Harmony

The sun was promising, a blessing she couldn’t help but take as a positive accompaniment to her first fearless steps beyond the boundary of Silver Ridge. Neither too hot nor too lenient, the warmth she found was threefold--above, beside, and behind, for the girl who matched her stride and the violin nestled firmly against her back. Octavia had the urge to run. Taming it was a far greater trial than she was willing to admit to. She had the urge to pelt Viola with every question that could possibly cross her thoughts. She was less resistant to that problem, and yet at least tempered them into a steady trickle.

“So, uh,” she began shyly, “we’re going straight to Coda?”

Viola shook her head, her bow bouncing slightly with every little movement. “Not quite. Coda is a two days’ walk from here, and I don’t want to take the chance of getting stuck out in the dark again like last time. We’re going to stop at Minuevera for the night before we head back out again in the morning. It’s still another few hours of walking until we get there, though.”

Octavia shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m used to walking for a long time. I forage sometimes, so I’m out for hours at a time when I do.”

Viola tilted her head. “Foraging?”

“You know, like…finding edible stuff on the ground. Mushrooms and whatnot.”

The slight recoil that hit the girl wasn’t quite enough to shake Octavia. It took her a moment to find an example, given how close they still were to Silver Ridge overall. Outside of its boundaries or not, she knew the environment well enough. Her eyes trailed the grass for a moment, both distant and far. It was at the base of a tree several paces away she at least spotted something vaguely familiar, for what little she remembered of the color and shape. It was harmless, and of that, she was certain. Should she accidentally poison Viola within the first forty-eight hours of knowing her, she wasn’t sure what kind of punishment she would need to inflict on herself.

Octavia pointed accordingly. “That one’s edible, if you want to try it.”

Viola shook her head vigorously, cringing. “I-I’m alright, thanks. I’m not…sure how I feel about eating things off the ground.”

It was more of a reflex than a demonstration. She strayed, briefly, and claimed the treeside puffball herself. Firm and textured, the little white mushroom was most definitely innocent up close. It tasted fine. It was at least one thing she’d miss about Silver Ridge, given that she assumed she’d be surrendering the bounty of nature in Coda. “Guess they don’t do much foraging in the capital, huh?”

Viola blushed, averting her eyes. “I-I mean, no, but there’s nothing wrong with it! I figure it’s just…you know, something you’d do in a place that’s more rural, I guess? That’s not a bad thing, I mean! I’m not trying to say that you’d have to be--”

“Hey, it’s fine, really!” Octavia cut her off. “I didn’t mean anything by it. We were raised differently, and that’s okay.”

Viola sighed. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some...spoiled rich girl or something.”

“Of course not!” Octavia cried just a bit too loudly. “Never! Your background doesn’t matter at all. I like just being with you already.”

Viola’s tiny smile was welcome. Octavia did what she could to offer a brighter one in return.

“What were you saying about Minuevera, again?” she prompted.

Viola cleared her throat. “It’s a little town on the way to the capital. It’s more of a trade town than anything. Have you ever been there?”

She’d never been anywhere, truthfully. Octavia shook her head. “No, but my dad has. He goes there sometimes to get more materials for the shop.”

“The…shop?”

Octavia nodded. “He’s a woodworker. Every now and then he goes out that way to pick up more varnish and sanding supplies and whatnot. He’s really skilled. He can make just about anything. It’s honestly really impressive. He even made some of the furniture in our house, actually.”

Viola smiled softly. “Your father sounds very talented.”

“What about your family?” Octavia asked.

Viola fell silent, her eyes scraping the dirt. Octavia tensed. “Y-You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she added quickly.

“No, it’s okay, really,” Viola responded quietly. “My father...did some bad stuff, even though he didn’t mean to. He’s serving life in prison. My mother didn’t take it well. She left.”

Octavia’s heart sank. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been meaning to talk about it at some point, anyway. Maybe I’ll explain later.”

“I mean, we’ve got a lot of time before we hit Minuevera. If you want to talk, I mean. It…doesn’t have to be about that,” Octavia offered.

“If we’ve got so much time,” Viola added with a playful roll of her eyes, “maybe we should get you some more Maestra training before we get there.”

“Really?” Octavia nearly shouted, outright startling Viola before recapturing her volume. “I-I mean, if it’s okay with you! I’ve been meaning to ask all sorts of stuff about Maestras, and more about Harmonial Instruments, and things about Coda, and--”

“Hey, one thing at a time!” Viola shushed with a smile. “Give me one of those sandwiches your mother made and I’ll see what I can do in return.”

“Deal!”

She nearly fumbled the case entirely, given the speed at which she ripped it from her shoulders. Viola took her time sifting through Octavia’s backpack. Octavia, by comparison, did not take her time in any capacity withdrawing the violin. That, too, she almost dropped in the process, and that transgression would’ve fallen at least second to the shame of giving Viola accidental food poisoning.

The Maestra hardly seemed to care, given the way she was already more than engrossed in her little sandwich slice. “Your mother is a great cook, did I tell you that already?”

“Violaaa,” she whined, “Teach me things!”

“Okay, okay! Just make sure you keep walking while you play, or we’re never gonna get to Minuevera before nightfall.”

Octavia nestled the violin against her shoulder, leveling the bow with the strings gently. “Not a problem! Okay, what do I do first?”

“Well,” Viola began, indulging in slightly more sandwich, “you should practice playing a bit. We already talked about this a tiny bit, but you don’t need to know how to play to actually do it. That’s the nice thing about being a Maestra--you can just let your Harmonial Instrument do the work.”

Octavia experimentally drew her bow over a single string, savoring the one delicate note she earned in return. “So just kinda...feel it? Improvise?”

“Let your hands do their own thing. Feel the will to play in your heart, and go for it.”

It made enough sense in theory. It was difficult to resist the urge to consciously try, for what playing without focus consisted of. She’d done it once, surreal as the experience had been at the time. It was dangerous to close her eyes while walking, and surely more so with her hands full. Still, it helped, and her fingers moved along the bridge with less strain than she’d expected. Every motion of the bow was instinctive in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint, just as experimental as it was intentional. Surrendering to muscle memory she didn’t exactly have was jarring. Given the soft song she was slowly weaving into the open air, unfamiliar and born somewhere in the midst of her confusion, she traded her very mild concern for elation.

“Perfect,” Viola affirmed with a smile. “Now put some power behind it. Mix in the will to fight. Think back to whatever you were feeling that night.”

“At the same time? How am I supposed to--”

“Feel it, like always,” Viola interrupted. “Right in your heart. Harmonial Instruments work with their Maestro’s will and emotions. If you work to make it happen, it’ll happen.”

That, by comparison, was far more difficult of a concept. She could more or less fumble her way through playing a simple song. To recapture that scorching sensation beneath her skin of her own volition would be a trial. As to what she was supposed to be praying for, she had no idea. She flexed her fingers at least twice over against the handle of the bow, hunting for the slightest flicker of heat. She had half a mind to ask if it would always be the bow. Searching for the same scalding warmth stinging her along any other inch of the violin was distracting. Octavia was vaguely aware of the way by which her song had picked up speed, involuntary as the pace had become. If it was a spark waiting to catch, this was perhaps what it took to ignite.

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Don’t hurt yourself, though.”

The only heat she was finding came in the form of her burning muscles. Where she hoped for her blood to bubble and burn yet again, she was blessed only with cramps. It was sheer desperation that kept her trying, and she had half a mind to fear she’d snap one of the strings beneath the pressure of her song. She prayed, pushed, pulled, and played as quickly as her fingers would allow, straining to such a degree that her head hurt instead.

Something stung, and she yelped. For a second time over, she nearly dropped the violin entirely as her melody screeched to a halt. It was her palm, flush with the bridge, that had succumbed to the slightest jolt beneath her skin. For a fraction of a second, it was a familiar sensation--devoid of the bow as it was. Objectively, she could’ve tried to do it again. Once was enough to slam her with a victorious high, and her proud grin was explosive.

“I felt it!” she cried with glee. “I felt it! I felt a spark!”

Viola shrugged, rolling her eyes with a smile once more. “Practice makes perfect. A spark is a good start.”

Octavia beamed. “Do you want to play with me? Maybe something else will happen if we do it together.”

“Can’t,” Viola answered pointedly. “Just ate. You’re not supposed to play a flute right after you eat, you know.”

“Well…what if you try Stradivaria?” Octavia offered, thrusting the violin and bow before her.

Viola shook her head. “Stradivaria is your Harmonial Instrument. It wouldn’t do a whole lot for me. It’d be like playing a normal violin, which I am, unfortunately, completely unskilled in.”

Octavia shrugged with a soft smile. “Fair enough.”

Returning the violin to the safety of her shoulder felt natural. Absentminded movements grew easier with time, and she embraced the instinctive sensation of her hands moving happily without conscious input. If the delicate and satisfied song she strung together with every step was anything to go by, it was fruitful practice. Viola seemed to enjoy it just as much, and it only left Octavia beaming ever brighter. It was a different kind of warmth beneath her touch entirely.

She enjoyed the walk, if not largely for the company it came with. For what little Octavia still knew of her icy savior that night, getting acquainted under the splendor of the summer sky was wonderful. It was somewhat difficult to temper the volume of her song versus the onslaught of queries she showered the Maestra with, both relevant and irrelevant to the task at hand alike. To share herself with another felt phenomenal, and she soaked up every bit of Viola’s personality she could steal.

She’d teased as to the girl’s mismatched name and instrument, enjoying the eye roll she’d earned in return. She’d learned of Viola’s lighter personal life, by which she apparently owned a cat. She’d offered up her own passions and interests in return, as steadily paced as she could will herself to disperse them. Logically, it was a long walk, for how the sun dipped gradually lower with each happy sentence and sentiment. It felt like nothing. She wouldn’t have minded doing it again.

Their timing in surrendering the sunshine had been more or less flawless, and the parting greenery left them with civilization on the near horizon. It took Octavia’s eyes more than a moment to catch up with her hands, her song stilling in exchange for the sights beyond.

It was no Silver Ridge, the homely architecture stylized differently in a manner she still relished. It was sweet in its own right, blessed with both the fruits of conversation and the literal fruits that were strikingly abundant outside. Most were boxed. Some were lovingly-displayed, if not occasionally slipping into safer housing as the earliest stars flickered to life high above. Even from afar, the town was as lively as it was colorful, the climbing moon only augmenting its comforting atmosphere as it settled into the evening. It was slowing, she presumed. It was still at least ten times more vibrant than the town she’d left behind.

“Not much of a traveler, I see,” Viola teased, playfully elbowing her side.

Octavia stammered defensively as she resheathed the violin with trembling hands. “I-I’ve never left Silver Ridge, okay? This is my first time seeing a whole different town, and especially a different...well, everything!”

“Take it in as we walk, at least,” Viola somewhat ordered, reduced to physically tugging a starstruck Octavia along. “There’s an inn here that had great food on my way through. I’ve been sorta looking forward to it most of the day.”

“An inn?”

“That one.”

It was a brick-blessed building just as cute and just as quaint, if not every bit as enticing from beyond. Octavia didn’t resist Viola’s touch one bit as her boots scraped the cobblestone below, stumbling slightly in the process. The softly-weathered, paint-kissed sign nestled high with care was as simple as it was confusing, for whatever she was intended to glean from “Talludo” alone. Even from outside, every scent was phenomenal. That was absolutely more than enough to satisfy her.

Viola held the door with her free hand, still guiding a disoriented Octavia with the other. “You can stare as much as you want once we’ve actually had something to eat. The whole town will still be there, I promise.”

She didn’t get to protest, nor did she make it more than five steps without immediate hospitality. The girl who practically leapt in front of them barred their path, somewhat, armed with a brilliant smile and a questionable volume. Octavia flinched.

“Hello! Welcome to--wait, haven’t I seen you before?” she hesitated with a tilt of her head.

Viola nodded, freeing Octavia from her grasp. “I stayed here a few nights ago. I’m going the other direction now. How much is it for two beds this time?”

The girl shook her head vigorously, her curls bouncing almost aggressively against her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it! It’s on the house. We don’t usually get girls around my age. This is so exciting!”

Her volume was still more than was necessary by a wide margin. Octavia side-eyed Viola discreetly, earning only a half-hearted shrug for her efforts.

“She was like this last time, too,” Viola whispered. “I have no idea.”

Octavia forced a smile, somewhat overstimulated. “I’m…guessing you already met Viola, but we haven’t met yet. My name is Octavia. It’s nice to meet you, uh…”

“Madrigal!” the girl practically shouted, bouncing on her heels with an energy nearly intimidating. “I’m Madrigal Talludo, and I’d like to formally welcome you to the Talludo Inn! We’ve got the finest hospitality in the town, and we even make all our own dishes with fresh fruit and vegetables from our garden out back. You guys should consider staying the night!”

“We’re…already staying the night. I just said that,” Viola spoke slowly.

“Right! You did say that! Here, I’ll get you guys set up with something to eat. There’s some room right here if you want. Is there anything in particular you want to drink? Do you have any preferences with--”

“I-I’m good with just water,” Octavia stammered, struggling to balance following the girl’s words and following her hurried movements simultaneously. For how her wrist had been reclaimed by another girl entirely, her new guide was not even slightly as gentle. The energy was even more concerning when it threatened her orientation, and she nearly fell out of the chair she was more or less shoved into. Her waitress was still talking, apparently. There was a menu in her hands, now. She’d hardly had the time to blink. Three minutes inside was all it had taken to maximize her overstimulation.

“--and the tomato soup is really good, if you want to try it! It’s one of my personal recommendations. We make it with the vegetables we grow in-house, right in our garden out back. Can you believe that?”

“Yes, because you said it already,” Viola reminded, her tone strained somewhat. “We’ll just take whatever you’d recommend.”

“Got it! I’ll be back with the whole course! That way, you can try everything we’ve got to offer!”

Viola winced. “No, you really don’t need to bring every--”

“I’ll be right back!” their waitress reassured, bowing deeply enough to nearly slam her head against the table.

She quite literally ran. Her navigation between the throngs of guests was skillful, if not apparently startling. The moment she was out of sight, the Maestras breathed a deep sigh of relief in tandem.

“She’s definitely a very...hard worker,” Octavia offered.

“I’m seriously concerned about how much food she’s about to bring out.”

Octavia smirked. “You did say you were looking forward to eating here again.”

Viola returned a smile of her own, trailing her fingertips along the tabletop absentmindedly. “I’m not used to walking for as long as we did. The trip to Silver Ridge and back is the furthest I’ve ever gone on my own, to say nothing of actually walking there. We’ve earned our rest, I think. I know the environment is a little…chaotic, though.”

“Your grandmother let you make that trip all by yourself? Wasn’t she worried?”

Viola’s face fell in the slightest. “She...wasn’t overly bothered by it. I’d say your family put up more of a fight,” she answered softly.

Her tone was just barely unsettling enough that Octavia hesitated to push. She didn’t. “Will we be able to get to Coda by tomorrow?” she tried instead.

Viola raised her head, the indiscernible tension in her voice thinning quickly. “I mean, from a travel standpoint, Coda is surprisingly close to Minuevera. On foot, the walk should be just a tiny bit shorter than today’s was. Still, we’re gonna have to wake up early.”

Octavia smiled. “I always do. As soon as the sun comes up, I’m ready to go. No problems there.”

Viola nodded. “Good. On my last trip through, there was no Dissonance between here and Coda, so it should be peaceful. The only Dissonance I saw was--”

“In Silver Ridge, right?” Octavia finished hesitantly. “The Dissonance that we...both saw.”

Viola nodded once more, slow as the motion was. “Don’t get too used to it.”

Octavia fidgeted uncomfortably. It wasn’t a particularly joyous topic. Still, she’d been biting her tongue on it for long enough. “So, uh...about Dissonance. Is it common?”

Viola lowered her voice, leaning in slightly. “More common than it should be. We’ve been getting lucky so far. Don’t…forget that normal people don’t know about any of this. Keep it close to your heart, okay?”

Octavia nodded. “When you say they come from things like bad memories or…feelings, or whatever, how far does that go? Is it gonna show up if I get angry or think about something sad?”

Viola shook her head. “Not quite. The memories that turn into Dissonance have to be strong and vivid enough to prompt a physical form. They’d have to be agonizing--things that are unbearably painful to remember. Because of that, certain places are more prone to Dissonance showing up.”

“Is there a lot of it in Coda?”

“Not in the city, but it shows up sometimes on the outskirts. It’s also pretty common where people...y’know.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”

Viola’s volume dipped lower. “Where people...die. People who pass away with regrets and hurt in their hearts, especially. Usually, that’s where the strongest Dissonance comes from.”

“Have you ever seen that kind?”

Viola shook her head once more, quicker by comparison. “No, of course not. I’ve never seen anyone die, and I certainly don’t plan to. It’s just something my grandmother taught me.”

Octavia smiled. “Your grandmother sounds like she knows a lot about Maestro stuff. I’m almost kinda nervous to meet her.”

Viola’s fingers settled atop Octavia’s own comfortably. Her soft smile in return was a gift. “My grandmother is going to love you.”

“What are you guys whispering about?”

The Maestras parted with such force that Octavia, for a second time over, nearly traded her steady seating for the hardwood below. She almost screamed, startled as she was. Granted, their waitress had at least attempted to stifle her volume this time. The moment she had their attention, those efforts ceased instantly.

“Sorry about the wait!” the girl offered, her absurdly-full arms precariously loaded with outrageous quantities of food. Octavia couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen if she tripped. “Dinner is officially served!”

Given the sheer amount of neatly-sorted dishes that quickly crowded their little table, Octavia was left to eye the girl with equal parts awe and substantial concern. It was perhaps more concerning that she hadn’t even necessarily taken that long to prepare such a storm of entrees. “Is…all of this for us?” Octavia asked timidly.

Her energetic waitress winked, beaming. “Of course! I made all of it with love! If there’s anything else you guys need, let me know! I’ll be over right away!”

Octavia didn’t have a doubt in her mind, at this point.

The moment the cycle repeated, by which their questionable attendant had already darted well across the dining room once more, whatever unrecognizable dialect was leaving her mouth still carried yet the same enthusiasm. Really, she wasn’t alone--distracted as Octavia had been by the achingly abundant hospitality, there were yet a number more of tones and tongues she’d never captured slowly gracing her ears. Few were similar, and most were speckled.

She’d never seen much of the attire in the room, dripping in hues and patterns far from that with which she was familiar. She was careful in her staring, at least, for how her eyes most definitely passed from stranger to stranger in turn. No one called her on it. She doubted they would, given the steady volume of healthy conversation. It hardly mattered that she understood so little of it.

“Your food is going to get cold.”

Viola’s knowing grin was enough to make her blush. Octavia winced, throwing her eyes into one of her many soups.

“R-Right, sorry. I’m just a little…overwhelmed with being in a new place,” she apologized weakly.

“It shows,” Viola teased.

She blushed harder. She took it out on whatever salad was unfortunate enough to draw the stiff ire of her fork first. There was absolutely no way she was making it through the ridiculous sea of food the inn had blessed her with, beautiful and sizzling as every dish was regardless. She still did her best, appreciating the foreign flavors every step of the way.

She couldn’t quite tell if it was the delight that came with culinary experimentation or the tableside company that enriched her dining experience the most. Drowning in enough spice to alter her palate for life, Octavia’s first impressions of Minuevera were as delicious as they were overstimulating.

The evening sky above the still town was twice as resplendent so far from home. Objectively, it was an identical moon to that which she could see from her own window. Still, beyond a balcony far from Silver Ridge, the sight was infinitely more splendid. Octavia could’ve sworn the stars twinkled brighter in Minuevera, although she wouldn’t have been shocked to be told it was wishful thinking alone. The moonbeams spilling into the river so far below were precious, and she would’ve been more than content to embrace the night’s delicate breeze for hours.

It was as exhilaratingly foreign as it was beautifully familiar. What homesickness the tiniest part of her heart had feared was strikingly absent. Even if Coda still lay at the end of her voyage, she wouldn’t have minded halting in Minuevera entirely.

“We should probably go to bed soon,” she heard softly. "We’re going to have to get up at sunrise, most likely. We’ll need our strength.”

“If their breakfast is half as good as their dinner, I’m not really that worried about strength,” Octavia joked.

Viola settled against the railing at her side with a smile. “It’s a really nice town. I kind of wish we could stay longer.”

“So, let’s come back soon,” Octavia offered, beaming. “After we go to Coda, I mean.”

Viola sighed, not devoid of a smirk. “We’ve still got a fair amount to do ahead of us. Be ready for that.”

Octavia rested her head against the railing, content to cast her eyes high to the stars. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to sleep. I’m so excited to see Coda, you have no idea.”

Viola winced. “Just...keep an open mind. It might not be exactly what you expect.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a huge city, sure, but there’s a lot of…inequality going on,” Viola clarified, tipping her hand back and forth with a slight wince. “There’s violence, there’s more than enough disputes, and there’s people who don’t exactly have places to sleep at night. That’s to say nothing of the more unsavory kinds of people you’ll find there. It’s not a perfect place by any means.”

Octavia still smiled all the same, raising her head. “Whatever it is, I’ll be ready. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine. I’m really excited to meet your family, too.”

“Yeah.”

She’d forgotten. It was more than a touchy subject, and the sadness that plagued Viola’s voice spoke to the same. She kicked herself hard.

“I’m…gonna go to sleep. Come in soon before it starts getting cold, okay?” Octavia tried tentatively.

Viola nodded wordlessly, throwing her own eyes to the night sky alone. Leaving her behind stung, somewhat.

Octavia slid the balcony door shut gently, not immune to the softest pang of guilt that bit her soul in the process. An apology would do little. She opted to sleep it off, doing what she could to expel her distress with one deep sigh alone. That, too, did little. Already, she missed the delicate cries of insects singing into the summer night, and it was with a heavy heart that she opted to lock the main door rather than return to the open air.

Where she’d found their soft, chirping song outside, it was for the shortest second alone that she caught the faintest screech within.

It wasn’t particularly near, nor was it loud. Initially, she could’ve sworn she’d hallucinated it entirely, fatigued as the day had surely left her. Still, it was a nagging discomfort that she replayed in her mind at least twice. Her hand hovered uselessly above the doorknob, fingers twitching in turn. She held her breath. If she strained and strained, she could convince herself she’d caught it a second time--just as fleeting, just as distant, and certainly beyond the comfort of her room.

Hesitantly, she inched the door open, peering down the length of the hallway. Her steps outward were tentative, and she found not an unnatural noise more. Every heavy thud upon wood came from afar, growing ever further with each passing second. Octavia tensed.

The third time, it was no longer a coincidence. It was no longer in her head alone. What faint, brief screeching she’d heard was more than enough to land her in her boots yet again. As to why Stradivaria had taken up refuge in her arms, she wasn’t quite as sure where the urge had come from. She didn’t question it much.

The inn was far from quiet, and the manner by which her efforts to recapture the same elusive sound once more were impeded. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what felt incorrect about the atmosphere, lively and vibrant as it was at such an hour. In truth, she wondered if anyone actually bothered to use the beds they paid for. With her arms wrapped tightly around the violin, she descended every stair slowly and carefully.

There was reassurance in the form of the company of others, and the idea of surrendering it was perhaps even more unsettling. It was only at the foot of the steps that she, too, recognized the way by which she’d be abandoning Viola without explanation. She couldn’t bring herself to ascend. Once more, she couldn’t pinpoint why.

The front door slammed shut with just a bit too much force. For as energetic as the atmosphere downstairs was, what stray enthusiasm could’ve left an abundance of noise in its wake wasn’t necessarily unexpected. Still, it drew her attention immediately. Her eyes found nothing. Her ears, by comparison, caught the sharp, shrill screech for the fourth time over. It was louder, although not by a wide margin. It was enough to quicken her steps, somewhat nostalgic in an indescribable manner.

With one arm still tightly tethered to the violin and bow alike, she turned the doorknob and embraced the cool breeze of the night. There was little of merit in the immediate vicinity of the inn, aside from departing companions and mildly-inebriated stragglers. Octavia sighed in exasperation. She allotted herself several experimental seconds of quiet, interrupted sporadically by the din of infrequent and speckled conversation.

Try as she might, there was little more unnatural sound to observe, her senses once more flooded only by the expected. She should be sleeping. Viola was, more than likely, looking for her. If she were so keenly interested in spending the night watching the notably intoxicated, she could’ve stayed in Silver Ridge. There were a few she knew by name, unfortunately.

There was one her eyes lingered upon longer than they should’ve, for how he headed anywhere but home. His staggering wasn’t excessive, and yet his disoriented motions were more than obvious from afar. Why he would choose the river in the dead of night over the warmth of a bed was beyond her, although it was more than possible he was simply too drunk to tell. It was almost pathetic, and she rolled her eyes out of habit.

The smoke spoke to nothing of the sort.

Octavia had been confident enough in her auditory observations--in the moment, at least, before she’d lost them once more. Now, staring with immense confusion at the departing man, she was left outright rubbing her eyes. The thin, wispy streams of mist that crawled from his shoulders into the open air were inexplicable, bafflingly violet and just barely less than subtle. Stars be damned, she could convince herself it was an illusion of the darkened night. Regardless, the longer she stared, the longer the narrow tendrils of smoke continued to climb. She blinked. She blinked again. They were still there.

The man was more than ignorant to her aggressive confusion, ambling into the night with only a shadowed path and a river to show for his intentions. Octavia made the swiftest approach she could, struggling to stifle the noisy ruffling of her boots against the plush grass. If she truly was seeing things, this conversation was going to be incredibly awkward.

“Sir?” she asked hesitantly, her voice wavering. “Are you…okay?”

He offered her no words in return. He at least did her the favor of returning her gaze, abysmal as his own was. Tossed haphazardly over his shoulder at the Maestra, the man gave her nothing of reassurance. Where she’d found violet upon his shoulders, spindly and questionable as it was, the same hesitant guesses could not be given to his eyes.

Buried in yet the same bubbling violet as they were, his very vision was clouded and veiled in excess. She found no pupils, let alone any whites of which to speak. He may as well have not seen her at all. The thick, murky splotches of smoke that spilled over his eyelids rolled down his cheeks quietly, simmering indigo trails left staining innocent skin in their wake. Octavia outright yelped at the sight, recoiling sharply. When he reclaimed his poisoned gaze, his focus was once more on the river yet beyond. His staggering movements were still equally as unsettling, if not somewhat quicker along the darkened path.

“Wait!” Octavia cried, frantically trailing his footsteps ever deeper into the shadows.

Ignoring the twisting knot in her stomach was a trial. The roar of rushing water was, by comparison, impossible to ignore, far from the gentle trickle the balcony view had led her to expect. The ample moonlight did a spectacular job illustrating its tumultuous streaming, by which the turbulent river did not hesitate to crash brutally upon every sharpened rock it harbored. For what light she possessed above, it did little to pierce the waters below.

She feared growing closer, lest she slip and be swept away. He forewent the same dread, unflinching as every step led him closer to the unforgiving current. Octavia’s heart threatened to burst from her chest as she sprinted desperately.

“Don’t go in the river!” she cried breathlessly. “You’ll drown! Stop!”

She got his attention in the worst way. He stopped in his tracks, granted. There was a fleeting moment of relief, by which Octavia counted her blessings that he’d been spared of the river’s violent wrath. In contrast, the violence that instead came in the form of sickening violet was perhaps one thousand times more repulsive. His eyes on her were still just as empty, just as obscured, and just as blighted by a fog unpierced by the moon high above. His bitter, smoky tears were abundant even now, if not somewhat more so. She couldn’t stand to look at him, and yet he looked at her all the same.

For how she’d been repulsed by his gaze and perplexed by his shoulders, the rest of him was just as grotesque. If he’d once softly emitted, he now poured to a grand degree. The billowing smoke that erupted mercilessly from his trembling body was explosive, bursting well into the open air with an agonizing screech that bit into her eardrums instantly. Every ounce of violet that spilled from his pores writhed and screamed, thick to a nauseating level. His breaths were quick, his motions largely useless. No amount of clawing at his own arms was helping. No amount of clutching his own shoulders desperately was helping. He was tainted, touched by the most repulsively violet toxin Octavia had ever seen blanket human skin.

Octavia, too, was more than poisoned, if not by the surging adrenaline throbbing painfully in her veins. She shivered violently, the response more than uncontrollable. The swirling streams of murky fog were far from stationary, and the way by which they were not isolated to his vicinity alone left her heart settled permanently into her stomach. Blighted as he was by absolutely nothing but all-encompassing violet, toxic in every way, he was ambulatory.

He hardly hesitated, substantially faster than she’d expected him to be. Even in the midst of his distress, visible as it was, it was Octavia who stole his focus. He lunged, his hands on a collision course with her throat. She screamed, stumbling backwards with such tension that her wrists could’ve snapped in half.

It was taut fingers, curled so tightly she may have lost circulation entirely, that left one finger slicing sharply along a string. The rugged copper digging into her skin was as painful as it was jarring. She’d forgotten Stradivaria was in her grip in the first place. The spark that stung her terrified touch left her eyes wide and her hands trembling all the more.

She flexed her fingers over the bridge and bow respectively, struggling to curb what fervent shaking plagued her in excess. Her eyes darted back and forth between the violin and the smoke-shrouded stranger, the feeble gap between them closing further with each passing second. Her tingling fingertips were not to be ignored, given the way she’d battled to recall the sensation so fiercely. In just the slightest, they throbbed, and the feeling was desperately welcome. It was a reflex to throw the violin against her shoulder, leveling the bow with the strings hurriedly.

“S-Stay back!” she shouted, fumbling a warning she knew was futile all the same. “Don’t come any closer!”

He advanced. She recoiled, her best efforts to put distance between herself and the writhing fog mostly for naught. The surging smoke was as undaunted by her threats as the man himself, and finding her footing in the face of the billowing violet was horrifying. The screeching didn’t help, strangling her with dizziness that left her battling to stay upright. The nausea was no concern, and she’d already succumbed to it long ago.

Octavia exhaled heavily, bracing against the dirt as she wove together the most pleading melody she’d ever concocted in her life. It was as involuntary as it was haphazard, her fingers flying of their own accord as screaming notes rose well above the awful noise. She strained, her muscles burning with the effort of hunting for that fearsome burn once more. It didn’t need to be perfect. It didn’t need to be enveloping. It didn’t need to set her blood ablaze and curse her with warmth that spilled from her veins. It simply needed to spare her.

And yet, as the distance grew to be less, less, less still, the only heat she found was that plastered to her face and rising from her panicked skin. The bow crying out against the strings was in tandem with the cries that bubbled in wait at the back of her throat. Her heart pounded violently, dread gripping her in ways she’d never conceived of. Every screech was closer, the deafening ringing in her ears surely etched into her soul forever. A Harmonial Instrument in hand meant nothing, for how death lay inches from her body and inched ever more near. Genuinely screaming would do little to help. Viola wouldn’t rush to her rescue a second time.

She froze. Viola didn’t even know she was out here.

Viola was in their room, possibly panicked and alone. So, too, would she be forced to awaken alone the next morning, abandoned and cursed to return to Coda in isolation. Her own goal would be distantly out of reach, and she would start from zero with nothing to show for all she’d given. Maybe she’d feel responsible. Maybe she’d feel guilty. The fault wouldn’t lie with her in the slightest. Her tears would’ve been born of another Maestra entirely.

And the thought of Viola in tears at all made Octavia’s blood boil.

What bubbling heat she found deep beneath her veins, then, surged forth in something more than self-preservation. Her hands burned, the scalding sensation below her skin setting her muscles aflame and her heart pounding with a different emotion entirely. The white-hot sting that erupted from her pores brought with it scorching radiance, pouring in earnest along every string and bursting cleanly from beyond her frantic slashing. Every hasty swish of the bow, slicing with such force across the bridge that she risked cleaving it in half, battled to send her newfound brilliance sailing. It was unrefined, vague, and shockingly shapeless. It hardly mattered, for how it challenged the darkened depths of cloudy violet without remorse.

Her song was fierce, her movements reflexively more so. The luminosity was not to be ignored, and it was a struggle to keep her eyes open in the face of the blinding flash. The sun born in her bloodstream was as precious as it was unnerving, and she was a solar flare of her own accord. Her explosive radiance rippled well into the night, spearing deep into the murky fog as it screamed and writhed. As to when it had pressed in on her from either side, she had no idea. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t have to, for the shimmering star she was slowly becoming. She didn’t dare halt her song, the searing recoil along her wrists be damned.

Octavia’s eyes fell to the man once more the moment her light waned. He’d been far from immune to her bursting brilliance, his every breath ragged and each frantic grasp at himself all the more desperate. He couldn’t have been anything but pained, if the way by which he clutched his head and doubled over was worth anything. It didn’t alleviate the rolling clouds of smoke that were far from content to surrender.

What damage she’d done, substantial as it had been, was temporary at best. Where she’d blasted clean through the swirling mist, she watched in terror as it began to coagulate once more. The way by which her newly-bestowed gaping wound was clotted by violet was sickening, and her efforts were erased in a moment’s time.

Her eyes darted downwards to her tingling palm, and she flexed her fingers around the handle of the bow twice over. It didn’t quite hurt so much as it felt unfamiliar. She didn’t particularly dislike it. Instead, she was content to stomach the screeching, tighten her grip, catch her breath, and stare him down with what false resolve she could scrape together.

The fear that had plagued Octavia moments ago had waned in time with her light. The lingering, throbbing warmth in her hand was a comfort in its place, and she focused on it with all she had. The man’s veiled gaze, poisoned by violet and still bubbling over with the same as it was, no longer ran her through. The disgusting smoke born of his being, whether voluntary or otherwise, spilled carelessly into the open air from every pore even now. It was as endless as it was slow, a steady stream that left Octavia studying his distressed movements within the depths of the cloud he brought to life.

Her gaze fell everywhere all at once--the violin, the mist, and his posture as his foot slid the slightest bit forward. If he was going to lunge once more, she’d be ready this time. She braced, adjusting the violin on her shoulder accordingly. With a deep breath, she held onto the heat in her palm for all it was worth.

She’d been sickeningly correct. He lunged, his outstretched hands once more aimed at her alone. She didn’t bother following his trajectory, throwing herself into her song instead. She made to slash and slice, pressing the bow hard against the strings as she embraced the tell-tale pulsing beneath her fingertips. She never had the chance to let it burst once more.

Instead, where she’d sought to besiege him with light, it was ice instead that rained from high above. Blunted shards showered the man in excess, bare skin and otherwise more than vulnerable to the quick and crushing impact of crashing crystal. Their descending speed was mildly horrifying, and he recoiled with a sharp cry of pain beneath the successive blows. The scream of a flute well above the agonizing screeches left a wave of relief washing over Octavia’s soul. Her heart pounded for a different reason entirely.

“Octavia!” she heard above the noise. “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine,” she stammered, fighting the urge to fall to her knees. Only in her moment of reprieve did she finally feel the sting of adrenaline, excessive as it had been. “How did you know I was--”

“I saw the light,” Viola explained quickly. “I saw your light. I came back inside and you were gone. When I went outside to look for you instead, I saw it. It was…so bright.”

She couldn’t help the degree to which words tumbled breathlessly from her lips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you! I just…I kept hearing these little noises, and I left the room, and I ended up following this guy. He came out here, and there was Dissonance again, but it, like…it came out of him? I don’t…understand.”

Viola didn’t answer. Her eyes fell to the man in turn, flickering up and down the length of the noxious violet that clung to his skin. He’d taken her assault well, still well on his feet in the wake of blows that sought to bruise and blemish. So, too, did he still ooze the same awful smoke in excess, writhing and screaming in its own right. How he hadn’t suffocated by now was beyond Octavia, given the way every labored breath left the billowing substance scraping his throat dangerously.

“He’s Dissonant,” Viola spoke at last, her eyes narrow. “He’s possessed by Dissonance.”

Octavia recoiled. “That can happen?”

“More than you’d think, and it needs to end right now,” Viola answered, already raising Silver Brevada to her lips once more. “This can’t go any further. He’s way too close to other people, and he’s literally spewing Dissonance. We can’t risk anyone at the inn getting hurt.”

Octavia was trembling again. She couldn’t help it. “How do we...stop him, exactly?”

The pained glance Viola stung her with threatened to split her heart in two. “How do you think?”

She lost her breath. “Viola, we can’t!”

“We don’t have a choice!” she cried. “He’s too far gone, and I don’t know how to fix it! If he keeps going like this, people could die. It’s either him or them.”

Octavia raised Stradivaria into position yet again, settling her fingers against the strings as her panicked eyes trailed the man’s every movement. Even from afar, his suffering was almost contagious. “But…both of us together, we could do something! What about my light?”

Viola faltered, never peeling her own eyes from the man as she spoke. “You would have to get it inside. Dissonance comes from the soul. Do you think you’d be able to somehow get your light inside a person entirely? You could burn him alive from the inside out if you mess up!”

Octavia shook her head fiercely. “But if there’s even a chance--”

“You haven’t even been a Maestra for a full twenty-four hours! You would have to be absolutely perfect to pull that off, and you just learned how to make your light! Do you want him to suffer?” she argued. “We don’t have any time! We have to take him out as fast and humanely as we can!”

“But you could--”

“I can’t!” Viola shouted, her voice wavering. “I wish I could, but I can’t! I don’t know how to help him, and we don’t have the luxury of arguing about it! We just have to do it, now!”

She wanted to protest. The lump in her throat and the hot tears pricking dangerously at the corners of her eyes were frustrating. The knot in her stomach was permanent, and what nausea she harbored was born of far more than simple fear or Dissonance alone. The man’s attention had shifted to Viola, if his adjusted posture was anything to go by. If he’d been privy to their grotesque planning, he didn’t show it. She liked to imagine he would stay that unaware all the way through.

“Viola, get ready,” she spoke, her own voice shaking fiercely.

“Got it.”

Several careful breaths and shrill notes at Octavia’s side left fluttering snowflakes tumbling into something larger. The crunch of thick, shining hail born beneath the moonlight left frozen lumps aloft and in wait. They were abundant enough, and they were substantially more rounded than that which she’d seen Viola curse the man with moments before. She feared asking, given how visibly weighted and solidly sized they appeared. The strain on Viola’s face was in contrast to her focus, her best efforts to dig her flats firmly into the grassy sod almost admirable.

“Octavia, listen to me,” she called. “Focus on hitting the Dissonance around him. I’ll take him out from there.”

The moment she saw Viola’s eyes drawing neat lines between every glittering ball of frost and the man’s head, the silent measurements were enough to stop Octavia’s heart. She understood the concept. She wanted to vomit. She couldn’t do this. At the very least, she couldn’t stand to be a part of it at all. The alternative was placing Viola in danger, and her hesitation was a hazard. The bow settling softly against the strings once more was her one comfort. She doubted she’d ever be truly comfortable again, for what she was about to do.

He did, in fact, go for Viola. She tensed, and not in preparation alone.

“Now!” Viola cried.

There was a solid chance her sorrow was seeping into her song. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as though she could control her melody in the first place, instinctive and radiant as it was under her absentminded guidance. The sparks that ignited brightly along the bridge burst with every violent slash of the bow, sharpened and stretched into brilliant rays that somewhat challenged the sun. They were new, and she didn’t resist the way each one crackled and glowed excessively. It was the familiar pulsing and throbbing just below her fingertips that accompanied the burst, her frantic notes sending every last beam sailing quickly into the writhing darkness. She didn’t have the time to be surprised. She burned the sensation into her brain.

The blinding flash that accompanied her radiant assault was enough to draw forth screeching and repel the smoke in turn, punching deep holes into the thick fog. It wasn’t perfect. It was enough, and he was clear to see. The window she had before it coagulated once more was not as sizable as she would’ve preferred, and she feared the inevitable. It was somewhat of a struggle to offer up the same shapely brilliance, stretching and spilling along the strings like the most luminescent of arrows. They were less sturdy, more shapeless. She couldn’t keep their form for long. Still, she used what she had, unleashing the surging light upon the violet clouds once more. It took effort to keep him visible, and she was at war with that which fought to veil him again and again.

Octavia handed Viola a chance of her own as best as was possible, just barely afforded the chance to bear witness to the girl’s resolve. One long, sustained note was all it took to level the frozen volley with the man’s eyes, encircling him in a manner that immediately sent Octavia’s heart into her stomach. The man still staggered and rebelled even now, undaunted by the relentless radiance that exploded at his sides. One shrill series of notes was all it took to curse him with rigid, unforgiving hail, surging clean towards his skull with sickening precision. With his hazy, absent gaze offered to Viola alone, he, too, surged forward.

The fact that he could still move at all stole the breath from Octavia’s lungs.

And she could only watch in abject horror as he lowered his head, every last glistening chunk of ice sailing clear above him harmlessly. Where his head had been moments ago was now only splintering frost, every useless clump of hail colliding and bursting into helpless fragments. Time was slow as they peppered the earth with thud after thud. He wasn’t.

The light her song had birthed had fizzled and faded. With their disappearance into the darkened night, so, too, did her faith follow suit. No amount of quick reflexes would be enough to bring forth more. He was simply too fast, one hand well on the path to Viola’s throat. Octavia thought to doff Stradivaria entirely, to send the instrument crashing to the earth and throw herself in front of the girl instead. She was fast, surely. Still, she hardly had the time to blink. The screeching was vile. Her vision was blurring. Her balance was feeble. If she were to drop the violin, it would match with Silver Brevada, slowly slipping from Viola’s fingers and collapsing uselessly to the earth below.

For how near to the Maestra he truly was, it would be seconds before the Dissonance he brought to being plagued her in turn. Octavia screamed, both carrying Viola’s name and not. Never once did Viola close her eyes, her wide and terrified gaze meeting the man’s own until the very end.

The gale that blasted the girl, then, streamed past Octavia with such fervor that her braids were thoroughly rattled. The roar of the gust, sudden as it was, swept Viola clean off her feet. She fell to the soft grass below with a thud of her own, rolling once over with a yelp of surprise. Octavia was not immune to the same, rooted in place as she was.

So, too, had the man succumbed to the same imperceptible gale, albeit far more violently. He tumbled backwards several times, his violet-plagued body practically leaving a smoky afterimage in his wake. He hit the ground with far more force, falling still. The breeze that rippled the grass around Octavia’s ankles tickled her skin, and her eyes trailed its origin--sudden as it had been. The most gentle song she’d ever heard was of solid assistance.

It was crystalline, sensitive, every note prickling softly against the night in a way that reverberated in her soul. She caught it in the wake of the screeching, shockingly absent at last. The girl who replaced the horrific sounds of agony with a melody of such beauty was perhaps equally beautiful herself. The gleam of moonlight high above the river did her justice, ethereal and angelic all at once. The breeze that ruffled her curls and toyed with her dress left her ever more resplendent. It still made, without question, absolutely zero sense. No amount of blinking was convincing Octavia the Dissonance hadn’t left her hallucinating.

“It’s okay for a heroine to be a little late sometimes, right?” she heard playfully. “I’m here now, though, so everything’s okay!”

If someone told her she wasn’t hallucinating, she wouldn’t believe them, frankly.

“You, who've been swallowed by darkness incarnate,” the girl cried, spearing one finger squarely at the man crumpled upon the ground, “I am your liberator!”

Octavia chanced a slow glance at Viola. The unrestrained awe splattered on her face was a mutual comfort. She was thankful she wasn’t the only one.

The swift flick of her wrist brought deft fingers surging across the strings, every tender note equally as gorgeous as before. The gales woven with grace from nothing were as impossible to view as they were to miss, for how the roaring wind and the rustling grass served as clear indicators of such rapid gusts. They were for the man alone, still bound to the earth as he was.

The breeze that had delicately graced Octavia’s braids moments ago had forgone its gentle demeanor, rushing forth with such force that scattered sod was sent aloft in its wake. For a moment, Octavia believed he’d be repelled once more, cursed to be tossed and to tumble endlessly against the cold ground. The moment the tempest slipped clear down his throat, instead, it was her own breath that was stolen.

“It’ll be easier if you don’t fight it,” the girl offered calmly above her song.

Were it Octavia, she absolutely would not have taken such advice. He didn’t, and she couldn’t blame him. The man was practically pinned to the ground, a weight unseen binding him to the chilled earth. Given the way he scratched desperately at his throat and writhed much the same as the smoke he’d once emitted, Octavia could hazard a guess as to what it was.

Every choke and cough was feeble, useless to expel the wind burrowing deep into his body. He couldn’t scream. There was a moment in which Octavia felt faint, and she swore she forgot how to breathe entirely. She thought to beg on his behalf. This was, perhaps, a far more brutal death than what they’d planned to offer.

The moment she found violet, carried upon the unforgiving gales, her eyes widened. It came not from without, but from within. Where his coughing and choking had been unproductive moments before, every spasm and jerk left yet more blackened fog swirling and surging into the stormy stream. Up it rose, climbing well into the night sky with a force that surely threatened to rupture his lungs. If suffocating didn’t kill him, Octavia feared the unimaginable strain on his airway would.

She thought to raise Stradivaria to her shoulder, the sight of the rising smoke alone enough to send her heart racing yet again. When it never quite coagulated, her occupied hands were still at her sides. It clicked. She froze.

“Almost done!” the girl announced happily.

Every soft note was deceiving, as was the grace and finesse that came with her song. As quickly as it had besieged him, the gust that had claimed the man’s insides was stolen once more. The force with which it erupted from his lips was nearly explosive, tearing with it an extraordinary quantity of grotesque, clouded smoke belonging anywhere except within.

No longer was it his feeble coughing alone that expelled the foggy violet, his head snapping backwards so violently that Octavia worried he may have broken his neck. The erupting fog that burst well into the sky above did so for a minimum of thirty seconds, if she was counting correctly. It was a guiding gust that left it spiraling ever higher, careening towards the stars above.

When it left him in full, with not a wisp to spare, he gasped fervently for air. The tears that rolled down his cheeks in excess were fresh and true, devoid of the murky mist that had poisoned the pained liquid. Well above him, the breeze and the clouds had departed in tandem, whisked away into nothingness in the still of the evening. It was only the showering moonbeams above that replaced toxic violet, natural and endearing in its place. In place of screeching, there still remained only the lightest sounds of crystal tinting the air. Every pluck was a blessing in place of endless agony.

Where she’d found one type of reprieve, she immediately found complete and utter disorientation of a different flavor altogether. She was definitely staring.

“I...excuse me?”

Viola was just as baffled. “The…you just--”

The girl posed with excessive dramatic flair, casting two fingers over one eye in a valiant V. “And that should do it!”

“Oh my God,” Octavia mumbled.

Viola blinked several times over. Octavia didn’t blame her in the slightest. There was no mistaking the buns, let alone the volume. The latter was ever-present.

“Oh, wow, you guys have magic, too? This is amazing!” the girl cried, quite literally darting to Viola’s side. “Oh, this is so exciting! Is this really happening? I can’t believe this is happening!”

Viola rose to her feet with clinging dirt and plastered confusion in tow, reclaiming Silver Brevada from the grass with eyes still just as wide. “I-I…what?”

The girl bounced on her heels happily. “By the way,” she continued, cradling the shimmering harp in her arms, “you never did tell me how you liked dinner.”