Something so beautiful and pure was never meant to harm. It was awful to even think about. It was even worse to actually take part in weaponizing such splendor. Every time she had to do it, her heart broke just a little bit more. Sometimes, the violence was justified, in self-defense or for the desperate protection of those who needed it most. This was absolutely not one of those times. She and River weren’t even that different in the first place. It was a cause Madrigal could hardly get behind.

  It had to be done. Octavia needed her. It was, technically, for someone who very much required a helping hand to be liberated. That, in particular, was her obligation. In conjunction, it was a mission she didn’t dare shy away from.

  There was no point in running, not for how he stood his ground much the same as her. Gifted with an Apex as he was, Madrigal was well aware the Willful boy wouldn’t go down without giving her everything he had. He, too, fought for someone else’s sake. It was as admirable as it was frustrating, his drive a catalyst for the flames that sought to wrap her up and incinerate her heart. They, as well, were beautiful. She wondered what his Apex thought of his decisions, exploited by his fluid and fiery song in return for a promise of nothing. The thought alone burned more than any chords that could ever singe her skin.

  “I kinda thought you of all people would understand him,” Francisco called above his blazing melody, still blasting down onto her even now. “You guys share the same legacy! You’ve been through the same stuff! You’ve both made the same sacrifices! Does that not mean anything to you?”

  Madrigal shook her head, never once stilling her fingers as they flew across the strings. “I know how he feels! I don’t want to stop being a Maestra, either! This is all I’ve ever wanted! I really, really do understand how much he’s hurting!”

  “He thinks he has a purpose!” Francisco clarified somewhat. “He says he was born for this! Whether or not I agree with him doesn’t matter. If that’s what he really believes, what the hell kind of person am I to take that away?”

  He played fast. It was as impressive as it was deadly, braced against the ground with his fingers flicking skillfully over every string. The writhing fires that licked his fingertips cursed Madrigal in the worst way, spiraling and bursting in gorgeous excess that was equal parts disorienting and lethal. To beat it back was a waste, her own sandals digging firmly into the dirt as she played. It was all she could do to keep up with him, if even that much.

  Where Francisco strummed, she struggled to pluck faster than him. Her gales didn’t hesitate, even if Madrigal herself hadn’t fully accepted the concept of combat with a friend. It was a war she could only see from one end, the flickering edges of his surging inferno repulsed by the winds she fought to match him with. For how his relentless flames seemed to almost still at the very center of the gap between them, scorching the innocent grass below into a slowly-blackening mess, Madrigal had a reprieve. It was far from enough. She didn’t dare slow her fingers one bit.

  “I was born to do this, too!” Madrigal cried. “Lyra gave me everything I needed to become the person I’ve always wanted to be! I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her! Thinking about it hurts more than anything in the world, but I know she has to go home!”

  She couldn’t afford to expend too much energy on sorrow, even for how the thought stung her heart to dredge up. Should she falter, she’d surely burn alive, given the tidal wave of fiery wrath that would descend upon her instantly. When he pushed, she pushed right back with everything she had. She was used to playing quickly, somewhat, given what it took to weave such rapid gusts in excess. Sustaining them was far trickier, and Francisco clearly lacked her folly. Where one ember fizzled and died, dozens more took its place, scarlets shimmering along the wavering mirage his impossible heat left behind. Madrigal had to commit. Wind was irreplaceable, meant to drift and gust evermore. It took time she didn’t have.

  “I knew this was gonna happen the minute he found out!” Francisco growled. “I just didn’t think you’d have it the whole time! You don’t even use it! Talk about adding insult to injury, good God! That’s one way to break his heart!”

  “Lyra is not an ‘it!'” Madrigal hissed. “I don’t ‘use’ her! I love her! Is that how you feel about your partner?”

  It was almost a relief when Francisco shook his head, even if her greater concern was the scorching fury born of his song. Even as he spoke, the cascading flames that challenged her streaming gales only seemed to press harder despite her best efforts. The force behind them was downright terrifying, for how intangible they appeared. Every stray ember that drifted past her steady stream was hot enough even from a distance to sting her with ominous warmth, an unsettling radiance that kissed her skin from far too great a ways away. As to what it would do up close, she couldn’t begin to imagine.

  “He’s absolutely my partner, and nothing’s gonna change that! Use your gift or don’t, I don’t care, but you sure as hell take what you have for granted!” he bit back. “‘Love’ isn’t all they’re capable of, you know!”

  That, in particular, stung. Madrigal narrowed her eyes. “I know exactly what she’s capable of!”

  Even above the roar of her desperate tempest and the rage of his ruthless flames, Francisco's calm voice was clear, firm, and threatening.

  “Prove it.”

  Madrigal blinked. It wasn’t enough to shake her, and yet the way her fingers tensed around every string was a reflex. “What?”

  It wasn’t quite a grin so much as an empty smirk, devoid of any true joy or enthusiasm. It gave her chills in stark contrast to the blazing heat that radiated from afar. “I’ve never gone all-out against another Apex before. If you’re so sure your bond is that perfect, show me what you’ve got.”

  Madrigal’s eyes widened. “B-But--”

  Francisco’s ceaseless song was her only answer, for how his surging flames sought to incinerate her hurried words. In her panic, surprised as she was, it was almost a struggle to play ever faster, dragging her fingertips harder along every string as she sought to beat him back.

  Madrigal never got the chance to argue, let alone to question him. What left his mouth, low and sharp as it was, wasn't meant for her. Only his eyes, honed to a razor’s edge and ablaze in their own right, pierced her soul instead. For how many times she’d felt such specific adrenaline tint her body in equal measure, she knew it anywhere by sight alone.

  “Your turn.”

  Where he burned before, he now gave her Hell.

  Every gorgeous, flickering flame she’d battled to repel surged and swelled nearly thrice the strength of what it had been. Unrelenting scarlets and oranges were under perfect control beneath skilled fingers. Francisco was perfect, his flowing melodies captivating and agonizingly dangerous all at once. If she'd had to strain to match his energy before, then it was an impossible challenge to hold him off with winds that only fueled his fiery tides.

  Madrigal outright yelped at the burst of hot air that blasted forth with the advent of his song, exploding almost painfully against her skin in a rush she could hardly blunt. Francisco was a wildfire of his own accord, his rapid movements nowhere to be physically seen as his fingers buried themselves deep in blazing chords. Her own song was by no means slow. Her stormy harmonies rippled with such fervor that every ember had no choice but to kiss the ground at her sides. Even so, he was gaining on her. It was terrifying.

  Francisco didn’t speak, content to stare her down ruthlessly as he worked towards incinerating her in earnest. As to whether or not he truly intended to kill her, Madrigal doubted it. Still, that thought, too, was horrifying, and there was little his legacy could do to intimidate alone. If she faltered now, there was a very real chance she would be severely injured--if not outright burned to a crisp. Her heart pounded and her fingers flew. For how much fiercer his song had become, every note sharpened to a spearing point and besieging her with remorseless heat, her current plan to stand her ground was quickly eroding.

  There was an extremely simple solution. She could offer up her hands.

  With it would come her eyes, her heart, and her blood, blurred and shared in a way that made her soul buzz and her body light. What warmth would consume her in every way would ease her fears instantly, and she would be more than able to put up a fight. It was what Francisco wanted, ultimately. For Madrigal, it would be a reflex. Love itself was a reflex.

  She was hesitating. It was the first time, and she couldn’t pinpoint why.

  Even given the sweat she could feel prickling her brow, swirling flames pressing close enough to singe the oxygen she struggled to claim, she couldn’t do it. Madrigal could play, granted, desperately clinging to whatever cool sensations her gusts could offer up as relief. She did what she could to double down, bracing herself hard against the earth as she fought to keep her balance.

  The force of the storm she offered up was as vicious as it was painful, every string of Lyra’s Repose snagging against her fingertips with each frantic strum. That was irrelevant, given the alternative of near-certain death. Francisco was silent. Their aggressive melodies, lovely and violent all the same, filled the gap. As to whether it was truly Francisco’s own fingers birthing flame after flame with every flick and strum of the guitar’s strings, she doubted it.

  Please be careful, my child. You face the Apex of Will.

  Madrigal was well aware, appreciative of Lyra’s help as she was. “I know!” she audibly called above her raging storm.

  I am here for you. I can lend you my strength.

  Madrigal winced. It was such a simple answer. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to give. She gritted her teeth and sliced her thoughts in half--partially to survival and partially to Lyra. For how closely Francisco's firestorm surged upon her, an unstoppable inferno that cursed her with a sea of beautiful scarlet and orange ire, repulsion was no longer an option. He set the very air ablaze, and the oxygen she desperately searched for was more or less incinerated. Gasping was useless. She grew more concerned by the moment that she might suffocate rather than burn alive. Still, even robbed of her breath and her words, there was a different drive that came with shunning Lyra's aid.

  I won’t!

  What is it?

  Madrigal resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, for how the swelling luminosity of Francisco's fire threatened her pupils as it pressed forth. I want to do this on my own! I don’t want to rely on you!

  You are in danger, my child. Please, I am here!

  Even now, it was a reflex. Madrigal had to fight to swallow her words, shaking her head in a silent and desperate measure instead. No one else has an Apex! No one else is able to do that! That’s not fair!

  Madrigal--

  I won’t have you forever!

  It ached terribly to consider. It was still just as true.

  I won’t have you forever! she repeated within, her heart crying out on her behalf. I don’t want to rely on you! Just this once, please watch me! Please believe in me! Please believe that…I can do it!

  In reality, she was struggling to figure out what “it” was. Her options were all but nonexistent, her forward winds all but useless to resist Francisco’s scorching assault. Her thoughts raced, and she combed through every option she could think of to stand up to his legacy.

  I will always believe in you, my Magical Madrigal.

  That, if nothing else, was all Madrigal needed to douse the panic in her heart. It raced in a different way.

  What that left her with instead was a desperate scramble for something, anything to compensate for a tempest that couldn’t keep the firestorm of an Apex at bay. She racked her brain to the best of her ability. For how quickly Octavia had put her in this position, of everyone she could’ve been stacked up against, there had to be a rationale. The Ambassador wasn’t the type to make decisions without reason. Madrigal took a deep breath--as deep as she could, given the ever-shrinking reserve of oxygen untainted by hellish heat. It seared the inside of her lungs in a way that was more so alarming than painful, stealing what calm she fought to gather.

  Madrigal tensed. Maybe she could steal from him right back.

  It was a horrifying gamble to drop her guard for even a fraction of a second. Harper’s flames were by no means weak, and Madrigal knew him to be an incredibly skilled Maestro. Even so, the fluid hands and piercing eyes stolen by the Apex of Will were on an entirely different level. To unwillingly capture Francisco’s infernal tide as it battled to drown her would be a much different challenge than controlling the graciously-gifted embers of Royal Orleans. She had to try.

  With a prayer and a silent plea for luck, Madrigal poured her heart into every speedy note that erupted from Lyra’s Repose. Keeping up with Francisco wouldn’t be enough anymore. Each strum across the strings sent her once-pressing gusts spiraling instead, lashing and splitting with such fervor that she briefly feared losing control. Commanding them in full, abundant as they were, was a trial by fire--literally.

  For each bursting blaze he blasted her with, fast and relentless, Madrigal strained her fingers and muscles in equal measure to envelop every last ember in her swirling streams. There was, under no circumstances, any way she could handle absolutely everything he could put out if she hoped to stay on the offensive. She couldn’t let him assault her with anything else.

  Nonetheless, she had it, wild and borderline uncontrollable as it was. Madrigal's own rushing gales didn’t help matters one bit, breathing new life into the flickering embers that scorched the innocent air in passing. There was something almost sacred about holding fast to the will of fire, so wonderfully born of an Apex’s power. She’d return it with both grace and gratitude. In finding the drive to move forward, she’d perhaps stolen some of that will for herself, too.

  Darting almost headfirst into his raging, swimming flames was a terror all its own, for how she could still feel Francisco’s fatal song wrapping her up on either side. To halt her own stormy melody would undoubtedly mean death. All that stood between her and utter incineration was the smoldering squalls she’d brought along with her, a variable shield that soaked up yet more sizzling scarlet even now.

  Madrigal was sweating fiercely, and not from the scalding atmosphere alone. She was diving into the sun, hardly conscious of the way her sandals beat against the scorched earth as she made for him without mercy. Opening her mouth, given the stray embers both her own and not that stung her tongue, was a poor idea. She was well aware. She couldn’t help it. More than Octavia, there was someone else who needed her help.

  “You, who’ve been tethered to this realm amongst the forces of darkness!” Madrigal cried, gritting her teeth against the burn in her throat.

  Of the Willful Muse who surely claimed Francisco’s entire being even now, Madrigal prayed he could hear her call. She was no Ambassador. She was a heroine, and that was the closest she was going to get. Within reach of his vessel, still weaving harmonies of flaring fires that raged openly before her eyes, she had exactly one idea as to how to make it stop. She could undo the damage later, if she really felt bad enough about it. Given what Francisco was putting his partner through--and River’s, by proxy--she wasn’t sure she would.

  “I am your liberator!”

  It was with incredible care that Madrigal sent exactly two of his stolen flames, broiling beneath the tender care of her gusts, lashing forwards towards the strings of the guitar. Her aim was his fingers alone, or perhaps the hands nearly drowning in flames that erupted with every strum. Francisco was careful. He wasn’t invulnerable. For as cautious as she tried to be, even the kidnapped fires of the Apex that rode her streaming gales weren't quite submissive enough to completely follow her melodic guidance.

  Madrigal was somewhat glad that Francisco had sleeves. She doubted his jacket was enough to fully spare him the damage that came with explosive flames spiraling and winding around his arms. Even as she fought to reel them in as soon as possible, they still darted rapidly up to at least his shoulders before she could steal them back.

  Her accidental assault was enough to draw forth a sharp cry somewhere between shock and agony, fleeting and hurried as the moment had been. It was more than enough to not only soften his eyes, blunting the razor-edged gaze she knew too well, but to send him recoiling entirely. Francisco’s hands rushing to his stinging arms was surely instinctive, and the guitar falling gracelessly to the annihilated grass below with a thud left Madrigal’s eyes wide. For how his infernal ocean no longer surged and pulsed, parting and fizzling with a force equally as eruptive as its birth, the rush of cool air that settled onto Madrigal’s skin was an incredible relief. It would’ve been cooler, maybe, had she not still clung to what remained of his fiery wrath.

  It took effort to kick the guitar out of his reach while still maintaining her song, her focus largely on the flames she circulated even now. He hadn’t recovered, his shoulders heaving from the shock of his fleeting burns unseen. For how he’d done his best to pin her down, she had all she needed to give Francisco exactly the same right back. With swift flicks of her wrist that brought her curled fingers dragging along the strings, her stolen flames descended upon him relentlessly.

  Madrigal refused to let him move, sending every flickering gust of raging reds and oranges swirling about Francisco’s body from his head to his toes. One by one, every strum built her infernal prison further, ensnaring the Willful boy in a fiery vortex as gorgeous as it was unfathomably scorching. She knew she wouldn’t burn him. She was getting used to the feeling of the Apex’s flames beneath her fingertips by proxy. It didn’t mean Francisco had the slightest semblance of power to resist her, for how wide his own eyes had become as he recognized his predicament.

  Madrigal didn’t dare lose her focus, given the multiple consequences that would ensue if she did. Still, her eyes flickered back and forth between the guitar several feet away and the boy trapped in her hastily-crafted firestorm. She didn’t have the leeway to look over her shoulder. She’d have to be loud, particularly given the volume of her searing song.

  “Octavia, now’s your chance!” Madrigal shouted to the best of her ability.

  “Don’t move!” she heard.

  Madrigal hadn’t planned to by any means. If it was an order from her fearless leader, she would make doubly sure not to change a thing. In the time it took her to pick up the sound of frantic footsteps flying across what was left of rustling grass, she had the opportunity to conjure a smile.

  Did you watch me?

  Of course.

  I told you I could do it!

  I should not have doubted you. You have my apologies, my child.

  Madrigal couldn’t fight the way her smile exploded into something brighter, perhaps enough to challenge the flames she sent swirling and spinning still. Love from afar felt just as good as love from within. She wondered if it would stay that way.

  There was absolutely no chance that she could take them all on at once, let alone by herself. Octavia knew almost nothing of the Ensemble’s ability to work in conjunction with one another--although she assumed they would've been startlingly competent. If their individual performances in Velpyre had been indicative of anything, she was aggressively fearful of what would happen should they fight side by side. Three Apexes in tandem, in particular, would be a nightmare to confront simultaneously. This was the only feasible option, if she was going to make this work.

  Her first issue was trust, and that was hardly a problem--she knew all four Maestros in her circle to be spectacularly skilled and strong. If any Maestros were resourceful enough to outmatch Apexes, it would be them. The second issue, far more pressing, was patience. Timing came third, somewhat. They had their responsibilities, silently assigned as they’d been. She had hers. She always had hers.

  “He’s unarmed,” Octavia recognized breathlessly.

  “What’s your plan?”

  She didn’t need to keep Stradivaria in position, technically. She trusted them to take the target off her back. “We’re probably going to have to do this one by one! We can’t let any of them get to River, even after their Muses have been guided!”

  It was almost laughable that Josiah had brought a simple knife to a harmonic battle of legacies unleashed. Still, it was readied and firmly gripped as he sprinted at her side. “Are you gonna be able to guide them if their Maestros aren’t willing to give them up?”

  Octavia didn’t particularly enjoy the thought. It wasn’t something she could afford to entertain. “I don’t know! I don’t have a choice but to try!”

  “Then do whatever you have to do,” he reassured. “I’ll back you up however I can!”

  For whatever that meant as the odd one out in their little war, Octavia was comforted by his words all the same. With the darkened sky as her witness, she followed the lovely flames that Madrigal had so elegantly swept up and stolen from the boy trapped deep within their flickering fury. Josiah trailed her every footstep, and she clung tightly to either end of Stradivaria as her boots pounded against the earth again and again.

  “There’s no friggin’ point in me begging you anymore, is there?” Francisco snapped, somewhat breathless himself within his scorching prison. For what little cool air surely remained within, Octavia couldn’t particularly fault him. She almost thought to tell Madrigal to cease her song. That would have to wait.

  Crouching low, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this! I don’t want to hurt River, really! I care about him, too!”

  Francisco narrowed his eyes, his gaze somewhat buried by the hazy mirage blighting the air before him. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t be doing this! It’s not too late to change your mind, you know!”

  Octavia didn’t have the opportunity to entertain his words, sharp as they were. Given what the other three Maestros at her back were currently dealing with, she needed to be quick.

  I know you’re in there.

  It was enough. The only thing more vividly striking than the reds and oranges that swirled about Francisco was the Apex of Will sparkling brightly on high. Luminescent and gloriously scarlet beneath the graying clouds gathered above, he was the sun that had been obscured. By comparison to his Maestro, he was calm as he addressed the Ambassador, his voice level and firm.

  “I stand impressed. This one has proven herself before the will of fire. You have chosen your allies well, Ambassador,” Kalist complimented.

  Octavia wasn’t immune to the gentle smile that crossed Madrigal’s face at his praise. Still, Madrigal herself didn’t seem fully satisfied, and it evaporated quickly. “Why did you help him when he called for you? Couldn’t you just say no?”

  The Muse shook his head. “My apologies, child. Detest me if you will, but I must be sure that those who guard the Ambassador have the strength to do so.”

  Madrigal’s eyes widened. “You were testing me?”

  He nodded. “Your spirit is admirable, and your will is just as such.”

  She beamed.

  Octavia found his explanation far less endearing. Her task took priority. “I’m sending you back,” she said firmly. It was an explicit statement, and she declined to ask for his permission instead. “Get ready.”

  Kalist nodded yet again. He gave her what she needed, and that much was a relief. His faceless gaze flickered to Francisco in passing, ensnared in Madrigal’s fiery storm as he continued to be. It was almost amusing that he declined to comment, for how his own prowess had been stolen and misused.

  “Francisco Lyri, your toll has been paid once over,” he spoke. “Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”

  Francisco gritted his teeth. “Don’t do this!”

  Octavia winced as she lowered her fingers over the body of the guitar. “I’m sorry!”

  There was nothing more she could say to him. It had to happen. He was too stubborn. He was the first of four, and Octavia would at least give them the solace of her attention in the dark. She was running out of opportunities to plummet. She wouldn’t miss it much.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Like so many tolls she’d found in Tacell, she didn’t recognize her stranger one bit.

  He looked nothing like Francisco, really, from what she found in passing. Mirrors, glistening waters, and every reflective surface in between gifted her with what was essentially nothing. For where she was and who she was witnessing, it hardly mattered what she would find within. Her attention was largely a byproduct of respect alone. Francisco was absent, and she subsequently concluded her stranger to be unrelated to the Willful boy.

  The man’s life was unremarkable, for the most part, tumultuous as it was. He didn’t marry, he hardly loved, and his decisions were questionable at best. At worst, he was possibly loathsome. Octavia didn’t enjoy the shoes she wore. She didn’t enjoy the hands that inflicted violence upon others so carelessly over petty disputes. She didn’t enjoy the obscenities and hostilities that spilled from her stolen lips in earnest towards those who least deserved it. He had his upsides. His downsides were far more prominent.

  She recognized Selbright, a recurring backdrop in the tolls she’d witnessed as of late. One toll alone, burned into her mind forever out of sheer repetition, had carved at least a solid portion of the city into her bloodstream. It was one of many specific things she had to thank Lucian for, departed as he was. Of the places she ventured to in her borrowed body, she knew most by proxy. Some had still gone unseen, and more still she would’ve preferred to stay that way.

  For how large the city was, it wasn’t shocking that it possessed its unsavory sides. The actual sight of the debauchery that ensued behind certain closed doors reminded her of Velpyre at its peak--what of it she’d been forced to experience thousands of times over. How her stranger had even found such circles was beyond her. He was still just as abrasive and inhospitable through every step of his existence.

  Octavia had zero investment in this arrogant man’s life, nor could she bring herself to feel especially bad about its inevitable termination. Beneath the sparse light of the moon above, staggering and potentially inebriated as he returned from company she’d prefer not to recall, his behavior was once again unsurprising. Throughout the course of her stolen life, she’d considered rescinding her offer to bear witness to Francisco’s toll with honor befitting all he’d done for her. How he’d ended up with such an awful toll in the first place was beyond her.

  How he’d ended up in it was significantly more unsettling. How all four of them did, ultimately, was even more astonishing.

  The stark contrast between her repulsive stranger and the striking eyes she’d once adored in the same scenario was surreal. For the three that flanked River in a toll that wasn’t even his, Octavia struggled to process his presence at all. The Ensemble had been practically cut out of the peace of Tacell and splashed unceremoniously onto the page of a far darker story. It didn’t suit them, nor did they deserve to be there.

  Francisco, for the guitar he held so confidently in his steady hands, was perhaps the most odd of all as he approached her--borrowed as her existence was. Octavia resented the threats and obscenities that flew his way, wishing with all her heart that she could bite a tongue that didn’t belong to her. Ultimately, her stranger never once laid a finger on the Willful boy, met largely with sharp eyes that sliced him to shreds and silently challenged his words.

  Even in memories that weren’t her own, Francisco’s explosive flames were still just as vibrant and gorgeous as they burst from every strum. In the depths of a toll, his fingers wove to life mesmerizing embers that flickered and erupted into the air of the night. They were perfect. His song was flawless and fluid, every bit as powerful as Octavia knew him to be. He was every bit as lethal as she'd assumed, too, for how her stranger’s entire life remorselessly went up in flames.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  When she came up, she didn’t move. She could hardly think straight. Her head spun as she struggled to process the implications of his toll, let alone make sense of it. With her fingers still over the guitar, she mentally replayed it again and again. Francisco hadn’t so much as known the man--at least, not from what Octavia had observed. His presence at all was nonsensical. She raised her eyes to the boy slowly, still enveloped in Madrigal’s scorching tempest as he was.

  “What…was that?” Octavia asked hesitantly.

  She watched the way his shoulders rose and fell the slightest bit faster. He was silent.

  “Francisco, what was that?” she snapped.

  “What did you see?” Josiah asked instead, far calmer by comparison.

  “Not everyone gets lucky with tolls, Ambassador.”

  His words burned her to her core. In contrast, Octavia's blood froze. “What?”

  Francisco hesitated. “You make it sound so easy to send them back to Above, and you keep forgetting there’s a price to pay. Not everyone gets to cross that bridge so easily.”

  Her hands were shaking, too. “Y-You--”

  “For all we put into Tacell, there was a lot that we had to do for the Ambassador.”

  “Francisco, you--”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Octavia’s heart nearly stopped. Madrigal, occupied as she was, could only offer her the briefest of concerned glances. Josiah, by comparison, seemed far more invested.

  “Octavia, what happened?” he pressed urgently.

  “You killed him,” she stated to the Willful boy, her voice trembling.

  Josiah’s eyes widened. “He what?”

  “Did…all of you?” Octavia murmured.

  When Francisco’s face fell utterly blank, she had her answer. Her soul shattered to pieces. For as savage as blood on the hands of each one of them was, the thought of River as a murderer was tearing her to shreds. She couldn’t breathe.

  “You all committed murder to pay your tolls?” Josiah shouted in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “This is what it takes to send them back!” Francisco argued. “Some people lose their families! Some people lose their friends! That’s great for them! Not everyone has that luxury! This is how committed we were! Octavia wouldn’t even be able to do this if it weren’t for--”

  “If you guys went that far for this,” Josiah argued right back, “then why the hell is River putting up such a fight? Why would he go out of his way to pay a toll for a guidance he’d never let happen?”

  Francisco didn’t answer for a moment. “Because he didn’t want us to have to do it alone!”

  Octavia wanted to vomit. It was so like him, in the most twisted way imaginable.

  She couldn’t take anymore. Her fingers dove downwards once more, and she hardly raised her head. It was all she could do to squeeze words out of her throat, for how it had nearly sealed shut.

  “I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart,” she spoke, far softer than she would’ve preferred.

  The shimmering scarlets that flickered and fizzled like dying stars in the open air should’ve been resplendent and captivating as always. Of an Apex, in particular, Octavia should’ve been enthralled. He deserved respect, and she struggled to give it to him. Given the way her stomach churned and her heart cracked like glass, she could barely muster the strength to see his passage through. His words were hardly audible for ears that had long since filled with rushing blood, gracious as they were.

  “You are a fine Ambassador surrounded by equally fine allies,” Kalist praised. “I have no doubt you will see your task through to the end. You have my gratitude.”

  Octavia didn’t want his gratitude. She didn’t want anyone’s gratitude, and not solely because it was poisonous. All she wanted was every bloodstained Harmonial Instrument out of the hands of the Ensemble immediately. All she wanted was for this to end as soon as possible.

  Francisco watched with a strained expression and balled fists at his sides as Octavia stole his partner away, still crouched on the ground as she was. Powerless to intervene even now, it was all that could be done. Madrigal’s ceaseless song was Octavia’s only comfort, and her strumming was far preferable to that of the guitar that slowly dissipated beneath her trembling touch. Waiting for the process to end was torture.

  The moment she met no resistance, the second the cloudy sky had surrendered the sparkling scarlets it had been gifted, she was on her feet again. It took her a moment to catch her breath. “M-Madrigal, don’t let him get to River,” she ordered shakily.

  She watched Madrigal nod, even as her flaming song began to slow. “I won’t let you down, Ambassador!”

  Francisco didn’t argue or object, content to stare her down with disdain and ire. She loathed it. She refused to give him the same back, her stomach still twisted into knots.

  “Josiah,” Octavia said simply.

  “Let’s go,” he offered back.

  With one dive into the darkness alone, an already-difficult trial born of resistance had suddenly been splashed with malice. Octavia didn’t have the heart to watch. As with so many things, she didn’t have a choice.

  There was never a need to question almost a single choice Octavia made. She could’ve picked any of them, and it would’ve made sense. It would’ve been doable, it would’ve been interesting, and it would’ve been simple--if not easy, then at least exceedingly enjoyable. There was almost something exciting about trying to pin down her rationale. At the moment, that left fighting to figure out exactly what had led her to match them together. Maybe it was as simple as it looked. It was his fault for telling her to use him however she pleased, once. There was an obligation that came on the back half of that pledge, if he remembered correctly. Renato didn’t hate it one bit.

  It seemed straightforward, if nothing else. It wasn’t much different than Velpyre, if the same situation in Velpyre had been significantly more abundant and shockingly more crystalline. It wasn’t that Viola’s ice was weak by any means, and he respected it. Whatever Briar’s song was coagulating, by comparison, was on another level entirely. It wasn’t faltering under a single blow. That was new. He said as much.

  “I’m seriously impressed!” Renato called. “This stuff’s strong as hell!”

  His praise was utterly lost on Briar, aggravated as he was. “You don’t need to be doing this!”

  Renato bristled somewhat, an opportunity for camaraderie clearly lost. “We do, apparently! You guys don’t need to be putting up such a damn fight!”

  It wasn’t tall, but it was incredibly thick. Opaque as it was, every angle of the barrier Briar had crafted was--visually--impenetrable. Really, nothing was, with the right amount of effort. Renato sprinted, throwing himself downwards onto his hands as he tumbled several times over. With a push off of the earth below, he was briefly airborne, and it was enough. He brought his wrists down hard in tandem, the full weight of the strength of sound crashing into Briar’s ice with a boom.

  It barely cracked. Renato raised an eyebrow.

  The one crack he did manage to make didn’t last, the soft notes of a cello deep within the glacier serving to seal what was broken. Shimmering beneath the dim sunlight the obscured sky had afforded them, the creeping frost that filled the gap undid Renato’s feeble progress in an instant. Renato tapped a drumstick against his thigh rhythmically. He was starting to see Octavia’s point. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, the more he thought about it. Everything could be broken. An Apex meant nothing. He tried again.

  He gathered significantly more distance this time around, opting for the same tactic of channeling all of the forward momentum he could piece together. Again he went up, and again he came down hard. The explosive burst rippled through his blood in the best way as it collided with pure crystal once more, and he poured as much effort as he could into drawing it out. It was a larger splinter, granted, branching in yet more directions than before. Briar didn’t play quite as quickly as Octavia did. He hardly needed to, and the moderate pace of his song sufficed to erase the damage in seconds.

  Renato gave him an experimental moment of peace. When he got nothing in return, well aware of the boy patiently awaiting his assault opposite the barrier, he tilted his head with a knowing grin.

  “Oh, you think you’re smart, huh?” he teased.

  “Please, just stop! Leave him alone! If this is what he wants, just let him have this!” Briar pleaded unseen.

  His words were irrelevant. Renato cracked his neck. A war of attrition was the absolute worst possible choice Briar could’ve made.

  He had half a mind to wonder exactly how many times Briar had seen actual combat, let alone how many times the Soulful boy had encountered the true strength of sound in full. Either way, he would experience both firsthand today, and Renato resolved to ensure that much. If this was the game Briar wanted to play, he’d entertain it--although an actual fight would’ve been far more fun.

  What he’d gathered so far from his tiny handful of experimental attacks was fairly sparse. Briar had the continuous leisure of a slower song, more than likely self-assured in his stamina. His ice was incredibly fortified and rapidly repaired to its full glory with every tender, simply-woven note. He sincerely had the audacity to think he could outlast Renato, taking the route of patience and protection over actual offense. One of those was far more insulting than the others. All three in conjunction would be very, very interesting to dismantle.

  If he was committed to fixing what was broken, there was always the option of outmatching him in speed. How fast Briar could play, when pressed to his limits, was debatable. Logically, it would be simple for Renato to force his hand and find out. He took several steps backwards, inhaled sharply, and threw everything he had down onto the earth once more.

  Forwards, sideways, again and again, he pooled his momentum as much as was possible with every skillful tumble. It was with a strangled cry of effort that he pushed hard off the grass below, finding the ample height he’d hoped to work with. It wasn’t necessarily the best he could do, compared to what was truly at his fingertips--should he desire it. It was enough to give Mistral Asunder a head start.

  It took effort to withstand the blows that erupted from the tips of either drumstick each time. Renato was thankful every day that he’d long since learned to live with the recoil. Already, his assault was explosive, intolerable and disorienting as it collided with a sharp ringing sound against perfect crystal. It cracked once more. For what soft, clean notes he was already hearing, he wouldn’t let it heal. He had no room to scrape together more helpful velocity, given the window that was sure to close in the time he could try. That left him relying on pure strength alone. To be fair, he wasn’t too bad at that, either.

  Renato focused his efforts on the same compromised splinter of shimmering, glassy ice time and time again, beating upon it relentlessly with all that the strength of sound had to offer. Boom after boom after boom sent shockwaves erupting into the crevice, steadily widening with every blow. Like a delta, it splintered ever further, crawling and climbing along the length of Briar’s crystalline barrier. He was making progress, that was for sure. Briar at his best truly didn’t play as fast as Octavia, and Renato had now formally confirmed that much. He still played concerningly quickly when he felt like it.

  There was pushback, then, in the way Renato fought to keep his freshly-blessed weak point in the wake of Briar’s hurried attempts to undo his devastation. His frosted melody was hasty and effective as it sought to fill the widening crevice, not quite compromised enough to give way in full. Renato clicked his tongue in irritation. If one wasn’t enough, he’d give Briar more to handle.

  For how the Soulful boy was already occupied, there was still no leeway to count on his momentum. Renato’s strength would have to suffice for the foreseeable future if this was the strategy he intended to use. In that case, he swore to make full use of what he had to work with. His concentration fell adjacent to his existing handiwork as he unleashed a hailstorm of bursts upon shining crystal once more. In truth, the resounding ringing that resulted beneath every explosive blow was pleasing enough that he didn’t particularly mind it. Given how long it had taken him to get used to the ridiculous volume of every blast, this would’ve been a preferable starting point.

  True to his initial assumption, Briar stayed solely on the defensive. Part of him wondered if Briar knew how to handle the strength of sound at all, given the lack of legacy representation in the Ensemble. The simple idea of a Maestro with an Apex, of all things, being afraid of him in any capacity was enough to give Renato chills. It felt good.

  Where he’d sought Briar’s divided attention, he did, in fact, get it. Unfortunately, as he quickly learned, the Maestro was excellent at multitasking. Every crack and crevice that Renato had peppered the glistening glacier with in excess was coagulating at the behest of Briar’s ceaseless harmonies, flawlessly painted over with creeping frost. There was something mildly disheartening about seeing his hard work go to waste with only a few distant notes. More than anything, it was incredibly annoying. Renato groaned loudly.

  “Man, you’re really not makin’ this easy for me, are you?” he complained.

  Briar wasn’t having it. “Just leave River alone and we won’t have to do this!”

  Renato rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m really not a fan of how that guy talks to my girl. Wish I could say I feel worse!”

  “You don’t know him like we do!”

  “Clearly!” he called back, more than annoyed.

  Futile as he knew the effort to be, he launched the same assault once more--dispersed, clean, and painstakingly explosive. Renato put enough force behind each blow that his wrists were outright straining, his muscles taut from withstanding the recoil he typically embraced. To stay largely still and grounded in the wake of the bursts went against what his body was used to, for how hard he’d fought to adjust it to every conceivable attack.

  Each and every time, his efforts were in vain, and the crevices he birthed again and again were aggravatingly rewarded with yet more frustrating frost. At least once, his muscle memory kicked in--a slip-up he realized too late. His window of opportunity to keep each splinter across the crystalline barrier under fire closed against his will. It was a reflex to embrace the repulsive burst that sent him backwards, coming down hard shortly after with a boom still too late to seize the chance yet again.

  He lost any semblance of a splinter that would last. If he squinted, in its place, he could find a dent instead. It wasn’t immediately obvious. It didn’t regenerate even slightly as fast, for the new icy protection Briar was forced to weave in its place. It was nowhere near as easy as simply filling a gap.

  Renato grinned. Maybe the fun option would work, after all.

  It was a work in progress, somewhat. He’d only figured it out recently, although he was fairly certain he had it pretty much mastered at this point. It was still riddled with caveats and dangers that could easily leave him severely injured, if not outright kill him. He could always break his neck, or perhaps shatter every last bone in his body. He could end up dead in any number of far more gruesome ways. It was most definitely unsafe. It was extremely enjoyable, and, therefore, Renato did not care.

  He didn’t bother with carefully-paced steps in reverse anymore, nor did he chase the traditional route of physically channeling momentum through tumbling and inverting. Mistral Asunder was a far better compromise. The only inversions he opted for were those that followed the boom he unleashed immediately behind him. Sending the strength of sound bursting against the air itself, the recoil did much of the work for him, provided he balanced himself accordingly. What that left was himself on a demonically-fast collision course with a nearly-impenetrable glacier that would, probably, injure him horrifically at this speed. Renato wouldn’t let it.

  It had, admittedly, taken practice to perfect the “stopping” part, and it now worked marvelously. With two more careful inversions, quick as they needed to be, Mistral Asunder was before him instead. Even if neither drumstick made direct contact with Briar’s ice, it was more than close enough. Another boom, by comparison, was destructive and relentless towards something tangible. The velocity he’d carried with him all the way there erupted in full. Where he’d once sought to beat it down with simple splinters, the substantially-sizable dent that besieged the crystalline barrier instead was far more gratifying.

  Briar played. He didn’t get far, no matter how fast he went--and he was definitely going fast. Even at his most frantic, he was hard-pressed to match Octavia, and Renato could now attribute that in part to his instrument. The ice he fought to repair, seeking to undo Renato’s destruction, definitely regenerated quicker by comparison. In terms of thickness, Renato knew it would still take significant effort to completely break through. Once wouldn’t be enough. It was a wonderful excuse.

  He didn’t mind the way the wind kissed his face with every burst, nor the rush of air that streamed along his skin almost constantly. Sometimes, he was borderline airborne, content to crash down into the ice like a meteor. There was no margin for error, every boom and the subsequent uncontrollable speed that followed a recipe for disaster if he lost his focus. He traded what concentration he could ever need for muscle memory, exchanging what fear he was meant to cling to for the high he couldn’t resist.

  Every dent, larger and larger still, was satisfyingly productive, and Renato knew he had the advantage. It was much less notable than the way his blood was on fire and adrenaline was scorching his veins. For how serious the situation was, for how easily this method of fighting could seriously harm him, he knew he shouldn’t be smiling this hard. He couldn’t help it.

  Briar was shouting something to him, although it was difficult to make out over the sound of each boom at such a close range. To his surprise, the Soulful boy had outright given up on attempting to fix what had been broken. Instead, born anew in front of Renato was yet another barrier of perfectly-pure crystal. Its cold aura just barely grazed his skin at such a close range, rising yet higher above his head. It was every bit as visually sturdy and every bit as resplendent, beautifully tinted with much the same hint of blue. If Briar hadn’t realized Renato wouldn’t burn out by now, then he was perhaps even denser than his own ice.

  If Briar was going to impede him from the front, then, Renato would simply hit him somewhere he couldn’t reach. The three quick tumbles he allowed himself on the grass were in stark contrast to the speed he’d relished moments ago, slower in every way as he threw himself downwards. He knew he’d have his rush back soon. All it would take was one gentle tap of either drumstick against the innocent earth. He was almost sorry for the blistering crater it left in its wake, a bang immediately below his hands that sent sod flying in almost every direction. It wasn’t as though he’d be down there long enough to deal with it. He went up.

  And with an inversion that came naturally, the recoil still claiming his body, he sought more of the same. With another tap upon the open air, the burst that exploded beneath him shot him ever higher. Really, there was no limit, so long as he had oxygen. He’d never actually had the chance to try. He beat against the sky again and again and again, boom after boom after boom sending him sailing eternally higher.

  There was no fear in looking down, even for how distant Briar was becoming. Already, Renato could see the sparkle that came with crystal, newly-born once more and capturing what pitiful light peeked through the thick clouds. Briar knew what he was doing. Now, it was even more of a challenge.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  “I am really putting you guys to work today, huh?” Renato teased aloud, even as the rising atmosphere threatened to thin his breath.

  You are being reckless.

  And prideful.

  And ignorant.

  And rash.

  “Hey, I’m pretty sure two of those meant the same thing.”

  Higher.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  This is exceedingly dangerous.

  Do you not fear death?

  Renato scoffed, but not without a grin he couldn’t control. “God, you two have zero faith in me. Watch and learn, okay?”

  Higher.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  The manner by which you do battle leaves much to be desired.

  It is questionable.

  You would do well to temper your…creativity.

  Your methods are ridiculous.

  He could’ve gone higher, in truth. Ultimately, any more and he would’ve risked losing Briar from his sights. He still had to aim. For how far up he’d risen, it would be a secondary challenge. That was a plus. With Mistral Asunder aloft once more, he began his beautiful submission to gravity. For the life of him, Renato would never be able to wipe his grin off his face if he tried.

  “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘unconventional!’” he cried with a laugh.

  And the process in reverse was differentiated only by speed. Rather than higher, he was faster, faster, faster with every boom that sent him hurtling downwards. The wind that brutally besieged his skin was almost painful, the pressure of his impossibly-quick descent enough to nearly steal the breath from his lungs. Renato's heart raced fiercely, his blood surging with adrenaline he couldn’t hope to restrain. His soul buzzed with a high he didn’t bother containing. The strength of sound in his hands was phenomenal in every way. It felt good. It felt good. It felt good. It felt so, so, so good. It was absolutely criminal for it to feel this good.

  Giving this up was going to suck.

  He was a comet spiraling to earth without mercy, setting a collision course with pure crystal that Briar couldn't possibly hope to withstand. If Octavia’s attention was somewhere else at the moment, he was about to claim it by force--involuntarily, really. Renato's velocity was so vivid that even he couldn't estimate the incoming damage. With his bloodstream aflame, crying out was just as much of a reflex as the inversions that came with the downward swing of his wrists.

  What followed was definitely the loudest boom he'd ever coaxed Mistral Asunder into producing, a prideful feat that shattered every last ounce of Briar’s once-impenetrable barrier to helpless pieces. It did so gracelessly. Jagged shards of useless frost scattered and speared deep into the earth with such force that they surely would’ve posed a hazard to anyone who stood too close. The recoil that hit Renato in return was fiercer than anything he’d ever experienced, enough to send him back up another twenty feet or so. That didn’t hurt. It felt good, too.

  At the very least, high above as he was, he had a clear view of the chaos. Of personal concern, mostly, was the way Briar practically bordered on consciousness. He’d ended up flat on his back and unceremoniously divorced from the cello resting no less than ten feet away from his body. For a brief moment, Renato wondered if he was dead. It was a vague relief when he stirred, regardless of how the Soulful boy was completely and utterly unable to stand. Renato hoped he hadn’t broken anything--ironically.

  If he squinted, he could see Octavia. On the cusp of gravity’s pull as he was, she’d see him soon enough. He didn’t especially want her to lose the chance he’d gone well out of his way to give her, even if a rematch would’ve been an absolute blast. Renato doubted Briar would even slightly have the capacity to fight back after this. It took effort to raise his voice enough to travel to the ground again.

  “Get his ass, Octavia!” Renato shouted.

  For the way she sprinted in Briar’s direction, Josiah trailing close behind her, it was enough. By the time he made it down again, casual and unhurried as the descent was, his fearless leader was already hard at work. Renato felt almost bad for not contributing more, content to spin one drumstick between his fingers comfortably instead as he watched her do what she did best.

  “I regret that it has come to this, Ambassador,” the cerulean Muse apologized, bowing his head in remorse. “Know that I, as are we all, am grateful for your assistance.”

  “It’s fine,” Octavia interrupted hurriedly, her hands already stilled over the cello. “Are you ready?”

  Parsephii nodded. It hardly mattered that his Maestro was substantially incapacitated, given how he continued anyway.

  “Briar Ariano, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”

  “Please, don’t,” Briar begged weakly, just barely capable of raising one hand in a desperate plea. “If not me, then at least leave River alone.”

  Octavia hesitated. Her fingertips brushed against the body of the instrument, and it was over as fast as always. It was probably insensitive of Renato to be curious as to exactly what went on during the process every time. He couldn’t help it.

  The Ambassador's face drained of color as she turned to Josiah. “I-It’s the same thing! He…he did it, too!”

  Josiah, in turn, went blank. His eyes flickered to Briar with notably more frustration, silent as the gesture was. Renato tensed.

  “What, uh, what’s going on?” he asked, his ceaseless grin finally beginning to falter.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Octavia answered far too quickly.

  Renato raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like her to shut him out that way. Still, he didn’t press, content to watch as her fingers dove downwards once more.

  “I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart!” she practically cried, her voice shaking somewhat.

  Renato had, at least, grown fond of the way every Muse left. It was a little light show he could get behind, and the Apex of Soul was no different. Every speck of azure that peppered the chilled air on his way out, tainted as it still was from the aftermath of Renato’s devastation, was a sight for sore eyes. His own followed the gorgeous display with satisfaction. It was a solid compensation prize, for what effort it had taken to bless the sky with liberated cerulean.

  “Keep him here!” Octavia shouted in her wake, already on her feet once more. A simple gesture towards Briar, tethered to the earth even now, was all she left behind.

  Cryptic as her words were, Renato found amusement in the way he had to call after her as they ran. “He’s not exactly going anywhere anytime soon!”

  He half-expected Briar to protest, to fix him with more words of reproach for forsaking River. Instead, the silence he got was equally peaceful and pitiful, the boy’s eyes more than enough to match. Renato knew he should’ve felt bad. Still, for all that River had said to Madrigal, it wasn’t enough to wipe away his irritation in full.

  To be fair, he could empathize with River in his own way. For more reasons than one, surrendering the strength of sound was going to burn. In the meantime, he still relished the residual high that buzzed in his blood. He desperately needed to be the Ambassador’s soldier way more often.