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 is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“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.