear my voice, so, too, do I hear yours.

    It was the worst possible time for his heart to feel light. He couldn¡¯t help it. It dulled the stress that came with descent.

    Upon claiming solid ground once more, he nearly stumbled. He brushed what flakes of crumbling stone he could from his clothes, catching his breath somewhat. His eyes flickered upwards towards the walking path, abandoned so far above his head. Getting back up would be difficult, surely. It wasn¡¯t the most pressing concern. That, instead, came in the form of companionship he wished he didn¡¯t have out here.

    She couldn¡¯t have been much younger than him. Whether or not the girl was conscious was debatable. Every breath was shallow, and yet the notable rise and fall of her shoulders alleviated one of River¡¯s fears. If nothing else, she was alive. It didn¡¯t leave her in good health. Flat on her back, the gash crawling along her torso was undeniably fresh. It oozed remorselessly, pouring with maroon that shimmered as it stained the soft grass below.

    Frazzled hazel locks had tangled with stray twigs, exposed skin lie peppered with splattered dirt, and he caught the same pitiful moans of suffering. Each was faint, if not more so than had been the case above. The bleeding took priority, soaking yet more through the serrated fabric of her shirt with each passing second. His stomach lurched.

    River hesitated to touch her at all. He didn¡¯t have a choice, dropping to his knees at her side. His pants just barely dipped into the spreading puddle of scarlet tinting the grass, although it did little to garner his attention. If she¡¯d fallen, he feared for what was broken. He settled on her head, then.

    As delicately as was possible, River brushed his fingertips along the girl¡¯s hair. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    It was a fruitless question. He knew the answer. Still, it was all he could find.

    It gave him something to work with, at least. Her eyelids fluttered, slowly but surely. He was graced with the blue of the sky he¡¯d abandoned above, still half-lidded and glassy. Her breathing was just as unsteady and just as weak. It took far too long for her clouded gaze to drift to his, pooling with pain he regretted awakening.

    The sharp gasp she set free came in tandem with subtle movements. Her best attempts to shift her body were blighted instantly by a wound that continued to pour crimson to the ground. It was almost an instinct to force his hands onto her shoulders, and he resisted at the last possible moment.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t move,¡± River requested softly. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding. Did you fall?¡±

    She managed the slightest of nods. When her gaze crawled roughly thirty feet up a graying slope, River¡¯s own followed along. If he was hard-pressed to return to the walking path, bringing her back to the same would be abysmal.

    ¡°What happened?¡± he tried.

    His answer came through gritted teeth, every word coated in suffering. ¡°I¡­slipped,¡± the girl explained weakly. ¡°I was¡­trying to get home. It was¡­my fault for walking¡­too close to the ledge. I hit something¡­on the way down. It really hurts.¡±

    That much could be expected. If River cast his eyes behind, the tractionless ledge that had threatened his balance with crumbling gravel wasn''t uniform. He¡¯d been lucky to only be robbed of friction. There was hostile earth, if he cared to inspect, jagged and unforgiving as uneven rocks jutted out from the same slope. Haphazardly-angled trees did little to contribute to safety. River had enough suspicions to assemble a crude explanation. Context alone wasn¡¯t enough to stifle a gushing wound.

    Ultimately, he had nothing in his possession to assist. He traveled light to begin with, harboring little more than the clothes on his back--now marred by dust and debris as they were. He could carry her, maybe, although where he¡¯d go was debatable. Climbing was out of the question. Navigation would leave him in reverse for hours. He knew nothing of first aid beyond what common sense he could scrape together. He still tried.

    ¡°Can I see?¡± River asked quietly, anxious hands already hovering above the glistening gash. ¡°I¡¯ll be gentle, I promise.¡±

    Her eyes, too, glistened. His heart burned. Finding help was an option, although it would leave her alone and helpless in the middle of--for all intents and purposes--nowhere. As carefully as was possible, River submitted his fingers to staining scarlet as he peeled back tattered flaps of cloth. He was no doctor. If it was shallow, he couldn¡¯t tell at first glance.

    It was long enough, spanning well over half of her right side. The makeshift bandage that was soaked clothing scraps had sufficed, clearly. The moment he removed it, he figured that out the hard way. He earned red for his troubles, spilling yet more in a steady stream that trickled down bruised skin.

    Earthy debris wasn''t content to claim her outsides alone, and speckled dirt had snuck its way into the sprawling laceration. Even beneath his tender inspection, she cried out the moment his touch came too close. He recoiled sharply, blood-tinged fingers painting pale skin with an accidental swipe.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± River offered quickly, his heart beating much too fast.

    She was quiet, squeezing her eyes shut with the tiniest whimper of pain. She didn¡¯t move, and her breathing grew perhaps more rapid. River could do little but watch the pain that flickered across her face with every inhale, for how it surely stimulated the wound in turn. His own stomach hurt from the sight alone.

    I don¡¯t know what to do.

    He strongly doubted the voice in his head would have the answers he needed, let alone the capacity to guide him through first aid. Still, it would be calming, maybe. It was worth trying. He didn¡¯t enjoy the way his hands were trembling.

    There is a way.

    River¡¯s racing thoughts slowed in the slightest. A way to¡­what?

    You wish to aid her, yes?

    He nodded. He knew the motion to be lost on them both, closed eyes and an unseen voice immune to the gesture in tandem. Yes. I don¡¯t think I can get her back up there myself, though. I¡­don¡¯t have anything to stop the--

    I could lend you my spirit.

    His voice was overpowering, and River¡¯s thoughts were lost beneath it. What do you mean?

    You are Spirited, Rondelio went on. Upon your blood, you are gifted with that which is meant to heal. Should you wish it, you may ease her suffering. Such is that which blesses you, so that you may bless others in turn.

    River¡¯s pounding heartbeat steadied, his eyes settling neatly on the gruesome wound once more. The girl continued to offer only soft sounds of pain, shirking pleas for help or tears in their place. Where he gave her no words of comfort, he clung to words not his own from within. Are you saying that I can heal her? Is that¡­your power, too?

    I say again, child, that you are the one who would bring such into being. It is just as much yours.

    How would I do it?

    I would guide you.

    In the¡­same way as your song?

    You would do as you have done.

    His hesitation was momentary, and he spared only a fraction of a second. Carefully, he slipped the straps from his shoulders, once more lowering the case to the ground with a cautious thud. It got the girl''s attention, her clouded eyes opening yet again as she gazed at him with mild confusion. It hardly mattered.

    River was already running through the motions of flipping locks and gathering that which he was coming to love into his arms. The positioning was growing instinctive, the instrument settling naturally into place with little manual input. His fingers found a home, marred by drying red or otherwise along every key. He met the girl''s eyes, stealing one deep breath.

    Know that such healing is not without consequence. I must warn you now.

    River tensed. What do you mean?

    Where you would give, something would be taken in return. It is unavoidable, a price to pay for blessings not meant for this world. You are not obligated, I will remind you.

    I don¡¯t understand, he confessed.

    It was Rondelio who was quiet, momentarily. Where you would heal others, you will lose yourself. What wounds you grace with your spirit will steal from your future.

    My future? As in¡­my life?

    Put simply, yes. The time you have left in this world will be traded for mercy.

    River flinched. All of it?

    In proportion to what you have healed.

    How will I know how much I lose?

    I will tell you, should you ask.

    His eyes fell yet again to the weeping wound. Curiosity overtook fear. It probably shouldn¡¯t have, and he was calmer than he¡¯d expected to be. This one, then. How much would I lose?

    Rondelio hesitated where River was undaunted. One year. For what would be endured without the blessing of--

    One year, he repeated within. That¡¯s it?

    By¡­which you would have one less year to walk this world, yes, Rondelio answered, his soft voice just barely tinted with surprise.

    River inhaled deeply. He exhaled just as such, straightening up somewhat as he perched the instrument above his knees. Show me how.

    Are you certain?

    Yes.

    And you would accept those terms, River?

    I do.

    One year was nothing.

    Then¡­you shall have my spirit.

    The song that fell to River¡¯s fingertips was just as natural and just as reflexive, pouring from his touch in time with the streaming in his blood. Once more did it rush and flow, pulsing delicately beyond his heart into every pore. It was the same soft chill, somewhere between warm and cool in a way that left his soul shimmering. Again were his muscles lax, and again was he fluid in every way. Again did his very breath bleed into his winds, and again did he submit to the gentle gales born of his swirling melody.

    It wasn¡¯t the best time to remember his pledge, by which he¡¯d so recently sworn to keep a secret. Here, with sod scattering and grass bending beneath his song, his little tempest before the eyes of another did the opposite. River''s warm winds rustled his hair and teased the girl''s own in turn, the gusts born of his spontaneous harmony gifted to another as they rolled through the open air.

    That would¡¯ve been enough, healing to his soul as it was. Instead, it was green.

    The drifting gales he offered up were tinted, graced with that which his eyes could perceive. The most flawless viridian he¡¯d ever caught sight of rode upon his winds, and River didn¡¯t dare look away as he brought them into being. Every rich note left them shimmering, and every confident motion brought them swirling. From nothing, he wove something, stealing the purest greens of the bountiful nature around him. In warm wisps, they again touched his skin and warmed his face, if not more so than before.

    His storm was shining, gently or otherwise. His very blood was just as warm from within, cascading through his throbbing veins much the same. His hands pushed harder, and his winds glistened brighter. His fingers moved faster, and his gusts grew stronger. It was a sensation different and yet not, all at once, by which his skin ran hot and his spirit ran hotter. It ran too hot, maybe.

    It hurt. That was new.

    It wasn¡¯t enough to make him stop, mesmerized by the spectacle as he was. Still, in the time he¡¯d learned to embrace such power and submit to winds born of his songs, it had never once hurt. It started at his fingertips, every key burning where once had rested only cool metal. River thought he¡¯d sliced his skin, initially, be it secondary to his own carelessness or otherwise.

    The blood he found on the instrument was confusing, and he attributed it to that which he''d brought along from the poisoned grass below. Even so, it was a sting that worsened with each movement. It crawled up his arms and bit into his muscles. It reached for his shoulders, and there, too, did pain meet its mark. River winced, gritting his teeth in the midst of his glowing melody. Not once did he slow his aching hands, nor did he stifle his strength with every push and pull of the accordion.

    There was most definitely blood. It was most definitely his. He lamented the way it tainted an instrument so pure, dripping steadily down the rounded keys and splashing the body of the accordion. His palms weren''t immune to the same, cracked and burning in a manner that spoke to much the same oozing. River could¡¯ve sworn he could taste it, somewhat.

    His head hurt. His stomach hurt. His chest hurt. It was unsettling, and still he refused to stop. His gusts were pulsing in time with his throbbing blood, glistening in place of pain. It was worth it, somehow. If he followed the most beautiful of greens with his eyes, it was a simple distraction.

    River had little control over where they drifted, let alone where they settled. The way by which they crossed paths was quite literally divine, tangling in a resplendent display of haphazard glows. Shimmering viridian wove something greater than passing reprieve, born to do far more than cool his scorching skin. It wasn''t his skin that was blessed, but rather that which had left his heart racing and his stomach lurching--pain be damned.

    His twisting gales descended on the open gash, still leaking hurtful scarlet in its own right. In the slightest, they dove beyond severed skin, invading that which wasn''t meant for exposure to open air. It would¡¯ve been distressing, had the rest of his settling gusts not followed in their wake. His song was merciful, his ballad a blessing.

    Beneath River''s suffering touch, his tempest unraveled, strands of pulsing greens crossing and weaving into the most luminescent of barriers along broken skin. Slowly, one by one, the threads of his storm glowed brighter and tethered more firmly in place. It left painful red suppressed by vivid viridian, lovely in every way as it called the girl¡¯s slashed skin home.

    Where he¡¯d had no pristine gauze to offer up, he crafted his own in a manner he couldn¡¯t begin to fathom. River stared, more so enraptured by the endless glimmer than the searing sensation in his hands. Not a drop of blood seeped through his newly-made barricade, small as it was.

    He traded it for his own. Even as red trickled down his fingertips and dripped steadily onto the earth below, he never halted his song. He couldn¡¯t pinpoint why. Devoid of green, it was somehow natural, and it took conscious effort to taper his reflexive harmonies.

    So, too, did the girl stare at the same place. Under absolutely no circumstances could he blame her. It took effort for her glassy eyes to drift downwards, let alone for her to shift her battered body enough to bear witness. That part came with a fierce wince. Still, he could¡¯ve sworn he caught a different glimmer of light entirely behind her pupils. Her fingers twitched, and yet never rose to inspect the attended wound. Instead, her attention fell to River alone, forgoing the interloping instrument in his lap altogether.

    ¡°Are you an angel?¡± she murmured hoarsely.

    He blushed.

    ¡°N-No, no,¡± River argued, frantically waving his hands. The action hurt just as severely, and he regretted the quick motion. It left blood splattering along his thighs. He wondered exactly how much red he¡¯d be forced to tolerate today. ¡°I just¡­wanted you to be okay.¡±

    Only now did her eyes flicker to the accordion. Her voice was stronger, somewhat. ¡°How did you do that?¡±

    River hesitated. He¡¯d been afraid of that part, in particular. He did what he could to find a suitable answer. He couldn¡¯t, really, and deflection was the best he had to offer. It came with a soft smile and softer words. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Everything¡¯s going to be okay, now. We¡¯ll get you somewhere safe, alright?¡±

    He held his breath. It was enough, hopefully. When she nodded, River got his relief--for now. He made a mental note to elude her the moment her safety was guaranteed, lest she push. He still hadn¡¯t determined exactly how severe the consequences of the display would be.

    And when his muscles throbbed painfully once more, it was hard not to wince. Worrying her would lead to prying. He was still bleeding, and that was enough of a prompt for difficult conversations.

    Are you alright, my child?

    There¡¯d been another consequence. He¡¯d forgotten.

    I¡¯m okay. It hurts, a little.

    River thought he was numb, at first. He waited for it to sink in, and yet it took time to realize it was already there. It didn¡¯t bother him nearly as much as he¡¯d expected it to.

    Are you¡­satisfied with your choice?

    It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d had anything else to do with it, should he keep it to himself.

    How often can I do that?

    Of what do you speak?

    That. What I¡­just did.

    Rondelio was quiet for a moment. As often as you would like.

    River was staring again. If the girl noticed, she didn¡¯t call him on it. They were gales not his own, technically. It was a glow not his own, technically. The song, too, was just as borrowed and just as debatable--he didn¡¯t deserve it, maybe, divine as it continued to be. Still, if it wasn''t his to keep, it was his to hold. His life, by comparison, was undoubtedly his alone. That, then, he could control.

    The girl could stand, if he let her rest. Of that, he was certain. She moved with less strain, her breaths deeper and her whimpers of pain long since hushed. Even if ascending to the walking path once more was out of the question, it would allow them to hunt for an alternate route. He could find her a hospital. She would suffer what pains she had left to endure, for how she¡¯d fallen so far and damaged so much. He¡¯d fixed one. It left the rest. She looked exhausted, and the sun was unkind--shady foliage above be damned.

    River exhaled softly. Rondelio?

    Yes?

    How long will I live for?

    I know not. I cannot tell, even should I attempt. You may perish shortly, or perhaps upon the distant future. It is a mystery, even to myself. Every blessing would carry such a risk, by which your lifespan is¡­uncertain. I apologize that I cannot do more.

    In reality, asking would¡¯ve done little to change his mind. River didn¡¯t need to know, necessarily. He had an average guess, born largely of common sense alone. If he was wrong, it would simply be another way by which fate pressed gently against his back. In that way, it wasn¡¯t so different than usual.

    They were still uneven. They always would be, for all the time he¡¯d be destined to hold the accordion in his blessed hands. This, too, was fate. He was no angel. Still, he could be something. She needed it more than he did. She¡¯d make more use out of it than he would.

    Once more was the instrument in River''s arms, and once more were his fingers along the keys. His blood was irrelevant, flaking slightly as it dried along his skin. The girl had abrasions. She had smaller lacerations, speckled and scattered. She had bruises. Things were broken, maybe. She was suffering, surely and undeniably. It wasn¡¯t up for debate. Her pain was worse than his would be. That took priority.

    And, for once, in a world that left him empty, his heart was full. For the first time, cursed to drift aimlessly upon the cold wind, his feet touched the ground. Where he had nothing to offer the universe, he could offer up the one thing so rightfully his. He wasn¡¯t afraid. He took one deep breath.

    ¡°What else hurts?¡±

 88. Anomaly

    There was absolutely no way Octavia was forsaking Mixoly two nights in a row.

    She¡¯d done her due diligence--or so she rationalized. Stratos had had his turn. She¡¯d established previously that her ¡°nightly walks¡± were routine, and she hoped that would count for at least something. Getting through the day with patience was the hardest part, her head buzzing nearly nonstop as she performed what little of her routine she¡¯d come to expect. Octavia barely even remembered the toll, let alone the guiding portion. One of those was more than likely a good thing.

    There was a chronic temptation that came with the setting sun and the slow dwindling of activity in her cottage, by which she was outright eager for all five of her companions to opt for unconsciousness as quickly as possible. Stratos didn¡¯t object, and his tiny plea for her to return safe was sufficient. Not an iota of true suspicion had yet to cross her, and it would take effort she lamented to keep it that way. The moment the moon was on its way up and into the heights of the blackened sky, Octavia was dying to leave. Tonight, she pushed her luck far too early, desperate to maximize her time. She nearly paid the price.

    ¡°Are you going somewhere?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s hand was almost on the doorknob before she jumped, the sudden voice in the dark startling her fiercely. It still wasn¡¯t as bad as every time Theo seemed to find her. Her excuse was instinctive, readied on her lips like a weapon. It was by absolute luck that she made the decision to verify her interloper before she began to speak, given the order by which she would¡¯ve met their eyes second. It was the worst possible person who could¡¯ve caught her in the act, frankly, as she¡¯d feared several times over.

    Her stomach lurched. Octavia dropped to one knee, feigning a need to retie the laces of her boot. Her eyes trailed only along the leather, and she didn¡¯t dare look up. ¡°Can¡¯t sleep. Sometimes, I go for walks at night when the weather¡¯s nice. It helps me clear my head, and it makes it easier to sleep. It¡¯s better than lying around thinking about stuff I don¡¯t¡­really want to think about.¡±

    The last part was pushing it. She was fishing for pity, and she knew she¡¯d get it from him. When Octavia found the courage to look up at last, the soft hurt in his eyes was enough to affirm her success.

    Harper tilted his head knowingly. ¡°I get it. Try not to stay out too late, okay?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not my mom,¡± Octavia joked. ¡°Is that¡­coffee?¡±

    He sipped. He nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°At¡­night.¡±

    Harper shrugged. ¡°It helps me sleep.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°Coffee helps you sleep?¡±

    He smirked. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not judging you for wandering around at ten o¡¯clock at night. Everyone¡¯s different. Let me enjoy my methods.¡±

    She, too, couldn¡¯t fight the smirk that came with a roll of her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re so weird,¡± she muttered.

    Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she heard him sipping even louder out of spite behind her on the way out. It was almost enough to make her laugh. There was a frustration that came with the limitations of his gift. He¡¯d helped her practically put Samuel up against a wall. If he could do the same thing for Stratos, Octavia would owe Harper her life--literally, maybe. Impossible as the idea was, it still burned just to maintain her secrecy. It was Harper. It was just Harper. It was specifically Harper. Surely Mixoly would understand.

    She was lucky with the moonlight, lucky with her pacing, and lucky with her routing, otherwise. Octavia¡¯s one and only pitfall had been at the cottage, and she was utterly spared of any further complications on the way there. She still knew, hypothetically, of at least one person on any given night to be out there with her. It left three more who didn¡¯t know of her routine excursions.

    Running into Francisco again had the potential to be fatal. It absolutely could not happen. This would, hopefully, become an even easier task once the full moon stopped blessing her so fervently with its generous glow. She couldn¡¯t necessarily expect every single Maestro in Tacell to stay bound to their cottages each night forever. A bit of room for coverage would¡¯ve been nice now and again, lest wandering eyes catch her in the worst way.

    Octavia had the path to Theo¡¯s cottage largely committed to memory, at this point--although she didn¡¯t dare sprint to it at any given time. It did shorten the walk significantly, and for that, she was grateful. She didn¡¯t knock. She didn¡¯t hesitate. Whatever got her out of the vulnerability of the brightened night was most important. With one hand around the doorknob, she plunged into the dark with the Muse¡¯s name in mind alone.

    Mixoly.

    She remembered her promise. Inside of her heart, it was surely alright. Octavia knew better than to let the three syllables leave her lips otherwise, risking their safety in the open air. She was rewarded.

    Ambassador.

    Octavia breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled the door shut behind her. ¡°Where are you?¡±

    She hadn¡¯t particularly needed to ask. She realized it of her own accord moments later, her eyes snapping to the slight movement on the salon floor. She really, really wished Theo would just use the sofa. Instead, there he was again, content to curl up cross-legged on the rug alone. He didn¡¯t wave, acknowledging her presence only with a tilt of his head and calm eyes. At the very least, Octavia much preferred this to his previous hostilities. She still didn¡¯t look forward to getting stuck on the floor again.

    I am here.

    She¡¯d already figured that part out, given the little piccolo cradled in Theo¡¯s palms once more. She didn¡¯t want to be rude about it.

    ¡°I¡­came back,¡± Octavia clarified, well aware that she was stating the obvious. ¡°I did what you told me. I tried to fake it. I spent a day trying to be casual. I spent time with Stratos, too. I-I didn¡¯t say anything, of course. I¡­wouldn¡¯t. I think it worked. I still don¡¯t think he suspects anything. He hasn¡¯t said anything to me, if he does.¡±

    Good.

    The affirmation was all she received prior to the same lustrous, starry glow that she¡¯d adored several days before. Theo didn¡¯t so much as turn around, content to let the Muse¡¯s shimmering visage bless the open air. Once more was the moonlight streaming through the curtains challenged by her radiance, and Octavia enjoyed it just as much as last time. To see her less hesitant was wonderful in and of itself. For all of her talk of trust, Mixoly¡¯s own trust in the Ambassador felt good.

    ¡°And you are safe?¡± Mixoly asked softly.

    Octavia nodded. ¡°I¡¯m okay. Nothing¡¯s happened.¡±

    The Muse nodded in turn. ¡°Good,¡± she repeated.

    The silence that settled between them for a moment was as comfortable as it was awkward. Octavia shifted slightly, and not solely because the rug was already irritating her calves. ¡°I¡­I tried to get Stratos to talk. I was careful about what I said. Your Lord of All, Ramulus. Stratos said he¡¯d¡­call for me, when the time came. I still don¡¯t completely get what that means.¡±

    ¡°There is no risk in him admitting as much,¡± Mixoly clarified. ¡°It would make sense. Our Lord must look to the Ambassador if he wishes to return to Above. His own grace in this realm would not suffice in full, as it has not thus far.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Already, Mixoly was hesitating. It hadn¡¯t taken long, although Octavia knew she''d begun to batter the Muse with questions almost immediately upon return. That much was expected. ¡°It was all our Lord could do to simply stifle what had occurred. He was not spared of the Descent. He, too, must be guided to Above, much the same as the others.¡±

    ¡°The Descent,¡± Octavia repeated experimentally.

    ¡°By which they are here,¡± Mixoly added on her behalf.

    Octavia picked at a stray thread escaping the rug absentmindedly. ¡°He told me a story, a while ago. Both of them did. I met Ramulus once, I think. He was¡­I mean, I didn¡¯t see him. I heard his voice from a girl named Rani. It felt like a dream.¡±

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s push was as gentle as it was surprising. Octavia obliged regardless. ¡°My life was in danger. Instead of dying, I woke up on a¡­shoreline of some sort. There were people there, like a little village I¡¯ve never seen. I was really upset about something, and when it all came back to me, I was so overwhelmed by the Dissonance that I thought I¡¯d die that way instead. That girl saved me. Ramulus told me a story that didn¡¯t make a lot of sense at the time, but Stratos told me again later. He said Stratos¡¯ name. It was the first time I¡¯d ever heard it. He said I¡¯d¡­be the one.¡±

    With the words on her tongue, she eyed Mixoly uncomfortably. There was no judgment or insistence of the truth, and Octavia¡¯s initial revelation had long since slashed her heart open. Octavia was thankful for her kindness. She sighed.

    ¡°I woke up,¡± she continued, ¡°or, at least, that¡¯s what it felt like. I was alive, and I was safe, and I was right back where I was when my life was at risk. I haven¡¯t had that experience ever since, or even anything like it. If Stratos hadn¡¯t talked to me about it, I would¡¯ve been convinced it was a dream forever.¡±

    ¡°It was no dream,¡± Mixoly offered with a shake of her head. ¡°That certainly sounds like him. Of the story he told, what did it entail?¡±

    For having heard it twice over, she remembered significantly more of it in Stratos¡¯ voice than Rani¡¯s. Even that wasn¡¯t enough to cover everything she knew she should¡¯ve recalled. Octavia still tried anyway. ¡°Something about how the world was made. Where once was none came all, I think Stratos said. Then there was¡­She Who Brought the World to Ruin, and this ¡®she¡¯ destroyed whatever they¡¯d made together. Ethel said that¡¯s how Dissonance was born, too. Anyway, they were¡­dragged down here, somehow, all ninety-six of them--he said ninety-six, at least. Now, they¡¯re waiting to go back, and they¡¯ll make it to Above, someday. It was worded a lot more nicely than that, but that¡¯s what I remember of it.¡±

    Mixoly was quiet. Ever so subtly, Octavia caught the way Theo¡¯s eyes flickered upwards towards the Muse in the wake of her silence. It didn¡¯t last too long.

    ¡°As to your¡­encounter with Lord Ramulus, you will surely encounter him once more. That our Lord and Stratos should gift you with the same succinct tale of our struggles so fancifully spoken should illustrate their bond. It is as I have said, Ambassador. Distance is no matter.¡±

    Although she knew the words had left her lips dozens of times in Mixoly¡¯s presence, Octavia found herself asking the same question time and time again. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Mixoly took that question with patience each time. Octavia thanked every star in the sky. ¡°For those of his own blood, those in whom his utmost confidence rests, his voice carries far. Even now, Stratos has surely heard his words time and time again, no matter where our Lord may await your presence. He is more than likely not the exception, as I have also stated of the Heartful.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Stratos can talk to Ramulus? Or, uh, Lord Ramulus?¡±

    Mixoly nodded. ¡°And he will relay all he may witness, such that every action of the Ambassador is kept under the shining light of our Lord.¡±

    ¡°He tells him everything I do?¡± she interpreted with slightly more alarm.

    ¡°Tell me, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly began, ¡°how often do you hold his vessel close?¡±

    Octavia fidgeted. ¡°Pretty often. Really, really often, honestly.¡±

    Even blank as it was, she wasn¡¯t a fan of the look Theo was giving her. She couldn¡¯t pin it down. Anything short of hostility in his eyes had been difficult to interpret recently. It still lingered on her for far longer than she was comfortable with.

    ¡°Are you aware, my child, that we¡­see as you do?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Mixoly gestured vaguely towards Theo, the brunt of her motion largely angled at the piccolo delicately enclosed in his palms. ¡°There are limitations that accompany the vessels to which we are bound. In the hands of our own, we may be privy to their eyes and the sights bestowed upon them. When my vessel would languish, this realm is dark and empty. It is by the grace of this beloved child that I should see the world as he does.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡­see through his eyes.¡±

    ¡°Upon his touch alone.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°So I will rephrase, then,¡± Mixoly continued. ¡°Knowing this, how often has Stratos seen as you have?¡±

    She froze. She was afraid to consider, and equally as afraid to sift through her memories with him for discrepancies. ¡°I-I mean, a¡­lot, I guess. He¡¯s almost always with me. If I¡¯m not holding Strad--if I¡¯m not holding his vessel, he¡¯s at least in a case on my back or nearby. I¡¯m so used to holding him that I¡¯ve never really thought about it. I¡¯d assume he¡¯s seen everything.¡±

    ¡°He needs not a form to steal with his gaze,¡± Mixoly insisted. ¡°Each time you hold him close, be on your guard. Plan carefully, Ambassador.¡±

    Every instance of warmth that she¡¯d found in her heart with Stradivaria in her arms was dashed in an instant. Every memory of the mahogany against her cheek, the sleek sensation of the bow¡¯s handle between her fingers, the rugged strings biting gently into her fingertips, all were for naught. To be fair, she¡¯d had little to hide--at least consciously. Under different circumstances, she might¡¯ve found the revelation an opportunity for them to grow closer with love. Octavia had little love left in her heart for Stratos anymore, and it burned as what was left leaked out drop by drop every day.

    ¡°Do you ever talk to Ramulus, Mixoly?¡± she tried, somewhat desperate to change the subject.

    Only long after the question had left Octavia¡¯s mouth did she realize her alias-free folly yet again. It was becoming an extremely poor habit, particularly given that such a gentle moniker in lieu of the Muse¡¯s true name had been her idea in the first place.

    Mixoly didn¡¯t honor her--as to both her inquiry and mistake alike--with body language, affirmative or otherwise. ¡°I cannot, nor would I. I have once stated that I am an exception to the way by which all is to be.¡±

    Octavia weighed pushing her again. She opted to try, whether or not she succeeded. ¡°I know you said you¡¯re an exception. I know you said you¡¯re special. You act differently than every other Muse I¡¯ve ever met. I¡¯m not even supposed to be talking to you, you said. They¡¯ve got you¡­isolated like this. They¡¯ve got Theo isolated like this.¡±

    ¡°This child is protecting me.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes drifted down to the Heartful Maestro. The mention of his name did nothing to faze him, and he only gifted his soft gaze to Mixoly above. His hands were silent, just as he¡¯d been for their whole conversation. Given how little he''d reacted to each and every one of Mixoly¡¯s bold claims, Octavia was baffled at how much he may have already known.

    ¡°But what is he protecting you from?¡± she pressed. ¡°Why are you an exception?¡±

    Mixoly was silent. It was frustrating. For as much as Octavia wanted to be grateful for what excessive insight the Muse had gifted her with, so much went unspoken that the thirst to push was unquenchable. She briefly wondered if she was overstepping her bounds--although a lack of hostility on Theo¡¯s part quashed that fear somewhat.

    ¡°Bear witness to the toll,¡± Mixoly spoke softly at last, ¡°and all will be clear.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help the way her eyes widened once more. ¡°You¡­want me to perform the Witnessing?¡±

    ¡°If possible.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°You do not understand my words.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°What?¡±

    Mixoly averted her faceless gaze. ¡°It will not be that to which you are accustomed. Know this to be true. I cannot offer my aid for this task alone, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­seen a lot of tolls,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°I¡¯ve been through a lot. No matter how bad it is, I can do it if it¡¯s for you.¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t answer her. The fleeting glance she exchanged with Theo was between the two alone, somewhat unsettling to observe from afar. Octavia couldn¡¯t pinpoint why. If he spoke with his heart, she¡¯d been certain she could eavesdrop on Mixoly¡¯s responses. Instead, they were speaking solely with their gazes. It was a bond Octavia had never seen before.

    ¡°I will invite you to attempt, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly said gently.

    Her phrasing aside, Octavia nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±

    The silence Mixoly returned to her was permission enough. She inched her way across the rug with such gracelessness that her knees burned, and she immediately regretted it. Octavia was exceedingly grateful that Theo didn¡¯t take the opportunity to belittle her in any capacity. The way he only offered her the same blank stare all the way through her wincing wasn¡¯t too comforting, in truth. She did what she could to compose herself as she sat on her heels, flexing her fingers several times for good measure.

    ¡°Do you know how many tolls you have?¡± Octavia asked him tentatively.

    The Heartful boy didn¡¯t hesitate. He raised one finger aloft.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­sure?¡±

    He nodded slowly.

    Octavia paused. ¡°Do you know¡­who it is?¡±

    Again, Theo nodded.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°And you¡¯re¡­sure of that?¡±

    Once more, he did the same.

    Octavia tensed. Witnessing the toll of a child never failed to make her nauseous, and this was no exception. She raised her eyes to Mixoly tentatively, and Theo emulated the motion.

    To Octavia¡¯s surprise, it was Mixoly who was the most hesitant of all. Never once had she seen a Muse so timidly give permission for their own path to salvation.

    ¡°Theo Senz,¡± she spoke meekly after far too long, ¡°your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    For the supposed ¡°exception¡± that Mixoly was, cryptic as her claim had been, her road to guidance had started off identically to those of her counterparts. A toll was a toll. A Harmonial Instrument was a Harmonial Instrument. Fundamentally, she was the same. She was a Muse, and Octavia knew the motions. She¡¯d go with what she was used to. If that didn¡¯t work, she¡¯d figure out the rest when she got there.

    Octavia didn¡¯t need to gesture for her turn with Miracle Agony. Theo had already taken the initiative, cradling the little piccolo before the Ambassador in his upturned palms. He met Octavia¡¯s eyes with quiet complacency, studying her each and every move neutrally. It was as unnerving as it was comforting. She preferred this disposition to a child she would have to fight to reassure throughout the process. Much of Octavia still lamented that he was in this position at all.

    She was taking too long, apparently. Theo''s eyes flickered downwards into his hands before locking with hers once more. Octavia flushed.

    It was with more of a sigh than a deep breath that she tentatively settled her fingers onto the instrument he carried with such care, warmed by his extensive touch alone. In the dark of the room, with only Mixoly¡¯s graceful glow and the moon to weakly compete in her wake, the depths that Octavia surrendered to weren¡¯t as off-putting as usual. In her last moments of lucidity, there was a comfort that came with Heartful company on her way down. It was a thought almost bright enough to compensate.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia shouldn¡¯t have spent as much of the toll as she did hunting for discrepancies. It happened anyway. The urge was too great, and Mixoly¡¯s words were too haunting. The implications of her routine task as something of a trial or obstacle were unignorable, try as she might to pay attention. She was vaguely aware of the disservice she was doing to Theo, given the degree to which she wasn¡¯t immediately fully engrossed in the stranger he¡¯d settled upon her shoulders. For his bond with Mixoly and his complacency with her on the way down, Octavia wondered if he¡¯d care. She wondered if he¡¯d prefer her curiosity by comparison, really.

    It was a place she¡¯d never seen, a landscape she¡¯d never walked upon, a sky she¡¯d never loved and blossomed under. Of the strangers who composed her picturesque, nature-tinted life, Octavia recognized one of them--calm and speechless even so tiny as he was. He wouldn¡¯t smile. She still, to this day, hadn¡¯t seen him smile, and the implications that stretched back this far into his life were somewhat upsetting. Given the role of her stranger, beloved and loving in equal measure, she already felt for Theo. Octavia was blessed, then, that many of her memories were as affectionate as they were. She grew accustomed to Theo¡¯s visage, at minimum half the age she knew him to be while in the depths of the dark.

    Of herself, then, stolen as she was, Octavia again and again caught snippets and flashes of a brighter heart, impossibly luminescent. Night-black bangs over her eyes and a radiant smile reflected in passing compensated for what Theo didn''t offer the world. He couldn¡¯t have been a little more than twice the boy¡¯s age, from what she could gather, and yet his love was fierce. Her stranger¡¯s entire being, from what Octavia could catch in every touch and hear in every laugh, was endearing and vibrant in a way that was tricky to ignore. He was practically a star twinkling on the earth itself. Each word of endearment and each expression of happiness was as warm as the sun, as gentle as he was. It was still for Theo that his love was most brilliant, and that little sun shone vividly upon the tiny child in flash after flash.

    The dread that pooled in Octavia''s stomach, knowing of the end to come for such a beautiful stolen soul, compromised the sweet nature of his memories with Theo--exceedingly abundant to a degree that outmatched every other figure in his life. It wasn¡¯t that he neglected his mother and father, but more so that his personal sunshine shimmered most wonderfully for the little boy alone.

    From here, Octavia could see every unspoken word he signed. Every movement of his fingers, hands, and arms was just as gentle and patient as she¡¯d observed from afar--if not more so. Theo learned from somewhere, she supposed, and his teacher was wonderful. By candlelight, even young as he was, she followed her stranger¡¯s eyes as he studied. Painstakingly self-taught for the sake of another so loved, it was even more of a miracle. She could see so easily why he was adored by those who showered him with their own light.

    There was a consequence that came with such a picturesque landscape, the scene of a painting splashed against the sky and mountains at large. Silver Ridge was flat. Tacell, for all of its rolling hills, was, too, still relatively flat. It was only in Solenford that she¡¯d gotten a true taste of topographical variety, and not under circumstances she enjoyed. It wasn''t her stranger alone who called the valley home, serene as it was. Were Octavia¡¯s heart not torn cleanly between Silver Ridge and Tacell, the same gorgeous view could¡¯ve been a strong distant third candidate for a home.

    The seasons weren''t kind, and the summers Octavia enjoyed so fervently in Silver Ridge were traded for tempests in lieu of sunshine. Some were tolerable. Some were feeble. Some were not, by which the squalls and storms that rolled relentlessly through the little valley left destruction in their wake. They were lucky, usually. Octavia mostly caught the memorable ones. She wondered exactly how many were a typical occurrence in such a land besieged by the violence of nature.

    And when they were unlucky at last, it was with raindrops rather than hellfire. They were excessive, endless, excruciating. They raged in a way Octavia had never seen such an element of life itself unleashed upon anywhere she¡¯d ever lived. There was a unique issue that came with the sloping mountains caging them in on every side, for what such ruthless rains could curse their little world with.

    Granted, the gales had their way, as did the mountainside that could withstand no more of the brutal assault. It hardly mattered by comparison. It was, ironically, the tiny and innocent raindrops that sufficed en masse. There was no outrunning the rain, and there was no hiding from its pursuit once it graced the earth.

    She knew so little about Theo, in truth, and every tiny piece of what she could gather about his life came on the heels of death. She¡¯d often wondered what such a young child had been doing in Tacell utterly alone, given that every other little Maestro had been a temporary fixture. It was solely for Octavia¡¯s touch that they¡¯d voyaged so far, eagerly returning home to doting families with open arms not long after. He was an exception, a permanent part of the settlement she loved. As to why, of what horrific sights she stole against her will, it only just now clicked. It hurt.

    Already, she was grieving for a boy she¡¯d never met, a face she¡¯d come to love through the faintest flashes in mirrors and the surfaces of pristine waters, a sparkle that had warmed her from afar. It didn¡¯t matter how bright his smile was now. It didn¡¯t matter how he carried every ounce of his little light to the smaller child that entered his life so peacefully. It didn¡¯t matter how much he glowed, how many rooms he lit up simply by being near to a boy whose own smile Octavia had never seen him claim. He was going to die. It was the most agonizing reality.

    At the very least, for a boy only somewhat younger than herself, she prayed it would be over quickly. As to where Theo had ended up, Octavia was unsure. She swore never to press him on it, lest she find that he¡¯d been forced to battle breathlessness in the worst way. It wasn¡¯t the best time to wonder how he dealt with storms. Of that, too, she wouldn¡¯t ask. Where the endless sea born from on high dragged her stranger down and stole his breath at last, Octavia¡¯s heart sank right down along with it. She couldn¡¯t fathom watching him drown.

    She fought to close her eyes, and was unsuccessful. To her immense surprise, her beloved stranger¡¯s own stayed open, and the calmness he found beneath the surface was eerily comforting. He didn¡¯t flail, fight, or struggle, drifting as needed and embracing death without resistance. To her much more abject shock, he never made it that far.

    He came up. He was one of few.

    There was little to come up to, by the time her stolen eyes had unblurred and a new flash had replaced the harrowing experience. What had once been picturesque was no more, be it familial love or a place to call his own. Where the seasons had forgiven them dozens of times over, there was no room left for second chances. Even the landscape had grown unforgiving, and rebuilding what had been lost would surely be a futile effort.

    There were others, although they were sparse. For such a village, small as it was, those remaining couldn¡¯t have numbered more than one-third of whom they¡¯d once shared the land with. It was devastating. For all her stranger had lost, himself nearly included, his only compensation was the Heartful child at his side so beloved even now. Their hands were practically fused, and rarely did they part for a time after.

    Where are you trying to get to?

    I don¡¯t know. Anywhere safe.

    Safe?

    Somewhere I can¡­start over, I guess. Somewhere that¡¯d be a good starting point from nothing. Is there anywhere like that?

    There¡¯s plenty of places like that. Aren¡¯t you a little young to be starting anything over?

    I am.

    That boy doesn¡¯t talk much, does he?

    He can¡¯t hear you.

    Oh, uh, sorry. My bad.

    Do you have any suggestions?

    I mean, if you¡¯re on this side of the continent already, Selbright¡¯s as good a place as any.

    Sel..bright?

    Yeah. Big city, solid opportunities, safe enough if you stay in the right places. You seem like a smart kid. You¡¯ll figure something out.

    Which way is it?

    From here? Take the train east. You¡¯ll know it when you see it.

    Thank you for your help.

    No problem. Good luck.

    He had the skills to get by, the confidence to get what he needed, and the courage to get out. He had the drive, even in the wake of extreme loss, to do what was necessary to cling to survival. His hand left Theo¡¯s only to speak, and every last action otherwise carried the Heartful boy in mind. In that sense, it was perhaps not his own spark for a life so graciously gifted that he fled. It was by absolutely no means a short voyage, and the Ambassador¡¯s privilege did little in illustrating the trials she knew had surely followed in his wake.

    Welcome to Mezzoria, by the way.

    In retrospect, Selbright contrasted so sharply with her stranger¡¯s birthright that it was dizzying. He took it startlingly well.

    He didn¡¯t adjust quickly, necessarily, and yet he figured out the basics well enough. It was an inn rather than a permanent abode, granted, but it was a start. It was a roof that wouldn¡¯t collapse beneath tempests that would fight to steal their lives, and that was perhaps enough for now. It was wherever Theo was safe, the warmth of the Ambassador¡¯s stolen smile and unspoken words trailing the young boy every night into his dreams.

    Her stranger¡¯s love was boundless, and he struggled however was necessary on behalf of a boy who depended upon him so. His drive was as fierce as his face was bright, even battered as it was by pain and loss. To start over was an agony all its own, and he carried the burden with a false confidence that betrayed his sweat and tears. More than any subject of any flashes she could steal from him, the boy''s eyes were on Theo most of all. Even if she couldn¡¯t see the softness of his gaze and the warmth he offered up, Octavia could feel it from afar.

    And in the rare moments Theo was alone, it was only in the context of the deepest nights. The boy was like Octavia, in that way, although his preference for isolation was more genuine rather than an excuse. It took him time to learn his way around Selbright, and yet not quite as long as she¡¯d expected. If Octavia were to try, the same excursions would¡¯ve seen her hopelessly lost and fighting long into the hours of morning to come anywhere adjacent to home--or what he claimed as home, temporary as it was.

    Even if she''d never gotten her true tour of Selbright, Octavia found a silver lining in the worst way here in the dark. His eyes blessed her with paths she¡¯d never seen and roads she¡¯d never crossed. She was proud of herself for knowing the one that led to Tacell, at least. It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d made it all the way there.

    He had no way of knowing, logically. Given Theo''s age at the time of such a toll, Octavia was forced to overlay this boy¡¯s experiences with what she knew of Priscilla¡¯s. Budding as it was, there should¡¯ve at least been a Tacell by now. Given its remote location and intentional quarantine from the non-Maestro world, Octavia could only imagine her stranger''s face should he stumble upon it somehow. It wasn¡¯t exactly the easiest journey to make, regardless. He¡¯d made more difficult ones.

    Help me.

    It took Octavia a moment to register where she¡¯d heard that voice before.

    Help me.

    It took him a moment of his own to recognize that there was one at all.

    Is¡­someone there?

    Help me.

    Where are you?

    Please.

    Perhaps she shouldn¡¯t have been surprised that the boy¡¯s curiosity won out where fear would¡¯ve compromised most, quiet courage taking control as needed. Beneath the pale glow of the moon high above, blessed only by the rustling greenery of a meadow below, it could very well have passed as a dream. Even if Octavia knew it to be reality, the way by which her stranger entertained the unbelievable was admirable. Every step was undaunted, chasing that which went unseen.

    Help me.

    Who are you?

    I beg of you.

    Where are you? he repeated, somewhat louder.

    Please.

    I don¡¯t understand.

    He nearly stepped on her.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t blame him, not with how small Miracle Agony was in the first place. Cushioned and concealed by blades of grass far taller than the little piccolo, it was the sparkle of the silver keys alone under the moonlight that caught his eye in time. He nearly stumbled in the process of averting his next step forward, by which Mixoly¡¯s vessel would¡¯ve been crunched underfoot. Whether it would¡¯ve carried consequence was debatable, given the nature of the instrument.

    Help me.

    He didn¡¯t question it. Ever so slowly, more inquisitive than hesitant, he came to rest on his knees in the soft grass. Gentle, calm fingers reached for her, extended with care as she pleaded even now. Tenderly, they brushed against the little piccolo Octavia had come to know.

    The flash that besieged Octavia wasn''t normal. It seared. It crackled. She couldn¡¯t flinch.

    Like glass, it was fragile, splintering. Like acid, it was corrosive, dissolving. It was golden. It was violet. It was soft. It was loud. It was screech upon screech and scream upon scream, blurred and overwhelming. It challenged every sense she could carry with her into the depths. If her stranger was there, if his hands still encircled the Harmonial Instrument, Octavia couldn¡¯t see them.

    An indecipherable barrage incomparable to every bizarre nightmare and feverish dream she¡¯d ever had assailed her stolen eyes. It wasn¡¯t physically painful, granted, just as nothing was in the dark of a toll. It still shot well past her pupils and burrowed deep into every part of her, blinding colors and intolerable sounds shaking her to her core. Octavia couldn¡¯t think. She couldn¡¯t see. She could no longer consider it to be the darkness, for how white it had become.

    ¡ô???????????? ????????????????¡ô????????????? ??????????????????????????????¡ô?????????????????

    Octavia didn¡¯t even realize she¡¯d come up until she was nearly on her back, recoiling with such severity that her head almost hit the hardwood. Her heart pounded relentlessly, confused or otherwise, and she wasn¡¯t ignorant to the lightheadedness that had followed her out. She struggled to catch breaths she didn¡¯t know she¡¯d lost. The hands that had so quickly pulled away from Miracle Agony trembled somewhat.

    It took her a moment to reacclimate to her dim surroundings, the context of weakly-shrouded moonbeams versus the open air of night settling in for her at last. Theo watched her far more calmly than she would¡¯ve expected. She could¡¯ve anticipated the same from Mixoly, who did echo an identical, wordless sentiment. Between the two, losing her composure in front of a ten-year-old boy was somewhat more embarrassing. She struggled to regain it as quickly as possible, stammering or otherwise.

    ¡°W-What¡­was that? Did he die?¡± Octavia tried.

    Mixoly was far more tranquil by comparison. ¡°What did you see?¡±

    She struggled to find words that would do the scene justice. They still weren¡¯t enough. ¡°That boy, his whole toll was fine until he met you! He went to pick you up, and it just¡­there were these bright flashes, and these awful noises, and then the whole thing just ended!¡±

    Mixoly was quiet for a moment. ¡°I assure you, that is not where that child met his end.¡±

    ¡°T-Then what the hell was that? It didn¡¯t end?¡± she cried with shock.

    ¡°I had warned you, Ambassador, that you were welcome to attempt if you so desired.¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the whole toll, then?¡± Octavia asked, her voice still shaking.

    It was Theo who shook his head on Mixoly¡¯s behalf. It wasn''t any more of a comfort.

    ¡°I¡­can I try again?¡± Octavia half-pleaded.

    ¡°If you truly wish to do so,¡± Mixoly said plainly.

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly dread the threat of an abrupt ending to the toll again, painless as it had been. It was far more frustrating than terrifying, a dissatisfaction that left her aching for completion. She took a deep breath. Without further hesitation, she narrowed her eyes, laying her hand a bit too firmly atop Miracle Agony once more.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    It was ironic, in a way, that she''d begged so many times over for an emergency route out of the most heinous tolls. Never had Octavia found an exit, pleading and screaming as she¡¯d been time and time again. When one was finally thrust upon her, she hated it. It was infuriating. She started from the beginning. She¡¯d never witnessed the same toll twice.

    At the very least, Octavia could breathe a sigh of relief watching her radiant stranger lead his life in happiness and sorrow alike, knowing for now that he¡¯d be spared of a watery grave. He would surely perish someday--that much was true. It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d made it far enough to witness exactly how he¡¯d succumb to death. She wished she could feel more joyous about the second chance to bask in his warmth by proxy. The aggravation eating away at her was overpowering, and she could hardly stand it.

    Part of her hunted for anything different, any facet of his toll that would change or shift in any capacity. It was identical. It was the exact same story, a life uprooted by cruel fate and desperately transplanted to a land so far off. There was no difference. It was the same pace, and the wait was just as frustrating.

    When Octavia did reach the threshold, when his feet did step into the ethereal plain beneath the moonlight yet again, Mixoly¡¯s voice was just as soft and pleading. He was just as inquisitive and dauntless. His hands were just as curious as his eyes, and his hesitation was still absent. He still offered his aid where she begged for his attention.

    And, yet again, his stolen world cracked like a mirror before the Ambassador. It was an even more jarring sight the second time around, all she could see splintering and shattering beneath the pressure of blinding brilliance. It was intolerable still, a nova that blasted every pore of her body down to her soul with colors she¡¯d come to both love and hate. Octavia could barely process them, for how quickly they beset her. The same could be said for the violent sounds that followed suit, drenched in suffering and crawling deep into her ears. It was the exact same spot. It was the exact same sensation.

    ¡ô????????????? ????????????¡ô????? ???????????????????¡ô????????

    This time, Octavia didn¡¯t react quite as poorly. Her heart still hadn¡¯t taken the sensory onslaught well, granted. Regardless, she was upright, her breath was well-secured, and she wasn¡¯t shaking severely enough to compromise whatever questions she could pelt at Mixoly.

    ¡°What is that?¡± she more so demanded this time around. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she heard Mixoly sigh. ¡°You were warned, Ambassador, as I have stated. That toll is unlike those with which you are familiar. To bear witness to it in full is¡­no simple matter. Even I know not the solution.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes in frustration. ¡°How does a toll even get like that? It cuts off at the same spot each time!¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t answer. That was just as frustrating. Octavia pinched the bridge of her nose with an exasperated groan. The headache that was slowly forming wasn¡¯t helping anything.

    ¡°That boy,¡± she began sharply. ¡°Who is he?¡±

    She sometimes wondered if Theo forgot she couldn¡¯t understand him, for how quickly his hands moved. She sometimes wondered if he didn¡¯t care, given Mixoly¡¯s more-than-available assistance.

    ¡°¡®Lucian,¡¯¡± the Muse interpreted.

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Lucian?¡±

    He continued, his hands equally fast. Mixoly, thankfully, was the same. ¡°¡®Mixoly¡¯s last Maestro. My brother.¡¯¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°He was¡­a Maestro, then?¡±

    Mixoly nodded. ¡°This child followed in his wake. It was that boy who I once called my own.¡±

    Octavia, too, nodded once in understanding. ¡°Did you two get along?¡±

    ¡°I¡­do not know.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s making it do that,¡± Octavia muttered. ¡°You definitely need that toll witnessed to return to Above, right?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± Mixoly answered.

    Octavia resisted the urge to pull her hair out. ¡°Let me try again.¡±

    Theo¡¯s eyes flickered towards the window, and he jabbed one thumb demonstratively at the rising moon. Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. She winced.

    ¡°I-I¡¯ll be back tomorrow--I mean, I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can,¡± she clarified quickly, already peeling herself off of the uncomfortable rug. ¡°I might have to take tomorrow off to appease Stratos, but after that! This isn¡¯t the end of this, okay?¡±

    Mixoly was calm in the midst of her hurried composure. ¡°Do as you must, Ambassador. I¡­do hope you understand my plight, as of now.¡±

    Octavia rolled her eyes as she retied one of her boots. ¡°I¡¯m gonna figure it out, don¡¯t you worry. We¡¯ll sort through this stuff together, okay? We¡¯ll get you home, I promise.¡±

    It was partially her fault for not giving Mixoly time to answer. The half-hearted wave she offered to Theo was largely an afterthought, for how she¡¯d come to lament trodding casually in and out of his abode. Octavia was at least conscious of their gazes on her back as she darted out of the cottage, frantically calculating the possible hour in her head.

    Retracing her steps wouldn¡¯t be hard at all, provided she could make it an ample distance from Theo¡¯s cottage without any interlopers piecing the puzzle together. Octavia kicked herself for not at least checking if her path was clear from any given window before departure. She wouldn¡¯t make the same mistake next time.

    It was a blessing that she didn¡¯t run into Francisco again, and a greater blessing still that she ran into no one at all. Her re-entry to her own abode was unimpeded, much the same. For what part of her mind had kept her frantic return front and center, she still mentally replayed every aspect of the broken toll over and over. If it was a riddle to be solved, Octavia had absolutely no idea where to begin. Neither did Mixoly, apparently, and that was of no assistance, either. For now, brute force was the only option she could come up with, and the realization was infuriating.

    For the Ambassador to struggle with a single toll so deep into the throes of her responsibilities was humiliating. As always, it wasn¡¯t as though she could seek outside assistance or advice, and that made her want to slam her head against a wall. Mixoly, with all of her accusations and gifted mysteries, was a puzzle in and of herself.

 89. Your Trust

    Her game of deception was a pattern, guilty as it was. It was growing less so each and every time--at least with Stratos alone.

    Octavia had Stratos days. She had Mixoly days. Somewhere in the middle, there were tolls, smiles, and all of the pleasantries that came with astounding secrets she shouldn¡¯t have kept--let alone harbored at all. Every toll to which she bore witness beneath the sunshine was simple, although many were expectedly gruesome and tragic. Each toll, too, was a frustration she couldn¡¯t shake, and she constantly compared them to her one and only consistent failure.

    There¡¯d even been a waver in her self-confidence as Octavia had headed into her first toll since attempting to witness Theo¡¯s, by which she feared failure there as well. It wasn¡¯t as though she could forget the motions of the task, and it went flawlessly in the end. Still, Mixoly¡¯s dilemma was an itch she couldn¡¯t scratch--or more akin to a rash that had crept over every inch of her skin. At least once, in the throes of deep contemplation for a solution, she did genuinely start ripping her hair out. Viola would¡¯ve killed her if she knew.

    Truthfully, she¡¯d grown so fixated on Mixoly that she¡¯d stopped paying much attention to Tacell--sacrilegious as the thought was. Slowly but surely, the ranks of Maestros were decreasing day by day. She still lamented the way by which not every guidance was fully consensual, and many took notable coercion on the part of others.

    They¡¯d officially exhausted every Maestro in a nearby radius outside of Tacell, be they in Selbright or any dwellings no more than a few miles adjacent. It left the remaining Soulful strategizing once more, they themselves strategically spared in part for such a cause. Octavia dreaded the idea of Viola departing again, should she see fit to contribute. She''d said as much, at some point. Her fears were met mostly with laughter and smiles of reassurance, even if the sentiments had been genuine. It hadn¡¯t helped much.

    It wasn¡¯t until River offered her a solid number that she realized exactly how far along she¡¯d come, for as absentmindedly as she continued to proceed day by day. Forty-five had once been an unfathomable concept, given her starting tally of ninety-six. To consider that she had restored a total of fifty-one Muses and counting to the home in which they so rightfully belonged was heartwarming, in a way.

    It would¡¯ve been more gratifying, perhaps, if she didn¡¯t need to fear their conspiracy to use her as they wished. It was only out of obligation that Octavia could look them in the eyes--or lack thereof. She was still grateful for the Dissonance that had been thwarted by their singular returns, for as sparsely as each pocket of purity may have been bestowed.

    ¡°Ambassador.¡±

    It drove Octavia insane that, several months into her stay in Tacell, there were still those who preferred to use her title over her real name. It drove her more insane to be pulled from whatever brainstorming she¡¯d opted to engage in on Mixoly¡¯s behalf, and it startled her to simply be caught with the Muse on her mind. It wasn¡¯t as though anyone could peek into her thoughts--at least, given what she knew of the spider web. She didn¡¯t entertain the idea of an alternative. To be fair, none of that was in any way Faith¡¯s fault.

    Octavia resisted the urge to sigh, for as rude as it would¡¯ve been. She forced a chipper tone, even devoid of a smile in the wake of surprise. ¡°Faith,¡± she identified simply.

    It was off-putting, too, that two months hadn¡¯t been enough to convince the Heartful girl to look her in the eyes when she spoke. Octavia was fairly certain that she wasn''t intimidating--or so she hoped. Faith fidgeted awkwardly with words to match. ¡°I¡­you¡¯re¡­really coming along with your task.¡±

    Octavia was somewhat thankful that Faith didn¡¯t follow her around for tolls as much anymore, for how frequent that problem had initially been. Today was the first time in a while. She could, as such, be forgiven--even if it was only at the very end of the deed. ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s forty-five of them left now, if I¡¯m counting right.¡±

    There was a bonus Muse to be accounted for, in truth. It wasn¡¯t one she could admit to. Octavia¡¯s inability to so much as acknowledge the ninety-seventh Muse felt almost disrespectful.

    Faith nodded weakly. ¡°Y-You¡¯re¡­getting there, for sure. It won¡¯t be long now. I know the Soulful are planning to make more excursions soon once you finish with the ones we have here.¡±

    ¡°How many are still left in Tacell?¡±

    Faith shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know the exact number. It¡¯s a good amount. Maybe another ten or fifteen.¡±

    To hear the numbers growing ever smaller was a shock, in a way. It was almost impossible to process. Octavia offered her lines of thought aloud. ¡°I mean, considering we have ten more between my friends, the Ensemble, and you, we already know where a lot of them are. It¡¯s so surreal to think that this actually has an end. It¡­felt like it was going to last forever, when it started.¡±

    Faith was silent for a moment, the cool breeze filling the gap between the Heartful Maestras instead. ¡°Are you going to miss being the Ambassador?¡±

    At the rate her life was going, absolutely not. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I¡¯m happy I was able to help, but some of the things I¡¯ve seen have been¡­pretty rough. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to miss that.¡±

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± Faith said softly. ¡°Even though you won¡¯t be able to talk to the Muses anymore? You¡¯re the bridge between two worlds. You¡¯re the closest a human could get to them. You¡¯re not going to miss that?¡±

    If Octavia could get further away from them, at this point, that would be safer than anything. ¡°They were never meant to be here. I was never meant to be able to do this in the first place. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll miss that, either. I¡¯ll just be happy when they¡¯re home and the Dissonance is gone. Everybody wins.¡±

    For what little eye contact Faith had offered her once, she stole it back, casting it haphazardly into the grass. ¡°Are you at least going to miss your Muse?¡±

    That was a loaded question. Octavia didn¡¯t like it. She didn¡¯t like trying to find an answer, for the lie it would¡¯ve been either way. With him on her back as he was, the charade more than active in the light of day, there was little to do but err on the side of caution. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s¡­gonna take a long time before I¡¯m used to him not being here anymore. What about you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want her to leave at all,¡± Faith said a bit too quickly. ¡°I want her to stay here.¡±

    Octavia winced. Of all the people who were going to make this process emotionally difficult for her, she¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯t have been anyone she was particularly close to. She at least tried to be empathetic, given that the day in question was still mildly distant. ¡°Spend as much time with her as you can, then. Make the most of what you have with her. I think she¡¯d like that a lot.¡±

    ¡°Did you guide any of the other Heartful yet?¡± Faith asked instead.

    It was a quick change of topic, but a change Octavia didn¡¯t particularly mind. She¡¯d only guided one, so far, given how infrequently she¡¯d stumbled across them. She was vaguely aware of an additional outwardly-visible Heartful Maestro in Tacell, somewhere, her own nightly concern serving as a completely separate entity. At the time, the chimes had been as cute as the young boy who claimed them. It was closer to what she¡¯d expect from one of such a softly-named legacy.

    It was almost a shame that her legacy siblings were so hard to come by, for how inviting their presences always seemed to be--explicitly or otherwise. It was just as much of a shame that Mixoly held such a distaste for her own legacy brethren, by which the bitter words from her lips tainted the sweet flavor on Octavia¡¯s tongue. The feeling was aggravating.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she finally answered simply. ¡°One of them.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Faith repeated. ¡°What do you¡­plan to do once you¡¯re done being the Ambassador?¡±

    Her questions were wildly scattered. Once more, Octavia suppressed the urge to sigh--even if it was an inquiry she was fairly happy to answer yet again. ¡°I¡¯m gonna spend time with my friends, probably. There¡¯s lots of things I want to do together that we haven¡¯t done yet. I¡¯m really looking forward to it, and it¡¯s good motivation.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    It was an awkward response every time, the silences that followed and her stolen gaze even more so. Octavia rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. There wasn¡¯t exactly a good way to take her leave without being rude, and it wasn¡¯t as though she had anywhere of merit to be before nightfall. Still, every long pause was starting to get to her. She contemplated making up an excuse to exit with.

    ¡°Are you tired of being the Ambassador at all?¡±

    Distracted as she was, Faith at least caught her attention again. ¡°What?¡±

    The Heartful girl fidgeted. ¡°You don¡¯t seem¡­very happy with the role. It sounds like it¡¯s a lot to handle. I know you¡¯ve done so much, and it¡¯s amazing that you¡¯ve gotten this far. Do you ever just¡­want to stop?¡±

    For once, Octavia did finally sigh. ¡°Sometimes, yes, but I know I can¡¯t. I know it¡¯ll be over soon enough, and that helps me get through the--¡±

    ¡°If you get tired,¡± Faith interrupted, her words quiet, ¡°let me know.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡± she asked again.

    ¡°If you get tired of being the Ambassador,¡± she clarified, ¡°tell me. I-I can¡­help you out.¡±

    ¡°Help me out¡­how?¡± Octavia pressed hesitantly.

    The look in Faith¡¯s eyes seemed almost fatigued. Octavia hadn¡¯t seen her since Velrose, and how she¡¯d been faring since then was a mystery. She hoped the flame below hadn¡¯t burned the girl too severely. ¡°I can¡­take it off of your shoulders. I can finish what you started. You don¡¯t have to do all of this alone. We¡¯re¡­Heartful, both of us. We¡¯re special. We have to stick together. If you¡¯re struggling, I can help you. Okay?¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t find the words to match her offer, for a moment. Each time she tried, they evaporated from her lips. Her mind went blank far faster than she¡¯d expected it to, and the thought bothered her in more ways than it should''ve. She¡¯d begged for helping hands in Velrose. The moment had passed. Now, the opportunity wasn¡¯t quite so sweet. To pass the supposed deception of the Muses onto another was its own concern. The longer she considered it, the more it bothered her. It was to say utterly nothing of Priscilla.

    ¡°I...appreciate it,¡± Octavia returned at last, ¡°but I think I¡¯ll be okay. I¡¯ve made it through the worst parts, as awful as they were. It¡¯ll be over soon, like I said. I can handle it from here. To have you by my side, though, that makes me feel better. It really is nice to have another Heartful around.¡±

    Faith was quiet for far too long. For a moment, Octavia wondered if she¡¯d made the girl upset. Faith raised her eyes directly into the sun. It surely wasn¡¯t the healthiest option.

    ¡°I¡­see,¡± she nearly whispered. ¡°If you¡­change your mind, I-I¡¯m here.¡±

    Octavia nodded tentatively. ¡°Y-Yeah. Again, I appreciate it.¡±

    That was enough for her Heartful sibling, apparently. She didn¡¯t get a goodbye, and Faith left her in the clearing without words. It was a simultaneous relief from thoughts she didn¡¯t want to consider and a regret for losing the companionship of a fellow Heartful Maestra. Octavia kicked herself. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure over what.

    If she could shed certain aspects of the Ambassador¡¯s burden, peeled with great care like a tender fruit, maybe she would¡¯ve reconsidered. The idea of anyone but herself carefully navigating the spider web, the idea of anyone else battling ninety-six lying tongues for a cause only half-personal, anything she could come up with was too much to justify sharing. It had never truly been a privilege, granted, and it was now more of a curse than ever. The concept of hoisting it onto another made her stomach hurt, for all it would come with. If Faith knew, Octavia wondered if the offer would¡¯ve stood.

    For the matter of Priscilla, at least, there was no question. It simply wasn¡¯t feasible, tempting as it was. If she could cling to no other rationale besides the ultimate symbiotic reward of eradicating the Dissonance, she at least had her original motivation. To step out of Priscilla¡¯s shadow was to do her a disservice. Octavia would prefer to drown in the dark, if that was what it took. If nothing else, there was less of it every day.

    <hr>

    It was a Mixoly night.

    She¡¯d had at least six of them since her first encounter with Theo¡¯s toll, and she was no closer to finding a solid solution. Even granted the one horrifically-short period of time bi-nightly that she had to experiment with delving into broken memories again and again, she struggled to make the most of that window. Octavia tried everything she could think of. Brute force was still a favorite, and she¡¯d once gone over ten failed attempts consecutively before a fierce headache nearly did her in.

    She¡¯d changed angles of approach--literally, as she adjusted Miracle Agony¡¯s positioning in Theo¡¯s hands largely against his will. She¡¯d pressed for everything she could about Lucian, and Theo gave what he could. If he¡¯d been Mixoly¡¯s Maestro, he¡¯d been Heartful. It explained a bit as to the boy Octavia had seen glow so brilliantly on so many occasions. His personality spoke for itself. His age was as Octavia had suspected, only several years off from her own. For all intents and purposes, according to Theo, he was a normal child.

    He wouldn¡¯t say how Lucian had died. It was the one thing Octavia couldn¡¯t bring herself to press Theo on. He¡¯d suffered enough. For how beloved the boy had been, to ask was cruel.

    Each and every time, at the exact same point, Octavia encountered the exact same problem. Splintering cracks seized her eyes, blinding light seeped through each one, and the vivid wrath of hues she loathed and loved erupted in tandem with sounds she couldn¡¯t stand. She¡¯d resurface, panting and frustrated. The rug was steadily fraying beneath the byproduct of her scheduled aggravation, for which she felt mildly regretful. It wasn¡¯t especially hers to destroy. She¡¯d apologize later.

    ¡°Okay, I have to be missing something,¡± Octavia growled at one point, gesturing angrily to the little instrument in Theo¡¯s lap. ¡°It¡¯s exactly the same as it was two weeks ago. Nothing, nothing has changed. I haven¡¯t worn it down, not even a little bit. Is there anything you can possibly think of that I haven¡¯t tried yet?¡±

    ¡°My efforts would be lost, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly said.

    Octavia groaned, tangling her fingers in her braids. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about this constantly, and I still can¡¯t come up with anything. Is there anything about this toll I should know about that I don¡¯t know already? Any background context?¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Elaborate,¡± Mixoly requested.

    She shrugged aggressively. ¡°I don¡¯t know! Like, anything more to it? You were there. You were part of his life. Don¡¯t you know what else happens in there?¡±

    Mixoly was silent.

    ¡°I mean, it always stops at you,¡± Octavia reminded, her tone somewhat accusatory.

    Again, Mixoly was silent.

    She was silent for long enough that Octavia raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± she began, her voice low, ¡°you are telling me everything about this toll, right?¡±

    Nothing.

    ¡°You wanted my help,¡± Octavia pressed. ¡°If there¡¯s something you¡¯re not telling me, then I can¡¯t give it. I need to know everything I can, or I can¡¯t do this.¡±

    It had been long enough since Mixoly had spoken that even Theo was watching her in anticipation.

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°Look. Nothing you¡¯ve told me has left this room. I haven¡¯t said a word to anyone, and I don¡¯t plan to. I¡¯ve gone out of my way to hide anything and everything you¡¯ve said to me, because that¡¯s what you told me to do. I trusted you. I even turned my back on my own partner to do that. If you don¡¯t trust me, this isn¡¯t going to work.¡±

    And still, Octavia got nothing.

    She was aware that she was nearly glaring. She couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°You do trust me, correct?¡±

    ¡°It is not you, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°You don¡¯t, do you?¡±

    Mixoly nearly turned her back to Octavia in full. It was almost pitiful. ¡°There are¡­sins I have committed. I have brought about wrongs that cannot be undone. Forgive me, Ambassador, if they are not so easily spoken.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°Mixoly, I¡¯m not going to judge you. If something happened, that¡¯s fine. Everyone makes mistakes. The thing is, if you don¡¯t tell me what it is, there¡¯s nothing I can do to help. I put myself at risk to trust you. I can¡¯t¡­force you to trust me, but I want to help you. If you want my help, that¡¯s what that comes with.¡±

    The glance Mixoly offered over her shoulder was, too, pitiful. Her body language was perhaps more markedly human than any Muse Octavia had ever met, even those in moments of utter vulnerability. It was as endearing as it was unsettling. ¡°I have¡­reasons to hesitate.¡±

    Octavia nodded slowly. ¡°Everyone does. That¡¯s part of why trust is so special.¡±

    She heard Mixoly sigh. ¡°I have wronged that child.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°Lucian?¡±

    When Mixoly nodded in turn, facing her once more, Octavia sat up straight. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°I do not¡­choose to be this way, Ambassador,¡± she murmured sadly. ¡°I do not choose to curse others with such sorrow and suffering.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what are you talking about?¡± Octavia asked.

    Even with Mixoly¡¯s form explicitly overhead, Octavia was cognizant of the way Theo ran his fingertips gently along the length of Miracle Agony in reassurance. It was sweet, if not futile.

    ¡°I am an exception,¡± she repeated, a statement echoed so many times over. ¡°Where others may find comfort in our bonds, I bring only agony. I was a blight upon that child. It was not an error I could correct alone. To call oneself my own is to bear a burden beyond understanding. It was not he alone who has faced turmoil by my hands, and yet I bitterly regret his pain.¡±

    Octavia took a moment to process her words. ¡°Mixoly, does something¡­happen to your Maestros?¡±

    She nodded, their difference in terminologies notwithstanding.

    ¡°But¡­Theo is fine,¡± Octavia insisted, gesturing to the boy in question.

    And the moment he averted his eyes, gripping the piccolo just the slightest bit tighter, Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat.

    ¡°For what misery I would bestow,¡± Mixoly explained, ¡°there is perhaps no child in the world I could better call my own.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes flickered to Theo, then Mixoly, and back to Theo once more with confusion. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Of one plight, he is immune.¡±

    Again, Octavia met Theo¡¯s gaze. Slowly and calmly, he gestured to his ears. Her eyes widened.

    ¡°Mixoly, exactly what happens to your Maestros?" she pressed again. ¡°What do you do?¡±

    ¡°Those who would¡­share a bond with myself are cursed by that which was never meant to be seen nor heard by humankind. It cannot be stifled, and it cannot be undone, so long as the bond is true,¡± Mixoly clarified, her words solemn.

    ¡°Theo can¡¯t hear,¡± Octavia rationalized. ¡°So does he¡­see things?¡±

    When Theo nodded in the absolute slightest, her stomach twisted into knots. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to break eye contact.

    ¡°How often?¡± she pressed hesitantly.

    He, too, hesitated to sign back, his hands moving slower than usual. Mixoly, at least, translated in a timely manner. ¡°¡®Always.¡¯¡±

    ¡°What¡­do you see?¡± Octavia tried.

    His answer was anything but straightforward, conjured in strained movements after what felt like an eternity of silence. ¡°¡®It¡¯s not as bad in the dark,¡¯¡± Mixoly aided.

    Octavia wanted to push. Something about the look of deep discomfort on Theo¡¯s face stopped her short. She chose her words for Mixoly carefully. ¡°Is that what Lucian saw, then? Whatever¡¯s going on in that toll, is that because of...what happened to him as your Maestro?¡±

    ¡°As to what stifles your success, I could not believe it to be so.¡±

    ¡°How did you get like this?¡± Octavia asked bluntly. ¡°This couldn¡¯t have just¡­happened. That¡¯s not normal. At least, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s normal.¡±

    When Mixoly fell back into her pattern of extended silence, Octavia wasn¡¯t satisfied. Still, she at least tried to be gentle this time around.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± Octavia began, ¡°you¡¯re¡­different. You¡¯re different from every Muse I¡¯ve ever met. You tell me things I shouldn¡¯t know, and you look out for me. You¡¯re honest with me. You¡¯re¡­isolated. You told me they don¡¯t want me to know you. You keep saying there¡¯s something wrong with you, and that you¡¯re an exception. Your tolls are different. Apparently, your Maestros are different.¡±

    She paused. She scanned for absolutely any reaction out of Mixoly. When Octavia was greeted only with further silence and a blank, faceless gaze, she pressed further.

    ¡°You¡¯ve never told me why they don¡¯t want me near you--not in plain terms--and I¡¯ve asked again and again. Why am I not supposed to know you? Why can¡¯t I get through this toll?¡±

    It was Theo, of the two of them, who tensed significantly. His hands stiffened. Octavia did what she could to focus on the Muse alone, off-putting as the distress on his face was.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± she asked gently, ¡°who¡­are you?¡±

    Theo narrowed his eyes, curling in slightly on himself as Miracle Agony somewhat slipped from Octavia¡¯s view. Mixoly was significantly calmer than he was, given that she was the subject of Octavia¡¯s questioning instead. It was an unsettling sight.

    There is no need.

    They weren¡¯t words meant for her. The labored breaths Theo took a bit too quickly were all the confirmation Octavia needed.

    I would gamble my trust. I have told you long ago.

    His eyes upon Octavia¡¯s harbored a hostility she hadn¡¯t seen in some time. He signed rapidly, his hands almost shaking in the process. She almost recognized the last gestures at the end of each string of motions, for how often they were repeated. She¡¯d seen the same unspoken words at the end of many of his prior threats to her. At this point, Octavia prayed it was empty aggression.

    Beloved child, I truly mean as I say. Temper your fears on my behalf.

    Theo raised his panicked eyes to her, shaking his head fervently. It hurt just to watch. As intrusive as Octavia knew herself to be at the moment, she still did what she could to intervene.

    ¡°Whatever you have to say is safe with me,¡± she reassured quietly. ¡°Whatever you want to tell me, I won¡¯t share with anyone. I¡¯m the Ambassador. I swear on that. I promised to help every single Muse, and that includes you. Let me help you.¡±

    Theo¡¯s eyes darted nervously between the Muse and the Ambassador, his fingers trembling around the length of Miracle Agony. His distress, indiscernible to a degree, was still contagious. Octavia did what she could to breathe deeply.

    ¡°Please,¡± she pleaded.

    Every pause and silence Mixoly had ever cursed her with never failed to gift her with fresh, anxious butterflies in her stomach. For how long she kept Octavia waiting on the cusp of a request so heavy, the swarm that fluttered about inside of the Ambassador was almost nauseating. She clung tightly to the hem of her dress in anticipation.

    ¡°Ambassador.¡±

    The first words Mixoly gave her were soft and firm all at once. ¡°Y-Yes?¡± Octavia stammered weakly.

    Each word Mixoly chose was slow, careful, and level. ¡°This¡­may be a frivolous request, but would you be so kind as to begin our introductions anew?¡±

    Octavia blinked, confused--as was so common in Mixoly''s company. ¡°I¡­if that¡¯s what you want.¡±

    Mixoly nodded. Octavia didn¡¯t rise, although she did offer one hesitant hand over her heart. ¡°I-I¡¯m Octavia. I¡¯m the Ambassador. It¡¯s nice to meet you, and I¡­look forward to working together.¡±

    Even embellished as her second introduction had been by comparison to her first, Mixoly didn¡¯t question a word. There was a slight confidence in her voice, wavering as it was, versus the timid greeting Mixoly had once graced her with. It would almost be welcome, were the dichotomy between the two introductions not somewhat startling.

    Octavia attributed it to relief, perhaps, as to whatever weight was to leave the Muse¡¯s shoulders. Mixoly, much the same as herself, brought one hand to where her heart would¡¯ve rested, bowing her head notably deeper than she had not so long ago.

    ¡°I am Mixoly of the Heartful,¡± she began softly, ¡°and I had once brought the world to ruin.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t breathe. She drank in Mixoly¡¯s visage in the moonlight peacefully, an ethereal scene she compared and contrasted in her head with their first greetings. There was most definitely a trust in her tone that hadn¡¯t existed last time, and Octavia was more than grateful for it. It was gratifying, in a way. It was consequential, devastatingly so.

    She wondered if she¡¯d misheard. She thought to question whether the expression was hyperbole, as was once the case on Seliza¡¯s joking tongue. She didn¡¯t know enough to entertain horror. She feared to even ask as to whether she should be afraid.

    All she could do was clarify, for how her thoughts battled to outrace her heart.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­She Who Brought the World to Ruin?¡± Octavia breathed.

    The small, solemn nod Mixoly offered her birthed fears she hadn¡¯t even known she could foster.

    Octavia raised one hand in a plea for a moment of contemplation. ¡°Wait a minute, so you¡¯re say--¡±

    It was too fast, apparently, and Theo was faster. It was the first time Miracle Agony had been a threat to her in weeks, raised so quickly to his lips that she hadn¡¯t had time to blink. Octavia froze instantly, her heart threatening to burst in the path of his ruthless light. His shoulders shook and heaved all at once, his eyes narrow and piercing as they bored into Octavia¡¯s own. Theo¡¯s hands were trembling perhaps more severely than hers, and it wasn¡¯t a comfort. She didn¡¯t move. Neither did he.

    ¡°Leave her be, my child.¡±

    Theo shook his head, never parting from the Harmonial Instrument.

    ¡°Please.¡±

    Even as the Muse implored, it still took him time to oblige. When Theo did so, pulling the little piccolo down from his lips, his relentless gaze was still a worthy threat. Octavia shuddered beneath it. For how close Theo and Mixoly were, she wondered what served as his breaking point. Mixoly was the only thing between Octavia and annihilating radiance. It was one of the most chilling thoughts she¡¯d had in this place.

    At the very least, she answered what little could be anticipated of Octavia¡¯s endless questioning to follow. ¡°I had once made a grave decision that brought destruction to all. I cannot express enough my bitter regrets with every word the tongue could speak. I am to blame for all that is, all that was, and all that has fallen upon you, oh Ambassador. More than Stratos, I have wronged you. More than our Lord, I have wronged you. More than all who would plead for your aid and lead you astray, I have wronged you in every conceivable way. I do not deny my sins. I will not¡­beg for your forgiveness.¡±

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± Octavia could only murmur with disbelief.

    ¡°I have once told you,¡± she spoke sadly, ¡°that I am no miracle.¡±

    All she knew, in truth, came from Ethel. On the spot, it was all Octavia could do to rack her brain for everything she could remember of the spider web--both of them, as was necessary. It was impossible to ask outright as to whether she was in danger. It wasn¡¯t as though she would¡¯ve ever had the foresight to ask Ethel himself how dangerous She Who Brought the World to Ruin would still be, should they meet face-to-face. It wasn¡¯t exactly a possibility she¡¯d ever entertained, and Octavia kicked herself in retrospect for not being more imaginative while she had the chance.

    For as much of a risk as Mixoly had painted Stratos to be, there was no one to shine light on the safety of Mixoly in turn. She was on her own. She shivered, and she prayed it was subtle. Every inquiry from here on out was a gamble. Octavia paced herself.

    ¡°How are you¡­here?¡±

    ¡°I have succumbed to the same fate, of my own making as it was.¡±

    ¡°The other Muses in Tacell. They¡­know?¡±

    ¡°They could not be mistaken.¡±

    ¡°What about the Maestros?¡±

    ¡°It is doubtful even that they would know the tale, for what would be compromised by such knowledge.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why the Muses don¡¯t want me to meet you? Are they afraid you¡¯ll hurt me?¡±

    ¡°On the contrary. They fear that you would aid me.¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°They would hope I would not return to Above,¡± Mixoly answered, ¡°for what sins I have committed. It is perhaps a fair punishment.

    ¡°But that¡¯s your home, too.¡±

    ¡°I do not disagree with you, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°Did¡­Theo know?¡±

    It was nearly in tandem that the Ambassador and the Muse turned to the young Maestro, who shrunk somewhat under their pointed gazes. Still, his hands filled in where his uncomfortable eyes couldn''t.

    ¡°¡®Don¡¯t tell anyone,¡¯ he says,¡± she interpreted.

    Octavia¡¯s head was spinning. The entire exchange was making her dizzy, its implications grand enough to leave her convinced she was in a dream altogether. She could hardly think straight, and poring over each and every facet she could recall of the spider web wasn¡¯t helping. The dread in her stomach was a different flavor than that which she¡¯d grown used to outside of Theo¡¯s cottage. To experience this much paranoia both inside and out was going to be torture, should this become a regular problem.

    ¡°Are you furious with me, Ambassador?¡±

    ¡°N-No,¡± Octavia stammered.

    ¡°Are you fearful of me?¡±

    That was harder to lie about. She tried anyway, just as unstable. ¡°N-No.¡±

    ¡°I will not harm you, nor do I have the power,¡± Mixoly reassured. ¡°I never harbored such intent to harm to begin with. I do not wish to threaten, nor to cause anguish. I am no danger to you, Ambassador.¡±

    Mixoly read her like a book. For all the trust she¡¯d demanded from the Muse, Octavia wished she could reciprocate the same just as easily as she had over the past several weeks. Still, with one unfortunate title alone, surely claimed against her will, Octavia¡¯s confidence in Mixoly¡¯s words had been all but shattered. She fought to trust in the Mixoly she knew--at least, for now. She couldn¡¯t quite fathom them as one and the same just yet. She didn''t want to try in the first place.

    ¡°That¡¯s why...Theo¡¯s toll is messed up, then,¡± Octavia struggled to rationalize, pushing whatever blaring concerns echoed in her mind to the wayside. ¡°That¡¯s why your Maestros are cursed.¡±

    ¡°It is true.¡±

    ¡°But that still doesn¡¯t explain why it cuts off like that,¡± Octavia insisted. Her hands were still shaking, and it was getting annoying to try to stifle. ¡°Is he seeing something? Am I seeing something? What¡¯s supposed to be there? I know there¡¯s stuff past it, of course, but what¡¯s actually¡­there, at that spot?¡±

    Mixoly shook her head. ¡°From what you have described to me, I suspect it may be that which does not belong.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°In the¡­toll?¡±

    ¡°I was a poison unto that boy,¡± she reminded. ¡°That I would poison him so even in death is perhaps despicable for me.¡±

    It was Octavia¡¯s turn to shake her head. ¡°Nothing you did was on purpose. Don¡¯t say that. We¡¯re¡­gonna figure this out. I don¡¯t care how many times I have to try. As long as you trust me, I¡¯ll do it as many times as it takes.¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s voice was soft. ¡°You would still indulge my wish, even after I have told you of--¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are or what you did,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°You¡¯re a Muse. I¡¯m the Ambassador. You¡¯re good to me, and I want to be good to you in return. The¡­Dissonance can be fixed. It can be stopped. What was left here can be repaired. Let me help you, like I keep asking. Don¡¯t¡­hide from me.¡±

    Theo¡¯s eyes stung where Mixoly¡¯s gaze was gentle. It was a contrast that made Octavia shudder, their dispositions practically night and day. Theo hardly breathed. Mixoly hardly moved. When at long last she spoke, it was with the same timid tone Octavia had once heard from so far away.

    ¡°Then I ask of you, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly requested quietly, ¡°please save me.¡±

 90. Falling Stars

    It wasn¡¯t healthy to seek out pain. It wasn¡¯t healthy to seek out memories that were best left suppressed--or, at the very least, intended to be dissected one at a time rather than swallowed whole. It wasn¡¯t healthy to wallow in thoughts that spoke to earning more hurt and softening what was already there.

    This was a compromise. This was, reasonably, the best way to rationalize keeping hands where they could be seen. It was the best way to keep feet upon a path that wouldn¡¯t lead to disaster. It was the best way to keep eyes forward instead of staring down into the depths of a city that had indirectly stolen everything. Some nights, it was easier for him to just keep his eyes closed entirely. It wasn¡¯t as though he was at risk of actually walking into anything dangerous.

    Octavia didn¡¯t know. Josiah had no intent to tell her, nor would there be a point.

    There was a benefit that came with the layout of Tacell itself. The meadows were abundant. The ground was largely flat. The handful of hills that did dot the landscape rose high enough that there was always elevated land by which bearings could be found. Getting lost was harder than it looked, despite any first impressions. There hadn¡¯t really been any difficulties with wildlife, small or otherwise, at night yet. The most he¡¯d had to contend with were fireflies, and they were not at all an unwelcome sight. The crickets weren¡¯t exactly unpleasant, either, provided none of them accidentally found their way underfoot--as had happened at least twice.

    He liked the colder autumn nights best, the ones where the chilling breeze bit into his skin. He liked to roll up his sleeves and let the cool air sting his arms again and again. He did the same on evenings where the temperature dipped just a bit too low for comfort. That, too, he was aware was unhealthy. He did it anyway.

    Tonight was an ¡°eyes closed¡± kind of night, the kind where Josiah was fine not watching where he was going in any capacity. There was something comforting about stepping blindly into the dark, putting one unhesitant foot in front of the other and surrendering to wherever the evening saw fair to steer him. With one less sense active, the rest were more alert, heightened in a way that was equally calming.

    It was late. He was alone. It was dark. That was enough of a suitable combination for him to process his thoughts in one of the only efficient ways he¡¯d learned how. Anything less and he¡¯d be right back where he was several weeks ago. Hypothetically, he figured Octavia would appreciate that he was, if nothing else, trying. She had enough to deal with, for how many walks it took her to clear her own head recently.

    Josiah had no idea what field he was in, or what part of Tacell he was in. He wasn¡¯t even sure how far from their cottage he¡¯d wandered. All he cared about was sifting, ever so cautiously, through each fleeting thought and passing visage of the person who haunted his head every waking moment. In the dark, distracted by so much external stimuli, she was clear. He was free to pick apart his regrets like flower petals.

    She loved you.

    No amount of walking blindly into the night was going to save Josiah from his three newest catalysts of agony. The words weren¡¯t as razor-sharp and shattering as they¡¯d been in that moment, not so capable of skinning him alive and consuming him from the inside-out. They still burned, autumn breeze be damned. By God, did they burn.

    I¡¯m not supposed to be here.

    Contrary to Octavia¡¯s profuse rejection of the sentiment, it had been as much of a stated fact as it was a heartfelt and emotional belief. He hadn¡¯t lied. Were it not for a sheer coincidence, a stroke of luck under the worst of circumstances, Josiah wouldn¡¯t be standing in Tacell. He wouldn¡¯t be privy to any of what his senses comfortably delivered to him as he moved--something he knew Octavia would insist he should be grateful for. Even now, it was still true. He was still right.

    You have people who love you more than you could ever know.

    It was nice to imagine. It was a comforting thought. He was fond of having Octavia at his back, if not by his side. In retrospect, she was probably the closest person left alive who could understand the specific pain he¡¯d gone through. As much as Josiah loathed to think it, there was an honest relief that came with knowing he wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d dreaded returning to Velrose--let alone his broken home. He supposed their rationales were different. It was still the same concept.

    He sometimes wondered if the people Octavia insisted ¡°loved him¡± were those she''d decided felt that way on their behalf. It wasn¡¯t that he thought they didn¡¯t care at all. ¡°Love¡± was simply a strong word.

    She loved you.

    He hated that it wasn¡¯t colder tonight.

    No amount of shaking Octavia¡¯s voice out of his head, physically, was helping. Josiah stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried again, and again, and again, with little luck. He could still hear the crack in her voice as she''d told him. He¡¯d sometimes wondered what it would¡¯ve sounded like directly, had the news not been secondhand.

    I love you.

    Even after all this time, it wasn¡¯t hard to piece Selena¡¯s voice together. It was difficult to wipe away so many years spent in tandem, so many instances in which he¡¯d cherished her laugh and embraced her smile. Josiah had heard every conceivable combination of words he was convinced she could make, for how often they¡¯d spoken and how many terrible jokes they¡¯d exchanged. It wasn¡¯t hard at all. He could make the Selena in his head say anything.

    I love you.

    I love you.

    It probably should¡¯ve sunk in by now. Josiah still hadn¡¯t fully wrapped his head around it.

    I hate you.

    It was in some sick and twisted way that the thought actually made him smirk. He¡¯d heard the phrase many a time on the tail end of a bad joke or a ridiculous prank. Even if he could play around with the words of the Selena in his head, those were three words he¡¯d never be able to attribute to actual malice.

    I miss you.

    He opted to stifle his thought experiment, effective immediately.

    Josiah quickly opened his eyes, a desperate attempt to reset his thoughts to a blank slate as colors flooded his dilating pupils. The stars were mostly hiding, the night he¡¯d chosen to contemplate within a fairly dark one versus his usual walks. Plagued by clouds as the sky was, even the moon was hazy, an opaque and milky glow captured behind a thick, graying veil. He didn¡¯t mind, somewhat distraught at the lack of sudden overstimulation he could inflict upon his eyesight as a result.

    It wasn¡¯t as though the choice of a dim evening was intentional--this was his late night routine nearly every single night since his despair had led him off the bell tower. Some part of Josiah playfully wondered if Octavia had stolen his idea.

    I miss you.

    It was a mistake to even think it, and he wasn¡¯t a fan of the fact that it wasn¡¯t going away. Josiah inhaled deeply, letting the chilling air sting his lungs on the inside to the best of his ability. He exhaled. Again. Again. He tried to ignore the way it hurt when his heart beat too quickly.

    The singing was a distraction, at least.

    Initially, he thought he¡¯d made that up in his head, too. It was with substantial surprise, upon a second--and third--auditory inspection, that he¡¯d found something notably different than whatever insects sang their pitchless songs at this time of night. This one was lyrical, clear, soft. Still, it was more than loud enough to gently touch the evening, and not quite so far off.

    Josiah had absolutely no idea where he was, nor did he particularly care. If he felt like searching for any cottage in general, he could probably find one. He didn¡¯t especially feel the need. There was the slightest tint of familiarity to the tone of every melodic word that drove him insane not to place. It was enough to, at least briefly, hush the Selena in his head.

    He thought about closing his eyes again, clinging to the general purpose of his walk even while ambling in the direction of whatever gentle voice lured him with their song. The one benefit to staring death in the face twice recently was the complete lack of self-preservation that came with the aftermath--particularly if one instance was intentional. Josiah was still struggling to find the drive to fear for his life, let alone value it enough to harbor at least some concern for any danger he might be placing himself in.

    There was hardly anything to fear in Tacell regardless, even with the number of Maestros steadily dwindling by the day. No amount of impulsive decisions in this place were going to pose him any true threat. If he wanted an impulsive decision to hurt him, he¡¯d just go back to the cottage and let it--again. Josiah took another deep breath, praying for his lungs to burn along the way.

    The grassy expanse he¡¯d ended up in had just a hint of elevation to it--enough that he could comfortably recline against the raised patches of land sloping up into half-hearted hills. It hadn¡¯t actually been that far away from where he¡¯d ended up wandering, his path easily guided by a quiet and calming song that grew ever louder the closer he drew.

    There was shade to be found on a night where shade was wholly unnecessary, the trees utterly useless without a moon to oppress their canopies. It hadn¡¯t stopped his mysterious singer from making themselves more than comfortable, eyes closed and head tilted back as they reclined without concern. Josiah almost felt wrong disturbing the song he¡¯d grown to enjoy, surprising as it was. He made his approach light to compensate, praying that the grass ruffling beneath his feet wouldn¡¯t give him away.

    He ended up with his back comfortably pressed against an adjacent tree himself, eyeing his blissfully-unaware singer with a smirk. Josiah allotted another thirty seconds of pleasing song before deciding that, ultimately, the allure of startling the boy was too amusing to pass up.

    ¡°You¡¯re a pretty good singer.¡±

    Harper nearly bashed his head against the tree with how quickly he moved, crying out in surprise with such fervor that Josiah genuinely worried he¡¯d scared the boy half to death. He swore loudly, getting a snicker out of Josiah in turn.

    Harper cleared his throat far too heavily. ¡°I, uh, don¡¯t¡­worry about it. Pretend you didn¡¯t hear that.¡±

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could sing.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to,¡± he muttered uncomfortably.

    ¡°You come out here just to do this?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Yes, actually. Didn¡¯t¡­think anyone else would be here. I¡¯m usually right.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like singing around other people?¡±

    Harper¡¯s face reddened in just the slightest. Truthfully, it was almost cute. ¡°Just¡­a little shy about it. It¡¯s a hobby I can¡¯t really indulge in around other people. This was a compromise. At least, it was.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me. Pretend I¡¯m not even here,¡± Josiah teased.

    Harper rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not singing if I know you¡¯re here. Or anywhere.¡±

    Josiah laughed. The feeling was almost foreign, somewhat uncomfortable as it left his throat. He wasn¡¯t entirely certain how he felt about the sensation, unnatural as it was. Still, it happened, and for the first time in quite awhile. ¡°Anyone else know you can sing?¡±

    ¡°No, and no one¡¯s going to, or I¡¯ll kill you,¡± Harper hissed.

    Josiah smirked once more. Harper closed his eyes, letting his head flop back against the tree with a slightly-loud thunk that made Josiah worry for his cranial safety.

    ¡°What are you doing out here, anyway?¡± Harper asked quietly.

    Josiah crossed his arms over his chest. Whether it was defensive or comfortable, even he wasn¡¯t certain. ¡°Walking. Helps me clear my head a bit. Lets me get my thoughts in order.¡±

    Harper turned his head towards the boy, cracking his eyes open. ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot on your mind?¡±

    If that wasn¡¯t an understatement, nothing was. Josiah strongly considered saying as much. Ultimately, he bit his tongue. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Harper averted his eyes, content to gaze at the expanse of nothing that was their barren night sky. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you. I think there¡¯s been¡­a lot going on recently, for all of us. Some of us more than others, I¡¯m sure. It¡¯s crazy how fast all of this is going.¡±

    Josiah didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet, but we definitely cleared some major hurdles. It¡¯s not exactly a straight shot from here on out. Still, it¡¯ll be easier, I think. We¡¯ll be done before we know it.¡±

    Harper¡¯s face fell somewhat. ¡°And¡­I¡¯ve been wondering, what do you think will happen once all of this is over?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll all still¡­spend time with each other? Maybe not quite to this extent, but do you think we can all still see each other pretty regularly?¡±

    Josiah tilted his head. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we?¡±

    Harper rested his arms on his knees, his head following suit. ¡°I just hope we don¡¯t drift apart. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s selfish of me. I know all of us have our own lives, but I really liked--I really like being together. I like our little family. There¡¯s a lot that I still want to do with everyone once everything¡¯s done with.¡±

    Josiah paused. ¡°I highly doubt you¡¯re the only person who feels that way. Even if we haven¡¯t known each other for that long, I don¡¯t think you¡¯d necessarily forget the people you¡¯ve been that close to for months on end. You already know that if you brought this up to any of them, they¡¯d tell you right away that you¡¯re being stupid, right?¡±

    Harper smiled softly. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s why I¡¯m talking to you, instead. You¡¯re more straightforward about it. If even you think so, though, then that makes me feel better.¡±

    Josiah hesitated. Then, he found the same smirk yet again. ¡°If you¡¯re that worried about drifting apart, you should probably just tell her you like her already.¡±

    Harper nearly choked, once more extremely threatened by a tree that risked damaging his head. ¡°W-What?¡±

    ¡°You know what.¡±

    His face was the deepest of reds, an absolutely blinding scarlet that matched wonderfully with the wobble in his voice. It was as endearing as it was humorous. Josiah almost felt bad for the way by which he was forced to stifle a laugh.

    ¡°I-I¡­t-that¡¯s not¡­true,¡± Harper stammered, his words wavering almost uncontrollably.

    Josiah grinned. This was too much fun. ¡°You know, for a guy who¡¯s all about calling people out on lying, you¡¯re an awful liar yourself.¡±

    Harper averted his eyes, doing a poor job at concealing his endless blush with one hand cast over his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re mean,¡± he murmured softly.

    ¡°Tell me what you like about her. And you have to look at me while you do it.¡±

    He looked at Josiah, at least, although not without great embarrassment in his eyes. Now it was cute. The pouting made it even funnier. ¡°Is it really that obvious?¡±

    Josiah shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not, actually. I just know you. Tell me what you like about her and I¡¯ll tell you if you¡¯re lying about¡­you know.¡±

    Harper sighed. He obliged regardless, battling his blush every step of the way. ¡°She¡¯s¡­God, why do I even have to explain her to you? You know her. You know everything about her, just the same as me.¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily.¡±

    Harper bit his lip. ¡°I mean¡­she¡¯s different for all of us, I guess. She means something different to everyone. That¡¯s¡­one thing I like about her.¡±

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­sweet. She¡¯s really kind and caring towards others. I have a soft spot for people like that. She stands up for those who can¡¯t stand up for themselves, even if she doesn¡¯t know them that well. She¡¯s not afraid to love. She¡¯s unapologetic about it, and when she cares about something, she cares about it with everything in her heart. And her heart is¡­beautiful.¡±

    He paused, fidgeting shyly beneath Josiah¡¯s gaze. Josiah pushed with the same knowing grin. ¡°Keep going.¡±

    Even so, he watched as Harper¡¯s lips curved upwards slightly. ¡°She¡¯s¡­so pretty. I mean, I feel like that¡¯s a cheap shot, but she really is gorgeous. I thought as much when I first met her, even before I knew her that well. I swear she gets prettier every day. When I¡¯m stressed or upset, she¡¯s the first thing I think about, or the first person I look for, just so I can have the image of her in my head. Is that creepy? I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s creepy.¡±

    Josiah hardly needed to press further. Where once had been embarrassment in Harper¡¯s eyes, Josiah now found just the slightest hint of a sparkle instead. ¡°And she¡¯s so¡­God, she¡¯s so much fun to be around. Every time I¡¯m near her, I¡¯m so¡­comfortable. I feel like I can be myself. She makes me feel like I can tell her anything. She makes me laugh, and I love making her laugh. I love hearing her laugh. I¡­wish I could make her laugh all the time, just so I could hear it again and again. Even just hearing her say my name is enough to make my heart feel like it¡¯s gonna explode out of my chest.¡±

    His sparkle had, effectively, done a phenomenal job at competing with the stars that had fled the sky so long ago. ¡°She¡¯s amazing to watch. She¡¯s so strong. I mean, physically, which is insanely impressive on its own, but she¡¯s so resilient. She gets hit over and over and gets right back up again. It¡¯s¡­okay if it takes her a minute, because she always finds her way back to her feet. I can¡¯t get over how brave she is, the way she does things no one else wants to do. If it¡¯s for someone else¡¯s sake, she¡¯ll hardly hesitate. She¡¯s incredible.¡±

    It didn¡¯t matter that Harper¡¯s eyes were given to him, brilliant and shimmering as they were. His heart was somewhere far off, somewhere far past whatever Josiah had to offer. ¡°When she looks at me, I can¡¯t breathe. I forget how to be afraid. It gives me butterflies in my stomach. I¡¯m selfish. I¡­want her to look at me forever. I¡¯ll do whatever I can to get her eyes on me. When she¡¯s watching me, I can do anything. If I¡¯m alone, if I¡¯m scared, if I¡¯m in danger or otherwise, just thinking of her watching me makes my blood feel like it¡¯s on fire in the best way. When her eyes are on me, I¡­that¡¯s the happiest I¡¯ll ever be. That¡¯s everything I¡¯ll ever need.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    When he trailed off, his smile equally as radiant as every last facet of his expression, Josiah¡¯s confident smile was endless. The silence was palpable enough to bring Harper¡¯s fearsome blush back for a second round.

    ¡°And you¡¯re gonna sit there and have the nerve to tell me you don¡¯t like her. You are the absolute worst liar I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Josiah jeered.

    Where he¡¯d somewhat expected--and somewhat hoped for--Harper to grow flustered once more, Josiah was instead surprised to see a shy smile settle onto Harper¡¯s lips as he averted his eyes. ¡°I¡­maybe I am.¡±

    Josiah chuckled. ¡°Hell, sounds like it might be a bit more than just ¡®liking¡¯ her.¡±

    Harper fidgeted with his fingers timidly. ¡°I¡­can¡¯t say I disagree.¡±

    ¡°Tell her. Be honest. She¡¯s the kind of person who¡¯d hear you out, no matter what,¡± he advised, crossing his arms.

    It was a shock when Harper shook his head ever so softly, his bangs brushing back and forth against his face. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna tell her.¡±

    ¡°Are you afraid she¡¯ll reject you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of that at all.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡­afraid to ruin your friendship?¡±

    Again, Harper shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not it.¡±

    ¡°So¡­why?¡±

    His voice was fragile, his smile just as delicate as it was warm. His eyes, too, were soft, tinted with something indescribable. He tangled his fingers together. ¡°Because her light isn¡¯t meant for me.¡±

    Josiah blinked. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Harper offered his indiscernible gaze to the boy. ¡°There¡¯s¡­someone else who needs it more than I do.¡±

    Josiah paused. It took a moment, his eyes widening in just the slightest. ¡°And you¡¯re okay with that?¡±

    He nodded slowly, wordlessly.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡±

    Harper shook his head once more, his fleeting smile still comfortably settled upon his lips.

    Josiah¡¯s face fell. ¡°You¡¯re lying about that, too, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    The fragile smile he wore so cautiously brightened in just the slightest. ¡°Not as much as you¡¯d think.¡±

    ¡°Unrequited love is dangerous,¡± Josiah spoke suddenly. The words came out sharper than he¡¯d intended, and he immediately regretted his tone. He struggled to rein in what followed. ¡°And¡­unspoken feelings can be just as poisonous. They can¡­follow you. They can haunt you.¡±

    ¡°I want them to.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Harper''s face was aglow as he closed his eyes, resting his head delicately against the tree again. ¡°They¡¯re like my own little fire. I keep them in my heart, and they keep me warm. No one can touch them, no one can taint them, and no one can take them away from me. I can keep them close, and I can keep them safe. I can carry them with me forever and ever. Even if I never tell her, just being by her side is enough as long as I have that fire in there. There¡¯s a¡­comfort that comes with knowing nobody can ever mess with those feelings if they never leave your mouth. Not that I think she would, of course.¡±

    Josiah fell silent. He let Harper speak.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­lying if I say it doesn¡¯t hurt at all. If she told me she loved me just as much, I think I¡¯d die right there on the spot. Knowing that¡¯ll never happen stings a bit, sometimes--just a little. More than that, I want her to be happy. I want her to smile more and more, until she never has to be sad about anything ever again. So, yeah, maybe I¡¯m not the person her light is meant for, but I¡¯m okay with that. I¡¯ll always keep my little fire safe and warm, just for her. It¡¯ll always be here whenever she needs it. I¡¯ll¡­love her from here. That¡¯s enough to make me happy.¡±

    Even now, Josiah couldn¡¯t find the words to follow his heartfelt explanation. He hugged himself tighter, what was once a comfortable posture now slipping into something he recognized to be far less so. Harper rolled his eyes playfully.

    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean you can tell her, okay? I¡¯d kill you for that, too,¡± he teased.

    Josiah nodded, still devoid of a verbal response. The speed at which his heart was pounding was unsettling, and his eyes found the sky--anywhere that wasn¡¯t Harper, frankly. He was more than thankful when Harper didn¡¯t press, content to let the silence Josiah craved on behalf of his racing thoughts wash over him. Logically, there was no way Harper could¡¯ve known. Then again, he¡¯d known Harper well enough to pry beyond his more visible feelings. The idea of the Willful boy being able to do the same simultaneously comforted Josiah and left him feeling vulnerable.

    There was an irony that came with the concept of Josiah¡¯s departed flame keeping her own little flame within. Two tragic people, forged in fire so unlike one another¡¯s, had perhaps come to settle upon the same warmth inside. For everything that had burned Selena alive, Josiah prayed from the bottom of his heart that the ember she¡¯d clung to all of those years had done her some good. It was the only thing that would get him to sleep tonight.

    <hr>

    Josiah wasn¡¯t the only one with a nightly routine, desperate in his own way for a semblance of peace inside--wildly different of a peace as it was. The hands that held Stradivaria tightly were far less urgent, despite the knowledge of the alternative that awaited if they shirked the safety of routine and calculated companionship. Octavia didn''t need to know Josiah''s route. They never overlapped as it was, and their schedules were largely incompatible. To dodge his line of sight would''ve been a simpler trial, should that have been a concern. Indoor deception, by comparison, left a rope around her neck.

    It was a Stratos night.

    It was going to be far, far trickier than usual, for what words were already bubbling in her throat and what fears were eating away at her heart. She¡¯d slept on it. She¡¯d awoken. She witnessed, and she¡¯d guided, and she¡¯d come no closer to Mixoly¡¯s confession sinking in. Octavia still couldn¡¯t overlay the timid Muse with the terrifying title of She Who Brought the World to Ruin. It was an impossible task that she didn¡¯t dare attempt to entertain adjacent to so much as Stradivaria¡¯s case. There were nights when she was tempted beyond tempted to forsake her deceptive scheme, to throw caution to the wind in the interest of burning curiosity and progress.

    Please save me.

    Mixoly had asked so kindly, after all.

    How such a Muse could bring the world to ruin was beyond her. In regards to the methodology, Octavia couldn¡¯t begin to imagine how she would broach the subject. It wasn¡¯t even a subject she should''ve been aware of in the first place--of that, she was certain. To know that the Muses had recognized Mixoly¡¯s presence in Tacell all along was as baffling as it was unfortunately expected, and Stratos¡¯ insistence that she stray from Theo¡¯s cottage had clicked cleanly and neatly.

    It wasn¡¯t that her prior actions weren¡¯t deliberately disobedient. Regardless, all that would follow would be high-risk enough to put Octavia actively at odds with most--if not all--Muses she encountered. She so desperately wished to see Ethel again. In truth, she missed him, somewhat.

    It was another evening of planned deceit that led Octavia to the balcony. With the softest steps she could muster, she tip-toed along the creaking stairs to the second floor of the cottage. In relative darkness, it was primarily the gentle glimmer of creamy moonlight that guided her way as it snuck through the hallway''s curtains. She was unlucky tonight, instead finding near pitch-blackness where the assistance of moonbeams should¡¯ve been.

    Her eyes captured the tiniest fragment of light further down, a golden flickering glow beneath the gap of the door she knew to lead to Madrigal¡¯s room. It didn¡¯t matter how many times they¡¯d told her not to use a candle as a nightlight. The Maestra did it anyway. In this instance, it was--for once--a helpful navigational tool, and Octavia was successful in feeling her way along the wall to the balcony door. She was so, so grateful that it didn¡¯t squeak.

    She was grateful, too, for the chill of the autumn evening, sifting through her hair with each rolling breeze and ruffling her nightgown playfully. Octavia was less grateful for company. "Surprised" was probably a better way of putting it, given who''d beaten her there. This was new.

    ¡°Viola?¡±

    It took her a moment to capture the girl¡¯s attention, initially shunned in favor of the Maestra¡¯s fixation far beyond the railing. Her arms were draped lazily over the metal rim, her head nestled against them in turn. She was a victim of the wind herself. Really, it was always striking to watch her own locks sway without the companionship of a little bow. She was nonplussed at the sound of Octavia¡¯s voice, casting her eyes unhurriedly over her shoulder.

    ¡°You¡¯re up late,¡± Viola said.

    Octavia shrugged through her confusion. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re up late, too.¡±

    Viola¡¯s gaze flickered down to the violin in her hands, then back up to the Ambassador¡¯s face. ¡°What¡¯s up with Stradivaria?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I, uh¡­I play together with him at night, sometimes. It helps me unwind. I usually come out here for a little while.¡±

    In truth, nothing could help her unwind less. It wasn¡¯t a fact she was keen to share.

    Viola¡¯s eyes widened slowly, and she nodded in satisfaction. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s what I keep hearing at night.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, is it loud?¡± Octavia stammered, self-consciousness settling in.

    It was Viola¡¯s turn to shrug. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly quiet. I don¡¯t mind, though. I like listening to it. It helps me sleep. My room isn¡¯t exactly that far from here, you know.¡±

    Octavia sighed. She''d forgotten that part. ¡°What are you doing out here? I thought you hated cold nights.¡±

    ¡°I do. Even still, I can¡¯t sleep. Thought I¡¯d go outside and get some air. Wanted to look at the stars. Got screwed over.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Viola threw her arms wide at the cloudy sky dramatically. ¡°Nothing. Not one star up there. Can¡¯t even see the moon, hardly. I crawled all the way out of bed for this, and I¡¯m still no closer to actually being tired.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t stifle a chuckle. ¡°Do you want me to make you something? Tea, anything? I don¡¯t know if that would help.¡±

    Viola shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not really in the mood for drinking anything. I appreciate it, though. The air is nice, at least. It¡¯s my fault for not wearing thicker clothes yet.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be winter soon. You should probably fix that.¡±

    Viola groaned. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be so mad if it starts snowing. This is already pushing it.¡±

    ¡°You are literally Soulful,¡± Octavia said with a smirk.

    ¡°Do you think, like, Willful people enjoy being set on fire?¡± Viola argued playfully. ¡°Don¡¯t start with me.¡±

    Octavia laughed. She, too, offered her eyes to the same starless sky. Her fingers curled around Stradivaria, a more gentle grip than the firm stress of paranoia with which she¡¯d choked him moments before. ¡°I could¡­make the stars for you.¡±

    Viola turned to her in full, raising an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    Octavia lifted Stradivaria into position, her steady fingers settling over the strings as always. ¡°I can make you some stars. Compensation prize for coming out here, you know?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna¡­make them yourself?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t guarantee they¡¯re gonna be better than the real thing, though,¡± she muttered.

    It wasn¡¯t hard. She¡¯d made the same vibrant, luminous little balls so many times over that she could do it with her eyes shut. Granted, the circumstances under which her notes typically crafted rounded luminescence, vivid and aglow under her touch, were typically far more frantic and far more deadly. They were usually hotter, brighter, born of the intent to maim or kill.

    The ones that now sprang to life beneath every tender motion of her fingertips were significantly more muted, still privy to the pulsing warmth that was second nature to her. She sent them high, orbs of milky whites and the softest golds rising above their heads like fireflies. Octavia wondered how many she could make at once. It became a personal challenge.

    Every push and pull of Stradivaria¡¯s bow was careful, calculated, a balancing act that made her smile over a one-person competition. More and more, they popped into existence, her own little night sky awakening just several feet above herself and Viola. The warmth of her glow was palpable, a radiant aura that brushed comfortably against her skin below. Her speckled umbrella was a shield against the gentle cold, drifting and sparkling in just the slightest. Octavia didn¡¯t bother trying to count them. She spread them far. Her song was a plus, an atmosphere of contentment and peace where moments before had sat an unplaceable urgency.

    She grinned at her own handiwork, whether or not she was content with it. Octavia hadn''t fully mastered projecting her light, nor moving it accordingly once it had left the safety of Stradivaria¡¯s strings--rays of violence notwithstanding. Even so, she briefly contemplated attempting to raise her makeshift stars ever higher. They were, truly, no substitute for the real things, millions upon millions of miles away. No amount of effort would place them where Viola could throw her eyes high and inspect them with wonder. Octavia hardly needed to. Viola seemed to be getting just as much out of them down here as she would anywhere else.

    Octavia watched the way the twinkle of her own stars was threatened by that of Viola¡¯s eyes, the two mingling beneath the confines of her enraptured gaze. Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted more of that.

    She fought to make them brighter. She fought to make them more numerous. She fought with every soft note she had to put on a light show to impress, scattering her radiant stardust across every aspect of Viola¡¯s visual field. Octavia couldn¡¯t weave a galaxy, and yet she tried regardless. At a certain point, she knew she was showing off. She didn¡¯t especially care.

    ¡°This is the part where you clap,¡± Octavia teased.

    Her fingers never stilled, and her stars never dimmed. Still, when Viola didn¡¯t answer, Octavia initially thought she¡¯d done something wrong. The glow of her little night sky illuminated Viola¡¯s face in full, her skin warmed and lightened by delicate radiance. Under this lighting, the sight was lovely. Octavia wondered if Viola would laugh, were she to put one single star ever so tenderly atop her hair. She quickly withdrew the idea for fear of the heat, even if the result would be astoundingly beautiful.

    ¡°You never cease to amaze me,¡± Viola breathed.

    Octavia scoffed with a smirk. ¡°Oh, stop it, you¡¯re making me blush.¡±

    ¡°I mean it.¡±

    Octavia paused, her song filling in where words could not. In the absence of speech, if she listened close, she could hear the nearly-inaudible crackle of her little stars as they levitated aimlessly.

    ¡°Viola?¡± she tried.

    ¡°You¡¯re so¡­full of surprises. You always have been,¡± Viola murmured.

    Octavia tilted her head, an odd motion with her face pressed to Stradivaria. ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡±

    The sparkle in Viola¡¯s eyes was relentless, emboldened by something far beyond what Octavia¡¯s light could provide. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful. I¡­love watching you. I love waiting to see whatever it is you do next.¡±

    Octavia really did blush. ¡°I-I don¡¯t always make the best decisions, you know. You¡¯ve seen that firsthand.¡±

    Viola shook her head with the softest smile Octavia had ever seen her wear. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean. I just¡­I love being with you in general. Not solely for the things you can do, or for the things you¡¯re expected to do, but because you¡¯re you.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What do you¡­mean?¡±

    Viola took one step forward. She took another, then another, until she¡¯d come so close to Octavia that her head nearly bumped into Stradivaria. It was a struggle to play with the girl so close, and Octavia was forced to curl her arms inwards in the hopes of maintaining her steady song. Even then, her notes were curt, and her stars were flickering. Her face was warm.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to play if you¡¯re this close,¡± Octavia joked. ¡°My stars are gonna be¡­crappy.¡±

    ¡°I like your crappy stars, too,¡± Viola said with much the same smile.

    ¡°A-Are they too warm?¡± Octavia stammered. ¡°I can make them less bright, o-or I can try to make them less hot. Are they too close to you? Is that why you--¡±

    Viola¡¯s fingers reaching for her cheek brought her thoughts screeching to a halt. It almost did the same to her luminescent melody, her fingers slowing dramatically. Viola''s skin was soft. Her touch was warm. It was different from that of Octavia''s stars, a warmth that seeped directly into her blood. She tensed.

    ¡°They¡¯re perfect. It¡¯s okay,¡± Viola reassured quietly.

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°Do you¡­like them?¡±

    Viola nodded, the gentleness of her expression and the radiance in her eyes suddenly shaming the night sky at Octavia¡¯s fingertips. In an instant, the girl had stepped into its center, inches from her face, and pulled every last twinkling star she¡¯d birthed with love into her orbit. She was the softest sun Octavia had ever seen.

    ¡°I love them,¡± her sun whispered.

    ¡°I-I-I can make more, if y-you want,¡± Octavia stammered. As to why words were so difficult to come by, she was unsure. Her heart pounded against her chest loudly enough that it almost drowned out Stradivaria¡¯s song. She hoped Viola couldn¡¯t hear it.

    Viola shook her head. ¡°This is more than enough.¡±

    Octavia struggled to make conversation, painfully aware of how close Viola was to her. She smelled like vanilla. That wasn¡¯t important right now. ¡°I-I think I can count on one hand the number of times I¡¯ve gotten to show you my light without, you know, people¡­being in danger.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    Octavia couldn¡¯t get over how soft the girl¡¯s hand was, Viola¡¯s fingertips trailing along her cheek delicately. It felt wonderful. It gave her chills. That wasn¡¯t important right now, either. ¡°I think you¡¯ve, uh, you have the same kind of problem, where I¡¯ve only gotten to see your ice a few times without us being in trouble, right? I-I¡¯d have to think of when. There was the snow thing, w-we just did that, that was fun. I really liked that idea. You have a lot of really good ideas. I-I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d like it at first, but I had a lot more fun than I expected I would. So that¡¯s one time.¡±

    She was vaguely aware that she was rambling. It wasn¡¯t intentional. Octavia flushed. At some point, the deep sea of Viola¡¯s eyes had become her favorite color. She¡¯d never stopped to notice. That wasn¡¯t important right now, either.

    ¡°The night we met,¡± Viola offered.

    ¡°Y-Yeah! I forgot about that one. You showed me how to be a Maestra--well, I mean, you showed me what it meant to be a Maestra. I don¡¯t know if it counts, but I just remembered that the first time I actually saw your ice, it was technically in a really bad situation. I still get what you mean, though. Your snowflakes were really pretty. You were really--¡±

    She bit her tongue. Was Stradivaria always this heavy?

    Viola giggled. ¡°I know we didn¡¯t meet under the greatest circumstances, but I¡¯m still so blessed that we met at all. I¡¯m¡­so happy to have you in my life. I¡¯m so happy to get to be a part of yours.¡±

    Octavia''s head was fuzzy. She was vaguely aware of the way her song was weakening, the way her stars were fizzling. She wondered if Viola would be mad at her. She wondered if Viola was still paying attention. For her own peace of mind, she hoped Viola really was fine with ¡°crappy stars¡±.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m so blessed that you¡¯re part of my life, too!¡± Octavia blurted out. ¡°When all this is over, let¡¯s do lots of fun things together that we haven¡¯t done yet! We won¡¯t have to worry about Maestro stuff anymore. We can travel, we can go back to Coda, I-I can even take you to Silver Ridge and show you around the right way! You didn¡¯t get to see almost anything last time. There¡¯s this one spot where I used to go to--¡±

    Her song wasn¡¯t stopped of her own accord. It was stilled by two slender hands, far softer and warmer than her own, settling calmly atop her moving fingers. Down they pressed, ever so gently, lowering either half of Stradivaria with the most delicate force imaginable. Octavia¡¯s cheek lamented the absence of the warmth it had relished until seconds ago.

    She supposed there were so many other warmths that compensated for it. There was Viola¡¯s breath, so close to her lips. There was her own blood, aflame in her veins and threatening to burst. There was her heart, dying to do the same. There were her stars, popping and fizzling into thin air one by one as they fell from her sky.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy no matter where we are or where we go. I just want to be with you,¡± Viola whispered, every syllable nearly brushing against Octavia''s skin.

    ¡°I-I¡­I¡¯d like that a lot,¡± Octavia said softly. Viola didn¡¯t need the orbit of her stars to be the sun. She was already beautiful enough.

    ¡°Octavia, I¡­¡± Viola began, trailing off just as suddenly.

    ¡°You¡¯re really pretty.¡±

    Viola blinked. Octavia¡¯s face blossomed scarlet. She kicked herself hard, lamenting her ability to swallow words that had already left her mouth. Her best attempts at damage control were a disaster.

    ¡°I mean, you¡¯re always pretty! I¡¯ve always thought you were pretty! I mean--wait, no, what I mean is that you¡¯re pretty no matter what you--oh, geez, that¡¯s not it either. I mean, like, since we¡¯ve met, you¡¯ve been pretty, and it¡¯s not that you were never not pretty, but you got¡­prettier.¡±

    Viola¡¯s eyes shone like sapphires. Octavia could barely breathe. ¡°Beautiful, even.¡±

    ¡°You are the most wonderful person I¡¯ve ever met,¡± Viola murmured.

    Octavia didn¡¯t resist the way Stradivaria¡¯s weight grew to be too much, letting either half of her partner fall limply to her sides in her shaking grasp. She¡¯d brought to life stars in such abundance that even now they gave their last twinkles, still fading as they surrendered to the true and darkened night overhead. She had just enough light to capture Viola¡¯s face, savoring the shimmer in the sea that pierced her heart. She didn¡¯t want to lose it yet.

    ¡°I really like you,¡± Octavia whispered. ¡°A lot.¡±

    ¡°I think I like you even more than that.¡±

    Octavia shook her head, her face so close to Viola¡¯s that her braids surely tickled the girl¡¯s cheeks. She didn¡¯t flinch. She didn¡¯t pull her gaze away from Octavia¡¯s own, locked in place forever. ¡°I¡¯m¡­pretty sure I like you more than you like me.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Viola whispered back, the slightest hint of a tease upon her words.

    Octavia couldn''t breathe. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Viola¡¯s lips nearly brushed against her own as she grinned. ¡°Prove it, then.¡±

    Octavia was grateful for the quantity of radiance she¡¯d opted to bless their world of two with. Their tiny galaxy at last ran low on luminescence, and the last of her false stars finally flickered and died. It left them silent and still, with only the darkness of autumn in their wake and the faint sounds of the natural evening to fill the void Octavia¡¯s song had once claimed. She¡¯d captured enough of Viola¡¯s own luminous visage in her mind to keep her company with her eyes closed.

    It was enough to carry her through the way her head spun and her thoughts fell apart. It was enough to put a face to what made her blood rush through her ears and her heart swell with bliss she couldn¡¯t contain. The butterflies that flooded her stomach and the chills that shot down her spine were twists on sensations she hadn¡¯t associated with happiness in quite some time. Viola¡¯s lips were impossibly soft.

    When they parted, it wasn¡¯t for long. Octavia surrendered her breath and dove into that beautiful blue sea again and again in the dark of the night. For the pendulum she''d become as of late, for the back and forth of truth and lies she swung endlessly between, never had she felt so still and at peace in her entire life. That was all that was important right now.

 91. Broken Thread

    Octavia was vaguely aware that her prior evening hadn¡¯t counted as a ¡°true¡± Stratos night--not for the wonderful, wonderful distractions that had come with it. It carried her presence, it carried him in her arms, and it carried his song in her hands. That was enough, surely. She figured it would suffice, and she was content to flip to the other side of the coin for yet more attempts at Theo¡¯s toll.

    Octavia struggled to swallow the hint of fear that accompanied it, far off as it was from the daylight hours. She struggled to swallow the dread that came with the departure she¡¯d feared, in turn, dangled in front of her torturously days prior. She loathed that Briar had come to praise Viola as a Maestra, for what pride the Soulful girl had come to take in her gift. It was a pipeline to contribution, and contribution was a pipeline to separation. Time was irrelevant. Distance was not.

    ¡°You¡¯re really doing this again?¡± Octavia whined.

    When Viola only offered her a playful smile, she knew she¡¯d get nowhere by begging. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. You got through it last time.¡±

    ¡°Barely!¡± Octavia cried.

    At least her laugh was a beautiful compensation. ¡°I¡¯ll be back before you know it. We¡¯re splitting up a bit, so we shouldn¡¯t have to keep heading out over and over. The more Soulful go, the more ground we can cover in teams, and the¡­sooner we can be done.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, and the more worried I can get waiting for you to come home,¡± Octavia muttered.

    Viola patted her cheek teasingly. ¡°There¡¯s lots of things you owe me, remember? Lots of stuff I want to go see with you after all this. Don¡¯t make me wait too long, or I¡¯m gonna be sad. And then I¡¯m gonna cry. Do you want me to cry?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna cry,¡± Octavia only half-joked.

    Viola fished around in her bag quietly for a moment, bringing forth a small piece of wood Octavia was surprised to see that she still carried. ¡°Recharge this for me, please.¡±

    With her eyes on the little balsa snowflake, once crafted for Viola alone with so much love, she tilted her head. ¡°Re¡­charge it?¡±

    Viola shook the tiny snowflake playfully. When it sank in, Octavia blushed.

    ¡°A-Again?¡± she stammered.

    ¡°Look, it has to be fresh. It needs more Octavia Luck,¡± Viola argued.

    There was no such thing, really. She had plenty of the opposite to bestow, should Viola request that instead. ¡°Do I have to?¡±

    ¡°I really can cry if you want,¡± Viola joked.

    Octavia groaned. ¡°This is so embarrassing.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t enough protest for Viola to rescind her extended arm, the little sculpture inches from Octavia¡¯s lips. Granted, it had been far more awkward the first time. Now, it was only enough to make her heart pound, and not entirely in a way she was uncomfortable with. Octavia was again grateful for her decision to forgo varnish and paint as she pressed her lips fleetingly against the wood. She somewhat lamented the firmness of balsa versus the softness of Viola¡¯s skin. She wouldn¡¯t admit to it.

    And when Viola turned the snowflake towards herself, pecking the exact same spot Octavia had laid her lips upon moments before, the Ambassador lit up in a scarlet nearly bright enough to paint the snowflake with its glow alone.

    ¡°W-What are you doing?¡± she stammered, viciously flustered.

    Viola grinned. ¡°Borrowing some of it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s so¡­you¡¯re so weird!¡± Octavia cried, frantically tugging on her braids.

    It wasn¡¯t often that Viola moved quicker than she did. When it happened, it was jarring, and it was typically a byproduct of distraction. Both were true now, and both accompanied the softness she¡¯d been considering moments ago. It was fast, it was brief, and it was every bit as tender as she¡¯d remembered from her tryst beneath false stars. Octavia was no longer jealous of the wood, as quick as the envy had passed her by. Part of her hoped no one saw. Part of her didn¡¯t care. Part of her wanted more, and part of her desperately wanted to ask.

    Her fingers brushing against her own lips in the aftermath was a reflex. Viola¡¯s thumb grazing her cheek was a plus.

    ¡°I¡¯ll put it back, then, if it¡¯s that much of a problem,¡± Viola teased.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t breathe. It was a good thing, for once.

    ¡°Hold onto that for me.¡±

    Slowly, she raised her hand to rest atop Viola¡¯s own. She battled for a smile in the midst of the stars that swirled in her heart. ¡°I¡¯ll give it back when you come home.¡±

    Viola beamed. ¡°Promise?¡±

    ¡°Promise.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t as bitter of a parting as the last time, and it didn¡¯t burn quite as severely when Viola left her at the doorstep once more. The dichotomy of cool air drifting into the cottage and the warm sunshine caught within left Octavia mired in conflicting sensations, more surreal than unwelcome. It didn¡¯t cross her mind to close the door yet, and she spent far too long with her fingers pressed against her lips. The absence of Viola¡¯s warmth, so close to her skin, was the strangest change of all, and so vividly mourned. What the Soulful Maestra had left in its place spoke absolutely nothing as to the soul of ice she harbored deep within, for the fire it sparked in Octavia¡¯s heart.

    She smiled to herself. She made for the comfort of the sunshine nestled inside, the door coming to a close behind her with a gentle click. Renato¡¯s expression made her want to die.

    ¡°Is, uh, is that new?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow.

    She really, really wanted to die.

    For as nonchalant as he tried to appear, arms crossed casually and one foot propped against the wall, the notable blush was doing him zero favors. ¡°I¡¯m just gonna assume that¡¯s new.¡±

    Either she could die, or she could kill him. They were both viable options. Octavia entertained the idea of both for long enough to stain her face a permanent red. It probably wasn¡¯t healthy.

    <hr>

    Even knowing what she knew, there was still fear that came with the idea of tackling Theo¡¯s toll again. It had new context. Octavia regretted to admit that it unnerved her as much as it did, nor was she willing to confess that to Mixoly. It was a struggle not to change her demeanor around She Who Brought the World to Ruin, given the trust she¡¯d been granted. It would¡¯ve been rude, for one, and it would¡¯ve risked hurting the forsaken Muse. Above all else, it would¡¯ve compromised everything she¡¯d worked to foster between them thus far. Keeping a straight face was possibly even more difficult than deceiving Stratos, for as much success as she continued to have with that.

    Octavia still wanted to ask how it had happened. To pry as to the finer threads of the spider web would be a mess, let alone possibly distressing for Mixoly herself. It still didn¡¯t ease her curiosity, nor the fear that came with uncertainty in turn. Given that the only other human who knew of She Who Brought the World to Ruin--fleeting as the discussion had been--was still left out of the conversation, Octavia couldn¡¯t stop thinking about getting his sharp opinions.

    Theo had kept the secret close to his heart--for Mixoly¡¯s sake, she¡¯d rationalized. It left one other person who could dissect the spider web alongside her, shrewd as he was. His inquiries for the Muse, in turn, would''ve definitely been far more succinct than what she could concoct. It was just Josiah. It was specifically Josiah. Surely Mixoly would understand.

    It wasn¡¯t exactly an awkward atmosphere between the three of them. Still, it was loaded, largely silent save for Octavia¡¯s occasional grunts of frustration and concentration. She hadn¡¯t counted how many attempts she could knock out in a single evening, for the time she had available. So far, she was three deep, and none were any more successful than before.

    She sighed, coming to rest on her heels as she caught her breath. ¡°It¡¯s¡­still just as bad,¡± Octavia explained with mild irritation. ¡°Nothing¡¯s changing.¡±

    ¡°I cannot offer much more than my condolences, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia closed her eyes for a moment. ¡°I get it. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    They were loaded words. She¡¯d had to repeat them in too many contexts to count for Mixoly. The Muse apologized to her at least tenfold more than the others praised her, by comparison.

    ¡°If you¡­don¡¯t mind my asking,¡± Octavia tried, ¡°why did you pick Lucian?¡±

    Mixoly tilted her head. It was a question Octavia hadn¡¯t bothered to ask yet, and she gave it a shot for the sake of her puzzle. ¡°Elaborate.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she continued, ¡°what made you choose him as your Maestro, I mean?¡±

    Mixoly was quiet for a moment. ¡°A heart of light is not simple to claim, nor to witness within this realm. I had not the luxury of choice. It was as much of a blessing that that child answered my pleas as it was a curse for him in turn.¡±

    Octavia frowned. ¡°I know there¡¯s not a lot of Heartful Muses out there, but there¡¯s¡­not a lot of Heartful people, either?¡±

    And again, she was quiet. She was quiet for long enough that Octavia was forced to press. ¡°Mixoly?¡± she prompted gently.

    ¡°This world has no heart.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    It never failed to amaze Octavia exactly how human every gesture Mixoly made truly was, for how fleeting her form had been. She held herself tightly, stealing her faceless gaze from the Ambassador once more. ¡°This world is poisoned by malice and hatred. There...stands no place for purity. Those of a genuine heart are perhaps an irregularity in such a corrupted creation. You are one of few, oh Ambassador. Cling to your legacy, for what it is worth.¡±

    Octavia was somewhat speechless, at least temporarily. ¡°You¡­think the world is corrupt?¡±

    ¡°I do not think, but rather know it to be true.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted uncomfortably. The questions that bubbled up into her throat weren¡¯t quite ones she¡¯d entertained asking any Muse in earnest. In a way, they were insulting. To Mixoly, maybe they¡¯d harbor a different tone. She tried.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not exactly Above, but do you dislike this world, Mixoly?¡± she asked softly.

    Mixoly¡¯s answer was just as soft, her words bitter and biting in place of their volume. ¡°I detest it in every manner.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Why?¡±

    Mixoly shook her head. ¡°It was...not always so. Once, I loved. Now, child, I loathe. I lament that it has come to such.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s got to be some things you like about this world,¡± Octavia said. ¡°You like Theo, right?¡±

    There was a split second where she¡¯d expected Theo to show concern for Mixoly¡¯s pending answer. It was shocking enough that her harsh rhetoric hadn¡¯t warranted a response in any capacity already, for how he was content to drink in the conversation in peace. His eyes flickered up to Mixoly calmly rather than with the anxiety Octavia suspected she¡¯d find.

    She was immensely relieved to hear Mixoly affirm her question, at least. ¡°I adore this child with all that is left of my heart. He is all that is yet beautiful within this realm. He is all that I¡­have.¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°So, that¡¯s one thing, right?¡±

    ¡°And still, it is as I have stated, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly countered. ¡°He is an irregularity, the same as yourself. To be Heartful is to be immune from such malevolence. There is nothing more.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Octavia argued, just a touch louder than she¡¯d intended. ¡°There¡¯s lots of people who are kind and gentle that aren¡¯t Heartful. There¡¯s tons of them out there. Sure, there¡¯s a lot of really awful people, too, but you don¡¯t have to be Heartful to be a good person!¡±

    ¡°It is the only assurance.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a fair assumption. That¡¯s where trust comes in, you know.¡±

    ¡°There is nothing to trust.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. Each subsequent line of questioning that waited eagerly for a turn was dangerous for a myriad of reasons. Again came the faint, lingering dread in her stomach that accompanied every consideration of Mixoly¡¯s unfortunate title. Two inquiries took a burning precedence. It took a long time to settle on which one was safer.

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± Octavia began hesitantly, ¡°if¡­I wasn¡¯t Heartful, would you still trust me?¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t respond even slightly as fast as she would¡¯ve hoped. When she did, she gave anything but a reassuring answer. ¡°If you were not the Ambassador, I would not know you. I would¡­offer my trust to the Ambassador alone.¡±

    Octavia gestured to herself with slow words close behind. ¡°You trust me as the Ambassador. I get that. Do you¡­trust me as a person? As a human?¡±

    Mixoly wouldn¡¯t look at her. It hurt just as much as the silence that followed, and not for the reasons Octavia had expected it to sting. Her other question wasn¡¯t even slightly safe. It was serrated, deadly, and consequential in a way she knew would slash a hole in her heart. It was invasive. It was a terrible, terrible idea. In the absence of Mixoly¡¯s attention on her, she did it anyway, her soft voice a poor compensation.

    ¡°Mixoly, what¡­happened to you?¡±

    Whatever Theo was signing to her, it wasn¡¯t offered with gentle eyes. Given Mixoly¡¯s continued silence, Octavia regretted the inquiry almost immediately. There was no translation to accompany his harsh gestures, and she watched the Heartful Maestro¡¯s eyes dart to his wordless Muse from time to time. Logically, she didn¡¯t need to know. She said as much.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me if you don¡¯t want to,¡± she apologized weakly.

    It was enough to halt Theo¡¯s aggressive gesturing, his sharp gaze still stinging her with reproach where applicable. It wasn¡¯t enough to garner any outright reaction from Mixoly, who only appeared to curl in on herself further. Octavia sighed.

    Another attempt was an apology in action, she rationalized. She reached for Miracle Agony where her words couldn''t reach its Muse. At the very least, useless as her efforts were, she was less likely to hurt others in the dark.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    For how many times she¡¯d borne witness to the first half of the same toll repeatedly, Octavia had large swaths of it memorized. She was an expert on drowning, and just as skillful at coming back up from the same lethal abyss.

    She¡¯d grown used to every word from every mouth, every step and every gesture, every smile that graced her gaze and left her stolen lips. In the slowdown of time that was the deepest depths of a toll, she swore she¡¯d known Theo through Lucian¡¯s eyes for longer than she¡¯d known him through her own. If she didn¡¯t know any better, she¡¯d be at risk of confusing herself with Lucian, for how often their hearts were one and the same.

    It wasn¡¯t as off-putting of a thought as she would¡¯ve expected it to be. For all intents and purposes, as many times as she wished, she was Lucian, and Lucian was her. It was a shame that she couldn¡¯t do him the justice of capturing the remainder of his tragic fate.

    Once more did she suffer, and voyage, and struggle, and cling. It was the same routine she''d endured for weeks, and she traced Lucian¡¯s undaunted steps into that moonlit field once more. Octavia followed his fingers downwards, she embraced Mixoly¡¯s pleas by proxy, and she braced for the burst of sensations that would assail her shortly after. Even if she knew it would get her nowhere, it was still a peace offering to a wounded Mixoly. She made a mental note to apologize again when she came up.

    Octavia still lamented that she couldn¡¯t recoil or shut her eyes to escape the blinding radiance that seeped through the very world itself. She still hated that she couldn¡¯t raise hands that weren¡¯t hers to block out the screaming and screeching that plagued her so suddenly. It was overwhelming in every way, no matter how she fought to push through it. As always, she did her best. She strained, as much as was possible in a state of zero input or physical sensation. It burned.

    There is more to be done.

    There is not.

    It burned for far longer than usual, her pupils practically screaming along.

    What have I left to give?

    It was brighter, the fragile glass in her eyes splintering wider and wider.

    I do not understand!

    It was louder than the screeching, distorted and echoing as it was. It was every bit as unnatural as it was achingly familiar.

    Please, help me!

    It wasn¡¯t as immediately unmistakable as Octavia would¡¯ve believed it to be, for how often she¡¯d heard that voice as of late.

    I beg of you, help me!

    And when her vision gave way, it wasn¡¯t fruitless, but rather with words she¡¯d heard so many times over. Born of the same lips again and again, they were as seared into her mind by now as Lucian¡¯s entire life was.

    Help me.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡ô????????????????????????????????? ??????????????¡ô????????????????????? ???????????????????????????¡ô??????????????????????????

    Octavia had been largely still when coming up from her best attempts at Theo¡¯s toll, save for her first encounter. Where frustration had typically taken hold and left her growling with irritation, she now outright flinched instead. It wasn¡¯t enough to knock her back. It was more than enough to demand attention where she¡¯d so humbly sought to earn it before.

    ¡°That¡­that was different. Something changed,¡± Octavia insisted quickly. ¡°Mixoly, something was different that time!¡±

    She finally garnered the gaze of the Muse she¡¯d managed to deter. ¡°Of what do you speak, Ambassador?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t put it into words. Stumbling over them cost her precious moments of clarification. ¡°I-I could hear¡­you, I think. I could hear your voice, a-and not just whatever Lucian had already been hearing. When he touched you, when it got to that part again, there was something else.¡±

    Mixoly tilted her head in the slightest. For how Theo followed the same motion moments later, it was almost an endearing combination. It was muted, somewhat, by the gravity of the situation, and Octavia had little time to feel sentimental.

    She thought to argue. She thought to demand, to think, to push Mixoly ever further. Instead, she experimented first. Gauging whether lightning would strike twice in the blackened depths was easier to do with her eyes than her words. She let her fingers against the length of Miracle Agony speak for her once more.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia hardly even processed whatever led up to the moment in which Lucian¡¯s world would splinter to pieces yet again. Part of her couldn''t hold fast to the idea of success, somewhat concerned that her singular crumb of progress had been a fluke. If she were to go through the same exact routine this time around, if she were to terminate at the same point with no altered sights or sounds to show for it, she wouldn¡¯t have been surprised--vehement disappointment and aggravation notwithstanding. She prayed that wasn¡¯t the case, and steeled herself for the chance that it was.

    And when she reached the usual world-shattering point once more, the cracks and splinters on false glass assaulting her again, she battled the violent light and hateful colors. She braved the torturous sounds of suffering unseen. It didn¡¯t need to make sense to be unwelcome, surreal as it continued to be all this time. So thick had those jagged deltas upon her stolen eyes become that she feared she¡¯d come up like that, cursed to see through nothing but fractured crystal forever.

    You will regret your choice.

    I will not.

    Please, do not do this.

    Still, Octavia was rewarded for her troubles, out of sight and garbled as such fleeting treasures were.

    This is all that I can do.

    The cracks were there, slower and wider as they grew. The light was powerful, brilliant and abrasive as it was. Mixoly was Mixoly in every way, even at the bottom of darkness itself.

    Help me!

    It was perhaps just the slightest bit brighter, if that was even possible.

    Help me, please.

    ¡ô????????????? ???????????????¡ô?????????????????????? ??????????????????????????¡ô?????????????

    Octavia came up with confidence where confusion had once been. Lightning had, in fact, struck, whether in her eyes or otherwise. She caught breaths she just barely needed. There was no need for a third attempt, given what she''d found. Her fingers trembled somewhat as they curled inwards, reclaimed from Miracle Agony awaiting her touch yet again. She offered her eyes to Mixoly rather than the Muse''s vessel.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­you,¡± Octavia asserted plainly. ¡°That¡¯s your voice in there. I can hear it.¡±

    She appreciated that Mixoly wasn¡¯t necessarily speechless. It didn¡¯t make what she actually earned much more useful. ¡°I¡­¡±

    In which case, Octavia continued in the timid Muse¡¯s place. ¡°Are those¡­your memories?¡±

    If lying by omission was still lying, then silence in place of confirmation was still confirmation.

    ¡°They are, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, I¡­¡±

    ¡°Is that¡­why I keep getting stuck?¡± Octavia murmured. ¡°I¡¯m stuck on your memories? Not¡­Lucian¡¯s?¡±

    Theo raised his eyes to Mixoly alone, a silent gesture that left Octavia excluded. Even now, she had to wonder how much else the child knew that she didn¡¯t.

    ¡°I¡­do not know what to say, in truth,¡± Mixoly admitted, her voice tiny and meek. It was almost pitiful. ¡°I apologize severely, Ambassador. I-I should not be¡­¡±

    The moment she trailed off, Octavia pounced on her hesitation. ¡°Whatever I¡¯m seeing, did Lucian see it, too? Did he see your memories like that?¡±

    ¡°It is you alone, Ambassador,¡± she confessed.

    ¡°It¡¯s like you guys are¡­stuck together,¡± Octavia muttered. ¡°What made it change, though? That was the first time I was able to make any progress.¡±

    The way Theo was not-so-subtly flicking his eyes back and forth between the window and her own was as frustrating as it was necessary. He wasn¡¯t wrong about the time. It didn¡¯t answer the question that burned through her brain. She ignored him in favor of Mixoly, her heart pounding at the reminder of the hour.

    ¡°If I¡¯m gonna see the rest of Theo¡¯s toll, do I have to get through those? Can I move them, or¡­something?¡±

    ¡°I cannot control them.¡±

    ¡°Can I even see them? You¡¯re a Muse. You¡¯re not a person. That¡¯s not a¡­toll.¡±

    ¡°It seems as though you have already witnessed such recollections, somewhat.¡±

    ¡°I mean, it wasn¡¯t a lot, just¡­words. I couldn¡¯t actually see anything,¡± Octavia explained.

    ¡°Such may be for the best.¡±

    Octavia paused for a moment. ¡°Do you¡­want me to see them?¡±

    There was her silence. Octavia had wondered how long it would take.

    ¡°Mixoly, I keep trying to get to the other side of Theo¡¯s toll, and that whole thing is what¡¯s in the way. If I can¡¯t see your memories, I don¡¯t know if I can complete the Witnessing all the way through.¡±

    As to whether Theo was growing more urgent on behalf of genuine concern for her or out of irritation for Mixoly¡¯s interrogation, Octavia wasn¡¯t sure. She could believe both. The aggravated signing that followed wasn¡¯t helping. Eventually, he was outright pointing at the door, rolling his eyes in exasperation when she only continued to speak.

    ¡°If you want to go back to Above,¡± Octavia pushed, ¡°I think this¡­might be how. If not, then it¡¯s at least one more step towards figuring this out. I¡¯m not trying to pry, but if you want this to happen, we have to work together. I already told you--if we¡¯re going to get you home, then you¡¯re going to have to trust me.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador--¡±

    ¡°Just¡­think about it, okay?¡± she pleaded softly, peeling herself off the floor at last. ¡°I promise they¡¯ll be safe with me. You have my word.¡±

    In reality, it wasn¡¯t her place to beg or insist upon the memories of another person--let alone a Muse. Tolls alone were invasive enough, for what most private visions she dove into only half-consensually. Whatever objections Theo had to her request, even tender as it was, followed her with abrasive signs she couldn¡¯t so much as try to make light of. She hoped he was satisfied she was heeding his warning to leave. Octavia, by comparison, would never be satisfied each and every time she left Mixoly quiet and uncomfortable in her wake. Even now, to turn her back on the Muse she continued to press so severely was painful.

    She remembered to check the windows this time, if nothing else. Even as she snuck into the cool night, choked moonlight peeking through the clouds above to guide her path, her blood burned where her skin was chilled. Given the highly specific tolls that had crushed her and torn her apart from the inside-out, she''d already come to the conclusion that nothing worse could await her in the depths. Drey had been enough. Sonata had been enough. An entire city laid to waste, still ripping her to shreds each night in her dreams, had been more than enough for the rest of her life. Of those tolls, at least, she''d had a personal connection that carved her heart out as a result.

    Whatever awaited on the other end of Theo¡¯s toll was a burning mystery, built up endlessly for weeks in a way that had begun to fester. For all Octavia feared of the spider web, by comparison, there was perhaps no better way to fall into its grasp than to watch the world come to ruin herself.

    <hr>

    The Stratos night that followed was tense, as she''d expected it would be.

    Typically, it was Stratos nights she feared, for the delicate line she was forced to tread around him. With him in her arms and a song born between them, falsehoods of love and companionship were enough to keep Octavia''s heart racing alongside every deceptively soft note. She dreaded slipping up, and the same dread was usually enough to keep her on edge for hours in his company.

    Her paranoia, extreme as it was, hadn''t yet led her astray. It was still agonizing to foster. It probably wasn¡¯t for the best that she''d begun to associate Stradivaria with distress, for the way her stomach would twist into knots in his vicinity alone. Part of her envied the ignorance she¡¯d once had only weeks before. Part of her couldn¡¯t imagine not knowing what she knew now.

    Tonight, her fears were inverted. It wasn¡¯t so much that she feared returning to Mixoly as she feared whatever burden was to follow. Stratos nights were predictable. For unfortunate reasons, recently, Mixoly nights had been the same. Now, they were anything but, and it was exceedingly possible she was to see what wasn''t meant to be seen in the near future. Even for the Ambassador, this was pushing it. If Mixoly was so different, she wondered what else could change in a toll. She wondered if it could hurt. The thought was absolutely terrifying to entertain, and her best attempts to stifle it were in vain.

    Are you alright?

    ¡°W-What?¡±

    Your hands are trembling.

    Octavia''s heart skipped a beat. He wasn''t wrong. She could feel her fingers shaking against the strings, pressed right up against him. It was a new kind of paranoia she hadn¡¯t yet nurtured.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m just kind of cold. The temperature at night has been getting lower, recently. It¡¯s¡­gonna be winter soon, you know.¡±

    I see. If you must return inside, I would understand.

    Octavia sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. I''ll get used to it after a little while.¡±

    Do you fare well during your walks each evening, then?

    Again did her heart skip exactly one beat. It wasn¡¯t as though the question carried any accusations by default. ¡°It¡¯s not usually that bad. I¡¯m alright.¡±

    You are gone for quite some time.

    Octavia was quiet for a moment. She opted for the pitiful route. ¡°I have a lot to think about. There¡¯s a lot of things that bother me, so it¡¯s¡­nice to have time to go over it all, just a little bit at a time. It takes a while.¡±

    I see.

    More explicit confirmation of his belief in her lies would¡¯ve been nice. ¡°I¡¯ve seen¡­thousands of tolls, now. Literally thousands. It¡¯s insane, and it¡¯s terrifying. It¡¯s a lot to live with.¡±

    I understand.

    She knew he didn¡¯t, really. For all she¡¯d tried to be objective about her task with Mixoly, and for all the Stratos nights she¡¯d braved, his empty words of comfort still stung just as sharply. Octavia desperately wished she could call him out on it, even now.

    Where do you travel to when you walk every evening?

    He didn¡¯t usually ask. Her stomach did flips. She did what she could to attribute his inquiries simply to the natural course of the conversation.

    Octavia shrugged, an uncomfortable motion with him atop her shoulder. ¡°Around. Tacell¡¯s big. Sometimes, I get lost, but I normally find my way back home okay. It¡¯s really pretty here, so anywhere I walk is nice.¡±

    There¡¯d been a time when the small hum Stratos would offer her after remarks would be warm, perhaps endearing in a way that made her heart sing. Now, paranoia had poisoned it in turn, and Octavia lamented its loss. Part of her missed him. Part of her hated him.

    Octavia, there is¡­something I wish to ask, and I hope you would not feel my distrust.

    For as quickly as her blood froze over, there was an irony in that her trust in him was already long gone.

    Of the Heartful child you had encountered some time ago, he who assailed you.

    Octavia forgot how to breathe.

    At that time, of that place, I had instructed you to stay away.

    She nearly forgot how to play, her melody slowing to an absolute crawl.

    I apologize for my lack of explanation, and I recognize that my rationale was not succinct. With this having been said, have you¡­voyaged there once more?

    The sound of her heart pounding against her chest was far louder than any song she could¡¯ve offered to the night sky.

    Be truthful. I will¡­not be angry with you.

    Under no circumstances did Octavia believe him.

    ¡°Why would I go back there?¡± she asked with the weakest confidence she¡¯d ever scrounged up.

    I would not know.

    ¡°But you¡¯re the one who told me not to,¡± she pushed.

    I am aware.

    Octavia was playing with fire. She was exceedingly well aware of the risk that came with being anywhere adjacent to this conversation. Still, she stood on the absolute threshold of her finely-woven lies, a spider web of her own making. The temptation to pick apart the threads of the one that didn''t belong to her was too great. It was an opportunity she couldn¡¯t pass up, provided she could maintain her mask of ignorance.

    ¡°And you still haven¡¯t told me why.¡±

    At that time, I had asked for your trust. I apologize, truly, but I must ask for your faith once more.

    ¡°You want my blind trust, then?¡± she nearly spat. ¡°What¡¯s so special about Theo¡¯s cottage that you can¡¯t tell me?¡±

    Octavia, know that my request is for your safety alone.

    It was laughable. Octavia wondered if her ire was seeping into her song.

    ¡°I can keep myself safe!¡± she growled. ¡°If I¡¯m in danger, tell me what I¡¯m in danger from! Theo¡¯s a Maestro, Stratos! I¡¯m gonna have to go there eventually!¡±

    You will not.

    ¡°Yes, I will!¡± Octavia hissed. ¡°I have to perform the Witnessing, correct? If he¡¯s a Maestro, there¡¯s a Muse, and if there¡¯s a Muse, I have to let it go!¡±

    I assure you, you do not. Continue as you are. Do not concern your--

    ¡°Why? Why am I supposed to ignore that one? What, is Theo just supposed to stay a Maestro forever? You¡¯re asking me to just trust you without question, but is this not my job as the Ambassador? I¡¯m not supposed to be leaving any of you behind, right? I don¡¯t understand!¡±

    Octavia was more than aware her aggravation was compromising her cover, let alone her composure. Still, she prayed it was enough to uphold her veil of innocence. If she were him, it would be believable. If she pressed harder than he did, perhaps he wouldn¡¯t notice. She at least hoped he couldn¡¯t hear her heartbeat, nor that he could sense the way her blood burned with something besides his light for once.

    It has¡­been some time since I have heard you speak of my true name.

    Her song screeched to a halt, a shrill squeak piercing the night air as the bow stilled suddenly over the strings. Her heart did the same.

    You are¡­dissatisfied with me, are you not?

    Octavia thought to protest. She could barely piece a sentence together. It left her still and silent, the cool evening seeping into her bloodstream and freezing her from within.

    You are cross with me.

    It wasn¡¯t as though he was wrong. She had no excuse.

    I will ask once more. Have you returned to that place?

    And in playing with fire, in focusing so much on the flame she''d handled with such care, she had lost her footing. Only now did she trip over the spider web at her feet.

    Octavia had to at least attempt damage control, for all she''d put into making it this far. ¡°Why does this bother you so much?¡±

    Answer.

    ¡°Why is this so important to you?¡± Octavia nearly shouted, yanking Stradivaria from the comfort of her shoulder. ¡°Why does this matter?¡±

    Your deflection is an answer enough.

    She¡¯d wondered how long it would take to get to this point, truthfully.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on with you?¡± Octavia snapped. ¡°You¡¯re seriously asking me to completely ignore a Muse who needs help just as much as you do? Just as much as all of you? That¡¯s not right! Stratos, that¡¯s not why I agreed to be the Ambassador! I don¡¯t want to pick and choose! I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t leave her there in good conscience! Theo has a Harmonial Instrument, and that Harmonial Instrument has a Muse. That¡¯s enough for me. Plus, Theo¡¯s Heartful, just like me! Just like you! Whatever Muse is in there, they¡¯re from your own legacy! Isn¡¯t that cruel to just¡­say you¡¯d be willing to leave them behind like that?¡±

    Octavia hoped it burned. She knew it wouldn¡¯t. Even now, she gave Stratos the grace of his lie of choice, for what she claimed of agreement to her role. She thought to imagine his reaction when he realized she knew. She wondered if there would ever be a good time, let alone a safe time, to hunt for it. Even this conversation was dangerous enough.

    ¡®Her.''

    Octavia tensed. ¡°What?¡±

    You have met this Muse, then.

    Octavia could¡¯ve collapsed on the spot, for how violently she shook.

    I understand now.

    Never since she¡¯d first laid her fingertips atop his strings with tenderness and love had Octavia felt anything but warmth towards Stratos. Never had she feared him. There was a first time for everything, and her first time hit her with a pressure that folded her heart in half.

    She has spoken of me, has she not?

    Speechless as she was, her crumpled heart still threatened to burst.

    Octavia, I know she has made claims of me. I know her. What has she told you?

    And even so, she could do nothing but let him press, helpless to do more than tremble under the deceptive softness of his every word.

    She has made you fearful of me, has she not? Octavia, please. You must not listen to what she says. She is a danger to you.

    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±

    They were the only words of her own she could scrounge up. They were pitiful, tiny, half-hearted as they slipped from her tongue. They were weeks in the making.

    I am not.

    ¡°You¡¯re lying!¡± Octavia screamed.

    She didn¡¯t care who overheard. She didn¡¯t care who in Tacell could hear her, nor which bedbound companions within could bear witness to her echoing accusation. Octavia absolutely could not take one more false word from him.

    The pause Stratos offered her was the only relief she got. There¡¯d been a time when she¡¯d adored his voice, smooth and silky as it was. Now, it was haunting.

    Octavia, he began quietly, that¡­Muse is unlike those you have met thus far.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± she bit back.

    She has done something which cannot be undone.

    ¡°I know, and I don¡¯t care!¡± Octavia growled.

    You know?

    ¡°Yes, I know! I¡¯m well aware! I don¡¯t care what she did in the past! You yourself even told me it was a mistake! What happened to that, huh? You hate her that much?¡±

    I do not hate her.

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. For how hard she gripped the handle of the bow, she worried she might snap it clean in half. She wondered if she¡¯d even regret it. ¡°Then what the hell is your problem?¡±

    She will say and do whatever would guide her towards salvation.

    She wanted so, so badly to point out the hypocrisy in his words. ¡°Is it so wrong to want to go back to Above? Doesn¡¯t everyone?¡±

    She will speak to you whatever will lead you to her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Octavia argued.

    For what she has surely told you, I am not surprised.

    ¡°She¡¯s honest with me!¡±

    Octavia, she is not.

    She wanted to shake him. Of his vessel, she nearly did. ¡°You¡¯re the one who¡¯s not being honest!¡±

    Octavia, she seeks to divide us. She would turn you against me.

    ¡°Then why would you keep her a secret if you were so worried about me?¡± Octavia countered, venom tinting every syllable. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even tell me who she was! Even if you don¡¯t want to talk about her, the least you could do is tell me I¡¯m supposedly in ¡®danger!'' You wouldn¡¯t even do that! You don¡¯t care what happens to me, you just don¡¯t want me talking to her!¡±

    Octavia, please.

    ¡°Stop it! If you have a problem with her, that¡¯s on you!¡±

    Stratos sounded almost hurt. She couldn¡¯t believe it to be true pain. Why would you cling to her words with so little hesitation? You, who have been by my side for so long? You, whose heart and my own are one?

    And that, too, Octavia couldn¡¯t stand anymore.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re hiding something from me.¡±

    I am not--

    ¡°Yes, you are,¡± she interrupted, her voice low and wavering. ¡°And I know that with absolute certainty, with or without her.¡±

    Octavia liked the way Stratos hesitated to argue, the way the denials in her head fizzled and died beneath the hidden moonlight. It was a weight off her shoulders that left her light and almost joyous, riding a high of justification that almost overshadowed her fear. It didn¡¯t necessarily make her any safer. The spider web was still more than present in the dark, each string obscured by what she still couldn¡¯t get him to speak. She could try. It was a risk. She was already very, very much pushing it.

    Octavia, listen to my words. You cannot, and you must not, guide her path.

    ¡°You can¡¯t stop me.¡±

    It was the most dangerous thing she could¡¯ve possibly said. It was pure spite. It felt good.

    His words were slow, strained, and nearly desperate. You must not guide her.

    ¡°She¡¯s a Muse, and I¡¯m going to send her home. If you want to hate her, hate her. If you want to be mad at me about it, then be mad at me about it. I¡¯m the Ambassador. This is my job. I agreed to save all of you. She¡¯s one of you.¡±

    You are in danger.

    It was hilarious, coming from him.

    ¡°She deserves to go back to Above, and I¡¯m going to send her there. You can¡¯t stop me,¡± Octavia repeated.

    Please.

    ¡°Nothing you say is going to change my mind, Stratos.¡±

    Octavia made sure it stung. She hoped it did, at least. Never had she thought to weaponize a name she¡¯d once found beautiful, shunned in favor of an alias filled with far more love. When he fell silent, his soft pleas fading in turn, she was satisfied with her poison.

    Stratos didn¡¯t offer her another word more. He didn¡¯t beg, he didn¡¯t justify, he didn¡¯t argue, and he didn¡¯t threaten. He didn¡¯t so much as call her name. She¡¯d called his own more tonight than she could remember doing ever before--and without a shred of endearment. Octavia bundled the violin up in her arms and made for anywhere except the vulnerability of stars she couldn¡¯t see.

    For all the paranoia she¡¯d suffered, she knew she¡¯d surely reap the consequences. For now, Octavia braved each and every step into the spider web that rapidly wrapped around her throat.

 92. Justified, Part I

    There were no more Stratos nights. Octavia didn¡¯t need any. It was liberating, somewhat. The consequences of being exposed sank in gradually over the twenty-four hours that followed--although not with as much terror and dread as Octavia had expected. She¡¯d nearly challenged him by asserting her immunity, and she was now forced to hope that he truly couldn''t put his luminous hands on her somehow. It would go against what she knew. Regardless, the spider web choked her even now. There were still an ample number of Muses who, by comparison, didn''t know of her supposed transgressions. So, too, then, were there just as many Maestros who were ignorant to the same.

    She wasn¡¯t completely free. It was still better than nothing. Octavia could remember a time when making it through the day without succumbing to the unease that haunted her was unimaginable. Now, it was effortless, and the tolls she completed were just the same. She could hardly remember them, just as she could hardly remember the names of the Muses she guided in turn. It was probably disrespectful. For what they were complicit in, she didn¡¯t care.

    Her one and only concern lay with the Heartful Muse she swore no longer to forsake, Stratos¡¯ pleas be damned. Octavia didn¡¯t have the strength to tell either Mixoly or Theo about her standoff with Stratos the night prior, for what a disastrous confrontation that would surely spark. If she ended up with light blasted down her throat, she could forget sending Mixoly back to Above once and for all.

    She was grateful they¡¯d reached the point where the two had stopped inquiring as to her silence so often. There was the possible issue of keeping up appearances yet again, should she pretend to be appeasing Stratos even now. If Mixoly were to become her newest target of deception, Octavia¡¯s head was sure to spin forever.

    ¡°Can you¡­feel anything when I get to the part with your memories?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly.

    She was somewhat relieved when Mixoly shook her head. On further consideration, the thought was terrifying. ¡°I cannot. What is within that toll is for your eyes alone, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°I know it¡¯s¡­personal. I¡¯m sorry about that. I really don¡¯t think I have a choice.¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s voice was nearly inaudible, timid as it was. ¡°If this is the only way, then it must be so.¡±

    It was nice not to be outright rejected, let alone left pending in eternal quiet for once. Octavia almost felt bad for pushing, well-intentioned as her insistence had been. With Theo¡¯s gentle cooperation, she readied her hands over Miracle Agony as always. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay, I promise. I¡­won¡¯t judge. It won¡¯t change anything.¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s disbelief was clear in her silence alone. Granted, it wasn''t as bad as usual. Octavia wouldn¡¯t let it stand regardless.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to believe me,¡± she said with a sigh. ¡°I know I¡¯m telling the truth. I¡¯ll prove it.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t give the Muse time to argue, although she didn¡¯t expect much verbal pushback in the first place. She brought her fingers gently downwards onto the smooth surface of the instrument, settling into the curious darkness once more. She¡¯d long since stopped counting how many times she''d taken the plunge.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    There is more to be done.

    There is not.

    Yet it could be so.

    The splinters were there, cracking and spreading like fraying threads upon her vision. The sensation was growing familiar. Searing light still soaked through their fragile gaps, and the horrific cacophony of chaos that bit Octavia''s eardrums was still impossibly loud. Lucian¡¯s life had been the same, and she figured it always would be.

    I beg of you.

    This is a blessing.

    Please!

    I will return. You have my word.

    For as unseen as the voices were, however, Octavia could attribute them to any life but Lucian¡¯s.

    Of what would I give?

    Anything.

    What is broken?

    Everything.

    It didn¡¯t make the radiance that scorched her borrowed, broken pupils any more tolerable, nor did it soften the cries in her ears. It wasn¡¯t stable. It was fragile, even when handled with all the care she could give it. No amount of holding her breath was stilling the glass that slowly shattered before her.

    Were you¡­calling me?

    And you heard my voice, then?

    What are you?

    I am one who destroys what is precious.

    But you¡¯re so small.

    Those voices, in tandem, Octavia hadn¡¯t yet heard. It was jarring. As to what actions accompanied their words, it wasn¡¯t as though she could see.

    This is not how it was supposed to be!

    It was inconsistent.

    My name¡¯s Lucian. Do you¡­have a name?

    Please, it cannot be this way!

    I am called Mixoly.

    Help me!

    Mixoly?

    Yes.

    Please!

    It was almost nonsensical, for how disorganized it was. Still, Octavia could see nothing but the shining brilliance that blinded her. She could feel the cracks spreading, the world slipping through her fingers once more. She strained for what she couldn¡¯t hold, imminent as it was.

    Is it perfect?

    It is all it could be.

    Why are you doing this to me?

    If you go, I cannot guarantee your safety!

    It is a risk I am more than willing to take!

    Get out of my head!

    This is not what I wanted for you.

    Do you hear my voice?

    Do you hate me?

    I don¡¯t want to!

    Every scattered ray of light through every narrow crack was a voice she couldn¡¯t cling to. Every frantic word was a passing flash that assailed her quicker than she could process. Octavia fought with everything she had to weigh herself down into the depths.

    Help me!

    Stop it!

    Please!

    I¡¯m begging you!

    Save me.

    Leave me alone!

    Save me.

    Stop!

    Beneath the pressure of pleas so raw she could hear them bleed, the world gave way.

    ¡ô???????????????? ?????????????????????????????¡ô???????????? ??????????????¡ô???????????????????

    ¡°They¡¯re stuck together,¡± Octavia breathed almost immediately. ¡°They really are stuck together.¡±

    So quickly had she bounced back from returning to lucidity that words left her mouth before her fingers left Miracle Agony. Octavia had offered her revelation to Theo, first, largely out of availability. To his credit, he absorbed her assertion with peaceful confusion, tilting his head slightly. Octavia cast her eyes up to Mixoly where they belonged.

    ¡°Your memories and Lucian¡¯s memories,¡± she clarified. ¡°I think they¡¯re¡­tangled up somehow. If that¡¯s the case, there¡¯s definitely no way I¡¯m gonna be able to get through the rest of this toll without seeing your memories. I just¡­don¡¯t know how to separate them.¡±

    On further thought, Octavia winced. ¡°Can I separate them?¡±

    Mixoly was motionless, although Octavia was grateful that she received a response at all. ¡°That which a Muse has seen was never intended to be witnessed by a human, Ambassador or otherwise. Even I do not know if such is possible--let alone without consequence for yourself, my child. That our souls would intertwine in that manner is¡­unthinkable.¡±

    Octavia bit her lip. ¡°Is there...any way that I could witness both at the same time, somehow? I don¡¯t know how that would work, honestly. Still, if I can¡¯t pull them apart, that''s all I can think of.¡±

    Mixoly folded her arms tightly over her chest. ¡°It is a concept, if nothing else. You are welcome to attempt.¡±

    Octavia sighed. ¡°You know, it¡¯d mean a lot if you could have a little confidence in me every now and then. Cheer me on, or¡­something.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± the Muse asked.

    Octavia smiled half-heartedly. ¡°You keep telling me to ¡®try¡¯ and saying you¡¯re not surprised when I fail. I know you want to go back to Above just as badly as I want you to, so¡­try to be optimistic about it, okay?¡±

    Mixoly averted her eyes. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°Unless you don¡¯t¡­actually think I can do this,¡± Octavia murmured.

    ¡°That¡¯s not it, Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°What is it, then? Don¡¯t you want to go home?¡±

    ¡°I could want for nothing more.¡±

    ¡°Then why are--¡±

    ¡°I do not know if I can.¡±

    Octavia paused. It took a moment to process, and she had to try twice over. ¡°What?¡±

    It was no more clear the second time Mixoly said the same. ¡°I do not know if I can truly return to Above.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°I¡¯m¡­doing my best. I¡¯m making progress. Please, Mixoly, I really want you to believe in me! Don¡¯t say things like that. I promised I¡¯m going to get you home.¡±

    ¡°The fault is mine alone, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly asserted timidly.

    Octavia blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Octavia was cognizant of the way Mixoly¡¯s gaze drifted skywards for a moment--whether metaphorical or otherwise, she was unsure. ¡°I paid for my sin with an exile of my own making. I¡­fear I may still endure the same yet again, struggle as I might to return. What the future holds is a terror I cannot tolerate.¡±

    ¡°But¡­even if I perform the Witnessing, even if I guide you, you don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to get back? I¡¯m right here. That¡¯s what I¡¯m for, right?¡± Octavia argued.

    Mixoly only seemed to grow smaller, for how she curled in on herself ever further. ¡°I do not know what will occur. It is my greatest wish to return to Above, Ambassador. I could pray for nothing else. For so long have I languished within this tarnished realm. I yearn for paradise. I long for what I had forsaken. Still, I¡­I do not know if I can ascend once more.¡±

    Octavia had no words of comfort for her. Theo, to his credit, once again stroked the length of Miracle Agony reassuringly. What it was worth remained to be seen, although the gesture was still every bit as heartwarming.

    ¡°If you can¡¯t go back, what happens once you¡¯re out? What happens when I witness your toll, and I¡­try to guide you?¡± Octavia asked.

    Mixoly shook her head. ¡°I do not know.¡±

    Octavia shifted on the floor uncomfortably. ¡°If you can¡¯t go back, what will you do?¡±

    ¡°Please do not leave me here, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Mixoly--¡±

    ¡°Please do not leave me in this place!¡±

    She¡¯d never heard the meek Muse raise her voice before. The sheer panic behind every word was sharp enough to startle Octavia. For what he could surely feel in his heart alone, it was enough to even draw Theo¡¯s eyes quickly to Mixoly in turn. The Maestros watched her with surprise, her desperate plea as unsettling as it was surprising.

    ¡°Please,¡± Mixoly begged, far softer by comparison, ¡°do not leave me in this place.¡±

    Octavia blinked the astonishment out of her eyes. ¡°You really hate the world that much?¡±

    There were so many times in which Octavia wished the Muses could convey perhaps more emotion, whether with their eyes or with faces she had to imagine were there. It was frustrating to interpret Mixoly¡¯s responses from body language alone where words so often failed her. For what response she¡¯d faltered upon, Octavia had a fair idea of what line of thought she¡¯d been heading down. She intercepted it as quickly as was possible.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of awful things in the world, yeah. I know we talked about that. There¡¯s a lot of beautiful things about the world, too, though. There¡¯s wonderful people out there, and so many wonderful things I¡¯m sure you haven¡¯t experienced yet. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve been through or what you¡¯ve dealt with, but you haven¡¯t seen the entire world, and you haven¡¯t seen everything it has to offer.¡±

    ¡°I have seen enough.¡±

    ¡°But there¡¯s always more. It¡¯s always changing.¡±

    ¡°It grows more corrupt.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re looking at the worst of it, maybe.¡±

    ¡°You would not come to detest a world plagued by agony?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°If you mean the Dissonance, we can get rid of it. That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for. The world wasn¡¯t always--¡±

    She bit her tongue. There was perhaps no one who knew better of a world once free of violet than Mixoly. In a way, the sentiment might¡¯ve been insensitive. Octavia somewhat regretted bringing it up at all.

    ¡°That it would follow where you go, you would still speak of purity?¡± Mixoly pressed.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°I¡¯m used to it,¡± Octavia admitted. ¡°That comes with being a Maestra.¡±

    Mixoly paused. ¡°That it would follow you, Ambassador, you would still defend a world so tainted?¡±

    For a moment, Octavia only stared at her. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    Mixoly¡¯s voice came painfully soft. ¡°I say once more, Ambassador, that your heart is pure. You serve as the bridge between two realms, and agony would chase your guiding light. For all that has pursued you, I struggle to believe that you could forgive--¡±

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± Octavia interrupted, ¡°what do you mean by¡­¡®chasing?'' It¡­follows me?¡±

    Mixoly fell silent. It was expected.

    ¡°Stratos has not told you, then.¡±

    That, too, should¡¯ve been expected. He was wonderful at deception. He was wonderful at twisting her into knots and stealing every last breath from her lungs. He was phenomenal at crushing her heart and shredding her soul.

    She tried not to think of every time. She tried not to count them. She tried not to relive every encounter with the screaming violet that haunted her life, and she tried not to classify them. It wasn¡¯t natural by default, a force born of a Muse just before her eyes. Still, there was the inexplicable. There was the spontaneous. There were places Dissonance had long laid dormant, and she¡¯d dismissed her struggles as the worst of luck.

    Octavia could hardly look at Mixoly. If she looked anywhere else, she¡¯d have to give chase of her own to simmering paranoia. She¡¯d already be doing so for the foreseeable future, and she could add it to her pile of fears. It was one more reason to loathe Stratos. She wondered how many she¡¯d have by the end.

    Finding words at all was a trial, as was finding the drive to meet an eyeless gaze at last. ¡°No matter how bad things get, there¡¯s still things worth protecting in this world. There¡¯s still¡­things worth fighting for. It¡¯s imperfect. I know that. Either way, it¡¯s still mine.¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t argue. Octavia sighed. As to the concept of trailing agony, she didn¡¯t dare dwell. Even now, there was the slightest pang of fear that came with every breath, by which she might summon suffering with her existence alone. To the best of her ability, she redirected.

    ¡°You¡¯re not¡­fighting me on this toll, are you? That¡¯s not why I¡¯m having trouble?¡±

    ¡°I am not,¡± Mixoly insisted quietly.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­go one step at a time,¡± Octavia offered. ¡°There¡¯s no point in worrying about whether or not you can get home if I haven¡¯t even gotten through this yet.¡±

    Mixoly didn¡¯t argue. A response of some variety would¡¯ve been nice. Octavia settled for the peace she was given instead. She raised her hands over Miracle Agony again.

    ¡°It really would make me happy if you could cheer me on for a change,¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯m your Ambassador, too. Believe in me a little, sometimes.¡±

    Just as she didn¡¯t protest, Mixoly offered no words of support where Octavia could hope to find them. It was as disappointing as it was expected. Octavia gave her attention to the darkness instead. If she wanted Mixoly¡¯s voice, at least she knew exactly where to find it.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Were you¡­calling me?

    And you heard my voice, then?

    Yeah.

    It wasn¡¯t Mixoly she found first. For once, Octavia could see, hazy as her vision was. She knew it to be fragile, and her heart pounded as she awaited what she feared rested beyond. She held her breath, bracing for the fraying crystal and overwhelming radiance that was sure to claim her soon enough.

    What are you?

    I am one who destroys what is precious.

    But you¡¯re so small.

    It was not always such.

    His touch was perhaps even more gentle than Theo¡¯s, for how delicately he handled the little piccolo with both hands.

    My name¡¯s Lucian. Do you¡­have a name?

    I am called Mixoly.

    Mixoly?

    Yes.

    And you¡¯re¡­inside here?

    You could say so.

    Octavia hated the way his world was so blurred, as though submerged in much the same waters that had fought to take his life. No amount of straining and squinting made his actions any clearer. Should she struggle too hard, she feared she might shatter his little universe entirely once again.

    Why were you calling me?

    I need you.

    It wasn¡¯t as though she had much control over it in the first place.

    And when the cracks began to settle upon her once more, they came accompanied with every color she had ever seen in her life. They came with more so than she could¡¯ve ever imagined in one place. They were vibrant and glorious, melting through every facet of the broken glass that blighted her sight. They were indescribable. It was overwhelming in a new way, far preferable to the light that tended to envelop her relentlessly. That, too, wasn''t entirely absent.

    Do you take pride in it?

    I could do nothing else.

    Is it perfect?

    It is all it could be.

    Where she¡¯d previously found Lucian¡¯s soft salutations, she instead discovered voices that were familiar enough to sting her head. Of one, she¡¯d expected to find. Of the other, she¡¯d rejected his love not so long ago. As to why he was here, Octavia couldn¡¯t fathom. His voice alone was enough to steal her breath away--useless as it was in the brilliant dark.

    Why do you watch with such sadness that which you treasure?

    It could be better.

    How so?

    In every way.

    It is not for us to decide. That is what makes it unique.

    You would let them choose?

    It is their realm to guide, to shape as they see fit. That is the blessing we have offered.

    And were it to be squandered?

    Then that, too, is their own decision.

    Amidst each splinter that scattered across her vision, glassy and fragile despite the colors that glued it together, Octavia begged and pleaded for the world to still. It was the first time in weeks she¡¯d actively hoped for his voice. There was nothing to see except every hue she could fathom, and she wasn¡¯t aware of the sweet silence until now. Freed of the awful chorus of agony, overpowering and inescapable as it was, she found only their Heartful exchange in its place. If Theo¡¯s toll was an ocean, dragging her into the deepest sea to witness Lucian''s untimely end, then Mixoly¡¯s memories were a cloud she couldn¡¯t come down from.

    There is more to be done.

    There is not.

    Yet it could be so.

    You would compromise what has been built?

    I would seek to enhance it. It could be beautiful, Stratos.

    It already is.

    To hear his name without disdain or fear in her voice was the only thing more startling than hearing it at all. Every sharp crack that settled into her stolen eyes was a curse of the worst kind, more so now than ever before. Again, it was inevitable, and again Octavia could do little but wait.

    There is nothing more to be done from here. We have given all that we can.

    And yet, from within?

    Impossible.

    You would not even try?

    It is a mortal world for mortal hands. To disturb it from within would devastate what has been born.

    It is¡­lovely. You have no desire, truly, to add to such splendor?

    Mixoly, it is as splendorous as could be. It must not be touched.

    Stratos, I--

    To speak of such dissatisfaction, have you no happiness with what our Lord has toiled for?

    That is not--

    As we have toiled for?

    That is not the case.

    Even where Octavia couldn¡¯t see him, he was just as pushy. It was as irritating as it was nostalgic, and exceedingly off-putting to hear it directed towards someone other than herself.

    I¡­wish that I could empathize with you, but I truly do find it perfect as it is.

    How will it become?

    I dare not attempt to fathom, and that is what makes it wonderful.

    I could not stand to see it wasted.

    Where it would exist, no matter the outcome, it would never be a waste.

    In the moments before progress slipped through her fingers yet again, Octavia clung to every syllable she could steal from him. Even as exploding crystal flooded her with blinding colors, every conceivable hue bleeding into her bloodstream, Octavia almost missed him. It was a deeply uncomfortable feeling.

    What you cannot nurture with your touch, seek to nurture with your heart.

    ¡ô???? ????????????????¡ô??????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????¡ô???????????????

    Octavia came up peacefully, somewhere between extremely satisfied with her progress and excessively confused. She stared blankly at Miracle Agony for several seconds before she could begin the process of stringing her thoughts together in any capacity. Those that she managed to breathe aloud were jumbled, regardless.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­Stratos. Stratos was in there. You were close to him? I-I thought you didn¡¯t get along with him at all. Your memories--yours and Lucian''s--I saw both this time. I¡­couldn¡¯t see everything, but it was more than before. Mixoly, when you were with Stratos, what were you ta--¡±

    ¡°Hide.¡±

    Only now did Octavia tear her eyes away from the Harmonial Instrument, for how fast it was torn from her sights in turn. Theo leaping to his feet startled her fiercely, as did the coldness of Mixoly¡¯s singular demand.

    She only stared at the Muse. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, conceal yourself, quickly!¡± Mixoly demanded. ¡°Now!¡±

    As to how Mixoly heard the subtle click of the door as the knob turned tantalizingly slowly, Octavia was unsure. Soft as it had been, it was a miracle that she¡¯d had time to react at all, and not by much. Never had she been so grateful for the way by which Theo¡¯s abode was utterly showered in shadow, what little relief the bleeding moonlight provided her now a blessing. She had her pick of hiding spots, for whatever she was expected to flee from.

    Octavia ascended, scrambling up the stairs as speedily and silently as she could manage. She couldn¡¯t even guarantee she¡¯d made it out of sight, pressed nearly flat against the wall of the hallway above. The dichotomy of her confused, pounding heart in the silence and the slow creaking of the front door were enough to make her feel sick.

    If she angled herself very, very carefully around the corner, Octavia just barely had the leverage to make out Theo, Miracle Agony raised threateningly to his lips as he glared down an intruder. Apparently, Octavia had been correct in her assumption that his tendency to leave the door unlocked was common knowledge. He didn¡¯t budge. Neither did their interloper, the unwelcome night forcing its way into the stillness of the cottage alongside her.

    For a moment, the girl was silent, content to return Theo¡¯s deadly gaze. Still, she didn¡¯t flinch. She was empty-handed, and yet those hands never arose in surrender. It was only her eyes, in the slightest, that betrayed her coolness. In all of her panicked scrambling for the safety of obscurity, Octavia hadn¡¯t even noticed Mixoly¡¯s disappearance. All it left was three Heartful Maestros in one place, tense and holding breaths they feared to exhale. Not one dared to move.

    ¡°Where is she?¡±

    As to why Faith would bother asking anything of Theo aloud, Octavia could only assume ignorance. For how isolated he truly was, it was almost believable. It wouldn¡¯t explain the door. As expected, she got no response. Only Miracle Agony at the ready served as an answer, Theo¡¯s fingers nearly twitching against each key as he followed the Maestra¡¯s every last movement. Octavia wondered if he was looking for an excuse. She wondered if Faith even knew the exact danger he posed to her.

    ¡°Where is she?¡± Faith demanded again, somewhat less timidly.

    Theo only narrowed his eyes, tensing ever further. Faith offered him nearly an identical glare, daggers launched at a ten-year-old boy in a way that was almost cruel. He didn¡¯t budge.

    With far too little caution, Faith sloppily emulated the motions of a violin in song. Theo shook his head slowly, never once moving the mouthpiece of the piccolo an inch from his lips. Faith growled. It was a sound Octavia had never heard from the Maestra before.

    ¡°Liar! Where is she? I know you know!¡± she snapped, her voice wobbling severely.

    Faith¡¯s hands, balled into tight fists, were more than distant enough from the case on her back to give Theo breathing room. He never let Miracle Agony stray far, tucked cautiously beneath the crook of his arm. He signed rapidly and fiercely, his hands audibly hitting one another with the force of every unspoken word. Armed or not, he still never took his eyes off Faith. She stamped her foot in aggravation.

    ¡°Stop doing that! I don¡¯t¡­just stop!¡± she hissed.

    Theo only seemed to gesture more furiously. In a strange way, it was a comfort to Octavia that she wasn¡¯t the only person who didn¡¯t understand him. Still, she¡¯d picked up on the motion for ¡°kill¡± some time ago, relative to how often she¡¯d seen it. Now, it tumbled from his fingers freely. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

    The moment Faith¡¯s own palms trailed towards the straps on her back, Theo¡¯s hands moved far more quickly than hers in yet another way. Never had a singular inhale looked so menacing, one rise of his shoulders enough to ready his radiance at a moment¡¯s notice. All it would take was one tiny, effortless breath, and a single note would be enough to unleash chaos upon Faith. She noticed. Her eyes widened, and her hands stilled nearly in mid-air, hovering uselessly just above Jadareverie¡¯s case.

    Do not provoke him.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who wanted me to come!¡±

    I know.

    Octavia had heard that voice fleetingly. Her eyes widened. Recognition took longer than she¡¯d hoped for, and placing a name to the feminine words she eavesdropped on only twisted the knot in her stomach harder.

    ¡°What do you want me to do, then, huh?¡± Faith snarled, gritting her teeth. It was a face Octavia had never watched her make before, anxious and aggravated all at once.

    What do you see?

    ¡°She¡¯s not here,¡± Faith answered shakily. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­see her.¡±

    No amount of labored breathing or biting her nails was draining the stress from the Maestra¡¯s eyes. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she was sweating, even from so far a distance. Under Theo¡¯s unbroken line of sight, she¡¯d once done the same, and she probably would¡¯ve done it again. Whether or not that was the sole reason remained to be seen.

    ¡°Should I look for her?¡±

    Octavia could feel the adrenaline burning through her skin. If worse came to worst, provided Faith was referring to her, she had nothing. She¡¯d be absolutely relying on Theo for protection. It wasn¡¯t a matchup she could immediately predict, for what little she knew of Faith as a Maestra. She¡¯d made it out of Velpyre. That had to count for something.

    I fear such a search would lead to a quarrel.

    ¡°So what, just¡­just leave? After all that? Why am I even doing this again?¡±

    That is of no concern. Do not place yourself in any further danger. Do not provoke that child. There is nothing more to be done here.

    Faith¡¯s face fell. ¡°But I can still--¡±

    Leave now, my child.

    Faith¡¯s shoulders heaved with breathless irritation, what few breaths she did find more than audible even from the second floor. Theo¡¯s intimidating stance and steadied weapon be damned, the girl outright cried out in frustration. The violent bang of the tiny foyer table crashing to the hardwood nearly rattled the cottage, overturned with such force that Octavia feared it may have broken. She flinched, clapping one hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold her own breath perfectly still.

    It took another five full, intense seconds of Theo¡¯s menacing glare boring into Faith¡¯s heart before the door, too, slammed shut with a bang of its own. The Maestra left almost as soon as she¡¯d come, and Octavia stared at the closed door wordlessly in her wake. The silence that settled upon the cottage once more was suffocating and intolerable, and Octavia feared breaking it in any capacity. She didn¡¯t dare exhale, half-expecting the entrance to give way any second yet again. Theo didn¡¯t budge, just the same. Miracle Agony was frozen in place at his lips, still more than prepared to decimate whatever would challenge him.

    Do not move.

    Octavia didn¡¯t disagree with Mixoly. She didn¡¯t disobey, content to cling to her hiding place high above the first floor for several scathingly-silent minutes. In that time, Theo was a statue, utterly unmoving as he leered at the closed door alone. His stance never faltered, and his arms never tired. For her own peace of mind, Octavia hoped his top priority was protecting Mixoly. To go through all of this for the Ambassador would sting her with guilt, and even entertaining the thought was doing so already.

    It felt like an eternity before Mixoly gave her permission to breathe. You must leave immediately.

    Octavia at last was able to peer around the corner in full, poking her head out from behind the wall. ¡°Was she¡­looking for me?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    I have warned you to be wary of the Heartful.

    Her heart sank clean into her stomach.

    ¡°I-I¡­How did she know I was here?¡± Octavia stammered.

    I know not. You were followed, perhaps?

    Octavia shook her head desperately, descending the stairs with the lightest steps she could manage. ¡°N-No, I¡¯m sure of it! I¡¯m always careful. Faith is the last person who¡¯d follow me, anyway.¡±

    Only once she¡¯d reached the bottom step did Theo fully relax, and even that wasn¡¯t enough to peel his eyes away from the door. Mixoly, unseen as she was, spoke in his place. It was surely not that child who sought you out, Ambassador.

    Octavia winced. ¡°You mean--¡±

    You must leave, you must not be followed, and you absolutely must not allow her to find you here again. I cannot guarantee your safety, Ambassador, and there is only so much that this child could do.

    Theo grimaced beneath the weight of her words. To Octavia¡¯s surprise, whatever he was signing didn¡¯t appear to be for her alone, given the way he eyed Miracle Agony balanced carefully atop his forearms.

    Still, it is not a risk I am comfortable taking. I will not endanger you, the Muse insisted gently.

    Octavia could¡¯ve sworn Theo was pouting. It was, for the first time, somewhat cute. It was the closest she¡¯d ever come to seeing him as a boy his age rather than a terrifying Maestro.

    ¡°Am I safe to go back?¡± Octavia murmured fearfully. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­have anything. I can¡¯t defend myself.¡±

    Mixoly hesitated to respond. For once, Octavia could empathize. She wasn¡¯t sure what she¡¯d say, either.

    Flee as quickly as possible, Mixoly commanded. Run, if you must. Do not be seen.

    Running wasn¡¯t even slightly a problem. Everything else was still more than a concern. For all she knew, Faith could¡¯ve been waiting for her immediately outside the door, and she would''ve been none the wiser until it was far too late. To ask Theo for an escort back was out of the question, given what danger she¡¯d be placing him in as a result--and Mixoly, by proxy.

    Should her life be at risk in earnest, she could always gamble on the gift of divine intervention that would spare her from any number of hellish outcomes. As to whether she¡¯d be able to hold out long enough for him to recognize her distress in the dead of night and intervene, Octavia would only be able to pray to the stars. To drag her soldier into the spider web with her was as perilous as it was comforting. It was just Renato. It was specifically Renato. Surely Mixoly would understand.

    Ultimately, she couldn¡¯t count on it. The blood rushing through her ears threatened to drown her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m¡­gonna come back. I¡¯m not giving up. It¡¯s working. I know it¡¯s working.¡±

    You are in danger, Ambassador, now more than ever. You have earned their suspicions. There is little time left for us.

    Octavia nodded, doing whatever it took to brush the crushing pressure of her newly-flipped hourglass to the side. ¡°I-I can do it. We can do this. I won¡¯t give up on you, so don¡¯t give up on me, okay?¡±

    Theo¡¯s sad eyes absolutely scorched her. She preferred his hostility. For once, Octavia yearned for it by comparison.

    Her soft words were for him instead. ¡°I¡¯ll be back. I¡¯ll save her. I promise.¡±

    Theo didn¡¯t nod, nor did he do anything but stare with silent sorrow. Just once, someone believing in her would''ve been nice. It didn¡¯t matter which of them it was.

    Every frantic step into the night burned, both secondary to scalding adrenaline and her screaming muscles. Octavia knew the route by heart, and the clouded evening had blessed her for once. There was no Faith, and that, too, was a blessing. Mixoly had demanded of her the one thing she was an expert at. Octavia sprinted with such fervor that it was only fear she couldn''t leave in her wake. That, at least, followed her all the way back.

    Whatever kinship she¡¯d shared with her legacy sibling had evaporated in an instant, baffling as the experience had been. Between Faith and Stratos, with Theo and Mixoly at the center of her brilliant galaxy, Octavia''s Heartful universe was collapsing into a black hole. She wondered how fast she¡¯d have to go to outrun its grasp.

 93. Justified, Part II

    Octavia¡¯s heart raced relentlessly right up until she was back in the safety of her room. Even then, it wasn''t satisfied until long after the click of the door had graced her ears. Her luck had held out stupendously, by which her return had spared her the visages of her companions, as well. It was all she could do not to outright fall to the floor and catch her breath. Her thoughts, just the same, threatened to tumble out of her mind and spill across the carpet, buzzing as they were.

    For how often she¡¯d played the ¡°calming walk¡± card, she¡¯d never felt more alert and on edge upon return. This silence, too, was intolerable and suffocating. It wasn¡¯t even necessarily something she could cling to, and her newest peace was at equal risk of compromise. In here, she was never truly alone.

    You were there again.

    Unlike Jasse, she already knew that Stratos was well aware. It was her fault for making it so. Rolling her eyes felt infinitely better than wasting away in her own dread.

    ¡°And if I was?¡± Octavia answered, unlacing her boots as she steadied her breaths.

    You would not deny it, then.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll go where I want,¡± she said bitterly.

    Have you borne witness to the tolls she harbors?

    ¡°Why do you care? It doesn¡¯t concern you.¡±

    Octavia, please. Do not shun me.

    ¡°Leave me alone.¡±

    Octavia did what she could not to acknowledge him, flopping onto her bed almost fully dressed. She didn¡¯t have the energy to change clothes, and could at least find irony in one way her ¡°walk¡± had left her fatigued. If she didn¡¯t look at his case, closed and idle atop the little table as it was, perhaps she could pretend that he wasn¡¯t real. She¡¯d imagined his voice as fiction, once. She could always try again.

    Octavia, you absolutely must not guide her.

    ¡°She deserves to go home. I¡¯m done arguing about this with you.¡±

    You do not understand. I beg of you, please.

    ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador, not you,¡± Octavia snapped. ¡°You can¡¯t keep her here. If you have something to sort out with her, sort it out up there. I¡¯m not abandoning her.¡±

    Octavia, you are in danger! he practically pleaded. Believe what you will of me, but I--

    ¡°Shut up, Stratos!¡± she growled, immediately aware of her harsh volume. She toned it down as best as she could, praying her outburst was at least somewhat localized to her room. ¡°Just shut up!¡±

    He did. It wasn¡¯t as satisfying as she¡¯d hoped it would be. Octavia''s frustration was as reflexive as it was tinted by agony of her own.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a hell of a lot of nerve to tell me a damn thing about danger, for everything you¡¯ve put me through! How many times have we almost died because of the Dissonance? And now I have to wonder how much of that was my fault? What, because you haven¡¯t done enough to me already? All you ever do is lie, and here you are, doing it again! You¡¯re great at that!¡±

    Stratos didn¡¯t respond. Octavia squeezed her eyes shut.

    ¡°I am the Ambassador,¡± she said, her voice low and wavering with anger. ¡°I have one job. I¡¯m going to do it, whether you like it or not. You¡¯re the one who told me she made a mistake. You¡¯re the one who didn¡¯t want to talk about her until now. Whatever problem you have with her, figure it out yourself. What¡¯s done is done. Hold grudges over it if you want, Stratos, but I¡¯m doing everything I can to make things right. If this is what I say is part of that, then damn it, it¡¯s part of that. You wanna be mad at someone? Be mad at me. I¡¯m sick of this.¡±

    Stratos was silent. She was grateful. She hoped he could feel her venom, for what of it she did her best to sting him with. Octavia sighed sharply.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever dare thank me for my help again. All you think about is yourself. All any of you think about is yourselves. As long as you get to go back, it doesn¡¯t matter who else does. It doesn¡¯t matter what you leave behind down here. You don¡¯t care. You really, honestly don¡¯t care. Stop acting like you do.¡±

    Octavia knew she was pushing it. Even now, it was more than possible she was trading safety for ire, as good as it felt to express. She settled into the bed weakly, sprawled out as she was. If he really did keep his silence, she could genuinely find some of her own.

    With her eyes closed, she honestly expected more racing thoughts to assault her one by one, or rather in a messy clump that splattered across her brain. Peace was a surprise. She attributed it to catharsis, and she rode it out into unconsciousness. It was overpowering and enveloping. She didn¡¯t mind surrendering to a darkness that she didn¡¯t have to choose of her own accord.

    <hr>

    Octavia was so used to nightmares that a standard dream was a rarity.

    She hadn¡¯t had the time prior to losing her grasp on reality to fear what the evening would have in store, the roulette of fate spinning and bestowing upon her any stolen horrors of her choosing. She¡¯d gotten lucky last night, for the jumbled imagery of tolls she¡¯d only remembered in passing. At her best, they were the most she had to deal with. There was always an initial terror that came with piecing the puzzle together, trying to figure out exactly where she¡¯d witnessed such gruesome ends and experiences before--and through which eyes. It was the sickest kind of guessing game.

    She didn¡¯t recognize this one--at least, not immediately. She couldn¡¯t recall any tolls upon a shoreline, let alone adjacent to the ocean at all. She blinked. She couldn¡¯t usually do that, either.

    Rarely, Octavia could take control, lucid in the deepest depths of sleep. It was a random occurrence, try as she might to replicate it in the midst of her distress. Not only had she lucked out with a peaceful vision, but her dream body was hers to command as she wished. She flexed her fingers experimentally, false as she knew them to be. She blinked several more times for good measure, false as she knew her eyes to be in turn. She drank in the scent of salt that tinted the air, embraced the humid breeze that scraped her hot skin, and battled the shifting softness that met her uncomfortably underfoot. That was new. All of it was new.

    She blinked much harder than was healthy. Every sensation was far stronger than it should¡¯ve been. There was weight to her body, the floating feeling she¡¯d come to expect in unconsciousness utterly absent. She curled her fingers inwards, digging her nails gently into her palms. It was sharp. If she tried more firmly, it would hurt. It wasn¡¯t supposed to. Octavia inhaled slowly, letting the salty air tickle her lungs. From within, it burned. It was unlike any dream she was used to, unfamiliar as her locale was. Throughout her entire life, she could count the number of times she¡¯d seen the ocean on one hand.

    It greeted her at her back in full, claiming the horizon for miles upon miles. She disliked the way each wave came to lap against her socks, and she nearly tripped in the unstable sand below as she hurriedly escaped its reach. She missed her boots. She couldn¡¯t find them, kicking herself for somehow dreaming of an uncommon discomfort. Where clouds had laid waste to the moon that dared to shine in Tacell, the blackened sky above twinkled brilliantly with every conceivable star Octavia could hope for. With the gentle roar of the ocean to keep her company, she could see the scene as nothing but a dream. It was confusingly beautiful. She recognized the beachside abodes. She had absolutely no idea why.

    It was a nostalgia that hit her like one thousand bricks directly to her stomach, pelting her again and again. Her head nearly ached as she struggled to place where she¡¯d seen them before, let alone the expanse of lush greenery they bordered extensively. Octavia could hardly take it in, for how fiercely her brain was fighting to make sense of the sights. It wasn¡¯t quite in a panic that her eyes scanned the forest¡¯s exterior--it was more of a semi-desperate attempt to garner some crumb of understanding as to her whereabouts. She entertained the idea of moving forward. She did so, more with surreal curiosity than with fear.

    Every step was painfully palpable, every sensation as she walked far too legitimate. She made for the dense flora that awaited her not so far away, somewhere between hesitant and scathingly captive to unspecified familiarity. Octavia was almost afraid to interact with any of the humbly-crafted huts that lined the forest¡¯s perimeter, lest she encounter company of questionable hospitality. There was still plenty of time for this to turn into a nightmare. She hadn¡¯t even slightly ruled out the idea, given her general record.

    ¡°You have come.¡±

    It was sudden enough to scare her nearly to death, and she almost lost her footing entirely in the sand. She hadn¡¯t even seen the girl appear, let alone approach at her back. Distracted as she¡¯d been by her surroundings, Octavia supposed it was her fault. It wasn¡¯t as though she would¡¯ve attributed such a voice to such a small child, regardless, mismatched in every way.

    She still knew it. Again, Octavia couldn¡¯t place where, and it was practically incinerating her. She knew the impossibly-long blonde waves that nearly kissed the girl¡¯s thighs. She knew the billowing whites and silky threads that surrendered to the breeze. She knew the breathtaking azure skies that captured her gaze. She knew the name. It was there. It was buried, and no amount of sifting through every hiding place in her mind was offering any relief.

    ¡°Ambassador.¡±

    That, then, was her catalyst.

    ¡°Rani,¡± she whispered back breathlessly.

    The girl didn¡¯t acknowledge her recognition, neither confirming nor denying. She didn¡¯t need to. Every deep, powerful word that left her mouth in that masculine tone was enough. Octavia had already grown absolutely confident in her conclusion.

    ¡°I remember this place,¡± Octavia confessed, her voice far smaller than she¡¯d intended for it to come out.

    ¡°As you should,¡± the out-of-place tone came from the child¡¯s lips once more.

    ¡°Am I¡­dreaming?¡± Octavia tried.

    ¡°You are not.¡±

    It was simultaneously a validating and unsettling confirmation. Again, somewhat instinctively, Octavia dug her fingernails into the skin of her palms. This time, she let it hurt. It definitely made sense.

    ¡°Why am I here?¡± she asked hesitantly.

    ¡°I have made it so.¡±

    Even fully lucid, supposedly, every movement felt ethereal and slow. If she wished to believe her experiences to be a dream, it surely would¡¯ve still sufficed as an explanation. ¡°Why?¡±

    Rani didn¡¯t answer. Octavia tensed. The words that slipped from her mouth were instinctive. She didn¡¯t so much as bother to consider their risk until well after they hung in the salty air, mired in fog as her every sentence and motion was.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­Lord Ramulus, right?¡±

    Some part of her had almost expected a reaction out of the girl, prompted by whatever laid claim to her spirit in some capacity. In retrospect, given the enormity of her guess, Octavia should¡¯ve known better.

    Where she looked for body language, she found only words. It was different than usual. ¡°I am,¡± the voice affirmed simply.

    Octavia tangled her fingers together. ¡°Would you¡­prefer if I called you Rani or Ramulus? Lord Ramulus, sorry.¡±

    She kicked herself over the immediate disrespect. She wondered why she cared in the first place.

    Only now, at last, was she greeted with at least a shake of the head. It was a comforting gesture that gave Rani a shred of humanity. ¡°Call me as you wish. It matters not.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a helpful answer. The dichotomy between his voice and her body was still incredibly disorienting. For once, his words were the only ones she found in this place. Given the Muse she¡¯d managed to banish, it was a relief. Octavia wasn¡¯t sure why his name slipped out anyway.

    ¡°Can Stratos hear me from here? I¡­heard his voice in this place, once.¡±

    Rani only stared. She found no emotion behind little eyes, earning only a hollow calm. ¡°Where my heart would reach for his, in this place, he would answer. You, who holds him close, would hear him in turn.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted. ¡°Can he¡­hear me now?¡±

    ¡°If I will him to.¡±

    It was an odd explanation. To be fair, it was just as odd of a comfort. For how out of it she was at the moment, Octavia was at least away from Stratos by default. She contemplated her freedom for long enough that she was nearly abandoned, the girl turning quietly on her heel and leaving the Ambassador in her wake.

    ¡°Come,¡± Ramulus ordered.

    Confused, Octavia hurried to oblige regardless. She trailed Rani¡¯s every step, even as she crossed the threshold of greenery bearing the curse of soaked socks alone. It was miserable.

    This, too, was blindingly nostalgic, although Octavia knew her prior experiences in this place had been steeped in something far more agonizing. It was the first time she¡¯d met this mysterious land with composure, let alone with a shred of understanding as to her small guide. Her path was clear, strikingly so, and it was every bit as surreal in turn.

    She traded the ocean for the vibrant, natural songs of an autumn¡¯s evening, by which she was forced to pray she didn¡¯t step on any hazardous insects without her boots on. She hoped it was autumn here, at least. She resisted the urge to pelt Rani--Ramulus, perhaps--with questions, for how she¡¯d bitten her tongue so diligently during their last encounter. She failed absolutely miserably.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± Octavia began.

    With her--his, possibly--back to Octavia, Ramulus answered without the pushback she''d feared. ¡°It is a place in which I may do what is necessary.¡±

    Octavia tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He didn¡¯t hesitate. She appreciated that. ¡°With what remains, I may yet create and conceive with care. It is in isolation that such fragile fragments of a shattered path may cling together.¡±

    It didn¡¯t explain anything. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Here, I may shape and mold. I may navigate what has been built with precision. I may construct a course of action that would lead to salvation, narrow and delicate as such may be,¡± he clarified somewhat.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­building things here,¡± Octavia tried desperately to interpret. ¡°Building a¡­path? To where? Above?¡±

    From here, she could see Rani nod, the sandy cascade scraping the girl¡¯s skin gently in the process. ¡°Whether it will hold true remains to be seen. As such, I toil.¡±

    ¡°I-I thought that was my job,¡± Octavia stammered, growing more confused by the moment.

    ¡°Where you would guide, there must be a boundary to cross,¡± Ramulus spoke calmly. ¡°Those facets of this realm which would steady the boundary are to be reinforced and guarded. Should they slip out of place, I could not undo what has been done in full.¡±

    Octavia knew she was pushing him. She didn¡¯t care, baffling as his words were. ¡°There¡¯s a boundary? What kind of a boundary?¡±

    ¡°That which would divide Above from this realm.¡±

    It made enough sense. ¡°The ¡¯facets¡¯ you¡¯re talking about, are they by any chance...little rules, sort of? For how you guys¡­work?¡±

    In the slightest, Rani peered over her shoulder. Octavia stiffened. She had no idea how to word this without sounding ridiculous. She opted for the most ridiculous option of all, hurtling all caution to the wind.

    ¡°L-Like, uh, imagine a¡­spider web. It takes lots of tiny threads to keep it together, and if too many of them break, it falls apart, but you wouldn¡¯t really stop to count all of them. A-And the more of them you add, the stronger it gets. Maybe some of them are stronger than others. Except, in this case, you¡¯d have to¡­keep track of them all, somehow? I don¡¯t know if that makes sense.¡±

    She tensed as she awaited his reaction. Lord of All as he was, Octavia wondered if he was the type to berate the Ambassador for such language. To her immense surprise, he didn¡¯t object. Rani faced forwards once more, and Ramulus¡¯ voice met her ears. ¡°I suppose that would be a fair comparison, yes.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    There was a sigh of relief that came with validation. It was embarrassing. At the very least, it would make processing his words easier, given the grand scale to which he spoke.

    ¡°Does this¡­place have a name?¡± Octavia pressed.

    ¡°It goes by the Isle of Silence.¡±

    She blinked. ¡°That¡¯s really what it¡¯s called?¡±

    ¡°It could not truly be called Silence, that is to say.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted with her fingers as she walked. Every word that left Rani¡¯s lips, foreign as the voice that spoke them was, gave a more confusing answer to her questions than the last. ¡°I¡¯m not following, sorry. What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°It is a material substitute. Call it what you wish, Silence or otherwise, but know it to be false.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    He was patient. She¡¯d give him that. ¡°Where Above would meet this realm, Silence would bridge the gap. This place is no Silence, and yet it is the closest I have come. It is here that I may ensure the boundary is secure.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s head hurt. The hand gestures she rationalized with were lost on the girl who outpaced her. ¡°So, it¡¯s called the Isle of Silence, but there¡¯s somewhere else really called Silence, and Silence is¡­where the boundary is? Is Silence the boundary? Like, is that what it¡¯s called? Does it have a name? And do the people who live here actually call it that? The Isle of Silence, I mean? There¡¯s people that live here, right?¡±

    ¡°They do.¡±

    That was the question he¡¯d chosen to answer, apparently, of all the ones he could¡¯ve selected from her messy stream of inquiries. It was something, at least. ¡°Where is ¡®here¡¯, exactly?¡±

    ¡°A place of purity. All here will remain untouched by mortal corruption for their short lives, more than likely. In that way, it could be considered a paradise. Their hearts are unblemished, much the same as yours.¡±

    Octavia blinked. Then, her eyes widened. ¡°They¡¯re¡­Heartful? All of them?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    For how rare Mixoly had asserted Heartful humans to be, the thought was unfathomable. Her mind couldn¡¯t keep up with him, not for the weight behind each and every shattering statement made with such calm. ¡°A-And Rani, then, she¡¯s your¡­Maestra? Where¡¯s your Harmoni--where¡¯s your¡­vessel?¡±

    ¡°She is.¡±

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. ¡°She¡¯s¡­what?¡±

    ¡°She serves as both.¡±

    Her heart skipped a beat. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Here.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t get to press. In truth, she¡¯d been so absorbed in the delicate answers Ramulus had graciously gifted her with that her surroundings had blurred long ago. It was only now that she paid heed to the crumbling architecture and pitiful remains of limestone constructs. Trodding upon stone in wet socks was deeply uncomfortable, and every soaked step left her praying not to slip.

    The fraying structure encircled by mossy ruins and columns she couldn¡¯t identify spoke to abandonment. That, too, was achingly familiar. It was overgrown, vast, and carried a hint of sanctity that made her second-guess desecrating decaying ruins with ocean-stained footwear. Octavia groaned inwardly, try as she might to focus. If she would¡¯ve given the ancient scene more thought, she could¡¯ve classified it as dreamlike in turn.

    It was nearly at the center of the decrepit chaos that Rani contently stilled, indifferent to the variable sea of stone that encircled her. Something about the action, with Octavia halting before her in tandem, stabbed the Ambassador with sharpened familiarity. Part of her wondered if she was to hear the same story again, of what came from none and how it fell to ruin. At this point, she was in too deep. He should¡¯ve known that.

    ¡°So¡­where¡¯s this?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly.

    ¡°It was once a place of worship, to my understanding. To them, in its disarray, it is still such.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes trailed every last broken bit of masonry in turn, combing the remains of the little altar several times over. ¡°What do they worship?¡±

    ¡°Myself.¡±

    She nearly choked. ¡°You let them do that?¡±

    ¡°It is this child, rather, that they idolize,¡± Ramulus clarified.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help but stare at Rani. Never once had she seen the girl blink--or so she¡¯d never noticed.

    ¡°Her heart is blessed by my power, and they in turn believe her to be a gift,¡± he continued. ¡°I detest it, and yet I do not object. I know their intentions to be pure. Much the same, I cannot compromise this place. I have already done so enough.¡±

    For how Valkyria and Seraphe had rejected so vehemently the same sentiment in their respective prisons, Octavia was baffled. He was a Muse so far above them both, and yet he tolerated their praise with such patience. It was unthinkable.

    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯ve¡­done enough?¡± she tried.

    Ramulus was calm. ¡°There are necessary fragments of the path I have crafted incidentally that should not have existed. This world is fragile, and we are not meant to intervene from within. It is a risk, lest we alter what is natural. For one, I have cursed those who call this place home with that which should not be seen.¡±

    It took a moment. ¡°Are you¡­talking about Dissonance, or something else?¡±

    ¡°You are correct.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°They can see it?¡±

    Rani nodded. ¡°It was not my intent. Such is perhaps part of their adoration for a child who may vanquish agony given form.¡±

    ¡°And Rani¡¯s fine with that, too? Fighting Dissonance, being worshiped, all of it? You talk through her, I figured that part out. You¡¯re an¡­Apex, right?¡± Octavia guessed.

    She vaguely remembered hearing so previously, and hoped she was still correct--not that it would¡¯ve changed overnight. She¡¯d never seen Rani blink, that much was true. Still, not once had she heard any voice besides Ramulus¡¯ own leave the girl¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°She possesses nothing to express.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    Rani was motionless as she spoke, much the same as before. ¡°This child is not alive.¡±

    Again, Octavia could do nothing but stare, even as her stomach churned. ¡°What do you¡­mean?¡±

    ¡°Upon the Descent, this child was deceased, newly born as she was. It was her in whom I found a vessel. It was the most efficient means, even if I do lament the circumstances,¡± Ramulus explained calmly.

    Octavia wanted to vomit. ¡°Y-You¡­killed her?¡±

    Rani shook her head. ¡°As I have stated, she had already lost her life mere moments into existence. I had done nothing to her, nor would I have interfered with this world of my own accord. Aside from such, I had not the luxury of time for a different course of action. I was forced to act swiftly, lest yet more be lost. Try to understand, Ambassador.¡±

    It didn¡¯t stem the nausea that overwhelmed Octavia one bit. She felt dizzy, and she prayed it wasn¡¯t bleeding into her voice. ¡°I-I¡­act swiftly for what?¡±

    He was quiet. To stare down a dead child was infinitely more disturbing. Every time she looked upon Rani¡¯s face, the chills that racked her spine were agonizing. It didn¡¯t matter that the girl could move and speak. Her eyes were hollow, now more than ever. Octavia wondered if she simply hadn¡¯t noticed.

    ¡°You have met with She Who Brought the World to Ruin,¡± Ramulus stated plainly.

    Octavia¡¯s heart pounded for a different reason altogether. ¡°Y-Yes.¡±

    His tone was deceivingly soft. ¡°What are your impressions of her?¡±

    ¡°She''s...nice. I can¡¯t see her as someone who did anything wrong. From what I know, she made a mistake, and she regrets it. She just wants to go home. I don¡¯t blame her,¡± Octavia said.

    That was all she dared to offer. As to everything else, even in the face of the Lord of All, she knew better. Octavia prayed she knew enough of the spider web for her secrets to truly be secure, even unspoken in her heart.

    ¡°I see,¡± he replied.

    And when Rani¡¯s eyes left her own, flickering to nowhere, it didn¡¯t make his words any more pleasant.

    ¡°You cannot return her to Above.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart snagged somewhere between anger and sorrow. She couldn¡¯t choose which tone to take with him, and it landed almost clear in the center. ¡°She deserves to go back! She¡¯s sorry for what she--¡±

    ¡°She is unable to return to Above.¡±

    Octavia froze. Her blood, too, stilled in her veins. ¡°What?¡±

    The words that left Rani¡¯s mouth were as slow as they were chilling. ¡°She Who Brought the World to Ruin is incapable of crossing the boundary.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­why?¡± Octavia stammered.

    ¡°This realm has made her impure of her own volition. She cannot return with such imperfections upon her blood. It simply is not possible, nor can it be made so.¡±

    Octavia tangled her fingers together so tightly that she risked losing circulation. ¡°There¡¯s got to be a way to get her across!¡±

    Rani shook her head. ¡°There is not.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t do something about it? You¡¯re the Lord of All!¡±

    Again, Rani shook her head. ¡°Not of this, even should I desire to do so.¡±

    Octavia wanted to scream. ¡°But she wants to go home just as badly as all of you do!¡±

    ¡°And it is for that precise reason that you must not attempt to guide her.¡±

    Her breath hitched in her throat. ¡°Huh?¡±

    Ramulus was indifferent to her confusion, his explanations sharp and unforgiving. ¡°To cross the boundary in reverse from this realm is an unfathomable task, by which the very laws of the world must be rewritten with care to undo what has been done. It is a feat so unforgiving that any missteps will shatter what path we cling to now, Ambassador. Even to simply avoid the toxins of this realm cursing the purity of Above is an unthinkable trial, so narrowly averted.¡±

    Octavia tensed. The way Rani¡¯s eyes pierced her so, empty as they were, was impossibly painful. He continued regardless. ¡°She Who Brought the World to Ruin detests this realm, for what impurities she has come to find where beauty was desired. She is tainted. Even with the aid of the Ambassador, she would not be able to cross the boundary. When she makes such a discovery, this world will be in peril once more.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart nearly stopped. Every word he spoke was worse than the last. ¡°W-What do you mean?¡±

    There was an irony to be found in her simultaneous gratitude for every answer Ramulus offered and the way she half-wished for the truth to stay stifled. ¡°It was her inability to return to Above which first brought the world to ruin. Should she encounter the same impossibility twice over, she would surely do so again.¡±

    It took a moment. When it hit, it burned. It was a slight not against herself, and yet one the Ambassador couldn¡¯t stand for.

    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t do that!¡± Octavia cried. ¡°S-She wouldn¡¯t¡­bring the world to ruin again! She doesn¡¯t like it here, yeah, but neither do you guys!¡±

    ¡°So disillusioned was she with this realm that her agony poisoned the boundary. So vivid was her grief for a paradise she¡¯d imagined that we in turn paid the price. In that way, perhaps, it was two realms that fell to the mercy of her despair. To free her from her confines would jeopardize both once again.¡±

    ¡°Mixoly wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Octavia argued weakly.

    Rani shook her head. ¡°It was all that could be done solely to salvage this much. Where the ninety-six would find refuge from her suffering in such vessels, it is she alone who would be shackled for the safety of this world. I do not blame you for your ignorance, Ambassador, for your heart is pure and your intentions are the same.¡±

    Octavia gritted her teeth. ¡°So everyone else was tied to a vessel for protection except her? You¡­you imprisoned her?¡±

    ¡°In doing so, she, too, was protected. If such was not the case, you would not have met her. She would not exist, nor would her agony have been stilled. Know, Ambassador, that for what she has wrought, you may count your blessings that there is any world left to walk upon at all.¡±

    Octavia bit her tongue. She really wanted to scream.

    ¡°For what she has unleashed, her hatred surely endures. She cannot be trusted, nor would she ever earn such trust again in the wake of so grave a sin.¡±

    She felt her fingers curl into fists, with or without her permission. ¡°I¡­saw her talking to Stratos. I didn¡¯t understand all the way, but didn¡¯t she just want to make the world a better place? Why is that a sin? What did she do that was so wrong?¡±

    Rani tilted her head somewhat. ¡°You have attempted to bear witness to her toll, then.¡±

    Octavia nodded resolutely, unashamed. ¡°Yes, I have.¡±

    Ramulus paused. ¡°She was not to touch this world at all. None were, lest it be tarnished by our influence. In her selfishness, she had upset the balance, and went on to destroy what had been so lovingly made. This world she sought so longingly has become her prison, and it is perhaps fitting in that manner.¡±

    She could feel the same fists shaking at her sides. ¡°She made a mistake, and she regrets it! That¡¯s cruel!¡±

    ¡°¡®Regret¡¯ does not salvage the boundary alone,¡± Ramulus countered calmly. ¡°¡®Regret¡¯ does not restore what will never again be. ¡®Regret¡¯ does not erase the agony that plagues this realm by her hands, ¡®regret¡¯ does not restore the ninety-six to their rightful place, and ¡®regret¡¯ does not undo what wrongs have been done unto those you love.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s blood burned in the worst way. To be furious with him was a danger she couldn¡¯t wrap her head around in full. She couldn¡¯t help it.

    ¡°For every way by which you have suffered thus far, for all that you have lost, she is at its center.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not--¡±

    ¡°It is in no small part, by her actions, that you no longer enjoy the love of a sister.¡±

    Every thought in her head screeched to a halt at once, her bubbling anger nearly stilling along with it. It wasn¡¯t quite enough. In truth, it only scorched harder the more his words seeped in.

    He was worse than Stratos. She wasn¡¯t falling for it. Octavia said as much.

    ¡°You¡¯re not turning me against her.¡±

    Rani stared her down, dead eyes and all. Where she didn¡¯t emote nonverbally, Ramulus¡¯ intent and emotion was unclear. For how neutral his voice remained, he was unreadable. It was only by the pressure that lined his every statement that Octavia could get any sort of feel for his resolve. She did everything in her power to glare right back into the same hollow sky.

    ¡°I¡¯ll find a way to get her across the boundary,¡± Octavia insisted. ¡°I¡¯ll find a way to get her home.¡±

    ¡°You will not.¡±

    His words were as plain as they were weighted. It didn¡¯t matter that they came from the mouth of a child. They struck deep into her racing heart. For Mixoly¡¯s sake, sweating as she was, she wouldn¡¯t back down.

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°It is you, then, who would bring the world to ruin once more.¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I won¡¯t give up on her. If there¡¯s no way, I¡¯ll make one.¡±

    ¡°And if you cannot? When she is untethered and learns of her fate, what next will you do?¡±

    Octavia paused. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­make sure nothing happens. I¡¯ll make her want to stay.¡±

    ¡°You would endanger this world,¡± he warned.

    ¡°That won''t happen.¡±

    ¡°You would endanger all whom you have struggled to save.¡±

    Octavia shook her head once more. ¡°That won''t happen," she repeated.

    ¡°You would endanger your friends.¡±

    She froze.

    ¡°For if you fail, if you go so far on her behalf, they will perish.¡±

    It took absolutely every ounce of willpower she could scrounge together to find her breath. It took yet more to defy him further.

    ¡°That won''t happen,¡± she asserted thrice over.

    Ramulus was silent for a moment. Octavia wanted to shout at him, danger be damned. He was their Lord of All. His powers were questionable, if not grand. If he could strike her down here and now, she would never know. If he had the incentive to do so, she would never know. She was gambling the hardest she¡¯d ever gambled in her life. It was only her rage that burned more brightly than her fear, and pure adrenaline was all that kept her from collapsing beneath the weight of dread.

    ¡°You are aware that you are replaceable, correct?¡±

    Octavia recoiled. It was a sentiment she hadn¡¯t heard in some time. It was a route she hadn¡¯t expected him to go down. She didn¡¯t have the words to match his harsh rhetoric.

    ¡°You are disposable. It is not to say that we are not grateful for what aid you have granted up until this point, but the risk you would pose to their peace is too great. You, Ambassador, are a threat. Know that if you continue to walk this path, you will be replaced. It will not be your decision to make.¡±

    Octavia took the greatest gamble of all. She pulled it straight from Mixoly¡¯s lips, one trembling hand proudly over her pounding heart.

    ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±

    Rani gazed at her without words. She pushed, her eyes sharp and deadly for a girl with no life to speak of.

    ¡°You won¡¯t replace me,¡± Octavia spat. ¡°You can¡¯t. You have no one and nothing to replace me with. You need me. I¡¯m all you have.¡±

    ¡°There are other Heartful who could easily play the part,¡± Ramulus reminded coolly.

    She struggled to steady her breaths through gritted teeth. ¡°There''s no one else who could do what I do. There¡¯s no one else who would go to the lengths I would go to--that I¡¯ve gone to. No one else would¡¯ve done what I did for Seraphe. Deny it all you want, but it¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°What remains to be done is simple.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°She whom Jasse claims as her own will serve more than sufficiently. Already, she has proven her obedience and willingness to serve the cause.¡±

    Octavia stiffened. It was almost an insult. Even so, she felt awful for the way by which she was about to demean Faith. She could never offer a face-to-face apology for what wasn¡¯t said aloud. She offered one in her head.

    The hand upon her heart was practically strangling her dress. ¡°Faith can¡¯t be the Ambassador. She doesn¡¯t know what she¡¯s doing. She¡¯s weak, and she wouldn¡¯t be able to stand the pressure. She wouldn¡¯t be able to cope with tolls, even the ones that were left. She¡¯s not cut out for the job. If you really thought she was, you would¡¯ve chosen her first.¡±

    It slipped out, more or less. She didn¡¯t regret it. Octavia doubled down the moment she saw Rani¡¯s eyes narrow in turn. It was the first true change she¡¯d found on the girl''s face, and it almost felt good to trigger. The venom she noticed dripping into her words felt just as good.

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± she hissed, ¡°I know. I¡¯m aware.¡±

    Ramulus took the truth calmly. He didn¡¯t deny it. Instead, he listened in silence. She pushed.

    ¡°I¡¯ve done everything you wanted,¡± Octavia insisted, her voice as steady as she could will it to be. ¡°Even now, I¡¯m still doing what I¡¯m supposed to. I¡¯m the perfect Ambassador. If you replace me, you have nothing. You¡¯re stuck in the middle, with half of you up there and the rest of you trapped down here until who knows when. If that¡¯s really what you want, then go ahead and replace me. I dare you.¡±

    Still, he was quiet.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to witness Mixoly¡¯s toll. I¡¯m going to let her out, and I¡¯m going to save her heart one way or another. I¡¯m going to be your Ambassador through it all. That¡¯s how it¡¯s gonna go.¡±

    She may as well have been dreaming, for how disconnected she felt from the girl who directly defied the Lord of All. Octavia could hardly process half of the words that were leaving her mouth, at this point. It wasn¡¯t exactly a terrible feeling. It only burned when Ramulus answered.

    ¡°With certainty, I am aware that there are tragedies for which you blame yourself.¡±

    Whatever adrenaline she¡¯d ridden thus far evaporated instantly.

    ¡°I am aware there are innocent lives you believe yourself to have forsaken.¡±

    Whatever composure she had, too, was rapidly unraveling.

    ¡°I am aware that there are those you hold most dear, punished as they have been, whose suffering you take onto your shoulders.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡°Mutilations.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t think.

    ¡°Emotional agonies.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Deaths, even.¡±

    She didn¡¯t exist.

    ¡°Know, then,¡± Ramulus spoke, ¡°that should the world fall to ruin once more, the blame will truly lie solely with you, Ambassador.¡±

    It had been some time since she¡¯d heard bells. To hear them in such a serene place was disgusting.

    ¡°Know that, should it come to such, I will do as I must, and you will become my enemy.¡±

    Octavia squeezed her eyes shut.

    ¡°And know that there are none alive, neither among your kind nor our own, who would forgive you.¡±

    Her heart could¡¯ve exploded.

    And with her eyes closed, she felt the touch atop her head before she could register Rani anywhere in her general proximity. Where she shivered in the darkness that came with selective seclusion, hiding in terror behind her own eyelids, the blackness that enveloped her instead was unpredictable. It wasn''t her own. She tumbled into it without remorse, and Ramulus'' voice was no more.

    <hr>

    She came up with a gasp. She came up confused, bordering the line between the dream world and reality. Octavia came up, still sprawled out on her bed, questioning whether or not her unconscious experience had been a standard one. She¡¯d forgone the bells, at least, fleeting as they¡¯d been.

    Octavia came up with wet socks, dripping gracelessly onto the sheets in a sickening puddle. She found her answer. It shook her to her core.

 94. To Bring the World to Ruin

    On the bright side, there was nothing left to hide. It was the absolute one and only bright side her faint little light could find.

    Stratos didn¡¯t speak to her. Faith didn¡¯t hunt her down, whether in her cottage or outside. Octavia spent at least half a day in her own head, speaking largely when spoken to and just barely making her way through the physical motions of tolls. It was enough to land every conceivable set of eyes on her not-so-subtly, eyebrows raised and words of worry settling delicately upon her.

    Even without the game of deception she was forced to engage in back and forth with Stratos--and Jasse, by apparent proxy--there were still more than enough Maestros who absolutely did not need to know the exact danger she was about to put them in. It would¡¯ve ignited an entirely different firestorm, by which an entirely different danger would¡¯ve come down on her shoulders. It didn¡¯t matter if the Muses couldn¡¯t touch her physically. There were six legacies that could, more than available at the fingertips of Maestros still numbering in the double digits. It was a sickening thought.

    Of all things Ramulus could lie to her about, untruthful as the Muses were, she couldn¡¯t shake the weight he¡¯d placed upon every word. What she¡¯d seen of Mixoly¡¯s toll, what Mixoly herself had disclosed, and what she¡¯d once heard from Ethel were more than enough to supplement Ramulus¡¯ accusations as to the dire consequences of the Witnessing. It wasn¡¯t as thought the task itself was going to be any easier, even if she¡¯d been making progress prior to Faith¡¯s sudden intrusion.

    If she were gambling with her own life alone, it would be terrifying enough--and it had been, thus far, to be fair. Were the risk of a second round with a ruined world to be believed, she would be gambling with far, far more than was fair to place in the hands of the Ambassador. The idea of such devastation occurring at the hands of one Muse was still unfathomable even now, accidental or otherwise. So long after learning of her error, Octavia still couldn¡¯t overlay timid, gentle Mixoly with She Who Brought the World to Ruin.

    Octavia racked her brain for any Muse she could confide in, any possible option to help her brainstorm a solution to lead Mixoly across the boundary. Save for Ethel, long gone, she couldn¡¯t think of a single potential confidant. Stratos was well out of the question, and possibly her least likely candidate of them all. It was incredibly frustrating.

    She, too, still entertained the burning idea of bouncing those concerns off of the mortal confidants she trusted with her life. This far in, and so exposed, she wondered if there¡¯d be an issue at all with sharing the truth. Even with Viola still painfully absent, it left four options who would possibly have welcomed her dilemma with open arms. For how they¡¯d accompanied her into Hell itself for Seraphe¡¯s sake without question, she liked to imagine this would¡¯ve been no different. If their very lives were on the line, let alone everything they¡¯d ever loved, Octavia couldn¡¯t help but wonder if their trust would hold as true.

    She was on her own. The pressure of a promise was utterly crushing.

    Octavia spent far, far longer than usual contemplating whether to engage in a Mixoly night, if it was even safe to do so anymore. Stratos knew of her intentions--that much was true. Still, tethered to his vessel as he was, he was powerless outside of her own hands. If Ramulus had planned to kill her himself, he would¡¯ve done so by now--although whether or not he was awaiting her next move remained to be seen.

    Jasse was unpredictable, her apparently-compliant Maestra even more so. It wasn¡¯t so much that Faith could get away with hurting the Ambassador, given exactly where she lived and the exact company she kept. If harm fell to Octavia, she could almost garner a chuckle over the Hell that would crash down fivefold onto Faith¡¯s head--to say nothing of those the Ambassador had met more recently. There was a greater danger that came with not knowing if the Heartful girl cared.

    The Muses had no reason to hurt Theo, nor could they. He was innocent. He was natural to the world, and untouchable by their hands as a result. Once more, it didn¡¯t spare him from mortal hands, armed with Harmonial Instruments or otherwise. To know that such a young child was possibly in peril made Octavia¡¯s blood boil.

    It was with careful subtlety that she¡¯d been sure to witness the tolls of the one extraneous Heartful Maestro remaining in Tacell days prior, unrelated to the situation as they were. It minimized a risk she¡¯d only just begun to fully come to terms with. Now, only a singular heart of light posed a threat. It was comical, somewhat, to think that Francisco had once been her biggest concern. Octavia¡¯s sole saving grace was the way by which Faith was, clearly, not privy to the details of the situation. Where Mixoly would pick apart the spider web thread by thread for Octavia, Jasse would surely not do the same for her partner. If Faith was blindly following orders rather than truly defending what she believed in, Octavia had the advantage.

    Her other advantage was unpredictability. Her schedule was a weapon.

    ¡°I¡¯m going out for a bit.¡±

    She never thought she¡¯d admit to it, especially so early in the evening. The sun had hardly sunk in full into the depths of the horizon, and the first stars had just barely begun to tease a still-darkening sky. It was a risk. It wasn¡¯t entirely optional.

    ¡°Where?¡±

    Octavia knew that was coming, ultimately. ¡°I just want some fresh air.¡±

    She''d accounted for every single one of them, coagulated as they were. It was grueling. She outright couldn¡¯t look at one of them to begin with--although a desire for fresh air wasn¡¯t exactly a lie.

    Madrigal beamed. ¡°Do you want someone to go with you?¡±

    It was almost a reflex to shoot her down instantly. Octavia struggled to make it natural, feigning a smile to the best of her ability. ¡°It¡¯s okay. No offense, but sometimes, I like to be alone.¡±

    She took it well, maintaining the same smile that replaced the fallen sun. ¡°That¡¯s okay! I understand.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t stay out too late, alright?¡± Harper added.

    Octavia smirked. It came more naturally than she¡¯d expected, and her response was recycled. ¡°You¡¯re not my mom.¡±

    Harper rolled his eyes playfully. In retrospect, it raised another issue. It was another risk she¡¯d have to take. Octavia didn''t quite have an excuse to match, and yet she tried her best all the same.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­gonna be gone for a while, probably. I don¡¯t know what time I¡¯ll be back. Don¡¯t get worried, okay?¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. He wasn¡¯t the only one. When the question hit, Octavia was eternally grateful that it didn¡¯t come from Harper.

    ¡°Wait, why?¡±

    At least she could look at Josiah when she spoke, false as her scrambled explanation was. It didn¡¯t mean he was any less skilled at picking apart her lies. Octavia still did what she could. ¡°There¡¯s parts of Tacell I¡¯ve never really gone to at night. I wanna get the chance to explore them before it gets too cold.¡±

    Renato crossed his arms. ¡°This place is literally just grass. You¡¯re gonna spend hours exploring grass?¡±

    She deflected.

    ¡°Are you¡­going to be up for a while?¡±

    He tilted his head. ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t know. Why?¡±

    It was a contingency plan. She built it with soft eyes she knew he¡¯d take as something more. It wasn¡¯t exactly manipulative, and it wasn¡¯t exactly a lie.

    ¡°Can we¡­talk later? Like, when I get back?¡± Octavia asked gently.

    It took effort to balance her tone carefully, formulating just the right amount of semi-false vulnerability. When she found eyes as fragile as her own, she knew he¡¯d fallen for it.

    Renato nodded. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll wait for you.¡±

    He didn¡¯t need to leave. She just needed him awake and alert. From there, she would simply have to last long enough for him to intervene. In a perfect world, it absolutely wouldn''t come to that. There was a mild shame that came with exploiting Renato¡¯s gift. It was his fault for being her soldier, Octavia rationalized.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    She prayed it was enough for them. For how they continued to eye her warily, Octavia wasn¡¯t entirely sure any of it had sufficed. Still, she only needed to make it out and back in exactly once without question. Hopefully, this was enough.

    ¡°Have fun!¡± Madrigal offered with a wave.

    Octavia smiled, returning her nonverbal farewell. Smiling was the most she could do at all, given what she was about to attempt. Even now, she battled the second thoughts that ate away at her heart every time she looked at their faces. If they''d known of what ruin might''ve awaited beyond, she wondered if they would¡¯ve seen her off so peacefully.

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna bring Stradivaria?¡±

    She froze. She didn¡¯t dare turn around. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears. It was a question she hadn¡¯t accounted for in any capacity.

    In the absolute slightest, Octavia was just barely honest.

    ¡°We got into a fight. I need some space from him for a bit.¡±

    Even staring at the closed door alone, her fingers clenched around the knob, their silence spoke to enough confusion that she still wasn¡¯t free. Octavia feigned a sigh.

    ¡°There¡¯s still a decent amount of Maestros left. Plus, it¡¯s Tacell. I¡¯ll be okay, I promise. I just¡­really don¡¯t want to talk to him right now,¡± she murmured.

    That was, thankfully, enough for Josiah. ¡°I get it. Be careful, then.¡±

    ¡°If you¡­wanna talk about it, we¡¯re here,¡± Harper offered.

    There were a million and one things she wanted to talk about. A sizable amount of them did involve Stratos. She couldn¡¯t speak of a single one, and it burned.

    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± Octavia said quietly.

    She refused to give them anything else to work with. Octavia needed every second she could cling to. The moment she was outside, the moment the door had shut in full behind her, she gave herself exactly ten seconds to scan. She gave herself ten seconds more to leave the view of the doorway, should someone change their mind and open it again. Beneath the peeking moonlight that had just begun to bless the budding evening, twenty seconds was more than enough wasted. With a different route than usual, she practically flew, every sprinting step rustling the grass below viciously.

    Octavia wouldn¡¯t give Faith the chance, let alone anyone else who could be roped into stopping her. This ended tonight, no matter what it took. She could only hope nothing else ended along with it.

    <hr>

    Mixoly.

    It was the one and only warning she gave before she nearly broke the door down. It wasn¡¯t as though Theo would¡¯ve been startled by the bang she brought with her. He was startled enough by her presence alone, so premature as it was. In the early evening, there was little misplaced moonlight to steal through the silky curtains. As such, the cottage was even darker, and she had to fumble for any semblance of confident footing. He¡¯d adapted well enough, particularly if he could greet her with Miracle Agony readied upon his lips. Octavia didn¡¯t blame him, for once.

    Only when she met his eyes did he relax, his own wide and confused as he lowered the piccolo slowly. The click behind her as she locked the door nearly echoed. The motion, for him, was clearly equally as baffling. He signed something indiscernible, slow and hesitant movements that spoke more to befuddlement than anything else.

    What are you doing?

    Mixoly repeated the question Octavia suspected the boy had floated. It was all that preceded her presence, ever more striking in the absence of abundant moonlight. For how lovely her silky glow truly was, Octavia made a mental note to drink it in while she still could.

    ¡°You said we¡¯re running out of time, right? I¡¯m making the most of what we have,¡± Octavia answered plainly.

    ¡°Is this not reckless, Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I was careful. We just need to be fast. I need to be fast. I¡­won¡¯t stop until I get it.¡±

    ¡°You will be exposed,¡± Mixoly warned.

    The truth was dangerous. Still, more than anyone, Mixoly deserved it. ¡°I already have been.¡±

    Mixoly recoiled. Slightly less so, Theo did the same. The Muse didn¡¯t press. Octavia filled in of her own accord.

    ¡°I was careful in every way I could be, but Stratos figured it out. I think he told Ramulus, and I think that has something to do with why Faith was here. I¡­met Ramulus again.¡±

    Mixoly outright flinched. ¡°You have met with Lord Ramulus?¡± she spoke with utter horror. It was a tone Octavia hated to hear in her delicate voice.

    Still, she nodded as she settled down onto the floor. ¡°He called for me. He told me not to witness your toll. He told me not to guide you. Stratos said the same thing.¡±

    Mixoly wasn¡¯t nearly as hesitant as Octavia had expected she¡¯d be. If anything, her cool anger far outdid her typical timid nature. ¡°I am not the least bit surprised. They would not see me return to--¡±

    ¡°Mixoly,¡± Octavia began slowly, ¡°Ramulus said he¡­doesn¡¯t think you can cross the boundary.¡±

    Mixoly instantly fell silent. Theo¡¯s eyes went wide with distress of his own. Octavia weighed every word that followed carefully, morbid as they were.

    ¡°I¡­think what you said was right,¡± she murmured. ¡°I think there¡­might be a problem with you going back.¡±

    Mixoly hugged herself tightly. Octavia could¡¯ve sworn she was shaking, ethereal and false as her form was. For a world she hated so severely, there was an irony in how she acted more like a human than a Muse at this point.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Octavia said, ¡°I still want to try. I still want to do everything I can to at least attempt. Maybe we can figure something out.¡±

    ¡°It would not¡­suffice, then?¡± Mixoly practically whispered.

    ¡°Let me try,¡± Octavia implored once more. ¡°We won¡¯t know it doesn¡¯t work until we at least give it a shot.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador--¡±

    Octavia raised her eyes to the Muse, narrow and piercing. ¡°If I try, I need you to promise me something.¡±

    ¡°What¡­is it?¡± Mixoly murmured.

    Octavia inhaled sharply. ¡°If I can¡¯t get you back to Above, you can¡¯t give in to despair again.¡±

    She already knew that Mixoly wouldn¡¯t offer her anything to work with. The terror that slowly settled into Theo¡¯s eyes was enough to keep Octavia going, and she held onto the edge in her own for as long as she could.

    ¡°Everyone says the world came to ruin because you hated it,¡± Octavia said with all of the confidence she could muster. ¡°Everyone¡­thinks you¡¯re going to do it again. I told them you wouldn¡¯t. I put everything on the line to prove that you wouldn¡¯t do it twice. I¡¯m betting on you, Mixoly.¡±

    ¡°I cannot stay,¡± Mixoly begged. ¡°Please.¡±

    ¡°Mixoly, this is my world, too!¡± she cried. ¡°This is Theo¡¯s world! There¡¯s people we love and things we cherish here! If you hate it, that¡¯s one thing, but it¡¯s important to us! At least try to give it a chance!¡±

    ¡°I have tried, Ambassador!¡± she argued. ¡°I really and truly have!¡±

    ¡°Then try again! I told you, the world is always changing! If you have nothing to love, then find something!¡±

    ¡°Ambassador!¡±

    Octavia bit her tongue solely on behalf of the pain on Theo¡¯s face. When he shook his head ever so slowly, she wondered if she was crossing a line. It was still inevitable and necessary. For that, she pitied that he was caught in the crossfire.

    ¡°If I do this--when I do this, I¡¯m going to see everything that happened. I¡¯m going to see what you did and what made you hurt so badly. I¡¯m going to be the only human alive who¡¯ll know exactly what you went through. I know the world wronged you somehow. I know you were Dissonant. Most of all, I know that whatever memories got you to that point are still in there. You¡­can¡¯t let them win again. You¡¯re stronger than that.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t justify so much as approaching Miracle Agony until she had at least a sliver of assurance that disaster wasn¡¯t imminent. Instead, it was all she could do to offer what desperate words of comfort she could cobble together in the face of Mixoly¡¯s silence.

    ¡°Mixoly, I trust you. Please. Please¡­prove me right,¡± she pleaded.

    She was aware of Mixoly¡¯s gaze on her as she stared down Miracle Agony, gripped tightly in two small, fearful hands. Theo was trembling in the slightest, subtle as the motion was. His wide eyes and shaky breaths betrayed his stillness, and he nearly jumped when Octavia cupped her fingers beneath his. She couldn¡¯t smile. Instead, she squeezed softly.

    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll get through your toll, too,¡± she reassured.

    Even in her despair, Mixoly still gave her what she needed. Theo nodded slowly, peeling his hands away from hers. Every movement was slow and hesitant.

    ¡°¡®Please save her.¡¯¡±

    Octavia tensed. ¡°I¡¯ll do everything I can, even if I don¡¯t know if--¡±

    He cut her off with a shake of his head. Again, he repeated the exact same signs, some more emphasized than others this time. His eyes stung hers. She hardly needed Mixoly¡¯s help. ¡°¡®Please save her.¡¯¡±

    When he cradled Miracle Agony delicately once more, he did so with his eyes cast high above to the silent Muse who watched on. They were sharper than anything Octavia had ever seen the boy fix his partner with. Even Mixoly flinched.

    I-I cannot.

    He stared her down.

    Please.

    He stared her down harder.

    Mixoly shook her head. You do not understand, my child.

    His gaze was relentless.

    It was not supposed to be this way!

    And when it was Theo who shook his head, what followed was one finger flicking back and forth between himself and the Ambassador.

    I¡­

    He nodded.

    Theo, please.

    It was the first time Octavia had ever heard his name in the Muse''s voice. It was gentle, warm, and loved.

    Theo moved closer to Octavia, their knees nearly touching on the rug as he guarded Miracle Agony in his palms just inches away. So close was Theo that she could feel his body heat. When he met her eyes, he wouldn¡¯t let go. Narrow and sharp as they were, his gaze was anything but hostile. His determination was poisonous. Age be damned, Octavia stole every ounce of it she could.

    Once more did he emulate the same gesture he¡¯d given to Mixoly, flicking one finger slowly back and forth between himself and Octavia. Never once did he break eye contact. She nodded, doing everything in her power to meet his resolve with body language alone.

    There was no use reassuring Mixoly any further. For all of her concerns about finding a confidant, let alone about finding kinship in the company of another Heartful, Octavia had somewhat forsaken the one who she¡¯d seen nearly nightly for weeks--small as he was. With Miracle Agony offered to her, the heart that surely beat in time with her own gave her light in a room where she''d found nearly none. It wasn¡¯t the Harmonial Instrument that she gave her attention to as she plunged into the dark, but rather the boy who¡¯d once greeted her with hostility alone. If it was for the sake of the same Muse, left behind and mired in despair, Octavia couldn¡¯t ask for a closer ally.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    She had her work cut out for her.

    What are you?

    I am one who destroys what is precious.

    It was Lucian first.

    It was the same toll, top to bottom, right as she¡¯d left it and up until the same point. It was with patience that Octavia let her pounding heart guide her through every word she¡¯d already absorbed, every sight she¡¯d already memorized, and every stolen smile of her own that could give her hope. She was lucky. It wasn¡¯t cracking, even blurred and somewhat distorted as the world before her was. It was intact, and that was enough.

    My name¡¯s Lucian.

    Mixoly.

    She rode it all the way through for a second time over. She awaited the flip of the coin, should it come, by which the Muse who so timidly greeted him would offer up her strained flashes and fragments in turn. Where Octavia pleaded for consistency, she half-doubted she¡¯d receive it. Mixoly was anything but consistent, even in the depths of her most haunting memories.

    And she was correct.

    Octavia''s ears were ringing. She had her screeching. She had the hues she loathed, and what light typically pierced the violet was nowhere to be seen. When she awaited the cracks, she was left in suspense. When she patiently anticipated the glass that would shatter before her eyes, leaving her pupils flooded with overwhelming radiance and color, she was still spared. He wasn¡¯t.

    What is this? she heard Lucian cry.

    I apologize. It is an¡­effect I cannot undo.

    It hurts, though!

    I am so sorry, my child.

    Why is this happening?

    I am broken. I do not mean to curse you with such suffering.

    You¡¯re doing this to me?

    The hands the Ambassador stole rubbed futilely at her eyes, for what hazy and swimming violet plagued the world like a veil. The hands she stole clamped futilely over her ears, for what agony screamed deep and battered his eardrums remorselessly. Octavia would¡¯ve done the same. She wished she could¡¯ve. It changed nothing. Ultimately, as it would turn out, her experience with the sensations that had blighted her stopping point had been exactly half-unique.

    Could you please¡­make it stop? Lucian begged softly, far below the threshold of the sounds that blotted out the world.

    I cannot.

    It can¡¯t just go on forever, right?

    Only once we part will it cease.

    I have to leave you, then?

    We are bonded. That, too, cannot be undone.

    The hands that so desperately clutched at every part of his body, aching for relief from the Hell she bestowed upon him, trembled fiercely. So I¡¯m just stuck like this for good? he cried with terror.

    Find the Ambassador.

    What?

    Find the Ambassador, and our bond may be severed.

    The Am¡­bassador?

    They who would free my heart.

    Your¡­heart. From in there?

    Yes.

    Even in the throes of his agony, he was kind. He was the very icon of his legacy.

    You¡¯re lonely, right?

    I have been alone.

    I want to help you.

    And I you, that you would not be cursed with my burden.

    I chose to pick you up. I chose to answer your calls for help.

    You did not know.

    That¡¯s okay. I¡¯m¡­gonna help you, somehow. I¡¯ll keep you safe.

    Where her senses were overwhelmed by pain incarnate, the reprieve that came with the blinding flash to follow was just as jarring. Octavia lost her eyes again, doffed in favor of a whirlwind of color she¡¯d surrendered to once before. It was splendid and radiant, heavenly and near-perfect save for its overpowering luminescence. She was freed of screeching, absolved of suffering. Where Lucian had been plunged into Hell, Octavia was thrust upwards into Heaven. It came with sound alone, desperation of a different flavor.

    What are you doing?

    I¡­

    You cannot.

    I will return.

    It is a world not ours to interfere with. You know this.

    Have you no desire, truly, even in the slightest, to know of its splendor? Have you no adoration for what has been made with such love?

    My adoration reaches from here alone, as should your own. You would risk disrupting what has been balanced so cautiously.

    I will be careful.

    It is not that simple.

    Octavia knew their voices well. To hear them in tandem a second time over, for how far they¡¯d grown apart, was every bit as startling now as it had been the first time around.

    The boundary is not to be crossed.

    Yet still it exists.

    Mixoly.

    I will return. You have my word.

    You know not if you may!

    He will surely understand.

    It is not of Lord Ramulus that I speak, Mixoly, and yet that as well! If you go, I cannot guarantee your safety!

    It is a risk I am more than willing to take!

    All Octavia had heard from Stratos as of late were pleas. Even in the depths of memories that weren''t hers to pick apart, she only found more of the same. It was pitiful, in a way.

    You will regret your choice.

    I will not.

    Please, do not do this.

    Await me, Stratos, for I will return soon.

    Mixoly.

    Octavia hardly got a warning this time. She already had her colors, her light, her splendor. Somehow, she¡¯d managed to untangle the screeching. It was a start. She shattered. The stained glass upon her eyes cracked and crumbled, and Heaven fell to pieces.

    ¡ô????????????????????? ????????¡ô????????????????? ????????????????¡ô???????

    Octavia came up with a gasp. She met Theo¡¯s eyes, as curious as they were determined even now. He tilted his head in the slightest, never once pulling away from their close positioning. Even now, their knees nearly touched and their warmth glowed in tandem. He waited.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said futilely. She nodded for good measure, opting to assume Mixoly wouldn¡¯t immediately come to her linguistic aid. For the way Theo nodded back, eyes aflame as before, she assumed the message was loud and clear.

    She didn¡¯t dare stop. Like a Heartful hammer, she would beat away at it until it caved. Octavia didn¡¯t hesitate to lower her fingers down onto the piccolo once more.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Lucian and Mixoly didn¡¯t alternate, necessarily. Of the memories she¡¯d already seen of both, past the point of entanglement she¡¯d come to observe, they weren''t sequential. Octavia gathered them like stones, and they flowed like water once she held them in her hands. The eyes she wore during both instances were anything but normal. She could tell them apart effortlessly. The gaze she stole from Lucian was blighted by violet, hazy and marred in a way no amount of blinking or pleading would undo. The screeching and screaming served as a secondary tell-tale indicator of a tragic Heartful memory.

    By comparison, thus far, Mixoly brought her nothing. What visuals Octavia searched for in the Muse¡¯s memories came only in the form of brilliant colors and hues that almost warmed her soul to witness. As to what Mixoly saw, it was all but imperceivable. If the Muse herself was more cooperative in the world of the lucid, perhaps Octavia would shower her with questions. As it stood, she¡¯d be lucky if she could get Mixoly to accept a fate that teetered on inevitable.

    It hurts, though!

    Every cycle was another experience with his pain. Octavia loathed his suffering. To see it again and again was torture, an endless loop of hurt for one boy and one boy alone. In flashes she could sometimes uncover from the depths of muddied darkness, Octavia was burdened with yet more. In the daytime, he would tremble and sweat, try as he might to feign smiles and force his way through what labor he could come across.

    Lucian survived and persisted, and it was unfathomably admirable. Octavia could hear the waver in his words when he spoke. She could watch the way he¡¯d occasionally stumble when he walked, whether relative to overstimulation or disorientation. Still, he fought and struggled for the sake of a small boy who knew little of his plight. It mattered not that Mixoly never met his lips, for how he kept her close to his heart through concealing clothing alone. Rarely did they part. When they did, his curse was eternal as ever. He wasn''t free.

    At night, he suffered much the same. In the company of one so young and ignorant to his plight, the brave face Lucian battled to don was betrayed by shivers and ragged breaths. There was mild reprieve to be found in the dark, the fog that lived in his eyes blunted by that which stole light from his room regardless. Octavia understood Theo¡¯s prior point in the worst way, and she was forced to hold her heart together over the idea of him enduring the same. It didn¡¯t spare Lucian from the sounds that tore him to shreds all hours of the evening, and no amount of covering his ears offered any semblance of relief. It was difficult to be subtle about it.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    So often would Theo sign to him gently, gazing upon the suffering boy with worry as he tossed and turned in agony. Each and every time, what soft signs answered and what false affirmations pleaded for his fears to fade were as weak as they were desperate. The degree to which Lucian prioritized the boy¡¯s comfort would¡¯ve been endearing, had he not been in Hell himself. Even as the Ambassador, simply bearing witness to such brief snippets and fragments was driving Octavia insane. She''d been correct in her belief that she''d someday find a toll that hurt. It wasn¡¯t exactly in the way she¡¯d expected.

    And for as smart as Theo was, the needs of Lucian¡¯s heart were certainly unmistakable. Where he initially indulged in Lucian¡¯s dismissals and affirmations of well-being, Lucian eventually found more than distress and despair in his bed each night he accepted fitful rest. Octavia prayed it had sufficed to ease his soul in the slightest. She hoped it was warm. For how tightly he clung to the child, shaking and struggling to breathe, it was surely needed.

    Upon the flash that followed, blinding white and unhindered by murky agony, the clarity of her vision first led Octavia to believe that she still clung to Lucian¡¯s eyes--cleansed and freed of pain, somehow. She found no suffering in sound, similarly, and the fact that she found sights at all in place of color alone was deeply jarring. Logically, she knew what didn¡¯t belong to Lucian surely belonged to Mixoly in the depths. It didn¡¯t make any more sense.

    It was beautiful. It was impossible, really.

    Where Lucian¡¯s toll had taken her to a land she¡¯d never seen, pristine and resplendent as the bounty of far-off nature was, the crystal-clear vision she was now afforded spoke to scenes Octavia couldn¡¯t wrap her head around. They were amalgamations of concepts she could piece together in dreams and fantasies, and yet more than what she could hope to understand with her gaze alone. It was sweeping, overwhelming, a view of a world so grand in scale that mortal eyes couldn''t possibly have taken it all in at once.

    It was vast cities she¡¯d never seen, kingdoms and countries she¡¯d never heard of, cultures and people she¡¯d never meet. It was inventions and contraptions she couldn¡¯t begin to fathom, lifestyles and fashions she¡¯d never imagined, an entire dream in and of itself that surely couldn¡¯t have been more than a grandiose hallucination. She refused to believe it was true, for how marvelously it thrived in such a different manner. It had its downsides. Everything did. It had more than what Octavia was used to.

    What are you?

    For what Mixoly was, for who Mixoly was, she wasn¡¯t subtle. She didn¡¯t flee, nor did she hide her presence from gazes below. As to what form she took, it was utterly impossible for Octavia to tell from inside. As to how they saw her at all, that, too, Octavia couldn¡¯t understand.

    I am one who seeks to grow what is beautiful.

    Her name, if nothing else, was precious.

    Are you a god?

    I am not.

    And yet, she didn¡¯t shirk their worship.

    We need you.

    In what manner, my child?

    They all were. She was benevolent, in that way.

    This world is filth.

    It cannot be so. It was crafted with such care.

    It is impure and unclean. It needs your touch. It needs a miracle.

    A miracle?

    There is so much that brings suffering.

    They weren¡¯t wrong.

    Of what would I give?

    Anything.

    What is broken?

    Everything.

    She wasn¡¯t helpless. After all, it wasn¡¯t the same spider web.

    For what hand she¡¯d had in filling it with love, Mixoly could do so from within, much the same. It wasn¡¯t to a phenomenal degree, for what Octavia knew of the concepts of conflict and need. It wasn¡¯t surprising that they viewed her as a god. She, too, could weave the threads of the spider web.

    It was remarkable. It was terrifying. Such a world was malleable. Whether it was beneath her hands alone that adjustments were possible was a mystery. Octavia shuddered under the fleeting concept that Ramulus wasn¡¯t the only one who could affect the second spider web she called a home. She prayed that, at least, had been accounted for the second time around.

    This is a blessing.

    Is it pure?

    The world will never be, on its own. We need you.

    I will persist.

    Mixoly indulged them.

    Why does the world continue to suffer?

    This is all that I can do.

    We believe in you.

    I am¡­trying. How did it become this way?

    Mankind is impure.

    It should not be so, by design. This is¡­not what was meant to be.

    It is the very nature of the world.

    But how?

    She doubted them.

    What will it take to achieve perfection? What will it take to bring peace?

    That is for you to deliver. We pray for a miracle, even now. We need you.

    I am trying! This is not how it was supposed to be!

    We need a savior! Please, help us! Give us your mercy!

    How can I salvage what you continue to destroy?

    Mixoly begged. She struggled. Octavia wondered if Muses could cry, for how much sorrow surely lay dormant in their hearts. All she found instead upon her stolen eyes was glass. This time, when it cracked, at least the light that burst in its wake on the way out was natural. Even from a sun shining onto a world in which she¡¯d never set foot, it was better than nothing.

    ¡ô???????? ????????¡ô????????? ???????????????¡ô???????????

    Octavia was sweating. She only realized it when her clammy hands recoiled from Miracle Agony, trembling and twitching. No amount of gasping for air was compensating for the inconceivable sights she still fought to process. Each time she tried to fathom the first spider web, draping it delicately across her mind, it fizzled and faded out of self-preservation alone. It was torture.

    Theo once more eyed her with concern. Octavia shook her head wordlessly, gritting her teeth. He nodded, and the fire in his eyes as they locked with hers once more was enough to keep her going. Shaky breaths notwithstanding, she dove back into the darkness again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Lucian did end up indulging the Muse with his Heartful touch exactly once. It was hardly for himself alone.

    There was no true merit in gifting her song, necessarily. Rather, he gave the singular blessing her legacy could offer. Mixoly¡¯s radiant melodies were infinitely more lovely when they weren¡¯t attempting to severely injure Octavia, and she could appreciate the love Lucian handed even to the Muse who¡¯d cursed him with such unbearable agony. Of the light he breathed into the air, it was, unsurprisingly, with the one he treasured most that he shared his birthright. It didn¡¯t matter if Theo¡¯s smile escaped Octavia¡¯s stolen eyes even now. The wonder and awe that graced his face was more than enough to compensate.

    Enraptured by shrill, crystalline notes yet unheard, it was the Maestro-to-be¡¯s first true encounter with his future partner. If he¡¯d known what was to come, Octavia wondered if Theo would¡¯ve found so much delight in her existence. Mixoly¡¯s song was just barely louder than the screeching that lived forever in Lucian¡¯s head. Octavia had half a mind to wonder why he didn¡¯t seek her companionship more often, in that case. Even now, his fingers trembled atop every shimmering key. It was a reflex. It was involuntary.

    Sometimes, Lucian cried. It was soft. It was in the dead of night, usually, long after the one comfort at his side had surrendered to peaceful sleep he¡¯d never claim for himself. Theo wasn¡¯t always immune, for the sobbing and shaking it regularly became. Where the sounds of his sorrow were lost, the aching in his heart was palpable enough to warrant whatever comfort could be given. Once, their hands had rarely parted for Theo¡¯s sake. Now, it was Theo who so often tended to him in return.

    Some days, Lucian didn¡¯t eat. Some days, he didn¡¯t sleep at all. Some days, he didn¡¯t leave the house, and some days, he didn¡¯t so much as leave his bed. It grew louder. It grew hazier. It was unbearable.

    Where am I supposed to find the Ambassador? he once struggled to ask between gasping breaths, racked by chills that couldn''t be stemmed.

    I¡­do not know.

    You have to know! You have to know how to make this stop!

    My child, I wish with all of my heart that I knew. I, too, wish that you did not suffer so.

    Lucian no longer cried. Now, he sobbed in earnest. Where once he¡¯d attempted to stifle his distress in front of Theo, it was no longer an option. It was no longer controllable in the first place. For each day the screeching grew worse, for each day his vision swam and grew tinted ever more disgustingly violet in every way, his agitation reached new heights.

    To his credit, it was perhaps the softness of his legacy alone that turned his anger inwards, blunted by desperation and agonizing distress rather than rage. He scratched his skin until it bled. He hit his head until he could hardly walk. He begged, pleaded, growled, and sometimes screamed until his throat was red and raw. It was through exhaustion alone that he would sleep, some nights, burned out solely by resistance to the plague upon his senses.

    Theo watched every moment he suffered, a once-brilliant star fizzling and fading. Where Lucian¡¯s light should¡¯ve shined down onto him with all of the love in his radiant heart, pain had long since dulled his sparkle. No amount of comfort, physical or otherwise, was enough to stem Lucian¡¯s tears. Octavia couldn¡¯t blame either of them. Simply bearing the weight of his curse by proxy was growing absolutely impossible. She couldn¡¯t stand it.

    Why are you doing this to me?

    My child, I assure you, it is not intentional. I have said as much, and will say so one thousand times over. I cannot apologize enough.

    Please, make it stop! I don¡¯t care how, just stop it already! I can¡¯t live like this, Mixoly!

    This is not what I wanted for you.

    Mixoly, please! Please, I¡¯m begging you, I¡¯ll do anything!

    All that is to be done is to find the Ambassador alone. They are the only--

    Then help me! I can¡¯t do this anymore! I hate this!

    Do you hate me?

    I don¡¯t want to!

    Lucian, she heard the Muse offer softly. It was the first time. Her sorrow was more than audible upon every syllable.

    Please!

    With a flash so vivid and quick that she could¡¯ve very well blinked, Octavia was practically in the clouds by comparison. She was free of pain. It was a peace Lucian couldn¡¯t be granted, and she felt guilty each and every time she found the reprieve he couldn¡¯t cling to. Her suffering, at least, was temporary.

    Mixoly¡¯s was not.

    Do you hear my voice?

    It was Mixoly¡¯s alone that Octavia found.

    Can you¡­hear me?

    And again, the same.

    Please. Are you there?

    The world was beneath her, literally and figuratively. Again was Octavia struggling to process what impossible sights the Muse had granted to her, both colorful and not all at once. It was as imperceivable as it was sensible, radiant and tangible as she practically straddled existence itself. Once more, she couldn¡¯t wrap her head around it. It was all she could do to surrender to the idea of a dream once again. It was the closest she could come to making light of what eyes she didn¡¯t deserve were gifting to her.

    I¡­do not understand.

    As to what process was taking place with each fizzling flicker, every flash that briefly sparked in Octavia¡¯s stolen gaze, she was just as unsure.

    What is this?

    Mixoly¡¯s words were for no one. What desperate masses she¡¯d left so far below were voiceless in a floating fragment, isolated solely to the Muse and an interloping Ambassador. Again and again she struggled and sparked, flashing and flashing with such fervor that Octavia initially believed herself to be cycling through broken memories once more.

    I do not understand!

    It was endless.

    Do you hear my voice? Please!

    It was desperate.

    My Lord?

    It was raw.

    My Lord!

    It was panicked.

    Stratos!

    It was inconsolable.

    Stratos, please!

    They were words, time and time again, rapid as they were, that Octavia had heard tumble from Mixoly¡¯s lips in excess.

    Please, it cannot be this way! I beg of you, help me! Help me! Help me! Please!

    The violet was the catalyst for every crack that splintered her glass.

    Do not leave me here!

    Octavia never made it far enough to see what followed.

    ¡ô?????????? ????????????????????¡ô?????? ??????????¡ô??????????????????

    Mixoly¡¯s plight was difficult enough, for what Octavia continuously fought to understand with eyes not hers to utilize. It was Lucian¡¯s suffering, though, that blighted her the most. She was outright nauseous. Dizziness had settled onto her in tandem with a headache that had just begun to throb. She was panting. She hated it. She hated it knowing it was obvious even more.

    Theo still watched her every move and expression, unwavering. When she hesitated, briefly battling the way the world spun and her ears rang, one warm hand came to rest over her own. He squeezed tightly. It was enough to keep her grounded, his free hand offering up Miracle Agony once more. Octavia intertwined her trembling fingers with his, forgoing the nod of confidence she wished she could offer him in turn. Only now did she wonder if he¡¯d known exactly what was in there.

    It was all she could do to honor Lucian¡¯s pain, in that way. She accepted what she could with her heart and submitted to more with her touch.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    And yet, it was Mixoly who ultimately barred her path. In truth, it wasn¡¯t surprising.

    Help me!

    Every plea practically echoed.

    Save me!

    For one who¡¯d offered up such salvation to a broken world, she found none of her own.

    Please!

    That was the boundary, Octavia supposed, intangible and inconceivable as it was.

    I beg of you, save me!

    Given what she¡¯d been forced to witness, touch, repair, and tolerate, Mixoly was surely more than impure. Hers was a heart blemished by mortal malice. Octavia pitied her as much as she did empathize.

    Save me!

    Where the violet she¡¯d grown to utterly loathe was so slow to foster in others, it was an explosive birth from the shattered heart and memories of a Muse. It was a supernova.

    Help me!

    From an outside perspective, Octavia wondered what it must¡¯ve looked like. Whether to rest peacefully Above, safe and pure behind the protection of the boundary, or whether to go about aimlessly below, treading the broken spider web, the experience was impossible to imagine. It wasn¡¯t as though human eyes would know better. Perhaps it was instant--or at least Octavia liked to hope so. Perhaps they didn¡¯t suffer. Of the Muses, Octavia knew better. Of the boundary, for what she knew had occurred, it was frustrating that she couldn¡¯t quite see.

    Please!

    Mixoly was an endless fountain of pleas, much the same as she was an endless fountain of agony. Octavia could rank those mired in suffering in a hierarchy, if she tried. Ivy and Vincent served as her baseline for what could be considered a fountain. Selena was a tidal wave, an ocean unleashing chaos where desired and without remorse. Mixoly, by comparison to all, was a black hole. She was, perhaps, maybe more so by one thousand times over. For every ounce of light stolen from her own heart, the explosive misery that filled the gap colored the world--and Octavia¡¯s borrowed eyes--an equally-miserable violet.

    It was too much to bear. The glass shattered long before she could see it spread, cracking and crumbling beneath the weight of Mixoly¡¯s agony.

    ¡ô??????????????????? ??????????¡ô????????????????? ?????????????¡ô?????

    Octavia was gasping. She was well aware of her distress, her head actively throbbing. Again did her ears ring relentlessly. She couldn¡¯t fight the dizziness that grew ever more potent with each and every dive into the darkness, and simply sitting up was a struggle. Her vision blurred.

    Theo was blurry, too. With what she could find of him, she could at least salvage determination and drive that didn¡¯t belong to her. For how close he was, Octavia liked to imagine it was hers to take. He gripped her hand tighter. It was something to hold her down, and she clung to him with everything she had.

    She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and plunged into the depths again.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Please!

    Please!

    Please!

    Help me!

    Help me!

    Help me!

    It burned.

    It burned each and every time she got to it. For how many times Octavia had to brave Lucian¡¯s curse again and again to make it there, she wasn¡¯t sure how much more she could take. The world was violet. Her vision was violet. The sky Mixoly had once adored was deep, remorseless violet, screeching and screaming in every way.

    Help me!

    Sometimes, they even blurred into one another, inseparable. It wasn¡¯t as though Octavia could make out words. Ultimately, a screech was a screech, wordless and incomprehensible. From the Dissonance, it was doubly so. It didn¡¯t curdle her blood any less.

    Save me!

    It never withstood, no matter how many of Mixoly¡¯s pleas she could gather in her heart. Each time, it was most definitely more. It was endless, the Muse''s black hole all-consuming and burdened by grief. Time and time again, the glass Octavia could no longer preserve beneath the pressure of infinite agony gave way. She was a victim of two Heartful tragedies forever.

    ¡ô???????????? ????????????¡ô????????????????????? ????????????????????¡ô???????????????????

    It was their close proximity that saved her from collapsing. Where disorientation and pain had begun to severely wear her down, Theo¡¯s arm around her shoulders and his forehead pressed firmly against hers were the anchors she so desperately needed. His size was irrelevant, his age even more so. His heart was hers, and he spoke with his resilient gaze alone. His touch was enough. Octavia was aware that her pain wasn''t silent. Part of her hoped Mixoly heard it every time she went down. If the Muse was watching, even now, she hoped it meant something.

    ¡ô??????????????? ?????¡ô????????? ?????????¡ô??????????

    Help me!

    ¡ô??????????? ??????????¡ô?????????? ????????¡ô???????

    It had to.

    ¡ô??????????????????? ??????????¡ô????????????????? ?????????????¡ô?????

    Help me, please!

    ¡ô???????????? ????????????¡ô????????????????????? ????????????????????¡ô???????????????????

    There was no alternative.

    ¡ô?????????? ?????????????¡ô??????????????? ??????????¡ô????????????????

    Save me!

    ¡ô???????????????? ??????????????????????¡ô????????????????????? ??????????????¡ô???????????

    For as badly as she wanted to succeed on Mixoly¡¯s behalf, it wasn¡¯t her heart alone that hung in the balance.

    ¡ô??????????????? ?????¡ô????????? ?????????¡ô??????????

    Please!

    ¡ô?????????? ?????????????¡ô??????????????? ??????????¡ô????????????????

    ¡°Don¡¯t fight me on this, Mixoly!¡± Octavia growled, spilling what little resolve she could spare into her voice.

    ¡°Ambassador--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not giving up on you!¡± she cried.

    ¡ô???????????? ????????????¡ô????????????????????? ????????????????????¡ô???????????????????

    Help me!

    ¡ô??????????????????? ????????????¡ô????????????????????? ?????????¡ô???????????????

    Octavia could hardly breathe. What few words she could spare snuck between ragged breaths, and even that took everything she had. Were it not for Theo¡¯s support, she surely would¡¯ve collapsed long ago.

    ¡°And you better not give up on me, either!¡± she demanded of the Muse who watched her still.

    ¡ô?????????? ?????????????¡ô??????????????? ??????????¡ô????????????????

    Save me, please!

    ¡ô????????????????? ??????¡ô?????? ??????????????¡ô???????????????????????????

    ¡°Damn it, Mixoly!¡± she shouted through her pain. ¡°You better give this world a fighting chance after all this!¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, you do not need to go this far!¡± Mixoly begged.

    Octavia shook her head, bringing Theo¡¯s own along with her slightly. He clung to her harder. ¡°I already told you! I¡¯m your Ambassador, too!¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Mixoly pleaded softly. As to what she pleaded for, Octavia was unsure.

    Theo didn¡¯t waver. For how he was forced to attend to her upon every attempt, Octavia knew he was contributing in his own way. His heart was contagious, and his love burned. What he offered her with his glow, as brilliant as it was quiet, was a miracle of its own.

    She was his Ambassador, too. If not for Mixoly, then Octavia could try for a different heart.

    ¡ô??????????????????????????? ????????¡ô???????????????? ????????????¡ô??????????????????????

    Of the three sources who¡¯d told her how the world had come to ruin, none had truly given her an explanation of the full process. She¡¯d never learned how long it took. She¡¯d never learned exactly what it had taken to dispel such agony, after its initial onslaught. She¡¯d never learned exactly what had happened on the opposite side of the boundary that day, when a world so high above came to ruin of its own accord. There was no set endpoint, nowhere Octavia knew to expect Mixoly¡¯s suffering and rampaging sorrow to come to a halt. Had it not, she wouldn¡¯t have been here. Ramulus had said as much. It had to end eventually.

    Please!

    Please!

    Please!

    Octavia tried to be optimistic. It was dangerous to explicitly anticipate the glass, let alone the fractures and fragile damages that would quickly follow. She feared she¡¯d manifest it, should she try. She held whatever breaths she had down here.

    Save me!

    She wondered how long Theo had known.

    Please!

    For what Mixoly had wrought upon his beloved brother, Octavia wondered how he could protect the Muse with all of his heart.

    Help me!

    For the curse of her poisoned agony, seeping and oozing into every ray of her once-splendid light, she wondered how he could love Mixoly at all.

    Please, help me!

    She wondered if she would¡¯ve been able to do the same.

    Please!

    He would¡¯ve made for an incredible Ambassador.

    Please!

    For all Theo had sacrificed on her behalf, it was the least Mixoly could do to let him keep the world he called home.

    Please!

    It wasn¡¯t that Octavia didn¡¯t deserve to avoid Mixoly¡¯s agony twice over. It wasn¡¯t that Viola, nor Madrigal, nor Harper, nor Renato, nor Josiah weren¡¯t worthy of survival.

    Please!

    If Mixoly owed any heart in the world she claimed to detest, it was the one who¡¯d given her all of his.

    Help me!

    Help me!

    Help me!

    And with every plea she captured, with every desperate cry and sorrowful wail that Mixoly beat her down with in that blazing black hole, Octavia swore to make her repay the debt.

    Save me.

    For the absolutely infernal burst of light that cut through the violet world, Octavia at first thought she¡¯d shattered to pieces once more. Part of her, in the split seconds of suspended radiance that followed, awaited Theo¡¯s touch and the grueling onslaught of lucidity once more. She waited for her head to throb, for her body to ache, for her eyes to burn.

    Instead, where the sun itself settled into her eyes in an instant, it burned out just as quickly. It was absolutely blinding in the most literal sense, by which Octavia briefly believed she¡¯d never see straight again--even with eyes that weren¡¯t her own to damage. For the utter darkness that followed, her vision swallowed whole by true blackness rather than agonizing violet, she thought she¡¯d lost it altogether. Given the exception that Mixoly was, Octavia wondered if she¡¯d died--at least briefly. If this toll was capable of hurting her, there were no limits she forced herself to entertain.

    Save me.

    In the dark, cold and enveloping on every side, Mixoly¡¯s pleas were fainter.

    Help me.

    They were weaker.

    Please.

    They were broken in every way.

    Are you¡­calling me?

    And where she''d expected to find Lucian, she was completely and utterly incorrect.

    Given what eyes she suddenly wore, far from Mixoly¡¯s own, Octavia was initially perplexed. They were different hands, different skin, a different voice with a different tone. They were far from the Heartful boy she¡¯d grown so, so near to over the course of his own lifetime again and again--ignorant to her existence as he would forever be.

    Help me.

    She knew the veil that plagued her eyes again, if nothing else. She knew the screeching that accompanied close behind.

    Stop it, please! Make it stop!

    I cannot. Find the Ambassador, I beg of you, and it will cease.

    Never had Octavia switched strangers halfway through a toll. Still, Mixoly offered no normal toll to her cursed eyes. She should¡¯ve known better. This stranger suffered in every way, coping perhaps even more poorly than Lucian. What love and tolerance the Heartful boy had at least attempted to spare for the forsaken Muse was infinite by comparison to the one who fled from her instead. There was nothing to be done, and where Mixoly¡¯s blight had been granted, her stain was permanent. Even freed from Lucian¡¯s eyes, Octavia suffered. It was surely nothing compared to those who¡¯d lived it in full.

    For all of the instances in which she¡¯d shouldered Lucian¡¯s suffering by proxy, it hadn¡¯t been enough to lead her to actual death--unintentional or otherwise. The degree to which such pain would warrant a reaction so severe was unfathomable. With a sob and a faithless leap, tumbling far into what unseen fate lie beneath the steepest of cliffsides, Octavia found the first end that wasn''t enough to bring her back up.

    What are you?

    I need you.

    Instead, it brought her another victim. It brought her more eyes, equally soaked in shadow, and more sounds, equally bathed in misery.

    Stop doing this to me!

    It is not intentional. I apologize, I truly do.

    Why do you hate me like this?

    I do not.

    Get away from me! Get out of my head!

    Please, my child, it is my greatest wish that you would not suffer. Know this to be the truth.

    Then make it stop!

    You must find the Ambassador.

    For her, death wasn''t artificial, nor provoked. What stress was endured, seemingly, crawled into her soul and suffocated her in her sleep. It wasn¡¯t much less upsetting.

    It was a cycle.

    Are you¡­talking to me?

    Help me, I beg of you.

    There came eyes unfamiliar, neither Lucian¡¯s nor Mixoly¡¯s.

    You¡¯re awful! What¡¯s wrong with you? This is sick! Just stop it already!

    Find the Ambassador. It is the only way to spare us both.

    There came pleas on both ends, tinted with two flavors of agony, and the tragic end steeped in suffering that would follow. Sometimes, it was natural. The vast majority of the time, it was premature. It was prompted, desperate.

    It took Octavia longer than it should¡¯ve to recall Mixoly¡¯s warning of Stratos¡¯ sight, by which the world she witnessed was stolen through touch alone. For how many flashes and fragments Octavia cycled through, gaze after gaze and heart after heart, never had she imagined one Muse to have so many partners. Logically, she knew they¡¯d collectively been bound to the world below for several hundred years. Octavia had never really stopped to consider the sheer number of hands that had rested atop every key and lips that had breathed radiance into every note. Even given the scarcity of the Heartful candidates she so viciously begged for, Mixoly¡¯s contagious agony wore them down and snuffed out their lights one after another.

    Please!

    Please!

    Please!

    And sometimes, the begging wasn¡¯t from Mixoly alone. It was horrific. It was endless.

    It circled. For the hundreds of years it certainly took, Octavia¡¯s heart nearly stopped once it happened.

    Were you¡­calling me?

    Those eyes, she knew.

    And you heard my voice, then?

    Burning with violet or otherwise, she¡¯d worn them thousands of times.

    What are you?

    Octavia had torn them apart.

    I am one who destroys what is precious.

    And so, too, had she stitched them back together.

    But you¡¯re so small.

    Where once they were tangled and inseparable, she¡¯d shredded them to pieces and rebuilt the puzzle bit by bit.

    It was not always such.

    For all it had taken, it finally made sense. Octavia had her timeline. For better or worse, she had Mixoly¡¯s heart.

    My name¡¯s Lucian.

    And she stole the Heartful boy¡¯s, through his own eyes alone, right up until the bitter end.

    Leave me alone!

    Lucian, please.

    Get out of my head! Stop! I¡¯m begging you, I¡¯ll do anything!

    My child, I--

    Mixoly, please! Please make it stop! I can¡¯t do it! I can¡¯t!

    Luci--

    Please! Please, I¡¯ll do whatever you want, just stop hurting me like this!

    I am not trying to wound you, my child. You know this. The only way is to fi--

    Kill me! Just kill me!

    Lucian, listen to me.

    Where once some nights had barred him from sleep, fitful or otherwise, it was all nights. Where once some days had banned him from food, indigestible and undesirable as it was, it was all days. His tears fell so frequently that his body often ran dry, his entire frame permanently weak and racked eternally with shaking sobs. His sorrow made it worse, for how blurred his murky vision had truly become.

    Only in the dark, once more, was he granted reprieve, and even that couldn''t spare him from the sounds that shattered his eardrums. They were utterly intolerable. Octavia had found her hated bells to be ruinous, painfully loud and unable to be hushed. Their volume paled in comparison to what noise dove so deep into Lucian¡¯s very soul, cracking it from within.

    Theo tried. It was everything he could do just to keep the Heartful boy safe from harm, for how often he lashed out at himself and himself alone. The false calm on his little face, offered up only for Lucian¡¯s sake, was more than lost in the sea of violet that swallowed it whole. If Octavia could see clearly, she wondered what she¡¯d find in Theo¡¯s eyes.

    It was a night not unlike that which he''d met Mixoly that Lucian sprinted into at last, screams stifled in place of gasping breaths and desperate clutching at his ears. For how relatively recently he¡¯d moved to Mezzoria, he¡¯d learned Selbright well. He¡¯d learned enough to navigate with little effort, to retrace his steps where he¡¯d once wandered with greater hesitation and uncertainty.

    For what Octavia had seen him endure, so long before Mixoly had entered his fragile life, she was proud of him. Even now, she wanted nothing more than to push past the barrier that barred the Ambassador from those who¡¯d paid the toll, to catch him in her arms and offer him the world anew. Theo deserved him. He deserved himself.

    Stop! Please, please, please, just stop! Stop it! Get out!

    Lucian deserved anything but this.

    Get out of my head!

    He deserved anything but his own chosen reprieve, effective and well-selected.

    Leave me alone!

    The way the means that had offered the Heartful boy a second chance at life sought to steal it away instead broke Octavia in half.

    Stop it!

    For all of her poor experiences with trains, Octavia had never faced one head-on.

    Please!

    And alone on the tracks, in the dead of night, she wondered if he¡¯d even been afraid.

    Stop!

    It wasn''t rain that struck him down long prior, nor the mortal world at large. Ultimately, his beautiful radiance be damned, it was Mixoly who brought Lucian¡¯s world to ruin.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Octavia didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d come up, initially. Only the trembling against her body served as any indicator of her lucidity once more. She first believed it to be her own, utterly fatigued and borderline unconscious as she was. Instead, the pressure and warmth that she slowly came to recognize wrapped around her filled in the blanks and kept her upright.

    For as small as he was compared to her, supporting her full body weight was surely a task for Theo. Nonetheless, fueled by resolve alone, he served as the sole reason she hadn¡¯t collapsed in full. Octavia desperately wished she had the physical strength to lessen his burden. As it was, it was all she could do to simply speak.

    ¡°I¡­I saw it. I saw¡­all of it,¡± she whispered.

    She couldn¡¯t find Mixoly, not for how her eyes still fought to adjust to the true world once more. Octavia drank in what she could hear with the ears that still rang relentlessly.

    ¡°Ambassador, I¡­you have borne witness to the toll?¡±

    ¡°I saw everything,¡± Octavia said again, somewhat stronger. ¡°I saw what you¡­went through. I saw¡­Lucian.¡±

    There was almost pride to be found in the way she¡¯d left Mixoly nearly speechless. ¡°I¡­¡±

    She wondered if it seeped into her voice. Octavia couldn¡¯t fight the tiniest smirk that bled onto her tired lips. ¡°I¡­told you not to¡­give up on me.¡±

    Given how Theo trembled around her more viciously, his body lurching as he struggled to maintain his balance on his knees, her obligation to contribute felt somewhat urgent. With what she had left to spare, she battled her way forward, leaning into him in full and sparing him from collapsing himself. His breaths, too, were just as labored.

    He tilted his head, his shoulders slightly heaving. Octavia smiled as best as she could, weak and faint. It was better than nothing, and she gave him a nod to go with it.

    And when the corners of Theo¡¯s mouth turned upwards, miniscule and fleeting as could be, Octavia¡¯s heart could¡¯ve exploded. It was all she needed to be strong. It was worth it, for as long as it had taken.

    It was all she needed to boast of his love, plain for all to see.

    ¡°You know he loves you, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡­what do you mean, Ambassador?¡±

    Octavia staggered as she pushed herself to her feet, nearly falling in the process. Theo threw himself around her arm, pulling harshly, and it was an aid surprisingly more effective than she¡¯d expected. She did what she could to compose herself, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

    ¡°He did all of this for you. He helped me for your sake. He stayed alone like this for you. He attacked me to protect you, Mixoly.¡±

    For how he served as the reference for her words, Theo was content to offer his attention to Mixoly alone. His eyes were as soft as his hold around Miracle Agony, shimmering beneath the stray moonbeams it captured in the deepening night. Octavia didn¡¯t even want to imagine how long she¡¯d been here. It didn¡¯t matter anymore.

    Mixoly was small, her voice equally so. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°You did what you did to Lucian, and Theo still did all of this for you,¡± Octavia pushed. ¡°You cursed his sight, and he still did all of this for you. I saw every Maestro you¡¯ve ever had, and I saw how every single one ended up. There¡¯s never been a single person in the world that¡¯s gone as far for you as Theo has.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Mixoly stammered.

    ¡°I,¡± Octavia began firmly, ¡°in all my time as the Ambassador, have never seen a single Maestro go this far for their partner. You have no idea what you have. You have no idea how lucky you are.¡±

    Mixoly wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She was pitiful. Octavia did pity her.

    ¡°I saw the world the way you saw it. I know it¡¯s not perfect. It¡¯s not the same world anymore, yeah, and it¡¯s not as bad as the one you ruined, but I won¡¯t deny that our world definitely has things wrong with it. Still, if you can find even a single thing in this world that makes you happy, that should be enough for you. Not everything has to be beautiful. Just¡­some things are enough.¡±

    Octavia paused, inhaling deeply. ¡°Even just one beautiful thing in this world is enough.¡±

    For as speechless as Mixoly again was, Octavia didn¡¯t give her the chance to enjoy her silence. When she turned to Theo, her eyes flickering to Miracle Agony, he nodded. It was almost hesitant. She didn¡¯t miss it.

    She spoke largely without looking, her heart speeding dangerously along as she stared at the little instrument in his equally-little hands. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal. If we do this, and you find out that you can¡¯t cross the boundary after all, then¡­if you can¡¯t think of a single thing in this world worth saving, go ahead and bring it to ruin again. I can¡¯t stop you. No one can.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador,¡± Mixoly murmured.

    ¡°But.¡±

    Mixoly fell silent.

    Octavia¡¯s voice was as sharp as she could will it to be, and she hoped Mixoly felt the razors on her tongue. ¡°If you think of even one thing, no matter how small, that¡¯s worth protecting this world for, then you have to give it a chance.¡±

    On Octavia¡¯s behalf, it was Theo who stared his partner down instead.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what this world did to you, Mixoly. You didn¡¯t deserve it,¡± Octavia apologized. ¡°Even so, I know you loved it once. I know you can love it again, even just a little bit.¡±

    ¡°Ambassador, to lose that which is so pure is a grief to which words will do no justice,¡± Mixoly argued. ¡°To surrender perfection, wonderful in every way, surrounded by those so beloved, is the most impossible agony! To¡­to lose the trust and affections of all who one has thrived alongside for eternity, it is a pain unlike any! For a sin to turn all who would--¡±

    Her words were cut short by her own tongue alone. Octavia watched her with confusion. For the way her faceless gaze instantly snapped to Theo¡¯s, she had a vague idea of the circumstances.

    ¡°What?¡± the Muse breathed.

    Theo was silent, his hands and body alike utterly still.

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    Only his eyes, burning and soft all at once, spoke on his behalf.

    ¡°I could not!¡±

    Theo nodded exactly twice.

    ¡°My child, I could not!¡± Mixoly repeated desperately.

    With Miracle Agony grasped tenderly in one hand alone, it was with slow and careful movements that Theo raised one pointed finger to Mixoly. When he drew it back to himself in turn, it trailed next firmly to the floor below. Never once did his eyes leave her.

    ¡°I-I could¡­not,¡± Mixoly mumbled, her voice small and weak.

    Whatever he signed to her with one hand alone, his motions far slower than she knew him to be capable of, was enough to lodge a waver in her voice.

    ¡°Theo,¡± she nearly whispered, simple and soft.

    His eyes flickered back and forth between the Muse and Octavia. It was Mixoly who nodded, for once, shaky as every word that left her continued to be.

    ¡°I-I will¡­endeavor.¡±

    Octavia watched as Theo carefully balanced the little piccolo atop his forearms, motioning for her slowly. His face was just as soft as that which he offered his partner, and she held her breath.

    ¡°¡®Thank you,¡¯¡± Mixoly aided.

    Octavia blinked. It took a moment for her to shake her head with a smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t do much. You¡¯re the one who did everything for her.¡±

    He signed further. Again did Mixoly fill the gaps. ¡°¡®Thank you for loving her, too.¡¯¡±

    Octavia beamed.

    Mixoly didn¡¯t need to interpret the motion for "Ambassador." Octavia knew it well. She appreciated it regardless, and she adored the gentleness with which Theo made the gesture. ¡°¡®Thank you for being her Ambassador.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Thank you for letting me,¡± she answered.

    When his hands fell silent, Octavia nudged him slightly. ¡°Are you¡­ready?¡±

    He nodded.

    She tensed. ¡°Are you nervous?¡±

    Smart as he was, Octavia was well aware he feared nothing of the process itself. Her words and their subsequent meaning were clear. Even so, Theo shook his head, his motions soft. ¡°¡®I trust her.¡¯¡±

    Mixoly flinched under his gaze, even delicate as it was. Each time Octavia had ever seen Theo raise Miracle Agony to his lips, it had been in the context of violence--defensive or otherwise. Now, in place of threats, he graced the Muse''s vessel with one tender kiss alone, his lips brushing against every sparkle the instrument captured. Octavia¡¯s heart felt as light as could be, for the way he hardly looked away from Mixoly all along.

    And for as quiet as Mixoly was, there was no room left to chide her--nor threaten her, nor persuade her, nor beg her. If the world was to come to ruin, Octavia had done all that she could. With Miracle Agony offered to her so sweetly and serenely, Theo¡¯s palms upturned before her one last time, the words she needed most were preceded only by a smile and a farewell.

    ¡°No matter what happens,¡± Octavia said gently, ¡°thank you for everything. Thank you for protecting me. No matter what anyone tells you, you were a miracle to me.¡±

    ¡°Farewell, Ambassador,¡± Mixoly whispered. It was better than nothing. ¡°Please, please be safe.¡±

    Octavia nodded. What was left came with equal parts calm and fear, a cold dread assuaged only by a glow she stole from before her even now. Where her blood threatened to freeze over, the warmth in Theo¡¯s eyes was enough to keep her alive. For all the trust she¡¯d gambled, whether gained or lost in the process, it was now up to fate alone. If Octavia had her doubts, then she would trust the heart that trusted Mixoly¡¯s instead.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.¡±

 [EXTRA] 94.5. Ruined Light, Part I

    On an average night, this was around the time Lucian came home.

    ¡°Home¡± was subjective, granted. Even months later, they could hardly call it a home, borrowed as it was. It was a miracle they hadn¡¯t been forcibly removed. They were practically renting, at this point. The innkeeper was kind, and they had their ages to thank for such permission. Lucian¡¯s devotion was a strong incentive, much the same. Not once had they been indebted, nor had their payments faltered. The little room was theirs to keep, a home in its own way. It was the smallest of sanctuaries. It wasn¡¯t meant to house one person alone, for how it came with two beds. He¡¯d gotten used to sharing one by choice, regardless.

    He couldn¡¯t stop himself from looking out the window. It didn¡¯t matter that the motion was newly useless. It was a reflex he hadn¡¯t curbed, by which Lucian would amble down the road with exhaustion veiling his face and sweat plaguing his skin. On good days, it was a byproduct of admirable labor. On days far more frequent, Theo suspected it was the other problem.

    Even now, he¡¯d gone through the routine steps of making Lucian¡¯s bed and laying out fresh clothes. He¡¯d thrown together what simple foods he could possibly coax the boy into eating tonight. He¡¯d already dampened the rags that would be necessary to cool Lucian¡¯s skin when he was inevitably wracked with sweats again. There was a part of Theo that knew better. Logically, the knowledge was there. Emotionally, it hadn¡¯t fully sunk in.

    The innkeeper didn¡¯t understand the motions of his hands. It was an incredible frustration that left his heart burning painfully, for how there was no guiding light at his side to translate. Even now, the hopeful half of him swore it was a temporary absence. He¡¯d be home soon. He¡¯d bring along a smile he could hardly assemble, born solely for the sake of Theo¡¯s soul. He¡¯d gift the room with what little sparkle he had left in his eyes, and Theo would bless him with all of the love that was possible to give. It was overflowing, useless, aimless as it pooled in his heart instead. He couldn¡¯t offer it to eyes that wouldn¡¯t open.

    Is this your brother?

    She¡¯d had to resort to writing. It was the least of his stressors.

    He doubted he¡¯d screamed, empty and reflexive as the action would¡¯ve been. The entire revelation was a blur, really. It wasn¡¯t as though they had family left to bury him. It wasn¡¯t as though they had a place left to bury him at all. For how carefully they¡¯d draped opaque blankets atop most of his body, Lucian could¡¯ve passed as asleep. His face was visible, at least. It took time to realize the coverings weren¡¯t a gesture of respect. It took longer to find out why.

    Theo doubted he¡¯d ever sleep soundly again, for the mental image that haunted him in turn. At the very least, it was, undoubtedly, Lucian. His face, newly scarred or otherwise, was eternally beautiful. The collar of his sweater hadn¡¯t always been that red, if memory served. There was an urge to tear the blankets off completely, at the time, if not solely for the sake of drinking in a tragedy he¡¯d earned the right to witness. Lucian was his, after all.

    We salvaged what we could.

    That was the only reason he didn¡¯t.

    If he¡¯d cried that night, he couldn¡¯t recall. If he¡¯d cried tonight instead, he hadn¡¯t registered the tears. Where he was to go from here was a mystery. Theo could count on one hand the number of times he¡¯d gone further than the immediate vicinity of the inn. Selbright was vast and unknown. Sustaining himself would be Hell for more reasons than one. The innkeeper was kind to him, to be fair. In the wake of what had come to pass, he supposed he¡¯d earned that much pity. His age helped. His hearing helped. Something about both was irritating, and yet he indulged whatever spoke to survival.

    He didn¡¯t dare sleep in his own bed. It was abnormal, if not outright sacrilegious. Freshly-made or not, he nestled himself beneath the fluffy covers of Lucian¡¯s bed with care. They still carried his scent, and he stole all that remained of a light stolen from the world in turn. Eyes shut or not, Lucian¡¯s face was there. Theo mentally did what he could to remove the scars, let alone the hypothetical disrespect a cruel death had offered him. It was as much in the interest of preserving the boy''s pure memory as it was for the sake of stemming the nausea. He wondered if it had hurt. He still hadn¡¯t entirely figured out the rationale.

    There was no stemming the rapid pounding of his heart, by comparison. Darkness brought no peace, and he grasped at what little remnants of life remained at his fingertips. He couldn¡¯t help the way he gripped the covers tighter, his fingernails threatening to slice clean through the fabric. Lucian wasn¡¯t the only one who hurt, maybe. Breathing was a trial, and Theo struggled more with each passing second. Lucian was just here. Lucian was just at his side. It was sudden enough to be unbelievable. Savoring what remained wasn¡¯t helping. If anything, it was making it worse. He was fairly sure he still wasn¡¯t crying. Whatever had taken its place was far less preferable.

    It was ironic, the way he was left numb in much the same bed as one who¡¯d lost his heart. Granted, it didn¡¯t come with everything else that had ruined Lucian. Theo rolled onto his side, torn between indulging in the last sanctuary of Lucian¡¯s warmth and escaping tactile memories that had begun to burn. It left aching fingers scraping metal, and he flinched.

    He parted the covers slightly, peering beneath the fluffy warmth on his left. He¡¯d only gotten to see the piccolo once. He stared for a solid ten seconds, one raised hand clasping the blankets alone. Technically, that was just as much of a momento.

    He¡¯d never pressed Lucian on it, intriguing as the sight had been. He doubted he¡¯d forget the light any time soon. Stolen sound was irrelevant, and the ethereal radiance that Lucian¡¯s breath had offered up was inexplicable. Most importantly, it was beautiful, and that was what had mattered. For the singular experience the silent song had blessed him with, Theo was almost convinced it had been a dream. He¡¯d never get the chance to ask. It was one of many regrets, although far less searing than the rest.

    It had still succumbed to Lucian¡¯s touch, at some point. Theo lowered his hand, trading fabric aloft for fingers upon the cool material. It chilled his skin in turn, and the sensation was welcome. It was no replacement for Lucian by any means. It was still company in a bed far too empty. Again, his eyes fell closed. His heart still burned in the worst way. If nothing else, it was something different to focus on.

    Help me.

    His heart could¡¯ve exploded. For a moment, burning be damned, Theo swore it did.

    Every sorrowful emotion immediately gave way to fear. It was the sharpest terror he¡¯d ever felt in his life, and Theo recoiled with such force that he met the floor instantly. He hit his head on the way down, the throbbing pain that followed irrelevant in the face of his pounding heart. Through eternal silence came that which was new. It was, with certainty, not supposed to be there. The sensation was indescribable, by which imagining artificially would¡¯ve been futile. It wasn¡¯t quite literal, if that was what literal was supposed to be. He was breathless for a new reason entirely.

    He couldn¡¯t shake the horror that came with two words, unwelcome in every way. Even outside, they would¡¯ve been intimidating. He couldn¡¯t decide whether to panic or pry. Theo¡¯s eyes darted frantically around the all-too-empty room, spearing into darkened corners time after time. He had nothing to show for thoughts far too intrusive.

    Help me.

    The second time was no less petrifying, even on guard as he was. His heart once more threatened to burst, battling to escape his chest. The rush was painful, and one hand was left grasping desperately at his useless lungs. It was nondirectional. So, too, were his hands in tandem, once he found the strength to smash them together.

    Who are you?

    It was a wasted effort, probably, more instinctive than anything. It was all he had. For the four syllables he¡¯d been cursed with in total, each had settled far too deep for comfort. There was the possibility he was talking to himself. That was even more terrifying, and he couldn¡¯t wrap his head around the concept.

    I need you.

    It wasn¡¯t him. It definitely, absolutely was not him. His heart would never return to a normal rhythm again. Again were Theo¡¯s hands shouting with every frantic motion.

    Who are you?

    He was aggressive, trembling fingers falsely vicious as they shot venom at nothing. It was more than a farce. Somehow, all that returned was harmless. He¡¯d expected otherwise. It didn¡¯t make it any more tolerable.

    I am one who destroys what is precious.

    He earned no clarity. If anything, it was getting frustrating. Theo still wasn¡¯t sure exactly where to aim his hostilities. Bound to the carpet, they fell solely in front of him each time. Where are you?

    Above you.

    His panic took on a new flavor entirely. Once more were his eyes chasing shadows, weakened moonlight sneaking between curtains offering little support. He was surely alone. For his peace of mind and safety alike, that much needed to be true. Theo raised his head higher, and it left only the bed above.

    Show yourself, he signed with false confidence.

    I am here.

    ¡°Here¡± was debatable. He rose to his feet slowly, bracing against the mattress in the process. He¡¯d already expected isolation in Lucian¡¯s sanctuary. It left the piccolo, cursed with a blunted shimmer in the wake of obstructed moonlight. Again, he was staring, resting his elbows against the bed as he leaned closer.

    Where? he finally tried.

    I am before you.

    Theo blinked. Baffling as it was, the intruding voice wasn¡¯t quite as shocking anymore. He didn¡¯t enjoy getting used to it. With his eyes locked firmly onto the little piccolo, he tilted his head. It never stopped his inquisitive hands.

    The piccolo?

    Yes.

    He flinched. And you¡¯re talking to me?

    It is so.

    It was extremely possible that grief had driven him insane. Theo hadn¡¯t expected it to happen so quickly.

    Tell me who you are.

    It is as I have stated. I am one who destroys what is precious.

    Theo frowned. Every motion was tinted with annoyance. I mean your name.

    The interloping voice hesitated for a moment. I am called Mixoly.

    He raised an eyebrow. He tested the name on his fingers, strange as it was. Mixoly?

    Yes.

    With hesitation of his own, he crawled his way back onto the bed. It left the piccolo resting at his knees, and his heart calmed its rapid rush in just the slightest. You can understand me, Theo stated.

    Through your heart alone.

    He eyed the small instrument warily. What does that mean?

    You need not motion. Your heart will suffice, for what intent is to be shared.

    Every word was vague, if not confusing. That was annoying in its own way. I don¡¯t know what that means, he admitted.

    Speak from within, and I shall hear your voice.

    He didn¡¯t have one, really. If he did, it earned little usage. He rarely tried. Theo took a guess, forgoing his hands altogether. Like this?

    Yes.

    It was almost distressing. Hearing was off-putting enough. The idea of his thoughts being raided was its own flavor of horrifying. He earned a chill that seized his skin.

    I shouldn¡¯t be able to hear you, he insisted.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    I say again, it is your heart through which you receive my words.

    That didn¡¯t make him feel any better. Still, it was genuinely easier than signing. Why can I hear you?

    We are bonded.

    Theo raised an eyebrow, prodding the piccolo with one curious fingertip. Bonded?

    I am yours, just as you are mine.

    He hadn¡¯t exactly consented to such. He didn¡¯t understand it in the first place. Either way, it still left a hole. Weren¡¯t you Lucian¡¯s?

    I was. So, too, was he my own.

    One of those made sense. I remember you.

    Do you?

    Theo inched closer, shifting forward on his knees along the sheets. He played you once. You made light.

    The hum he found in return fell somewhere between approval and endearment. His heart was pure.

    Theo didn¡¯t disagree. The thought was painful and warm all at once. He traced each key in turn with a wandering fingertip. Can you do that again?

    If you wish it to be so.

    His eyes widened. Can I do that?

    My heart is yours.

    Why me?

    I need you.

    Theo¡¯s fingers curled around the length of the piccolo in full. What do you need?

    I need your assistance.

    The new voice in his head--or his heart, maybe--was getting more vague by the minute. His free hand followed suit, scooping the other end into his palm experimentally. With what?

    You must free me.

    Theo raised the instrument aloft. From?

    I need--

    Whatever words were to follow were cleaved in two by blasting color. It didn¡¯t hurt. That meant nothing, and his eyes burst into violet.

    Scathing and sudden, the veil that besieged his vision was born of a blinding flash. White gave way in an instant to a haze he couldn¡¯t blink away, foggy and disturbingly indigo. He still tried his best, slamming his eyes shut time and time again as they watered mercilessly. It left the world no less obscured.

    Every peeking ounce of moonlight that crept past the curtains was mutilated, stained in turn by poisonous violets he couldn¡¯t escape. There was a moment where he feared he¡¯d hit his head too hard upon falling. Even so, it lasted far, far longer than one singular moment. At some point, the piccolo had slipped from his trembling hands, clammy palms bashing against his eyes. Theo squeezed them shut, gasping for a breath he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d lost.

    Behind the black that came with a cupped touch, it was muted. He feared removing his hands. He rubbed his eyes much harder than was necessary, bordering the threshold of pain. When he found the drive to crack them open once more, it was futile all the same. His world was still marred by the sickest haze in every way. There were colors beneath, if he squinted hard enough. He could still make out the greens of the covers. He could still identify the creams of the ceiling. He still had reds, blues, yellows, and all that rested in between. Not one remained untainted, ensnared in a fog he couldn¡¯t unsee. Blinking was useless. Breathing was useless. He couldn¡¯t stop his fingers from tangling into his hair.

    What is this? Theo pleaded from within. If he could scream that way, he would¡¯ve.

    Of what do you speak?

    There¡¯s something in my eyes.

    The voice was silent for a moment. I apologize.

    His heart skipped a beat painfully. For what?

    Do you hear it, as well?

    The deflection was just as painful. He really did want to scream. Hear what? I can¡¯t hear anything. I don¡¯t hear at all, he clarified.

    And again, he had his unfortunate silence inside. This is the curse I bring.

    The chill that claimed him started on his skin and seeped into his blood. Blurred by eternal violet or not, Theo couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the piccolo on the sheets once more. Why?

    I bring suffering. I do not wish to harm you, my child. I¡­harbor no malice.

    When will it stop?

    When I am free.

    He was lightheaded. Whether it was the concept or the experience, he wasn¡¯t sure. He could always close his eyes again. Still, that would sever his murky line of sight with the little instrument. Theo couldn¡¯t figure out why he cared. When will that be?

    You must find the Ambassador.

    Theo blinked several times over, useless as the motion was. The Ambassador?

    The one who may guide my return.

    To where?

    Above.

    Where¡¯s that?

    The place in which I am meant to be.

    It was too much too quickly. Every word was more confusing than the last, and the endless violet clinging to his vision was of more distress than all else. Somewhere between frustrated and panicked, his patience was rapidly eroding. I don¡¯t understand you. I don¡¯t understand any of this.

    My child, I--

    Don¡¯t call me that!

    Theo did what he could to make it loud, let alone stinging. Whether or not it worked was debatable. He still couldn¡¯t figure out exactly how it worked. Screaming with his heart was a foreign concept--literally, at least. Figuratively, he¡¯d done so all day.

    In truth, that came with a thought that left him doing the same yet again.

    You were Lucian¡¯s, right?

    I was.

    Did you do this to him, too?

    Theo earned silence. It was damning.

    Did you? he pressed.

    And when he got nothing a second time over, it was an answer all its own.

    His shaky hand was around the piccolo before he¡¯d realized. With as much ire as he could pour into one motion, Theo flung the instrument far across the empty room. He watched the way it slammed into the masonry, and still he felt no more satisfied. Blood once frozen now burned in the worst way. Even as it languished on the carpet, drowning in his permanent haze, he fixed the piccolo with whatever glare he could falsely concoct.

    That¡¯s why, isn¡¯t it?

    It was not my intent, of this I swear.

    So you did.

    I loved him.

    You¡¯re lying.

    I speak only the truth.

    Everything ached. Theo¡¯s eyes played only a tiny role. Then why would you hurt him like that?

    I regret all that I bring, and I lament all I have wrought. I was a curse upon him, and he deserved better. Even so, he held my heart, and I carried his. He was beautiful. He sought my liberation. For that, I owe him more than I could ever give. I am cruel, that I would seek the same from another in turn. I¡­know this.

    The voice in his heart paused. Theo held fast to his anger all the way through the silence. It is all that I can do. I have nothing. I need you. I should not be here. I have committed a sin, and I perhaps am not deserving of redemption. Still, child, I ask of you, please¡­help me.

    He thought to say no. It was more tempting than the alternative. ¡°Sin¡± didn¡¯t begin to describe it, should his assumption be correct. None of it made sense, for how a piccolo alone could do all that had been done unto Lucian. In that moment, his rage burned brighter than his curiosity. He couldn¡¯t help it.

    You hurt him, Theo repeated inwardly.

    I do not deny it.

    There was even a part that thought to hurt it back, although wounding a piccolo would¡¯ve been a trial. He could break it, maybe. He could put a face to it, berating the voice that plagued him in the way he much preferred. His hands could be as violent as he wished them to be. It wouldn¡¯t bring Lucian back. It would do enough.

    Theo glared. You hurt him.

    I have wronged you, then, just as well.

    He couldn¡¯t injure what he couldn¡¯t see.

    You hurt him.

    I did not deserve him.

    He couldn¡¯t see properly anyway, to be fair.

    You hurt him.

    I apologize.

    Fantasy or not, he just needed enough to rip apart.

    You hurt him.

    It was inside.

    I know.

    It needed to be outside.

    You hurt him.

    Theo never got an answer. At the very least, it didn¡¯t come with words.

    Violet be damned, he found gold. It was the inverse, bursting and silky as it rivaled the moon beyond the curtains. He¡¯d thought they¡¯d fallen from the rungs, for a moment, for how the room was flooded with starlight. The shade was unnatural, and a glow meant for the night sky was born within four walls alone. His eternal haze was miserable, poisonous as it tangled with the gentle gleam. The sight was as ethereal as it was unfortunate. Theo lamented it.

    He was mostly occupied with processing the scene, by which appendages and delicate features were born of luminescence. Theo¡¯s eyes, blighted as they were by haunting indigo, soaked in every last drop of her sparkle. She was beautiful.

    She was silent. She stared, and Theo stared back. Her feet never once touched the floor, aloft beyond the discarded piccolo. What hatred he¡¯d harbored fizzled and scattered, replaced by something he couldn¡¯t pinpoint. She was far from human, surely. Even so, every motion spoke to the opposite. If they were arms, they were tethered to one another. If it was a face, an eyeless gaze fell to scrape the carpet. Theo leaned forward slightly, drinking in what he could through his tainted vision. She only shied away yet more.

    His heart was irrelevant. She was right there, and signing was instinctive. Who are you?

    She was just as quiet, and the voice that touched him within was just as timid. I say once more, child, that I go by Mixoly.

    Theo tensed. His eyes flickered to the piccolo below her. You were in there?

    She nodded. That, too, was strikingly human. That is my vessel. What you now witness is what I am.

    His eyes flickered between them both. He was still more than overwhelmed, granted. Regardless, her glow was almost calming. He clung to it through hazy violet. Where he sought to pelt her with every question that raced through his head, she cut him off.

    And, that you could witness me at all, the Ambassador awaits.

    Theo rose to his feet, his steps towards her surprisingly steady in a blurring world. You said you need the Ambassador, right?

    Should I find the Ambassador, never more will I curse another. So, too, will you be free.

    Hypothetically, it would be its own revenge. Part of him would be fine banishing Lucian¡¯s tormentor. A greater part of him struggled to recapture the same rage. As to why her visage made a difference, he was unsure. He was the one who¡¯d asked to put a name to a face, after all.

    Did you ask Lucian for help, too?

    I have begged for the aid of many. Each time, it is I who has failed them.

    But he still tried, right?

    He did.

    Theo¡¯s hands stilled. There was no gaze he could meet, for how her radiant face was utterly blank. He tried anyway, peering up at her from below. Did he find anything?

    He could not. It is no simple task.

    And still, wracked with a curse beyond Theo¡¯s understanding even now, Lucian had given what he could. It was so like him. The thought was almost as comforting as the soft glow before him. If he reached out and touched it, he wondered what would happen.

    Did he love you back?

    I do not know. I had wronged him. Had I earned his hatred, it would not be unjustified.

    He knelt down carefully, somewhat hesitant to peel his eyes from the floating figure as he reclaimed the little instrument from the floor. He tried to look upon it with anger at least once more. He failed. It wasn¡¯t intentional. Just as before, he ran his fingertips along the length of the smooth metal.

    Would you hate me, then?

    Theo¡¯s eyes snapped to hers--or lack thereof, rather. Why would I? he asked with his heart.

    That I have hurt him, she spoke within weakly.

    He hesitated. There was no good answer. As recently as ten minutes ago, he wouldn¡¯t have questioned it. Still, even as his vision swam and his thoughts raced, she stayed almost pitiful. When he shook his head, it was a shock even to himself. She flinched, and that was just as human.

    I don¡¯t think so, Theo admitted.

    How? she asked. She sounded as surprised as he felt.

    You said it wasn¡¯t on purpose. You said that none of this is on purpose. You don¡¯t want to be here, right?

    She paused. At last, she nodded, practically curled in on herself. This is not where I am meant to be. I simply wish to return to Above. I have¡­never meant to--

    Then I don¡¯t hate you, he interrupted. If I help you, this won¡¯t happen to anyone else, right?

    I swear it to be true.

    Once more, Theo¡¯s attention fell to the piccolo in his upturned palms. Her starry glow did the metal justice, and it sparkled wonderfully in her presence. That, too, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to hate. Then I¡¯ll help you.

    She was quiet, as he was learning her to be. Then, she relaxed, unfurling from her tight posture. Theo offered her his ruined eyes, and she gave him those she didn¡¯t have. I¡­you have my utmost gratitude, my child. I cannot¡­thank you enough. I am indebted to you in every way, for what I have brought down upon you.

    He didn¡¯t want her apologies, nor did he need them. In truth, he hadn¡¯t entirely decided how much of his decision was driven by her pleas alone. Even now, his traveling fingertips surely crossed paths with where Lucian¡¯s had once been. For all that had been done to him, the resplendent light born of his breath was unforgettable. Try as he might, it wasn¡¯t an image Theo could associate with hatred. It was soft, just as he¡¯d been. Lucian didn¡¯t quite match poorly with the luminous voice that begged for salvation.

    Theo¡¯s heart had ached from stagnant love, pooling and undistributed. For Lucian¡¯s sake, he could put it somewhere else.

 [EXTRA] 94.5. Ruined Light, Part II

    Selbright was sizable. That much was a given. He hadn¡¯t made the mistake of thinking otherwise, although raising his guard against a city shockingly large didn¡¯t make navigation any easier. Leaving the inn was bad enough. Traversing Selbright itself was a trial. The concept of leaving its boundaries was horrifying, and the idea of escaping Mezzoria was a nightmare. The latter was counterproductive, anyway. Lucian would¡¯ve killed him.

    To his immense relief, breaching the borders of the continent was unnecessary. Mixoly had said as much, and Theo had breathed one singular sigh of relief over it. It was the closest he got to narrowing down his radius of inspection, for how the remainder of Mezzoria was still of prime suspicion. For the life of him, he couldn¡¯t name a single city outside of Selbright.

    The odds of the Ambassador residing within his general proximity, at this point, were close to none. He¡¯d scoured what he could with hesitant steps and endless stress. Some of it was solely by proxy of a world far too large. Some was secondary to the enormity of the task. A fair amount still faulted his ruined sight.

    He¡¯d mostly grown used to it. It didn¡¯t quite alleviate the aggravation that came with a hazy veil upon a colorful world. On more nights than one, Theo had sent his prayers high amongst the stars where Lucian could grab hold. It was the only place he could think to share his burdens, by which another would know his suffering. If Mixoly had anything to say about it, it was supposed to be worse. He didn¡¯t feel particularly lucky.

    The cover of night was simultaneously a blessing and a curse, for how it blanketed his eyes and eased his pain. There was peace to be found in darkness, violet absorbed by that which blotted out the world naturally. He strongly considered banishing the sun forever, should it be within his power. Curtains stayed shut. Candles stayed silent. Lights stayed rejected. His alone was an exception, ironic as it was.

    Do you feel anything?

    I hear nothing.

    Theo sighed. I don¡¯t know where else to go.

    My child, it is¡­likely that the Ambassador is not in this place.

    It wasn¡¯t an appealing idea, given what leaving would entail. How far can you call for them?

    Not as far as I would like.

    And you¡¯re sure they¡¯d hear?

    Just as you had heard my voice that night.

    Theo gripped the little piccolo tightly, struggling to ignore the creeping chill in his blood. Every step through steeping shadow should¡¯ve been more intimidating. He had what he needed, should it come to that. That was a comfort, and he was confident enough with it. He¡¯d seen enough of the negatives, by which the city wasn''t as pristine as Lucian had once presented it. If he had to kill anyone, it would be in self-defense alone. It wouldn¡¯t be hard.

    His eyes flickered between the darkened road and her vessel as he walked, caged in his grasp. He still hadn¡¯t completely decided how to refer to her, of the two options he was given. She¡¯d differentiated. Anything with the word ¡°agony¡± in it was unsettling. Still, it was Mixoly¡¯s choice. It wasn¡¯t his place to judge.

    Do you have any ideas?

    Theo, I say to you once more, I truly do not believe the Ambassador to be in this place.

    What were you even doing here to begin with? he tried. When Lucian found you.

    I sought a heart that would set me free.

    It wasn¡¯t exactly what he meant. He knew better than to press her on vague answers, at this point. It was a useless battle. But it was here. That means something, right?

    Mixoly was silent. She was good at that. Theo sighed once more.

    Where did he find you? We didn¡¯t try that yet.

    I know not the way, but it was a barren place. It was he alone who reached for me, devoid of foreign eyes by his side.

    That could¡¯ve been anywhere. It clarified nothing. For once, he pushed. Were there buildings?

    There were not.

    Or people?

    Only him.

    Do you remember anything else?

    Not of merit. The natural world awaited him.

    Dissecting her words was always annoying, cryptic as she was. He¡¯d never admit to it. Instead, Theo stifled a groan and took a guess. Do you mean something nature-ish?

    Elaborate.

    A field, a forest, trees, stuff like that.

    Perhaps.

    A ¡°yes¡± would¡¯ve been nice. If he found you, it had to be in Selbright.

    What would you hope to gain by returning to that place?

    Already, Theo was reviewing what mental map he¡¯d concocted of the city. He was near the northern block, probably, if the specific placement of specific houses meant anything. At no point had he followed any road all the way down. If one terminated beyond the borders of Selbright, he would never have known. What lingered outside was incomprehensible. His path was aimless and straight.

    I¡¯m retracing your steps, he explained. Maybe if we go where you showed up, we¡¯ll find something.

    You seek the Ambassador where his heart touched my own, then?

    Theo nodded to himself. It was a reflex. We can try.

    If that yields nothing, what next will you do?

    He hadn¡¯t planned that far ahead. He didn¡¯t particularly want to, for the chill that once again poisoned his veins. Walking wasn¡¯t feasible. The Ambassador absolutely needed to be in Selbright--if not the general vicinity, at the very least. To go near the tracks was a death sentence for his heart instead. They¡¯d salvaged what they could. They hadn¡¯t gotten everything. If he looked down and found a missing fragment of his love, Theo might just be tempted to do the same.

    The thought left him lightheaded. Vomiting in the middle of the road at ten o¡¯clock at night was a bad idea. It took effort to stem his nausea, and yet more to banish the image. Theo staggered briefly, resting one palm against a flickering streetlight for balance. Swallowing his distress felt miserable. It didn¡¯t matter that he¡¯d futilely searched every night since his fingers had first met the instrument. The Ambassador was here. There was no alternative.

    Are you alright?

    Shaking it off wasn¡¯t happening. Still, he could cling to her voice. I¡¯m okay.

    Would you¡­wish that we should--

    I can keep going, Theo interrupted within. It¡¯s okay.

    Mixoly didn¡¯t chide him. He appreciated that. There was a part of him that thought to call her to his side, if not for the comfort of companionship alone. Empty streets were hardly a threat even now, and still he held his breath as he trailed the length of the one he¡¯d chosen. Theo had no idea what direction he traversed, nor was he keeping watch over the rising moon. It didn¡¯t particularly matter. He could claw his way back to the inn from most starting points in the city, at this point. If his eyes chased the stars, he¡¯d poison them in turn. Drinking in a murky sky was the closest he was going to get to a mental reset. He tried for longer than he should¡¯ve.

    He half-expected Mixoly to change her mind about scolding him, given exactly how long he followed the linear road in abject silence--her flavor of silence, anyway. If the Ambassador was going to be this difficult to track down, it was the least Theo could do to calculate some choice words of reproach once they met. There had come a point where Theo had stopped inquiring as to the nature of Mixoly¡¯s needs, specific as they were and every bit as elaborate. He still couldn¡¯t quite wrap his head around them.

    The Ambassador alone was a mystery. He hadn¡¯t processed the sin, born of far more than Lucian¡¯s suffering alone. Pitiful as she was, he couldn¡¯t see her as anything more than vulnerable. He didn¡¯t loathe the idea of staying with her, as much as it had once burned. She was unnatural in more ways than one, regardless. Every time he blinked, he earned a reminder of that much.

    Theo couldn¡¯t put a name to their relationship. She¡¯d made their bond sound beautiful. They were partners, maybe. It was the closest he could come to a solid label. He hadn¡¯t tested the term aloud--or within--largely out of fear of rejection. Either way, it almost sounded nice. He wouldn¡¯t have minded the concept.

    How long he¡¯d walked was debatable. The ascending moon did him no favors, and Theo had only distraction to blame. He was most definitely lost, if not more than intentionally. What corner of Selbright his focused steps had carried him to was unknown. It was the cusp of the city¡¯s grasp, surely, if the sharp cut-off into sprawling greenery meant anything. Even now, he had absolutely no idea what direction he was facing. ¡°Barren¡±, if Mixoly¡¯s phrasing was to be believed, was an understatement.

    The sea of lush grass and swaying sprouts that thrived under flooding moonlight was endless. It stretched far too distantly, by which two minutes more of walking would surely leave him drowning in a leafy ocean. The sight was almost disorienting, if not lovely in its own way. How such bountiful nature, pure and untouched, could rest beyond a city so heavily developed was beyond him. His hazy curse touched every rising blade at his feet with toxins undeserved. That, by comparison, he hated.

    Is this it? Theo asked, raising the piccolo aloft in the slightest. It wasn¡¯t as though the instrument could see. Still, it was almost polite.

    I know not the exact place, my child. I have stated that it was your brother whose heart took precedence.

    Part of him wanted to yell at her, given that he¡¯d come all this way. Logically, it wasn¡¯t her fault. Nothing was, usually. Try calling for the Ambassador from here.

    Mixoly was quiet for a moment. I will endeavor, she relented at last.

    He could never hear it when she did. Theo gave her the peace she needed, sinking deeper into the grassy sea that threatened to swallow him whole. He couldn¡¯t prove he was in the right place. The tiny twinge of hope in his heart that spoke otherwise was his one comfort. If he was correct, then every footstep ran the risk of overlapping with Lucian¡¯s of so long ago. That was a second comfort, then. His gaze fell to the sneaking weeds that snagged against his socks, and he left his eyes in the dirt as he walked. Lucian¡¯s light was down there, maybe. Lucian had reached for Mixoly¡¯s vessel on much the same ground, maybe.

    He wasn¡¯t going to cry. He wished he could. The numbness that always edged out his tears was a disease, and he hated it. Lucian deserved tears. Lucian deserved much more than Theo could give him from here.

    Mixoly deserved his attention. Still, again, it drifted. It wasn¡¯t a conscious choice. Theo liked to imagine she understood, given the way she¡¯d once touched the same heart. He sometimes wondered if she grieved. Lucian wasn¡¯t the first, apparently. Mixoly had a lot of grieving to do, if that was the case.

    She was taking her time. It wasn¡¯t his place to interrupt her. He couldn¡¯t help it, and the words settled into his heart with curiosity in lieu of impatience. Theo stole the stars with foggy violet to weigh them down. Did you hear anything?

    I did not.

    Mixoly¡¯s words weighed on his heart instead. He thought to press her to try again. If nothing else, he was onto something, surely. The expanse of vast green was eternal, spreading far beyond what his blighted eyes could capture in either direction. He could circle the city from the outside. It would take time, without a doubt. It was better than taking the train. Anything was.

    Theo mentally flipped a coin. He never made it all the way left. He never so much as turned to face the city at his back in full. Where sprawling nature was a world for himself and Lucian alone, no longer was the moon his sole interruption.

    The boy who still claimed the absolute border of Selbright beneath his feet was motionless. His shoes were firmly settled onto the solid road where Theo¡¯s scraped only plush grass. His sudden visage was startling, and Theo stumbled in reverse with a pounding heart to show for it. He clutched the piccolo in an iron grip, involuntary to a degree that his knuckles strained with pure white. Isolated as he¡¯d been, it was his own fault for not paying attention. Where words would fail, born of his hands or otherwise, he went with the easier option first. He liked to imagine whatever glare he could concoct was enough of a deterrent.

    His interloper shook his head, waving gloved hands defensively as his lips moved. That was just as useless, no matter how many times Theo had tried to master it. He was going too fast, anyway. In his defense, he hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. The correct answer was to leave. His path to civilization was blocked, unfortunately, although he hadn¡¯t planned to return yet regardless.

    Run.

    Theo stiffened, his eyes snapping to the little instrument locked in his death grip. What?

    Run!

    From?

    If he chanced a look, his stranger¡¯s eyes had followed the same path. As to what interest the boy had in the same piccolo, Theo didn¡¯t want to know. He didn¡¯t need to know. He wrote it off as a passing curiosity, versus what alternatives there could¡¯ve been. Holding onto his glare was becoming difficult. His breath was equally difficult to hold onto.

    Theo, please, run! I beg of you!

    It was a panic he¡¯d never once heard in her voice. Even now, the boy¡¯s gaze was fixed firmly on the little instrument. When Theo stole one experimental step in reverse, his stranger stepped forward. His lips were still moving. His soft eyes were deceptive. The hand he extended was confusing, perhaps just as much as Mixoly¡¯s pleas. When he bent forward to Theo¡¯s level, their heights imbalanced, the bulky case claiming his back in full made zero sense. He gestured to Mixoly¡¯s vessel.

    Theo!

    That was enough.

    Theo gritted his teeth, pivoted sharply on one heel, and stole into the night. If the boy was calling him, there was no way he would¡¯ve known. He was terrified to check if the stranger had opted to give chase regardless. Moving forward was instinctive, foolish as it was. His desperate dash had forgone left and right in equal measure, let alone any path back to the city. It left him sprinting deeper into swelling green, by which he¡¯d surely trip and drown in the grassy sea.

    Not once did his grasp around the piccolo weaken. Moonlight was his one guide, mired by swimming indigo that left him disoriented with every pounding step against the earth. He gasped for air he couldn¡¯t find. How long he was supposed to be running was debatable. From what he was supposed to be running was a mystery altogether.

    What¡¯s going on? Theo pressed, never once slowing his sprint.

    You must not go near that boy. Heed my words!

    But why?

    Where I am at risk, so, too, are you endangered, my child. Seek safety immediately, I implore you!

    His heart threatened to burst. What do you mean? Does he want to hurt me?

    It is not you!

    Scrambling for words within was exceedingly difficult, overwhelmed by fear and confusion as he was. Does he want to hurt you?

    Mixoly¡¯s words, too, carried equal fear. Theo, that boy possesses that which is--

    He didn¡¯t get the chance to hear her out. He doubted she would¡¯ve finished the thought, regardless. He¡¯d made enough distance, ideally, between himself and his supposed assailant-to-be. It meant nothing. He liked to imagine the one behind was the only one of concern. Theo skidded to a halt so sharply that he nearly tripped, dirt kicking up beneath his frantic stop. Where the city had provided a civilized backdrop to a gloved stranger of concern, this one fit in splendidly with the flooding starlight so high above.

    His presence was almost as surreal as the leafy ocean itself. He was out of place and a perfect fixture all at once, tranquil and crowned by what moonbeams saw fit to grace him. This deep into an environment of, for all intents and purposes, nothing, Theo would¡¯ve been open to the idea of anything except company. He wrapped the boy up in the murky violet of his panicked gaze. It was a terrible deterrent, and he earned more soft eyes upon him instead. The moment the boy¡¯s own attention drifted to the same piccolo, Theo¡¯s blood turned to lead.

    Theo, run! Mixoly repeated, every bit as desperate.

    Him, too? he asked with terror of his own.

    Go!

    It wasn¡¯t enough. Why do all these people want to hurt you?

    Your own are not of concern. It is those to whom they have bonded that would serve to endanger us both! Theo, they must not know I am with you, please!

    Again was he left only with tentative steps in reverse. Again were they countered by gentle steps forward, silent words spilling from moving lips. What do they want with you?

    That you would aid me, they would strike you down! That I would be free, I know not!

    The boy at his front was far from aggressive. That, too, was possibly deceiving. He was pointing to the piccolo, now. There was enough context. They would kill me so that I don¡¯t help you?

    I cannot say so with certainty, but I would suspect as much!

    He didn¡¯t look the killing type. To be fair, Mixoly hadn¡¯t looked the sinning type. There was something more than lead that warmed Theo''s veins.

    Mixoly, he began, if I die, will someone else help you?

    I know not, my child, but that is irrelevant now! Please, your life is at risk! I beg you to run!

    The boy was close. He was far, far closer than was comfortable. His smile, soft and delicate, was far from reassuring. His hand, extended peacefully, was far from mediating. His eyes, tranquil and inviting, were far from safe. Adrift in a rippling sea, running would¡¯ve been impossible, regardless.

    Lucian would¡¯ve done it. Theo needed no more motivation than that. The burn that followed for another heart entirely only made him more confident. He¡¯d never actually done this before--not this way.

    He¡¯d felt the warmth. He¡¯d embraced the sparkle. He¡¯d let the stars grace his lips and the sun ignite upon his breath. He¡¯d indulged in that much time and time again, claiming his one compensation prize for eternal violet. It was his right, born of love he hadn¡¯t yet come to understand. Of the movements, Theo had no fear. He could trust in Mixoly¡¯s touch and let her heart crash into his own. Helplessness was far more terrifying, and he¡¯d rather burn alive than submit.

    The moment her vessel brushed against his skin, he was aflame from within. The scorching pulse in his heart dove into his lungs, his blood boiling in turn. Along every key, brilliance battled to breach his skin. Theo inhaled the night sky and exhaled starlight, wrathful and poisoned with ire.

    His light erupted along a song unheard, spiraling somewhere deep into his core. Where it was silent, it resonated in his soul all the same. Every note was involuntary, every motion guided by power surely not his own. To feel it was enough. To see it explode into the darkened evening was enough, radiance left to burst and spear through both chilled air and intruding indigo. His song, if nothing else, was still pure beyond poisoned eyes. It was a blessing in place of a curse, and Theo clung to it with all he had. The stolen light of the sun in the depths of night was resplendent, barreling down on the boy without remorse. It was a miracle that he dodged.

    It wasn¡¯t by much, and not without difficulty. Eyes wide with shock reflected a starry gleam where sizzling light had just barely missed his face. His retreat was skillful, granted, swift steps claimed in time with calculated movements of his arms. Another case slid down slender shoulders, just as bulky by comparison to the boy who donned it. Where Theo was left to catch his breath, it left time for silver locks to sparkle beneath milky light paling in comparison to his own. Never once did he tear his eyes away from the boy¡¯s hurried motions, deftly flipping and unsheathing in turn. So, too, were those startled eyes on him.

    What are you doing? Mixoly practically cried.

    Theo braced against the soft earth as much as was possible. I won¡¯t let them hurt you.

    Theo, please, you do not understand!

    He wanted to argue. He was distracted by the accordion, mostly. It wasn¡¯t as lustrous under the same generous moon, and yet it filled the boy¡¯s arms in an instant. Quick fingers settled onto every key, unhesitant in place of an expression far from such. Their gap was reasonable. It still left the distress in the boy¡¯s eyes more than visible from afar. Just once, he gestured to the instrument in his arms slowly, fixing one pointed finger on a piccolo raised to readied lips. Whatever words followed were lost. Theo raised an eyebrow.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Theo, stop this and run!

    He shook his head, never lowering the piccolo. I won¡¯t let anyone hurt you. I promise.

    Theo!

    Never had he heard his name in her voice so frequently, let alone so desperately. He almost liked it. I¡¯ll protect you, he swore.

    My child, please!

    He didn¡¯t let Mixoly object any further. She was stubborn, and he¡¯d learned her to be that way. Her heart was far more familiar than it should¡¯ve been. For that, he¡¯d be just as stubborn. [?]</a>

    Theo took what she had. She didn¡¯t object, although he wondered if she could¡¯ve in the first place. Once more did his breath spark and his blood burst, gleaming rays woven of a silent song left hurtling forth. He spared no energy and offered no mercy, his soundless melody alight with brilliance that crashed to the ground again and again. He wasn¡¯t missing by any means. He never missed, sharpened eyes filling in where another sense failed.

    Evasion was a different issue entirely, and each spearing sunbeam that carved a path to the boy burned only his shadow. He was strikingly fast, his fingers more so. Where Theo could feel his touch rapidly stinging every key in sequence, foreign hands kept up with his own. That was one concern, useless as the accordion¡¯s voice was. The wind was his second problem.

    He first thought the spontaneous gust to be born of a strong night¡¯s breeze, harsh or otherwise. The tranquil grass spanning the length of their gap bowed deep, nearly flattened by the sudden storm that blasted forth along the clearing. It was immense, a gushing pressure that tangled with his hair and swept across his skin. It wasn¡¯t enough to make him stagger. It got close.

    Theo fought for his balance. The boy stilled in tandem. Even now, he was shouting something. That part didn¡¯t matter, and Theo took the opportunity to level his breathing. He¡¯s like me, he said within, more of a statement than a question.

    That boy shares a bond much the same as ours, Mixoly clarified.

    He had what he needed. Again, he was steady, his fingers tense enough to nearly ache. Is the accordion like you, too?

    She was quiet for a moment. There is no other like me.

    Theo seized what brief window of surprise he was offered, by which the boy¡¯s defenses faltered in place of peace. It was a futile effort on his part, and he was once more left to contend with the erupting sun in the dead of night. Raging golds put the stars above to shame, infinitely brighter and undoubtedly hotter. His luminous song left ray after ray of the stolen sun bursting outwards. There was little wind could do to counter his ruthless radiance, and yet the gales that stung him from beyond were shockingly sharp.

    In just the slightest, razors snuck into every rushing stream, slashing at his hands. Theo winced, gritting his teeth as he played regardless. He could believe it to be a warning, maybe, given the tethered skill his stranger was rapidly unraveling. How violent wind could truly be was debatable. Theo had suspicions. If the boy was holding back, he¡¯d burn brighter.

    Where the boy made to dodge his sailing light, Theo was hard-pressed to dodge wind itself. He tried anyway, never stilling his song as he mirrored every step. It left him nearly circling opposite the boy, a deadly spiral born of gusts and glows alike. It took time to close the gap, even if only slightly. Not once had the boy approached, content only to beat upon him with streaming gales from afar. Theo opted for the opposite, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that screamed for restraint.

    From a distance, he could shower the boy with starlight. Up close, he could bring the fury of a rupturing sun. Already, his breath was at work, and he embraced whatever white-hot burn in his lungs was possible to withstand. The strain on the boy¡¯s face as Theo tore through their feeble gap was palpable. Radiance spilled from his lips, ablaze on every note as his explosive song burned just the same.

    Theo could hardly stand to look at it, and yet he didn¡¯t dare close his eyes. The blinding flash of brilliance born of his breath was enough to make the boy flinch. Violet served him well, for once, the eternal veil dulling the vestiges of the flare. It wasn¡¯t enough to spare his opponent, eyes squeezed shut for a moment too long. A burst meant to blind pooled with fire instead, pulsing and gleaming as he pumped his shimmering blood into the night. From so near, his personal star could incinerate, maybe. It was as beautiful as it was deadly, and it splintered without grace.

    The remorseless breaths that shattered his compressed brilliance left white-hot afterimages, golden embers splattering the sky where the stars fell short. It was the closest to a nova he¡¯d get, a dying star unleashed unto a blessed boy. In the immediate aftermath, Theo wondered if he¡¯d killed him--or, at the very least, severely wounded him. He was lucky he hadn¡¯t wounded himself beyond the handful of splashing embers that stung his hands. He was far more unlucky in that he¡¯d burst upon nothing.

    If the boy was unscathed, his face surely spoke to the opposite. There was utter astonishment there, mixing well with what vaguely resembled genuine fear. His gusting ascent wasn''t eternal, nor was it astoundingly high. Still, ten feet or so was apparently enough, and the flattened blades of green below him spoke to that much. In any other circumstance, a gifted boy floating delicately to the earth below would¡¯ve been angelic. He was anything but. At the very least, he was on the defensive. Theo didn¡¯t let him rest.

    Where surging radiance fell short and bursting stars did little, he claimed Mixoly¡¯s light for himself. The searing breaths he offered up left him luminous of his own accord, trailing afterimages of falling stars left to call him home. Every swirling ribbon of gold was a threat, and every pulsing orb speckled the world with a galaxy of his own. Theo¡¯s blood bore the sickest of fireflies, glowing dangerously as they touched his peripheral vision. Each droplet of starlight nearly singed his skin as it passed him by. If they were a danger even to him, he¡¯d be doubly sure to make them worse on the way out.

    Theo was fairly certain that the boy was still restraining himself. The same razor-edged gales were biting into his hands once more, and yet it was his hands alone that bore the brunt of the assault. His face was there. His throat was there. The rest of him was there, extremely close and more than vulnerable. It was simultaneously a relief and incredibly confusing. He had little time to dwell on it, once more gritting his teeth and battling the pains that came with wind. Repelling it was impossible. If Theo couldn¡¯t rage against it, intangible as it was, he doubted his assailant could repel light itself. He really, truly would be left to evade, devoid of a genuine defense as he was.

    The solar system Theo had so carefully crafted was far from stagnant, rushing and spiraling in streams he could hardly manage. It was no true gale, and yet it was close enough of a copy. Even for what sharpened storms could bleed through his orbit, his radiant vortex left him untouchable. Maintaining it was a trial, and his brilliant song hung in the balance as he gave chase. It was never a full deterrent. Theo was the nucleus of his own star, for once, enveloped in Mixoly¡¯s light and savoring every last twinkle she could lend him. At the worst time imaginable, he admired it.

    And when he pulsed, he did so with grace and ire. His blood and his breath followed along, and the motion was strikingly natural. Swirling brilliance was every bit as violent, bursting with as much force as his searing lungs could give. He couldn¡¯t control it in full. It didn¡¯t matter. The spiraling galaxy he unleashed upon the boy was swift, and his speckled stars met their mark. He was confident he¡¯d hit something, given how the boy¡¯s face at last contorted with pain.

    Where Theo had battled through hurt, his opponent was no less resilient. Yet another gusting burst left him launched high, a song thrown to the ground traded for safety. It was his only escape from the full wrath of the night sky on earth, and he was once more ethereal as he descended with equal poise. Where Theo was a star, the boy was the eye of his own storm, consumed by flowing tempests that rushed along his skin. For how he melted so perfectly into the breezes born of his melody, he could pass for wind itself.

    Theo gave the same stars. He earned the same storm. Where he breathed pure light, it was gust after gust that impeded him. His hands hurt, battered by cruel winds time after time. The moment Theo felt his lungs begin to ache, he struggled not to panic. It was all he could do to clutch the piccolo tighter, double down, and steal Mixoly¡¯s love for her own sake.

    Where Theo was left fighting to catch his breath, the boy just barely reflected his distress. He had an advantage, granted, born of his instrument alone. It didn¡¯t ease the cost of his physical struggles. There was most definitely sweat shimmering on his skin. Theo was hardly immune to the same, and it streamed down his face in earnest by comparison.

    His glare couldn¡¯t sting as fiercely as his light, and yet he tried again regardless. The boy flinched beneath it anyway. He went for power over quantity once more, placing his faith in the rays of the sun as wavering breaths set his melody aflame. Fatigue was irrelevant. They burned just as hot and glowed just as bright, radiating against his fingertips as he steadied his aim.

    He¡¯d never killed anyone before. If the alternative was death, Theo didn¡¯t have a choice. If the alternative left Mixoly forsaken, it was doubly so. He¡¯d go for the boy¡¯s eyes. Whatever was to follow from there would be simple, ideally. If Lucian really loved her, he¡¯d understand.

    The moment he made to exhale and curse eyes not his own, it was towering blue that met his light. His sailing luminescence burst into showering debris, a pitiful nebula blighted by unyielding crystal. The ominous wall that rose well over twice his height was as opaque as it was sturdy, not one burn or crack left to blemish the barrier. His scathing assault left only flaking frost scattering to the grass below. It was sudden enough to make him stumble. The cold aura that radiated so near his skin was almost painful. It didn¡¯t match the wind. Theo threw his attention over his shoulder with such speed that he could¡¯ve snapped his neck.

    Where an accordion had cursed him with a storm, a cello cursed him with a blizzard. Theo recognized the gloves, taut around steady fingers. His stranger¡¯s movements were slower, granted, and yet no less skillful. If the glistening frost that crept along the innocent grass was any indicator, his song was an equal threat. Those eyes, too, had pooled with perplexing concern.

    Theo tensed as he swallowed what oxygen he could catch. There were two of them. This was now a crisis. It didn¡¯t change what needed to be done, nor what was at stake.

    With a tempest at his back and frost in front, he opted for the latter. If he couldn¡¯t incinerate the breeze, he¡¯d have a better chance against that which rose to meet his light head-on. He was hot. It was cold. It made enough sense. With scalding breaths, Theo once more gathered the stars in his lungs and set them free along his lips. The burn that breached his fingertips left his heart incandescent, and he bore down on the ice-blessed boy with what bursting beams he could muster. Every hurried footstep neglected the gap and exploited what little element of surprise he could find. So, too, did this boy flinch beneath his concocted glare. Theo hoped it burned whatever his light couldn¡¯t reach.

    His approach was met with resistance. The boy tore the bow across the strings with force, slow or otherwise, that rebelled against the sun in the worst way. Where Theo outdid him in speed, his opponent hardly needed to cling to the same. Yet again, it was rising crystal that erupted from below, neat and spearing with proximity so near that Theo genuinely did stagger. He was lucky it didn¡¯t steal his balance outright, the climbing glacier just barely failing to capture the tips of his shoes at birth. His radiant rays clashed once more with impossibly-thick ice, exploding into dazzling sprays of golden debris. The pitiful rain left him gritting his teeth in frustration, not one crack or crevice staining the towering barrier yet again.

    Theo pivoted on his heel and found only the same, residual from before and every bit as sturdy. It stole two means of escape, and he bolted sharply left. He didn¡¯t get far. For a third time over, the same icy barricade breached the earth, near and high as it loomed well above his head. If he pounded against it, he feared he¡¯d have little luck. He had a vague idea of where this was going.

    Panic set in, and still he at least tried. Theo skidded against churning sod as he dashed right, fumbling for breaths he couldn¡¯t catch. They weren¡¯t born of exhaustion alone. There, too, did a frozen tower come to bar his path. The chill that crept through the air was immense, biting his skin and sneaking into his burning lungs. He hated the way they compromised his scathing breaths. Cornered and cramped, he straddled the line between terror and pure aggravation.

    Through opaque aquamarine, glittering and untouched, he couldn¡¯t see either of his tormentors. Theo could hardly capture the splendor of the color to begin with, and a variable box painted with shining indigo was somehow more terrifying. He had the evening sky above, far beyond his reach. It was his one legitimate means of escape. It was completely inaccessible, and that, too, was exceedingly frustrating. He wouldn¡¯t have isolation between four walls for long, probably. If they really wanted to, they could crush him right here. He was somewhat surprised they didn¡¯t.

    Theo braced as much as was possible, leveling the little piccolo with his lips once more. He had one idea. It was extremely dangerous. It was more or less all he could come up with.

    What brilliance he¡¯d so carefully balanced in his blood was unfiltered. What starlight he¡¯d so delicately rationed in his veins was unleashed. What chains he¡¯d wrapped around his glow were severed, and the caution that came with grasping Mixoly¡¯s light was discarded. If splintering rays were futile, he¡¯d simply become the sun.

    He was used to claiming scattering streams and radiant ribbons, falsely concocting the stars and freeing what he could. His galaxy came with restrictions, handled with love as it was. He distributed it with breaths as powerful as they were precise, and he wove more along a silent melody so well-controlled. Theo had limits. They didn¡¯t necessarily need to exist.

    It was ice. He was light. It was cold. He was hot. He still clung to the concept with every forceful exhale. Theo¡¯s screams, lost aloud, were for Mixoly¡¯s vessel alone. He could feel the vibrations of the metal against his flying fingertips, given exactly how much he was exerting. The heat born of his blinding song was intolerable, radiance outright pouring from the dark and stars surely crashing to the earth from above.

    He could hardly bear to look at it head-on, lest his sight grow ever more compromised. Where luminescent strands and ribbons had once so vividly swirled, the speed he unleashed with his bright song was demonic. Strings of a fraying sun lashed violently against the icy walls as they spun, and he was once more the nucleus of a solar storm. It was more than that, maybe.

    What he couldn¡¯t hear, he could undoubtedly feel. He was somewhat convinced his skin would melt, embers splashing from his infernal spiral and terrorizing his arms. It wasn¡¯t enough to dull his soundless harmony. Theo only played faster, and his radiance only orbited quicker. Four frozen walls only enhanced the trapped heat of his brilliant vortex.

    Everything hurt. Everything burned. It was either him or them. If one was giving way in the absolute slightest, whether sloughing in the face of his hellish sunstorm or otherwise, he¡¯d never know. He¡¯d burn to ashes any second. He was already on his way there, and every breath he stole for Mixoly simply returned what was already hers. Where he exhaled light, he inhaled it just the same.

    The sudden blast of cool air that came with freedom was wildly disorienting. He¡¯d initially believed he¡¯d toppled at least one wall, if not breached it in some capacity. There¡¯d been no sensation of slack or submission, granted. When his surging, spiraling storm lashed deep in every direction, unholy radiance cleaved the night air rather than frozen defenses. His entrapment lay discarded in the wake of his blinding vortex, massive chunks of ice crushing the grass at his feet. The spontaneous absence of unfathomable heat was disorienting. It took his pupils far too long to readjust to the blackened night--blighted by his hazy veil or otherwise. Theo blinked heavily several times over. It was fatal.

    Where ice faltered, wind succeeded. He¡¯d somewhat forgotten it was a concern at all. The incredible gust that blasted him clean off his feet left him tumbling in reverse. He rolled twice over against the hard ground before coming to a stop, the piccolo spearing painfully into his chest at least once in the process. Theo didn¡¯t bother chasing the assailant he knew to be there, scrambling to his feet with frantic motions. The instrument never made it all the way up to his lips, no matter how quickly he tried to raise it.

    Again was wind his downfall, gales unseen careening into his stomach. His back smashed against the earth, and gusting pressure fought to curse him yet further. The latter wasn¡¯t painful, although resistance was an intense trial. The streaming tempest that flattened his hair in tandem with the grass below left him shackled by nothing. Pushing himself up onto his elbows was nearly impossible, as was lifting his hands in any capacity. Theo could hardly keep his eyes open at all, victimized by unforgiving winds that battered his face.

    Whatever footsteps left the world vibrating far too close sent his heart racing in turn. Tethered to the ground, every last one was a death sentence that reverberated through his scorched veins. There was surely more than one set. Something heavy came to rest behind him, if the strong rattle of the earth near to his head meant anything. Barred from movement or not, his grip was unhindered. Mixoly¡¯s vessel was firmly lodged in his grasp, and Theo had no plans to change that. He was losing circulation in those fingers, for how tightly he clung to the warm metal.

    It took immense effort to raise his head so much as an inch. He earned one assailant for his troubles. The gentle expression that accompanied his raging winds was still incomprehensible. His song was still ever-present, his fingers moving forcefully along the accordion¡¯s keys and his hands maneuvering with great finesse. His lips were moving. His shoulders rose and fell with more effort than Theo had expected. The expectant stare the boy fixed him with meant nothing, given the way every sign was stifled by stormy pressure. Theo glared. From down here, it was the most he could do.

    He could¡¯ve sworn his stranger sighed, if the heavy motions of his shoulders were any indicator. With a wince crossing his face, the boy¡¯s movements slowed. The gusts that clung much too tightly to Theo¡¯s body waned, each strand of windswept hair settling into place at last. The crawl of the fading breeze along his skin left a chill in its wake. It was a mistake on his assailant''s part. He had his hands back.

    Theo didn¡¯t give him the chance to change his mind. Where the boy could only cringe in realization, a piccolo beat him to retaliation. Once again, the instrument rushed to meet Theo¡¯s lips, the throbbing ache in his fingers utterly irrelevant as he inhaled sharply. His breath was never freed, and ice filled in where wind rested.

    The sudden shock that stung his skin burned in a new way entirely, creeping cold that blossomed along the back of his hands. Brief or not, the spontaneous bite of an impossible chill nearly made him cry out. The urge to reach for it was reflexive and involuntary. He almost did. The moment the splintering frost snuck onto his wrists, his grasp unraveled. That, then, was a separate catalyst for screaming entirely. It was a miracle he didn¡¯t.

    The piccolo fell to the grass pitifully, although not far beyond his reach. If he lunged, he could make it. Even blighted by sprawling frostbite, he did what he could. Theo¡¯s trembling fingers never made it to the instrument, and it was his shoes that succumbed to thick crystal instead. Newborn aquamarine once more crawled through still grass and clung to his laces.

    Unlike his hands, it didn¡¯t give way after arrival, discarded snowflakes still raining from his skin as they warmed. He was bound to the ground in a new way entirely, potential steps stolen and Mixoly¡¯s vessel languishing just barely out of reach. They wouldn¡¯t need to kill him. His heart was going to explode anyway.

    Theo!

    Mixoly¡¯s cry was broken and desperate. There was nothing he could offer her back, ultimately. If he was without her, he¡¯d be left to improvise. He could go for their throats, if he had the capacity. They were larger than him. Their eyes would be easier, with or without light. Every method was up for consideration, outright feral as some would be. He regretted having nothing sharp with him. At least once, Theo¡¯s attention fell to the wasted ice at his size, glimmering and bulky. Some slivers were more jagged than others. It was a possibility.

    The boy with the accordion was still speaking. His gaze drifted between Theo and the piccolo. His eyes on the latter were infuriating. The words that spilled from Theo¡¯s suffering hands were a reflex, useless or otherwise.

    Leave it alone!

    Theo¡¯s hands smashed together with whatever force would leave him screaming. It wouldn¡¯t matter. It was the best he could do. It was all he had, and he did it again with the harshest glare he could piece together. Don¡¯t touch it! Leave it alone! he repeated desperately.

    The boy¡¯s eyes widened, slowly but surely. His own grip relaxed around either end of the accordion, and he knelt to the ground. With delicate motions, he laid his instrument to rest at his feet. It left his hands free as he straightened up, his strained face just a bit softer. By comparison, he was nowhere near as forceful.

    I won¡¯t touch it. I promise.

    Theo flinched. It took a moment to process at all, and what rage he¡¯d held fast to melted in place of shock. He forgot to sign back, left to stare in complete disorientation at the boy instead. He earned silent words for his troubles twice over, born of gentle hands yet again.

    Are you able to hear?

    Only then did he shake his head. Reclaiming his anger wasn¡¯t helping. His own motions were tentative and shaky, as much as he wished for the opposite. You can understand me?

    The boy smiled softly. I can.

    He seemed even less of a killer. Theo wasn¡¯t sure if he was supposed to be this comfortable.

    Do not lower your guard.

    Mixoly, by comparison, spoke to the opposite. Her words were enough to shake him, and he cobbled together what defenses he could. Theo¡¯s motions were harsh.

    What do you want from me?

    The boy¡¯s smile faltered for a moment. He found it again anyway. You¡¯re a Maestro, just like us. We just wanted to talk to you.

    They¡¯d done quite a bit more than talking. The word was unfamiliar. One of those sentences was distressing. You were looking for me? Were you following me?

    The boy gestured beyond Theo¡¯s head. That¡¯s Briar. He has a gift that helps him find other Maestros.

    Theo followed his gesture accordingly. When he raised his eyes over his shoulder, the towering cello greeted him first. The ice-gifted stranger greeted him second, pairing a delicate smile with a gloved wave. Theo waited for more signs. He found none. The other boy was unique, then, and he stole Theo¡¯s attention once more.

    With careful movements of his fingers, his own smile brightened somewhat as he spelled. My name is River. We¡¯re from a place with lots of people like us. We were looking for others, and we found you. You¡¯re very strong. To be honest, I was worried you¡¯d hurt yourself. I¡¯m sorry if we startled you.

    His praise meant absolutely nothing. Even with a name to a face, the implications were still uncomfortable. What do you want from me? Theo repeated, his signs somewhat firmer.

    We want you to come back with us. If you don¡¯t want to, that¡¯s okay. We know where you are now, so that¡¯s enough, too.

    That was terrifying. He couldn¡¯t take it as anything but a threat. Theo¡¯s aching hands only ached harder as they crashed against one another. Why would I go with you? I don¡¯t even know you.

    You must leave, he heard Mixoly insist. Do not do as they say, I beg of you. Even now, you are in danger still. You must not trust his words, my child.

    He figured as much. Still, they knew where he lived. This was another problem entirely. If he left, they could follow, maybe. He couldn¡¯t leave. He absolutely could not leave. This was growing more concerning by the moment.

    We¡¯re looking for someone called the Ambassador.

    Every last racing thought Theo had screeched to a halt. His heart could¡¯ve stopped altogether.

    They want to help us, the boy continued with delicate motions. To do that, they have to know where all of us are.

    Theo¡¯s signs were frantic. He couldn¡¯t help it. You know where the Ambassador is?

    The boy tilted his head.

    Theo! Mixoly spoke sharply.

    Theo winced. What?

    Her words softened. Be cautious with your words. You know them not, and they know not of me. Please¡­guard my name and my truth. Should it be compromised, I would¡­

    He didn¡¯t make her finish. He got the general idea. Damage control was difficult, and yet Theo tried anyway. Do you know where this Ambassador person is? he reworded carefully.

    River shook his head once more. Not yet. We¡¯re always searching for them. We know they¡¯re out there, though, and we¡¯re going to find them soon.

    Theo paused. Again was every word calculated. Will I get to meet them?

    He beamed. If you¡¯d like to.

    Theo¡¯s eyes fell to the piccolo resting not-so-distantly in the grass. He weighed even bringing it up. He wondered if she¡¯d push back in the first place.

    Mixoly, he began within.

    Yes?

    They¡¯re trying to find the Ambassador, too.

    My child, I--

    They said they have other people looking for the Ambassador. They can do more than we can. We don¡¯t have to tell them anything we don¡¯t want to.

    Theo, she warned.

    Can we try?

    Mixoly was quiet. Should they learn I am with you, I fear what would befall you, my child. You know nothing of this place. You know nothing of those who call them their own. Even now, they perhaps resist you.

    Theo raised an eyebrow. What do you mean?

    Of those who have sought to wound you, I¡­

    River was a distraction. It was just as much Mixoly¡¯s fault for trailing off. How old are you? he asked.

    To be fair, that truth was his alone. Ten, Theo confessed.

    River couldn¡¯t fully stifle the flicker of shock on his face. It was almost--almost--amusing. And you live here in Selbright?

    Theo nodded.

    By yourself?

    He would¡¯ve preferred not to nod to that one. He did anyway.

    River pointed clear into the darkened horizon at his back. Tacell is that way. That¡¯s the place we came from. We walked, although we didn¡¯t mean to arrive so late. It was a surprise that we found you when we got here.

    Peering over his shoulder was futile, for how only the distant depths of the night met his foggy sights. It was instinctive. You only had to walk?

    River¡¯s shoulders spoke once more to a sigh. His smile was unaffected. It¡¯s a very long walk, though. We have to plan for it in advance. The place we live is isolated.

    You didn¡¯t have to take the train?

    Not at all.

    Theo hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding his breath. When he exhaled, the burn that escaped was far different than anything his light could scald him with inside. He tossed a silent prayer of gratitude to the shining stars above.

    I want to try, Theo insisted within.

    I¡­

    This is our chance, he argued. This is what you want. They can help. I promise I¡¯ll be careful. I won¡¯t let anyone touch you, I swear.

    My child--

    If anyone tries to hurt you, I¡¯ll kill them.

    There is no need.

    I told you I¡¯d help you. I¡¯ll protect you. Can we please try?

    And again, Mixoly fell silent. Theo hesitated to press her. Not having her in his hands felt awful, and he still lamented that she was out of reach. Vulnerability was a poison, for all his talk of protection. It was a drive he couldn¡¯t control. He was starting to wonder if he was going further than Lucian had. He didn¡¯t dislike the warmth it came with one bit. They were partners, maybe. It felt underwhelming, for what glow besieged his soul.

    I beg of you, be safe. You are precious.

    So was she. If it cost him his life, he¡¯d defend her fragile sparkle. Literally and figuratively, her hope showered his rising hands, and he carried their hearts in unison. With or without Lucian, she was loved. She was cherished. It was what she deserved. With more than one spark burning his heart, Theo lifted his eyes.

    I¡¯ll go with you.

 95. Resistance, Part I

    Mixoly was an exception. In every conceivable way, the Muse had not been normal. For all that had accompanied her existence on the earth, as much as she¡¯d loathed it, Octavia had half-expected the process of guidance to be abnormal in some capacity. Logically, she knew there was a solid chance it wouldn''t be as simple as Mixoly plainly ascending--for all evidence that had indicated otherwise. As to where that would leave the Muse once her form was lost and her vessel was absent, Octavia couldn¡¯t fathom. The boundary was out there. It was, perhaps, not Mixoly¡¯s to cross. If the Muse had objections, she didn¡¯t say so.

    Octavia practically held her breath throughout the entire process. Exception or otherwise, there was no change to the Ambassador¡¯s methods. Octavia¡¯s careful, gentle touch upon Miracle Agony was enough to compromise Mixoly¡¯s brilliance, scattering the starry sparkle that had competed with the moon. It was one thing Octavia would miss, no matter the outcome of her perilous gamble. Mixoly¡¯s splendor, a blessing to a world that didn¡¯t deserve her, dissipated bit by bit in a display as graceful and quiet as she was.

    Where some went out with an incredible presentation of radiance unraveled and unleashed, Mixoly¡¯s delicate glow was simply a flickering candle by comparison. It was as beautiful to witness hush and fade as it was regretful, a star Octavia couldn¡¯t stand to see burn out. Mixoly was still and compliant, submissive beneath Octavia¡¯s guidance as her luminous visage slowly melted into the open air.

    So did Miracle Agony. For how many times Octavia had laid her hands upon it in recent weeks, she was surprised the Harmonial Instrument hadn¡¯t outright fused to her skin. When she felt the solid pressure beneath her fingertips begin to give way, she regretted that, too. Theo was motionless throughout the process, deathly still as he steadied his hands for her.

    It gave them both leeway to watch Mixoly depart in silence, the cottage utterly devoid of sound in a way that was as comforting as it was sorrowful. Still, Octavia held her breath. With the way Theo¡¯s shoulders rose and fell steadily, he hardly needed to do the same. She envied his trust. She could understand it.

    When her fingers at last met with nothing, her skin colliding delicately with Theo¡¯s palms instead, he met her touch with grace. His hands were warm and welcoming, and she was content to hold them forever. The last sparkles of the silent star that had shaped his life flickered and evaporated in full, her image lost somewhere Octavia couldn¡¯t imagine. She couldn¡¯t will herself to exhale.

    How long it would take Mixoly to reach the boundary was debatable. If it was instant, she would never have known. In surrendering Mixoly to the freedom of the spider web she detested, Octavia had tied a rope around her neck. At any time, in any way, all Mixoly had to do was change her mind and pull. It would be immediate. It would be unpredictable, whether now or in the distant future. It was a curse she couldn¡¯t undo, and Octavia shivered under the idea.

    And yet, if it wasn¡¯t quick, if she still had a breath to hold onto a full minute later, there was surely some hope that remained. Where Octavia thought to steal the fire in Theo¡¯s gaze once more, the shimmer she found instead was tender and muted. It grew. So, too, did his eyes widen. For the first time since she¡¯d met him, she found tears.

    Octavia was positive that it was sorrow, at first, for how closely he¡¯d held the Muse to his heart. When his palms rushed to his face, he buried his sight in what darkness they could offer. He did so several times over, watery smears left staining his skin as he rubbed his eyes fervently. Any sobbing was absent. Instead, he trembled, blinking so rapidly that Octavia feared he¡¯d hurt himself. His eyes drifted to the intrusive moon, bleeding through curtains onto the floor below. For once, he stared with something far more than urgency.

    Theo lifted the same glistening eyes to hers, and he entrusted her with his freedom. It took Octavia a moment to recognize it at all. If she couldn¡¯t save Mixoly, there was at least one thing she¡¯d salvaged tonight. Save for his companionship, it was all that could ease the fear in her soul.

    Octavia reached for Theo¡¯s still-shaky hands. He didn¡¯t resist. She stroked his fingers with her thumbs gently, and he tightened his grip in the slightest. Octavia had nothing to offer with words, her interpreter stolen for good. She at least had her heart. She knew his. She liked to imagine he knew hers.

    Bang.

    For the tension she¡¯d held onto, only just beginning to unwind, Octavia jumped fiercely enough that her fragile heart could¡¯ve exploded. Her reaction was all that startled Theo in turn, the sound lost on him.

    Bang. Bang.

    It was locked, granted.

    Bang. Bang. Bang.

    Given the way the cottage practically shook beneath the assault against the door again and again, it mattered little. Octavia could hardly bring her hands to part with Theo¡¯s. Of one of them, she didn¡¯t. With her spared arm, she swept the boy behind her as best as she could.

    Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

    She¡¯d lost track of time in full. Beyond the curtains, from what glow the sheer veils had offered to her in the depths of the night, the moon had risen dangerously high. If she compared it to her typical Mixoly nights, it matched her usual schedule. It was roughly as expected, and part of her praised her prior preparation.

    Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

    It didn¡¯t change the fact that Octavia was utterly unarmed, and the Heartful boy she pulled tightly against her back was much the same. She¡¯d cursed him in that manner. She gritted her teeth. Even so, she wasn¡¯t as afraid as she thought she¡¯d be.

    Bang.

    It wasn¡¯t the strongest lock in the world. At the very least, the hinges didn¡¯t come off the door. Octavia wrote yet another mental apology for how much damage had been done to Theo¡¯s cottage since they¡¯d met. Replacing the doorknob was going to be another issue entirely. Theo didn¡¯t cling to her. Octavia was convinced, really, that he had half a mind to face whatever threatened them head-on of his own accord--armed or not. It was how she¡¯d learned him to be.

    Bang.

    And when the door swung inwards, the moonlight that served as her timer flooding the darkened cottage, it was the first time all three of them had been in the same place, face-to-face. It should¡¯ve been warm, for the kinship their legacies should¡¯ve brought. In reality, it was a tension unlike any Octavia could find a comparison for.

    The Maestra that invaded the once-silent abode was silent herself, at least briefly. Where Stradivaria and Miracle Agony were absent, Jadareverie was not. It was steadied, positioned, and level with its Maestra¡¯s eyes as needed. She took several steps over the threshold, undaunted as she stepped into the compromised darkness. Even unarmed, Octavia didn¡¯t flinch. Behind her, Theo, too, stood his ground.

    The silence that settled between them burned, initially. Octavia watched as Faith¡¯s eyes darted around the room. They touched Theo, they touched the Ambassador, and they touched every inch of shadow and light spilling into corner after corner. They touched the same, in order, once more. Octavia saw the way her fingers tightened around either portion of the viola just the slightest bit firmer.

    ¡°Where¡¯s¡­where is it?¡± Faith asked weakly, her voice shaking somewhat.

    Octavia narrowed her eyes. ¡°I already guided her. You¡¯re not gonna find her.¡±

    Faith¡¯s own eyes widened. ¡°You¡­what?¡±

    She didn¡¯t back down. Even so, she chose her words carefully. ¡°I guided her, and nothing happened. It didn¡¯t matter what you did, or what anyone did. I was going to do it regardless. She was a Muse. She deserved to be free.¡±

    Faith tensed, Jadareverie never slipping out of position. ¡°I-I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    She has¡­guided her?

    ¡°I did, and it went fine,¡± Octavia spoke to the unseen Muse alone, her voice low. ¡°I¡¯m the Ambassador. I refuse to leave a single one of you behind. That includes her. She¡¯s gone. Do whatever you want to me, but she¡¯s already out there.¡±

    You are¡­

    Whether Jasse trailed off or was outright interrupted, Octavia was unsure.

    ¡°W-What am I supposed to do now?¡± she heard Faith murmur hurriedly, her eyes flickering down to the viola atop her shoulder.

    You know not what you have done.

    Octavia shook her head. ¡°I know exactly what I did. If you wanna turn around and tell that to Ramulus, be my guest. If you wanna tell Stratos, he¡¯s gonna hear it from me anyway. What¡¯s done is done, and I trust her more than I trust any of you.¡±

    It felt just as good to say to Jasse as it had felt to say to Stratos. They couldn¡¯t replace her. In that way, she was made of steel. It felt incredible.

    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± Faith nearly shouted, her voice wavering violently. So, too, were her hands outright trembling around the bow and body of the viola alike.

    There is nothing to be done.

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the point?¡± she screamed. ¡°I don¡¯t understand any of this!¡±

    Do not worry.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just tell me?¡± Faith pleaded. Whatever focus she¡¯d given to the two Heartful Maestros before her had long since been lost. ¡°I did this for you!¡±

    As I have stated, there is nothing more to be done.

    The gaze she gave to Octavia was simultaneously fearful and sharp. It was wordless--Octavia had expected a demand for an explanation at best and hostilities at worst. Her breathing was ragged once more as she stared them down both in tandem, her confusion more than visible in every gesture. Logically, Octavia knew they were still more than in significant danger, readied as Faith was and empty-handed as they were. Somehow, regardless, she was unafraid. If Theo was the same, utterly calm at her back even now, the Ambassador was perhaps more fearless for it.

    To Faith¡¯s credit, she didn¡¯t knock anything over on the way out this time--intentionally or otherwise. Her labored breaths were more than audible as she reclaimed the night, leaving only a broken doorknob and spilled moonlight in her wake. Octavia hesitated to move, nor to release her grip on Theo¡¯s hand even several seconds after Faith had fled. She made to turn to him, although she knew inquiring as to his safety with body language alone would be a trial.

    She didn¡¯t make it that far. Octavia enjoyed the way his arms felt around her torso, an embrace unexpected and yet beloved all the same.

    She gave it back in silence, facing Theo in full as she pulled him close. For everything she wanted to say and couldn¡¯t, this was enough to suffice. To leave him felt sacrilegious, even as he himself gestured to the moon beyond the curtains again and again. Still, long after he¡¯d untethered his arms from her body, she refused to do the same. She was no Lucian. It didn''t matter, and she cherished the Heartful child in her own way. Theo didn¡¯t fight her love, and for that, she was grateful.

    It was to her dismay that she hadn¡¯t stopped to learn yet more with which to communicate with him from River. Really, all she had to show for her many Mixoly nights was her own name, her title, and several threats she¡¯d come to piece together involuntarily. As to whatever gestures he made with such a soft smile, motioning to her heart and his own again and again, she could decipher them with love to fill the gaps. Like his brother before him, he glowed.

    Octavia did everything she could to reciprocate his gestures, meaningless as her own were. She motioned to their hearts in unison herself, for what it was worth. Linguistically, it was surely of little value without context. She hoped he appreciated the sentimental effort. For how Theo nodded, his gently-gleaming smile more than evident, he surely understood her intent. It was the happiest she¡¯d ever felt in this place, given how strained her heart had been.

    And when she left Theo behind, it wasn¡¯t with a frantic promise to return. It wasn¡¯t with reassurance of deception, nor with a threat at her back. It wasn¡¯t with truths and lies trailing in her footsteps, nor with fear clogging her heart and dread settling in her stomach. Even with the very world entrusted to another she¡¯d hardly known, Octavia felt light. She felt free. When she ran, it was to kiss the breeze and enjoy the night rather than pray for isolation and safety.

    Do not trust Stratos.

    She still didn¡¯t. This, though, was one less thing he could take from her. It was a victory over the spider web, and she celebrated it with everything she had.

    It was a high that she should¡¯ve toned down, somewhat, for how much attention she drew on the way in. That wasn¡¯t entirely avoidable.

    ¡°Oh, good, got the grass out of your system?¡± Renato joked, sprawled out on the couch as he was.

    ¡°Okay, I know you said late, but it¡¯s, like¡­late late,¡± Harper semi-scolded.

    Madrigal, at least, took her return well. She smiled brightly, as always. ¡°Is it a nice night? Do you wanna go back out with all of us? I think looking at the stars together would be fun!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s one o¡¯clock in the morning,¡± Josiah muttered. ¡°No one should be going back out. You¡¯re staying now, right? Like, we can all go to bed?¡±

    ¡°It was your idea to stay up!¡± Harper hissed in a whisper.

    ¡°Did you, uh, still wanna talk?¡± Renato asked, his low voice for her alone.

    Octavia didn¡¯t respond to any of it. Her glow was too warm, her happiness too fresh. It showed, soft as it was, and she didn¡¯t mind. In her silence, they eyed her with equal parts worry, suspicion, and confusion.

    Madrigal tilted her head. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she finally said quietly. For once, it was genuine.

    They didn¡¯t press her as she ascended each step. Octavia could hear their whispers, some of them louder and more akin to quiet bickering than others. It was enough to garner a giggle, her spirits lighter than ever.

    She wasn¡¯t afraid of him.

    And when she reached her room, the door closing behind her with a soft click, her fear was just as absent with every motion that took her into comfortable clothing and the soft protection of her bed. He was an afterthought.

    You have gone there regardless.

    His words carried no threat.

    ¡°I did.¡±

    Even after you have faced him.

    Octavia scoffed bitterly, her mood only somewhat compromised. It came with a smirk, venomous as it was. ¡°Oh, good, you knew about that. Had a feeling that had something to do with you.¡±

    It was not out of malice that he was made aware.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore. I guided her,¡± she spat with muted pride.

    You have¡­done what?

    She shrugged nonchalantly, resting her head atop her arms. ¡°I guided Mixoly. I told you I would. And guess what? It went fine. Saw a whole lot more than I should¡¯ve, probably. I saw everything. She had some pretty interesting memories, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡±

    You¡­you have¡­even after what you have been told?

    Stratos'' reaction was priceless. In the sickest way, she enjoyed it. Octavia knew the feeling probably wasn¡¯t healthy. ¡°You know, for all you want to talk about believing in me, you seemed pretty damn sure I couldn¡¯t pull this off. So much for that.¡±

    Her¡­memories?

    ¡°All of them. Bet you guys had fun up there, huh? Never thought I¡¯d see you in a toll again.¡±

    Was she¡­satisfied? Of her guidance, was she at peace?

    Octavia rolled her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you care.¡±

    I do.

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Not of this.

    ¡°Oh, so you are lying about other things, then.¡±

    Octavia, please, he pleaded gently. I¡­hope only that she is--

    ¡°You really had the nerve to tell Jasse, huh?¡±

    He was silent. It was all the evidence Octavia needed. She sighed.

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what I thought. Honestly, I don¡¯t care if you told her directly, or if Ramulus did. If she knew, it was because of you. Faith could¡¯ve killed me, worst-case scenario. You don¡¯t give a damn, do you?¡±

    That silence, at least, burned. For all he''d kept from her, supposedly, she hadn¡¯t quite expected the muffled hostilities--by proxy as they were. Octavia struggled not to let it sting.

    ¡°You¡¯re free to be mad that I¡¯m not your perfect little Ambassador if you want, but I¡¯m the only Ambassador you¡¯ve got. We¡¯re almost done. You and I have the same goal, regardless of how we feel about each other. I don¡¯t trust you, you don¡¯t trust me, whatever.¡±

    I do trust--

    ¡°Let me finish. We¡¯ll be done soon, so let¡¯s just get through the rest of this in peace. You want to get up there again, and I¡¯m the one who¡¯s gonna get you there. Stay out of my way, and I¡¯ll stay out of yours. We¡¯ll do what we have to do together, go our separate ways, and you can spend the rest of your life up there mad at me.¡±

    Octavia, I am not--

    ¡°Goodnight.¡±

    Octavia.

    ¡°Goodnight,¡± she repeated.

    When Stratos'' voice spared her head, Octavia breathed a sigh of relief. For all the thoughts she¡¯d expected to fill the gap, racing and aflame as they so often were, she was almost startled to find peace in place of noise. By no means did she expect to sleep well. Still, she at least earned a comfortable descent into the unconscious world for once. She took a smile of satisfaction with her all the way there.

    For as close as Octavia was to sending them all to the place they¡¯d longed to return, he was still her partner--for better or worse. It was no longer a bond of love, but a collaboration she swore to tolerate with what little of her heart she could graciously spare as the Ambassador. She was his Maestra, deserving of his light for all he¡¯d put her through. If Stratos wanted to use her, she¡¯d use him right back. For the lies that lived beyond his luminescence, Octavia¡¯s lack of fear hadn¡¯t fully blunted her concern. She¡¯d count the days until he, too, was gone, and would keep him far closer to her wary eyes than her warm heart.

    <hr>

    The timing of the Soulful returning to Tacell once more was immaculate. Only two days prior, she had completely and utterly run out. It was the most surreal feeling Octavia had ever experienced in her life.

    It wasn¡¯t the byproduct of a ban, nor simple pacing that limited her day-to-day guidance. In the three months since she¡¯d journeyed to Tacell, her speed had been augmented markedly by the contributions of those who¡¯d organized all that had graced her hands. As their numbers dwindled ever further, she¡¯d silently showered Samuel and Priscilla in gratitude hundreds of times over.

    Of the former, Octavia would be doubly sure to offer the same in some direct capacity, eventually. Of the latter, she simply added yet more love to the part of her heart reserved for the deepest reds of autumn alone. What had been gifted to the Ambassador by the work of those who¡¯d come before was a godsend that she still had yet to fully believe existed. In that way, it perhaps took two Ambassadors to see the deed through after all.

    And with what had been salvaged from the furthest reaches of Mezzoria at last, it left only eighteen. The number was unfathomable. Octavia had repeated it on her own lips again and again, half convinced she¡¯d come to find there were dozens more she¡¯d missed somewhere. The idea of counting how many tolls it had collectively taken to make it this far was laughable. Seraphim¡¯s Call alone had accounted for the vast, vast majority of those. She wondered if she¡¯d cracked 15,000, or if she yet would. It wasn¡¯t a competition she was keen to win.

    There were more important things that could be returned from the corners of the continent than Maestros she¡¯d never met. Octavia much, much preferred the ones she had.

    ¡°And I didn¡¯t find her first, granted, but I still knew.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°Like, I could tell.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°And I was the first one who knew she was Spirited! I pointed it out first! I mean, it didn¡¯t really matter that much, honestly, because we just needed to find her, but still, it was so fast! It was instant!¡±

    ¡°It was that fast?¡±

    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen it!¡± Viola practically cried, arms aloft and face split wide with a radiant smile.

    ¡°How did it feel?¡±

    In truth, it wasn¡¯t the content of Viola¡¯s explanation that mattered. Seeing her gush over a gift that grew more every day was wonderful, solely given the expressions it garnered. Octavia would''ve been content to listen to the Maestra¡¯s excited retelling of her excursion forever, if the situation allowed. It was a different kind of sunshine to bask in, given the lack of it she¡¯d been granted beneath the clouds that stole it away.

    She remembered to return what had been entrusted to her, at least. It would most likely have been better to do so outside of Viola¡¯s elated spiel, and yet the urge to cut her off in what was essentially the most humorous way Octavia could think of was too great. She adored the blush that didn¡¯t seize her own cheeks, for once. She also remembered to do it outside this time, for how her love had been double-edged before. Viola¡¯s face was absolutely worth it, second only to the sensation.

    Octavia was impatient that morning. She shot for all seven at once. The temptation was overpowering.

    In retrospect, part of her wondered if her haste was appreciated by the Maestros in question. For how far they¡¯d come, she didn¡¯t particularly envy their transportation home. Regardless, it spared them from extended lodgings in what was still, effectively, the middle of nowhere. Her efforts were met with absurd amounts of concern and scolding, for how her zeal had left her mildly light-headed and disoriented by the end of the sixteen tolls gathered between the Maestros. No amount of reminding anyone that it wasn''t even slightly adjacent to her record assuaged their fears. It wasn¡¯t enough to compromise her smile.

    Octavia counted those that remained with care, of the seven she was unfamiliar with--Strong, Spirited, Spirited, Willful, Soulful, Essenced, and Spirited. Of those, River was more than engrossed in the guidance of three. She wrote it off as politeness the first time, recognition of their contributions to the cause. The second time, she opted to attribute his interest to kinship, cherished before it could be lost. The third time, whatever indiscernible look had crossed his face the whole way through was impossible to assign to anything. She stopped trying.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­going on with him?¡± Octavia had finally asked.

    Briar was hesitant, his voice soft and well out of earshot of the Maestro in question. ¡°How many Spirited Maestros did you witness the tolls for, exactly?¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°Recently?¡±

    ¡°Ever.¡±

    It was too big a question. ¡°I mean, a lot. I didn¡¯t¡­count them all. Why?¡±

    Briar was quiet for a moment. Any shred of strain or discomfort crossing River¡¯s face was always contagious, and Octavia didn¡¯t particularly enjoy it--even from afar, gazing aimlessly at the clouded sky as he was. ¡°I know you did a lot of guiding when we weren¡¯t around. Did you¡­already guide the Apex of Spirit?¡±

    Octavia¡¯s stomach lurched. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We never did find it. I¡¯m wondering if maybe you just¡­guided them and didn¡¯t realize it, maybe. It¡¯s okay if you did. It wouldn¡¯t change too much.¡±

    Her eyes flickered to River, even if her words remained offered to the Soulful boy before her. ¡°I-I¡­does it matter?¡±

    Briar sighed heavily. ¡°Ultimately, no. It¡¯s better if you already did it, probably.¡±

    For what Francisco had told her of River¡¯s Apex-tinted distress, it wasn¡¯t a particular surprise that Briar shared the same concerns. As much as her heart ached to go behind River¡¯s back, she could at least appreciate that their worries for his well-being overlapped. It wasn¡¯t the only reason her heart was racing, given what she knew of that Apex¡¯s current location. If he had to ask, Octavia could assume his own partner had kept the secret sealed away just as tightly. At the very least, she wasn¡¯t the only one lying by omission.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­just us now,¡± Octavia murmured.

    Briar nodded weakly, his eyes still largely on River alone. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s kind of insane to think about.¡±

    ¡°And Faith.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Almost forgot.¡±

    Octavia fidgeted with her hands somewhat. Looking at him directly was uncomfortable, for what was to leave her mouth. ¡°When¡­do you want--¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan from here?¡±

    She didn¡¯t get that far. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Briar claimed her gaze where she¡¯d fought to keep it isolated--or, at the very least, thrown to River. ¡°There¡¯s a process from here on out, I¡¯m sure. Your¡­Essenced friend isn¡¯t a Maestro, I remember that much. That puts you with five in your circle, right? Then¡­us four, Faith, and their Lord of All. How are you planning on tackling that?¡±

    In reality, she hadn¡¯t thought it to be overly difficult. The singular hurdle she¡¯d feared clearing, of the eleven Muses that remained, had been clarified for her by several Muses of a legacy she was growing to distrust. Her path to the Apex of Heart was no longer obscured, and she said as much. ¡°I know how to get to their Lord of All. That¡¯s¡­taken care of.¡±

    Briar¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°But he has to go last. He¡­has to make sure everyone else makes it out safe. That¡¯s what Stratos told me.¡±

    ¡°Stratos?¡±

    Never had she explicitly introduced him as such, she realized. It almost stung to clarify. ¡°Yeah. My Muse.¡±

    And when she couldn¡¯t bring herself to call him her partner, that, too, stung. It was involuntary.

    ¡°That¡­makes sense, I suppose,¡± Briar accepted with a nod of his own. ¡°Are you going to have to leave Tacell to guide them?¡±

    She was going to have to do more than that, frankly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Briar smiled. ¡°It was nice having you. You were an amazing Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia giggled. ¡°I¡¯m not done yet, you know. There¡¯s still things I need to wrap up here. You can¡¯t kick me out just yet.¡±

    Where she would¡¯ve bet she¡¯d see him return her amusement, she was surprised to see his face fall somewhat. ¡°I know. We¡¯re all going to miss you, obviously.¡±

    Where he fell silent, so did she. It wasn¡¯t a question she could avoid forever, uncomfortable as it was to ask. Octavia almost felt bad for cutting him off.

    ¡°Octavia, do you think it¡¯d be possible to--¡±

    ¡°When do you want me to guide your Muses?¡±

    Briar¡¯s question was sliced in half. He didn¡¯t bother to salvage it. ¡°As in¡­the Ensemble?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    His smile was faint and sorrowful. ¡°Truthfully, never. It¡¯s¡­going to take some getting used to. I wasn¡¯t especially looking forward to this. It might be better to get it over with sooner rather than later.¡±

    ¡°How soon?¡±

    Briar chuckled. ¡°Are you in a rush?¡±

    Mildly. She flushed anyway. ¡°N-No, I mean, I¡¯m not trying to pressure you. I know it¡¯s a¡­big decision, and I want you guys to have time to say goodbye.¡±

    ¡°Would this afternoon be alright?¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be that soon!¡±

    ¡°It should be soon.¡±

    Briar¡¯s voice was heavy enough that her objections fell flat. She didn¡¯t need to press.

    ¡°It really, honestly should be soon.¡±

    For the way his eyes had left hers, hunting for seafoam that rested anywhere except upon his own, Octavia tensed.

    ¡°Briar?¡± she pushed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­want to drag this out,¡± he said softly. ¡°Do you remember the place we first met?¡±

    Non-specific as that sprawling field had been, plush and grassy in the most picturesque way, she hadn¡¯t forgotten. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be there later. We¡¯ll try to make it fast and painless. Would that be alright?¡±

    Octavia nodded hesitantly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Good. I¡¯m¡­sorry to push this on you so quickly. I don¡¯t want anyone thinking about it for longer than they have to.¡±

    She wanted to press, to apologize for any dismissal of his feelings. She wanted to comfort him, if necessary. Even this far into her role, tearing apart bonds forged with such tender love and trust tore her heart apart just as fiercely. Still, for the way he left her behind, isolated with only graying skies overhead to keep her company, Octavia never got the chance. Even if she could no longer tolerate her partner, there had once been a time where she¡¯d more than stood in his shoes.

    She missed it, almost. She envied it, almost. Almost wasn¡¯t enough.

    His offer left her with more time than she was comfortable killing. Where she typically paced herself with tolls and guidances throughout the day, provided she ever had the energy for more than one, her excitement that morning had left a sizable gap that she ached to fill some way or another. It was a war between completion and remorse, for how truly within her grasp a Dissonance-free world was. It didn¡¯t erase the scathing reminder that it was not Briar nor the Ensemble alone from whom the Ambassador would soon rob of their closest companions.

    Octavia knew herself to be an exception, disconnected from her partner as she was. She briefly amused herself with the idea that she was no better than Cadence--although she¡¯d at least acknowledged her partner¡¯s existence. She settled on comparing herself to Josiah, had Josiah been slightly more correct in his accusations of lies and deception. Her apathy towards Stratos still left four people who very much loved their partners instead, and separating all four from their Muses was going to burn her alive. Some, for the specific flavors of sorrow that would follow those separations, ran the risk of killing her.

    Someone beat her to the balcony, for once. It hardly mattered. Her game of deception was over, her cards long since scattered across the table. There were no more Stratos nights or Mixoly nights, and her mask was unnecessary. Still, it was unusual for anyone besides herself to bond through soft songs alone--although, in her defense, it had been that Maestra¡¯s idea first. Wordless beneath the obscured sky of a fading autumn, crisp and cold, Octavia was surprised the girl who blessed it with such gentle notes wasn¡¯t cold herself. If nothing else, Octavia¡¯s sleeves were infinitely longer. She felt awful interrupting. She did so anyway.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Madrigal acknowledged gently.

    Octavia winced. Her best efforts to step onto the chilly balcony in silence had been in vain, although she wasn¡¯t particularly surprised. ¡°No, you¡¯re fine, ignore me! I-I just¡­wanted to listen, if that was¡­alright?¡±

    It came out as a question rather than a statement. Still, Madrigal¡¯s soft smile was permission enough. ¡°Of course.¡±

    Her lack of enthusiasm was as jarring as her muted smile, only sparkling delicately where Octavia would¡¯ve expected to find the sunshine she¡¯d been robbed of. She enjoyed the duet of Madrigal¡¯s tender love and Lyra¡¯s crystalline song, calming and melancholic all at once. It didn¡¯t particularly ease her discomfort with the glass that had settled over Madrigal¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Are you¡­feeling alright?¡±

    Logically, she knew she shouldn¡¯t press. It was a reflex. If Madrigal minded, she didn¡¯t say so. Instead, the girl only shook her head with an even fainter smile than before.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­okay. I¡¯m fine.¡±

    Octavia tried not to stare, for how Madrigal fixed her eyes only into the vast reaches of nature so far below. It was awkward anyway. She fidgeted against her will. ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t know you and Lyra still played together like this.¡±

    That smile, at least, was somewhat more genuine. ¡°It¡¯s been awhile. I feel bad for not playing with her more often.¡±

    Matching her smile was difficult, given how strained it was. Octavia tried to keep the conversation light. ¡°Remember when you first told me how you would play to bond with her? I¡­stole that idea from you. Sorry about that. It helped a lot.¡±

    She declined to say what exactly it had helped with, multipurpose as the methodology had been. Octavia doubted it would¡¯ve gone over well with Madrigal, to say nothing of the spider web still lost in the dark.

    Madrigal shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m glad it worked for you. I¡¯m¡­glad you and Stradivaria could grow closer to each other.¡±

    It was just Madrigal. It was specifically Madrigal. Wherever she was, surely Mixoly would understand. Octavia bit her lip instead.

    The temptation to spill the details of the spider web¡¯s grasp and Stratos¡¯ deception before the Spirited Maestra was fresh. It took effort for Octavia to will herself to indulge in Madrigal¡¯s song alone, a breeze-free melody born of delicate plucks and unspoken adoration. Something about the knowledge that Lyra, too, was complicit in her prior deception erased some of the tenderness inherent to the moment. It was frustrating.

    ¡°It was two years.¡±

    Octavia almost missed Madrigal¡¯s words altogether. ¡°What?¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t face her, offering only her back and a song that served as compensation. ¡°It was two years. I checked again. It was definitely two.¡±

    It took Octavia a moment. The wave of relief that followed didn¡¯t quite outmatch the tide of confusion that pooled around her ankles. ¡°You¡­asked Lyra?¡±

    Madrigal nodded. ¡°You¡¯re sure River said he used ten years, right?¡±

    Octavia did the same, albeit with far more hesitation. ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±

    Madrigal tilted her head slowly, unseen as her face was. The soft notes that struck the air vibrantly filled in where she was briefly silent. ¡°Do you feel like you made the most of your time with Stradivaria?¡±

    It was a loaded question. Octavia had absolutely no clear way of answering. She wasn¡¯t even necessarily sure if she was lying. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Madrigal paused. ¡°I¡¯m glad.¡±

    Octavia tensed. She knew she shouldn¡¯t have. She still did so anyway. ¡°Madrigal, are you¡­going to be okay when Lyra goes?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Octavia flinched. It was blunt, even soft as it was. It wasn¡¯t unexpected, ultimately. ¡°I-I¡­see. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°She wants to go home, too,¡± Madrigal said quietly, her voice wavering in the absolute slightest. ¡°She wants to see Ethel. It¡¯d be cruel to keep her from him. It¡¯d be¡­mean to keep her here.¡±

    When she sighed, her song was just the tiniest bit slower. ¡°I¡¯m still going to miss her with all of my heart. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to do.¡±

    It was what Octavia was most afraid of.

    ¡°She loves you,¡± Octavia practically blurted out. ¡°A-And I¡¯m sure she¡¯s¡­so happy that you love her as much as you do. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s happy that you care about her enough to help her get home. And when she¡¯s gone, you have lots of people who¡¯ll be here for you, and there¡¯s so much we¡¯ll get the chance to do together. You have me, and you have Renato, and you have everyone else, a-and all of us¡­love you too.¡±

    Octavia hoped for a smile, desperate as her words were. Instead, she only found another sigh. It hurt. ¡°I know.¡±

    She hardly had the words to counter the dismissal. She didn¡¯t get the chance to find any.

    ¡°Was I a good Maestra?¡± Madrigal nearly whispered.

    Octavia flinched. ¡°What? Of course you were. You still are. Madrigal, you¡¯re one of the strongest Maestras I¡¯ve ever met. Why would you even ask that?¡±

    Given the weight of her words, it was impressive that her song and voice were as stable as they were. ¡°I think I could¡¯ve been better.¡±

    Octavia tensed. ¡°What¡­would you even--¡±

    ¡°When do I have to say goodbye?¡± Madrigal murmured sadly.

    Octavia¡¯s muscles tightened almost painfully. ¡°Uh¡­listen, Briar and the rest of the Ensemble are gonna let me perform the Witnessing later. It¡¯ll be all of them. Faith, too.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s everyone in Tacell, then, right?¡±

    Octavia nodded. ¡°That¡¯s¡­everyone in total, actually. After that, it¡¯s just us. Us, and the Muses¡¯ Lord of All.¡±

    ¡°The Apex of Heart.¡±

    She was surprised Madrigal remembered, somewhat. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The Spirited Maestra was quiet for a moment. ¡°How are we going to find them?¡±

    Octavia shook her head instead, well aware that the motion was lost on Madrigal--still turned away as she was. ¡°I already know where he is. We¡¯ll¡­cross that bridge when we get there.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡±

    Her silence burned. No amount of discussion was bringing any life into Madrigal¡¯s voice, as much as Octavia wished she could will the sun to shine in Madrigal¡¯s words alone. The longer she drank in Madrigal¡¯s sorrowful melody, openly so to any who knew of the joy she should be exuding instead, the more contagious her sorrow was.

    ¡°Do you¡­want some space?¡± Octavia asked tentatively.

    Even if she¡¯d been the one to offer, she hadn¡¯t expected Madrigal to take her up on it--explicitly or otherwise. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°I¡¯m¡­here if you need me. I¡¯m here if you¡­want to talk.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    It was a role reversal not quite lost on Octavia. It was highly uncomfortable.

    Where Madrigal played for the clouded sky alone, Octavia stole her residual notes on the way inside, clinging to what crystalline pain she could find in passing. It hurt, in a way, to realize she would soon lose Lyra¡¯s song forever--try as she might to commit it to memory. Her suffering was surely nothing compared to the Maestra who wove such loving harmonies in the first place. Where Briar sought to end things quickly for the sake of stemming despair, part of Octavia thought to drag out the circumstances for Madrigal and Madrigal only.

    In all the time Octavia had known her, she had shimmered most brilliantly with Lyra¡¯s name on her lips and the Muse¡¯s touch in her heart. As to what Madrigal would be without her, only time would tell. Octavia didn¡¯t want to be the catalyst. For now, flat against the door from the inside, she strained to steal what little of their bond the Ambassador could cherish by proxy. It was a memento not hers to take.

 96. Resistance, Part II

    For what Briar¡¯s words had led her to believe of his emotions, Octavia hadn¡¯t quite figured out if she was doing the Ensemble a favor or striking them down with a curse. It was not only too late to second-guess herself, but an impossible gesture regardless. It would¡¯ve been inevitable. This was the furthest she could go in sparing them, and she prayed it was enough for each to have treasured the time spent with those fated to return to Above.

    She¡¯d only had Stradivaria for several months. She was well aware that there were those whose bonds stretched back much, much further than hers. Of the Ensemble''s own, collectively, she hadn¡¯t bothered to ask. The thought only made it hurt worse.

    ¡°Are we¡­dealing with ours right after this?¡± Harper asked, his voice tinted with a hint of anxiety that Octavia didn¡¯t miss.

    It didn¡¯t mean she had a solid answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s one more besides ours and theirs. We have to deal with that one, too.¡±

    Harper tilted his head. ¡°Do you know where it is?¡±

    That, too, lacked a clear answer. ¡°Sort of. Stratos said that would kind of¡­take care of itself. He¡¯ll call for me when the time comes. He has to go last, apparently.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re talking about their Lord of All?¡± Viola tried.

    She nodded. ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s supposed to make sure all of the others make it out safe, from what I was told. Only then will he actually go back himself.¡±

    Josiah crossed his arms. ¡°How¡¯d you find all of this out?¡±

    And to that, there was no good answer at all. Octavia wasn¡¯t even certain if it was something to be concealed. For how near she was to completion, she could throw caution to the wind and offer hand-picked truths. Given the way Stradivaria¡¯s case jostled against her shoulders as she walked, a reminder of the spider web that still sought to trip her up, keeping her mouth shut even now wasn¡¯t a terrible idea.

    ¡°Ambassador¡¯s privilege,¡± she finally joked. It wasn¡¯t entirely a lie.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­insane that this is actually happening,¡± Viola murmured. ¡°I mean, I know it¡¯s only been a few months, but it felt like a lot longer.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not gonna have Dissonance anymore, pretty soon,¡± Octavia said softly. ¡°It¡¯ll all be gone. It¡¯ll¡­never hurt anyone again.¡±

    Viola¡¯s smile was faint, if not warm all the same. Octavia returned it. For as glad as she was to nearly be done, her original goal had sometimes slipped through the cracks. It was a pleasant surprise when she could find it again.

    There was lead that pooled in her stomach over the fleeting idea that Mixoly, should she so choose, could undo Octavia¡¯s hard work in an instant. She beat it down with all the trust she could muster and clung to her smile as though her life depended on it. Agony would never come back. She opted to believe in that alone.

    The smirk on Harper¡¯s face as he leaned towards Renato was almost contagious. ¡°What¡¯s it like to be the last Strong Maestro in the world?¡±

    Renato recoiled severely, nearly stopping in his tracks over the revelation. ¡°Wait, oh my God, that¡¯s terrifying. I¡­wait, really?¡±

    Harper got a laugh out of it, at least. Octavia, too, wasn¡¯t immune to at least a giggle. ¡°I mean, we¡¯re all about to be pretty isolated,¡± she comforted. ¡°It¡¯ll¡­just be us.¡±

    ¡°And then it won¡¯t be any of us.¡±

    The weight of Madrigal¡¯s words, soaked in sorrow she hadn¡¯t quite wrung out from earlier, left them suspended uncomfortably in the air. She was a magnet for five sets of worried eyes, her voice concerningly monotone. Not one of them bothered with inquiring as to her well-being. It was obvious enough by her dejected face alone.

    ¡°We could¡­always get started on that list of stuff we wanna do after all of this,¡± Renato offered with a half-hearted smile, draping one arm around Madrigal''s shoulders. ¡°Tell you what--I¡¯ll show you around Selbright as much as you want. Just, like, not that one neighborhood again. Everywhere else is fine. I know you¡¯re good with nature stuff and all, but there¡¯s only so many dates I can take you on with¡­grass. I¡¯m seriously done with grass. By the time we¡¯re finished, you¡¯re gonna be sick and tired of Selbright, and then...maybe we can trade? I wanna see where you live, too. We could switch it up a bit. Maybe you could take me on a date for once, princess. How¡¯s that sound?¡±

    Madrigal didn¡¯t answer, nor did she acknowledge him. When she clung to herself tightly, her pained eyes far lower than he could hope to capture them, Renato¡¯s face fell. It hurt just to watch.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just take things as they come,¡± Viola interrupted weakly. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­get through this first. You¡¯re sure you¡¯re up for guiding twelve Muses in one day?¡±

    Octavia nodded, unable to conjure a reassuring smile in the aura of Madrigal¡¯s quiet distress. ¡°I¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    In truth, it wasn¡¯t even slightly the aspect of guiding itself that Octavia was concerned about. The motions of tolls and the caveats of guidance were purely muscle memory by now, a reflex she¡¯d surely etched into her bloodstream for the rest of her life. If simply Madrigal¡¯s anticipation of Lyra¡¯s inevitable departure was enough to leave her like this, then it burned to know the Ambassador was to deal out five true such punishments in short succession.

    Four, on closer thought. There was a part of Octavia that was somewhat more apprehensive over the idea of seeing Faith again. Not since the night she¡¯d guided Mixoly had the two Heartful Maestras come face-to-face. She wondered if the circumstances of their meeting, let alone their meeting at all, had been communicated to the Ensemble.

    From what Octavia had come to gather of Jasse--and, generally, the Heartful Muses at large--she doubted Faith would¡¯ve been advised to do so. Similarly, in the same context, Octavia doubted Faith truly understood the situation at all. For what it was worth, she was cross with Jasse on Faith¡¯s behalf. She knew it ultimately meant nothing.

    It wasn¡¯t Faith she fixated on first, far behind those who¡¯d proposed their congregation in the first place. For the small tinge of awkwardness that followed their eyes meeting--and, subsequently, the Heartful Maestra tearing hers away first--it wasn¡¯t as important as the beautiful sea. He smiled, soft as it was.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± River said simply, his voice as gentle as his eyes.

    For him, with what was to come, it was all she could do to at least try to reciprocate. ¡°Hi. Uh¡­thank you for¡­coming.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± Francisco began with a half-hearted stretch, ¡°this is it, then, huh? You guys leaving Tacell after this?¡±

    Octavia winced. ¡°Did you¡­want us to?¡±

    River laughed softly. It was the one thing she¡¯d miss the most about her personal haven. ¡°You¡¯re free to stay as long as you¡¯d like, Ambassador. It was made for you, after all. We wouldn¡¯t mind if you were here for a little longer.¡±

    Her smile was genuine. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯d mind, either. I¡¯m gonna miss you guys.¡±

    Viola laid one hand delicately on her shoulder. ¡°This doesn¡¯t have to be the end, you know. We can still spend time together. Maybe they could come see Coda?¡±

    Francisco grinned. ¡°That¡¯d be pretty cool, actually. Might take you up on that, if you¡¯d have us.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for everything you¡¯ve done for us,¡± Josiah added. ¡°Especially with Velpyre. There¡¯s no way we would¡¯ve been able to get Seraphe back on our own.¡±

    River shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re incredibly resourceful. It¡¯s an understatement to say I was impressed.¡±

    River didn¡¯t give Josiah time to absorb his praise. Instead, he turned to Octavia once more. ¡°You¡¯ve surrounded yourself with phenomenal people, Ambassador.¡±

    Octavia beamed. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree.¡±

    When she caught the slightest flicker of tension on his face, her smile weakened. ¡°I¡­hope I was helpful to you, even just a little bit.¡±

    Octavia nodded fervently, grasping River''s hands in both of her own so fast that he outright staggered. ¡°Of course you were! You¡¯re a fantastic leader! You did all of this for me, and I wouldn¡¯t have been able to get as far as I did without you! You were more than helpful, River. You were amazing. Thank you for...being there for me. Thank you for looking out for me.¡±

    She relished the way his eyes sparkled. That, too, she would miss viciously. His smile was faint, and still just as lovely.

    ¡°We wish you the best in whatever comes next,¡± Briar said.

    His voice, in particular, served as a sobering reminder of a task she¡¯d somewhat fought to forget. Octavia didn¡¯t want to ask. She knew she¡¯d have to.

    ¡°Are you guys¡­ready?¡±

    There was no instant reaction, verbal or otherwise, from any of the five who¡¯d gathered before her. She hated the way River¡¯s smile, so carefully garnered and wonderfully cherished, gradually fell. So, too, was she robbed of his eyes, dejected tides evading her in favor of the grass kissing his shoes. He was silent, as were they all collectively. She didn¡¯t dare press, leaving their consent in the hands of the Ensemble alone. Briar¡¯s singular, heavy sigh served as her answer an eternity later.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    For the last time, she watched with a heavy heart as cases upon the earth were lifted aloft. There was almost a pang of jealousy that hit her, for the way they flicked each lock and tugged every zipper so tenderly. Octavia wished she still had the love for Stratos that would lead her to the same regret she found on their faces, when that time would come. If she could''ve switched places with them, perhaps she would''ve--not solely to steal their pain, but maybe to steal just a hint of adoration for a partner of her own.

    Octavia was almost remorseful that she hadn¡¯t grown closer to their respective Muses, for how often she¡¯d spent time with the Ensemble collectively. At the very least, she resolved to give them a proper sendoff with a smile. Given the hurt that veiled River¡¯s face, it was more than false in his presence. She was straining, somewhat.

    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­all paid your tolls, right?¡±

    Mint nodded wordlessly.

    ¡°Do you¡­know how many?¡±

    ¡°One each,¡± Briar said, propping the cello comfortably against his legs as he stood.

    Octavia nodded in turn. ¡°Okay. I can work with that.¡±

    She thought to ask which one was content to sever their bond first. If she were in their shoes, she doubted she¡¯d volunteer. In the worst way, she was their executioner. There was no correct choice.

    Her eyes instinctively chased the shining seafoam she cherished. It glistened with heartache.

    Octavia didn¡¯t need to call his name, not for how he returned her gaze with pained understanding. She watched the way River tensed, gripping Renegadria just the slightest bit tighter. She thought to offer him words of comfort. Those she found were half-hearted at best.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­really glad I got to meet you. You were an incredible Maestro,¡± she mumbled, each heavy step towards him as hesitant as the last.

    He was silent, his eyes shimmering dangerously as she approached. It took everything Octavia had to maintain her composure. Francisco had once asked her not to break River''s heart. She didn¡¯t have a choice.

    ¡°And you¡¯re an¡­incredible person, too,¡± Octavia added softly, raising one hand preemptively towards Renegadria. Even now, her steps were weighted with the burden of a responsibility she resented on River''s behalf. It hurt to go forward.

    For every step she took forward, then, he took one step back.

    Three more steps in, she hesitated. When she tried once more for good measure, she got the same result.

    His shoes ruffled the fluffy grass below with every reversed movement, his hands trembling somewhat around the accordion as he fixed her with the rich tides she typically relished. Instead, they were tumultuous, as strained as the rest of him. He widened their gap, even as she stopped moving forward. Never did he peel his eyes away from hers. Even now, Octavia¡¯s hand was still slightly aloft, slightly extended, and slightly offered to him with fingers that couldn¡¯t hope to reach.

    ¡°Riv¡­er?¡± she asked weakly.

    ¡°No.¡±

    The handful of deep breaths she watched him take devolved quickly, at least several of them rattling audibly on the way out. Even from here, Octavia could see the way his shoulders shook. She wasn¡¯t the only one eyeing him with confusion, nine other people focused on the Spirited boy¡¯s every move. When she continued to stare, he shook his head slowly.

    ¡°No,¡± he repeated, his voice wavering. ¡°I¡­I won¡¯t.¡±

    Octavia blinked. ¡°You won¡¯t¡­what?¡±

    Every breath was a visible struggle, every tremor more vivid than the last as he clung to Renegadria for all it was worth. ¡°This is¡­all I have. I won¡¯t do it. I won¡¯t.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. Her own breath hitched in her throat. ¡°River, you¡­have to.¡±

    Again, he shook his head, anxious seafoam washing over her.

    ¡°River, we all have to,¡± she implored softly. ¡°A lot of us don¡¯t want to do it either, but they have to go. You know that. I know you know that.¡±

    ¡°Enough of them have gone,¡± he argued. ¡°That was plenty. If you want to send yours, then send yours. There¡¯s still so much more I need to do. There¡¯s so much more I can give. This is¡­everything.¡±

    ¡°River, we¡¯ll find something together, I told you. We talked about this. We¡¯re here for you. I¡¯m here for you. This isn¡¯t where everything ends. You have your whole life ahead of you. We¡¯re gonna make it wonderful,¡± Octavia argued back.

    ¡°This is my life. This is my purpose,¡± he countered, his voice slowly rising. ¡°I already told you that this is what I was born to do. I can¡¯t lose that.¡±

    Her eyes drifted pleadingly to Francisco, a silent cry for intervention. He, too, looked equally strained. Briar and Mint were no different, still and tense as they watched their leader resist.

    Francisco at least tried, if not with strong hesitation. ¡°Hey, Riv--¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± River almost shouted, his voice wavering fiercely.

    Francisco flinched beneath his volume. Octavia didn¡¯t enjoy the way her heart was racing already.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°River, please, Rondelio needs to be able to go back to Above! I know you don¡¯t want to, but he can¡¯t stay here! It¡¯s hard, I get that, and I know how awful it can be to lose your partner, but it¡¯s what has to happen! If nothing else, do it for him! I know you love him!¡± she begged.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand!¡± River snapped. ¡°Octavia, everything happens for a reason! Without this, I have nothing! I¡¯d sooner die than give that up!¡±

    ¡°River!¡± she cried, her heart breaking beneath the weight of every word.

    ¡°I know how you feel.¡±

    Octavia froze. River did so in turn, stubborn as he was. Where his spirit rebelled, it was a different spirit entirely that cut him off with grace, her eyes sharp and soft all at once.

    ¡°They¡¯re¡­miracles. They¡¯re like little miracles that came into our lives and made everything better. They¡¯re wonderful. I know how they can change your whole life in the best way, and how they can make you into the greatest person you could be. Sometimes, I don¡¯t know who I''d be without my partner. I still don¡¯t really know. I love her more than I¡¯ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. I don¡¯t want to give her up, either.¡±

    Despite his shaking hands and desperate eyes, River absorbed Madrigal¡¯s every word in silence. Octavia held her breath as she did the same. She wasn¡¯t the only one.

    Madrigal¡¯s fingers curled into fists at her sides, whether intentionally or involuntarily. ¡°But I¡­know she still has to go home. She has a family. She has someone she loves waiting for her. It¡¯s not fair for me to keep her from that. I want to keep being a Maestra, too. I want to keep loving her, but I know I can¡¯t be selfish. I know there was more I could¡¯ve done with her, and sometimes I even feel like I wasted some of my precious time with her. I promise that I know how you feel. I¡­promise.¡±

    Even agitated as he was, Octavia could see River''s breaths steadying in the slightest. ¡°I-I¡­I have¡­too much left to give. I haven¡¯t done enough. If this is what fate decided for me, then it has to be a sign of something. I have to do this. I need to do this.¡±

    ¡°River, Rondelio isn¡¯t a ¡®sign¡¯ that you need to friggin¡¯ kill yourself!¡± Francisco hissed instead--much to Octavia''s surprise.

    ¡°Shut up!¡± he growled.

    Octavia outright jumped. She¡¯d never heard a single hostile word on River''s lips before, desperate or not. To hear it leveled at one of the Ensemble, no less, was perhaps even more jarring. Mint and Briar looked equally as astonished as Francisco. The Ambassador¡¯s own circle wasn''t at all immune to the same shock.

    It didn¡¯t deter Francisco, ultimately. ¡°I¡¯m not wrong!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to understand! You¡­you don¡¯t have to worry about any of this!¡± River cried. ¡°You¡¯ve got more than enough strength to--¡±

    ¡°This is the freakin¡¯ Apex thing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Francisco snapped. ¡°River, how many times do we have to--¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know where it ended up! We never even saw it!¡±

    ¡°River, it wouldn¡¯t have mattered,¡± Briar said calmly, his intervention gentle. ¡°The Apex of Spirit was probably guided, and we didn¡¯t know. It wouldn¡¯t have changed anything.¡±

    ¡°It would¡¯ve!¡±

    ¡°Stop chasing what you can¡¯t have!¡± Francisco shouted.

    River didn¡¯t argue. The suffering in his eyes was enough to challenge even Francisco¡¯s flames, for how they surely burned right through the Willful boy¡¯s skin. Neither backed down. Not once had Octavia dared to breathe.

    ¡°You¡­never found the Apex of Spirit?¡±

    The breath Octavia held evaporated in full, ceasing to exist fast enough that her lungs could¡¯ve collapsed. Her eyes darted frantically to Madrigal. She was vaguely aware of the way Josiah¡¯s did the same.

    Octavia wondered if it was the kinship of their legacies alone that blunted River¡¯s words towards Madrigal each time, softened even on the edge of despair. ¡°W-We¡­never found it. We weren¡¯t there for every single guidance, so maybe that¡¯s our fault, but it never crossed our sights. I never got to meet it.¡±

    Frankly, it was bold of Josiah to contribute at all, given the atmosphere. Still, he was level-headed enough to give an honest effort at mediation, and Octavia knew him to have earned River¡¯s respect. It was a fair gamble. ¡°We never explicitly identified it on our end. No one expected you guys to watch every single guidance, anyway. Ultimately, the only thing different about an Apex is strength, and you¡¯re strong enough as it is. I saw you in Velpyre. You were excellent. You can always look back on that and be proud of what you accomplished. An Apex doesn¡¯t make a Maestro perfect.¡±

    For how straightforward he so often was, Octavia was incredibly impressed with how he¡¯d managed to peel back River¡¯s distress to its core. She hadn¡¯t needed to say a word.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± River argued quietly.

    Octavia was pleasantly surprised that he was gentle with Josiah, too--distressed as he continued to be. Josiah didn¡¯t falter. ¡°It¡¯s the same way a Harmonial Instrument is only as good as their Maestro. Having an Apex doesn¡¯t immediately mean there¡¯ll never be anyone stronger than you.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± River repeated, somewhat more desperately.

    Octavia couldn¡¯t help the way her eyes wandered for a brief moment, watching the Ensemble absorb Josiah¡¯s every calm and rational word with bated breath. She wondered if it was frustrating, the way he could press where they couldn¡¯t. She wondered if it burned.

    What did burn was the way Francisco had tilted his head, ever so slowly, with sharp eyes fixated on Josiah alone. Lost in conversation with River as the boy was, only Octavia caught the silent gesture.

    Her stomach lurched. She did a mental replay, again and again, combing every word that had left Josiah¡¯s mouth. She''d forgotten. She had absolutely no idea how she''d forgotten.

    ¡°Tell me what I don¡¯t understand,¡± Josiah requested calmly.

    ¡°Their strength is important, yes, but the gifts those Maestros end up with are what makes them unique!¡± River explained, his voice wobbling once more.

    She replayed, and replayed, and replayed, and replayed, and felt her heart sink as she watched Francisco¡¯s knowing eyes trail to Mint and Briar respectively. When their gazes, too, migrated to Josiah in tandem, Octavia wanted to vomit. She struggled harder.

    ¡°So, then, what is it about the Apex of Spirit that you¡¯re so invested in? What¡¯s the difference with their gift?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! That¡¯s the point! If my gift is already what it is, then imagine what the Apex¡¯s could do! Imagine how much good someone could do with that! To know it was guided already is¡­is¡­frustrating!¡± River yelled.

    It clicked. It was too late to change it, nor to alert Josiah of his fatal slip-up. He hadn¡¯t known of Francisco¡¯s gift, ¡°unique¡± as it was. It wasn¡¯t his fault. Octavia had no breaths left to hold, watching with utter helplessness as the Ensemble stared the boy down wordlessly.

    ¡°I tried to make the most of what I had! I really, really did!¡± River continued, the tumultuous sea in his eyes glistening dangerously still. ¡°Even so, there was more I could¡¯ve done! To know I can never give everything I¡¯ve got¡­is it really so wrong of me to want that? I¡¯m limited, I know that! I¡¯m not an idiot! But damn it, I don¡¯t want to be, and that could¡¯ve given me something! Maybe I could¡¯ve gotten it back! Maybe I could¡¯ve given less! Maybe I could¡¯ve been faster, or made someone even better than they started out! Maybe it could¡¯ve been something I¡¯ve never even thought about, and I¡¯ll never have the chance to know! It¡¯s going to haunt me for the rest of my life!¡±

    ¡°You love your gift that much?¡± Madrigal asked, her tiny voice almost inaudible.

    River shook his head fervently. ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡±

    His point was irrelevant. Octavia was much, much more preoccupied with the way Josiah¡¯s eyes were gradually widening as River conversed, darting back and forth between the two Spirited Maestros. When they drifted painstakingly slowly to Octavia instead, her confusion outweighed the stress that accompanied the Ensemble¡¯s suspicions. The imbalance didn¡¯t last.

    ¡°We were never supposed to have that kind of power,¡± Madrigal protested softly.

    ¡°But we did, and we do! It¡¯s not for nothing!¡± he argued back with far more passion.

    Her voice rose to meet his, wobbling all the way there. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t want us to get hurt!¡±

    ¡°They left that choice up to us for a reason!¡±

    ¡°Your life is important!¡± Madrigal cried, her own eyes shimmering for a different reason entirely.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get it! You¡¯ve barely even used yours! You¡¯ve only had to--¡±

    River cut himself off. The slightest motion of his head, shaken too quickly in the midst of his frantic counter, had landed the Ensemble perfectly in his peripheral vision. The time it took his gaze to settle in full upon Francisco¡¯s vehemently-strained expression, in particular, was long enough for Octavia¡¯s world to come to a screeching halt.

    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­only had to use¡­¡±

    River trailed off, not so much as acknowledging Madrigal as he tried and failed to finish his thought aloud. For too long, he locked eyes with a still, wordless Francisco, unmoving and barely breathing. His face, knowing in the worst way, wasn¡¯t subtle in the slightest--whether intentional or otherwise, Octavia was unsure. When River turned to Madrigal at last, he himself hardly had any breath to spare.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­you, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Madrigal flinched. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You,¡± he spoke shakily, ¡°have the Apex.¡±

    Madrigal tensed, returning his distressed gaze with significant distress in her own. Three sets of eyes that had drank in the heated exchange in silence now traveled to the Spirited Maestra in turn, wide with confusion. For what they knew of Lyra¡¯s strength, they knew not her title--even now, so far down the line. Octavia almost regretted keeping them in the dark. She was floored, somewhat, that Lyra had never outright told Madrigal in the first place.

    ¡°She...what?¡± Viola whispered.

    It was hardly a comfort that Josiah was equally as disoriented as she was, for how their horrified gazes locked again and again in between watching River¡¯s every reaction. The intermissions of quiet that plagued his own disbelief were perhaps even more tense than whatever soft panic left his lips.

    His anxious eyes snapped to Briar, his tone rapidly rising to match. ¡°Did you know? All of you?¡±

    Mint shook her head quickly. Briar, too, was just as quick to deny. ¡°River, we had no idea, I swear!¡±

    And when they traveled to Octavia, her heart nearly stopped.

    ¡°You¡­knew. You knew, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer. She couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°You knew the whole time?¡± River shouted, his voice trembling just as fiercely as he was.

    Octavia was far too close to trembling for a different reason. She couldn¡¯t fight the way it crept into her voice instead. ¡°River--¡±

    Already, he was after Madrigal. ¡°You knew! All of you knew!¡±

    Madrigal winced, eyes wide with surprise beneath the weight of his outburst. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand,¡± she admitted weakly.

    ¡°You¡¯d just give that up? You don¡¯t even use it? Do you have absolutely any idea what you¡¯re taking for granted? There are people who need that! Why would you¡­why would you squander that?¡± he cried.

    ¡°You wanna go giving yourself up left and right, that¡¯s your problem! It¡¯s sure as hell not anyone else¡¯s!¡±

    Renato¡¯s words were bitter and sharp, the cold eyes he offered the Spirited boy nearly ten times worse. His understanding of the situation meant nothing in the face of River¡¯s desperate venom, and he stood his ground without remorse. River gritted his teeth.

    ¡°We¡¯re Spirited for a reason! To have the Apex on top of that is--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not her responsibility to be running around throwin¡¯ her life away!¡± Renato growled. ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t give a damn about yours, but she¡¯s got a whole lot to look forward to, and I¡¯m gonna make sure it stays that way! She doesn¡¯t owe you or anyone else one freakin¡¯ second!¡±

    ¡°Then why did it have to be you?¡± River nearly screamed at the Spirited girl alone.

    ¡°River.¡±

    Briar¡¯s voice, calm as it was, contrasted sharply with the boy¡¯s own as he called above River¡¯s frustration. With his shoulders heaving and his breaths ragged, bubbling over with despair and ire alike, it took River longer than a moment to turn to him instead. Every shaky step only made Octavia¡¯s stomach twist into a tighter knot.

    ¡°How¡­badly do you want this?¡± the Soulful boy asked softly, his eyes pooling with pain. ¡°How badly do you want to keep being a Maestro?¡±

    For all the times Octavia had seen River come dangerously close to tears, whether by her biting words and probing or otherwise, she¡¯d never seen him truly cry. When sparkling seafoam broke at last, crashing upon a shore she wished she¡¯d never see, the sight of his sorrow dripping agonizingly down his cheeks broke Octavia¡¯s heart in half.

    ¡°More than anything,¡± he pleaded, his voice cracking.

    Briar watched him silently for a moment. When he faced Octavia instead, the pain she expected to find was still notable. Even so, the smoldering fire that touched gently atop his pupils contrasted with the ice in his soul.

    ¡°Octavia,¡± he began, ¡°just¡­let him keep his. If you want to take ours, that¡¯s fine, but let him have this. Ninety-five is enough for them to¡­do what they have to do. Please.¡±

    Octavia recoiled. ¡°Briar, I can¡¯t! It has to be all of them! You know that! He knows that!¡±

    River didn¡¯t argue. Tearful as he was, silent all the same, his wide eyes were offered to Briar alone. The Soulful boy didn¡¯t back down.

    ¡°What will it take to convince you?¡± Briar tried.

    ¡°Nothing! They all have to go!¡± Octavia shouted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t leave any of them behind! This is what has to happen! This is how it has to be! I¡¯m the Ambassador, Briar! This is my job!¡±

    ¡°Octavia, please, there has to be some kind of compromise. I don¡¯t¡­want to do this to him.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to either, but we don¡¯t have a choice!¡±

    ¡°Octavia,¡± Francisco interrupted, his gaze just as pleading as Briar¡¯s own, ¡°you can take ours, that¡¯s fine, but leave him alone. That¡¯s all we¡¯re asking. It¡¯s not much.¡±

    She felt sick to her stomach. ¡°You guys, stop it! Please don¡¯t make this harder than it has to be!¡±

    Briar pressed her still. ¡°You could consider it a trade. Everything that Tacell was for¡­this one exception. Octavia, it¡¯s all we¡¯re asking for, please.¡±

    ¡°Knock it off!¡± Octavia begged, her pulse quickening ever further. ¡°You can¡¯t pressure me into changing my mind! I have to do this! There¡¯s no alternative!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not trying to pressure you, we¡¯re not gonna hurt you, we¡¯re not trying to start a problem,¡± Francisco begged, peeling one hand from his partner in a raised gesture for peace. Given the pain in Octavia¡¯s own eyes, it was perhaps a reflex by which he averted his in turn as he implored the Ambassador. ¡°We just want to talk this out together and come to a solution we can all agree with.¡±

    ¡°Octavia, he¡¯s lying!¡±

    Her head snapped to Harper so quickly that the muscles of her neck suffered the consequences. ¡°What?¡±

    For how piercing the eyes she¡¯d expected to find were, the strain on Harper¡¯s face as he briefly captured Francisco¡¯s roaming gaze was alarming. Unblinking, he shook his head with confusion. ¡°I just don¡¯t know why!¡±

    When Octavia¡¯s panicked eyes darted back to Francisco for confirmation, the way she saw the boy grit his teeth was enough of a confirmation to make her dizzy. ¡°W-Which part is he lying about?¡±

    It was too much at once. Francisco tensed. ¡°Octavia, please, just leave him alone!¡±

    ¡°Harper, what is he lying about?¡± she repeated with far more urgency.

    Royal Orleans was right at home in his hands. Octavia froze.

    ¡°H-Harper?¡± she asked breathlessly.

    He didn¡¯t answer. Instead, with his fingers settled comfortably onto every key, his razor-edged gaze cut as deeply into Francisco as was possible. He didn¡¯t move. He didn¡¯t speak.

    Francisco inhaled sharply. ¡°Please don¡¯t make this difficult. It¡¯s all he wants.¡±

    The Willful boy¡¯s words were lost on each and every Harmonial Instrument that emerged with agonizing slowness, cautiously aloft and positioned with care behind Octavia. The world was spinning.

    And when she saw the Ensemble emulate much the same motions, their own skilled hands moving right to where they were needed most, the pressure that blotted out the sky above challenged the darkened clouds that stole the sun. There was no light in River¡¯s eyes. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to carry Stratos¡¯, unarmed in a sea of Maestros quietly tensed in a way she despised.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to do this,¡± Octavia herself begged, her own pleading gaze grazing each of the Ensemble in turn.

    Briar shook his head, one gloved hand taut around the bow of his cello. ¡°This is what¡¯s most important to us.¡±

    River¡¯s eyes flickered hastily to his, still distraught and tearful as they were. His fingers still trembled viciously around Renegadria all the same. ¡°Y-You¡¯re¡­¡±

    ¡°If¡­this is really, truly what you want,¡± Briar offered softly, ¡°then we¡¯ll protect that.¡±

    For the softest light that touched upon seafoam, she greatly lamented the way her hands made for her own. Every scrape against the textured material and every tug of the zipper burned. She didn¡¯t want River on the other end. With Stradivaria pressed against her cheek, Octavia cradled him not out of deception or obligation for once. She would rather have done so, in the moment.

    ¡°You¡­don¡¯t have to go this far for me,¡± River murmured, his voice still wobbling with every word.

    ¡°We want to,¡± Francisco countered. Mint, too, nodded in agreement.

    And as she did so, with the distraction she was offered, Octavia found a reprieve to acknowledge those who held their breath patiently alongside her. It took her a moment to recognize their calm, and yet another to understand it. She inhaled. She exhaled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t deserve it,¡± River argued tearfully.

    Briar shook his head. ¡°You deserve more than you think.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll¡­stand by you, if you want,¡± Francisco said, patting his instrument delicately for emphasis. ¡°If you¡¯re serious about making things better, we can¡­try our best, too. We won¡¯t leave you alone like that.¡±

    Octavia drew lines with her eyes.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go that far,¡± River repeated, a single sob breaking free from his throat.

    Briar¡¯s soft, faint smile was his compensation. ¡°We want to,¡± he repeated on Francisco¡¯s behalf. ¡°All of us do.¡±

    It hardly took her more than a moment to decide.

    ¡°You¡¯re our leader. That¡¯s what we¡¯re supposed to do,¡± Francisco half-joked. ¡°That¡¯s not gonna change, with or without Tacell.¡±

    Every subtle nod was instant confirmation, unhesitant and unquestioning.

    ¡°I¡­¡± River began, trailing off quickly. One palm parted with the accordion to wipe gently at his eyes, smearing his silky sleeve with tears.

    Octavia hated beyond hated settling the bow over Stradivaria¡¯s strings. She prayed for a miracle in the form of River¡¯s doubts. Stubborn as he was, she knew her luck.

    ¡°I¡¯m asking one more time, River,¡± she half-threatened, the words somewhat foreign on her tongue. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be like this. Let Rondelio go. You have your whole life to live. You¡¯re so much more than just a Maestro. Please.¡±

    He stared her down. Where once were tears was a tumbling sea. To stand on the other side of his tidal waves, too, was crushing. He was silent. She wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°Please.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry it came to this,¡± River finally offered.

    Where Octavia would¡¯ve much preferred to hear his crystalline laugh or bear witness to his soft smile, she was robbed of joy. Where she would¡¯ve dreamed of finding comfort in his company once more, she found none beneath the clouded sky above. Where she¡¯d come to adore seafoam, beautiful and spirited in every capacity, the determined ire she received in its place broke her heart into a thousand pieces.

    For how wonderfully she¡¯d cherished River, it was with the loveliest notes of his pained spirit that he cracked that fragile tension in two, and his defiant melody stung her soul in every way.

 97. Storm Over the River, Part I

    Something so beautiful and pure was never meant to harm. It was awful to even think about. It was even worse to actually take part in weaponizing such splendor. Every time she had to do it, her heart broke just a little bit more. Sometimes, the violence was justified, in self-defense or for the desperate protection of those who needed it most. This was absolutely not one of those times. She and River weren¡¯t even that different in the first place. It was a cause Madrigal could hardly get behind.

    It had to be done. Octavia needed her. It was, technically, for someone who very much required a helping hand to be liberated. That, in particular, was her obligation. In conjunction, it was a mission she didn¡¯t dare shy away from. [?]</a>

    There was no point in running, not for how he stood his ground much the same as her. Gifted with an Apex as he was, Madrigal was well aware the Willful boy wouldn¡¯t go down without giving her everything he had. He, too, fought for someone else¡¯s sake. It was as admirable as it was frustrating, his drive a catalyst for the flames that sought to wrap her up and incinerate her heart. They, as well, were beautiful. She wondered what his Apex thought of his decisions, exploited by his fluid and fiery song in return for a promise of nothing. The thought alone burned more than any chords that could ever singe her skin.

    ¡°I kinda thought you of all people would understand him,¡± Francisco called above his blazing melody, still blasting down onto her even now. ¡°You guys share the same legacy! You¡¯ve been through the same stuff! You¡¯ve both made the same sacrifices! Does that not mean anything to you?¡±

    Madrigal shook her head, never once stilling her fingers as they flew across the strings. ¡°I know how he feels! I don¡¯t want to stop being a Maestra, either! This is all I¡¯ve ever wanted! I really, really do understand how much he¡¯s hurting!¡±

    ¡°He thinks he has a purpose!¡± Francisco clarified somewhat. ¡°He says he was born for this! Whether or not I agree with him doesn¡¯t matter. If that¡¯s what he really believes, what the hell kind of person am I to take that away?¡±

    He played fast. It was as impressive as it was deadly, braced against the ground with his fingers flicking skillfully over every string. The writhing fires that licked his fingertips cursed Madrigal in the worst way, spiraling and bursting in gorgeous excess that was equal parts disorienting and lethal. To beat it back was a waste, her own sandals digging firmly into the dirt as she played. It was all she could do to keep up with him, if even that much.

    Where Francisco strummed, she struggled to pluck faster than him. Her gales didn¡¯t hesitate, even if Madrigal herself hadn¡¯t fully accepted the concept of combat with a friend. It was a war she could only see from one end, the flickering edges of his surging inferno repulsed by the winds she fought to match him with. For how his relentless flames seemed to almost still at the very center of the gap between them, scorching the innocent grass below into a slowly-blackening mess, Madrigal had a reprieve. It was far from enough. She didn¡¯t dare slow her fingers one bit.

    ¡°I was born to do this, too!¡± Madrigal cried. ¡°Lyra gave me everything I needed to become the person I¡¯ve always wanted to be! I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m gonna do without her! Thinking about it hurts more than anything in the world, but I know she has to go home!¡±

    She couldn¡¯t afford to expend too much energy on sorrow, even for how the thought stung her heart to dredge up. Should she falter, she¡¯d surely burn alive, given the tidal wave of fiery wrath that would descend upon her instantly. When he pushed, she pushed right back with everything she had. She was used to playing quickly, somewhat, given what it took to weave such rapid gusts in excess. Sustaining them was far trickier, and Francisco clearly lacked her folly. Where one ember fizzled and died, dozens more took its place, scarlets shimmering along the wavering mirage his impossible heat left behind. Madrigal had to commit. Wind was irreplaceable, meant to drift and gust evermore. It took time she didn¡¯t have.

    ¡°I knew this was gonna happen the minute he found out!¡± Francisco growled. ¡°I just didn¡¯t think you¡¯d have it the whole time! You don¡¯t even use it! Talk about adding insult to injury, good God! That¡¯s one way to break his heart!¡±

    ¡°Lyra is not an ¡®it!''¡± Madrigal hissed. ¡°I don¡¯t ¡®use¡¯ her! I love her! Is that how you feel about your partner?¡±

    It was almost a relief when Francisco shook his head, even if her greater concern was the scorching fury born of his song. Even as he spoke, the cascading flames that challenged her streaming gales only seemed to press harder despite her best efforts. The force behind them was downright terrifying, for how intangible they appeared. Every stray ember that drifted past her steady stream was hot enough even from a distance to sting her with ominous warmth, an unsettling radiance that kissed her skin from far too great a ways away. As to what it would do up close, she couldn¡¯t begin to imagine.

    ¡°He¡¯s absolutely my partner, and nothing¡¯s gonna change that! Use your gift or don¡¯t, I don¡¯t care, but you sure as hell take what you have for granted!¡± he bit back. ¡°¡®Love¡¯ isn¡¯t all they¡¯re capable of, you know!¡±

    That, in particular, stung. Madrigal narrowed her eyes. ¡°I know exactly what she¡¯s capable of!¡±

    Even above the roar of her desperate tempest and the rage of his ruthless flames, Francisco''s calm voice was clear, firm, and threatening.

    ¡°Prove it.¡±

    Madrigal blinked. It wasn¡¯t enough to shake her, and yet the way her fingers tensed around every string was a reflex. ¡°What?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t quite a grin so much as an empty smirk, devoid of any true joy or enthusiasm. It gave her chills in stark contrast to the blazing heat that radiated from afar. ¡°I¡¯ve never gone all-out against another Apex before. If you¡¯re so sure your bond is that perfect, show me what you¡¯ve got.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°B-But--¡±

    Francisco¡¯s ceaseless song was her only answer, for how his surging flames sought to incinerate her hurried words. In her panic, surprised as she was, it was almost a struggle to play ever faster, dragging her fingertips harder along every string as she sought to beat him back.

    Madrigal never got the chance to argue, let alone to question him. What left his mouth, low and sharp as it was, wasn''t meant for her. Only his eyes, honed to a razor¡¯s edge and ablaze in their own right, pierced her soul instead. For how many times she¡¯d felt such specific adrenaline tint her body in equal measure, she knew it anywhere by sight alone.

    ¡°Your turn.¡±

    Where he burned before, he now gave her Hell.

    Every gorgeous, flickering flame she¡¯d battled to repel surged and swelled nearly thrice the strength of what it had been. Unrelenting scarlets and oranges were under perfect control beneath skilled fingers. Francisco was perfect, his flowing melodies captivating and agonizingly dangerous all at once. If she''d had to strain to match his energy before, then it was an impossible challenge to hold him off with winds that only fueled his fiery tides.

    Madrigal outright yelped at the burst of hot air that blasted forth with the advent of his song, exploding almost painfully against her skin in a rush she could hardly blunt. Francisco was a wildfire of his own accord, his rapid movements nowhere to be physically seen as his fingers buried themselves deep in blazing chords. Her own song was by no means slow. Her stormy harmonies rippled with such fervor that every ember had no choice but to kiss the ground at her sides. Even so, he was gaining on her. It was terrifying.

    Francisco didn¡¯t speak, content to stare her down ruthlessly as he worked towards incinerating her in earnest. As to whether or not he truly intended to kill her, Madrigal doubted it. Still, that thought, too, was horrifying, and there was little his legacy could do to intimidate alone. If she faltered now, there was a very real chance she would be severely injured--if not outright burned to a crisp. Her heart pounded and her fingers flew. For how much fiercer his song had become, every note sharpened to a spearing point and besieging her with remorseless heat, her current plan to stand her ground was quickly eroding.

    There was an extremely simple solution. She could offer up her hands.

    With it would come her eyes, her heart, and her blood, blurred and shared in a way that made her soul buzz and her body light. What warmth would consume her in every way would ease her fears instantly, and she would be more than able to put up a fight. It was what Francisco wanted, ultimately. For Madrigal, it would be a reflex. Love itself was a reflex.

    She was hesitating. It was the first time, and she couldn¡¯t pinpoint why.

    Even given the sweat she could feel prickling her brow, swirling flames pressing close enough to singe the oxygen she struggled to claim, she couldn¡¯t do it. Madrigal could play, granted, desperately clinging to whatever cool sensations her gusts could offer up as relief. She did what she could to double down, bracing herself hard against the earth as she fought to keep her balance.

    The force of the storm she offered up was as vicious as it was painful, every string of Lyra¡¯s Repose snagging against her fingertips with each frantic strum. That was irrelevant, given the alternative of near-certain death. Francisco was silent. Their aggressive melodies, lovely and violent all the same, filled the gap. As to whether it was truly Francisco¡¯s own fingers birthing flame after flame with every flick and strum of the guitar¡¯s strings, she doubted it.

    Please be careful, my child. You face the Apex of Will.

    Madrigal was well aware, appreciative of Lyra¡¯s help as she was. ¡°I know!¡± she audibly called above her raging storm.

    I am here for you. I can lend you my strength.

    Madrigal winced. It was such a simple answer. It shouldn¡¯t have been so difficult to give. She gritted her teeth and sliced her thoughts in half--partially to survival and partially to Lyra. For how closely Francisco''s firestorm surged upon her, an unstoppable inferno that cursed her with a sea of beautiful scarlet and orange ire, repulsion was no longer an option. He set the very air ablaze, and the oxygen she desperately searched for was more or less incinerated. Gasping was useless. She grew more concerned by the moment that she might suffocate rather than burn alive. Still, even robbed of her breath and her words, there was a different drive that came with shunning Lyra''s aid.

    I won¡¯t!

    What is it?

    Madrigal resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, for how the swelling luminosity of Francisco''s fire threatened her pupils as it pressed forth. I want to do this on my own! I don¡¯t want to rely on you!

    You are in danger, my child. Please, I am here!

    Even now, it was a reflex. Madrigal had to fight to swallow her words, shaking her head in a silent and desperate measure instead. No one else has an Apex! No one else is able to do that! That¡¯s not fair!

    Madrigal--

    I won¡¯t have you forever!

    It ached terribly to consider. It was still just as true.

    I won¡¯t have you forever! she repeated within, her heart crying out on her behalf. I don¡¯t want to rely on you! Just this once, please watch me! Please believe in me! Please believe that¡­I can do it!

    In reality, she was struggling to figure out what ¡°it¡± was. Her options were all but nonexistent, her forward winds all but useless to resist Francisco¡¯s scorching assault. Her thoughts raced, and she combed through every option she could think of to stand up to his legacy.

    I will always believe in you, my Magical Madrigal.

    That, if nothing else, was all Madrigal needed to douse the panic in her heart. It raced in a different way.

    What that left her with instead was a desperate scramble for something, anything to compensate for a tempest that couldn¡¯t keep the firestorm of an Apex at bay. She racked her brain to the best of her ability. For how quickly Octavia had put her in this position, of everyone she could¡¯ve been stacked up against, there had to be a rationale. The Ambassador wasn¡¯t the type to make decisions without reason. Madrigal took a deep breath--as deep as she could, given the ever-shrinking reserve of oxygen untainted by hellish heat. It seared the inside of her lungs in a way that was more so alarming than painful, stealing what calm she fought to gather.

    Madrigal tensed. Maybe she could steal from him right back.

    It was a horrifying gamble to drop her guard for even a fraction of a second. Harper¡¯s flames were by no means weak, and Madrigal knew him to be an incredibly skilled Maestro. Even so, the fluid hands and piercing eyes stolen by the Apex of Will were on an entirely different level. To unwillingly capture Francisco¡¯s infernal tide as it battled to drown her would be a much different challenge than controlling the graciously-gifted embers of Royal Orleans. She had to try.

    With a prayer and a silent plea for luck, Madrigal poured her heart into every speedy note that erupted from Lyra¡¯s Repose. Keeping up with Francisco wouldn¡¯t be enough anymore. Each strum across the strings sent her once-pressing gusts spiraling instead, lashing and splitting with such fervor that she briefly feared losing control. Commanding them in full, abundant as they were, was a trial by fire--literally.

    For each bursting blaze he blasted her with, fast and relentless, Madrigal strained her fingers and muscles in equal measure to envelop every last ember in her swirling streams. There was, under no circumstances, any way she could handle absolutely everything he could put out if she hoped to stay on the offensive. She couldn¡¯t let him assault her with anything else.

    Nonetheless, she had it, wild and borderline uncontrollable as it was. Madrigal''s own rushing gales didn¡¯t help matters one bit, breathing new life into the flickering embers that scorched the innocent air in passing. There was something almost sacred about holding fast to the will of fire, so wonderfully born of an Apex¡¯s power. She¡¯d return it with both grace and gratitude. In finding the drive to move forward, she¡¯d perhaps stolen some of that will for herself, too.

    Darting almost headfirst into his raging, swimming flames was a terror all its own, for how she could still feel Francisco¡¯s fatal song wrapping her up on either side. To halt her own stormy melody would undoubtedly mean death. All that stood between her and utter incineration was the smoldering squalls she¡¯d brought along with her, a variable shield that soaked up yet more sizzling scarlet even now.

    Madrigal was sweating fiercely, and not from the scalding atmosphere alone. She was diving into the sun, hardly conscious of the way her sandals beat against the scorched earth as she made for him without mercy. Opening her mouth, given the stray embers both her own and not that stung her tongue, was a poor idea. She was well aware. She couldn¡¯t help it. More than Octavia, there was someone else who needed her help.

    ¡°You, who¡¯ve been tethered to this realm amongst the forces of darkness!¡± Madrigal cried, gritting her teeth against the burn in her throat.

    Of the Willful Muse who surely claimed Francisco¡¯s entire being even now, Madrigal prayed he could hear her call. She was no Ambassador. She was a heroine, and that was the closest she was going to get. Within reach of his vessel, still weaving harmonies of flaring fires that raged openly before her eyes, she had exactly one idea as to how to make it stop. She could undo the damage later, if she really felt bad enough about it. Given what Francisco was putting his partner through--and River¡¯s, by proxy--she wasn¡¯t sure she would.

    ¡°I am your liberator!¡±

    It was with incredible care that Madrigal sent exactly two of his stolen flames, broiling beneath the tender care of her gusts, lashing forwards towards the strings of the guitar. Her aim was his fingers alone, or perhaps the hands nearly drowning in flames that erupted with every strum. Francisco was careful. He wasn¡¯t invulnerable. For as cautious as she tried to be, even the kidnapped fires of the Apex that rode her streaming gales weren''t quite submissive enough to completely follow her melodic guidance.

    Madrigal was somewhat glad that Francisco had sleeves. She doubted his jacket was enough to fully spare him the damage that came with explosive flames spiraling and winding around his arms. Even as she fought to reel them in as soon as possible, they still darted rapidly up to at least his shoulders before she could steal them back.

    Her accidental assault was enough to draw forth a sharp cry somewhere between shock and agony, fleeting and hurried as the moment had been. It was more than enough to not only soften his eyes, blunting the razor-edged gaze she knew too well, but to send him recoiling entirely. Francisco¡¯s hands rushing to his stinging arms was surely instinctive, and the guitar falling gracelessly to the annihilated grass below with a thud left Madrigal¡¯s eyes wide. For how his infernal ocean no longer surged and pulsed, parting and fizzling with a force equally as eruptive as its birth, the rush of cool air that settled onto Madrigal¡¯s skin was an incredible relief. It would¡¯ve been cooler, maybe, had she not still clung to what remained of his fiery wrath.

    It took effort to kick the guitar out of his reach while still maintaining her song, her focus largely on the flames she circulated even now. He hadn¡¯t recovered, his shoulders heaving from the shock of his fleeting burns unseen. For how he¡¯d done his best to pin her down, she had all she needed to give Francisco exactly the same right back. With swift flicks of her wrist that brought her curled fingers dragging along the strings, her stolen flames descended upon him relentlessly.

    Madrigal refused to let him move, sending every flickering gust of raging reds and oranges swirling about Francisco¡¯s body from his head to his toes. One by one, every strum built her infernal prison further, ensnaring the Willful boy in a fiery vortex as gorgeous as it was unfathomably scorching. She knew she wouldn¡¯t burn him. She was getting used to the feeling of the Apex¡¯s flames beneath her fingertips by proxy. It didn¡¯t mean Francisco had the slightest semblance of power to resist her, for how wide his own eyes had become as he recognized his predicament.

    Madrigal didn¡¯t dare lose her focus, given the multiple consequences that would ensue if she did. Still, her eyes flickered back and forth between the guitar several feet away and the boy trapped in her hastily-crafted firestorm. She didn¡¯t have the leeway to look over her shoulder. She¡¯d have to be loud, particularly given the volume of her searing song.

    ¡°Octavia, now¡¯s your chance!¡± Madrigal shouted to the best of her ability.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± she heard.

    Madrigal hadn¡¯t planned to by any means. If it was an order from her fearless leader, she would make doubly sure not to change a thing. In the time it took her to pick up the sound of frantic footsteps flying across what was left of rustling grass, she had the opportunity to conjure a smile.

    Did you watch me?

    Of course.

    I told you I could do it!

    I should not have doubted you. You have my apologies, my child.

    Madrigal couldn¡¯t fight the way her smile exploded into something brighter, perhaps enough to challenge the flames she sent swirling and spinning still. Love from afar felt just as good as love from within. She wondered if it would stay that way.

    <hr>

    There was absolutely no chance that she could take them all on at once, let alone by herself. Octavia knew almost nothing of the Ensemble¡¯s ability to work in conjunction with one another--although she assumed they would''ve been startlingly competent. If their individual performances in Velpyre had been indicative of anything, she was aggressively fearful of what would happen should they fight side by side. Three Apexes in tandem, in particular, would be a nightmare to confront simultaneously. This was the only feasible option, if she was going to make this work.

    Her first issue was trust, and that was hardly a problem--she knew all four Maestros in her circle to be spectacularly skilled and strong. If any Maestros were resourceful enough to outmatch Apexes, it would be them. The second issue, far more pressing, was patience. Timing came third, somewhat. They had their responsibilities, silently assigned as they¡¯d been. She had hers. She always had hers.

    ¡°He¡¯s unarmed,¡± Octavia recognized breathlessly.

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡±

    She didn¡¯t need to keep Stradivaria in position, technically. She trusted them to take the target off her back. ¡°We¡¯re probably going to have to do this one by one! We can¡¯t let any of them get to River, even after their Muses have been guided!¡±

    It was almost laughable that Josiah had brought a simple knife to a harmonic battle of legacies unleashed. Still, it was readied and firmly gripped as he sprinted at her side. ¡°Are you gonna be able to guide them if their Maestros aren¡¯t willing to give them up?¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t particularly enjoy the thought. It wasn¡¯t something she could afford to entertain. ¡°I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t have a choice but to try!¡±

    ¡°Then do whatever you have to do,¡± he reassured. ¡°I¡¯ll back you up however I can!¡±

    For whatever that meant as the odd one out in their little war, Octavia was comforted by his words all the same. With the darkened sky as her witness, she followed the lovely flames that Madrigal had so elegantly swept up and stolen from the boy trapped deep within their flickering fury. Josiah trailed her every footstep, and she clung tightly to either end of Stradivaria as her boots pounded against the earth again and again.

    ¡°There¡¯s no friggin¡¯ point in me begging you anymore, is there?¡± Francisco snapped, somewhat breathless himself within his scorching prison. For what little cool air surely remained within, Octavia couldn¡¯t particularly fault him. She almost thought to tell Madrigal to cease her song. That would have to wait.

    Crouching low, she shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I have to do this! I don¡¯t want to hurt River, really! I care about him, too!¡±

    Francisco narrowed his eyes, his gaze somewhat buried by the hazy mirage blighting the air before him. ¡°If you really cared, you wouldn¡¯t be doing this! It¡¯s not too late to change your mind, you know!¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t have the opportunity to entertain his words, sharp as they were. Given what the other three Maestros at her back were currently dealing with, she needed to be quick.

    I know you¡¯re in there.

    It was enough. The only thing more vividly striking than the reds and oranges that swirled about Francisco was the Apex of Will sparkling brightly on high. Luminescent and gloriously scarlet beneath the graying clouds gathered above, he was the sun that had been obscured. By comparison to his Maestro, he was calm as he addressed the Ambassador, his voice level and firm.

    ¡°I stand impressed. This one has proven herself before the will of fire. You have chosen your allies well, Ambassador,¡± Kalist complimented.

    Octavia wasn¡¯t immune to the gentle smile that crossed Madrigal¡¯s face at his praise. Still, Madrigal herself didn¡¯t seem fully satisfied, and it evaporated quickly. ¡°Why did you help him when he called for you? Couldn¡¯t you just say no?¡±

    The Muse shook his head. ¡°My apologies, child. Detest me if you will, but I must be sure that those who guard the Ambassador have the strength to do so.¡±

    Madrigal¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You were testing me?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Your spirit is admirable, and your will is just as such.¡±

    She beamed.

    Octavia found his explanation far less endearing. Her task took priority. ¡°I¡¯m sending you back,¡± she said firmly. It was an explicit statement, and she declined to ask for his permission instead. ¡°Get ready.¡±

    Kalist nodded yet again. He gave her what she needed, and that much was a relief. His faceless gaze flickered to Francisco in passing, ensnared in Madrigal¡¯s fiery storm as he continued to be. It was almost amusing that he declined to comment, for how his own prowess had been stolen and misused.

    ¡°Francisco Lyri, your toll has been paid once over,¡± he spoke. ¡°Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    Francisco gritted his teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t do this!¡±

    Octavia winced as she lowered her fingers over the body of the guitar. ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    There was nothing more she could say to him. It had to happen. He was too stubborn. He was the first of four, and Octavia would at least give them the solace of her attention in the dark. She was running out of opportunities to plummet. She wouldn¡¯t miss it much.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    Like so many tolls she¡¯d found in Tacell, she didn¡¯t recognize her stranger one bit.

    He looked nothing like Francisco, really, from what she found in passing. Mirrors, glistening waters, and every reflective surface in between gifted her with what was essentially nothing. For where she was and who she was witnessing, it hardly mattered what she would find within. Her attention was largely a byproduct of respect alone. Francisco was absent, and she subsequently concluded her stranger to be unrelated to the Willful boy.

    The man¡¯s life was unremarkable, for the most part, tumultuous as it was. He didn¡¯t marry, he hardly loved, and his decisions were questionable at best. At worst, he was possibly loathsome. Octavia didn¡¯t enjoy the shoes she wore. She didn¡¯t enjoy the hands that inflicted violence upon others so carelessly over petty disputes. She didn¡¯t enjoy the obscenities and hostilities that spilled from her stolen lips in earnest towards those who least deserved it. He had his upsides. His downsides were far more prominent.

    She recognized Selbright, a recurring backdrop in the tolls she¡¯d witnessed as of late. One toll alone, burned into her mind forever out of sheer repetition, had carved at least a solid portion of the city into her bloodstream. It was one of many specific things she had to thank Lucian for, departed as he was. Of the places she ventured to in her borrowed body, she knew most by proxy. Some had still gone unseen, and more still she would¡¯ve preferred to stay that way.

    For how large the city was, it wasn¡¯t shocking that it possessed its unsavory sides. The actual sight of the debauchery that ensued behind certain closed doors reminded her of Velpyre at its peak--what of it she¡¯d been forced to experience thousands of times over. How her stranger had even found such circles was beyond her. He was still just as abrasive and inhospitable through every step of his existence.

    Octavia had zero investment in this arrogant man¡¯s life, nor could she bring herself to feel especially bad about its inevitable termination. Beneath the sparse light of the moon above, staggering and potentially inebriated as he returned from company she¡¯d prefer not to recall, his behavior was once again unsurprising. Throughout the course of her stolen life, she¡¯d considered rescinding her offer to bear witness to Francisco¡¯s toll with honor befitting all he¡¯d done for her. How he¡¯d ended up with such an awful toll in the first place was beyond her.

    How he¡¯d ended up in it was significantly more unsettling. How all four of them did, ultimately, was even more astonishing.

    The stark contrast between her repulsive stranger and the striking eyes she¡¯d once adored in the same scenario was surreal. For the three that flanked River in a toll that wasn¡¯t even his, Octavia struggled to process his presence at all. The Ensemble had been practically cut out of the peace of Tacell and splashed unceremoniously onto the page of a far darker story. It didn¡¯t suit them, nor did they deserve to be there.

    Francisco, for the guitar he held so confidently in his steady hands, was perhaps the most odd of all as he approached her--borrowed as her existence was. Octavia resented the threats and obscenities that flew his way, wishing with all her heart that she could bite a tongue that didn¡¯t belong to her. Ultimately, her stranger never once laid a finger on the Willful boy, met largely with sharp eyes that sliced him to shreds and silently challenged his words.

    Even in memories that weren¡¯t her own, Francisco¡¯s explosive flames were still just as vibrant and gorgeous as they burst from every strum. In the depths of a toll, his fingers wove to life mesmerizing embers that flickered and erupted into the air of the night. They were perfect. His song was flawless and fluid, every bit as powerful as Octavia knew him to be. He was every bit as lethal as she''d assumed, too, for how her stranger¡¯s entire life remorselessly went up in flames.

    ¡ô ¡ô ¡ô

    When she came up, she didn¡¯t move. She could hardly think straight. Her head spun as she struggled to process the implications of his toll, let alone make sense of it. With her fingers still over the guitar, she mentally replayed it again and again. Francisco hadn¡¯t so much as known the man--at least, not from what Octavia had observed. His presence at all was nonsensical. She raised her eyes to the boy slowly, still enveloped in Madrigal¡¯s scorching tempest as he was.

    ¡°What¡­was that?¡± Octavia asked hesitantly.

    She watched the way his shoulders rose and fell the slightest bit faster. He was silent.

    ¡°Francisco, what was that?¡± she snapped.

    ¡°What did you see?¡± Josiah asked instead, far calmer by comparison.

    ¡°Not everyone gets lucky with tolls, Ambassador.¡±

    His words burned her to her core. In contrast, Octavia''s blood froze. ¡°What?¡±

    Francisco hesitated. ¡°You make it sound so easy to send them back to Above, and you keep forgetting there¡¯s a price to pay. Not everyone gets to cross that bridge so easily.¡±

    Her hands were shaking, too. ¡°Y-You--¡±

    ¡°For all we put into Tacell, there was a lot that we had to do for the Ambassador.¡±

    ¡°Francisco, you--¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    Octavia¡¯s heart nearly stopped. Madrigal, occupied as she was, could only offer her the briefest of concerned glances. Josiah, by comparison, seemed far more invested.

    ¡°Octavia, what happened?¡± he pressed urgently.

    ¡°You killed him,¡± she stated to the Willful boy, her voice trembling.

    Josiah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°He what?¡±

    ¡°Did¡­all of you?¡± Octavia murmured.

    When Francisco¡¯s face fell utterly blank, she had her answer. Her soul shattered to pieces. For as savage as blood on the hands of each one of them was, the thought of River as a murderer was tearing her to shreds. She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡°You all committed murder to pay your tolls?¡± Josiah shouted in disbelief. ¡°Are you serious?¡±

    ¡°This is what it takes to send them back!¡± Francisco argued. ¡°Some people lose their families! Some people lose their friends! That¡¯s great for them! Not everyone has that luxury! This is how committed we were! Octavia wouldn¡¯t even be able to do this if it weren¡¯t for--¡±

    ¡°If you guys went that far for this,¡± Josiah argued right back, ¡°then why the hell is River putting up such a fight? Why would he go out of his way to pay a toll for a guidance he¡¯d never let happen?¡±

    Francisco didn¡¯t answer for a moment. ¡°Because he didn¡¯t want us to have to do it alone!¡±

    Octavia wanted to vomit. It was so like him, in the most twisted way imaginable.

    She couldn¡¯t take anymore. Her fingers dove downwards once more, and she hardly raised her head. It was all she could do to squeeze words out of her throat, for how it had nearly sealed shut.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart,¡± she spoke, far softer than she would¡¯ve preferred.

    The shimmering scarlets that flickered and fizzled like dying stars in the open air should¡¯ve been resplendent and captivating as always. Of an Apex, in particular, Octavia should¡¯ve been enthralled. He deserved respect, and she struggled to give it to him. Given the way her stomach churned and her heart cracked like glass, she could barely muster the strength to see his passage through. His words were hardly audible for ears that had long since filled with rushing blood, gracious as they were.

    ¡°You are a fine Ambassador surrounded by equally fine allies,¡± Kalist praised. ¡°I have no doubt you will see your task through to the end. You have my gratitude.¡±

    Octavia didn¡¯t want his gratitude. She didn¡¯t want anyone¡¯s gratitude, and not solely because it was poisonous. All she wanted was every bloodstained Harmonial Instrument out of the hands of the Ensemble immediately. All she wanted was for this to end as soon as possible.

    Francisco watched with a strained expression and balled fists at his sides as Octavia stole his partner away, still crouched on the ground as she was. Powerless to intervene even now, it was all that could be done. Madrigal¡¯s ceaseless song was Octavia¡¯s only comfort, and her strumming was far preferable to that of the guitar that slowly dissipated beneath her trembling touch. Waiting for the process to end was torture.

    The moment she met no resistance, the second the cloudy sky had surrendered the sparkling scarlets it had been gifted, she was on her feet again. It took her a moment to catch her breath. ¡°M-Madrigal, don¡¯t let him get to River,¡± she ordered shakily.

    She watched Madrigal nod, even as her flaming song began to slow. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, Ambassador!¡±

    Francisco didn¡¯t argue or object, content to stare her down with disdain and ire. She loathed it. She refused to give him the same back, her stomach still twisted into knots.

    ¡°Josiah,¡± Octavia said simply.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he offered back.

    With one dive into the darkness alone, an already-difficult trial born of resistance had suddenly been splashed with malice. Octavia didn¡¯t have the heart to watch. As with so many things, she didn¡¯t have a choice.

    <hr>

    There was never a need to question almost a single choice Octavia made. She could¡¯ve picked any of them, and it would¡¯ve made sense. It would¡¯ve been doable, it would¡¯ve been interesting, and it would¡¯ve been simple--if not easy, then at least exceedingly enjoyable. There was almost something exciting about trying to pin down her rationale. At the moment, that left fighting to figure out exactly what had led her to match them together. Maybe it was as simple as it looked. It was his fault for telling her to use him however she pleased, once. There was an obligation that came on the back half of that pledge, if he remembered correctly. Renato didn¡¯t hate it one bit. [?]</a>

    It seemed straightforward, if nothing else. It wasn¡¯t much different than Velpyre, if the same situation in Velpyre had been significantly more abundant and shockingly more crystalline. It wasn¡¯t that Viola¡¯s ice was weak by any means, and he respected it. Whatever Briar¡¯s song was coagulating, by comparison, was on another level entirely. It wasn¡¯t faltering under a single blow. That was new. He said as much.

    ¡°I¡¯m seriously impressed!¡± Renato called. ¡°This stuff¡¯s strong as hell!¡±

    His praise was utterly lost on Briar, aggravated as he was. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be doing this!¡±

    Renato bristled somewhat, an opportunity for camaraderie clearly lost. ¡°We do, apparently! You guys don¡¯t need to be putting up such a damn fight!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t tall, but it was incredibly thick. Opaque as it was, every angle of the barrier Briar had crafted was--visually--impenetrable. Really, nothing was, with the right amount of effort. Renato sprinted, throwing himself downwards onto his hands as he tumbled several times over. With a push off of the earth below, he was briefly airborne, and it was enough. He brought his wrists down hard in tandem, the full weight of the strength of sound crashing into Briar¡¯s ice with a boom.

    It barely cracked. Renato raised an eyebrow.

    The one crack he did manage to make didn¡¯t last, the soft notes of a cello deep within the glacier serving to seal what was broken. Shimmering beneath the dim sunlight the obscured sky had afforded them, the creeping frost that filled the gap undid Renato¡¯s feeble progress in an instant. Renato tapped a drumstick against his thigh rhythmically. He was starting to see Octavia¡¯s point. It wasn¡¯t exactly a bad thing, the more he thought about it. Everything could be broken. An Apex meant nothing. He tried again.

    He gathered significantly more distance this time around, opting for the same tactic of channeling all of the forward momentum he could piece together. Again he went up, and again he came down hard. The explosive burst rippled through his blood in the best way as it collided with pure crystal once more, and he poured as much effort as he could into drawing it out. It was a larger splinter, granted, branching in yet more directions than before. Briar didn¡¯t play quite as quickly as Octavia did. He hardly needed to, and the moderate pace of his song sufficed to erase the damage in seconds.

    Renato gave him an experimental moment of peace. When he got nothing in return, well aware of the boy patiently awaiting his assault opposite the barrier, he tilted his head with a knowing grin.

    ¡°Oh, you think you¡¯re smart, huh?¡± he teased.

    ¡°Please, just stop! Leave him alone! If this is what he wants, just let him have this!¡± Briar pleaded unseen.

    His words were irrelevant. Renato cracked his neck. A war of attrition was the absolute worst possible choice Briar could¡¯ve made.

    He had half a mind to wonder exactly how many times Briar had seen actual combat, let alone how many times the Soulful boy had encountered the true strength of sound in full. Either way, he would experience both firsthand today, and Renato resolved to ensure that much. If this was the game Briar wanted to play, he¡¯d entertain it--although an actual fight would¡¯ve been far more fun.

    What he¡¯d gathered so far from his tiny handful of experimental attacks was fairly sparse. Briar had the continuous leisure of a slower song, more than likely self-assured in his stamina. His ice was incredibly fortified and rapidly repaired to its full glory with every tender, simply-woven note. He sincerely had the audacity to think he could outlast Renato, taking the route of patience and protection over actual offense. One of those was far more insulting than the others. All three in conjunction would be very, very interesting to dismantle.

    If he was committed to fixing what was broken, there was always the option of outmatching him in speed. How fast Briar could play, when pressed to his limits, was debatable. Logically, it would be simple for Renato to force his hand and find out. He took several steps backwards, inhaled sharply, and threw everything he had down onto the earth once more.

    Forwards, sideways, again and again, he pooled his momentum as much as was possible with every skillful tumble. It was with a strangled cry of effort that he pushed hard off the grass below, finding the ample height he¡¯d hoped to work with. It wasn¡¯t necessarily the best he could do, compared to what was truly at his fingertips--should he desire it. It was enough to give Mistral Asunder a head start.

    It took effort to withstand the blows that erupted from the tips of either drumstick each time. Renato was thankful every day that he¡¯d long since learned to live with the recoil. Already, his assault was explosive, intolerable and disorienting as it collided with a sharp ringing sound against perfect crystal. It cracked once more. For what soft, clean notes he was already hearing, he wouldn¡¯t let it heal. He had no room to scrape together more helpful velocity, given the window that was sure to close in the time he could try. That left him relying on pure strength alone. To be fair, he wasn¡¯t too bad at that, either.

    Renato focused his efforts on the same compromised splinter of shimmering, glassy ice time and time again, beating upon it relentlessly with all that the strength of sound had to offer. Boom after boom after boom sent shockwaves erupting into the crevice, steadily widening with every blow. Like a delta, it splintered ever further, crawling and climbing along the length of Briar¡¯s crystalline barrier. He was making progress, that was for sure. Briar at his best truly didn¡¯t play as fast as Octavia, and Renato had now formally confirmed that much. He still played concerningly quickly when he felt like it.

    There was pushback, then, in the way Renato fought to keep his freshly-blessed weak point in the wake of Briar¡¯s hurried attempts to undo his devastation. His frosted melody was hasty and effective as it sought to fill the widening crevice, not quite compromised enough to give way in full. Renato clicked his tongue in irritation. If one wasn¡¯t enough, he¡¯d give Briar more to handle.

    For how the Soulful boy was already occupied, there was still no leeway to count on his momentum. Renato¡¯s strength would have to suffice for the foreseeable future if this was the strategy he intended to use. In that case, he swore to make full use of what he had to work with. His concentration fell adjacent to his existing handiwork as he unleashed a hailstorm of bursts upon shining crystal once more. In truth, the resounding ringing that resulted beneath every explosive blow was pleasing enough that he didn¡¯t particularly mind it. Given how long it had taken him to get used to the ridiculous volume of every blast, this would¡¯ve been a preferable starting point.

    True to his initial assumption, Briar stayed solely on the defensive. Part of him wondered if Briar knew how to handle the strength of sound at all, given the lack of legacy representation in the Ensemble. The simple idea of a Maestro with an Apex, of all things, being afraid of him in any capacity was enough to give Renato chills. It felt good.

    Where he¡¯d sought Briar¡¯s divided attention, he did, in fact, get it. Unfortunately, as he quickly learned, the Maestro was excellent at multitasking. Every crack and crevice that Renato had peppered the glistening glacier with in excess was coagulating at the behest of Briar¡¯s ceaseless harmonies, flawlessly painted over with creeping frost. There was something mildly disheartening about seeing his hard work go to waste with only a few distant notes. More than anything, it was incredibly annoying. Renato groaned loudly.

    ¡°Man, you¡¯re really not makin¡¯ this easy for me, are you?¡± he complained.

    Briar wasn¡¯t having it. ¡°Just leave River alone and we won¡¯t have to do this!¡±

    Renato rolled his eyes. ¡°You know, I¡¯m really not a fan of how that guy talks to my girl. Wish I could say I feel worse!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know him like we do!¡±

    ¡°Clearly!¡± he called back, more than annoyed.

    Futile as he knew the effort to be, he launched the same assault once more--dispersed, clean, and painstakingly explosive. Renato put enough force behind each blow that his wrists were outright straining, his muscles taut from withstanding the recoil he typically embraced. To stay largely still and grounded in the wake of the bursts went against what his body was used to, for how hard he¡¯d fought to adjust it to every conceivable attack.

    Each and every time, his efforts were in vain, and the crevices he birthed again and again were aggravatingly rewarded with yet more frustrating frost. At least once, his muscle memory kicked in--a slip-up he realized too late. His window of opportunity to keep each splinter across the crystalline barrier under fire closed against his will. It was a reflex to embrace the repulsive burst that sent him backwards, coming down hard shortly after with a boom still too late to seize the chance yet again.

    He lost any semblance of a splinter that would last. If he squinted, in its place, he could find a dent instead. It wasn¡¯t immediately obvious. It didn¡¯t regenerate even slightly as fast, for the new icy protection Briar was forced to weave in its place. It was nowhere near as easy as simply filling a gap.

    Renato grinned. Maybe the fun option would work, after all.

    It was a work in progress, somewhat. He¡¯d only figured it out recently, although he was fairly certain he had it pretty much mastered at this point. It was still riddled with caveats and dangers that could easily leave him severely injured, if not outright kill him. He could always break his neck, or perhaps shatter every last bone in his body. He could end up dead in any number of far more gruesome ways. It was most definitely unsafe. It was extremely enjoyable, and, therefore, Renato did not care.

    He didn¡¯t bother with carefully-paced steps in reverse anymore, nor did he chase the traditional route of physically channeling momentum through tumbling and inverting. Mistral Asunder was a far better compromise. The only inversions he opted for were those that followed the boom he unleashed immediately behind him. Sending the strength of sound bursting against the air itself, the recoil did much of the work for him, provided he balanced himself accordingly. What that left was himself on a demonically-fast collision course with a nearly-impenetrable glacier that would, probably, injure him horrifically at this speed. Renato wouldn¡¯t let it.

    It had, admittedly, taken practice to perfect the ¡°stopping¡± part, and it now worked marvelously. With two more careful inversions, quick as they needed to be, Mistral Asunder was before him instead. Even if neither drumstick made direct contact with Briar¡¯s ice, it was more than close enough. Another boom, by comparison, was destructive and relentless towards something tangible. The velocity he¡¯d carried with him all the way there erupted in full. Where he¡¯d once sought to beat it down with simple splinters, the substantially-sizable dent that besieged the crystalline barrier instead was far more gratifying.

    Briar played. He didn¡¯t get far, no matter how fast he went--and he was definitely going fast. Even at his most frantic, he was hard-pressed to match Octavia, and Renato could now attribute that in part to his instrument. The ice he fought to repair, seeking to undo Renato¡¯s destruction, definitely regenerated quicker by comparison. In terms of thickness, Renato knew it would still take significant effort to completely break through. Once wouldn¡¯t be enough. It was a wonderful excuse.

    He didn¡¯t mind the way the wind kissed his face with every burst, nor the rush of air that streamed along his skin almost constantly. Sometimes, he was borderline airborne, content to crash down into the ice like a meteor. There was no margin for error, every boom and the subsequent uncontrollable speed that followed a recipe for disaster if he lost his focus. He traded what concentration he could ever need for muscle memory, exchanging what fear he was meant to cling to for the high he couldn¡¯t resist.

    Every dent, larger and larger still, was satisfyingly productive, and Renato knew he had the advantage. It was much less notable than the way his blood was on fire and adrenaline was scorching his veins. For how serious the situation was, for how easily this method of fighting could seriously harm him, he knew he shouldn¡¯t be smiling this hard. He couldn¡¯t help it.

    Briar was shouting something to him, although it was difficult to make out over the sound of each boom at such a close range. To his surprise, the Soulful boy had outright given up on attempting to fix what had been broken. Instead, born anew in front of Renato was yet another barrier of perfectly-pure crystal. Its cold aura just barely grazed his skin at such a close range, rising yet higher above his head. It was every bit as visually sturdy and every bit as resplendent, beautifully tinted with much the same hint of blue. If Briar hadn¡¯t realized Renato wouldn¡¯t burn out by now, then he was perhaps even denser than his own ice.

    If Briar was going to impede him from the front, then, Renato would simply hit him somewhere he couldn¡¯t reach. The three quick tumbles he allowed himself on the grass were in stark contrast to the speed he¡¯d relished moments ago, slower in every way as he threw himself downwards. He knew he¡¯d have his rush back soon. All it would take was one gentle tap of either drumstick against the innocent earth. He was almost sorry for the blistering crater it left in its wake, a bang immediately below his hands that sent sod flying in almost every direction. It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d be down there long enough to deal with it. He went up.

    And with an inversion that came naturally, the recoil still claiming his body, he sought more of the same. With another tap upon the open air, the burst that exploded beneath him shot him ever higher. Really, there was no limit, so long as he had oxygen. He¡¯d never actually had the chance to try. He beat against the sky again and again and again, boom after boom after boom sending him sailing eternally higher.

    There was no fear in looking down, even for how distant Briar was becoming. Already, Renato could see the sparkle that came with crystal, newly-born once more and capturing what pitiful light peeked through the thick clouds. Briar knew what he was doing. Now, it was even more of a challenge.

    Higher.

    Higher.

    ¡°I am really putting you guys to work today, huh?¡± Renato teased aloud, even as the rising atmosphere threatened to thin his breath.

    You are being reckless.

    And prideful.

    And ignorant.

    And rash.

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m pretty sure two of those meant the same thing.¡±

    Higher.

    Higher.

    Higher.

    This is exceedingly dangerous.

    Do you not fear death?

    Renato scoffed, but not without a grin he couldn¡¯t control. ¡°God, you two have zero faith in me. Watch and learn, okay?¡±

    Higher.

    Higher.

    Higher.

    Higher.

    The manner by which you do battle leaves much to be desired.

    It is questionable.

    You would do well to temper your¡­creativity.

    Your methods are ridiculous.

    He could¡¯ve gone higher, in truth. Ultimately, any more and he would¡¯ve risked losing Briar from his sights. He still had to aim. For how far up he¡¯d risen, it would be a secondary challenge. That was a plus. With Mistral Asunder aloft once more, he began his beautiful submission to gravity. For the life of him, Renato would never be able to wipe his grin off his face if he tried.

    ¡°I think the word you¡¯re looking for is ¡®unconventional!¡¯¡± he cried with a laugh.

    And the process in reverse was differentiated only by speed. Rather than higher, he was faster, faster, faster with every boom that sent him hurtling downwards. The wind that brutally besieged his skin was almost painful, the pressure of his impossibly-quick descent enough to nearly steal the breath from his lungs. Renato''s heart raced fiercely, his blood surging with adrenaline he couldn¡¯t hope to restrain. His soul buzzed with a high he didn¡¯t bother containing. The strength of sound in his hands was phenomenal in every way. It felt good. It felt good. It felt good. It felt so, so, so good. It was absolutely criminal for it to feel this good.

    Giving this up was going to suck.

    He was a comet spiraling to earth without mercy, setting a collision course with pure crystal that Briar couldn''t possibly hope to withstand. If Octavia¡¯s attention was somewhere else at the moment, he was about to claim it by force--involuntarily, really. Renato''s velocity was so vivid that even he couldn''t estimate the incoming damage. With his bloodstream aflame, crying out was just as much of a reflex as the inversions that came with the downward swing of his wrists.

    What followed was definitely the loudest boom he''d ever coaxed Mistral Asunder into producing, a prideful feat that shattered every last ounce of Briar¡¯s once-impenetrable barrier to helpless pieces. It did so gracelessly. Jagged shards of useless frost scattered and speared deep into the earth with such force that they surely would¡¯ve posed a hazard to anyone who stood too close. The recoil that hit Renato in return was fiercer than anything he¡¯d ever experienced, enough to send him back up another twenty feet or so. That didn¡¯t hurt. It felt good, too.

    At the very least, high above as he was, he had a clear view of the chaos. Of personal concern, mostly, was the way Briar practically bordered on consciousness. He¡¯d ended up flat on his back and unceremoniously divorced from the cello resting no less than ten feet away from his body. For a brief moment, Renato wondered if he was dead. It was a vague relief when he stirred, regardless of how the Soulful boy was completely and utterly unable to stand. Renato hoped he hadn¡¯t broken anything--ironically.

    If he squinted, he could see Octavia. On the cusp of gravity¡¯s pull as he was, she¡¯d see him soon enough. He didn¡¯t especially want her to lose the chance he¡¯d gone well out of his way to give her, even if a rematch would¡¯ve been an absolute blast. Renato doubted Briar would even slightly have the capacity to fight back after this. It took effort to raise his voice enough to travel to the ground again.

    ¡°Get his ass, Octavia!¡± Renato shouted.

    For the way she sprinted in Briar¡¯s direction, Josiah trailing close behind her, it was enough. By the time he made it down again, casual and unhurried as the descent was, his fearless leader was already hard at work. Renato felt almost bad for not contributing more, content to spin one drumstick between his fingers comfortably instead as he watched her do what she did best.

    ¡°I regret that it has come to this, Ambassador,¡± the cerulean Muse apologized, bowing his head in remorse. ¡°Know that I, as are we all, am grateful for your assistance.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Octavia interrupted hurriedly, her hands already stilled over the cello. ¡°Are you ready?¡±

    Parsephii nodded. It hardly mattered that his Maestro was substantially incapacitated, given how he continued anyway.

    ¡°Briar Ariano, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.¡±

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t,¡± Briar begged weakly, just barely capable of raising one hand in a desperate plea. ¡°If not me, then at least leave River alone.¡±

    Octavia hesitated. Her fingertips brushed against the body of the instrument, and it was over as fast as always. It was probably insensitive of Renato to be curious as to exactly what went on during the process every time. He couldn¡¯t help it.

    The Ambassador''s face drained of color as she turned to Josiah. ¡°I-It¡¯s the same thing! He¡­he did it, too!¡±

    Josiah, in turn, went blank. His eyes flickered to Briar with notably more frustration, silent as the gesture was. Renato tensed.

    ¡°What, uh, what¡¯s going on?¡± he asked, his ceaseless grin finally beginning to falter.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± Octavia answered far too quickly.

    Renato raised an eyebrow. It wasn¡¯t like her to shut him out that way. Still, he didn¡¯t press, content to watch as her fingers dove downwards once more.

    ¡°I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart!¡± she practically cried, her voice shaking somewhat.

    Renato had, at least, grown fond of the way every Muse left. It was a little light show he could get behind, and the Apex of Soul was no different. Every speck of azure that peppered the chilled air on his way out, tainted as it still was from the aftermath of Renato¡¯s devastation, was a sight for sore eyes. His own followed the gorgeous display with satisfaction. It was a solid compensation prize, for what effort it had taken to bless the sky with liberated cerulean.

    ¡°Keep him here!¡± Octavia shouted in her wake, already on her feet once more. A simple gesture towards Briar, tethered to the earth even now, was all she left behind.

    Cryptic as her words were, Renato found amusement in the way he had to call after her as they ran. ¡°He¡¯s not exactly going anywhere anytime soon!¡±

    He half-expected Briar to protest, to fix him with more words of reproach for forsaking River. Instead, the silence he got was equally peaceful and pitiful, the boy¡¯s eyes more than enough to match. Renato knew he should¡¯ve felt bad. Still, for all that River had said to Madrigal, it wasn¡¯t enough to wipe away his irritation in full.

    To be fair, he could empathize with River in his own way. For more reasons than one, surrendering the strength of sound was going to burn. In the meantime, he still relished the residual high that buzzed in his blood. He desperately needed to be the Ambassador¡¯s soldier way more often.