Theo took what she had. Mixoly didn't object, although he wondered if she could've in the first place. [♪]

Once more did his breath spark and his blood burst, gleaming rays woven of a silent song left hurtling forth. He spared no energy and offered no mercy, his soundless melody alight with brilliance that crashed to the ground again and again. He wasn't missing by any means. He never missed, sharpened eyes filling in where another sense failed.

Evasion was a different issue entirely, and each spearing sunbeam that carved a path to the boy burned only his shadow. He was strikingly fast, his fingers more so. Where Theo could feel his touch rapidly stinging every key in sequence, foreign hands kept up with his own. That was one concern, useless as the accordion's voice was. The wind was his second problem.

He first thought the spontaneous gust to be born of a strong night's breeze, harsh or otherwise. The tranquil grass spanning the length of their gap bowed deep, nearly flattened by the sudden storm that blasted forth along the clearing. It was immense, a gushing pressure that tangled with his hair and swept across his skin. It wasn't enough to make him stagger. It got close.

Theo fought for his balance. The boy stilled in tandem. Even now, he was shouting something. That part didn't matter, and Theo took the opportunity to level his breathing. He's like me, he said within, more of a statement than a question.

That boy shares a bond much the same as ours, Mixoly clarified.

He had what he needed. Again, he was steady, his fingers tense enough to nearly ache. Is the accordion like you, too?

She was quiet for a moment. There is no other like me.

Theo seized what brief window of surprise he was offered, by which the boy's defenses faltered in place of peace. It was a futile effort on his part, and he was once more left to contend with the erupting sun in the dead of night. Raging golds put the stars above to shame, infinitely brighter and undoubtedly hotter. His luminous song left ray after ray of the stolen sun bursting outwards. There was little wind could do to counter his ruthless radiance, and yet the gales that stung him from beyond were shockingly sharp.

In just the slightest, razors snuck into every rushing stream, slashing at his hands. Theo winced, gritting his teeth as he played regardless. He could believe it to be a warning, maybe, given the tethered skill his stranger was rapidly unraveling. How violent wind could truly be was debatable. Theo had suspicions. If the boy was holding back, he'd burn brighter.

Where the boy made to dodge his sailing light, Theo was hard-pressed to dodge wind itself. He tried anyway, never stilling his song as he mirrored every step. It left him nearly circling opposite the boy, a deadly spiral born of gusts and glows alike. It took time to close the gap, even if only slightly. Not once had the boy approached, content only to beat upon him with streaming gales from afar. Theo opted for the opposite, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that screamed for restraint.

From a distance, he could shower the boy with starlight. Up close, he could bring the fury of a rupturing sun. Already, his breath was at work, and he embraced whatever white-hot burn in his lungs was possible to withstand. The strain on the boy's face as Theo tore through their feeble gap was palpable. Radiance spilled from his lips, ablaze on every note as his explosive song burned just the same.

Theo could hardly stand to look at it, and yet he didn't dare close his eyes. The blinding flash of brilliance born of his breath was enough to make the boy flinch. Violet served him well, for once, the eternal veil dulling the vestiges of the flare. It wasn't enough to spare his opponent, eyes squeezed shut for a moment too long. A burst meant to blind pooled with fire instead, pulsing and gleaming as he pumped his shimmering blood into the night. From so near, his personal star could incinerate, maybe. It was as beautiful as it was deadly, and it splintered without grace.

The remorseless breaths that shattered his compressed brilliance left white-hot afterimages, golden embers splattering the sky where the stars fell short. It was the closest to a nova he'd get, a dying star unleashed unto a blessed boy. In the immediate aftermath, Theo wondered if he'd killed him--or, at the very least, severely wounded him. He was lucky he hadn't wounded himself beyond the handful of splashing embers that stung his hands. He was far more unlucky in that he'd burst upon nothing.

If the boy was unscathed, his face surely spoke to the opposite. There was utter astonishment there, mixing well with what vaguely resembled genuine fear. His gusting ascent wasn't eternal, nor was it astoundingly high. Still, ten feet or so was apparently enough, and the flattened blades of green below him spoke to that much. In any other circumstance, a gifted boy floating delicately to the earth below would've been angelic. He was anything but. At the very least, he was on the defensive. Theo didn't let him rest.

Where surging radiance fell short and bursting stars did little, he claimed Mixoly's light for himself. The searing breaths he offered up left him luminous of his own accord, trailing afterimages of falling stars left to call him home. Every swirling ribbon of gold was a threat, and every pulsing orb speckled the world with a galaxy of his own. Theo's blood bore the sickest of fireflies, glowing dangerously as they touched his peripheral vision. Each droplet of starlight nearly singed his skin as it passed him by. If they were a danger even to him, he'd be doubly sure to make them worse on the way out.

Theo was fairly certain that the boy was still restraining himself. The same razor-edged gales were biting into his hands once more, and yet it was his hands alone that bore the brunt of the assault. His face was there. His throat was there. The rest of him was there, extremely close and more than vulnerable. It was simultaneously a relief and incredibly confusing. He had little time to dwell on it, once more gritting his teeth and battling the pains that came with wind. Repelling it was impossible. If Theo couldn't rage against it, intangible as it was, he doubted his assailant could repel light itself. He really, truly would be left to evade, devoid of a genuine defense as he was.

The solar system Theo had so carefully crafted was far from stagnant, rushing and spiraling in streams he could hardly manage. It was no true gale, and yet it was close enough of a copy. Even for what sharpened storms could bleed through his orbit, his radiant vortex left him untouchable. Maintaining it was a trial, and his brilliant song hung in the balance as he gave chase. It was never a full deterrent. Theo was the nucleus of his own star, for once, enveloped in Mixoly's light and savoring every last twinkle she could lend him. At the worst time imaginable, he admired it.

And when he pulsed, he did so with grace and ire. His blood and his breath followed along, and the motion was strikingly natural. Swirling brilliance was every bit as violent, bursting with as much force as his searing lungs could give. He couldn't control it in full. It didn't matter. The spiraling galaxy he unleashed upon the boy was swift, and his speckled stars met their mark. He was confident he'd hit something, given how the boy's face at last contorted with pain.

Where Theo had battled through hurt, his opponent was no less resilient. Yet another gusting burst left him launched high, a song thrown to the ground traded for safety. It was his only escape from the full wrath of the night sky on earth, and he was once more ethereal as he descended with equal poise. Where Theo was a star, the boy was the eye of his own storm, consumed by flowing tempests that rushed along his skin. For how he melted so perfectly into the breezes born of his melody, he could pass for wind itself.

Theo gave the same stars. He earned the same storm. Where he breathed pure light, it was gust after gust that impeded him. His hands hurt, battered by cruel winds time after time. The moment Theo felt his lungs begin to ache, he struggled not to panic. It was all he could do to clutch the piccolo tighter, double down, and steal Mixoly's love for her own sake.

Where Theo was left fighting to catch his breath, the boy just barely reflected his distress. He had an advantage, granted, born of his instrument alone. It didn't ease the cost of his physical struggles. There was most definitely sweat shimmering on his skin. Theo was hardly immune to the same, and it streamed down his face in earnest by comparison.

His glare couldn't sting as fiercely as his light, and yet he tried again regardless. The boy flinched beneath it anyway. He went for power over quantity once more, placing his faith in the rays of the sun as wavering breaths set his melody aflame. Fatigue was irrelevant. They burned just as hot and glowed just as bright, radiating against his fingertips as he steadied his aim.

He'd never killed anyone before. If the alternative was death, Theo didn't have a choice. If the alternative left Mixoly forsaken, it was doubly so. He'd go for the boy's eyes. Whatever was to follow from there would be simple, ideally. If Lucian really loved her, he'd understand.

The moment he made to exhale and curse eyes not his own, it was towering blue that met his light. His sailing luminescence burst into showering debris, a pitiful nebula blighted by unyielding crystal. The ominous wall that rose well over twice his height was as opaque as it was sturdy, not one burn or crack left to blemish the barrier. His scathing assault left only flaking frost scattering to the grass below. It was sudden enough to make him stumble. The cold aura that radiated so near his skin was almost painful. It didn't match the wind. Theo threw his attention over his shoulder with such speed that he could've snapped his neck.

Where an accordion had cursed him with a storm, a cello cursed him with a blizzard. Theo recognized the gloves, taut around steady fingers. His stranger's movements were slower, granted, and yet no less skillful. If the glistening frost that crept along the innocent grass was any indicator, his song was an equal threat. Those eyes, too, had pooled with perplexing concern.

Theo tensed as he swallowed what oxygen he could catch. There were two of them. This was now a crisis. It didn't change what needed to be done, nor what was at stake.

With a tempest at his back and frost in front, he opted for the latter. If he couldn't incinerate the breeze, he'd have a better chance against that which rose to meet his light head-on. He was hot. It was cold. It made enough sense. With scalding breaths, Theo once more gathered the stars in his lungs and set them free along his lips. The burn that breached his fingertips left his heart incandescent, and he bore down on the ice-blessed boy with what bursting beams he could muster. Every hurried footstep neglected the gap and exploited what little element of surprise he could find. So, too, did this boy flinch beneath his concocted glare. Theo hoped it burned whatever his light couldn't reach.

His approach was met with resistance. The boy tore the bow across the strings with force, slow or otherwise, that rebelled against the sun in the worst way. Where Theo outdid him in speed, his opponent hardly needed to cling to the same. Yet again, it was rising crystal that erupted from below, neat and spearing with proximity so near that Theo genuinely did stagger. He was lucky it didn't steal his balance outright, the climbing glacier just barely failing to capture the tips of his shoes at birth. His radiant rays clashed once more with impossibly-thick ice, exploding into dazzling sprays of golden debris. The pitiful rain left him gritting his teeth in frustration, not one crack or crevice staining the towering barrier yet again.

Theo pivoted on his heel and found only the same, residual from before and every bit as sturdy. It stole two means of escape, and he bolted sharply left. He didn't get far. For a third time over, the same icy barricade breached the earth, near and high as it loomed well above his head. If he pounded against it, he feared he'd have little luck. He had a vague idea of where this was going.

Panic set in, and still he at least tried. Theo skidded against churning sod as he dashed right, fumbling for breaths he couldn't catch. They weren't born of exhaustion alone. There, too, did a frozen tower come to bar his path. The chill that crept through the air was immense, biting his skin and sneaking into his burning lungs. He hated the way they compromised his scathing breaths. Cornered and cramped, he straddled the line between terror and pure aggravation.

Through opaque aquamarine, glittering and untouched, he couldn't see either of his tormentors. Theo could hardly capture the splendor of the color to begin with, and a variable box painted with shining indigo was somehow more terrifying. He had the evening sky above, far beyond his reach. It was his one legitimate means of escape. It was completely inaccessible, and that, too, was exceedingly frustrating. He wouldn't have isolation between four walls for long, probably. If they really wanted to, they could crush him right here. He was somewhat surprised they didn't.

Theo braced as much as was possible, leveling the little piccolo with his lips once more. He had one idea. It was extremely dangerous. It was more or less all he could come up with.

What brilliance he'd so carefully balanced in his blood was unfiltered. What starlight he'd so delicately rationed in his veins was unleashed. What chains he'd wrapped around his glow were severed, and the caution that came with grasping Mixoly's light was discarded. If splintering rays were futile, he'd simply become the sun.

He was used to claiming scattering streams and radiant ribbons, falsely concocting the stars and freeing what he could. His galaxy came with restrictions, handled with love as it was. He distributed it with breaths as powerful as they were precise, and he wove more along a silent melody so well-controlled. Theo had limits. They didn't necessarily need to exist.

It was ice. He was light. It was cold. He was hot. He still clung to the concept with every forceful exhale. Theo's screams, lost aloud, were for Mixoly's vessel alone. He could feel the vibrations of the metal against his flying fingertips, given exactly how much he was exerting. The heat born of his blinding song was intolerable, radiance outright pouring from the dark and stars surely crashing to the earth from above.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He could hardly bear to look at it head-on, lest his sight grow ever more compromised. Where luminescent strands and ribbons had once so vividly swirled, the speed he unleashed with his bright song was demonic. Strings of a fraying sun lashed violently against the icy walls as they spun, and he was once more the nucleus of a solar storm. It was more than that, maybe.

What he couldn't hear, he could undoubtedly feel. He was somewhat convinced his skin would melt, embers splashing from his infernal spiral and terrorizing his arms. It wasn't enough to dull his soundless harmony. Theo only played faster, and his radiance only orbited quicker. Four frozen walls only enhanced the trapped heat of his brilliant vortex.

Everything hurt. Everything burned. It was either him or them. If one was giving way in the absolute slightest, whether sloughing in the face of his hellish sunstorm or otherwise, he'd never know. He'd burn to ashes any second. He was already on his way there, and every breath he stole for Mixoly simply returned what was already hers. Where he exhaled light, he inhaled it just the same.

The sudden blast of cool air that came with freedom was wildly disorienting. He'd initially believed he'd toppled at least one wall, if not breached it in some capacity. There'd been no sensation of slack or submission, granted. When his surging, spiraling storm lashed deep in every direction, unholy radiance cleaved the night air rather than frozen defenses. His entrapment lay discarded in the wake of his blinding vortex, massive chunks of ice crushing the grass at his feet. The spontaneous absence of unfathomable heat was disorienting. It took his pupils far too long to readjust to the blackened night--blighted by his hazy veil or otherwise. Theo blinked heavily several times over. It was fatal.

Where ice faltered, wind succeeded. He'd somewhat forgotten it was a concern at all. The incredible gust that blasted him clean off his feet left him tumbling in reverse. He rolled twice over against the hard ground before coming to a stop, the piccolo spearing painfully into his chest at least once in the process. Theo didn't bother chasing the assailant he knew to be there, scrambling to his feet with frantic motions. The instrument never made it all the way up to his lips, no matter how quickly he tried to raise it.

Again was wind his downfall, gales unseen careening into his stomach. His back smashed against the earth, and gusting pressure fought to curse him yet further. The latter wasn't painful, although resistance was an intense trial. The streaming tempest that flattened his hair in tandem with the grass below left him shackled by nothing. Pushing himself up onto his elbows was nearly impossible, as was lifting his hands in any capacity. Theo could hardly keep his eyes open at all, victimized by unforgiving winds that battered his face.

Whatever footsteps left the world vibrating far too close sent his heart racing in turn. Tethered to the ground, every last one was a death sentence that reverberated through his scorched veins. There was surely more than one set. Something heavy came to rest behind him, if the strong rattle of the earth near to his head meant anything. Barred from movement or not, his grip was unhindered. Mixoly's vessel was firmly lodged in his grasp, and Theo had no plans to change that. He was losing circulation in those fingers, for how tightly he clung to the warm metal.

It took immense effort to raise his head so much as an inch. He earned one assailant for his troubles. The gentle expression that accompanied his raging winds was still incomprehensible. His song was still ever-present, his fingers moving forcefully along the accordion's keys and his hands maneuvering with great finesse. His lips were moving. His shoulders rose and fell with more effort than Theo had expected. The expectant stare the boy fixed him with meant nothing, given the way every sign was stifled by stormy pressure. Theo glared. From down here, it was the most he could do.

He could've sworn his stranger sighed, if the heavy motions of his shoulders were any indicator. With a wince crossing his face, the boy's movements slowed. The gusts that clung much too tightly to Theo's body waned, each strand of windswept hair settling into place at last. The crawl of the fading breeze along his skin left a chill in its wake. It was a mistake on his assailant's part. He had his hands back.

Theo didn't give him the chance to change his mind. Where the boy could only cringe in realization, a piccolo beat him to retaliation. Once again, the instrument rushed to meet Theo's lips, the throbbing ache in his fingers utterly irrelevant as he inhaled sharply. His breath was never freed, and ice filled in where wind rested.

The sudden shock that stung his skin burned in a new way entirely, creeping cold that blossomed along the back of his hands. Brief or not, the spontaneous bite of an impossible chill nearly made him cry out. The urge to reach for it was reflexive and involuntary. He almost did. The moment the splintering frost snuck onto his wrists, his grasp unraveled. That, then, was a separate catalyst for screaming entirely. It was a miracle he didn't.

The piccolo fell to the grass pitifully, although not far beyond his reach. If he lunged, he could make it. Even blighted by sprawling frostbite, he did what he could. Theo's trembling fingers never made it to the instrument, and it was his shoes that succumbed to thick crystal instead. Newborn aquamarine once more crawled through still grass and clung to his laces.

Unlike his hands, it didn't give way after arrival, discarded snowflakes still raining from his skin as they warmed. He was bound to the ground in a new way entirely, potential steps stolen and Mixoly's vessel languishing just barely out of reach. They wouldn't need to kill him. His heart was going to explode anyway.

Theo!

Mixoly's cry was broken and desperate. There was nothing he could offer her back, ultimately. If he was without her, he'd be left to improvise. He could go for their throats, if he had the capacity. They were larger than him. Their eyes would be easier, with or without light. Every method was up for consideration, outright feral as some would be. He regretted having nothing sharp with him. At least once, Theo's attention fell to the wasted ice at his size, glimmering and bulky. Some slivers were more jagged than others. It was a possibility.

The boy with the accordion was still speaking. His gaze drifted between Theo and the piccolo. His eyes on the latter were infuriating. The words that spilled from Theo's suffering hands were a reflex, useless or otherwise.

Leave it alone!

Theo's hands smashed together with whatever force would leave him screaming. It wouldn't matter. It was the best he could do. It was all he had, and he did it again with the harshest glare he could piece together. Don't touch it! Leave it alone! he repeated desperately.

The boy's eyes widened, slowly but surely. His own grip relaxed around either end of the accordion, and he knelt to the ground. With delicate motions, he laid his instrument to rest at his feet. It left his hands free as he straightened up, his strained face just a bit softer. By comparison, he was nowhere near as forceful.

I won't touch it. I promise.

Theo flinched. It took a moment to process at all, and what rage he'd held fast to melted in place of shock. He forgot to sign back, left to stare in complete disorientation at the boy instead. He earned silent words for his troubles twice over, born of gentle hands yet again.

Are you able to hear?

Only then did he shake his head. Reclaiming his anger wasn't helping. His own motions were tentative and shaky, as much as he wished for the opposite. You can understand me?

The boy smiled softly. I can.

He seemed even less of a killer. Theo wasn't sure if he was supposed to be this comfortable.

Do not lower your guard.

Mixoly, by comparison, spoke to the opposite. Her words were enough to shake him, and he cobbled together what defenses he could. Theo's motions were harsh.

What do you want from me?

The boy's smile faltered for a moment. He found it again anyway. You're a Maestro, just like us. We just wanted to talk to you.

They'd done quite a bit more than talking. The word was unfamiliar. One of those sentences was distressing. You were looking for me? Were you following me?

The boy gestured beyond Theo's head. That's Briar. He has a gift that helps him find other Maestros.

Theo followed his gesture accordingly. When he raised his eyes over his shoulder, the towering cello greeted him first. The ice-gifted stranger greeted him second, pairing a delicate smile with a gloved wave. Theo waited for more signs. He found none. The other boy was unique, then, and he stole Theo's attention once more.

With careful movements of his fingers, his own smile brightened somewhat as he spelled. My name is River. We're from a place with lots of people like us. We were looking for others, and we found you. You're very strong. To be honest, I was worried you'd hurt yourself. I'm sorry if we startled you.

His praise meant absolutely nothing. Even with a name to a face, the implications were still uncomfortable. What do you want from me? Theo repeated, his signs somewhat firmer.

We want you to come back with us. If you don't want to, that's okay. We know where you are now, so that's enough, too.

That was terrifying. He couldn't take it as anything but a threat. Theo's aching hands only ached harder as they crashed against one another. Why would I go with you? I don't even know you.

You must leave, he heard Mixoly insist. Do not do as they say, I beg of you. Even now, you are in danger still. You must not trust his words, my child.

He figured as much. Still, they knew where he lived. This was another problem entirely. If he left, they could follow, maybe. He couldn't leave. He absolutely could not leave. This was growing more concerning by the moment.

We're looking for someone called the Ambassador.

Every last racing thought Theo had screeched to a halt. His heart could've stopped altogether.

They want to help us, the boy continued with delicate motions. To do that, they have to know where all of us are.

Theo's signs were frantic. He couldn't help it. You know where the Ambassador is?

The boy tilted his head.

Theo! Mixoly spoke sharply.

Theo winced. What?

Her words softened. Be cautious with your words. You know them not, and they know not of me. Please…guard my name and my truth. Should it be compromised, I would…

He didn't make her finish. He got the general idea. Damage control was difficult, and yet Theo tried anyway. Do you know where this Ambassador person is? he reworded carefully.

River shook his head once more. Not yet. We're always searching for them. We know they're out there, though, and we're going to find them soon.

Theo paused. Again was every word calculated. Will I get to meet them?

He beamed. If you'd like to.

Theo's eyes fell to the piccolo resting not-so-distantly in the grass. He weighed even bringing it up. He wondered if she'd push back in the first place.

Mixoly, he began within.

Yes?

They're trying to find the Ambassador, too.

My child, I--

They said they have other people looking for the Ambassador. They can do more than we can. We don't have to tell them anything we don't want to.

Theo, she warned.

Can we try?

Mixoly was quiet. Should they learn I am with you, I fear what would befall you, my child. You know nothing of this place. You know nothing of those who call them their own. Even now, they perhaps resist you.

Theo raised an eyebrow. What do you mean?

Of those who have sought to wound you, I…

River was a distraction. It was just as much Mixoly's fault for trailing off. How old are you? he asked.

To be fair, that truth was his alone. Ten, Theo confessed.

River couldn't fully stifle the flicker of shock on his face. It was almost--almost--amusing. And you live here in Selbright?

Theo nodded.

By yourself?

He would've preferred not to nod to that one. He did anyway.

River pointed clear into the darkened horizon at his back. Tacell is that way. That's the place we came from. We walked, although we didn't mean to arrive so late. It was a surprise that we found you when we got here.

Peering over his shoulder was futile, for how only the distant depths of the night met his foggy sights. It was instinctive. You only had to walk?

River's shoulders spoke once more to a sigh. His smile was unaffected. It's a very long walk, though. We have to plan for it in advance. The place we live is isolated.

You didn't have to take the train?

Not at all.

Theo hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. When he exhaled, the burn that escaped was far different than anything his light could scald him with inside. He tossed a silent prayer of gratitude to the shining stars above.

I want to try, Theo insisted within.

I…

This is our chance, he argued. This is what you want. They can help. I promise I'll be careful. I won't let anyone touch you, I swear.

My child--

If anyone tries to hurt you, I'll kill them.

There is no need.

I told you I'd help you. I'll protect you. Can we please try?

And again, Mixoly fell silent. Theo hesitated to press her. Not having her in his hands felt awful, and he still lamented that she was out of reach. Vulnerability was a poison, for all his talk of protection. It was a drive he couldn't control. He was starting to wonder if he was going further than Lucian had. He didn't dislike the warmth it came with one bit. They were partners, maybe. It felt underwhelming, for what glow besieged his soul.

I beg of you, be safe. You are precious.

So was she. If it cost him his life, he'd defend her fragile sparkle. Literally and figuratively, her hope showered his rising hands, and he carried their hearts in unison. With or without Lucian, she was loved. She was cherished. It was what she deserved. With more than one spark burning his heart, Theo lifted his eyes.

I'll go with you.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.