It took only a mild amount of courage to throw open the doors of SIAR. Where it was white outside, it was tenfold more so within. She blamed everything from the lighting to the paint, cold marble refusing to clash with monotonous ivory assailing every wall. It was enough to make her wince, for how the dark of night she'd left in her wake still cursed her with dilated pupils. The lobby was blinding. She didn't dare look away.

SIAR was somewhat less striking on the inside versus what the regal exterior had led her to believe. It reminded her of a literal museum, in some measures. There were paintings, granted. There were sculptures, sometimes. There was glass, glistening as necessary, and that which was precious laying behind its barriers. It was a predictable first impression, even if she'd been reminded multiple times of the way by which SIAR was anything but standard. The lobby was shockingly massive, and she feared her breaths would echo.

Most of her focus left her indifferent to glistening artifacts or pristine art, accessible as it was to her eyes in passing. For as colossal as the room was, it came with navigational choices. All four corridors were sizable in their own right, even from afar. They were uniform, spanning from west to east gradually. With the moon high aloft as it was beyond the shockingly-white walls, for every hallway to be lit so thoroughly was jarring in the depths of night. For the institute to be awake at all, showered in light that left it shining in the most uncomfortable ivories, was unsettling. Her eyes couldn't travel down every corridor. She didn't trust her imagination to fill in the gaps.

Not one Maestro spoke. It took her a moment to verify if a single Maestro was breathing, really. She wondered if her sentiment about echoing breaths was contagious. It more than likely did not help that they very, very much were not alone.

She didn't bother counting how many. Octavia was vaguely aware of the nature of SIAR's mission, for how pridefully Drey had spoken of it. For what her mind had come to associate with the idea of restoration and conservation, the crisp coats and uniforms were reasonable. That, too, was a predictable first impression. Where their hands had surely handled delicate and decaying artifacts time and again, their eyes now handled her with just as much delicate confusion. She and those like her drew every gaze at once, born of every angle and splattered with befuddlement. If they were to ask as to the rationale of her presence, she'd have nothing for them. She owed them nothing, much the same.

Her eyes chased every corridor, flickering to the gaping entrances once, twice, three times over in turn. She stung every baffled face, one by one. He wasn't here. He needed to be. He needed to be here now. It would compromise their precious element of surprise, granted. She could argue, in the interest of logical thought, that it would be in the sole interest of preserving their edge before those who knew not of her vendetta could intervene. It was honestly born of an emotion much simpler than that.

"Drey!" she boomed.

Her cry echoed fiercely, just as she'd suspected it would. It was thoroughly satisfying to witness hatred carried upon one word alone curse every inch of SIAR. She knew she'd startled every Maestro at her back. It was the least of her concerns, and her shout of his vile name had stolen every word from every mouth--dozens of them, left to watch her with yet more disorientation. Not one worker moved, nor spoke in the face of a wrathful Maestra burning remorselessly in place.

It was the northwestern corridor. The clacking footsteps that echoed in return were the only response to her furious cry, and she couldn't be bothered to tense as they neared. She didn't need visual confirmation. For what they'd followed, she already knew.

It was that easy. With one call, he'd come running.

And as he emerged into the flooding light, his shoulders just barely rose and fell with the effort of catching stolen breaths. The hand clinging to violence bore not a polearm, for once. Octavia knew little of swords, let alone weapons at large. The rounded blade glimmered mercilessly beneath the blinding lights above, and every minor movement of his skillfully-clinging fingers left it sparkling in a sickening manner. At the very least, it was a weak grip. His fingertips were not immune to their own shimmer, absolutely minimal as it was. He'd been interrupted in his work, maybe, the hour of the night be damned. His fixation on weapons was mildly concerning.

It took a moment for their eyes to meet. She expected anything but the way his own softened. In that case, she pierced him with everything in her soul that spoke to the opposite.

"Octavia," he breathed. "You're…alive?"

She didn't even realize she'd lunged until she was in restraints, one arm bound on either side by desperately-clinging Maestros. They were unfortunately successful, and she battled Harper and Renato with more writhing than they deserved. She couldn't help it. Whatever tiny part of her had expected to keep her composure had been naive. It was a reflex. She embraced it, her veins scorching to such a degree that her heart would never beat properly again.

"Murderer!" she screamed. "Murderer, murderer, murderer!"

Drey flinched. Every tentative step he took into the lobby left his echoing footsteps challenging her screams and growls. His words were deceptively soft. "I…do not understand."

"I'll make you understand," Octavia snarled, still fighting either grip with all she had.

"How did you survive?" he asked quietly.

Given that he'd been the one to send her falling to her death, she'd expected more rage--or disappointment, at least. His gentle tone was an entirely different type of infuriating. She didn't bother answering.

"You killed her!" Octavia shouted.

His face flickered with confusion. "Who have I killed?"

"Priscilla," she spat, stilling her flailing momentarily. "My sister."

It was enough to wipe every emotion from Drey's face. He was silent, and his empty eyes never once left Octavia's own.

"Is…that what this is about?"

Either portion of Stradivaria was gripped so tightly that she'd surely send the violin crumbling into dust soon. Restrained as she was, it was all she could do to kill him with her glare alone. With every drop of poison she could conjure in her soul, she prayed her eyes could pierce his heart and tear him to shreds.

His eyes fell to Stradivaria. "You have done as she has," he finally spoke.

She didn't grace him with words. Not one person, of the dozens who bore witness to her ire, dared to offer up words of their own. Every frantic heartbeat she harbored echoed, more than likely.

"I did not kill her, Octavia. I saved her."

There was the briefest, most fleeting moment by which she was confused. It didn't last.

"In the same manner, I, too, tried to save you."

She'd expected sorrow at his formal admission. She'd already known Priscilla was dead, to be fair. Still, this was her explicit, spoken confirmation of Drey's guilt. All of her tears had been set free long ago. What was left was only righteous wrath she'd stored up for one man alone. It festered, and did so one thousand times more as he spoke.

Whatever showed on her face, she couldn't begin to imagine. She hoped it hurt. It did, apparently, for the way his face contorted with pain as he kept her hateful gaze. "Octavia, I never hoped for this. Believe that, if nothing else."

"Liar," she growled.

His eyes narrowed, touching upon each innocent Maestro in turn. "What are you doing here? Why have you come?"

When Octavia remained silent, it was Renato who took the lead. "We're here to take you down."

Drey blinked slowly, his gaze somewhere between soft and firm all at once. Every step towards them came with vulnerability, the sword settling casually at his side. "I do not understand."

"We're gonna make sure you never hurt anyone again," Renato continued confidently. "Understand that?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"You're going to pay for whatever you did in Velpyre," Josiah spoke slowly, his voice trembling somewhat. It was with trembling hands, too, that a blade much smaller than Drey's own came level with the man from afar.

"Velpyre?" Drey repeated, his tone once more touched by confusion.

"And you'll pay for what you did to Octavia," Madrigal added. "Our friend."

Octavia was content to cease her struggling, limp in her frustrating restraints. The freedom she found from their grips came with warnings in the form of gentle gazes. For them, at least for now, she'd struggle to be composed instead.

"Revenge, then," Drey spoke calmly. "Perhaps that is deserved. I do not deny my sins."

His words were disorienting. It wasn't enough for Octavia to let her guard down. "Then you'll take the punishment you deserve? You'll pay with your life?"

At her question, he glared. "Do you have the resolve to take a life, Octavia?"

She wouldn't give it thought. He was an exception, surely. "You don't deserve to be alive."

Where every Harmonial Instrument rose threateningly into position, Octavia was reminded of company in the worst way. Josiah wasn't the only one with a knife. It was unfortunate that he'd only brought one, given that several workers managed to clasp more than that. Every coat, every vest, every man and woman in every last uniform offered up sharpened violence between skilled fingers. Their grips spoke to experience, and that in turn spoke to the truth of Cadence's words.

She wondered how fast they could move. She wondered how hard they could hit, let alone if they were content to go for blood. Her circle had already collectively agreed on pinning down Drey alone, with collateral assailants only to be deterred. Should their lives be at risk, it was perhaps easier said than done. She'd already asserted their guilt by association, to be fair.

The only blade that mattered, then, was the one that rose powerfully and with concerning control into hands far more trained. Drey's stance was just as strong, his weak grip banished in favor of something fierce. She'd seen his prowess once, even if he'd never so much as lunged--his posture and aura alone with a simple polearm in the face of Dissonance was overpowering. Only now was he a threat.

"It is…disheartening that you believe I make such decisions with ease. I do only what must be done," he spoke.

"Tell me why," Octavia demanded, leveling Stradivaria against her shoulder.

"I owe nothing to one who is dead."

"You owe me for what you did. You owe me that much!" she cried. "Why did you do it?"

The tip of the sword was level with her eyes. His approach had lessened their gap to a worrying degree, and yet it would still take time to close the distance in full. If he lunged, it would still take a minimum of five seconds, she guessed. That, she could calculate. The pain on his face, she couldn't understand.

"You carry a burden too heavy for a child, just as was such for your sister before you. I have given you the choice of peace, and twice now that violin has thwarted that blessing!"

His gaze crossed each Maestro in turn, his gesturing sword doing much the same. "To each of you, I offer one last chance. Stand down, lay down your arms, and walk away. Lead a peaceful life as children, grow to old age, and do not walk this path. You are toying with forces that you do not understand. I do not wish to hurt any of you, nor do I enjoy it!"

"Save your breath," Octavia spat, settling the bow against the strings. "You can't take back the things that you've done."

Drey fell silent for a moment. "I do not deny my sins," he repeated at last. "Given no reprieve, though, I will sin again."

The tension searing the very air was suffocating. If there was oxygen left to steal, it would scald her lungs the moment she tried. For how every muscle tensed and every face was strained, she was left waiting for what was to come--sudden as it would surely be. On edge as she was, the hand that settled onto her shoulder startled her horrifically.

"I'll distract him," Renato whispered. "You wait for your chance, and then go for the kill."

Octavia's eyes widened. "By yourself? Are you sure?"

She could hear the grin in his voice, of all places he could've offered it. "You're serious about this, right? Then trust me."

"Capture them alive, if possible," Drey spoke loudly. "Do not harm them."

She wasn't the only one at the ready. Dozens of foreign blades shimmered beneath the blinding lights above, white striking steel raised aloft in dangerous hands. Where every set of narrowed eyes met her, firm stances and radiant threats followed in their wake. Where the workers were scattered, she refused to submit to the same. It took only her echoing footsteps to offer a lead, and those of her own world met her wordless defenses with understanding. Their backs were parallel, their instruments in position. If one faltered, another would cover. It was as ready for Hell as she was going to get.

Her eyes flickered to Drey. Her eyes flickered to Renato. Her eyes flickered to every gaze both on her side and not. Her heart pounded and her rushing blood blotted out every thought. If not for Priscilla, then it would be for herself. She gripped the bow, gritted her teeth, and awaited the inevitable.

"Mr. Drey!"

It was a clarinet that interrupted where a violin was silent. The corridor left echoing with a different set of sprinting steps altogether was unfamiliar. If she squinted, she was still helpless to pierce its full length with her eyes. She hardly needed to. Drey's eyes, for at least a moment, were given to a different Maestra entirely. It was one of a handful of times Octavia had ever seen Cadence resemble a Maestra at all, for how her Harmonial Instrument settled so naturally into hands made to birth lightning.

"Cadence?" he asked incredulously. "Please, return to your room. It is…unsafe here."

She resisted. Instead, she sprinted once more, bound for a man with a sword at the ready. Her hair brushed fervently against her cheeks as she ran, and still she was undeterred with fingers full of bottled thunderstorms. "Let me help!" she pleaded.

"Cadence, please," Drey begged. "It is dangerous. I will handle this."

There came the brief and fleeting thought that Cadence may have double-crossed them. Objectively, Octavia knew little of her morals or where the girl's heart truly lay. She could count the times they'd met on one hand. Offering up her faith in full was dangerous, and yet it was all she could do. Never once did she relax her grip upon Stradivaria as she prayed, her breath permanently hitched in her throat.

Cadence was before him, her eyes upon him. So, too, were her slender fingers at home upon every key, shining splendidly beneath the same burning lights that illuminated steel violence all around. They were in stark contrast to one another, mere inches away as they were. Where she'd once shied away from his gaze, she now claimed it by force and clung to it for dear life.

"This is something I can do to help. Please, I want to be of use to you," she tried.

Drey shook his head. His eyes were sickeningly soft. "You don't need to be of use to me, child. I simply ask for your safety. Please, put that instrument away and find somewhere safe. I will let no harm befall you."

"Give me a chance to prove myself!" she begged.

"I do not understand. What do you mean?"

She hesitated, every word slow and shaky. "I've…made so many mistakes in my life, and I know I can't go back and fix them. Just once, I want to have someone to protect besides myself. I want that opportunity. I want to do something good. Please, just…let me have that."

Octavia clung to her every word. Drey, too, seemed to do the same.

"What will you do, then?" Drey asked softly.

"This."

There was no pause between his inquiry and her song. Cadence's lips fell to the reed in an instant, her fingers moving rapidly across every glistening key. Sounds Octavia had heard only once prior were no less electric, and her melody of lightning was every bit as powerful as it had been that night. The dry crackle and steady hum that quickly besieged the air was palpable even from afar, and Cadence's hair rose strand by strand with every note. It was of little concern versus the white-hot sparks that skittered from the bell of the clarinet, contrasting sharply with the cold whites of the marble below. Every bursting jolt was not born to kiss the floor alone, and Drey was equally as vulnerable to her brilliant current.

The golden voltage that stung his fingers began to surge and flicker in radiant arcs, scattering sparks rising like crackling stars where they had once rained. Never, more than in the context of pure theatrics, had Octavia borne witness to the true essence of lightning in action. Cadence was splendid. Drey flinched. Even if she couldn't make out the Maestra's face from behind, Octavia was satisfied imagining the lightning striking deep into Drey's heart from Cadence's gaze alone.

It was Cadence who flinched, so soon after.

It was her song that came with it, stifled with a shrill squeak that left every hovering spark crashing to the floor. They stung her flats as they fizzled, and not once did she fight to steal them back. Her fingers were still. Her sudden silence was jarring and sharp, and not a word left her mouth. Whatever strained gurgling just barely slipped from her throat was nearly inaudible from afar, and Octavia was fairly certain she'd misheard the sound entirely.

Where once had been grays, useless and dull, Octavia now found scarlet. It blossomed, a spreading flower unfurling so delicately across Cadence's back in the most perfect halo. Deep as it was, it spilled, somewhat. The material wasn't quite enough to serve as a true sponge, and it left flecks of much the same red sprinkling in tiny droplets against the pristine marble below. Silence was broken by grinding steel, and once more by a heavy thud as the Maestra fell. Not once had the instrument left her hands.

Red met crystal, restrained and yet shining behind ruthless eyes. His blade, once unblemished, bore excessive and shimmering crimson that dripped freely to the stark white underfoot. Where he didn't offer enough with what violence he carried, Cadence filled in the gaps. She was a river, cascading and flowing in every direction as she blessed SIAR with all the scarlet it could desire. Her eyes were still open. Her grip was still tight. The blood trickling from her lips had splattered upon the reed generously, and yet she'd never fumbled the clarinet. It was her face alone that kept no color.

Drey flourished his weapon, the hurt in his eyes neatly aligned with the stolen blood he sent splattering to the floor. When his pained gaze met Octavia's own, it was her blood in turn that finally exploded. So, too, did the world come with it.

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.