Harmony

Either Heaven was beautiful, or the way her life flashed before her eyes was.

Octavia still remembered the first time she'd met every single one of them, and she'd known in advance she'd carry the memories with her all the way up. It was the blessing of a heroine in a time of darkness. It was kindness amongst tender flowers and speed she could hardly match. It was explosive cherry oak topped with a kiss, and it was a warm smile beside a fragile flame in a hopeless Hell.

It was snowflakes that speckled her sheets and tenderly settled upon her skin. It was trust and guidance that taught her self-defense against that which plagued the world with suffering. It was a fierce song that fought at her side every step of the way, cooling her soul and warming her heart all at once. It was shrill, piercing, unrelenting. It was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and she could never forget it, even in death. Octavia would cherish every note she could summon in her head, every last melody she could cling to that Silver Brevada could sing to her. She would take it with her wherever she went. It was loud. It was intolerably loud. She didn't hate the feeling.

She could still breathe. She wondered, vaguely, if she'd wandered into a toll after all. Even then, she shouldn't have been able to move. She shouldn't have been able to open her eyes. She shouldn't have still been privy to Rani's divine song, still equally as incomprehensible and untranslatable. Silence was an enigma, and Octavia knew too little of it to understand the full impact of the spider web in such a place.

She cracked her eyes open. If nothing else, for all of her life, she would know Silver Brevada.

It was louder than Rani. It was shriller than Rani. The Maestra who stood fast against the radiance that sought to strike her down was more lovely than Rani in every way. Octavia could hardly see what rested on the opposite side of the girl. Her crystalline rebellion had parted the Heartful Maestra's onslaught like a brilliant sea.

The streaming light that burst past them on either side was painfully hot, physically scorching the air Octavia breathed even from afar. Still, Viola didn't move. Her song never stilled, her ice never faltered, and the barrier she blasted back death itself with was as unbending as her soul. On her knees as she was, surrendered to fate, it was all Octavia could do to watch her, gazing up in horror at the Soulful Maestra's back alone.

"Vi…ola?" she murmured in disbelief.

The girl had to breathe at some point. It would be her downfall, and Octavia knew her too well. Tears sprung to her eyes in an instant.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Octavia pleaded desperately.

The moment she watched Viola's lips part from the flute, her head tilting backwards and bringing the lovely bow she adored bouncing along with it, Octavia feared the worst. She couldn't lose more than herself. What peace she'd found in death would be shattered effortlessly, should the girl she cherished most in the world come with her.

It was a gale that ruffled the same bow, then, that gave her room to inhale.

Even if Octavia couldn't see it, she felt the bursting breeze, clear as could be, splash her braids with a residual gust in passing. She couldn't tell where they went. She knew it was forward, for how the ocean of radiance halved ever further. She cast her eyes to the right, and where she'd found only the deadly light of Heaven moments ago, there stood a heroine instead. From here, too, it was all she could do to gaze up at the Spirited Maestra's back, her fingers flying across every string of the harp relentlessly.

She knew of a heat that blazed in a different flavor than her own light, as subtle as the difference had once been. Now, Octavia could tell them apart immediately. This, at least, she could see, for how powerfully his inferno would ignite as it burst from the bell of the trumpet every time. It was a striking contrast, scathing scarlets and oranges against the golds of divinity itself. She cast her eyes to the left, and she found her beacon of kindness.

She didn't initially see it, but she knew it was present. It was impossible to miss, given the unavoidable boom that rattled her eardrums and besieged her blood. Octavia couldn't find him, at first, although she knew him to be there from the way he was shouting. How he stayed aloft was beyond her, the strength of sound alone unshakable against a light that surged ever onwards.

The explosive shockwave was eternal. She'd never witnessed such force erupt from two little halves of cherry oak. He was steadied, an infinite burst in and of himself as he rebelled against pure radiance forever. Even in a place so incomprehensible, he didn't fail to amaze her. She cast her eyes upwards, and she found her soldier.

There was little to be done with a simple knife against radiance pouring from on high, or from the lips of a Muse who'd once fashioned a world from nothingness. He'd never been one to show fear, even in the face of agony time and time again. He'd never been one to back down in the face of overwhelming odds, even for what light itself had cursed him with. For how little he could do, he, too, was there. He threw himself in front of Octavia, arms spread wide with only a pitiful blade to show for his essence. She cast her eyes forwards, and she found her thunderstorm.

"Stop it!" Octavia begged tearfully. "Knock it off, all of you, please!"

Their rebellion was endless, indifferent to her desperate words. Octavia had stemmed her tears in the face of death, and they'd brought them back immediately. She thought to cast herself into the light, to spare them the fate that came with defiance. She wondered if she'd have to plead with Ramulus. She wondered if she was too late already.

"We're not leaving you!"

Octavia couldn't ignore her spirit. She stifled a sob, throwing her desperate gaze high once more.

Madrigal's eyes weren't on the Ambassador at all. Instead, in the direction of light she surely couldn't see through to the end, her harsh words challenged a Maestra unseen. "Octavia is our friend! We're not letting you take her away from us! We're supposed to be a team, and she's our fearless leader! She's precious, and she's important, and we love her a whole lot! When she's with me, I'm not alone, and I can do anything! I'm never giving up on her, because that's not what a heroine does! You can't have her, no matter what! Leave her alone!"

He, too, did the same, still aloft and still just as fierce. "I don't give a damn what you want or what you need! I don't give a damn what any of you want!" Renato shouted. "She's everything we've got! She's there for people when they need it the most, and she doesn't back down from a fight, so why should she back down from you? What the hell kind of soldier am I if I stand there and let you screw with my leader? You're not gonna put one finger on her!"

It took him a moment to catch his breath. He tore his lips away from the mouthpiece with such fervor that Octavia could've sworn she saw embers following along. "You're out of your mind if you think you can just show up and kill her!" Harper cried. "You don't deserve her! None of you deserve her! She's everything beautiful about this world, and she loves harder than anyone I've ever met! If her heart's as pure as you say it is, then I'll lay down my life before I let you ruin it! She's gonna have my fire until the day I die, and you're never taking her away from me!"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It occurred to Octavia exactly what he was doing. For how he still stood fearlessly over her, unmoving and firmly planted against nothing at all, she could only imagine the piercing look in his eyes as he challenged pure light with his gaze alone. She didn't want to bring him down with her. He was stubborn, and she knew he'd never budge.

"You're sick," Josiah spat, "and you've got a lot of nerve if you think the whole world needs to accommodate your mistakes! You said it yourself! She's innocent! She had nothing to do with the screw-ups you guys made, so after all she's done for you, why should she have to give more? Everything I've ever lost has been because of you all, and she's the one who picked me up off the ground and gave me a second chance! You really think I'm gonna give that up? This world owes you nothing! You're not getting anything else out of it!"

"Stop it, please," Octavia begged once more, her vision blurred through tears she could no longer control. "I'm begging you!"

"I'll never give her up!"

She couldn't lose them. She treasured them, heart and soul. Of that soul, in particular, she was blessed in every way. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she clung to every word.

"If this is what it takes to stop the Dissonance, then forget it! I don't want a world without her in it!"

"Viola," Octavia wept.

Even panting for breath, relieved by the efforts of those who adored the Ambassador just as much, she was still so, so beautiful. "What's the point in saving a world where she's not there? What's the point in living if she's not with us? To hell with that! If we have to deal with Dissonance the rest of our lives, I'd do that in a heartbeat before I let her die like this! You want her so badly? You'll have her over my dead body! We love her! I love her!"

Octavia couldn't see through her sorrow. Still, her heart raced, and her blood burned. She didn't hate it. It was hotter than the light that slowly dimmed, sparing her skin from collateral damage. It was softer than the voice that was offered in the wake of violent radiance, her life still startlingly intact as she knelt upon nothing. Stradivaria was before her, and she didn't look for Stratos above her. She wondered if he was still there. She wondered if he was watching at all, and what he would think if he was.

Where once had been blinding brilliance in the hands of a child moments before now came quiet words on her stolen lips. "I believe I had made myself clear. To intervene is to perish. Even so, you have made such a choice?

Viola didn't flinch, Silver Brevada still inches from her lips. "I'm not backing down. None of us are. Take us down if you have to, but we're not giving her up without a fight. She's our Ambassador, too!"

Rani was quiet for a moment, meeting a glare of Soulful resolve with only an empty gaze. "If that is so, then know that you were given the choice. What follows is inevitable."

Octavia couldn't find the drive to argue, not with how they stood fast against light incarnate so fearlessly. Even now, at their backs, she couldn't bring herself to stand. She couldn't bring herself to touch Stradivaria, still resting uselessly before her. She couldn't bring herself to look for Stratos, whether without or within. She was frozen in time, captive to uncertainty.

For how still they remained, then, the luminescence that followed was far more colorful than that which she'd expected to be blighted by again. It came not from her front, but from above. It was not of two lifeless hands, but born of vessels she'd soon eviscerate with her own. It was hardly her to whom they spoke, faceless gazes cast to a place she refused to raise her eyes. Octavia caught their hues, diverse as they were. It was the only light she could've hoped for, even in the midst of utter disorientation.

"You would forsake her, then," Orleanna stated plainly.

"For how you have claimed her as your own all this time, you would leave her to perish with so little concern," Lyra added, her bitter accusations in stark contrast with her soft tone. "You have abandoned your heart as you speak of a greater cause."

"You would not argue."

"You would not question."

"You would not resist?"

"Nor would you rebel?"

At no point in her life had she thought Mente and Aste, of all Muses, would stand up on her behalf. She really was in a dream. When she found the courage to lift her head at last, he was there. Stratos took their vitriol in silence, as he'd done before. Octavia held her breath. As to why, she wasn't quite sure.

"You are content to do as you are told," Orleanna spoke sharply. Never before had Octavia heard pure ire in her voice as it wavered, the Willful Muse's gentle demeanor cast aside in favor of wrath. "Do you not see them as worthy of existence? Do you not view them as deserving of love? Bear witness, Stratos, to how our own face that which is insurmountable. You, in all of your glory, could not be bothered to do the same?"

Stratos, to his credit, didn't quite shirk away from their hostilities. In his own way, he was a prisoner to much the same scene as Octavia. Where she found protection, he found confrontation. He was quiet, and every word he opted to hold in his heart burned Octavia that much more. If he was to berate them, she wished he would. If he was to offer up his sorrow, she wished he would. If he was to shatter what was left of her heart to the most miniscule fragments again and again, it would be better than nothing. She craved his voice. It didn't matter what it carried, for how long ago she'd come to know it.

"Humility is your folly, Stratos! Wallow in your shame, for your cowardice deserves it!"

He'd always been loud. Octavia didn't expect him to stop now.

"Your submissiveness becomes you! Your complacency with that which would challenge your soul is revolting! Have you no pride in your legacy? Have you no pride at all?" Brava cried, his luminescent arms spread wide as he oozed disdain. "You are undeserving of the Ambassador!"

Never had she heard his praise. Once, he'd stung her with the opposite. Once, she'd been replaceable, far from special. It was Brava, instead, to whom her wide eyes flickered.

His words never softened. She didn't hate it. "I say unto you, Ambassador, stand for yourself! Leave this one in your wake! If such is to be, do not helplessly submit! Rage against destiny until your dying breath, befitting of the courage of the Ambassador! If you are to perish, then do so with your heart ablaze and your soul alight!"

Octavia couldn't process his demands, at least momentarily. She wondered if she was doing him a disservice, only staring back at radiant cerulean as she was. Brava didn't chide her. He didn't push her, nor did he berate her. Never in her life had she felt warmth from him, and the feeling was as unsettling as it was wonderful.

"You would resist redemption, then?" Ramulus' calm voice interrupted, the dichotomy between the Muses' tones striking. "You would reject that which has been so carefully salvaged?"

Lyra shook her head, her radiant hands folded over her equally-radiant heart. "My Lord, this is not what was to be! We did not grace them with love only to steal it away! We did not cast our hopes aloft only to rest our touch once more upon their mortal world! This is not the way!"

"We cannot interfere," Orleanna added. "So long have we fought not to do so!"

Rani was steadfast, and Ramulus was equally so. "This is the only path to salvation. Stand against such, and you stand against me. I will say this only once. What is true for your own is mutual. Your attachments would endanger those who have returned."

Rani raised her head to Lyra, and her still eyes along the way made the gesture all the more horrifying. "You would forsake Ethel in favor of this one, then?"

Octavia froze. She watched, briefly, as Madrigal did the same, her own terrified eyes rising to the Apex of Spirit in turn. When Lyra shook her head yet again, it was a miracle the Ambassador never could've fathomed.

"It is what he would have done," she spoke, her voice as low as it was confident.

"And you, of Breileneth?" Ramulus asked, Rani's same hollow eyes touching upon the Willful Muse instead.

Orleanna, too, was unbending. "I could not face him, should I falter."

"If you perish, Ambassador…" Mente began.

"Do so with honor," Aste concluded.

"Rise…"

"And be strong."

She wished so terribly that she could hear those words from a heart of light, so much like her own. She wished so terribly that she could hear his voice at all. Anything would suffice. For how she cradled his vessel in her arms once more, material eyes and not settled onto her at every angle, rising to her feet in a world of nothingness was the second-hardest challenge Octavia faced in Silence. The creeping shadow of death was a distant third. Ultimately, it was his love, shattered and lost, that would be her greatest trial.

Octavia didn't need him. Regardless, he was hers, a prisoner to her unyielding heart. Filled to the brim with love graced by others, she would drag him down and drown him in it. Stratos' light was hers to take, even now. He didn't have a choice. For all he could steal from her, he belonged to her, for better or worse.

Octavia settled the bow against the strings, as she'd done so many times before. She raised him to her shoulder, where he so naturally rested yet again. She didn't need to ask for everything he had. She'd take it by force and give it to the place he least wished for it to go. It was her revenge. It was her salvation. It was her right.

It was her choice, for once and once only.