There were no more Stratos nights. Octavia didn’t need any. It was liberating, somewhat. The consequences of being exposed sank in gradually over the twenty-four hours that followed--although not with as much terror and dread as Octavia had expected. She’d nearly challenged him by asserting her immunity, and she was now forced to hope that he truly couldn't put his luminous hands on her somehow. It would go against what she knew. Regardless, the spider web choked her even now. There were still an ample number of Muses who, by comparison, didn't know of her supposed transgressions. So, too, then, were there just as many Maestros who were ignorant to the same.
She wasn’t completely free. It was still better than nothing. Octavia could remember a time when making it through the day without succumbing to the unease that haunted her was unimaginable. Now, it was effortless, and the tolls she completed were just the same. She could hardly remember them, just as she could hardly remember the names of the Muses she guided in turn. It was probably disrespectful. For what they were complicit in, she didn’t care.
Her one and only concern lay with the Heartful Muse she swore no longer to forsake, Stratos’ pleas be damned. Octavia didn’t have the strength to tell either Mixoly or Theo about her standoff with Stratos the night prior, for what a disastrous confrontation that would surely spark. If she ended up with light blasted down her throat, she could forget sending Mixoly back to Above once and for all.
She was grateful they’d reached the point where the two had stopped inquiring as to her silence so often. There was the possible issue of keeping up appearances yet again, should she pretend to be appeasing Stratos even now. If Mixoly were to become her newest target of deception, Octavia’s head was sure to spin forever.
“Can you…feel anything when I get to the part with your memories?” Octavia asked hesitantly.
She was somewhat relieved when Mixoly shook her head. On further consideration, the thought was terrifying. “I cannot. What is within that toll is for your eyes alone, Ambassador.”
“I know it’s…personal. I’m sorry about that. I really don’t think I have a choice.”
Mixoly’s voice was nearly inaudible, timid as it was. “If this is the only way, then it must be so.”
It was nice not to be outright rejected, let alone left pending in eternal quiet for once. Octavia almost felt bad for pushing, well-intentioned as her insistence had been. With Theo’s gentle cooperation, she readied her hands over Miracle Agony as always. “It’ll be okay, I promise. I…won’t judge. It won’t change anything.”
Mixoly’s disbelief was clear in her silence alone. Granted, it wasn't as bad as usual. Octavia wouldn’t let it stand regardless.
“You don’t have to believe me,” she said with a sigh. “I know I’m telling the truth. I’ll prove it.”
Octavia didn’t give the Muse time to argue, although she didn’t expect much verbal pushback in the first place. She brought her fingers gently downwards onto the smooth surface of the instrument, settling into the curious darkness once more. She’d long since stopped counting how many times she'd taken the plunge.
◆ ◆ ◆
There is more to be done.
There is not.
Yet it could be so.
The splinters were there, cracking and spreading like fraying threads upon her vision. The sensation was growing familiar. Searing light still soaked through their fragile gaps, and the horrific cacophony of chaos that bit Octavia's eardrums was still impossibly loud. Lucian’s life had been the same, and she figured it always would be.
I beg of you.
This is a blessing.
Please!
I will return. You have my word.
For as unseen as the voices were, however, Octavia could attribute them to any life but Lucian’s.
Of what would I give?
Anything.
What is broken?
Everything.
It didn’t make the radiance that scorched her borrowed, broken pupils any more tolerable, nor did it soften the cries in her ears. It wasn’t stable. It was fragile, even when handled with all the care she could give it. No amount of holding her breath was stilling the glass that slowly shattered before her.
Were you…calling me?
And you heard my voice, then?
What are you?
I am one who destroys what is precious.
But you’re so small.
Those voices, in tandem, Octavia hadn’t yet heard. It was jarring. As to what actions accompanied their words, it wasn’t as though she could see.
This is not how it was supposed to be!
It was inconsistent.
My name’s Lucian. Do you…have a name?
Please, it cannot be this way!
I am called Mixoly.
Help me!
Mixoly?
Yes.
Please!
It was almost nonsensical, for how disorganized it was. Still, Octavia could see nothing but the shining brilliance that blinded her. She could feel the cracks spreading, the world slipping through her fingers once more. She strained for what she couldn’t hold, imminent as it was.
Is it perfect?
It is all it could be.
Why are you doing this to me?
If you go, I cannot guarantee your safety!
It is a risk I am more than willing to take!
Get out of my head!
This is not what I wanted for you.
Do you hear my voice?
Do you hate me?
I don’t want to!
Every scattered ray of light through every narrow crack was a voice she couldn’t cling to. Every frantic word was a passing flash that assailed her quicker than she could process. Octavia fought with everything she had to weigh herself down into the depths.
Help me!
Stop it!
Please!
I’m begging you!
Save me.
Leave me alone!
Save me.
Stop!
Beneath the pressure of pleas so raw she could hear them bleed, the world gave way.
◆???????????????? ?????????????????????????????◆???????????? ??????????????◆???????????????????
“They’re stuck together,” Octavia breathed almost immediately. “They really are stuck together.”
So quickly had she bounced back from returning to lucidity that words left her mouth before her fingers left Miracle Agony. Octavia had offered her revelation to Theo, first, largely out of availability. To his credit, he absorbed her assertion with peaceful confusion, tilting his head slightly. Octavia cast her eyes up to Mixoly where they belonged.
“Your memories and Lucian’s memories,” she clarified. “I think they’re…tangled up somehow. If that’s the case, there’s definitely no way I’m gonna be able to get through the rest of this toll without seeing your memories. I just…don’t know how to separate them.”
On further thought, Octavia winced. “Can I separate them?”
Mixoly was motionless, although Octavia was grateful that she received a response at all. “That which a Muse has seen was never intended to be witnessed by a human, Ambassador or otherwise. Even I do not know if such is possible--let alone without consequence for yourself, my child. That our souls would intertwine in that manner is…unthinkable.”
Octavia bit her lip. “Is there...any way that I could witness both at the same time, somehow? I don’t know how that would work, honestly. Still, if I can’t pull them apart, that's all I can think of.”
Mixoly folded her arms tightly over her chest. “It is a concept, if nothing else. You are welcome to attempt.”
Octavia sighed. “You know, it’d mean a lot if you could have a little confidence in me every now and then. Cheer me on, or…something.”
“What do you mean?” the Muse asked.
Octavia smiled half-heartedly. “You keep telling me to ‘try’ and saying you’re not surprised when I fail. I know you want to go back to Above just as badly as I want you to, so…try to be optimistic about it, okay?”
Mixoly averted her eyes. “I…”
“Unless you don’t…actually think I can do this,” Octavia murmured.
“That’s not it, Ambassador.”
“What is it, then? Don’t you want to go home?”
“I could want for nothing more.”
“Then why are--”
“I do not know if I can.”
Octavia paused. It took a moment to process, and she had to try twice over. “What?”
It was no more clear the second time Mixoly said the same. “I do not know if I can truly return to Above.”
Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m…doing my best. I’m making progress. Please, Mixoly, I really want you to believe in me! Don’t say things like that. I promised I’m going to get you home.”
“The fault is mine alone, Ambassador,” Mixoly asserted timidly.
Octavia blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Octavia was cognizant of the way Mixoly’s gaze drifted skywards for a moment--whether metaphorical or otherwise, she was unsure. “I paid for my sin with an exile of my own making. I…fear I may still endure the same yet again, struggle as I might to return. What the future holds is a terror I cannot tolerate.”
“But…even if I perform the Witnessing, even if I guide you, you don’t think you’ll be able to get back? I’m right here. That’s what I’m for, right?” Octavia argued.
Mixoly only seemed to grow smaller, for how she curled in on herself ever further. “I do not know what will occur. It is my greatest wish to return to Above, Ambassador. I could pray for nothing else. For so long have I languished within this tarnished realm. I yearn for paradise. I long for what I had forsaken. Still, I…I do not know if I can ascend once more.”
Octavia had no words of comfort for her. Theo, to his credit, once again stroked the length of Miracle Agony reassuringly. What it was worth remained to be seen, although the gesture was still every bit as heartwarming.
“If you can’t go back, what happens once you’re out? What happens when I witness your toll, and I…try to guide you?” Octavia asked.
Mixoly shook her head. “I do not know.”
Octavia shifted on the floor uncomfortably. “If you can’t go back, what will you do?”
“Please do not leave me here, Ambassador.”
Octavia’s heart sank. “Mixoly--”
“Please do not leave me in this place!”
She’d never heard the meek Muse raise her voice before. The sheer panic behind every word was sharp enough to startle Octavia. For what he could surely feel in his heart alone, it was enough to even draw Theo’s eyes quickly to Mixoly in turn. The Maestros watched her with surprise, her desperate plea as unsettling as it was surprising.
“Please,” Mixoly begged, far softer by comparison, “do not leave me in this place.”
Octavia blinked the astonishment out of her eyes. “You really hate the world that much?”
There were so many times in which Octavia wished the Muses could convey perhaps more emotion, whether with their eyes or with faces she had to imagine were there. It was frustrating to interpret Mixoly’s responses from body language alone where words so often failed her. For what response she’d faltered upon, Octavia had a fair idea of what line of thought she’d been heading down. She intercepted it as quickly as was possible.
“There’s a lot of awful things in the world, yeah. I know we talked about that. There’s a lot of beautiful things about the world, too, though. There’s wonderful people out there, and so many wonderful things I’m sure you haven’t experienced yet. I don’t know what you’ve been through or what you’ve dealt with, but you haven’t seen the entire world, and you haven’t seen everything it has to offer.”
“I have seen enough.”
“But there’s always more. It’s always changing.”
“It grows more corrupt.”
“If you’re looking at the worst of it, maybe.”
“You would not come to detest a world plagued by agony?”
Octavia shook her head. “If you mean the Dissonance, we can get rid of it. That’s what I’m here for. The world wasn’t always--”
She bit her tongue. There was perhaps no one who knew better of a world once free of violet than Mixoly. In a way, the sentiment might’ve been insensitive. Octavia somewhat regretted bringing it up at all.
“That it would follow where you go, you would still speak of purity?” Mixoly pressed.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I’m used to it,” Octavia admitted. “That comes with being a Maestra.”
Mixoly paused. “That it would follow you, Ambassador, you would still defend a world so tainted?”
For a moment, Octavia only stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Mixoly’s voice came painfully soft. “I say once more, Ambassador, that your heart is pure. You serve as the bridge between two realms, and agony would chase your guiding light. For all that has pursued you, I struggle to believe that you could forgive--”
“Mixoly,” Octavia interrupted, “what do you mean by…‘chasing?' It…follows me?”
Mixoly fell silent. It was expected.
“Stratos has not told you, then.”
That, too, should’ve been expected. He was wonderful at deception. He was wonderful at twisting her into knots and stealing every last breath from her lungs. He was phenomenal at crushing her heart and shredding her soul.
She tried not to think of every time. She tried not to count them. She tried not to relive every encounter with the screaming violet that haunted her life, and she tried not to classify them. It wasn’t natural by default, a force born of a Muse just before her eyes. Still, there was the inexplicable. There was the spontaneous. There were places Dissonance had long laid dormant, and she’d dismissed her struggles as the worst of luck.
Octavia could hardly look at Mixoly. If she looked anywhere else, she’d have to give chase of her own to simmering paranoia. She’d already be doing so for the foreseeable future, and she could add it to her pile of fears. It was one more reason to loathe Stratos. She wondered how many she’d have by the end.
Finding words at all was a trial, as was finding the drive to meet an eyeless gaze at last. “No matter how bad things get, there’s still things worth protecting in this world. There’s still…things worth fighting for. It’s imperfect. I know that. Either way, it’s still mine.”
Mixoly didn’t argue. Octavia sighed. As to the concept of trailing agony, she didn’t dare dwell. Even now, there was the slightest pang of fear that came with every breath, by which she might summon suffering with her existence alone. To the best of her ability, she redirected.
“You’re not…fighting me on this toll, are you? That’s not why I’m having trouble?”
“I am not,” Mixoly insisted quietly.
“Let’s just…go one step at a time,” Octavia offered. “There’s no point in worrying about whether or not you can get home if I haven’t even gotten through this yet.”
Mixoly didn’t argue. A response of some variety would’ve been nice. Octavia settled for the peace she was given instead. She raised her hands over Miracle Agony again.
“It really would make me happy if you could cheer me on for a change,” she murmured. “I’m your Ambassador, too. Believe in me a little, sometimes.”
Just as she didn’t protest, Mixoly offered no words of support where Octavia could hope to find them. It was as disappointing as it was expected. Octavia gave her attention to the darkness instead. If she wanted Mixoly’s voice, at least she knew exactly where to find it.
◆ ◆ ◆
Were you…calling me?
And you heard my voice, then?
Yeah.
It wasn’t Mixoly she found first. For once, Octavia could see, hazy as her vision was. She knew it to be fragile, and her heart pounded as she awaited what she feared rested beyond. She held her breath, bracing for the fraying crystal and overwhelming radiance that was sure to claim her soon enough.
What are you?
I am one who destroys what is precious.
But you’re so small.
It was not always such.
His touch was perhaps even more gentle than Theo’s, for how delicately he handled the little piccolo with both hands.
My name’s Lucian. Do you…have a name?
I am called Mixoly.
Mixoly?
Yes.
And you’re…inside here?
You could say so.
Octavia hated the way his world was so blurred, as though submerged in much the same waters that had fought to take his life. No amount of straining and squinting made his actions any clearer. Should she struggle too hard, she feared she might shatter his little universe entirely once again.
Why were you calling me?
I need you.
It wasn’t as though she had much control over it in the first place.
And when the cracks began to settle upon her once more, they came accompanied with every color she had ever seen in her life. They came with more so than she could’ve ever imagined in one place. They were vibrant and glorious, melting through every facet of the broken glass that blighted her sight. They were indescribable. It was overwhelming in a new way, far preferable to the light that tended to envelop her relentlessly. That, too, wasn't entirely absent.
Do you take pride in it?
I could do nothing else.
Is it perfect?
It is all it could be.
Where she’d previously found Lucian’s soft salutations, she instead discovered voices that were familiar enough to sting her head. Of one, she’d expected to find. Of the other, she’d rejected his love not so long ago. As to why he was here, Octavia couldn’t fathom. His voice alone was enough to steal her breath away--useless as it was in the brilliant dark.
Why do you watch with such sadness that which you treasure?
It could be better.
How so?
In every way.
It is not for us to decide. That is what makes it unique.
You would let them choose?
It is their realm to guide, to shape as they see fit. That is the blessing we have offered.
And were it to be squandered?
Then that, too, is their own decision.
Amidst each splinter that scattered across her vision, glassy and fragile despite the colors that glued it together, Octavia begged and pleaded for the world to still. It was the first time in weeks she’d actively hoped for his voice. There was nothing to see except every hue she could fathom, and she wasn’t aware of the sweet silence until now. Freed of the awful chorus of agony, overpowering and inescapable as it was, she found only their Heartful exchange in its place. If Theo’s toll was an ocean, dragging her into the deepest sea to witness Lucian's untimely end, then Mixoly’s memories were a cloud she couldn’t come down from.
There is more to be done.
There is not.
Yet it could be so.
You would compromise what has been built?
I would seek to enhance it. It could be beautiful, Stratos.
It already is.
To hear his name without disdain or fear in her voice was the only thing more startling than hearing it at all. Every sharp crack that settled into her stolen eyes was a curse of the worst kind, more so now than ever before. Again, it was inevitable, and again Octavia could do little but wait.
There is nothing more to be done from here. We have given all that we can.
And yet, from within?
Impossible.
You would not even try?
It is a mortal world for mortal hands. To disturb it from within would devastate what has been born.
It is…lovely. You have no desire, truly, to add to such splendor?
Mixoly, it is as splendorous as could be. It must not be touched.
Stratos, I--
To speak of such dissatisfaction, have you no happiness with what our Lord has toiled for?
That is not--
As we have toiled for?
That is not the case.
Even where Octavia couldn’t see him, he was just as pushy. It was as irritating as it was nostalgic, and exceedingly off-putting to hear it directed towards someone other than herself.
I…wish that I could empathize with you, but I truly do find it perfect as it is.
How will it become?
I dare not attempt to fathom, and that is what makes it wonderful.
I could not stand to see it wasted.
Where it would exist, no matter the outcome, it would never be a waste.
In the moments before progress slipped through her fingers yet again, Octavia clung to every syllable she could steal from him. Even as exploding crystal flooded her with blinding colors, every conceivable hue bleeding into her bloodstream, Octavia almost missed him. It was a deeply uncomfortable feeling.
What you cannot nurture with your touch, seek to nurture with your heart.
◆???? ????????????????◆??????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????◆???????????????
Octavia came up peacefully, somewhere between extremely satisfied with her progress and excessively confused. She stared blankly at Miracle Agony for several seconds before she could begin the process of stringing her thoughts together in any capacity. Those that she managed to breathe aloud were jumbled, regardless.
“That’s…Stratos. Stratos was in there. You were close to him? I-I thought you didn’t get along with him at all. Your memories--yours and Lucian's--I saw both this time. I…couldn’t see everything, but it was more than before. Mixoly, when you were with Stratos, what were you ta--”
“Hide.”
Only now did Octavia tear her eyes away from the Harmonial Instrument, for how fast it was torn from her sights in turn. Theo leaping to his feet startled her fiercely, as did the coldness of Mixoly’s singular demand.
She only stared at the Muse. “What?”
“Ambassador, conceal yourself, quickly!” Mixoly demanded. “Now!”
As to how Mixoly heard the subtle click of the door as the knob turned tantalizingly slowly, Octavia was unsure. Soft as it had been, it was a miracle that she’d had time to react at all, and not by much. Never had she been so grateful for the way by which Theo’s abode was utterly showered in shadow, what little relief the bleeding moonlight provided her now a blessing. She had her pick of hiding spots, for whatever she was expected to flee from.
Octavia ascended, scrambling up the stairs as speedily and silently as she could manage. She couldn’t even guarantee she’d made it out of sight, pressed nearly flat against the wall of the hallway above. The dichotomy of her confused, pounding heart in the silence and the slow creaking of the front door were enough to make her feel sick.
If she angled herself very, very carefully around the corner, Octavia just barely had the leverage to make out Theo, Miracle Agony raised threateningly to his lips as he glared down an intruder. Apparently, Octavia had been correct in her assumption that his tendency to leave the door unlocked was common knowledge. He didn’t budge. Neither did their interloper, the unwelcome night forcing its way into the stillness of the cottage alongside her.
For a moment, the girl was silent, content to return Theo’s deadly gaze. Still, she didn’t flinch. She was empty-handed, and yet those hands never arose in surrender. It was only her eyes, in the slightest, that betrayed her coolness. In all of her panicked scrambling for the safety of obscurity, Octavia hadn’t even noticed Mixoly’s disappearance. All it left was three Heartful Maestros in one place, tense and holding breaths they feared to exhale. Not one dared to move.
“Where is she?”
As to why Faith would bother asking anything of Theo aloud, Octavia could only assume ignorance. For how isolated he truly was, it was almost believable. It wouldn’t explain the door. As expected, she got no response. Only Miracle Agony at the ready served as an answer, Theo’s fingers nearly twitching against each key as he followed the Maestra’s every last movement. Octavia wondered if he was looking for an excuse. She wondered if Faith even knew the exact danger he posed to her.
“Where is she?” Faith demanded again, somewhat less timidly.
Theo only narrowed his eyes, tensing ever further. Faith offered him nearly an identical glare, daggers launched at a ten-year-old boy in a way that was almost cruel. He didn’t budge.
With far too little caution, Faith sloppily emulated the motions of a violin in song. Theo shook his head slowly, never once moving the mouthpiece of the piccolo an inch from his lips. Faith growled. It was a sound Octavia had never heard from the Maestra before.
“Liar! Where is she? I know you know!” she snapped, her voice wobbling severely.
Faith’s hands, balled into tight fists, were more than distant enough from the case on her back to give Theo breathing room. He never let Miracle Agony stray far, tucked cautiously beneath the crook of his arm. He signed rapidly and fiercely, his hands audibly hitting one another with the force of every unspoken word. Armed or not, he still never took his eyes off Faith. She stamped her foot in aggravation.
“Stop doing that! I don’t…just stop!” she hissed.
Theo only seemed to gesture more furiously. In a strange way, it was a comfort to Octavia that she wasn’t the only person who didn’t understand him. Still, she’d picked up on the motion for “kill” some time ago, relative to how often she’d seen it. Now, it tumbled from his fingers freely. Her stomach twisted into a knot.
The moment Faith’s own palms trailed towards the straps on her back, Theo’s hands moved far more quickly than hers in yet another way. Never had a singular inhale looked so menacing, one rise of his shoulders enough to ready his radiance at a moment’s notice. All it would take was one tiny, effortless breath, and a single note would be enough to unleash chaos upon Faith. She noticed. Her eyes widened, and her hands stilled nearly in mid-air, hovering uselessly just above Jadareverie’s case.
Do not provoke him.
“You’re the one who wanted me to come!”
I know.
Octavia had heard that voice fleetingly. Her eyes widened. Recognition took longer than she’d hoped for, and placing a name to the feminine words she eavesdropped on only twisted the knot in her stomach harder.
“What do you want me to do, then, huh?” Faith snarled, gritting her teeth. It was a face Octavia had never watched her make before, anxious and aggravated all at once.
What do you see?
“She’s not here,” Faith answered shakily. “I don’t…see her.”
No amount of labored breathing or biting her nails was draining the stress from the Maestra’s eyes. Octavia could’ve sworn she was sweating, even from so far a distance. Under Theo’s unbroken line of sight, she’d once done the same, and she probably would’ve done it again. Whether or not that was the sole reason remained to be seen.
“Should I look for her?”
Octavia could feel the adrenaline burning through her skin. If worse came to worst, provided Faith was referring to her, she had nothing. She’d be absolutely relying on Theo for protection. It wasn’t a matchup she could immediately predict, for what little she knew of Faith as a Maestra. She’d made it out of Velpyre. That had to count for something.
I fear such a search would lead to a quarrel.
“So what, just…just leave? After all that? Why am I even doing this again?”
That is of no concern. Do not place yourself in any further danger. Do not provoke that child. There is nothing more to be done here.
Faith’s face fell. “But I can still--”
Leave now, my child.
Faith’s shoulders heaved with breathless irritation, what few breaths she did find more than audible even from the second floor. Theo’s intimidating stance and steadied weapon be damned, the girl outright cried out in frustration. The violent bang of the tiny foyer table crashing to the hardwood nearly rattled the cottage, overturned with such force that Octavia feared it may have broken. She flinched, clapping one hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold her own breath perfectly still.
It took another five full, intense seconds of Theo’s menacing glare boring into Faith’s heart before the door, too, slammed shut with a bang of its own. The Maestra left almost as soon as she’d come, and Octavia stared at the closed door wordlessly in her wake. The silence that settled upon the cottage once more was suffocating and intolerable, and Octavia feared breaking it in any capacity. She didn’t dare exhale, half-expecting the entrance to give way any second yet again. Theo didn’t budge, just the same. Miracle Agony was frozen in place at his lips, still more than prepared to decimate whatever would challenge him.
Do not move.
Octavia didn’t disagree with Mixoly. She didn’t disobey, content to cling to her hiding place high above the first floor for several scathingly-silent minutes. In that time, Theo was a statue, utterly unmoving as he leered at the closed door alone. His stance never faltered, and his arms never tired. For her own peace of mind, Octavia hoped his top priority was protecting Mixoly. To go through all of this for the Ambassador would sting her with guilt, and even entertaining the thought was doing so already.
It felt like an eternity before Mixoly gave her permission to breathe. You must leave immediately.
Octavia at last was able to peer around the corner in full, poking her head out from behind the wall. “Was she…looking for me?”
Yes.
“Why?”
I have warned you to be wary of the Heartful.
Her heart sank clean into her stomach.
“I-I…How did she know I was here?” Octavia stammered.
I know not. You were followed, perhaps?
Octavia shook her head desperately, descending the stairs with the lightest steps she could manage. “N-No, I’m sure of it! I’m always careful. Faith is the last person who’d follow me, anyway.”
Only once she’d reached the bottom step did Theo fully relax, and even that wasn’t enough to peel his eyes away from the door. Mixoly, unseen as she was, spoke in his place. It was surely not that child who sought you out, Ambassador.
Octavia winced. “You mean--”
You must leave, you must not be followed, and you absolutely must not allow her to find you here again. I cannot guarantee your safety, Ambassador, and there is only so much that this child could do.
Theo grimaced beneath the weight of her words. To Octavia’s surprise, whatever he was signing didn’t appear to be for her alone, given the way he eyed Miracle Agony balanced carefully atop his forearms.
Still, it is not a risk I am comfortable taking. I will not endanger you, the Muse insisted gently.
Octavia could’ve sworn Theo was pouting. It was, for the first time, somewhat cute. It was the closest she’d ever come to seeing him as a boy his age rather than a terrifying Maestro.
“Am I safe to go back?” Octavia murmured fearfully. “I don’t…have anything. I can’t defend myself.”
Mixoly hesitated to respond. For once, Octavia could empathize. She wasn’t sure what she’d say, either.
Flee as quickly as possible, Mixoly commanded. Run, if you must. Do not be seen.
Running wasn’t even slightly a problem. Everything else was still more than a concern. For all she knew, Faith could’ve been waiting for her immediately outside the door, and she would've been none the wiser until it was far too late. To ask Theo for an escort back was out of the question, given what danger she’d be placing him in as a result--and Mixoly, by proxy.
Should her life be at risk in earnest, she could always gamble on the gift of divine intervention that would spare her from any number of hellish outcomes. As to whether she’d be able to hold out long enough for him to recognize her distress in the dead of night and intervene, Octavia would only be able to pray to the stars. To drag her soldier into the spider web with her was as perilous as it was comforting. It was just Renato. It was specifically Renato. Surely Mixoly would understand.
Ultimately, she couldn’t count on it. The blood rushing through her ears threatened to drown her thoughts. “I’m…gonna come back. I’m not giving up. It’s working. I know it’s working.”
You are in danger, Ambassador, now more than ever. You have earned their suspicions. There is little time left for us.
Octavia nodded, doing whatever it took to brush the crushing pressure of her newly-flipped hourglass to the side. “I-I can do it. We can do this. I won’t give up on you, so don’t give up on me, okay?”
Theo’s sad eyes absolutely scorched her. She preferred his hostility. For once, Octavia yearned for it by comparison.
Her soft words were for him instead. “I’ll be back. I’ll save her. I promise.”
Theo didn’t nod, nor did he do anything but stare with silent sorrow. Just once, someone believing in her would've been nice. It didn’t matter which of them it was.
Every frantic step into the night burned, both secondary to scalding adrenaline and her screaming muscles. Octavia knew the route by heart, and the clouded evening had blessed her for once. There was no Faith, and that, too, was a blessing. Mixoly had demanded of her the one thing she was an expert at. Octavia sprinted with such fervor that it was only fear she couldn't leave in her wake. That, at least, followed her all the way back.
Whatever kinship she’d shared with her legacy sibling had evaporated in an instant, baffling as the experience had been. Between Faith and Stratos, with Theo and Mixoly at the center of her brilliant galaxy, Octavia's Heartful universe was collapsing into a black hole. She wondered how fast she’d have to go to outrun its grasp.
