◆ ◆ ◆

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.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

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.

◆ ◆ ◆

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.

----------------------------------------

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.