Harmony

The gleaming moonlight beyond the windows was Octavia’s one true comfort. It kept her eyes cast high above, drawn to the stars and away from the blood that stained her fingers.

It was her third train ride in the span of only several weeks. The journey had lost its luster, morphed from exciting and endearing into something solemn and mundane. The voyage from Solenford to Coda left her with eleven days of contemplation at her fingertips. Any rest she’d hoped to gather in the wake of what had been done was fitful, at best. The availability of travel in the depths of night was a shock in and of itself, secured by their ushering interloper at SIAR. She had little strength to give the circumstances further thought, disorienting as they were.

She’d escaped her bed, lest the same imagery take yet another turn beating her down in her dreams. If nothing else, her voyage no longer came with tints of overwhelming sorrow and ire. In a sick way, instead, there was peace. Octavia wasn’t certain how she felt about it just yet.

The idea of relaying the truth to her family burned. Really, she wondered if she even had the gall to face them again after outright committing murder--justification be damned. Her sister’s killer, self-admitted, was dead and gone. Still, the satisfaction she’d hoped to cling to in her heart was hollow. She’d seen enough tragedies for a lifetime in the span of several weeks. They were inescapable, and she found them time and time again in each and every nightmare.

The bells were a constant, at least on a nightly basis. They were one of many catalysts for cold sweats and nausea, forcing her to her feet and spurning her into anxious pacing. She was glad her companions had their peaceful dreams, if nothing else. She somewhat envied it.

There was no triumph and joy. There was no sensation of overwhelming victory. Each of them were well aware they’d been lucky to escape with their lives, successful in their mission or otherwise. They’d hardly had the drive to so much as speak upon reunion, and Octavia couldn’t blame a single one. She was the worst of them, perhaps, in that way. Every gaze was exhausted, shimmering, and knowing in equal measure. It was too much, and she shied away from all five.

She would concede to Drey that they were, in fact, children. There was guilt, then, that came with what Octavia had dragged them into. There was even more so that came with what sights accompanied their actions. If they chose to sleep forever, she couldn’t blame them. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Returning to Coda had been Viola’s idea, safe and secure as it was. As to what came next, Octavia’s best attempts to cobble together any mental framework were chronically impeded by fatigue. Priscilla’s murderer was dead, granted. For the thousands of questions left in the wake of SIAR, growing ever more distant with each passing second, it was far from a straightforward conclusion. It left hows. It left whys. It left quelling the Dissonance, ultimately, an objective pendulum that took its turn swinging back towards the inexplicable. Octavia had already resolved not to breathe a word of Drey’s death to Viola’s grandmother, lest she never sleep peacefully again. She doubted she would ever be able to do so regardless.

“Stradivaria?” she asked aloud.

Yes?

“I just…wanted to know if you were there.”

I am here, Octavia.

This was new. Since Drey's death, it had been a constant. Gone were the sporadic and cryptic messages salvaged in bits and pieces. Instead, Stradivaria graced her in full with the communication she’d craved. It was the only thing that kept her heart light enough to speak at all. If this was the bond Madrigal had described, she could understand its appeal. She cherished it.

“I have…a lot of questions for you.”

I will answer all that you ask.

“Did you know Priscilla?”

I did.

“Was she kind to you?”

She was.

“Do you miss her?”

Do you?

Octavia smiled sadly. “Every day of my life.”

The silences between them weren’t particularly uncomfortable. Still, the absence of the voice in her head was slightly more distressing. She didn’t let it last.

“Stradivaria?”

Yes?

“Would she be proud of me?”

I cannot speak for her, but I believe she would be.

“Did you know about Drey? The whole time?”

I attempted to warn you.

She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

When she found no response, she gently rested her head against the window. She debated pressing.

“Stradivaria?”

Yes?

“Is…Stradivaria your real name?”

For the briefest moment, he was quiet. What else would it be?

Out of fear of being incorrect, she hesitated to answer. “Stratos. It’s…Stratos, isn’t it?”

Where have you heard that name?

“On the…beach place. With the forest, and the ruins. I don’t know where that was, but…that girl, I heard her say it. Where was that?”

A place only you can go.

“Does it have a name?”

It does.

“What is it?”

You will find out in time.

“When?”

Again, he was silent for a moment. Octavia?

It was her turn to answer. “Yes?”

To what degree would you follow in the path of your sister?

She paused. “I’m sorry?”

Would you finish what she has begun?

“I don’t understand.”

When he was quiet yet again, she pushed. “What did she…begin? What do you mean?”

I have a task for you, if you would choose to accept it.

Octavia tensed. “What…would that be?”

It is no simple task, and yet one necessary for the good of all. It is a task your sister sought to undertake. It is one she could not see through to its end.

“What is it?”

It is…difficult. You will be strained in ways beyond which one should endure. It is a task I would not wish upon any. It is a task that your sister, valiant as she was, boldly accepted. It is a task, ultimately, that fulfills both of our wishes.

“Our…wishes?” she asked. “What wishes?”

Your companion, then. If memory serves, she seeks peace from that which wrongly poisons this world.

“The Dissonance?”

It can be done.

Her heart nearly stopped. “I-It can?”

Know that it will not be without sacrifice.

“I’ll do it.”

He paused. You know not the task.

She pressed. “You said my sister would’ve done it, right?”

Correct.

“Then I’ll do it.”

You will suffer. Know this to be true.

She hesitated. She said it again. “I’ll do it anyway.”

Do not be so quick to answer. Rest, for now, given what has come to pass. In eleven days’ time, I will ask once more. If you would still accept, we will begin.

For what she’d found of his voice in full, his answers were cryptic and mysterious instead. That hadn’t changed. It was somewhat irritating, and she resisted the urge to push him further. The loneliness that came with silence was unpleasant, his voice vanishing and his company imagined once more. It left her with only mindless moonlight to fill the gap.

There was no calming the spark he’d sent flickering through her anxious heart. Her head buzzed in a way that was more than mildly uncomfortable. Waiting for Coda was going to be awful. With Stradivaria nestled close to her heart, sitting still was absolutely not an option. Rest was impossible. Anxiety, at least, was trustworthy. She followed it where it carried her.

She didn’t stop at her own room, initially. It was almost by reflex that she ended up at the threshold of one she, more than likely, should’ve left undisturbed. It was almost a comfort, in a way, that the idea hadn’t been hers alone--the dead of night be damned. Madrigal’s body practically barred entry, slumped against the floor as she was.

Where Lyra’s Repose was typically cradled with such love and care, Madrigal’s arms were instead occupied with knees bundled tightly against her chest. It was the first time, in recent memory, that Octavia had ever truly seen them separated. With eyes wide open, she tolerated Octavia’s every approaching footstep. Even so, the Maestra’s glassy gaze was thrown somewhere far off.

“How is he?” Octavia asked.

“I’m afraid to check,” Madrigal murmured.

“Have you…seen him at all yet?”

She shook her head wordlessly.

Octavia leaned against the wall opposite Madrigal, submitting to silence broken only by the rumbling beneath. “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“I’m scared.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Scared of…what?”

“I didn’t protect him,” Madrigal said quietly.

Octavia tensed. “Neither did I. Madrigal, you saved his life.”

“I don’t feel like I did.”

She paused. “How did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Madrigal whispered.

“At all?”

Madrigal shook her head, her curls following gently in her wake.

“Is he awake?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated.

Octavia straightened up, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Can I check?”

Madrigal nodded, rising to her feet in silence. Her hesitation was almost contagious, near to the doorway as she remained. There was no longer a comfort that came with mutual anxiety. Octavia wasn’t fond of the knot in her stomach. She was growing used to it, unfortunately. She, too, hesitated, her fingers stilling over the handle of the sliding door as Madrigal fell motionless beside her.

She hoped he wasn’t asleep. Of everyone who’d struggled on her behalf, he deserved rest more than any. He deserved far, far more than what she could ever hope to give.

In truth, despite her SIAR interloper’s insistence as to the contrary, his condition hadn’t required medical attention whatsoever. Madrigal’s inexplicable touch had been enough, miraculous as it was. Not a drop of blood had breached the gauze, nor had he deteriorated in any capacity. For how grave of a state he’d been in just hours prior, Octavia still struggled to wrap her head around the concept. It was an unfathomable relief, in one sense--eleven days without access to medical care, given the nature of his wounds, would’ve been unthinkable. Her eyes flickered to his bandaged wrists far more often than they should’ve. It was a reflex she kicked herself for again and again, try as she might to curb it. She half-heartedly wondered how many times he’d done the same.

He was awake, at least. Renato didn’t acknowledge her upon the threshold, hesitant as her entry had been. His gaze, too, was elusive. Even now, she was second-guessing intruding, his solace more than well-earned. The moonbeams flooding the cabin were in stark contrast to the shadow over his face--subtle or not. It burned.

“Renato? Can I come in?” Octavia asked quietly.

“Sure,” he answered, equally soft. His volume didn’t match who he was. That, too, burned.

It didn’t occur to Octavia to close the door behind her, fixated on the boy instead. She slipped into the moonlit room tentatively, settling onto the foot of the bed. “Is…it okay if I sit here?”

He nodded. She’d never noticed how fluffy his hair was without the hat. It was almost cute.

Asking him how he was would’ve been a futile question, for how quickly it had risen to her lips regardless. The way by which he buried his wrists quietly beneath the covers was not lost on her, subtle as he’d attempted to be upon her entry. Her heart could’ve shattered, every last piece scattering across his bedsheets. No words would do him justice. There was no justice to be done. She once more second-guessed why she was here in the first place.

“If my dad saw me right now, I don’t even wanna know what he’d say.”

She raised her eyes. His own were distant, tethered to the stars beyond the window. Still, the faint smirk that had settled onto his lips was notable.

“Your…dad?” Octavia repeated.

He nodded once more. “My parents wanted me to be a soldier. Can you believe that?”

She couldn’t--not of him. Envisioning it alone was impossible. “Why?”

Renato shrugged. “Family, lineage, all that crap. Supposed to carry on the tradition.”

“Did you…want that?” Octavia asked.

Renato scoffed. “Of course not. Bailed the minute I had the chance. They’re angry as hell about it, and they probably always will be. I’m never going back there again, that’s for sure. Sick of all of it. Is it really that bad to want something else out of life?”

Octavia shook her head. “I don’t think so. I can’t imagine. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. Can’t really be a soldier if I can’t hold a freakin’ weapon.”

Octavia’s stomach lurched. It was unavoidable.

“Does it…hurt?” she whispered tentatively.

Once more, Renato shrugged. “Little bit. Not much. Honestly expected it to be a lot worse. I’m really not sure why it doesn’t hurt more, to tell you the truth. It feels weird, though. I keep lifting my arms and expecting them to be there. I keep…trying to flex fingers I don’t have anymore, and it feels bad.”

Octavia paused. “Did anyone tell you? About…what happened?”

He chuckled, empty as the sound was. “Yeah. I know that Drey guy messed me up. My fault for getting cocky, I guess. Heard you got him right back, though. Bet that felt good.”

Her stomach lurched for a different reason entirely. This was not at all the time nor the place for nausea. She struggled to refocus. “Did anyone…tell you anything else?”

Renato was quiet for a moment. The smile he found, for once, was genuine. “Maddie saved me, didn’t she? Viola told me.”

Octavia nodded. “I don’t know how she did it. Neither does she.”

Yet again, he shrugged. “That’s magic for you, I guess.”

Octavia couldn’t stifle a smirk. “It’s not magic.”

His grin was wonderful. She’d missed it. “You’re so full of it. It’s magic. Get real.”

She laughed, and the warmth of his presence was almost as she’d recalled it several days prior. It didn’t stop the inevitable, deafening silence that soon suffocated her once more, try as she might to cling to what happiness she could salvage. She thought to grovel at his feet. She thought to beg for forgiveness. He’d hate it. It was irresistible all the same. Between nothing at all and every apology she could conjure, she wasn’t sure what was worse to endure.

“I know their names now.”

Octavia hadn’t noticed the tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes. She fought to blink them away regardless. “Their names? Who’s…‘they’?”

“Those two.”

Her gaze followed as Renato tilted his head in the general direction of the table. She’d never miss the cherry oak for the life of her, with or without his touch. Either stick rested as peacefully as the boy whose hands they’d long called home. It was almost unsettling to see them positioned with such calm, devoid of explosive prowess. Octavia’s eyes widened.

“You…how did--”

“Mistral Asunder,” he spoke with pride, embracing a smile equally touched with the same. “They’re kind of a unit.”

“It--I mean, they spoke to you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. I just knew, somehow,” Renato offered. “Wait, they can talk?”

She smiled. “Eventually.”

His head landed against the pillow with an exasperated thump. “Huh. I doubt they’re gonna say a freakin’ word to me after all this, though.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Why not?”

Renato’s face fell, steadily yet surely. “Don’t see how I can use them anymore like this.”

His point was accentuated by his wrists, lifted free of the covers and into her full view. She fought not to stare. She failed, and she knew he knew in turn. He sighed.

“I guess Drey got what he wanted. I’m not gonna be able to fight for a damn thing.”

In all the time she’d known him, Octavia had never once seen him cry. She’d never assumed it would come to that, for who he was and the person she’d assumed him to be. The tears that steadily slipped down his cheeks were as off-putting as they were utterly heartbreaking, surely born of the wrong boy entirely. “I’m sure Vi will be happy I can’t drive her insane that way anymore.”

Leaping to her feet was a reflex. “Renato, that’s not true.”

“You guys got exactly what you wanted, too, right? Maddie’s not gonna want me. Don’t blame her. Can’t hold her hands, can’t put my arms around her, can’t keep her safe from friggin’ anything anymore. Can’t even--”

Every accusation stung. She never got the chance to rectify each one, every desperate correction dying on her lips. Whatever comfort she could offer him was stolen.

The door opening in full nearly scared her to death, slamming against the wall with a bang that had both Maestros recoiling sharply. It was a third, then, whose tears came to match Renato’s own. Granted, Madrigal’s were far more excessive, her body racked with sobs and her own bitter tears trailing every hurried footstep. Octavia hardly had the time to dodge her hurried entry. Renato didn’t have the time to dodge anything. The girl outright leapt at him.

Octavia had to wonder if it hurt, given how quickly and firmly Madrigal smashed her lips against Renato's. Her desperate touch upon either of his cheeks left the boy immobile and notably surprised. There was a stifled sound of muffled astonishment against her hurried kiss, brief as it was. Octavia’s eyes widened in tandem with Renato’s own, although she was much more satisfied to witness the way he gently settled into Madrigal’s warmth. It was eternal. It wasn’t. It was more reassurance than Octavia could’ve ever hoped to give.

It took ages for Madrigal to set him free, whether with her lips or otherwise. Their tears remained entangled, a puddle of mutual sorrow staining the sheets even now. He was speechless. He smiled. He laughed, and his laugh paired beautifully with Madrigal’s. Her sobs were irrelevant, for how her joy bubbled into the air. Octavia, too, was not immune to the smile she could feel threatening to split her face in half.

“I, uh…didn’t see that coming,” he finally spoke with a tint of a blush, his voice shaking somewhat.

“I love you,” Madrigal breathed, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll love you no matter what, forever and ever. Nothing will change that, no matter what happens to you or what you look like.”

Renato grinned. “You love me, huh? Isn’t it a bit soon for that?”

She shook her head fervently, blessing him with an affectionate smile. “Nope.”

Renato laughed. “I wish I could…hold your hands, or something. You don’t care that I’ll never be able to do that again?”

It was only the same endearing smile that answered him. Delicately, Madrigal wrapped both hands of her own around one of his wrists, lifting the bandages aloft with care. She blessed his wrist with a fleeting kiss, laced with enough love to leave Renato’s eyes shimmering dangerously. When her smile erupted into something brighter, Octavia sincerely thought he’d become emotional again.

“Damn it, you’re gonna make me cry. Let’s take this slow, alright? Can’t rush stuff like this. I just met you, like, a month ago,” he joked.

The giggle Madrigal offered in response was warm, even from afar. Her continued affection--well-deserved, granted--was enough of a response. In truth, it was enough that Octavia felt significantly out of place. She winced.

“I, uh…I’m gonna head out. Let me know if either of you need me,” she said awkwardly.

Renato laughed once more. “See you in the morning, third wheel.”

Still, his jeering was irrelevant. The gentle appreciation in his eyes was palpable, and she adored it. She beamed.

She could still hear Madrigal’s bubbly laughter and Renato’s playful indulgence of such behind the door. It wasn’t unwelcome, and she embraced the shred of warmth she’d managed to find in the wake of catastrophe. Otherwise, it left only the streaming moonlight for company, kissing her boots and settling upon her skin as it was. Solace was dangerous. Isolation was dangerous. Overthinking was dangerous, and it was sure to occur regardless. She had half a mind to beg for their company once more, intruding as she knew she would be. It would keep her from driving herself insane with thoughts she wished she could cleave in two. She had eleven days to embrace fatigue. It wasn’t the kind she was comfortable with.

She still checked on the boys anyway, for what it was worth. It was their fault for not closing the door curtain entirely. It wasn’t as though further danger would befall them for at least eleven days, and there was an irony that came with finding safety in such an uncertain place. She silently blessed their dreams from afar. Of one of them, in particular, she prayed for a peace she wondered if he’d find any time soon. The world had been unkind enough to Josiah for a lifetime. She resolved to guard the truth of Drey’s involvement with the Cursed City for as long as she could spare him--at least eleven days, if nothing else. Etherion, too, was a memento of unkindness.

It was Josiah’s idea, initially. Still, it had made sense. To leave Cadence’s Harmonial Instrument behind in SIAR carried disastrous consequences, given Drey’s apparent objective. It was Josiah’s to guard, then, far from Madrigal until Octavia had found the energy to piece that puzzle together. In the worst way, it was almost a relief that the Maestra had been preoccupied with Renato instead. Not once, since their departure from Solenford, had she so much as attempted to interact with the instrument. How long that reprieve would last was debatable. Octavia embraced it while she could.

Leaving Cadence behind was a nightmare. For all their silent savior had offered them in those blood-stained halls, surrendering the late Maestra to the hands of a stranger left a bitterness in Octavia’s heart. She wondered if Cadence would loathe them. She wondered if she’d be buried properly, at least. It was a safety she deserved.

She cracked open her own cabin door as quietly as was possible, mostly devoid of company as she would be. Of her one roommate, the rest she’d earned was tinted by comfort far beyond what could be described as graceful. She was surprised Viola hadn’t outright fallen off the bed, disheveled as she was. Most of the blankets had, granted. It took effort for Octavia to stifle a laugh, torn between the urge to adjust the Maestra’s questionably-dangerous sleeping posture or leave her to her methodologies. She made a mental note to tease Viola about it in the morning. It was almost endearing.

Everything had started with Viola. Octavia prayed all would end at her side, much the same. For what was left, and for all that was to come, she liked to imagine this was a constant. It was a warm thought that she carried with her down into the dark. In the moment, this was enough.

For the first time in far too long, Octavia dreamt of nothing.