Harmony

There was a hierarchy of noises that challenged Octavia's senses, catastrophically organized as they were. Her boots hammering the floor, the unholy screeching pressing at her back, and the blood rushing through her ears battled for dominance in turn. No amount of playing or praying offered any salvation. Slowly but surely, the overwhelming quantity of Dissonance was flooding the train with each passing second.

She, too, was sure to drown herself--if not from agony, then from terror alone. When the crisp, desperate cries of a flute, at the very least, joined her hellish cacophony, she could finally count one blessing. Octavia put her faith in her ears rather than her eyes, clinging to the sound as she ran in the general direction of the ballad.

The moment she had Viola in her sights, Silver Brevada locked onto her lips, Octavia's heart swarmed with relief. Relief wouldn’t be enough to eradicate whatever swirling mass of murky purple approached from the far side of the car. The moon that had blessed them so generously with milky comfort may as well have been non-existent, replaced instead by the most obscured fog of the deepest evening. It, too, rolled onwards, accelerating at a pace far too quick to counter. Her heart raced as much as her hands, glued to Stradivaria’s strings the second she’d returned to the others.

“Where were you?” Viola cried, catching her breath in between shrill notes. “I was worried sick!”

“I’m fine!” Octavia called back. Already, her focus was on her light, weaving the white-hot radiance of rippling rays so necessary.

“What’s going on?”

“It wasn’t a natural disaster!” she explained. “I think this is the train that took us out of Velrose!”

“That can’t be right!” Madrigal shouted. She wasn’t far, left with precious little distance by which to escape the fatal grasp of rolling agony. Her wind was staggered, and bursting gales left the skirt of Octavia’s dress whipping against her thighs.

“Well, it would explain a lot!” Josiah snapped.

Octavia tensed. “What do you mean?”

He clenched his fists, eyes chasing the enveloping smoke as he inched closer to her. “After everything they went through, could you really expect anything less than this?”

Harper raised Royal Orleans somewhat, drawing a hesitant path to his lips that was never fully realized. “How did this even happen?”

“We can figure that out after we get the hell out of here!”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Madrigal cried.

Harper echoed the same. “We’re on the side of a mountain!”

“Our only other option is suffocating!” Josiah argued.

“Then we’ll fight.”

Octavia hadn’t noticed the words had left her mouth until after the fact. It might’ve been confidence that came with the burn in her fingertips. It could just as well have been inescapable adrenaline seeping into her voice. It could’ve been self-preservation. She would’ve believed any combination of the three, if not a drive to salvage their safety alone.

“You want to…fight this?” Viola sputtered, baffled.

“We couldn’t even make a dent,” Harper said.

“If it’s all of us together,” Octavia insisted, “we can do it.”

“There’s my fearless leader.”

Renato’s words were calm and steady in an environment so volatile. Even as the grotesque haze of violet drew ever nearer to him, he hardly flinched. Instead, the grin he flashed to Octavia dripped with such sweet satisfaction that her heart skipped a beat. Even now, even here, he was smiling.

“If you’re down, I’m down. I’m not arguing with the Ambassador. You guys are really gonna doubt her like that?” he said confidently, Mistral Asunder already well at home between either set of false fingers.

“I-I…” Viola stammered.

“We…we have to try!” Madrigal cried. “We’ve never faltered in the face of the darkness before! We’ll stand together and win the battle!”

She gave her gaze to Octavia, nodding resolutely. “Ambassador, the Magical Madrigal will not fail you!”

“You know I’ll follow you,” Harper offered. “That’s that.”

“We’re seriously doing this?” Josiah hissed. “You people are insane.”

Even so, he rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Then I guess I’m insane, too. This is gonna suck.”

“Octavia,” Viola murmured.

With her name on Viola’s lips, she met eyes plagued with hesitation. “We can do this,” Octavia reassured. “We’ll do it together. Trust me.”

Viola was silent for a moment. “I…I will.”

“Still,” Harper argued, “we can keep hitting it as much as we want, but it just keeps coming! It’s everywhere!”

“I really am worried we’re gonna suffocate,” Josiah muttered.

Madrigal narrowed her eyes. “I have an idea. I need everyone to get on the floor!”

Octavia didn’t question her, forgoing whatever looks of confusion that her companions offered the Spirited girl. With Stradivaria close to her chest, she did as she was told, dropping so low to the carpeted aisle that her face nearly kissed the floor. Before her, Viola did the same. If she twisted her neck, she could still see Madrigal standing well above her, slender fingers settling into position over Lyra’s strings.

“I reeeeally think you should cover your heads, too!”

She raised an eyebrow. Even so, she did as she was told. Madrigal was alone, each Maestro grounded at her feet. With the Dissonance continuing to creep closer on every side, Octavia’s heart beat faster every second she was unarmed. She prayed this would be fast--whatever “this” consisted of.

Madrigal was fast, to her credit. Rather, it was her fingers that flew, her eyes squeezed shut as she wove a song that bit the air. Crystalline notes and whirling winds assailed Octavia all at once, a sudden draft spinning to life with startling speed. Madrigal’s gushing storm rushed violently through Octavia’s ears, battering her skin and clothing in equal measure as it passed above. She had to battle the urge to keep her head down, straining to witness the spirit of wind in full force instead.

The vortex was almost intolerable, her braids whipping against the sides of her face so severely that Octavia feared she’d earn scars. Madrigal stood at its center, the beautiful eye of the storm who gritted her teeth as she strained and strummed. Her song was as vicious as it was loud, betraying the gentle touch of an innocent harp. Her curls were not immune, nor was her dress. The degree to which Madrigal’s own ferocious winds wrapped her up in their whirling gasp left her somewhat angelic.

All at once, Madrigal cried out. Her fingers came taut against the copper strings as eternal screeching was shamed tenfold. Her storm disappeared in an instant, by which Octavia could’ve blinked. Initially, she’d believed it had been dispelled entirely, robbed by a force unseen. She was extremely wrong.

The explosive boom that rattled the floor she laid on was accompanied instantly by yet more rushing gales. They were perhaps even more vicious than Madrigal’s own, flooding the car at every angle. Octavia was a victim of a crashing whirlwind, bursting shards of crystal serving as splattering rain to accent the storm. Unfathomable in number, their quantity was incredible.

The blasting gust Madrigal had birthed forced every last jagged, transparent sliver in the car to the floor. It was as good a time as ever to realize why she was supposed to be covering her head. Viola’s scream solidified her revelation, somewhat, much of the same showering down not far from the Maestra’s body.

Octavia hesitated to rise to her feet for a moment, for how much glass lay scattered and frosted so close. It took time to confirm her safety, and her guess came only in the form of Madrigal’s stilling song. She pushed herself off the hazardous floor, although the scene that came with standing was more jarring than smashing gusts altogether.

Every last window, once obscured by the oppression of poisonous violet, had been absolutely annihilated in full. Even now, tiny shards of glass continued to stumble from frames, tipping both into the warmth of the train and out into the cold of the mountain passage. The moon had no chance to grant its earnest glow, still marred by raw agony as it was. Even so, silky beams poking through purple in the slightest was hopeful.

Madrigal brought two fingers over her eye in a split, victorious V. She beamed.

“God, I love this girl,” Renato mumbled.

It was self-explanatory. By no means was the Dissonance dissipating. Instead, smoky clouds once pressed against every wall slipped through newborn passages into the night. They climbed ever higher, rolling and twisting with horrific wails carried aloft. Drifting on the steady current, the screeching was still just as painful outside as it was inside. The thick metal structure of the train car did little to insulate the Maestros from the noise. Even so, Octavia could breathe. They could move. She could see the moon again, even as the interior of the train seemed to ooze with Dissonance forever more.

“Smoke rises,” Josiah murmured. “Smart.”

“It’s still coming,” Harper said.

“Is this all from one person? Is the conductor Dissonant?” Viola asked, brushing stray flecks of glass from the skirt of her dress.

“There’s no way all of this is from one guy. Not, like, a…normal guy, at least,” Josiah self-corrected.

Octavia knew what he meant. They were in this mess in the first place secondary to one person who countered his point perfectly. Don’t think about it.

Harper winced. “I’m gonna be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if the conductor is dead, at this point. The cabin was nothing but Dissonance. It’s either that, or there’s no way he’s not Dissonant by now.”

“Does that mean no one’s driving the train?” Madrigal asked.

Octavia blinked. That wasn’t a very fun suggestion.

“Waiting on those orders, fearless leader,” Renato joked. He tapped one drumstick rhythmically against his leg, his genuine grin enough to bless her with contagious confidence. Octavia appreciated it. She could work with it.

Still, she gulped. Ultimately, this had been her idea. “I-I…if we’re gonna keep ourselves from drowning in Dissonance, we’re gonna have to give the rest of it somewhere to go. Madrigal, can you break the rest of the windows in the other cars?”

Madrigal didn’t falter, the same victorious pose offered to Octavia without hesitation. “Consider it done, Ambassador! This heroine will not let you down!”

“A-And then…we seriously need to check if someone’s actually driving the train. Harper’s right. The conductor is probably Dissonant, if nothing else.”

She turned to Harper. “You’ve…done this before. Can you do it again?”

He grinned, tapping either end of Royal Orleans playfully. “Well, if you’re not watching me, it’s not much fun, is it? I’ve got this.”

Harper tilted his head in Josiah’s direction. “Can you drive a train?”

“Yes. It’s a hobby. I’m an expert. I do it all the time. Are you friggin’ kidding me?” he snapped.

“That’s the spirit.”

“No!”

Harper only continued to beam at him endlessly. Josiah growled in absolute frustration, rolling up one pant leg in the process. Octavia had, truthfully, forgotten about his sole line of self-defense.

He drew his knife, sharp as ever, from the strap around his calf. “I hate this!”

“And that leaves…actually…fighting it,” Octavia murmured.

“You’re not gonna be able to get all of it out,” Viola interrupted. “There’s still a lot of it inside, but I think most of it is rising out the windows.”

“It’s on the roof, then?” Harper asked.

“I’m assuming it’s not just gonna…go away,” Octavia said. “It’s Dissonance, after all. We’re gonna have to deal with it the hard way.”

“If it’s bad memories, they’re gonna be stuck here,” Josiah added. “There’s no separating them.”

“If…Madrigal and Harper are in here, then that can take care of what’s left over,” Octavia mumbled to herself. “Which leaves…”

When she turned her head towards Renato, the sparkle in his eyes was enough to shame the stars.

“Go ahead. Say it. I’ll wait.”

Octavia couldn’t fight the creeping smile that bled onto her face. “That’s…it’ll take more of us to deal with the majority of it. Which would be you, me, and--”

“We’re gonna fall,” Viola deadpanned.

She did, at least, fight the urge to roll her eyes. “We’re not gonna fall.”

“On the roof of a moving train? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but my balance isn’t exactly the greatest. I’m not…athletic.”

Renato was absolutely glowing. “Speak for yourself. This is gonna be a blast.”

When Octavia turned to face them collectively, self-consciousness settled in. She held Stradivaria tightly, tactile comfort lost in the face of rushing winds and distant screeching. “I-Is…everyone alright with that plan?”

“You’re the fearless leader,” Viola joked. “You don’t have to ask us.”

She found her smile again, reflected in Viola’s eyes. “Then…let’s do this.”

“Alright, Josiah, come on! Let’s go drive a train,” Harper called, his voice loaded with more enthusiasm than was necessary.

Teasing an irritated boy pursuing him with a knife in hand probably wasn’t his best plan. “You know I’m gonna crash it, right? Why do I have to do it?”

“I’ll see you on the other side, Ambassador! We can do this!” Madrigal cheered, her sandals beating softly against the carpeted aisle as she ran. Already, charging into the darkness, Octavia could hear her powerful strumming returning yet again.

“A-And everyone be careful!” she cried much too late.

She cast her eyes down at Stradivaria, motionless. Viola’s gentle touch came to rest on her shoulder, rubbing delicately.

“I won’t leave your side,” she reassured. “No matter what happens.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Renato’s voice was low, satisfied, and laced with something Octavia couldn’t pinpoint. Something about his sly grin was making her nervous, for once. He made a show of cracking knuckles he didn’t quite have.

Octavia’s eyes drifted upwards towards the ceiling. “How are we…getting up there, exactly?”

“Is there something we can climb?” Viola offered.

“Oh, no,” Renato countered. “We’re taking the easy route.”

Octavia blinked. “The…easy route?”

“Just close your eyes. Both of you. It’ll be less stressful.”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Back up a bit.”

It was Octavia’s turn to gaze at him blankly. “O…kay?”

Even three steps backwards, he wasn’t satisfied. “More.”

Several more, and her back was too close to the very open window for her liking. Viola, at her side, was equally as uncomfortable. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I know you don’t like me,” Renato teased, “but you don’t have to like me to trust me.”

“What?”

“Hold onto your instruments, don’t move, and again, I seriously suggest you close your eyes.”

Viola frowned, watching on with confusion as he backed away from the Maestras significantly. “Why would I close my--”

He’d always been really, really good at gaining height quickly. Forward, tumbling, spinning, and down again, the product of his momentum burst from the tips of Mistral Asunder with a boom that rippled through Octavia’s blood. She’d never felt it at point blank before, her entire body vibrating beneath the shockwave. Her footing was gone, as was her breath. All she found in its place was a scream, involuntary and horrific in and of itself as she plummeted out the window.

Viola, at her side, did much the same, curled up into a ball as she shrieked in terror. With Silver Brevada in a death grip, her eyes had screwed shut so tightly that Octavia wondered if they’d ever open again. Her hair whipped against her face as she began a harrowing, sudden descent down the side of a mountain. Octavia was no stranger to a desperate grasp of her own on Stradivaria, violently-shaking fingers clamped around either portion of the violin. She fell in reverse, the train growing ever more distant as the depths of the mountain pass swallowed her whole. Renato joined her.

“Trust me!” he called with a laugh.

High above, she could only watch as he dove effortlessly out of the same window. With zero hesitation, he’d cleared a far greater distance than she’d fallen, somehow managing to launch himself well past her own body. If he was falling, too, then his descent was significantly behind her--possibly even lower. Why he was laughing the entire way down was extremely beyond Octavia, although it was at least a solid indicator of his positioning in the air. They could, if nothing else, all fall to their deaths together.

She heard another boom. She felt one, so soon after. The same shockwave that had more or less slammed her in the stomach suddenly blasted her in the back. She screamed a different scream entirely. Going upwards was its own flavor of horrifying. The feeling of her own spinal fluid crying out under the impact of compressed sound itself was indescribable, resonating through her bones forever. It didn’t matter that it didn’t hurt, so delicately and skillfully tuned to spare her fragile body. Falling was falling, upwards or not. Viola mirrored her terror, their screams almost identical as they flailed in panic. Renato was still laughing down there, and Octavia could’ve sworn he was doing it harder.

Octavia didn’t land on the roof with grace. It was a miracle she landed anywhere adjacent to her feet, really. The reverberation of metal striking her ankles was extremely unpleasant as she stumbled. Viola fared far, far worse than her, not coming anywhere close to a reasonable landing as she nearly crashed onto her face.

It was by sheer luck that the height they’d cleared had spared them of bodily harm, by which any higher of a horrified descent could’ve been disastrous. It still wasn’t fun. If the rush of wind inside the car was severe, then this was brutal. The ascent hadn’t killed them, and that was one blessing. Octavia would be lucky if the raging gusts born of velocity into the night didn’t send her hurtling into the darkness below.

Another boom from below came in the company of yet more, exploding in rapid succession. They offered up a Maestro cresting the rim of the roof, descending with substantially more finesse than Octavia could’ve managed. He did land on his feet, his acrobatic prowess doing him incredible favors all the way down. She hated that it actually looked impressive.

“You are absolutely insane!” Viola shouted, still bound to her hands and knees beneath the oppressive wind. “And you have the nerve to ask me to trust you?”

He shrugged with a ridiculously-proud grin, cocking his head. “I told you to close your eyes.”

Octavia found the confidence to attempt to rise to her feet, at least. She wobbled as she pushed herself up, staggering somewhat. It took careful effort to adjust her weight to the quick, jerky movements of the rumbling train beneath her. Horrified and exhilarated all at once, she experimented with the motion of raising Stradivaria to her shoulder simultaneously. Walking would take significant effort--until she got used to it, at least. It took conscious thought to shift her body weight with each tentative slide of either foot forward. Calculating the correct distribution to keep her from stumbling was a challenge. It was to say nothing of plummeting.

Raising her head didn’t do Octavia any favors. Finding her balance was her second-biggest concern. The first was excessively violet in every way.

If there was a night sky to be found, it had long since drowned in the erupting storm of agony above. Blotting out the world on her every side, the screeching and writhing masses of indigo rising to meet the evening practically swallowed the stars whole. It was abundant to a fault, ever more Dissonance climbing slowly from newly-obliterated windows below. With each distant burst of glass Octavia heard came more of the same, coagulating without hesitation as it funneled upwards. The most grotesque of splintering rivers streamed high, and the idea of being wrapped up in their deadly reversing currents was sickening. Octavia’s fingers trembled around the bow.

“This is…so much,” she breathed, dizzy for more reasons than one.

“It’s horrible,” Viola murmured. “Especially to know how it…got here. We’re really gonna fight all of this?”

Octavia gulped. The sheer quantity of murky purple that swirled among gusting velocity was disorienting. They weren’t at risk of suffocating within a noxious cloud of agony, granted. Still, it was far from the only way Dissonance could ruin her. “I-I…”

“I got it.”

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t so much as robbed of the smug grin that had endured his entire volatile ascent. Of all things, Renato was stretching, making a dramatic show of loosening every muscle in his body. Octavia couldn’t chalk his behavior up to blissful ignorance--doubly so, for how his bright eyes and brilliant smile challenged relentless agony itself.

“What do you mean you’ve ‘got it’?” Viola asked, her voice somewhere between harsh and horrified. “Do you see how much of it there is?”

He didn’t bother turning his head to acknowledge her. “I know what I said. I got it.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

Renato shrugged. Either portion of Mistral Asunder was clasped firmly in his fingers as he took slow, unhurried steps in reverse. Face-to-face with the screaming fog staring him down, squirming and rolling in hateful violets and indigos alike, he didn’t so much as flinch. Even given the way it swelled well above his head, climbing into the sky as wisps of a toxic cloud, he was calm. “Most of it,” he answered nonchalantly. “Think you can take whatever’s behind me?”

Octavia threw her gaze over her shoulder. Much the same haze awaited distantly at her back, just as terrifying at first sight. It, too, was abundant, sticking close to its metallic foundation as it wavered menacingly in the open air. Yet another variable tide ran well into the night, each twisting bend and curve of translucent purple far from crystalline waters she longed for. It was a lot. The Dissonance grew and swelled yet further, violet flames fueled by the same escaping substance below. It still wasn’t as much as what Renato faced. He’d laid claim to the majority, well over two-thirds of the Hell that had awaited them atop the train.

“That’s too much for you!” Octavia cried.

Viola didn’t disagree. “You’re gonna get hurt!”

Renato’s radiant grin spoke to clear disregard of their warnings. Even so, Octavia couldn’t help but take it as something warm. He met her eyes, the fire in his own thawing the chill that stung her blood. “You think so?”

Octavia paused. It had been so, so long since she’d seen him smile like that. She’d missed it.

“My sweet, beautiful, and fearless Ambassador,” he teased, his low voice dripping with pride, “just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

She hadn’t bothered to ask how he’d survived diving down the side of a mountain, let alone how he’d managed to bring two Maestras along. She figured it out firsthand instead.

His forward momentum, a fearsome weapon in and of itself, was as much an asset as the Harmonial Instrument he’d all but entirely mastered. He broke into a dead sprint, the distance between himself and the screeching wall of Dissonance rapidly shrinking with each step. Octavia’s initial panic at the sight hardly mattered, for how he shirked the metal below altogether. Instead, he threw his full body weight onto his hands, again testing the limits of well-crafted cherry oak as he caught himself. Twice more did he tumble, gathering ever more velocity as the tips of Mistral Asunder delicately tapped the thick plating below.

The third time he flipped in full, it was no longer delicate. It was a miracle he hadn’t outright burst a hole beneath him into the interior. The steel shell crunched under the explosive pressure, crumpling downwards in time with a deafening boom. In contrast, Renato went up.

Octavia had witnessed, for very brief periods of time, the extent of Renato’s spatial awareness in mid-air. Blessed with immense acrobatic prowess of questionable origin, the twisting, turning, and tucking of his body at any angle he desired was always breathtaking to watch. As such, when his ankles sailed clear over his own head, Octavia assumed his lofty upward burst of easily fifteen feet would surrender to swift descent shortly. The way he’d brandished either drumstick was as shocking as their byproduct. Two simultaneous downward flicks of his wrists, instead, beat to life a unified burst that hurt her ears. He went up again.

Octavia blinked. She blinked harder. She wasn’t sure if she was seeing this correctly.

Even so, the same self-assured grin was still plastered permanently onto his face. She watched in utter awe as airborne freedom blessed Renato’s body with all the range of movement he could desire. It was the opposite of a freefall, the boy spinning and inverting precisely in time with evenly-spaced explosions upon the open sky. Invisible as they were, his rapid ascent was all Octavia needed to attest to the strength of sound in plain view. Twenty feet. Twenty-five feet. Thirty feet. He was practically flying. It was absolutely captivating.

At the apex of his height of choice, he did at last submit to gravity. Arms wide and fingers taut, his breathtaking ascent brought him just above the hazy smoke Octavia feared. Her stomach emulated her eyes, performing backflips of its own as Renato careened towards the awaiting Dissonance below. Mistral Asunder met it first, one quick inversion and a lively cry of effort accompanying yet another devastating boom. His momentum brought the full, crushing weight of his gathered height with him, blasting downwards like a meteor as it crashed into the cloud.

There was absolutely no way Octavia could hope to stay upright, knocked hard to the chilled metal below as it rocked beneath her feet. The sight of the coagulated smoke rupturing haphazardly, a crater punched into what had moments ago been a sea of agony, was incredible enough to make up for it. The screeches and wails of the mist paled in comparison to the powerful sounds she was already enduring.

Octavia waited for him to come down, to boast, to spin a stick in either hand and fix her with a grin. She waited for words of pride and victory that would gift her with much-needed hope. Instead, Renato never came down. He went back up, and he began anew.

“How is he…doing that?” Viola murmured, equally transfixed by the sight.

Every blast, every spin, every twist and push and swing of his wrists kept him airborne. Not only was he unhindered by the streaming wind, but he was stealing it for his own gain. Renato didn’t return to the roof below, more than content to kiss the cool rush of the night sky forever. Rising to meet his ruthless sonic blows, the ascending smoke gave chase in its own way.

In desperation, it surged, battling to clot and rebuild what had been torn apart. Not once did he give it the opportunity, the rhythmic bursts of sound slowly growing on Octavia as wonderful background noise. His movement was fluid, his fighting style free. It was so like him, and no one else. He’d made the strength of sound all his own.

From here, even at this distance, Octavia could hear Renato's joyous laugh once more. She could see his face split wide with the most brilliant grin that had ever touched his lips in all the time she’d known him. Under the recaptured gleam of the moon he’d just barely given permission to shine, she could witness the blinding shimmer in his eyes that came with utter bliss. He was having fun.

Whatever cold winds and chilling screeches could besiege Octavia were mitigated by Renato’s sparkle. His confidence flooded her heart with all the warmth she could’ve wished for.

“He’s gonna tire himself out if he keeps doing that,” Viola muttered.

Octavia could hardly peel her eyes from the Strong boy, not immune to her own irresistible smile. “Let him.”

In lieu of protest, Viola raised Silver Brevada to her lips. “Then you can’t leave me on my own, okay? It’s our turn.”

Octavia lamented turning her attention to the one-third of Dissonance she’d adopted, remorseless smoky violet plaguing the back half of the train. In the time she’d spent witnessing Renato’s skill, it had grown yet more, a fuming ocean of agony that spilled over the rim in wispy droplets. She adjusted Stradivaria on her shoulder once again, settling the bow onto the strings. She did what she could to steady her breathing and still her pounding heart.

“Right,” she answered.

“I won’t give up if you won’t,” Viola said, eyes level only with the Dissonance blotting out the sky.

Octavia nodded. “Then I won’t.”

It had simultaneously been not too long ago and far too long ago that their instruments had sung together in perfect harmony. The beautiful song woven between the voices of Stratos and Brava incarnate was to be both admired and feared. Balance was precious, and the concussive blasts Renato’s onslaught had forced them to withstand were surprisingly helpful. Freedom of movement, blessed in part by the security that came with companionship, urged them forward. Beautiful in every way, two valiant melodies pierced the night air as one.

It was with ferocity that her light bloomed, her ice sparkled, her rays blossomed, her crystals sharpened. Again, the sun was born of her fingertips, glaciers born of her lips. The stars were born of her strings, their shimmer bursting brightly upon her frost. They were in sync, a heart of light and a soul of ice striking against the Dissonance with all their songs could give.

Every blow upon poisonous memories assailing them was true, radiance exploding with a dazzling flash as it cut clean through the smog. Spearing crystal was fierce, razor-edged ice slashing through the violet void with equal ferocity. Octavia’s skin burned, her fingers pulsed, and her blood bubbled with the scorching warmth of rebellious luminescence. She traded fear for power, and she could taste the adrenaline on her tongue. She played with everything she had, and the conjoined song kissing her ears was absolutely perfect.

Viola never surrendered. Where her lungs faltered, her trust compensated. Octavia already knew it was a possibility, and she rushed to capture Viola’s anguished eyes the moment it hit. Her fingers never stopped moving in the face of the girl’s exhaustion, radiance bursting forth from ravaged strings endlessly.

“Catch your breath!” Octavia called above her song. “I’ll wait for you!”

Viola did. As many times as was necessary, she did so. In the wake of breathless reprieve, her tired lips would once more return to the battlefield that was Silver Brevada. She raged on into the flute, offering up ice born of fatigue and determination alike. Oxygen was of different value entirely to Octavia, her stamina well-paced and comfortably balanced. Her scathing starlight wasn’t eternal, and yet could burn for longer still. For now, it was all Octavia could do to put her trust and strength into Stradivaria’s touch. For what faith she poured onto the strings, she was rewarded with warmth in her arms and wrath upon the darkness.

The Dissonance bent beneath the weight of their assault, repulsed and repelled as it screamed forever. There was progress, somewhat, in the form of smoky spirals and splattered wisps that died with horrific wails in their wakes. For what fizzled into the darkened sky, then, yet more would rise from below to replace it. A train so haunted by clinging agony was fuel to the sickest fire. It burned, and burned, and burned, ceaselessly rolling and ferociously screeching.

It was a box of bad memories, and yet it was finite. There was an end, at some point--surely. Octavia had lost track of how long they’d battled. So, too, had she lost track of how much had risen. It had been plenty, and she liked to imagine it was the majority. That didn’t make her life any easier. That didn’t help Viola.

She thought Viola was catching her breath again, initially, the absence of gorgeous song a tell-tale indicator of oxygen reclaimed. Octavia played on alone, the cries of a violin mingling with those of crying agony in turn. It usually took twenty seconds, although she'd only half-cared to count. She found nothing, and waited thirty seconds instead. When the melody of a flute evaded her for a full minute, Octavia tore her eyes from the eternal swell of writing purple.

Silver Brevada had instead become a desperate crutch, spearing against the steel shell below as it supported its faltering Maestra. Bound to one knee and brilliantly red, it was a miracle that Viola was still upright at all. Her entire body shook as she gasped pleadingly for air, the Harmonial Instrument wobbling as she struggled to maintain her balance. She didn’t. Her hand slipped.

Viola collapsed, slamming the side of her head against the unforgiving steel below. Silver Brevada clattered to the same, pale fingers frantically reaching for the instrument with little success. Her fragile body was wracked with coughs and wheezes, for how her limits had been surpassed long ago. Even so, she dragged herself on her hands and knees, bare skin chafing against cold metal as she fought to grasp the flute once more.

“Viola!” Octavia cried in horror, her song nearly halting altogether.

“Don’t stop!” the girl croaked back, her voice hoarse. The words alone were too much, and she was cursed to cough heavily.

“Stay down for a bit!”

“I can…still…”

Viola never finished, trailing off into yet more choking in place of speech. One hand crawled to her throat, and she grasped at what pain surely rested within. The other still yet drifted towards a discarded flute, rolling inches away with each desperate flail.

“I’ll be fine, please, just rest for a bit!” Octavia begged.

Truthfully, she wasn’t fine. The upward trickle of Dissonance that had continued its ascent was slowing, the last vestiges of seeping agony at last greeting her in full. It didn’t minimize the severity of the situation, the sea of smoky fog still writhing before her without hesitation. She was left to tense and pray, pleading with every muscle to withstand her song.

What light she had spoke to progress, surely, the blinding radiance of stolen stars blessing her every note. The quantity was immense, either way. As to whether Octavia had been cursed to simply survive or blessed with the strength to overwhelm, she wasn’t sure. Her heart pounded with something more than adrenaline.

If this alone was too much, she feared for the boy who’d taken on double behind her.

One look at her back found his feet upon the roof at last, shoulders heaving with just the slightest hint more of effort. Renato’s smile had slipped somewhat, deteriorating to a faint grin that spoke to fatigue. When he once more attempted the same acrobatic endeavors of before, the height he gained and the explosions he birthed paled in comparison to his prior power.

It was still an undeniable testament to his strength. Regardless, it was far less fruitful in quelling what Dissonance remained. With certainty, he was losing ground, forced to retreat in the most minute amounts before preparing yet more dramatic blows. Subtle or not, it was damning all the same. Renato wasn’t the type to give up--he was the type to burn himself out.

He was the type to take the fall on her behalf.

Octavia's knees shook. Her stomach twisted into a knot. At her feet, Viola paid for the Ambassador's confidence. She coughed violently one too many times, pale fingers trembling as they brushed against her lips. When they drew back, delicate skin was stained with splattered red. That was enough for vision to blur, a heart to race, the world to spin. Octavia’s breath fled her in full, stolen by the wind and coated by the screeches that drew ever nearer.

They were hurting. They were in danger. Once more, she was the catalyst for pain.

Octavia could hardly see Stradivaria’s strings, sluggish hands moving instinctively as her feeble light did what it could. What little she had left was still vivid in its own right, fired deep into the heart of the swirling smoke. It wasn’t enough. She knew that much. She couldn’t feel the handle of the bow between her fingers. Octavia trembled so viciously that she nearly dropped one half of Stradivaria altogether.

Giving up was repulsive. She’d sworn not to. She was fighting a losing battle all the same. Three people struggled below her, and yet two more shattered themselves to pieces at her side. Violet advanced from her front and her back, and what confidence she’d carried was swallowed by swelling agony. Octavia was hyperventilating. She couldn’t see straight, and her light was failing. She found bells so far from home, and the voices meant to match. It was how they'd ended up here, after all. Agony was her fault, here and here alone. Today, just the same, her light was not enough. It never was. It never was. It never was.

And even now, on the last outskirts of consciousness, Viola reached for Silver Brevada.

Her blood-stained fingers strained and shook, fumbling in exhausted desperation for her partner. He rested too far from her touch. She would’ve had to crawl to his power. There was no possible way, for how she was completely and utterly drained. Her shallow breaths, where she could salvage them, rattled fiercely. She could hardly keep her eyes open, fingernails clawing painfully at her chest as she choked. Still, Viola reached, and reached, and tried without surrender.

There was guilt that came with a broken promise, and it ached in every way.

“Stradivaria.”

I am here.

“I need you.”

You will have all I can give.

With trembling hands, Octavia did what she could to steady him on her shoulder. “How…much can I do alone?”

You are the Ambassador. You can do anything your heart wills to be so.

His voice was louder than the bells.

“I…”

You are not alone, for I am with you.

And in her heart, he wasn’t the only one.

She didn’t look. She closed her eyes, and she felt him in her heart where he belonged. She didn’t need to call for him. She knew he was there. Octavia inhaled, exhaled, and pressed her fingers against him once again. She rested her head against his body, brought the bow to rest over the strings, and filled her blood with love. She wouldn’t get it wrong twice.

Octavia's song wasn’t aggressive, necessarily. It didn’t make it any less strenuous. It didn’t alleviate the burden of quaking muscles, nor of blazing tendons that fought to withstand heat blasting through every vein. Never before had she channeled so much of his raw strength through her body, and his touch made her a conduit for a supernova.

It was a pressure rather than a pain, compressing and crushing her beneath the weight of pure brilliance. The sun was born of her heart, and the stars rushed through her blood. What left the strings as she wove a nameless melody into the air was radiance that could blind the moon above. Even she didn’t dare to open her own eyes. She could feel the way it fought to pierce her eyelids, all-consuming and relentless. Octavia wouldn’t give it the chance.

Octavia did everything in her power not to move. Every ounce of concentration she could muster was offered solely to the movements of her hands and fingers alone. She had never felt so connected with him, relishing the way he became her everything. She inhaled the dark and exhaled the light, a vessel befitting the title of Ambassador.

She was frozen, one with the song that she brought into the world as it radiated around her. Even now, what erupted from every pore was white-hot and molten, scalding in a way that didn’t quite singe her skin. She could hear the screeching, unending and agonizing as it was. If she were to call for him, instead, she knew she’d find his voice. She didn’t need to. He was here within her.

She played for long enough that she forgot who she was, becoming a beacon of light and a reservoir of strength not her own for eternity. She didn’t mind it. If this was what it was like to burst into flames, to become a brilliant star in the brightest sky, she would’ve enjoyed the sensation. She debated opening her eyes, still battling the residual white that struggled to slip past her closed lids.

She wasn’t sure when, if ever, she should stop. Her entire body was emboldened by the purest possible concept of light she could ever hope to describe. How much time had passed was beyond her, hinted at only by the tell-tale ache in her every muscle. There came a point when crushing pressure began to rescind, an infernal supernova sparing her as it waned. She could breathe. When had she ever stopped?

Octavia finally opened her eyes at last, threatening white no longer ever-present. Her light gradually stemmed, dying out as the trailing comets in her heart cooled over. The consequences of straining for so long were settling in. Her fingers were chafed, the skin upon the strings rubbed red and raw. The rushing night air stung the wounds in turn, and she winced. Her arms, blood ablaze with radiance to shame the sun moments before, throbbed and ached. Her favorite consequence was the absence of screeching altogether.

She’d surveyed the expanse of roof just long enough to see it off. Octavia captured the absolute threshold of the smoke’s dying cries, hazy violet once steeped in agony now reduced to fizzling flecks of mist. Along a wind unlike that which still besieged her, it passed along, floating high into the night and surrendering to nothing. The spectacle, even in departure, was hauntingly beautiful in the most grotesque way. Like rain, it sprinkled upon the evening air, falling skyward rather than down upon her. Vanishing purple was shredded and widespread, wispy debris painting the air.

She found the same spanning the entire length of the train, every last swath of the rampaging fog reduced to ascending dust. There was a brief moment of terror where she feared it would reconvene, for how much had plagued her in the first place. She was beautifully wrong, once-swirling smoke transfigured into drifting ashes that escaped her high above. Octavia bore witness to the death of each and every one.

Renato’s eyes, too, charted the same path as her own in equal disbelief. His shoulders still lightly heaved as he caught his breath. He tilted his head, his hands surrendering to his pockets instead to be mesmerized by the spectacle alongside her. He fought for his turn with her enraptured gaze, waiting patiently. When he caught it, he didn’t let go.

His eyes were warm, his smile gentle. “It’s like I said, braids,” he said softly. “You shine too damn bright for the rest of us.”

His words were just as warm, even in the midst of her creeping disorientation. It was one more thing that touched her heart. Octavia did what she could to find a smile worthy of matching his own.

Viola’s coughing brought her back to reality, a tender reprieve shattering like glass as Octavia dropped to her knees. The haste with which she laid Stradivaria to rest beside her was enough to elicit a thick clunk against the steel. She regretted the force she used, somewhat. Even so, her attention was solely on the girl who’d finally stopped reaching for her partner. Viola's breathing had calmed, her face still splattered a soft red and her palm still tinted with dried streaks of blood.

One corner of her mouth echoed the same. It was a reflex for Octavia to brush her thumb delicately across Viola’s lips, desperate to disperse what blood still laid waste to her gentle expression. Octavia only smeared it more, and she winced at the sight. It hardly mattered. The pressure of Viola’s smile, weak as it was, pushing up against the pad of her thumb eased her heart.

“You’re incredible,” Viola whispered.

“Are you okay?” Octavia murmured, cupping one aching hand around Viola’s reddened cheek.

Viola’s fingertips, bloodied as they were, still found the strength to grace the back of Octavia’s hand. “I’ll be okay. How do you feel?”

Octavia shook her head. “Why does that matter? You’re a lot worse off than me.”

Viola closed her eyes, smiling softly in place of her gaze. “It matters to me.”

“Viola,” Octavia said, “I…I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I hadn’t--”

“You didn’t give up. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

Octavia couldn’t fight the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“My…Ambassador,” Viola breathed, stroking the back of Octavia’s hand.

She couldn’t fight the smile, either.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Renato asked.

The approaching boy peered at the Maestra with kinder eyes than usual. He tapped the tip of his shoe against the steel below absentmindedly, looming above them both.

Octavia was more than relieved that she could nod. “Yeah. She’ll be fine.”

“Nicely done, Vi,” he praised with a grin. “You’ve still got it.”

His praise was lost on her, and she rolled her eyes. “I never lost it,” Viola muttered hoarsely.

“That was…all of it, then,” Renato continued. “I think we…actually did it.”

For a moment, his words were surreal. The liberated moon served as Octavia's primary evidence, a tranquil glow newly freed from the grasp of hateful mist. She was content to bathe in its placid embrace. Her tired hands still graced Viola’s skin and her heart still resonated with the echoes of luminous love. Even without Stradivaria in her arms, she swore she could still feel his touch within.

The blaring whistle of the train, exceedingly late by several hours, nearly scared her to death. All three Maestros jumped, actually, startled severely by the sudden roar. Octavia’s peace didn’t last long. That much wasn’t new.

Renato shrugged, still shaken. “Guess he figured out how to drive it.”