Harmony

The revelation of the city’s existence at all was the first shock to strike Octavia. The darkness was an immediate second. The sentiment was widespread and all-consuming, in almost that exact order of realizations specifically.

“It’s underground,” Viola breathed. “It was beneath our feet the whole time?”

“Do people actually live here?” Renato muttered. “It’s…so dark.”

The streetlamps, to their credit, at least tried. What humble luminosity they offered was somewhat sufficient, by which she could move without stumbling every several steps. It was still far too little to drape her in any true sense of safety, blighted by the dim atmosphere on all sides. If she closed her eyes and pressed forwards, Octavia wondered exactly how much light she’d genuinely lose. The Velrose Church was surely above, and yet her gaze thrown high left a sky obscured. There was no sky of which to speak, and she’d never envisioned a city with a ceiling.

The longer she considered their positioning with each and every step, the more unnerving the concept became. They, too, had trudged along the open streets of the Blessed City above without a care as to what lay below. If she were to shout, she wondered if those passing by in Velrose would hear. As it stood, to make noise in the darkness at all was a terrifying concept. From her cobblestone sky came only the faintest of golden glows, peeking shyly through the cracks and sparkling in the slightest. Her eyes clung to them desperately, the lamps already forsaken.

“They look like stars,” Madrigal mused, following Octavia’s gaze.

Harper did so in turn. “What are they?”

“Maybe it’s…sunlight,” Viola offered. “I’d assume the city has to get air somehow, or everyone in this place would suffocate.”

Octavia shuddered. The thought was as disgusting as it was true. What unnatural light had been neatly provided was solely ample, by which she could get by. It left much to be desired, and the concept of suffocating in eternal night was utterly horrifying. How anyone could choose to live in such a place was beyond her.

“W-We should get moving,” Octavia spoke quickly, readjusting Stradivaria’s case on her shoulders. “We’ll get in and out as soon as possible. I saw the church from the stairs. See how the road kinda slopes a little bit? I think we’ve just got to follow it down.”

“Agreed,” Renato added. “I’m gonna be real with you, this place is already weird.”

The path wasn’t necessarily steep, and yet it took effort to maintain a steady gait along the downward slope. Octavia was somewhat self-conscious of the way Stradivaria jostled with just a bit too much noise upon her shoulders, every step leaving her standing out. She could perhaps melt into the darkness, if she tried, and pray it would spare her from roaming eyes. The eyes she did find, scattered as they were, either hardly wandered or wandered far too much.

It was by no means a normal city, if first impressions were anything to go by. It had its familiarities, for what stalls and merchants she still observed speckled upon the roadsides. There were people. That was a given, although she kept her head down as much as was possible. The silence was awful, shattered in the most minute way by conversation that was much too quiet in the dark. She didn’t dare look at exactly what wares lay offered to those who would seek them out. Her eyes had already stolen more than she’d wanted to see.

Octavia was used to color. She was used to a lively atmosphere, let alone the warmth of companionship. There was no warmth to be found in this place, and the chills that had taken up permanent refuge along her spine were her consolation prize. She didn’t dare turn her head. She didn’t dare make eye contact, even as she heard whispers grow louder or questions become demands. They weren’t for her. If they were, she refused to check. For what conversations her ears occasionally caught, she wished she could remove them altogether.

Sonata had been cryptic, as could’ve been expected of the acolyte by now. Still, her warning was beginning to hold water. The city was as surreal as it was deeply unsettling. She cast her eyes forward, forgoing the urge to glance at signs of life. It was almost irresistible.

“Your locks are immaculate, girl.”

The voice from behind startled her viciously, and she nearly stumbled as her head jerked sharply to the right. It wasn’t meant for her, given the way the man’s eyes were on Madrigal alone. He was exceedingly unfamiliar, trailing parallel to her every footstep as their paces synced flawlessly. He was much too close, and still drawing yet nearer in the most subtle manner. Madrigal hastened. So did he, unfazed.

His false smile was as scathingly unnerving as the calm in his voice. “Where are you from? That’s no style from above. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Madrigal’s nervous laugh did little to redirect his attention, her own eyes locked firmly ahead as she clung to the fake sunshine on her lips. Even from here, Octavia could feel her discomfort. Her efforts to ignore were in vain all the same.

“Your hair is absolutely splendid,” he pressed, extending his fingers casually towards one plush bun upon the Maestra’s head. “Perhaps you’d part with it for the right price? You wouldn’t mind if I--”

He never made it that far, his hand struck by another in turn. Renato’s piercing glare was perhaps the only thing more intimidating than the darkness itself. “Step off, man. Take a hint. She doesn’t want anything you’ve got to offer,” he growled.

What false smile the man had donned fell instantly. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you, sir.”

Octavia’s heart was pounding viciously. Conflict was impossible at the moment. This place was far too unfamiliar. Confrontation was dangerous, and she battled the overpowering urge to run. She battled the equally-overpowering urge to beg them to do the same.

“Well, I’m definitely speaking to you,” Renato hissed, every word dripping with venom. “I said step off.”

The longer their eye contact went unbroken, the tighter the knot in Octavia’s stomach became. At no point did either halt in their tracks, nor did they slow. It was as much a mutual, wordless threat as it was self-defensive, for how one solid lunge could’ve easily closed their gap. She held her breath, stealing what little oxygen she could claim in such a place.

The man looked away first, although it was not without a fleeting glance upon them all. It hardly mattered that Harper flinched, given that his own narrowed eyes pierced the stranger right back. Octavia respected Viola’s efforts to emulate the same, albeit tinted with significantly more fear. She couldn’t find it in herself to contribute, frustratingly, and offered up only a desperate prayer for respite instead.

It took much too long to find it. The man tore his eyes from the Maestros a full eternity later, mumbling incoherently beneath his breath as his stride parted with their own. The moment he was out of sight, she could’ve collapsed in relief. She didn’t dare, lest it happen twice over. She was immensely grateful that Renato opted to stifle any parting hostilities, instead shuffling just the slightest bit closer to Madrigal.

“Thank you,” the Maestra whispered.

Renato’s light, reassuring touch upon her shoulder trailed her shaky words. He exhaled sharply. “Apparently this place is full of freaks. Let’s get this over with and get the hell out of here.”

Octavia didn’t disagree in the slightest. Once more, it was with a prayer for isolation in the dark that she threw her eyes firmly forwards.

She held her breath for so long that she was practically light-headed by the time the downward slope grew more severe. It never became intolerable, despite the length of time it took to traverse in full. Had she been running, she wondered if she might’ve stumbled instead. The singular miracle she’d uncovered in Velpyre thus far came in the form of simple orientation, by which the city offered a linear path that didn’t leave her lost in the dark. She didn’t dare imagine the consequences that could’ve followed, in that instance. The church was its own beacon, albeit devoid of the light of Heaven she would’ve begged for in a place so cursed by shadow.

True to Sonata’s words, there was no second bell. The church was smaller by a notable margin, although still lovely in its own way. A bell tower was irrelevant, for how it found splendor in ornate architecture and masterful glasswork she’d seen not so long ago. The brilliantly-crafted stained glass adorning the highest walls was scathingly familiar, and every bit as lovely as it had been in the Blessed City. The lack of true sunlight to illuminate every colorful shard was a tragedy, with only speckled pinpricks of creeping rays to atone.

The angelic imagery was nearly identical, and she still took comfort in its artisanal value. So, too, did she find a divine figure casting its arms down and its wings wide. The glassbound touch of the girl below grasped nothing, for how high her illustrated hands arose to meet her deity. It was the most notable similarity Octavia had yet found. Otherwise, the darkened city spoke to nothing similar of the one she’d begun to miss severely.

Viola had beaten her to the doors, foreboding or otherwise. It hardly mattered, and she assumed the sentiment to be collective by now. The Maestra was swift and unhesitant, particularly in comparison to Octavia’s wavering entry to the Velrose Church. Viola practically pounded against the wood with a knock far too sharp, her own urgency violently contagious. Etiquette be damned, Octavia had half a mind to burst into the church of her own accord. What lay within was uncertain, if not daunting in its own right. Still, she’d seen enough of the city at large. A church was a church. Sanctuary was sanctuary. It had to be better, somehow.

The doors creaking open were still unnerving, although for a different reason entirely versus Velrose. Octavia would be lucky if her circulation was still normal after today, given how her heart could hardly beat steadily anymore. She knew little of what to offer the clergy besides the blunt truth, should she need to jump to it so quickly. Should it be the acolyte herself, she wondered if she would know on sight. Given the light Sonata had cast her in, she was somewhat anxious as to encountering the latter.

She got neither. Instead, the boy she found was absolutely out of place in every way. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t dare classify him as part of the clergy. His attire was far too casual, and his demeanor just the same. His words were genuine, his voice untinted by the strain of grace. He was strikingly normal.

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked calmly.

“W-We’ve come to see the acolyte,” Viola spoke, her voice more than pressured. "We’re here on the orders of the Velrose Acolyte.”

He tensed, his once-peaceful gaze sharpening somewhat. Even with his shoulders stiff, his words were still just as level. “You…came all the way from above? For what?”

“We need to see the acolyte,” Octavia echoed quickly. “We need to talk to her.”

She watched anxiously as the boy’s palm settled flat against the door from within. For a moment, she feared he’d outright slam it in their faces, condemning them to the darkness of the city outside. To her unfathomable relief, he didn’t.

The boy exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re welcome to try. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, though, don’t be surprised.”

She hardly waited for him to open the door in full. The urge to sprint into the church was almost humiliating, and stifling it took more effort than she’d anticipated. At the very least, if the strain on the faces of those behind her was anything to go by, she wasn’t alone.

It was notably warmer within, although the chill of the open city had largely mingled with that which had poisoned her blood forever. Who to pray to in this house of worship was a mystery. She made a mental note to offer up everything she had, at some point, for the fact she’d made it here safely at all.

The interior was nearly identical to that of its holy companion above, right down to the plush carpet that cradled her anxious footsteps. There was another choir, somewhere, echoing distantly as it was. At its core, it was certainly a church, and she surmised there was at least a clergy to be found. She much preferred their far more humble guide, his hands comfortably settled into his pockets and his pace leisurely.

The manner by which they trailed him was nearly pathetic, coagulating in fear of the unknown. For what she now had of sanctuary, she was still in Velpyre. Her first impressions had been sour, and there existed more than enough time for yet more to pose a threat.

The chapel he guided them to with little urgency of his own was, too, startlingly familiar. In most ways, Sonata’s usage of the word “twin” was beginning to carry weight. Still, she was robbed of the flooding sunshine above--as expected, somewhat. The pipes were new, instead, and utterly breathtaking in stature. Along the furthest wall they rose, climbing high to scrape well past the ceiling above. The flickering candlelight failed them in every way, their golden gloss shamed by the pitiful luminescence of the room. They were as abundant as they were inexplicable. Standing on the tips of her toes afforded her little clarity, given that her peaceful guide was taller than her.

There was no stray clergy. In the lonesome chapel instead stood one occupant alone, clad in soft ivories and pale lilacs alike. They were unmoving, nor did they bare their face to those beyond. Octavia had suspicions, if the thick material draping the stranger spoke to anything of its counterpart. She feared making assumptions.

“Lady Acolyte.”

His voice was no longer soft, instead well-projected and crystal clear. His hands, once nestled away casually, now found themselves clasped firmly behind his back. Her calm guide’s face was just as calm as his eyes, even devoid of an answer. He didn’t falter. At the very least, he claimed the shadow-clad stranger’s attention, and their eyes met at last.

The boy dropped to one knee upon the soft carpet below, bowing his head solemnly. “I’ve brought guests,” he spoke just as clearly, even with eyes cast to the floor alone.

He was immediately irrelevant. The instrument to which his absent visage gave way left Octavia nearly starstruck. She followed the pipes low, crawling along their shimmer to the resplendent mahogany resting beneath. The intricate patterns that lay settled into the hardwood were as masterful as they were precious. Every key, pristinely graced with the faintest reflections of humble candlelight, stole what radiance it could from a room far too plain by comparison. Each row of ivory and ebony alike was immaculate, and, collectively, the organ was immensely beautiful. If this was “Valkyrie’s twin”, it was a splendid compensation prize for the journey she’d taken to witness it. She couldn’t stop staring.

“What do they want?”

The voice she found jerked her back to reality, equal parts sharp and quiet as it was. Every step their robed stranger took forward was muffled by the interloping maroon underfoot. The attire was, physically, of striking resemblance. The splash of color, delicate or otherwise, was a small discrepancy by comparison. Octavia’s guess grew stronger by the moment, and her heart pounded where she knew it shouldn’t.

Her tranquil guide’s gaze still stuck to the floor. “They seek an audience with the divine acolyte. Your guidance and wisdom are a blessing upon us all.”

Only now did his voice waver in the slightest. It spoke to something more than fear, although Octavia couldn’t pin down exactly what. She eyed him warily.

Once more, he was of least concern. The girl who drew near was imposing in her own right. Folded hands settled neatly before her robes and foreboding eyes came to rest on the boy’s kneeling visage alone. She couldn’t have been more than Sonata’s age, her slight lack of graceful presence by comparison notwithstanding. She carried something separately powerful, indescribable in its own way. This time around, Octavia’s mouth was dry for a different reason entirely. The girl’s shoulders rose and fell with the softest of breaths.

“Leave us, then,” she answered firmly, each word nearly monotone in origin.

“And yet I cannot,” the boy argued, shaking his head. “I, too, could only hope to bask in the glow of the everlasting acolyte. What knowledge she will impart unto us today is known only to chance.”

Octavia could’ve sworn, for the briefest moment, that the corner of the girl’s mouth twitched slightly. “I command you to begone, boy.”

“I refuse. I will see this through to the end, my acolyte. My brave, strong, powerful acolyte. My wonderful, divine, perfect, flawless acolyte.”

The girl bit her lip. “No, seriously, get out,” she spoke bluntly.

He made a show of counting on his fingers. “My incredible, amazing, merciful--”

“You are embarrassing me,” the girl hissed in a whisper, not immune to a sneaking smile.

“--shining, glorious, immaculate, valiant--”

“Get off the floor.”

“--radiant, that’s a good word, I like that one--”

“Get off the floor.”

“You would deny this knight of the acolyte his deliverance, then?” he finally asked, raising his head with an undeniable smirk of his own.

“Get off the floor,” she ordered through gritted teeth, her shoulders notably shaking.

“Then perhaps a knight is in need of assistance from his magnificent acolyte. This kind of hurts my knees.”

“You deserved it.”

“Help.”

One hand rushed to her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle a laugh. “No,” she answered plainly.

It was with immense confusion that Octavia watched the boy stagger to his feet, brushing the lint from his pants with a playful roll of his eyes. “It does actually hurt, you know.”

“You deserved it,” the girl repeated, not bothering to conceal her blatant smile.

The boy took his place at her side, stuffing one hand into his pocket as he gestured to the girl with the other. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you our beloved acolyte. I serve as her loyal knight.”

Madrigal tilted her head. “Acolytes have knights?”

The acolyte in question scoffed, outright slapping the boy’s hand away with just a hint too much force. “Shut up. You’re so stupid. You’re not my knight.”

“I could become one, if you’d let me,” he joked with much the same smirk, side-eyeing her teasingly.

She laughed in earnest. It was a wonderful sound, albeit in extreme contrast with her stoic first impression. Octavia, too, couldn’t help but smile.

It took the acolyte a moment to collect herself, finding one deep breath to show for it. Her smile slipped, somewhat, although traces notably remained. With hands folded before her once more, she bowed her head. Then and only then was Octavia reminded of Sonata’s grace.

“Selena Ebony. Acolyte of the Velpyre Church,” the girl offered plainly.

Octavia vaguely remembered Sonata’s introduction being slightly longer. Still, the second half of her words had slipped her mind. She wondered the degree to which the acolytes’ circumstances differed overall, their cities of residence so violently different as they were.

“So there’s…Ivory up in Velrose, and you’re Ebony down here,” Harper noted aloud. “Are the two families related?”

What was left of the acolyte's smile slowly slipped off her face. “No, they’re not.”

“What, I don’t get an introduction?” the boy at her side whispered harshly.

Again, the acolyte bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle another newborn creeping smile. “You can introduce yourself. I’m not going to do it for you,” she whispered back.

“I’m asking nicely.”

“No!”

“Really nicely.”

“Oh my God, please be normal.”

His smirk was for her. By comparison, his smile was for them. He offered a simple wave, lazy as it was. “I’m Josiah. Selena and I are partners in crime.”

“Please don’t say it like that,” the acolyte begged, rolling her own eyes in turn. “He’s my best friend, and he’s an idiot. Ignore everything that leaves his mouth.”

“I’m her favorite idiot, so it’s fine.”

“Josiah, I swear to God,” she hissed under her breath. He only snickered.

Octavia preferred her casual demeanor, in truth. It wasn’t that she disliked Sonata in any capacity. Still, her first impressions of the Velpyre Acolyte were far less stiff and imposing. The degree to which she felt her own muscles relax was a testament to comfort in a place she figured she’d find none. It was the first warmth she’d found in Velpyre at all.

“You’re…Maestros, correct?” the acolyte asked, her tone slipping into something mildly more formal. “The clergy mentioned that a group of Maestros came into the city today.”

Octavia nodded. Josiah crossed his arms. “Honestly, I never thought I’d see other Maestros down here. There’s a lot of you guys, too.”

“Wait.”

The acolyte cut him off, tapping one finger against the air repeatedly as she passed over each of them in turn. She did so twice, raising an eyebrow at last as her eyes flickered to the boy at her side.

“I thought they said six,” she murmured.

“You’re sure it wasn’t five?”

“I mean, I really thought they said six.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “Six Maestros?”

“There’s definitely only five here,” Josiah insisted, gesturing to the present Maestros accordingly.

Selena fell silent for a moment before shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m really tired. Ignore me,” she offered.

“Have there ever been any other Maestros down here?” Octavia blurted out. It wasn’t what they were here for. She quite literally couldn’t help it.

With zero hesitation, Selena shook her head once more. “Never. Only the acolytes of the church.”

It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. Octavia hadn’t been necessarily expecting a “yes”, given the way by which Velpyre was tucked away deep in the darkness. In retrospect, she was grateful that Priscilla had never set foot in this place. It took exactly one weight off her shoulders.

She sighed deeply. “I’m Octavia. This is Viola, Madrigal, Harper, and Renato,” she spoke, gesturing to each Maestro in turn. “We wanted to…talk for a bit.”

“About what?” Selena asked, her playful smile long gone. The blank expression painting her face was simultaneously unnerving and far more expected of an acolyte. Octavia fought to choose her words carefully, fidgeting uncomfortably. Viola took her place, the Maestra’s words equally as slow and delicate.

“We were…sent down here at the request of the Velrose Acolyte. We don’t know the…full details, but she asked us to act as messengers.”

The way by which Selena’s eyes slowly sharpened into something dangerous was not lost on Octavia. “Messengers of what?” she asked again, her tone sharper in tandem.

To Octavia’s immense surprise, it was Madrigal who was the most blunt of all--calm or otherwise. “The acolyte says you’re not doing your job properly. She says you’re not dealing with the darkness and protecting the people you’re supposed to.”

The Velpyre Acolyte scowled, her fingers curling into fists. “Oh, she did, did she? What would she know? How does what I do concern her in any way?”

“W-We don’t know,” Harper quickly interjected, shaking his head. “We’re just messengers. She says the Dissonance isn’t being dealt with effectively down here.”

“She’s never even been down here!” Selena spat. “Yet she would have the nerve to look down on me? Through the words of others? She can’t even be bothered to say it to my face?”

Octavia waved her hands defensively. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help? With the Dissonance?”

“There is no helping this place!” the acolyte growled. “And here I thought there’d be a good reason for Maestros showing up down here. Did you all seriously make that whole journey just to berate me?”

Her venom was striking. Octavia struggled to search for a single sentence of any flavor. She came up with nothing.

“She said she couldn’t make it down here herself,” Viola tried, her voice wavering somewhat. “Otherwise, I bet she would’ve said all this to you directly.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Selena snapped. “I can tell you that with complete certainty. She wouldn’t have said a word to my face. That’s the kind of coward she is.”

Octavia wasn’t certain exactly why Selena’s ire towards the Velrose Acolyte irked her so much. It was enough to sneak under her skin. “She’s not a coward.”

“Then you know nothing about her,” Selena answered coldly. “And you know nothing about me. Leave.”

Octavia blinked. “Selena--”

“Leave!”

Her volume and harsh tone startled Octavia. She never got the chance to protest, given the boy who moved faster to her side than words could rise to her lips.

“We’ll talk outside. Leave her be for now,” he urged, gently grabbing her wrist. “Please.”

The entire exchange had occurred so quickly that Octavia didn’t dare object. She stumbled somewhat as he ushered her out of the chapel, the others close behind and radiating discomfort of their own. She threw one final look over her shoulder at the acolyte, motionless and meeting Octavia’s passing glance with bubbling poison. Every footstep fell under her steel scrutiny, and Octavia shuddered beneath her gaze. This was more akin to the Velpyre Church experience she’d expected. She winced at the thought.

Josiah gave her respite from the acolyte’s venomous glare, pulling the chapel doors shut behind him with an ominous creak. Up until she was out of view, Selena never once budged, nor tore her eyes away from the place in which Octavia’s every hesitant step had fallen moments before. Only once the Maestros were severed from her fuming rage in full did Josiah exhale sharply, letting his head fall against the door with a bit too forceful of an exasperated thud. He closed his eyes, embracing silence for several loaded seconds.

“You want to talk that badly?” he finally offered coolly. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

He didn’t live in the city, apparently. To Octavia’s surprise, it was not one of the many poorly-illuminated houses she’d seen on the way in that he’d led them to. In reality, it hadn’t been a long walk at all, consisting of only several sharp turns down halls that echoed much too severely. Why anyone would actively choose to live in the church was beyond her, and yet he seemed more than comfortable. He wasn’t part of the clergy, and he’d formally confirmed it for her at last. Still, per his words, he held merit. He was respected enough. He hadn’t exactly explained why, and the stiff circumstances had somewhat deterred her from pressing.

Why he’d have a window in a place shrouded in eternal night was, initially, inexplicable. Every steady tap that audibly speckled the glass pane was eventually enough to pique her curiosity. Parted curtains explained almost nothing. Really, it left Velpyre even more confusing.

“It’s…raining,” she observed aloud, her voice immediately soaked in much the same befuddlement. The increasing volume of raindrops pounding against the roof above was a secondary confirmation, and she briefly strained her eyes high beyond the glass. There were no clouds of which to speak. If anything, it was even darker.

Renato and Harper peeked over her head, trailing her own eyes as streams of spilled rain cascaded gently down the main road. Sloped as the city was, it was somewhat unnerving to watch the sizable puddles swelling around the church’s perimeter. The concept of the building flooding was horrifying, for the thought that came with it of drowning in the dark.

Josiah read her mind, somehow. “We have a drainage system. We’re used to it.”

Viola’s own eyes drifted to the window from afar. “How does it rain in a place like this?” she asked.

“Comes from above,” Josiah answered plainly. “When it rains above, the water falls through the cracks into Velpyre. It rains down here, too. We share that.”

Octavia tore her eyes away from the window, surrendering her observation spot to those who continued to watch. “I have a…lot of questions about this place,” she murmured.

“Ready whenever you are,” Josiah offered with a shrug. “Ask whatever you need to.”

Just as he had done, Octavia forewent true seating in favor of the carpet below. She crossed her legs comfortably, struggling to organize her thoughts in order of priority. They were all pressing in their own ways, ultimately, and choosing one at a time was a challenge.

“What’s it like to live down here? Why would someone choose this?”

It was a bad one to start with, given how rudely it came out. She winced immediately.

If Josiah took any offense to her words, he didn’t show it. “Everywhere is someone’s home. This is mine, I suppose. It could definitely be better.”

“Do you live alone down here? What about your family?”

He shook his head. “They left. I stayed.”

Octavia hesitated for a moment before pressing him further. “Why?”

Josiah leaned back onto his palms with a sigh. “When you’re born, you roll the dice on your lot in life. Some people end up rich, some end up poor, and some end up here. When people end up here, their priority is getting the hell out. No one can blame them. I don’t fault my family. I’m the one who chose to stay, anyway.”

“What made you stay here?” Viola added.

His faint smile was still noticeable. “Selena and I grew up together. We ended up pretty close. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her behind when the time came. After a pretty heated argument with my parents, I ended up staying.”

“You’re childhood friends,” Madrigal mused. “That’s lovely.”

“And the church gave you a place to stay?” Octavia continued.

Josiah nodded. “You could say that. We had an agreement.”

He paused for longer than she’d expected. Just as Octavia made to press him, he continued quietly of his own accord.

“Please don’t fault Selena. She really is trying her best,” he spoke, his tone solemn. “You’re not the first ones who’ve criticized her.”

Octavia winced. “We’re sorry. Like we said, we’re just messengers. I don’t really understand this whole situation. I want to, though.”

Josiah closed his eyes. “You all seem like good people. You’re genuine. We don’t get a lot of that here.”

Viola folded her hands in her lap. “What do you mean?”

“I’m willing to bet that you guys didn’t get here without any trouble.”

When he cracked an eye open to survey their faces, he apparently found his answer. Viola cleared her throat. He smirked.

“People around here do whatever they want. In the dark, no one can stop you. No one cares enough to stop you. It’s our punishment for being below.”

“So that lifestyle is…normal,” Viola concluded.

Josiah nodded. “This whole place is made of nothing but malice. Anything goes. Violence, corruption, everything you could imagine. No one can stop any of it. However bad you think it is during the day, it gets infinitely worse at night.”

By now, his words had become more enticing than the rain. Still, for the attention he had in full, the silence between each sentence still benefited from the downpour’s relentlessly-rhythmic interruption. Octavia fidgeted slightly.

“I have a question,” Octavia began, knowing full well she’d already asked quite a number more. “You keep…saying ‘above’ and ‘below’ when you talk about Velrose and Velpyre. Why not just call them by their names?”

“Local custom, honestly. You’ll hear it in both cities often enough, if they ever feel like talking about us up there at all. Above. Below. Blossom. Flame. All of it.”

Madrigal tilted her head. “Blossom and…flame?”

Josiah flicked one finger towards the ceiling, then back down to the floor. “Blossom. Flame,” he repeated respectively.

She recognized the words. It took her a moment, and her eyes widened when it clicked.

“The…poem,” Octavia murmured. “Sonata’s story.”

Her revelation was contagious, her surprise even more so. “The blossom and the flame,” Viola spoke incredulously. “Velrose and…Velpyre?”

“I already forgot the whole poem, honestly,” Renato admitted with a weak sigh.

“You guys know it? I can tell it again, if you want,” Josiah offered. “It’s common knowledge down here. Everyone knows it by heart.”

“Please do,” Viola requested. Josiah nodded in turn.

“Blessed is the blossom warmed by the flame,” he spoke plainly, every word somewhat more natural than was normal. “Gifted is the flame born to warm the blossom. One thrives in the embrace of the other, eternal together. Should the flame cease to flicker, so, too, does the blossom wilt. There is no worth to a flame that does not warm. The blossom thrives as the flame burns on, in harmony and peace alike.”

“So the…blossom and flame refer to Velrose and Velpyre, then?” Harper asked.

Josiah was silent for a moment before responding, his tone somewhat strained. “You could interpret it that way, yes.”

It took time for the puzzle pieces to settle cleanly into place, and more than one attempt on Octavia’s part. When it clicked, it did so bitterly. She initially believed she’d misinterpreted, given how unsettling of a tone she’d found. The knowing look on his face left little other alternative. She didn’t appreciate the singular beat that her heart missed.

“That’s…wow,” Renato offered bluntly.

“The cities depend on one another?” Madrigal finally asked.

“This whole thing sounds kinda…hostile towards Velpyre, doesn’t it?” Harper added.

“Very,” Josiah replied, his voice still just as strained. “Above, they see us as the ones that ruin everything. They’re not completely wrong. They go out of their way to hide us from the rest of the world, and they treat us like scum. Frankly, this place is mostly scum. It’s an endless cycle.”

He paused for a moment. “And below, it’s more of the same. When someone looks down on you for so long, it’s only natural to hate them right back, isn’t it? One hell of a symbiotic relationship we’ve got going on.”

Any sentiments Octavia could scrape together to comfort the boy would be weak at best and downright false at worst. She didn’t try, and she was somewhat grateful that every other Maestro forewent the same. She let the endless rain roaring above do the talking in her place, clinging to the discomfort that came with burning silence.

“I won’t leave her,” he stated firmly. “No matter how bad things get, I won’t leave her alone here. She’s my best friend. If she can’t leave, then I don’t want to go, either.”

“She can’t leave?” Harper murmured. “Like…ever?”

“I think that’s what Sonata said, too,” Viola added sadly. “She can’t leave the city at all.”

Josiah nodded. “It’s the exact same for Selena. She can never leave here, even if she wants to. As the acolyte, she’s duty-bound to stay in Velpyre for her entire life.”

“That’s awful,” Octavia blurted out once more. Just as before, it was still possibly an insult to Josiah’s home. She kicked herself for the same reflexive mistake twice over.

Nonetheless, he agreed. “She hates it here, and I don’t blame her. She can’t keep the Dissonance at bay if there’s so much more than she can handle. As strong as Seraphim is, it won’t help. One Maestra can only do so much.”

“Seraphim?” Viola interrupted.

“Seraphim’s Call,” Josiah clarified. “It’s the twin Harmonial Instrument of the one up above. It’s damn powerful, but it’s not enough. More and more Dissonance shows up here every day. Even when she does her best, it doesn’t change a thing. In the past few months, it’s even been slipping out when people go up above.”

“The train,” Harper spoke suddenly. “The Dissonant man. Was he from Velpyre?”

The implications of Dissonance spreading like a disease were absolutely nauseating. Recalling their experience on the train did her zero favors. “Do people just…leave and come back?” she asked nervously.

“Yeah. It’s difficult, though. To actually get anywhere else in the world, you’d need both a passport for Velpyre and a passport for Velrose. Getting either one isn’t easy. Honestly, I’m amazed you guys made it this far. There’s absolutely no way you’re from Velrose.”

Octavia smiled softly. “Silver Ridge, Coda, and Minuevera. And, uh…”

She side-eyed Renato. She’d never bothered to ask. He grinned.

“Selbright. Way off in the west.”

Josiah gave him a smile of his own. “You’re kidding. That’s where my family ended up.”

Renato tipped his hat playfully. “Small world.”

“Are Maestros…respected down here?” Harper interrupted. “In Velrose, everyone seemed to love us.”

Josiah paused for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. Like I said, we’ve never actually had Maestros down here before besides the acolyte. I’d advise against telling anyone, though.”

Octavia blinked. “Wouldn’t it make it easier to get around without hostility if people knew? I mean, if there was a chance they’d respect us?”

“It would only make it harder for Selena,” he answered coolly. “Please, don’t. Trust me.”

His tone told her she shouldn’t pry. She couldn’t help it. “Why?”

He sighed heavily. “Selena does her best. There’s no one who’ll recognize that. There is no ‘respect’ for the acolyte below like there is up above. She’s…blamed for everything. That’s all they do to her.”

Josiah’s eyes met hers, and the slightest tint of a plea that stung her carved its way down into her soul. “If they see other Maestros, they’ll only compare her to you. It’ll get worse. It can’t get any worse for her.”

There was thunder, now, distant as it was. She was amazed she could hear it down here at all. If lightning were to strike in the Blessed City, some part of her wondered if she’d witness the brilliant flash of light seeping down below. For how Josiah had illustrated the Cursed City as Hell itself, its direct wrath perhaps wouldn’t be entirely unwarranted. Octavia no longer felt nearly as guilty about her chronic disparaging of Velpyre at large. It was the acolyte alone that her thoughts wandered to more than anything, and the offer was almost instinctive.

“Josiah,” Octavia spoke slowly, “is there anything we can do to help? With any of this?”

For a moment, the boy fell silent, casting his own eyes beyond the rain-blighted glass and into the soaked street. After several seconds, he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.

“You can help me get her the hell out of here.”