A Song of Flesh and Blood

Few days have started since the start of the lockdown . At first, he kept himself occupied with books, flipping through Fray's collection in search of anything interesting. History, economics, philosophy—he had devoured them all, but now, even reading felt like a chore.

He sighed, shutting the book in his hands and tossing it onto the growing pile on the table. The words blurred together, failing to hold his attention. His mind craved something else—anything else—but there was nothing to do.

Across the room, Aria seemed completely unaffected by the unchanging days. She sat at the table, quietly flipping through her own book, as composed as ever. If she was frustrated by the confinement, she didn't show it.

Oswin leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "How do you not get bored?" he muttered.

Aria glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before returning to her book without answering.

Oswin groaned. "You're impossible."

The lockdown showed no signs of ending, and Oswin was starting to feel like a caged animal. He needed something to do—something productive, something that wouldn't drive him insane with monotony.

Maybe it was time to start thinking ahead. If this situation dragged on, how would the city handle it? What would happen to supplies, to order, to the people stuck inside?

Oswin sat up suddenly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table. Music. He hadn't touched an instrument since before prison, and even after getting out, life had been too chaotic to even think about it. But now, locked in this house with nothing but time, the thought of playing again stirred something deep inside him.

Then, he remembered. Fray's father's safe.

A violin had been inside.

Oswin glanced at Aria, who was still absorbed in her book, before standing up. "The safe," he muttered. "Where are the keys?"

Aria let out an annoyed grumble but didn't argue. She stood up, heading toward the kitchen where she rummaged through a small drawer before pulling out the keys. Without a word, she walked back and placed them in Oswin's outstretched hand before returning to her seat, flipping open her book as if nothing had happened.

"Thanks," he said, heading straight to the safe. It was tucked away in the study, a heavy iron safe hidden under the wooden table. He knelt in front of it, feeling a small twinge of unease. Fray's father had kept his wealth and valuables here—things that, in another life, Oswin might've hesitated to touch.

But that was before.

He wasn't just borrowing this body. He was Fray Nightshade now, whether he liked it or not. Whatever was inside belonged to him.

The lock clicked open, revealing its contents just as he remembered: a neatly stored violin case and two books and some money. Oswin grabbed them all except the money and carried them to the coffee table in the drawing room.

Aria's eyes widened slightly as Oswin returned to the room, violin case in hand. She let out a surprised grumble, her expression wary, as if she had never seen anything like it before.

Oswin placed the case on the table and unlatched it, revealing the violin inside. The moment she saw the strange, oddly shaped instrument, Aria's brows furrowed. She let out another questioning grumble, her gaze flicking between Oswin and the violin, clearly asking, What is that thing?

Oswin did not answer and opened the leather case.

Inside lay a beautifully preserved violin. The wood had darkened with age, but the craftsmanship was clear—this wasn't just any instrument. It was old, possibly a family heirloom. But Oswin dismissed the thought just as quickly as it came. So what if it was an heirloom? He was the family now. He was Fray Nightshade, whether he liked it or not.

He turned to the books next.

"Basic Violin and Understanding Notes." Useless. He already knew all of this.

"Hymns of Water Spirits for Beginners."

Oswin frowned, flipping through the pages. Hymns?

Then, he remembered—People of this world believed in Sprit king and Spirits.

Considering the fact that People believed in the Spirits Hymns dedicated to certain Spirits was not strange.

The pages of the hymn book felt strange beneath Oswin's fingertips. There was a dampness to them, not wet enough to be soaked, but carrying an eerie moisture, as if they had absorbed the essence of the very spirits they praised. Each hymn was laid out in a structured manner—one page filled with musical notes, the other with carefully inscribed lyrics.

Despite being well-preserved, the paper felt unlike any book he had ever touched. The ink hadn't smudged, yet the pages clung to his skin with a faint coolness, as though they had been left in a humid room for too long. The air around the book almost seemed heavier, thick with something unseen.

Oswin selected a Hymn and started his performance.

Settling into position, Oswin drew the bow across the strings. Aria watched him curiously, her eyes fixed on the instrument. The first note rang out—shaky at first—but as Oswin continued playing the instrument ,the melody began to take shape. A slow, flowing tune filled the room, soft yet deliberate. The notes wavered at times, shrill and loud, like rushing water before smoothing into a steady rhythm.

As he played, Oswin began to sing the hymn. The words were strange, a prayer woven into melody—praising the water spirits, asking them to conjure a sphere of water before him. The request felt absurd, but something deep inside urged him to continue. His fingers moved instinctively, adjusting the pressure, shifting the notes, refining the hymn into something smoother, something better.

Oswin felt strange as he sang, The air grew lighter. A strange sensation crept over Oswin—the more he sang, the heavier his head felt, his skin dampening as if caught in a fine mist. His muscles ached, a deep fatigue settling into his limbs. But he didn't stop.

The house, silent except for his music, felt… full. As if something unseen lingered in the space between the notes, listening.

The song neared its end when, before Oswin's eyes, water began to coalesce. A single droplet hovered in the air, then another, until a small sphere of water took form, floating weightlessly before him. It grew—larger and larger—until it reached a size twice the size of Oswin's head.

Oswin and Aria stared, frozen in shock. Horror and awe tangled in his chest, but curiosity kept his hands moving. He wanted to see this through.

The final note rang out.

The water ball shuddered—then shot forward, surging in the opposite direction of Oswin. It smashed against the wall with a loud splash, drenching the room. Water splattered across the floor, soaking the rug, the furniture, and both of them.

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Then—

Aria screamed.

It was not loud, not sharp, but it was a sound—a raw, strangled attempt at a scream from someone who had no voice. Her eyes were wide, her hands clenched, her whole body stiff with shock.

Oswin could only stare, his breath coming fast.

What… had he just done?

Oswin set the violin down and pulled Aria into a reassuring hug. She was trembling slightly, her small frame rigid against him. He held her close, murmuring soft reassurances—not just for her, but for himself as well. Slowly, the tension in the room eased. The initial shock faded, replaced by quiet understanding.

Aria pulled away, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. She looked at him, then at the damp rug, then back at him, her expression demanding an explanation. Oswin sighed and sat down, gesturing toward the Book of Hymns. "It was the hymn," he said simply. "I just followed the instructions in the book."

Aria frowned but didn't seem to doubt him—she had been there, after all. She had seen it happen with her own eyes.

As the reality of what had just transpired settled in, Oswin felt something stir inside him. Excitement.

So this world has magic after all. Like those worlds in cheap Chinese transmigration novels.

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. If magic existed, did that mean he had some kind of cheat ability? Some hidden power that could make him unstoppable, a force above all others?

The thought was intoxicating—until reason caught up with him. If he had something like that, wouldn't he have noticed it already? The only cheat he had now was his experience of music from his past life.

Oswin and Aria changed into fresh clothes, shaking off the lingering dampness. Afterward, he helped her dry the drenched room, using whatever cloth they could find to soak up the water. The rug would take time to dry, but at least the worst of the mess was dealt with.

Once they were done, Oswin's gaze drifted back to the violin and the two books. He had dismissed Basic Violin and Understanding Notes earlier, thinking it was useless given his past experience. But now, he reconsidered. If music had the power to influence spirits, then even the smallest details—technique, precision, and theory—could be more important than he initially thought.

He picked up the book, flipping through the pages with newfound interest. There might be something worth learning after all.