Orvest and Listelle stood atop the building, listening to the sounds of battle echoing across Symphona.
It was a twisted symphony, a blend of musical cadence, punctuated by screeches and cries of agony.
Listelle shook her head, flinging a piece of the beast's flesh from her golden hair with a grimace.
"We need to find the others. Make sure they're still alive," Orvest said, wiping a smear of gore from his red hair. "If they're injured, our chances of escaping Symphona drop even lower."
Listelle gave a sharp nod. "Then let's move."
---
Letting their divine instruments fade from existence, the two slipped across the broken rooftops of the capital.
Chunks of earth hovered between buildings, suspended in midair, and they used them as stepping stones. The sky hung heavy with a red hue, dyed by the crack that split through the heavens, bleeding chaos into the world.
Below, the cobbled streets were empty. Curtains were drawn tight against the screaming, and chariots stood empty, deserted in fear.
The people of Symphona knew these creatures and many others. They had crawled into the world ever since Chaos began. Since King Rose disappeared, and The Composer started to unravel reality itself.
But familiarity didn't make them any less afraid. The beasts still carried terror with them.
The defence was left to the musicians. The awakened ones. Like Orvest, Listelle, and a few score more.
After a brief journey, they reached a lone white house, perched atop a floating slab of earth.
It was small, with one wall ripped away, exposing the dimly lit interior.
Climbing up the fractured remains, they entered the living room.
Orvest's gaze landed first on a man seated by a chair, focusing intensly on a battered leather journal. He wore black trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt, a pair of glasses resting on his handsome, youthful face. His white hair spilled to his shoulders like a silver river.
Then Orvest noticed the man standing over a dead winged beast.
He was dark-skinned, with a large black afro, and a knife embedded into it like a bizarre sheath. He wore a white Victorian suit with golden edges, which clung tight to his muscular frame.
Noticing them, the man turned, his face breaking into a wide, easy smile.
"Perfect timing, folks," his deep, joyful voice rang out. "Jaltaviere's just about finished with King Rose's book. Says we can get out of here by tomorrow."
"Try to get out," the white-haired man corrected, his voice quiet and calm as though nothing could bother him. "The diary holds no information on his journey or of his method of escape. Only the record of a king cursed by a god, up to the day he became Ariafallen."
Without hesitation, Listelle darted over and wrapped the dark-skinned man in a tight hug, smearing blood and gore across his immaculate suit.
"Paulen!" she beamed. "I showed Orvest the song. He loved it. Thank you for teaching it to me!"
Paulen sighed mournfully, eyeing his ruined suit, but then laughed, wrapping a huge hand around her head in a fond ruffle.
"You're welcome, little one," he said warmly.
Despite the heavy air, Orvest felt a rare flicker of joy. These were characters he had created, once just names on a page. Now they lived, breathed, loved, in ways he had never scripted.
He only wished the rest of the world could be so beautiful.
"Jaltaviere," Orvest said, moving toward the desk where the diary lay open. "What did you find?"
Jaltaviere licked his finger, flipping through the aged pages, before turning the book toward him.
---
Year 31, 6/1/12
For the last week, I have felt at peace. Every moment passes like a dream, and my music reflects it.
I have discovered a new song. Its name is SCRIBBLED. It allows me to SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE.
With this song, I thought I could change the world. I thought I could end The Composer's cruelty.
The god who has defiled my beautiful world.
But lately, even as I write, a darkness has begun to devour me. It stains my mind, my body... and now, my music.
The songs I once played were filled with light. Now, I play only songs I no longer recognise.
The darkness grows.
I want it to e—
---
Orvest stared at the page, his mind racing.
"That's it?" he asked sharply. "It just... ends?"
Jaltaviere leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, a shadow of speculation crossing his face.
"Yes. And not just that, he scribbled out the song's details. Whatever it was... he didn't want anyone to know."
Orvest had noticed it too.
But why?
His gaze dropped to the date on the entry, and his chest tightened with recognition.
Jaltaviere saw the shift in his friend's expression and gave a small nod.
"You see it, don't you? This was the exact day Rose became Ariafallen. The moment he was cursed. His name, filled into the hearts of everyone who lived, letting us know that his life was to be taken. He realised he could no longer be king, no longer rule the kingdom. So he fled, taking only those he trusted with him."
Orvest wrestled with the storm in his mind.
Everything that had happened after Chaos... none of it was his creation.
On Earth, he had written the character King Rose Cadence, ruler of Aloth. He had written The Composer, but only as an idea, a whisper of a god.
Somehow, the story had kept writing itself.
The Composer had risen. And Rose had fallen.
It was too vast. Too much.
This world is wicked, and I am its author.
Orvest let out a slow breath, his face hardening.
The others turned toward him, sensing his resolve.
"We leave at sunrise," he said. "Use the night to say your goodbyes."