My first original.

To refer to it as such might be a stretch. What I truly did was stitch together a glimpse of Soulweaver’s [melody] and an incomplete fragment from the ritual. I weaved them together until the result yielded one, whole, [melody].

Still, even that wasn’t easy. If the stitch was crude, or clumsy, I might have died. Adjusting the flow required insight, cunning, and even a tad bit of madness. I modified it until it no longer sounded like two different songs, until both halves blurred into one. Even then, even when it sounded whole, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t kill me regardless. I took a leap of faith when I tried it against Adam…

‘And now, I have this.’

I look down at my glowing hand intently. This [melody] allows me to interact with the souls of others, but not in the way that Soulweaver’s allows him to. Just as I did to Adam, when my hand glows, I can directly come into contact with the inner instruments of others, bypassing all physical barriers and plunging into their souls.

‘There’s more to it… I’m sure…’

Tonight, I plan to find out just how far this ability can go, using myself as a test subject. Ever since I woke up, I’ve been thinking; What would happen if I used this ability on myself? Until now, there’s always been a strange barrier that prevents me from playing another’s [melody] with the instrument of my soul. What if I tried to surmount this barrier with my new ability?

‘What if I manually played someone else’s [melody] in my own soul?’

The possibilities would be endless, only limited by my own knowledge. If I can emulate even a fraction of the [melody] of another [enlightened]... I shiver just thinking of what that would imply.

‘I could become powerful… very powerful.’

Steadying my hand, I take a deep breath, and reach into my soul, searching for the instrument within. Before even sitting down, I had already decided what I would play. The simplest part of a [melody] for which I have memorized the flow of notes. Something I’ve experienced many times, and that I’m familiar with.

‘Ugo’s flames, I’ll try to reproduce them..’

Slowly, one string at a time, I play the song which corresponds solely to the fire of Ugo’s [melody]. I discard his ability to fly, and the insidious properties of his flames. Just the fire is enough.

At first, nothing happens, but as I play and as the [melody] takes shape, I sense a burning sensation within me.

‘I-It’s working!!’

I press on, and string together more notes, increasing the strength of the flames. Though my eyes are closed, I can sense them emerging from my body, and I can feel the increasing the temperature of the room.

The process is exhilarating, thrilling, but something soon feels wrong, very wrong. I grit my teeth as I keep playing.

‘This…’

I quickly recognize this sensation. I’m not simply manifesting Ugo’s flames, I’m burning. The more I play, the stronger the sensation grows, and the more pain I feel. As I keep playing, I open my eyes, the light of the flames dancing within them. I try to focus on the fire visibly eating away at my skin, but to no avail.

‘I can’t control them at all...’

They refuse to obey me. They have but one purpose, to incinerate.

‘Interesting…’

I had been playing softly until now, just testing the waters, but I’m curious as to how far I can push this. Bracing myself, I play with more fervor. If before the notes lapped each other calmly, now every single one of them carries a passionate intent, a desire for more. And as soon as I increase the power, my entire body bursts into immolating flames.

‘!!’

Not wishing to suffer a terrible fate at my own hands, I immediately wrench my hand out of my chest and cease playing. The flames do not disappear immediately, clinging on to me, but when the last note fades into nothingness, so do they.

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I pant heavily, sweat beading on my face. I notice that both of my hands now rest on the floor for support. It seems I had fallen to the ground during the ordeal. With a heavy breath, I lift my hand and stare at my palm.

‘I need to try again…!’

What happens if it isn’t Ugo’s fire, but Sophia's ice, or Camille’s plants instead? There are many questions left to be answered.

For hours, I try every possible [melody] fragment that I can. The results vary between [melodies], of course, but in the end, the message is the same. If the shield’s purpose is to protect, then the spear’s is to harm, no more, no less. Each [melody] hurts in a different way. Sophia’s leaves me numb and cold, Camille’s vines sprout from within, Sylvia’s saps my strength, and Ray’s… nearly kills me.

All of these cases, I only played a snippet of their true [melodies] and the results were catastrophic, nearly lethal at times.

‘This ability… It’s only meant to hurt.’

Upon the realization, a smirk tugs at the corner of my lip.

‘Perfect.’

I couldn’t ask for anything better for my revenge. Blood trickles from my nose, my vision blurs, and tremors make it difficult to move my hands in the way I’d want to, but still, I plunge my hand back into my chest.

‘I’ll explore this ability to its fullest extent… and when the time is right.’ I clench my fist. ‘It’ll become the spear that pierces through their hearts.’

Just like that, a week passes.

I lie flat on the ground, staring up at the endless sky, my breaths coming in short gasps. Tobias looms over me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re improving, but you still have a long way to go.” He says, as he wipes a drop of sauce that had dropped on his collar.

Then, he turns away, and prepares to leave, but before he can, I stand up. My arms shake as I raise my hand.

“Wait.”

He stops in his tracks. “I thought we’d agreed sparring ends at my signal”

“That’s not what this is about.” I catch my breath. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I was wondering… The FullCastle wouldn’t happen to have some sort of teleportation device I could borrow?”

Tobias arches his eyebrow. “What for, may I ask?”

I’d expected that question. “It’s… uh… for personal matters…” I say, scratching the back of my neck.

‘Even if I lie… he’d know.’

Made uneasy by his silence, I ask again. “So… Do you or do you not?”

His gaze piercing through me, Tobias adjusts his glasses. “Of course.” He says finally. “The FullCastle possesses an array of artifacts far beyond your imagination.”

I frown, the word he used lingering in my head. “...Artifact?”

‘Now that I think about it… Selena mentioned something similar when she was facing Adam…’

“...Do you not know what an artifact is?”

Before I can answer, Reginald jumps in, his voice timid. “H-head butler, sir, if I may. Artifacts aren’t common knowledge for commoners…”

“I see…” Tobias mumbles, stroking his chin. “I’ll provide a brief explanation then.”

“Surely you know of the [echoed], correct?”

“Obviously…”

“Good. Then you’ll know that most tend to bear peculiar abilities, not at all related to a [melody].”

My mind wanders, remembering the regenerative abilities of the [echo-blessed] hyenas. “Their ‘innate’ ability, right?” I say.

“Correct.” Tobias sets down the plate of food, and presses a button on his watch, causing a large screen displaying the profiles of multiple [echoed] to appear before us. “Occasionally, this innate ability can seep into the very bodies of these [echoed], remaining even after death. Those remnants can be fashioned into what we call artifacts” He flips through the profiles.

“The phenomenon is overall extremely rare, but there are ways to increase success rate if one is to hunt for an artifact. Certain species, certain environments, and the long-lived ones, yield better results, for example.”

His hand stops on the profile of a bird-like creature with eight sets of wings, a jagged beak, red eyes, and pure white feathers. “This one has a special ability that allows it to warp to the place it considers its ‘nest’ if it senses lethal danger.” He presses on the profile, and a crimson bead attached to a golden necklace appears. “From its eyes was born the ‘Homeguard’ pendant, which replicates that ability.”

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, finding it hard to believe that such a thing exists. “So you do have one...”

He pushes his glasses up, the light reflecting off of them. “Correct.” His voice rings cold. “But you cannot use it.”

My brow furrows. “Why not?”

“These artifacts are priceless. You do not have the funds, nor the reputation for the FullCastle house to lend you one.” He states bluntly, before turning away, and resuming his path toward the door.

I call after him, undeterred. “What if I said that this was for the bet against the Grand Patriarch?”

He freezes. “Elaborate.” He demands, his back still turned.

I shrug, keeping my tone casual. “Like I said, it’s personal, but I assure you it’s true.”

He glances over his shoulder, his gaze sharp enough to cut. “...Why” He says slowly. “Should I assist you in defeating the Grand Patriarch in a bet?”

I smirk, knowing my next words might have consequences. “Well… if you think just that’s enough for him to lose, then he’s nothing great after all…and I might not even need that artifact or whatever.”

When my words reach him, the ground cracks between Tobias’ feet and the pressure within the training field increases ten-fold, the weight of his presence crashing down like a wave.

‘That’s some intense bloodlust…!!’

To remain standing is a tall task, but I endure and never look away from Tobias. Thankfully, just as quickly as it appeared, the pressure dissipates, and he seems to take a deep breath, adjusting his tie as though nothing happened.

“I’ll see what I can do…” He says curtly, before finally leaving.

‘...Is he just going to leave the food here?’

When he closes the door behind him, Reginald falls to the ground, snot leaking from his nose and tears dropping from his eyes. “I-I thought we were seriously going to die!!” He wails, clutching at his chest. “The High councilor, the Grand Patriarch, the Matriarch, and now even the Head butler… Why do you keep provoking all of them?!”

I scratch the back of my head, a faint guilt creeping in.

‘Maybe I should spare Reginald the next time I do something like this…’

I extend my hand and help him stand. “Sorry…” I mumble.

He accepts, and pats his suit down once he’s on his feet. I follow behind him as we exit the training field in silence.

‘Is he angry?’