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.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“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.”