There was absolutely no way Octavia was forsaking Mixoly two nights in a row.

  She’d done her due diligence--or so she rationalized. Stratos had had his turn. She’d established previously that her “nightly walks” were routine, and she hoped that would count for at least something. Getting through the day with patience was the hardest part, her head buzzing nearly nonstop as she performed what little of her routine she’d come to expect. Octavia barely even remembered the toll, let alone the guiding portion. One of those was more than likely a good thing.

  There was a chronic temptation that came with the setting sun and the slow dwindling of activity in her cottage, by which she was outright eager for all five of her companions to opt for unconsciousness as quickly as possible. Stratos didn’t object, and his tiny plea for her to return safe was sufficient. Not an iota of true suspicion had yet to cross her, and it would take effort she lamented to keep it that way. The moment the moon was on its way up and into the heights of the blackened sky, Octavia was dying to leave. Tonight, she pushed her luck far too early, desperate to maximize her time. She nearly paid the price.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  Octavia’s hand was almost on the doorknob before she jumped, the sudden voice in the dark startling her fiercely. It still wasn’t as bad as every time Theo seemed to find her. Her excuse was instinctive, readied on her lips like a weapon. It was by absolute luck that she made the decision to verify her interloper before she began to speak, given the order by which she would’ve met their eyes second. It was the worst possible person who could’ve caught her in the act, frankly, as she’d feared several times over.

  Her stomach lurched. Octavia dropped to one knee, feigning a need to retie the laces of her boot. Her eyes trailed only along the leather, and she didn’t dare look up. “Can’t sleep. Sometimes, I go for walks at night when the weather’s nice. It helps me clear my head, and it makes it easier to sleep. It’s better than lying around thinking about stuff I don’t…really want to think about.”

  The last part was pushing it. She was fishing for pity, and she knew she’d get it from him. When Octavia found the courage to look up at last, the soft hurt in his eyes was enough to affirm her success.

  Harper tilted his head knowingly. “I get it. Try not to stay out too late, okay?”

  “You’re not my mom,” Octavia joked. “Is that…coffee?”

  He sipped. He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “At…night.”

  Harper shrugged. “It helps me sleep.”

  Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Coffee helps you sleep?”

  He smirked. “Hey, I’m not judging you for wandering around at ten o’clock at night. Everyone’s different. Let me enjoy my methods.”

  She, too, couldn’t fight the smirk that came with a roll of her eyes. “You’re so weird,” she muttered.

  Octavia could’ve sworn she heard him sipping even louder out of spite behind her on the way out. It was almost enough to make her laugh. There was a frustration that came with the limitations of his gift. He’d helped her practically put Samuel up against a wall. If he could do the same thing for Stratos, Octavia would owe Harper her life--literally, maybe. Impossible as the idea was, it still burned just to maintain her secrecy. It was Harper. It was just Harper. It was specifically Harper. Surely Mixoly would understand.

  She was lucky with the moonlight, lucky with her pacing, and lucky with her routing, otherwise. Octavia’s one and only pitfall had been at the cottage, and she was utterly spared of any further complications on the way there. She still knew, hypothetically, of at least one person on any given night to be out there with her. It left three more who didn’t know of her routine excursions.

  Running into Francisco again had the potential to be fatal. It absolutely could not happen. This would, hopefully, become an even easier task once the full moon stopped blessing her so fervently with its generous glow. She couldn’t necessarily expect every single Maestro in Tacell to stay bound to their cottages each night forever. A bit of room for coverage would’ve been nice now and again, lest wandering eyes catch her in the worst way.

  Octavia had the path to Theo’s cottage largely committed to memory, at this point--although she didn’t dare sprint to it at any given time. It did shorten the walk significantly, and for that, she was grateful. She didn’t knock. She didn’t hesitate. Whatever got her out of the vulnerability of the brightened night was most important. With one hand around the doorknob, she plunged into the dark with the Muse’s name in mind alone.

  Mixoly.

  She remembered her promise. Inside of her heart, it was surely alright. Octavia knew better than to let the three syllables leave her lips otherwise, risking their safety in the open air. She was rewarded.

  Ambassador.

  Octavia breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled the door shut behind her. “Where are you?”

  She hadn’t particularly needed to ask. She realized it of her own accord moments later, her eyes snapping to the slight movement on the salon floor. She really, really wished Theo would just use the sofa. Instead, there he was again, content to curl up cross-legged on the rug alone. He didn’t wave, acknowledging her presence only with a tilt of his head and calm eyes. At the very least, Octavia much preferred this to his previous hostilities. She still didn’t look forward to getting stuck on the floor again.

  I am here.

  She’d already figured that part out, given the little piccolo cradled in Theo’s palms once more. She didn’t want to be rude about it.

  “I…came back,” Octavia clarified, well aware that she was stating the obvious. “I did what you told me. I tried to fake it. I spent a day trying to be casual. I spent time with Stratos, too. I-I didn’t say anything, of course. I…wouldn’t. I think it worked. I still don’t think he suspects anything. He hasn’t said anything to me, if he does.”

  Good.

  The affirmation was all she received prior to the same lustrous, starry glow that she’d adored several days before. Theo didn’t so much as turn around, content to let the Muse’s shimmering visage bless the open air. Once more was the moonlight streaming through the curtains challenged by her radiance, and Octavia enjoyed it just as much as last time. To see her less hesitant was wonderful in and of itself. For all of her talk of trust, Mixoly’s own trust in the Ambassador felt good.

  “And you are safe?” Mixoly asked softly.

  Octavia nodded. “I’m okay. Nothing’s happened.”

  The Muse nodded in turn. “Good,” she repeated.

  The silence that settled between them for a moment was as comfortable as it was awkward. Octavia shifted slightly, and not solely because the rug was already irritating her calves. “I…I tried to get Stratos to talk. I was careful about what I said. Your Lord of All, Ramulus. Stratos said he’d…call for me, when the time came. I still don’t completely get what that means.”

  “There is no risk in him admitting as much,” Mixoly clarified. “It would make sense. Our Lord must look to the Ambassador if he wishes to return to Above. His own grace in this realm would not suffice in full, as it has not thus far.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Already, Mixoly was hesitating. It hadn’t taken long, although Octavia knew she'd begun to batter the Muse with questions almost immediately upon return. That much was expected. “It was all our Lord could do to simply stifle what had occurred. He was not spared of the Descent. He, too, must be guided to Above, much the same as the others.”

  “The Descent,” Octavia repeated experimentally.

  “By which they are here,” Mixoly added on her behalf.

  Octavia picked at a stray thread escaping the rug absentmindedly. “He told me a story, a while ago. Both of them did. I met Ramulus once, I think. He was…I mean, I didn’t see him. I heard his voice from a girl named Rani. It felt like a dream.”

  “Go on.”

  Mixoly’s push was as gentle as it was surprising. Octavia obliged regardless. “My life was in danger. Instead of dying, I woke up on a…shoreline of some sort. There were people there, like a little village I’ve never seen. I was really upset about something, and when it all came back to me, I was so overwhelmed by the Dissonance that I thought I’d die that way instead. That girl saved me. Ramulus told me a story that didn’t make a lot of sense at the time, but Stratos told me again later. He said Stratos’ name. It was the first time I’d ever heard it. He said I’d…be the one.”

  With the words on her tongue, she eyed Mixoly uncomfortably. There was no judgment or insistence of the truth, and Octavia’s initial revelation had long since slashed her heart open. Octavia was thankful for her kindness. She sighed.

  “I woke up,” she continued, “or, at least, that’s what it felt like. I was alive, and I was safe, and I was right back where I was when my life was at risk. I haven’t had that experience ever since, or even anything like it. If Stratos hadn’t talked to me about it, I would’ve been convinced it was a dream forever.”

  “It was no dream,” Mixoly offered with a shake of her head. “That certainly sounds like him. Of the story he told, what did it entail?”

  For having heard it twice over, she remembered significantly more of it in Stratos’ voice than Rani’s. Even that wasn’t enough to cover everything she knew she should’ve recalled. Octavia still tried anyway. “Something about how the world was made. Where once was none came all, I think Stratos said. Then there was…She Who Brought the World to Ruin, and this ‘she’ destroyed whatever they’d made together. Ethel said that’s how Dissonance was born, too. Anyway, they were…dragged down here, somehow, all ninety-six of them--he said ninety-six, at least. Now, they’re waiting to go back, and they’ll make it to Above, someday. It was worded a lot more nicely than that, but that’s what I remember of it.”

  Mixoly was quiet. Ever so subtly, Octavia caught the way Theo’s eyes flickered upwards towards the Muse in the wake of her silence. It didn’t last too long.

  “As to your…encounter with Lord Ramulus, you will surely encounter him once more. That our Lord and Stratos should gift you with the same succinct tale of our struggles so fancifully spoken should illustrate their bond. It is as I have said, Ambassador. Distance is no matter.”

  Although she knew the words had left her lips dozens of times in Mixoly’s presence, Octavia found herself asking the same question time and time again. “What do you mean?”

  Mixoly took that question with patience each time. Octavia thanked every star in the sky. “For those of his own blood, those in whom his utmost confidence rests, his voice carries far. Even now, Stratos has surely heard his words time and time again, no matter where our Lord may await your presence. He is more than likely not the exception, as I have also stated of the Heartful.”

  Octavia blinked. “Stratos can talk to Ramulus? Or, uh, Lord Ramulus?”

  Mixoly nodded. “And he will relay all he may witness, such that every action of the Ambassador is kept under the shining light of our Lord.”

  “He tells him everything I do?” she interpreted with slightly more alarm.

  “Tell me, Ambassador,” Mixoly began, “how often do you hold his vessel close?”

  Octavia fidgeted. “Pretty often. Really, really often, honestly.”

  Even blank as it was, she wasn’t a fan of the look Theo was giving her. She couldn’t pin it down. Anything short of hostility in his eyes had been difficult to interpret recently. It still lingered on her for far longer than she was comfortable with.

  “Are you aware, my child, that we…see as you do?”

  “What?”

  Mixoly gestured vaguely towards Theo, the brunt of her motion largely angled at the piccolo delicately enclosed in his palms. “There are limitations that accompany the vessels to which we are bound. In the hands of our own, we may be privy to their eyes and the sights bestowed upon them. When my vessel would languish, this realm is dark and empty. It is by the grace of this beloved child that I should see the world as he does.”

  Octavia’s eyes widened. “You…see through his eyes.”

  “Upon his touch alone.”

  “That’s…”

  “So I will rephrase, then,” Mixoly continued. “Knowing this, how often has Stratos seen as you have?”

  She froze. She was afraid to consider, and equally as afraid to sift through her memories with him for discrepancies. “I-I mean, a…lot, I guess. He’s almost always with me. If I’m not holding Strad--if I’m not holding his vessel, he’s at least in a case on my back or nearby. I’m so used to holding him that I’ve never really thought about it. I’d assume he’s seen everything.”

  “He needs not a form to steal with his gaze,” Mixoly insisted. “Each time you hold him close, be on your guard. Plan carefully, Ambassador.”

  Every instance of warmth that she’d found in her heart with Stradivaria in her arms was dashed in an instant. Every memory of the mahogany against her cheek, the sleek sensation of the bow’s handle between her fingers, the rugged strings biting gently into her fingertips, all were for naught. To be fair, she’d had little to hide--at least consciously. Under different circumstances, she might’ve found the revelation an opportunity for them to grow closer with love. Octavia had little love left in her heart for Stratos anymore, and it burned as what was left leaked out drop by drop every day.

  “Do you ever talk to Ramulus, Mixoly?” she tried, somewhat desperate to change the subject.

  Only long after the question had left Octavia’s mouth did she realize her alias-free folly yet again. It was becoming an extremely poor habit, particularly given that such a gentle moniker in lieu of the Muse’s true name had been her idea in the first place.

  Mixoly didn’t honor her--as to both her inquiry and mistake alike--with body language, affirmative or otherwise. “I cannot, nor would I. I have once stated that I am an exception to the way by which all is to be.”

  Octavia weighed pushing her again. She opted to try, whether or not she succeeded. “I know you said you’re an exception. I know you said you’re special. You act differently than every other Muse I’ve ever met. I’m not even supposed to be talking to you, you said. They’ve got you…isolated like this. They’ve got Theo isolated like this.”

  “This child is protecting me.”

  Octavia’s eyes drifted down to the Heartful Maestro. The mention of his name did nothing to faze him, and he only gifted his soft gaze to Mixoly above. His hands were silent, just as he’d been for their whole conversation. Given how little he'd reacted to each and every one of Mixoly’s bold claims, Octavia was baffled at how much he may have already known.

  “But what is he protecting you from?” she pressed. “Why are you an exception?”

  Mixoly was silent. It was frustrating. For as much as Octavia wanted to be grateful for what excessive insight the Muse had gifted her with, so much went unspoken that the thirst to push was unquenchable. She briefly wondered if she was overstepping her bounds--although a lack of hostility on Theo’s part quashed that fear somewhat.

  “Bear witness to the toll,” Mixoly spoke softly at last, “and all will be clear.”

  Octavia couldn’t help the way her eyes widened once more. “You…want me to perform the Witnessing?”

  “If possible.”

  She nodded. “I don’t mind.”

  “You do not understand my words.”

  Octavia tilted her head. “What?”

  Mixoly averted her faceless gaze. “It will not be that to which you are accustomed. Know this to be true. I cannot offer my aid for this task alone, Ambassador.”

  “I’ve…seen a lot of tolls,” Octavia insisted. “I’ve been through a lot. No matter how bad it is, I can do it if it’s for you.”

  Mixoly didn’t answer her. The fleeting glance she exchanged with Theo was between the two alone, somewhat unsettling to observe from afar. Octavia couldn’t pinpoint why. If he spoke with his heart, she’d been certain she could eavesdrop on Mixoly’s responses. Instead, they were speaking solely with their gazes. It was a bond Octavia had never seen before.

  “I will invite you to attempt, Ambassador,” Mixoly said gently.

  Her phrasing aside, Octavia nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  The silence Mixoly returned to her was permission enough. She inched her way across the rug with such gracelessness that her knees burned, and she immediately regretted it. Octavia was exceedingly grateful that Theo didn’t take the opportunity to belittle her in any capacity. The way he only offered her the same blank stare all the way through her wincing wasn’t too comforting, in truth. She did what she could to compose herself as she sat on her heels, flexing her fingers several times for good measure.

  “Do you know how many tolls you have?” Octavia asked him tentatively.

  The Heartful boy didn’t hesitate. He raised one finger aloft.

  “You’re…sure?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Octavia paused. “Do you know…who it is?”

  Again, Theo nodded.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “And you’re…sure of that?”

  Once more, he did the same.

  Octavia tensed. Witnessing the toll of a child never failed to make her nauseous, and this was no exception. She raised her eyes to Mixoly tentatively, and Theo emulated the motion.

  To Octavia’s surprise, it was Mixoly who was the most hesitant of all. Never once had she seen a Muse so timidly give permission for their own path to salvation.

  “Theo Senz,” she spoke meekly after far too long, “your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”

  For the supposed “exception” that Mixoly was, cryptic as her claim had been, her road to guidance had started off identically to those of her counterparts. A toll was a toll. A Harmonial Instrument was a Harmonial Instrument. Fundamentally, she was the same. She was a Muse, and Octavia knew the motions. She’d go with what she was used to. If that didn’t work, she’d figure out the rest when she got there.

  Octavia didn’t need to gesture for her turn with Miracle Agony. Theo had already taken the initiative, cradling the little piccolo before the Ambassador in his upturned palms. He met Octavia’s eyes with quiet complacency, studying her each and every move neutrally. It was as unnerving as it was comforting. She preferred this disposition to a child she would have to fight to reassure throughout the process. Much of Octavia still lamented that he was in this position at all.

  She was taking too long, apparently. Theo's eyes flickered downwards into his hands before locking with hers once more. Octavia flushed.

  It was with more of a sigh than a deep breath that she tentatively settled her fingers onto the instrument he carried with such care, warmed by his extensive touch alone. In the dark of the room, with only Mixoly’s graceful glow and the moon to weakly compete in her wake, the depths that Octavia surrendered to weren’t as off-putting as usual. In her last moments of lucidity, there was a comfort that came with Heartful company on her way down. It was a thought almost bright enough to compensate.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Octavia shouldn’t have spent as much of the toll as she did hunting for discrepancies. It happened anyway. The urge was too great, and Mixoly’s words were too haunting. The implications of her routine task as something of a trial or obstacle were unignorable, try as she might to pay attention. She was vaguely aware of the disservice she was doing to Theo, given the degree to which she wasn’t immediately fully engrossed in the stranger he’d settled upon her shoulders. For his bond with Mixoly and his complacency with her on the way down, Octavia wondered if he’d care. She wondered if he’d prefer her curiosity by comparison, really.

  It was a place she’d never seen, a landscape she’d never walked upon, a sky she’d never loved and blossomed under. Of the strangers who composed her picturesque, nature-tinted life, Octavia recognized one of them--calm and speechless even so tiny as he was. He wouldn’t smile. She still, to this day, hadn’t seen him smile, and the implications that stretched back this far into his life were somewhat upsetting. Given the role of her stranger, beloved and loving in equal measure, she already felt for Theo. Octavia was blessed, then, that many of her memories were as affectionate as they were. She grew accustomed to Theo’s visage, at minimum half the age she knew him to be while in the depths of the dark.

  Of herself, then, stolen as she was, Octavia again and again caught snippets and flashes of a brighter heart, impossibly luminescent. Night-black bangs over her eyes and a radiant smile reflected in passing compensated for what Theo didn't offer the world. He couldn’t have been a little more than twice the boy’s age, from what she could gather, and yet his love was fierce. Her stranger’s entire being, from what Octavia could catch in every touch and hear in every laugh, was endearing and vibrant in a way that was tricky to ignore. He was practically a star twinkling on the earth itself. Each word of endearment and each expression of happiness was as warm as the sun, as gentle as he was. It was still for Theo that his love was most brilliant, and that little sun shone vividly upon the tiny child in flash after flash.

  The dread that pooled in Octavia's stomach, knowing of the end to come for such a beautiful stolen soul, compromised the sweet nature of his memories with Theo--exceedingly abundant to a degree that outmatched every other figure in his life. It wasn’t that he neglected his mother and father, but more so that his personal sunshine shimmered most wonderfully for the little boy alone.

  From here, Octavia could see every unspoken word he signed. Every movement of his fingers, hands, and arms was just as gentle and patient as she’d observed from afar--if not more so. Theo learned from somewhere, she supposed, and his teacher was wonderful. By candlelight, even young as he was, she followed her stranger’s eyes as he studied. Painstakingly self-taught for the sake of another so loved, it was even more of a miracle. She could see so easily why he was adored by those who showered him with their own light.

  There was a consequence that came with such a picturesque landscape, the scene of a painting splashed against the sky and mountains at large. Silver Ridge was flat. Tacell, for all of its rolling hills, was, too, still relatively flat. It was only in Solenford that she’d gotten a true taste of topographical variety, and not under circumstances she enjoyed. It wasn't her stranger alone who called the valley home, serene as it was. Were Octavia’s heart not torn cleanly between Silver Ridge and Tacell, the same gorgeous view could’ve been a strong distant third candidate for a home.

  The seasons weren't kind, and the summers Octavia enjoyed so fervently in Silver Ridge were traded for tempests in lieu of sunshine. Some were tolerable. Some were feeble. Some were not, by which the squalls and storms that rolled relentlessly through the little valley left destruction in their wake. They were lucky, usually. Octavia mostly caught the memorable ones. She wondered exactly how many were a typical occurrence in such a land besieged by the violence of nature.

  And when they were unlucky at last, it was with raindrops rather than hellfire. They were excessive, endless, excruciating. They raged in a way Octavia had never seen such an element of life itself unleashed upon anywhere she’d ever lived. There was a unique issue that came with the sloping mountains caging them in on every side, for what such ruthless rains could curse their little world with.

  Granted, the gales had their way, as did the mountainside that could withstand no more of the brutal assault. It hardly mattered by comparison. It was, ironically, the tiny and innocent raindrops that sufficed en masse. There was no outrunning the rain, and there was no hiding from its pursuit once it graced the earth.

  She knew so little about Theo, in truth, and every tiny piece of what she could gather about his life came on the heels of death. She’d often wondered what such a young child had been doing in Tacell utterly alone, given that every other little Maestro had been a temporary fixture. It was solely for Octavia’s touch that they’d voyaged so far, eagerly returning home to doting families with open arms not long after. He was an exception, a permanent part of the settlement she loved. As to why, of what horrific sights she stole against her will, it only just now clicked. It hurt.

  Already, she was grieving for a boy she’d never met, a face she’d come to love through the faintest flashes in mirrors and the surfaces of pristine waters, a sparkle that had warmed her from afar. It didn’t matter how bright his smile was now. It didn’t matter how he carried every ounce of his little light to the smaller child that entered his life so peacefully. It didn’t matter how much he glowed, how many rooms he lit up simply by being near to a boy whose own smile Octavia had never seen him claim. He was going to die. It was the most agonizing reality.

  At the very least, for a boy only somewhat younger than herself, she prayed it would be over quickly. As to where Theo had ended up, Octavia was unsure. She swore never to press him on it, lest she find that he’d been forced to battle breathlessness in the worst way. It wasn’t the best time to wonder how he dealt with storms. Of that, too, she wouldn’t ask. Where the endless sea born from on high dragged her stranger down and stole his breath at last, Octavia’s heart sank right down along with it. She couldn’t fathom watching him drown.

  She fought to close her eyes, and was unsuccessful. To her immense surprise, her beloved stranger’s own stayed open, and the calmness he found beneath the surface was eerily comforting. He didn’t flail, fight, or struggle, drifting as needed and embracing death without resistance. To her much more abject shock, he never made it that far.

  He came up. He was one of few.

  There was little to come up to, by the time her stolen eyes had unblurred and a new flash had replaced the harrowing experience. What had once been picturesque was no more, be it familial love or a place to call his own. Where the seasons had forgiven them dozens of times over, there was no room left for second chances. Even the landscape had grown unforgiving, and rebuilding what had been lost would surely be a futile effort.

  There were others, although they were sparse. For such a village, small as it was, those remaining couldn’t have numbered more than one-third of whom they’d once shared the land with. It was devastating. For all her stranger had lost, himself nearly included, his only compensation was the Heartful child at his side so beloved even now. Their hands were practically fused, and rarely did they part for a time after.

  Where are you trying to get to?

  I don’t know. Anywhere safe.

  Safe?

  Somewhere I can…start over, I guess. Somewhere that’d be a good starting point from nothing. Is there anywhere like that?

  There’s plenty of places like that. Aren’t you a little young to be starting anything over?

  I am.

  That boy doesn’t talk much, does he?

  He can’t hear you.

  Oh, uh, sorry. My bad.

  Do you have any suggestions?

  I mean, if you’re on this side of the continent already, Selbright’s as good a place as any.

  Sel..bright?

  Yeah. Big city, solid opportunities, safe enough if you stay in the right places. You seem like a smart kid. You’ll figure something out.

  Which way is it?

  From here? Take the train east. You’ll know it when you see it.

  Thank you for your help.

  No problem. Good luck.

  He had the skills to get by, the confidence to get what he needed, and the courage to get out. He had the drive, even in the wake of extreme loss, to do what was necessary to cling to survival. His hand left Theo’s only to speak, and every last action otherwise carried the Heartful boy in mind. In that sense, it was perhaps not his own spark for a life so graciously gifted that he fled. It was by absolutely no means a short voyage, and the Ambassador’s privilege did little in illustrating the trials she knew had surely followed in his wake.

  Welcome to Mezzoria, by the way.

  In retrospect, Selbright contrasted so sharply with her stranger’s birthright that it was dizzying. He took it startlingly well.

  He didn’t adjust quickly, necessarily, and yet he figured out the basics well enough. It was an inn rather than a permanent abode, granted, but it was a start. It was a roof that wouldn’t collapse beneath tempests that would fight to steal their lives, and that was perhaps enough for now. It was wherever Theo was safe, the warmth of the Ambassador’s stolen smile and unspoken words trailing the young boy every night into his dreams.

  Her stranger’s love was boundless, and he struggled however was necessary on behalf of a boy who depended upon him so. His drive was as fierce as his face was bright, even battered as it was by pain and loss. To start over was an agony all its own, and he carried the burden with a false confidence that betrayed his sweat and tears. More than any subject of any flashes she could steal from him, the boy's eyes were on Theo most of all. Even if she couldn’t see the softness of his gaze and the warmth he offered up, Octavia could feel it from afar.

  And in the rare moments Theo was alone, it was only in the context of the deepest nights. The boy was like Octavia, in that way, although his preference for isolation was more genuine rather than an excuse. It took him time to learn his way around Selbright, and yet not quite as long as she’d expected. If Octavia were to try, the same excursions would’ve seen her hopelessly lost and fighting long into the hours of morning to come anywhere adjacent to home--or what he claimed as home, temporary as it was.

  Even if she'd never gotten her true tour of Selbright, Octavia found a silver lining in the worst way here in the dark. His eyes blessed her with paths she’d never seen and roads she’d never crossed. She was proud of herself for knowing the one that led to Tacell, at least. It wasn’t as though he’d made it all the way there.

  He had no way of knowing, logically. Given Theo's age at the time of such a toll, Octavia was forced to overlay this boy’s experiences with what she knew of Priscilla’s. Budding as it was, there should’ve at least been a Tacell by now. Given its remote location and intentional quarantine from the non-Maestro world, Octavia could only imagine her stranger's face should he stumble upon it somehow. It wasn’t exactly the easiest journey to make, regardless. He’d made more difficult ones.

  Help me.

  It took Octavia a moment to register where she’d heard that voice before.

  Help me.

  It took him a moment of his own to recognize that there was one at all.

  Is…someone there?

  Help me.

  Where are you?

  Please.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that the boy’s curiosity won out where fear would’ve compromised most, quiet courage taking control as needed. Beneath the pale glow of the moon high above, blessed only by the rustling greenery of a meadow below, it could very well have passed as a dream. Even if Octavia knew it to be reality, the way by which her stranger entertained the unbelievable was admirable. Every step was undaunted, chasing that which went unseen.

  Help me.

  Who are you?

  I beg of you.

  Where are you? he repeated, somewhat louder.

  Please.

  I don’t understand.

  He nearly stepped on her.

  Octavia couldn’t blame him, not with how small Miracle Agony was in the first place. Cushioned and concealed by blades of grass far taller than the little piccolo, it was the sparkle of the silver keys alone under the moonlight that caught his eye in time. He nearly stumbled in the process of averting his next step forward, by which Mixoly’s vessel would’ve been crunched underfoot. Whether it would’ve carried consequence was debatable, given the nature of the instrument.

  Help me.

  He didn’t question it. Ever so slowly, more inquisitive than hesitant, he came to rest on his knees in the soft grass. Gentle, calm fingers reached for her, extended with care as she pleaded even now. Tenderly, they brushed against the little piccolo Octavia had come to know.

  The flash that besieged Octavia wasn't normal. It seared. It crackled. She couldn’t flinch.

  Like glass, it was fragile, splintering. Like acid, it was corrosive, dissolving. It was golden. It was violet. It was soft. It was loud. It was screech upon screech and scream upon scream, blurred and overwhelming. It challenged every sense she could carry with her into the depths. If her stranger was there, if his hands still encircled the Harmonial Instrument, Octavia couldn’t see them.

  An indecipherable barrage incomparable to every bizarre nightmare and feverish dream she’d ever had assailed her stolen eyes. It wasn’t physically painful, granted, just as nothing was in the dark of a toll. It still shot well past her pupils and burrowed deep into every part of her, blinding colors and intolerable sounds shaking her to her core. Octavia couldn’t think. She couldn’t see. She could no longer consider it to be the darkness, for how white it had become.

  ◆???????????? ????????????????◆????????????? ??????????????????????????????◆?????????????????

  Octavia didn’t even realize she’d come up until she was nearly on her back, recoiling with such severity that her head almost hit the hardwood. Her heart pounded relentlessly, confused or otherwise, and she wasn’t ignorant to the lightheadedness that had followed her out. She struggled to catch breaths she didn’t know she’d lost. The hands that had so quickly pulled away from Miracle Agony trembled somewhat.

  It took her a moment to reacclimate to her dim surroundings, the context of weakly-shrouded moonbeams versus the open air of night settling in for her at last. Theo watched her far more calmly than she would’ve expected. She could’ve anticipated the same from Mixoly, who did echo an identical, wordless sentiment. Between the two, losing her composure in front of a ten-year-old boy was somewhat more embarrassing. She struggled to regain it as quickly as possible, stammering or otherwise.

  “W-What…was that? Did he die?” Octavia tried.

  Mixoly was far more tranquil by comparison. “What did you see?”

  She struggled to find words that would do the scene justice. They still weren’t enough. “That boy, his whole toll was fine until he met you! He went to pick you up, and it just…there were these bright flashes, and these awful noises, and then the whole thing just ended!”

  Mixoly was quiet for a moment. “I assure you, that is not where that child met his end.”

  “T-Then what the hell was that? It didn’t end?” she cried with shock.

  “I had warned you, Ambassador, that you were welcome to attempt if you so desired.”

  “That wasn’t the whole toll, then?” Octavia asked, her voice still shaking.

  It was Theo who shook his head on Mixoly’s behalf. It wasn't any more of a comfort.

  “I…can I try again?” Octavia half-pleaded.

  “If you truly wish to do so,” Mixoly said plainly.

  Octavia didn’t particularly dread the threat of an abrupt ending to the toll again, painless as it had been. It was far more frustrating than terrifying, a dissatisfaction that left her aching for completion. She took a deep breath. Without further hesitation, she narrowed her eyes, laying her hand a bit too firmly atop Miracle Agony once more.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  It was ironic, in a way, that she'd begged so many times over for an emergency route out of the most heinous tolls. Never had Octavia found an exit, pleading and screaming as she’d been time and time again. When one was finally thrust upon her, she hated it. It was infuriating. She started from the beginning. She’d never witnessed the same toll twice.

  At the very least, Octavia could breathe a sigh of relief watching her radiant stranger lead his life in happiness and sorrow alike, knowing for now that he’d be spared of a watery grave. He would surely perish someday--that much was true. It wasn’t as though she’d made it far enough to witness exactly how he’d succumb to death. She wished she could feel more joyous about the second chance to bask in his warmth by proxy. The aggravation eating away at her was overpowering, and she could hardly stand it.

  Part of her hunted for anything different, any facet of his toll that would change or shift in any capacity. It was identical. It was the exact same story, a life uprooted by cruel fate and desperately transplanted to a land so far off. There was no difference. It was the same pace, and the wait was just as frustrating.

  When Octavia did reach the threshold, when his feet did step into the ethereal plain beneath the moonlight yet again, Mixoly’s voice was just as soft and pleading. He was just as inquisitive and dauntless. His hands were just as curious as his eyes, and his hesitation was still absent. He still offered his aid where she begged for his attention.

  And, yet again, his stolen world cracked like a mirror before the Ambassador. It was an even more jarring sight the second time around, all she could see splintering and shattering beneath the pressure of blinding brilliance. It was intolerable still, a nova that blasted every pore of her body down to her soul with colors she’d come to both love and hate. Octavia could barely process them, for how quickly they beset her. The same could be said for the violent sounds that followed suit, drenched in suffering and crawling deep into her ears. It was the exact same spot. It was the exact same sensation.

  ◆????????????? ????????????◆????? ???????????????????◆????????

  This time, Octavia didn’t react quite as poorly. Her heart still hadn’t taken the sensory onslaught well, granted. Regardless, she was upright, her breath was well-secured, and she wasn’t shaking severely enough to compromise whatever questions she could pelt at Mixoly.

  “What is that?” she more so demanded this time around. “What’s going on?”

  Octavia could’ve sworn she heard Mixoly sigh. “You were warned, Ambassador, as I have stated. That toll is unlike those with which you are familiar. To bear witness to it in full is…no simple matter. Even I know not the solution.”

  She narrowed her eyes in frustration. “How does a toll even get like that? It cuts off at the same spot each time!”

  Mixoly didn’t answer. That was just as frustrating. Octavia pinched the bridge of her nose with an exasperated groan. The headache that was slowly forming wasn’t helping anything.

  “That boy,” she began sharply. “Who is he?”

  She sometimes wondered if Theo forgot she couldn’t understand him, for how quickly his hands moved. She sometimes wondered if he didn’t care, given Mixoly’s more-than-available assistance.

  “‘Lucian,’” the Muse interpreted.

  Octavia blinked. “Lucian?”

  He continued, his hands equally fast. Mixoly, thankfully, was the same. “‘Mixoly’s last Maestro. My brother.’”

  Octavia’s eyes widened. “He was…a Maestro, then?”

  Mixoly nodded. “This child followed in his wake. It was that boy who I once called my own.”

  Octavia, too, nodded once in understanding. “Did you two get along?”

  “I…do not know.”

  “I don’t understand what’s making it do that,” Octavia muttered. “You definitely need that toll witnessed to return to Above, right?”

  “Correct,” Mixoly answered.

  Octavia resisted the urge to pull her hair out. “Let me try again.”

  Theo’s eyes flickered towards the window, and he jabbed one thumb demonstratively at the rising moon. Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. She winced.

  “I-I’ll be back tomorrow--I mean, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she clarified quickly, already peeling herself off of the uncomfortable rug. “I might have to take tomorrow off to appease Stratos, but after that! This isn’t the end of this, okay?”

  Mixoly was calm in the midst of her hurried composure. “Do as you must, Ambassador. I…do hope you understand my plight, as of now.”

  Octavia rolled her eyes as she retied one of her boots. “I’m gonna figure it out, don’t you worry. We’ll sort through this stuff together, okay? We’ll get you home, I promise.”

  It was partially her fault for not giving Mixoly time to answer. The half-hearted wave she offered to Theo was largely an afterthought, for how she’d come to lament trodding casually in and out of his abode. Octavia was at least conscious of their gazes on her back as she darted out of the cottage, frantically calculating the possible hour in her head.

  Retracing her steps wouldn’t be hard at all, provided she could make it an ample distance from Theo’s cottage without any interlopers piecing the puzzle together. Octavia kicked herself for not at least checking if her path was clear from any given window before departure. She wouldn’t make the same mistake next time.

  It was a blessing that she didn’t run into Francisco again, and a greater blessing still that she ran into no one at all. Her re-entry to her own abode was unimpeded, much the same. For what part of her mind had kept her frantic return front and center, she still mentally replayed every aspect of the broken toll over and over. If it was a riddle to be solved, Octavia had absolutely no idea where to begin. Neither did Mixoly, apparently, and that was of no assistance, either. For now, brute force was the only option she could come up with, and the realization was infuriating.

  For the Ambassador to struggle with a single toll so deep into the throes of her responsibilities was humiliating. As always, it wasn’t as though she could seek outside assistance or advice, and that made her want to slam her head against a wall. Mixoly, with all of her accusations and gifted mysteries, was a puzzle in and of herself.