“Where do you want it?”

“Same as before!”

“Right!” [♪]

The efficiency with which Madrigal and Harper worked in tandem was breathtaking. The Willful boy’s scathing flames were augmented vividly by Spirited gales that captured every last ember. Even as his scorching song brought powerful fire to life, he surrendered control with great trust and zero hesitation. Madrigal took hold of his flames beautifully, weaving a flaring storm in any conceivable pattern or direction she wished. It reminded Octavia of Mint’s lightning, somewhat, pushed and pulled with skillful prowess and utter focus.

He was fuel for her guidance, and she stole all he could graciously give. Beneath her swelling, swirling winds, his flames, too, did the same, as deadly as they were aglow. Ironically, it was a Maestra spared from a luminous legacy who burned brighter than even Octavia, the searing heat of the sun manipulated with every crystalline note. She didn’t waste a single ember.

Whatever visibility they needed, she provided in excess. So, too, was it again offensive in turn, burning deep through the cloudy violet that Madrigal illuminated with her flaming song. Again and again she encircled them all--a bursting gale that could’ve scorched them fiercely, should her focus slip. They hardly needed to worry, for how they continued to fight regardless. Even from a distance, their unshakable trust in Madrigal was plain to see. She left them room to work.

“Do you think I’ll end up breaking it?”

“Probably!”

“Should I care?”

“God, just hit it!”

It was a wide circle, aflame and brilliant as it was. It was more than enough for Renato to capture his momentum, simultaneously blessed with the explosive power of Mistral Asunder below him. He threw himself downwards, the tips of either drumstick tapping against the innocent ground delicately. By comparison, the bursting boom that sent him sailing upwards was anything but. Every calculated movement by which he positioned himself accordingly set him level with the Dissonance besieging the entrance, as high as it rose.

Even finding himself somewhat below the absolute peak of the wispy agony scaling the church, it was more than enough. Silver Brevada had done him justice, the thick crystalline shield Octavia had seen earlier now diagonal to his feet. He was airborne. Her ice was low, close enough to the Dissonance that the screeching mist kissed it freely. Octavia already knew what was coming next.

There was lament to be found, somewhat, in the way the glacier that now shimmered gorgeously beneath Madrigal’s stolen fire was to be so ferociously shattered. He wasn’t content to submit to gravity alone, embracing the touch of Mistral Asunder against the open air once more as his ankles cleared his head. His angle was perfect, his velocity mildly horrifying. The speed at which Renato launched himself down upon the ice was that of a comet, the precise and resounding boom that followed once more just barely sparing him from shattering instead.

The shockwave was flawless, and the resonating burst found Viola’s sturdy barrier exploding into hundreds of pieces. If each jagged, spearing fragment of crystal had been quick to pierce the false darkness before, then this was an instant blow. The force of the blast was enough to downright rupture the fog as it screeched ever louder. Even before he truly did give in to gravity at last, Octavia could still see the radiant, prideful grin on his face.

Where he’d turned her frosted shield into a hundred arrows, he managed to turn stained glass into a thousand shards of an absolute mess. That, more than likely, was unintentional. Octavia winced as the resounding shockwave reverberated violently through the exterior of the church. It was, unfortunately, just as effective against the clinging Dissonance as it was consequential to the antique building itself. The artisanal, angelic craftsmanship she'd appreciated every hue and shining color of rained down onto the church steps pitifully. There was probably at least some irony to be found there.

The moment his feet touched the ground, she saw Renato cringe. “I, uh, I’m not going to Heaven when I die, am I?”

“You weren’t going in that direction anyway!”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Just do it again already, damn!”

Bitter words aside, Viola did as he requested. Renato repeated the same relentless assault several times more, his setup and delivery of such a powerful blow somehow seeming to grow ever faster. The Soulful Maestra showed no fear from afar. Her swift fingers and shrill notes were well-paced as she lined up her icy barricades for him to blast apart again and again. Her eyes followed him perfectly, given the erratic and unpredictable fighter she was aiding.

For how dense and frosted Viola’s ice was, there was no concern to be had in the face of the blaze that skirted past her over and over. When she stopped to catch her breath, it was earlier than usual. Renato didn’t scold her, content to let her rest for far more briefly than Octavia was used to. In the absence of her ice, he still struck at the murky smoke that surged upon the stairs of his own accord.

Viola wasn’t the only one for whom breath control was a matter of life and death. She found her composure fairly quickly, the mouth of Silver Brevada touching her lips once more. “Watch your breathing!” she cried.

Harper obliged, ripping Royal Orleans from his face as he gasped sharply. “It’s not as bad as you’d think it’d be, actually!”

Without his continuous, masterful song to fuel her fiery gale, Madrigal still held fast to the flames she’d already laid claim to. Even now, they graced the air with speed and strength of equal prowess as that of before. Her circle was largely impenetrable--on any given side she could focus on, at least. Every feverish note and every rapid pluck of the strings brought the burning gust streaming faster, a variable firestorm that she strived to stretch for as long as possible.

No less than once, Octavia was aware of the way by which the scarlet comet threaded behind her. She found the same vivid flames carving yet another gap between herself, Josiah, and the Dissonance that crept closer to them from the back. Her eyes followed each ember lingering in a blazing wake, the afterimage settling onto her pupils as the heated air warmed her skin. Madrigal winked at her confidently yet again. Octavia couldn’t stifle the tiniest of smiles.

There was an irritation to be found in the stubbornness of the church’s agonizing plague, if Renato’s face was anything to go by. Even as he beat upon every last veil of violet again and again, pumping the fog full of lethal frost in the process, it wasn’t enough. Progress was made. Still, where he found reprieve, yet more smoke would rush to meet his ministrations shortly after. He wasn’t tired. He was annoyed, apparently.

“I don’t know if this is working out!” he groaned, even in the midst of yet another crystalline assault. “Can we hit it with anything else?”

Madrigal’s face lit up. “I have an idea, but--”

“I’m good with that!” he called.

Harper raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t even--”

Renato didn’t bother to face him directly, engrossed in his frozen violence as he was. “Yeah, but if it’s Maddie’s idea, it’s definitely a good one, so I’ll go with it!”

Madrigal beamed, turning to the Willful boy at her side. “How high can you aim?”

Harper tapped his fingernails against Royal Orleans with a proud grin. “Pretty freakin’ high!”

She nodded. “Perfect! I need you to trust me, okay?”

He tilted his head. “O…kay?”

With only an elated smile in her wake, Madrigal was sprinting, her flaming wind discarded as it slowly fizzled into the darkness. For a moment, Octavia was concerned they would be plunged into pitch-blackness yet again. The radiance on Madrigal’s face not only made up for it, but endured as the light faded. “Renato!” she cried.

It took him a moment to retreat, bursting away from the Dissonance with a boom that still landed him on his feet. Initially, he seemed puzzled, staring the Spirited Maestra down blankly as she dashed towards him.

On the edges of the fading fires, her eyes flickered down to the ground. Then, up to the ceiling of the city they rose instead. When they at last landed on Renato’s own, his grin was explosive.

He, too, was sprinting, set on a collision course with Madrigal. Either half of Mistral Asunder sat eagerly in wait between his skilled fingers, and his face was far, far too enthusiastic. “Oh my God, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to do this!”

“Harper!” she called, never once taking her eyes off of Renato. “I need you to hit me with everything you’ve got! Don’t hold back, no matter what!”

His eyes widened, pooling with shock and fear. “W-What? Hit you? Like, literally?”

“You’ll know when! Trust me!”

Harper raised Royal Orleans to his lips tentatively. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

Whatever qualms he had were lost on her. Renato, too, was immune to the Willful boy’s concern, already spinning one half of Mistral Asunder excitedly between cherry oak fingers. “How high do you wanna go, princess?”

Madrigal was absolutely glowing. “As high as you can get me!”

Renato gave her a wink. “I promise I’ll be gentle! Ready?”

“Ready!”

It was on the absolute edges of Renato’s fine-tuned assault that Octavia could hear a familiar plea--one she’d heard solely a handful of times before. It was a twofold siege of her senses.

“Take my hands!”

For you and you alone.

Madrigal held fast to either end of Lyra’s Repose, closing her eyes as one tip of Mistral Asunder pressed delicately up against her stomach. The result was roughly what Octavia had expected, although the boom that followed was far lighter and far softer than those she’d grown accustomed to. It was a carefully-adjusted strength she’d felt for herself before, albeit in a circumstance with far greater consequences for error on Renato’s part. Madrigal didn’t flinch, flail, or even cry out with any flavor of emotion as she was launched high into the air. If her own trusting plea was anything to go by, it made sense--given that Madrigal wasn’t the one withstanding the blast.

True to his word, Renato had been gentle, his sonic burst directly against her fragile body measured and restrained. As a result, he hadn’t hit her with any unfathomable amount of force, by which he surely could’ve launched the Maestra well into the blossom above if he so desired. He struck a balance between height and rationality that left Madrigal looking down at the church from on high, not quite cresting its full height. It was close enough, and she was an angel in her own right. Octavia waited for any further contribution on Renato’s part, whether that consisted of ensuring her safe return to earth or returning her to the open air well above their heads. It didn’t matter. She never came down.

Madrigal’s song was sharp, fast, and foreign, birthing vicious notes that Octavia had only heard several times over. With her wispy melody came rushing gales, audible even from a distance, that wrapped her up and blessed her body. In truth, the ferocity of her storm was louder than even the screeching agony that fought to outmatch its whirling winds. Only Madrigal’s fingers moved with any true significance, every crystalline cry that escaped her swift motions weaving yet more relentless gusts into her vortex. It was amazing that she could play while suspended on her back, the angle at which Renato had sent her flying ultimately landing her almost upside-down. It was far, far more astonishing that she was suspended at all.

If the looks on Harper and Viola’s faces were anything to go by, Octavia wasn’t the only one harboring the same shock and awe. Renato took Madrigal's feat instead with a brilliant grin that threatened to split his face in half. With each passing second, Octavia could swear the Spirited storm only grew ever stronger, the rushing winds increasing steadily in volume until they were practically screaming above its roar.

“Look, I know I said I could aim high, but I didn’t know she meant that high!” Harper cried.

Already, Renato had broken into a dead sprint towards the Willful boy. “Give me what you’ve got and I’ll get it there! We’ve done this before, remember?”

Octavia wasn’t ignorant to the split second that Harper flinched, Renato’s spontaneous approach enough to put him under pressure. Still, he bounced back quicker than expected. “If we could stop doing it under these circumstances, that’d be nice!”

It wasn’t so much that Renato gave him room to breathe--literally--as it was that Harper matched his speed. Renato didn’t flinch in the face of Royal Orleans’s broiling flames, openly scathing the air before him in coagulating pulses of luminous orange. The flickering fireball that sailed in his direction was met without fear or reluctance. Instead, he greeted its unforgiving heat with cherry oak tips, flicking his wrists upwards with a bang that sent the boy’s fire flying. It didn’t matter that Harper’s condensed inferno, scorching and all-consuming as it was, had hardly survived the ascent.

Where they’d once found a gorgeous burst not dissimilar to fireworks before, the strength of both Maestros in tandem had since evolved into something visibly more lethal. Octavia genuinely feared for Madrigal’s safety, at least momentarily. The wrath of a scattered sun was dragged with ease into her swirling storm, Harper’s splintered embers circulating about the Spirited girl like infernal stars. Once more was her wind a harrowing fuel, his kidnapped flames only augmented in her care. If Renato’s annihilation of Viola’s ice was deadly, then his obliteration of fire itself was undeniably fatal to those in its sights. Wrapped in Lyra’s love, Octavia knew not a single flickering flare would singe one hair on Madrigal’s head.

Harper didn’t hesitate to repeat the same process, and neither did Renato. True to his word, the aim Harper possessed sent each scalding fireball startlingly high. It wasn’t quite enough to reach Madrigal, given the thirty feet or so that Renato had sent her aloft. It was Renato, again and again, who closed the gap between them. With every tumble both upon the earth and blasting into the open air, the strength of sound served his body and prowess well as he blessed Harper’s flames with desperately-needed momentum.

Bang after bang after bang saw the bursting flames erupting into searing sparks, painting Madrigal’s streaming vortex with pulsing hues of scarlets and oranges alike. Slowly but surely, flame after flame, she, too, was evolving into her own fireball. Madrigal was the nucleus of her personal sun, her swift song unbending and unflinching. She almost seemed to disappear behind the veil of flames that wrapped her up.

“I think she’s gonna need more than that!” Renato called.

Harper winced on the edges of a much-needed gasp. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Renato’s mischievous grin spoke to something that worried Octavia, if she remembered that specific look in his eyes correctly. “She said she wanted everything you had, right?”

Harper nodded. “I mean, yeah, but I’m not sure what else I can--”

“Take a deep breath! You’re gonna need it!”

He tilted his head. “Uh, okay?”

“When I say everything, I mean everything, alright?”

Again did Harper nod, albeit with notably more confusion. “R-Right! I think?”

“And if you’re gonna scream, do it now!”

Harper blinked. “What?”

His screaming came late, anyway. Renato moved much faster than him, for once, and Octavia already knew it would turn out this way. Madrigal wasn’t the only one Renato was content to send airborne today, although she’d been the far more willing party between the two Maestros he’d targeted. Harper, by comparison, did not take kindly to Mistral Asunder scraping against his torso, even careful as the motion was. The delicate boom that elicited panic and horror surely rippled through his blood, much the same as Octavia had felt herself before. He held fast to Royal Orleans all the way up, although whether his death grip was a reflex remained to be seen.

Harper kept his eyes open, at least, glued with terror to the distant ground below as they were. He tumbled no less than twice, almost definitely an unintentional side effect of such a haphazard ascent. The way by which he was still screaming served as confirmation of Octavia’s suspicions there. Renato seemed pleased enough with himself. He’d gotten to torture most of them, at this point.

It took Harper far more than just a moment to reorient himself, let alone to gather his composure some thirty or so feet off the ground. For all the air that had surely left his lungs in the process of panicking the entire way up, he found plenty more still. It was undoubtedly by sheer willpower alone that Harper traded his dread for his strength, raising Royal Orleans even as he continued to ascend ever further. Like Madrigal, he, too, had ended up at a compromising angle, poorly oriented in a way that saw him nearly parallel with the ground so far below.

Again, it was the same will that drove him to keep his eyes open that brought his focus upon Madrigal, leveling the bell of the trumpet with her not-so-distant storm. She was indifferent to Harper’s flames, explosive as they were at such a close range. He truly did gift her with every last ounce of air he could expel into his fiery song, the lethal heat that erupted forth surging relentlessly into her ceaseless gales. Were she not who she was, were Madrigal not blessed with the powers that she possessed, she would surely have been burned to cinders beneath the incinerating wrath that was the will of fire.

Octavia watched with wide eyes as Harper made the most of the breath he was given, pumping the swirling tempest full of his violent inferno. Where she’d once wished desperately for some semblance of luminescence, Octavia now nearly found herself covering her eyes in the face of the blinding blaze. From where she stood, she could feel the hot breeze whipping against her bare skin.

Madrigal was the sun, undeniably. Hidden deep beneath the cover of every gusting flame, the firestorm she commanded so perfectly was as horrifying to witness as it was spectacular. Octavia sincerely couldn’t hear the Dissonance. She could hear Harper screaming on the way down, at least, the descent doubling the severity of his panic.

She never once believed that Renato would actually let him fall. The Strong Maestro effortlessly met him halfway with his own style of bursting ascent, cherry oak upon the earth sending him high enough to capture the boy with ease. Whatever inversions he was content to submit to on the way down, Harper didn't seem nearly as pleased with.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Harper snapped, visibly shaken.

Renato shrugged, his own grin unperturbed. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

As to the Spirited star in the darkened sky, a beacon of scorching brilliance so far below true sunlight above, her song grew somehow louder. Her notes were more clear, every facet of Lyra’s melody in hands unseen speaking to indescribable ability. If Octavia squinted, she could’ve sworn each pulsating wisp and lash of flickering scarlet was brightening further. She could’ve sworn the storm, in turn, was moving faster, heated gales from afar now searing her cheeks in earnest. Silver Brevada was almost inaudible beneath the spirit of wind unleashed, shrill notes drowned out by the blazing squall high above. What mattered more was Viola’s actual contribution, familiar as it was.

“Now!” she cried desperately, her voice just barely enough to outdo the roar of the storm.

Whether the frozen barricade, high-rising and visibly sturdy once more, would be enough was debatable. Octavia knew Viola’s ice was strong, but the firestorm Madrigal quite literally held in her hands was a solid contender for that which could threaten her shimmering glacier.

Still, the crystal wall that encircled the three Maestros was all they had, and Viola’s own ballad of protective frost only served as a prayer to withstand what was to come. Octavia had half a mind to dart behind the same icy shield with Josiah in tow, given the horrifying strength of the sun that still pulsed and surged above. Instead, she simply opted to brace. He did the same at her side.

There was no cry of effort on Madrigal’s part, no emotion that spoke to exertion or a weighted attempt at attacking. Lyra made it look easy, her powerful fingers tangled with Madrigal’s own as they were. Octavia didn’t dare blink as she clung to every note of ruthless strumming, the full force of the storm rapidly unraveling. Like a gushing river, the inferno that streamed on ferocious gales bore down into clouded darkness below, and the hellfire of an angel was unleashed onto screaming agony without mercy. It was endless, an entire sun unwoven as quickly as it had been born and gifted to the mist in a blinding blaze.

Madrigal could’ve passed for the partner of the Apex of Will, at that moment, rather than the Muse she loved so dearly. Her stolen flames, swollen and pulsating, scathed and scorched unforgivingly upon every conceivable surface of the church’s exterior. Even if she couldn’t quash the Dissonance in full, the fog that rapidly gave way beneath the fiery assault mingled with flickering embers alone as it fizzled into screeching nothingness. It was more than enough. Octavia could see the doors. Octavia could see anything.

Madrigal wasn’t satisfied until every single fleeting spark of Harper’s kidnapped fires was put to use, cutting deep into any murky violet that writhed threateningly in their peripheral vision. It took time for the eternal sun to finally flicker and die, Harper resuming his own luminous song in a hurried attempt to preserve what had been lost. It left Madrigal falling with grace, her gales giving way to gravity as she descended headfirst towards the ground below. Initially, Octavia panicked, more than concerned for whatever exhaustion surely came with such a feat. She gave up on that fear quickly, given who she was talking about.

Madrigal opened her arms wide with only absolute trust and a beaming smile to break her fall. It was more than enough, and he hardly needed to meet her in the air to scoop her into his exuberant embrace. His dazzling grin paired perfectly with hers.

Renato pressed his lips to her cheek, his smile split so wide that he could barely do so in the first place. “That was friggin’ awesome! That’s my girl!”

Madrigal’s bubbling laugh was enough to carve a path through the darkness in its own way. The knowing smiles that assailed Octavia on every side were warmer than even the sun she’d witnessed moments ago. It wasn’t enough to calm her racing heart. Even so, it was enough to piece it back together. She found a smile of her own once more, weak as it was.

“We can’t waste this opportunity,” Josiah interrupted her thoughts, gripping her wrist loosely. “This is our chance to get to Seraphim!”

Octavia didn’t object, the stray upturn of his own lips not lost on her. “What about Celestina?”

He shook his head. “They’ll find their way in! We need to get you down there!”

“Are we all going inside?” Harper asked in between breaths.

Viola picked up where he left off. “There’s no way there isn’t Dissonance in there, but what if more of it comes in from here? We’d be stuck!”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Octavia winced. The idea of splitting up again was nauseating, especially intentionally. She didn’t enjoy the idea of spending too long debating, even if the Dissonance hadn’t reclaimed the front entrance just yet. She knew better than to assume that the church doors would stay liberated forever. “Are there any other entrances?”

Josiah shook his head. “This is the only one! We go in this way and we come back out this way! That’s our only option!”

Harper’s radiant flames flickered and faded briefly once more. “I don’t think we have much of a choice but to go in! By the time we come out, maybe it’ll be easier!”

As the veil of true darkness slowly settled upon Octavia like a blanket, she awaited the return of his breath with patience. “I don’t know how much progress we’ve actually made collectively! I thought the light from above would be back by now, at least!”

When the flames relieved her dilating pupils once more, she, too, was relieved in turn. “I thought it would be, to be honest!” Josiah shouted. “I didn’t think it was possible to underestimate exactly how bad it would be down here!”

The way by which the distant screeching was beginning to grow closer yet again was deeply unsettling, their voices forced to rise ever louder. “It makes sense!” Viola yelled. “I mean, it was an entire city, to be fair!”

Josiah gritted his teeth. “Yeah, but that shouldn’t be--”

Octavia hushed him with a raise of her hand, Stradivaria’s bow nearly hitting him in the face in the process. The melody that accompanied the flickering fires was not that which she’d come to expect from Royal Orleans. She’d heard it earlier. It was her fault for not recognizing the degree to which they were faster, more fluid, almost disorienting to witness in the dark. Born of chords she was still growing used to, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the surging glow that pierced through the pitch-blackness. Francisco was equally as loud, as she was also growing to expect.

“Oh, damn, you guys are quick!”

“Nah, you’re just slow as hell!” Renato half-teased.

It was mostly impossible to see the warm tides of seafoam eyes in the dark. She could hear his beautiful song, invisible as it was in his Spirited hands. Francisco’s flames were nothing in the face of Renegadria singing its stormy song to her instead. Octavia cherished the winds that rippled through every crevice of her braids. His gales sliced with little hesitation through what smoky agony had barred their own path forward. She'd never seen him fight.

Even on the edges of Francisco’s illuminating embers, brilliant as they were, Octavia could still hardly capture the Maestro’s face. What little she did steal with her eyes was remarkable, the storm upon the sea in his own a sight to behold. He played with grace and great skill, his deft fingers weaving together gusty melodies that were as lovely as they were dangerous. Octavia almost hesitated to call his name. The idea of disturbing his focus, the concept of tearing him away from harmonies that had captured her heart, was distressing. It was more distressing to bottle up her relief.

“River!” she simply exclaimed.

Octavia could see his smile. It had never been bright enough to light the darkest rooms. It was a gentle candle, instead, that glowed just enough to satisfy her soul. Her name in his voice, clear as it was above the noise, was just as soft as ever. “Octavia! Are you alright?”

It was a question that was getting more difficult to answer, even if she was inching closer to the truth. “We’re okay! Where’s Celestina?”

“I’m here!” she heard accordingly. The former acolyte in question raised her hand as she sprinted, trailing closely behind the Essenced Maestra who’d guarded her so viciously earlier. Octavia had half a mind to wonder exactly who was in control of Mint’s exceedingly-skilled hands at the moment, silent as she was once more.

Between Harper and Francisco in unison, their collective line of sight had improved marginally. Octavia lamented her inability to contribute, her muscles continuing to throb painfully. At the very least, she was thankful for their faces in full. She watched as River’s eyes drifted to the boy at her side, his fingers still wrapped delicately around her wrist.

“Josiah,” River asked, “where do we go from here?”

“I’m more than willing to bet there’s a lot more Dissonance inside the church,” he answered. “Ideally, we’d have people to deal with what’s already inside and people to keep more from getting in!”

River nodded. “Should we split your circle and ours?”

“I think we’ve got this place figured out pretty nicely by now,” Harper said. “We’ve got a lot more room to fight out here!”

Madrigal smiled. “We won’t let a single teeny tiny bit of darkness get through!”

The remaining Maestros nodded in agreement themselves, even as Octavia strongly hesitated to do the same back. She wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of going alone. The thought made her hands tremble, clenched around either portion of Stradivaria as they were.

The gentle squeeze around her wrist helped instantly. “I’m not going anywhere,” Josiah reminded firmly. It was enough.

“Then we’ll get you guys down there!” River called. “If you just show us where to go, we’ll do the rest!”

Josiah didn’t disagree. “Right!”

“Go before it comes back!” Viola cried. “Don’t wait any longer!”

Octavia’s heart sank, even as Josiah tugged her forwards. “But--”

Viola smiled gently. “We’ll wait for you, Ambassador! Do your best!”

As to whether or not her best would suffice, Octavia didn’t dare begin to question. She held fast to the image of Viola’s smile all the way inside, grateful for the way someone else had opted to throw open the church doors rather than herself. She wasn’t sure if she would’ve had the strength, physically or emotionally, to do it twice. The one familiarity she could cling to with genuine comfort was the boy who she’d uncovered within its walls so long ago, now offering her all of his hope at her side. She wished she could beg for Josiah to grasp her wrist tighter. He did. She thanked whoever had answered her prayers in such a place.

The interior of the church was just as smothered in much the same true darkness as she’d expected. Francisco’s resilient flames offered a reprieve that covered far more area than she would’ve anticipated inside. His song echoed down every hallway, even those yet unseen upon entry, in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome compared to the screeching. They were surely not the type of flames the clergy who’d once claimed the Velpyre Church for themselves would’ve desired. They were the closest this place would ever get again. Octavia shuddered at the thought.

“Which way?” Francisco asked quickly.

Josiah closed his eyes for a moment, muttering something under his breath. “Left, straight, left again, and right!”

Even with the vibrant luminescence augmented by the power of an Apex, there was only so much Francisco could do at once. As such, there was no real way to carve a fiery path in full that would lead Josiah to such a firm choice of direction. There were no interior landmarks of which to speak. For as long ago as Josiah had fled from the suffocating grasp of the church’s walls, the route to Seraphim’s Call was surely instinctive. Octavia didn’t press him on it. She would never, more than likely. He hardly even waited for anyone to express their understanding, bolting headfirst into the depths of the dark with her still seized tightly in his grip.

Whether he trusted the Ensemble or was simply impatient was debatable. There was a balance to be struck between the boy’s necessary navigation through his broken home and the equally-necessary offense it would take to get them to Seraphim’s Call. His directions had been simple enough, easy to memorize and execute in turn. It was River who stuck closest, an even distribution of their collective strengths serving them well in guarding the three cornerstones of their mission. Even if Mint couldn’t bring thunderbolts striking down into the rolling agony inside, her rippling sparks and scattering jolts were enough to deter whatever chased them down.

Francisco, largely supportive as his role was, still scorched and seared his way through the bitter fog as was needed. River’s footsteps matched pace almost perfectly with Josiah’s, if not slightly faster when necessary. Again, Octavia was blessed with Renegadria’s stormy melodies, the razor-edged gales born of the accordion slashing into the darkness relentlessly before them. The residual breezes that rustled her braids were still not unwelcome, especially given the beads of sweat that rolled from her brow.

Octavia was aware of Celestina panting distantly, somewhere in the general center of their formation. She resisted the urge to turn and assess the woman’s safety. In a flickering, passing thought, Octavia briefly wondered where Mina had ended up, close to the former acolyte as she’d been. It was a concern that took little priority in the face of her current situation. As to how the former acolyte was holding up emotionally, particularly relative to their present location, Octavia feared asking at all.

“That one!”

“There?”

“Yes!”

River nearly kicked the door to the chapel down. The amount of Dissonance inside of the room, startlingly, was far less than Octavia had anticipated. It was enough that it still took effort to safely garner a path forward. Still, the screeching that scraped against her eardrums was far more tolerable. Her chronic nausea was weakening, her enduring lightheadedness easing somewhat. It was nearly a breath of fresh air, an oasis relative to the circumstances and location.

She stole as much of that fresh air as she could, physically and emotionally alike. Doubled over on her knees, much the same as Josiah, she put her trust in the Ensemble to give shelter to the Ambassador as she caught her breath. It wasn't misplaced, even as the atmosphere crackled and burned around her.

“That’s it, then.”

River’s soft words didn’t do the Harmonial Instrument justice. For as much as Octavia loathed the city and the church alike, Seraphim’s Call had been innocent. This moment in time was no different, and it was every bit as magnificent as she’d remembered. Every pipe that climbed the walls to kiss the ceiling was still admirable. Every glistening key of all-too-ironic ivory and ebony shone brilliantly in the wake of Francisco’s melodic embers. Every facet of resplendence would forever put mortal craftsmanship to shame, and the beauty of the instrument greeted Octavia’s eyes in full once more.

It didn’t bring to her heart the devastation its twin had cursed her with. The thought of its Maestra, reluctant as she’d been for her entire life, did. She beat down the thought again and again, willing herself to consider only the context of their primary objective rather than Selena’s fleeting smile.

Francisco whistled. “It’s…big.”

“It’s exactly how I remember it,” Josiah murmured. “Not that…anything would’ve changed.”

His words were heavy and pained, his eyes a perfect match. Octavia made the choice to lay Stradivaria upon the plush carpet at last, opting in full for Josiah’s gentle touch instead. This time, it was her turn to reach for him. She squeezed. He squeezed back. It was harder than usual, and his eyes never left the instrument. On occasion, they flickered to the black stool that awaited a Maestra even now. Octavia had a feeling she knew why.

“Now we…is it as simple as it sounds?” River asked hesitantly.

Josiah hadn’t looked Celestina in the eyes since the night they’d met. Octavia wasn’t particularly confident in whatever words would leave his lips once he did. Celestina tensed long before he turned to face her. The gaze he fixed her with, ultimately, was as sharp as it was fatigued.

“Make a bond with Seraphim,” he demanded quietly. “That’s all you have to do. We won’t ask for anything else.”

Celestina’s eyes darted to Octavia. The Ambassador did what she could to offer her unspoken warmth, fleeting as it was versus the colder boy she was tethered to. The woman’s fingers twitched.

“I…how?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Again did she look to Octavia for guidance. In truth, Octavia didn’t have a definitive answer to give her, and the process was well beyond her. Every bond she was aware of amongst her companions--save for exactly one--had been a natural occurrence born simply of fate. As to the outlier, a moment of peril had prompted a consensual partnership that was not to last long. The latter was her only frame of reference, especially given exactly how brief this partnership was to be by comparison. All Octavia could offer her was a nod of reassurance.

They were quiet as the former acolyte took slow, shaky steps down the aisle. For as much effort as she put into steadying her breath, her best attempts were largely futile. In the absence of Dissonance, at least temporarily, Francisco had traded his song for their first shred of natural light since their descent into the Cursed City. With the last of his Willful embers, his delicate sparks had splashed across long-forgotten candle wicks along the walls. It was as calming as it was unsettling, genuine silence in a single room blessing the Ambassador with a tense reprieve.

If she strained, Octavia could still hear the distant cries of wailing Dissonance throughout the remainder of the church. For now, she felt secure. Logically, blessed with a Maestra or not, the haven of Seraphim’s Call was the safest place she could be.

Celestina adjusting the stool beneath herself was somewhat surprising, moving ever closer to the organ uncomfortably. She didn’t play, and yet her fingers came to rest atop the keys all the same. They trembled against the ivory, unblemished by the passage of time and spared even by the faintest coat of dust. She gazed blankly into the hardwood immediately before her, meritless as it was compared to any given glance in any other direction. Her breath rattled on every exhale.

“It’s…been awhile,” Celestina said quietly.

Octavia didn’t dare move, fighting to harness even the slightest reverberation of a response that wasn’t necessarily hers to hear. She wondered if Celestina knew her reunion wouldn't be entirely private. She wondered if the woman would care, for how desperately she’d once battled to flee her partner’s embrace.

“How long has it been since I’ve sat here?” Celestina asked. “How long has it been since I’ve touched you?”

Josiah squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. It didn’t break her focus.

The former acolyte paused. “Do I…deserve to touch you once more?”

Josiah didn’t squeeze so much as he did strangle her fingers. Octavia winced, stiffening under his grip. In her current hold, it was nearly impossible to reciprocate, even delicately. She tried regardless. It was barely enough to get him to relax, returning at least a hint of her circulation.

“I…I left you. I left you alone, and I understand if you don’t want me by your side again. It wasn’t your fault. The fault was all mine, and I’m…so sorry that this is what it has come to.”

Octavia could feel Josiah shaking. She didn’t have the heart to turn her head. She could only squeeze his hand. He could only squeeze hers in return, gentler.

Celestina rested her forehead against the hardwood softly. “I cannot ask for forgiveness. To desire freedom, I don’t think that is a sin. To abandon the hope of another in its place…that is different. If I could have been by your side until the end, maybe this would never have happened.”

His trembling was fervent. Octavia squeezed. He didn’t reciprocate.

“Maybe she…did you more justice than I could’ve. Did she love you? Did she fear you? Did she hate you? How did you feel?”

She squeezed. He still didn’t answer back.

“Even if she loathed you, she was…there. You felt her touch. Was it gentle? Was it careful? What was she like?”

Octavia tried once more. Josiah flexed his fingers weakly against her own.

“For her to stand by your side every day, in this place…is a bravery beyond what I can imagine. You, who knew her since she was a young child, did you watch over her as she grew? Did you…ever see her smile? Was it beautiful?”

And when she found the strength to turn to him, tears ran down his cheeks freely.

Celestina stroked two keys with delicate fingertips. “Am I wrong to take the position she took so often on my behalf? Am I wrong to touch where her hands graced you when I did not?”

Through gritted teeth, he stifled his sobs, shoulders shaking in their place.

“Would you…let me feel her in your song, the one she played with you so many times over?” Celestina whispered, her voice hoarse. “Just…once more?”

He clung to her hand for dear life, trembling viciously.

I will honor your resolve.

Where Octavia’s eyes widened, Josiah’s only dripped with bitter sorrow.

And with the first clear, echoing note that Seraphim’s Call had breathed in far too long a time, Octavia’s blood rippled with something indescribably pure.

Celestina’s song was unlike anything she’d ever heard, even from this Harmonial Instrument specifically. It was gentle, somewhat nostalgic in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Octavia had been privy to the melody of Seraphim’s Call before, reluctant as it was. It was the first time she’d ever heard the instrument sing with such grace and love, its clear sound soaking into her blood and pulsing against her soul. Again and again did the warm sensation wash over her in waves equal parts airy and overwhelming.

She couldn’t move, nor did she dare to try, in the face of an inexplicable harmony that vibrated throughout her entire being. It was as wonderful as it was disorienting. She couldn’t manage to move her fingers, try as she might to squeeze Josiah’s hand once more. She could, at least, hear his ragged breaths as he struggled to swallow his sobs beside her.

Where Celestina closed her eyes, her fingers moved naturally and fluidly regardless. Every gentle stroke upon every shining key was unhesitant and elegant. Octavia didn’t need to imagine the robes, nor the title, nor the environment necessary to nurture such an ill-fated flame. For what it was worth, the blood of an acolyte had never left her body. The blood of a Maestra, too, still ran through her veins, obvious with every trusting motion alongside her partner.

Much like her song, she, too, was just as beautiful to witness. It was surely a privilege to have the chance to love, and even now Octavia couldn’t help but envy the woman’s soft experience on Selena’s behalf. This was far from Selena’s song, and yet still so similar all the same. For more reasons than one, the Ambassador was moved. She struggled to stifle her own sorrow. She failed, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes.

What Octavia couldn’t see, she could still feel in excess. Every echoing note brought with it a resounding echo in her own heart, coursing through her skin and muscles. So, too, could she practically feel the ground rippling beneath her feet, a sensation she initially dismissed as a hallucination. Only the looks of awe on the faces of the Ensemble served as any sort of confirmation, and the sounds that reverberated in the very atmosphere smothered them lovingly.

Octavia was distantly aware of the wavering screeching, should she strain her ears enough to listen for the agony over the weight of Seraphim’s song. It was of little immediate concern. Instead, she split her attention between cherishing the warmth that the melody brought to her heart and the boy at her side who broke it to pieces.

Josiah’s hand in her own still trembled relentlessly. It matched well with the way he’d cast his closed eyes high, his head tilted back as he quietly wept. His efforts to restrain his sobs weren't perfect, and cries occasionally escaped his throat from time to time. He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that bitterly streamed down his face. Instead, he withstood the song of Seraphim’s Call with his own resilient grace, heartrending as it was. Octavia squeezed his hand, fighting against the strength of sound pulsing through her blood. Only once did he reciprocate. It was enough. It was more than enough.

In reality, the tender moment Celestina shared with her previous partner wasn’t eternal. It didn’t change Octavia’s perception as to the contrary. Even long after only the residual echoes of the organ’s singing radiated throughout the chapel, Octavia could still feel the ripples in her soul. She couldn’t move. She wasn’t the only one, nor was she the sole observer who clung to silence.

Celestina’s soft words were the only thing that offset the sound of Josiah’s struggles to regain his composure. Octavia was grateful for the way no one stared at him as he wiped his eyes on his sleeves, battling uneven breaths that still threatened to choke him up and begin his sorrow anew. Placing her duty as the Ambassador before his well-being was its own kind of torture.

“Thank you.”

You have returned, Octavia heard in exchange.

“Are you furious with me?”

Why would you believe so?

“I abandoned you,” Celestina breathed. “I left you so suddenly. How…long did it take for you to find companionship again?”

Several years.

“She was young.”

Very.

“Did you…love her?”

I did.

“Even if she didn’t love you?”

Were it so, the fault could never be her own. She was a forsaken child. What love I could give would never be enough.

“I’m…sorry,” Celestina whispered, her voice cracking.

You, too, were forsaken. For that, I cannot express my sorrows enough. It is by my--our--hands that you have suffered so.

“That’s not true.”

The words that had left Octavia’s mouth, to most, were without context. The eyes that fell upon her, collectively, were largely confused as she approached the former acolyte. With shaky steps and balled fists, she did everything she could to maintain what composure she had in the face of a song that had left her knees weak.

“What’s…not true?” River asked softly.

It wasn’t Celestina that Octavia stared down, but rather the very Harmonial Instrument itself. Her eyes rose high along its gorgeous, scaling visage, drinking in every facet of its splendor once again. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Valkyrie’s Call didn’t do anything wrong, either. What people did to you isn’t your fault--either of you. These cities aren’t your fault. The horrible things that have happened inside the church aren’t your fault. People hurting other people wasn’t your fault. Don’t…say that. You didn’t ask to be here.”

She, too, seemed to desire less than to call this place her own.

“Then you two had a lot more in common than you think.”

The deep, gentle masculinity that challenged Octavia was quiet for a moment. You have come all this way, Ambassador?

Octavia nodded. “Yes.”

What would possess you to do so, in the wake of such suffering?

“You.”

You would go so far for one such as myself?

Again, she nodded. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Where she found temporary silence, the voice warmed her from the inside-out. Yours is a heart stronger than any that could be imagined. No words will do my gratitude justice.

Octavia smiled weakly. “I’m…Octavia,” she offered, folding her trembling hands over the heart he so praised.

And he was beautiful.

The silky glows that wove the very strength of sound itself before her eyes were always pleasant. They were ever more so in the wake of the effort it had taken to find him. The Muse that emerged from nothing to something for the sole purpose of meeting her gaze was resplendent. His elegance was angelic, his presence as pure as his voice. The luminous, muted ivories that besieged her weren't dissimilar to that of an angel’s wings, in turn.

His existence alone was ethereal, hauntingly lovely in a way that stood in stark contrast to the perceived brutality of his legacy. Logically, she knew none but a Heartful could’ve seen his divine visage in full. Had those who’d practically worshiped his vessel known of the angel born of song that rested within, Octavia wondered how different a city Velpyre would’ve been.

All eyes were upon him, instead, and Octavia couldn’t blame them one bit. Celestina’s own were positively radiant, wide and shimmering with wonder. Humbled as she was, Octavia watched her bow her head low, hands resting over her own heart in turn.

“I-I am Celestina Ebony, heir to the--former…heir to the…Ebony family. I could not deserve to call myself the Velpyre Acolyte once again,” she said hesitantly.

Josiah, if he had qualms with her words, didn’t address them. He, too, met Octavia where she stood, his face still somewhat red from the efforts of suppressing his pain. He raised his eyes high, just the same as the Maestras he flanked. His calm, even voice betrayed his prior sorrow. “You’re…Seraphim’s Call,” he observed aloud.

The Muse nodded, bowing slightly to the Ambassador. For as divine as his image was, it made Octavia’s heart skip a beat. “I am Seraphe. I have long dreamed of meeting the Ambassador. That my wish would become reality in such a place is surely the work of destiny alone.”

Octavia waved meekly. “We’ve met before, remember? Just…one time, but we’ve met.”

Again, he nodded. “I would not forget you.”

And when he turned to Josiah, the same words were somewhat more striking. “As to you, child. I could not forget you, as well.”

Josiah’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“How many times has your voice fallen upon this sanctum?” he questioned gently. “How many times have I borne witness to your melancholy and sorrow alike within these walls? Before me, how many times is it that you have been by her side? You had offered her all that I was powerless to give. I could not forget, nor would I ever.”

Again, Octavia watched as Josiah’s gaze glistened with pain unshed. He squeezed his eyes shut once over. “I…you watched us, then? You…watched over us.”

“I did.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you have watched over her.”

Despite his best efforts, not all of his tears remained caged. At least two broke through, slipping through the cracks of Octavia’s heart on their way down. She’d known Selena for so short a time, and even that was enough to curse her soul with grief. She couldn’t imagine. She wouldn’t try to imagine. All she could do was bless him with her silence and the chance to grieve with one who’d guarded that flame just as closely.

“I don’t…think she actually hated you,” Josiah reassured, his voice unmistakably wavering. “She hated them. She hated what they made her do. You were…stuck somewhere in the middle of that. If things weren’t how they were, if she was given a choice, I think it would’ve been different. She didn’t deserve anything that happened to her, but you didn’t, either. They hurt you, too.”

The Muse didn’t acknowledge him immediately, Josiah’s words hanging in the open air. “As to what title she was given, it meant little. As to what role she played, that, too, meant little. This very place, so inconsequential, has brought only suffering in my name. It is a shame I will never escape. From what I have witnessed within these walls, I have lost faith in this world many a time. I will not ask for forgiveness, for in truth, my feelings have not changed. I would not fault you for your ire.”

Josiah shook his head. “I absolutely couldn’t agree with you more.”

“We want to get you out of here,” Octavia offered quietly. “We don’t want you to have to be here alone anymore. We all fought so hard to make it here to you. Will you…let us help you?”

Part of her had expected an instant affirmation, particularly given his gruesome situation for so long. When Seraphe’s gaze drifted to Celestina, Octavia was somewhat surprised. So was the former acolyte.

“You are fine with such a departure? After so short a reunion?” Seraphe asked.

Celestina smiled faintly. “This is the least that I can do. I, too, came all this way for you. To play by your side again--to choose--is a miracle I will never forget. I hope to offer what should’ve been offered to you so long ago, my Seraphim.”

“There is a strength in your blood that endures even now,” he offered. “I will pray for your happiness. May you find in your future what you could not find by my side.”

Celestina nodded. “Thank you for…watching over my Selena.”

“I will carry her with me for eternity.”

Octavia battled tears in place of a smile for the Muse. Even if Josiah didn’t opt for a smile of his own, he still fought his own pain all the same. Selena’s name alone burned. In that way, the flame loved by so many in the chapel had never truly left the room. Octavia did what she could to steady her breathing in light of the grief that lingered around her. She stepped forward ever further, gazing down upon the glistening keys.

From this distance, every last facet of ivory and ebony that eagerly awaited her touch was even more pristine and inviting. She wondered exactly where Selena’s fingers had settled atop them each and every time she’d played. She wondered if she could follow in the acolyte’s shadow, if she tried.

“It was…nice to meet you,” Octavia said softly. “I’m so happy you get to go home.”

From this angle, she couldn’t see him. Still, she could hear his voice, warm and angelic all the same. “I will watch over you from afar, Ambassador. I will pray for your happiness as well. Know that I am in your debt, should you…see this task through to the end.”

She smiled just as softly. “I’ll make this quick. I’m excited for you to get to see everyone again.”

Seraphe was silent. Octavia raised her hands above the keys preemptively. “Whenever you’re ready,” she offered.

“Celestina Ebony,” she heard him begin.

Even now, her eyes glazed over every key. For how unblemished the surface of each was, it was impossible to pinpoint Selena’s exact motions or identify any lingering fingerprints. Octavia supposed it was a piece of the acolyte she would never find on her own, reclaimed by a world that had never been hers to stumble upon.

She wondered what Selena would say, were she here to see such a spectacle. Her fingers dipped lower with anticipation. It was the closest she would ever come to emulating the acolyte, if even for a moment. It was enough to elicit a smile.

“Your toll has been paid 14,378 times over.”