(Gale's POV)

  A hush fell over the crowd, thick and heavy with anticipation. It was a silence that crackled with unspoken energy, a void into which Harald stepped with an almost unnerving calm.

  I watched him from my vantage point near the edge of the stage, my senses heightened by the stress of the situation we found ourselves in. Harald moved with a deliberate grace, his footsteps soundless on the moss-covered platform. In any other situation, I would have admired his poise. Now, it bordered on terrifying.

  His body language was… too composed. His shoulders were relaxed, his head held high, his expression serene.

  But the telepathic link we shared sang a different tune.

  His true state of mind was a hurricane of suppressed fury. I could feel the barely contained tremors of his magic, the barely restrained pressure of his anger. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced from him. I realized with a jolt that I had never seen Harald angry before. What would a being of his level of power do when provoked? The thought of it made me recoil in instinctive fear.

  Harald reached the center of the stage, the strange enchanted instrument — a he called it — gleaming in the soft light, and turned to face the assembled crowd. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his gaze slowly sweeping across the assembled fey, as well as the other competitors. Then, his fingers settled on the guitar's neck.

  The first sound was a low, guttural growl from the instrument — making me think of some unholy cross of a violin and an enormous war horn. It was a sound that seemed to vibrate not just in the air, but in the very earth beneath our feet. It was a sound that promised power, a hint of the storm to come. Then, a rapid series of notes -- a , fast yet steady, like a slowly rising tempest, plucked so fast the sounds blurred together -- ripped through the silence.

  And then, my entire world began to tilt on its axis, for, while I thought I knew Harald’s music from the couple demonstrations he had given us the day before…

  …I now realized that I, in fact, knew .

  From Harald's back, two ghostly arms erupted, one hand gripping an identical, ethereal-looking guitar. The ghostly instrument shimmered with a faint, otherworldly light, its form shifting and swirling like captured starlight. There was a to the new instrument, a raw magical that defied explanation. I fancied myself something of an expert in the school of Illusion — and yet…

  Harald had interrupted my thoughts by promptly conjuring set of arms with a ghostly guitar.

  Then, yet with a

  My breath hitched in my throat. Even had never seen anything like this, and Mystra had shown me some… admittedly insane illusion magic in my time with her.

  The true shock here wasn't the visual spectacle, it was the being produced.

  The four guitars, played in a perfect, impossible synchronicity, wove together a tapestry of sound so complex, so intricate, that it defied comprehension. It was a borne from an impossible complexity, each note a separate voice, yet blending together into a single, overwhelming whole. And Harald was producing that harmony playing his song on four instruments simultaneously, all while seamlessly casting wide-scale illusion magic… without an incantation, material components, or even gestures of any kind.

  I heard a sharp, strangled gasp from the Judges’ table, turning to see Verenestra sputtering in a undignified manner, a stream of wine trickling down her chin from the goblet she had just dropped. Her usually serene face was a mask of shock and disbelief. I knew Verenestra by reputation. She was known, even among the Archfey, as an unparalleled illusionist — with the corresponding ability to see through any and all illusions, no matter how subtle or complex. The fact that she was so utterly stunned meant that she couldn’t see through Harald's display.

  And the sound… by Mystra, the sound!

  ()

  Imagine a blacksmith's hammer, not striking metal, but moonlight. Imagine a storm of pure energy, crackling and arcing with every note. Imagine the raw, untamed power of the Feywild itself, channeled through sound alone.

  If you can imagine all of you may get halfway close to what I was hearing.

  The melody was both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of emotions that left me breathless and disoriented. There were moments of delicate beauty, like moonlight filtering through a spider's web, followed by passages of raw, untamed power, like a dragon's roar echoing through a mountain pass. There were undercurrents of darkness and sorrow, a haunting melancholy that spoke of ancient secrets and forgotten tragedies — but the harmony made the experience more grandiose than what any single instrument, however enchanted, could ever hope to produce.

  I had never heard anything like it. Not in Elysium. Not on any plane I’d ever visited. Despite the fact that Harald had played a few songs for us earlier, could have prepared me for this.

  For most of the assembled Fey, who had likely rarely heard anything more complex than a single lute or a harp, it must have been an experience akin to suddenly being transported to an Outer Plane of Elemental Chaos. Their faces were a study in shock and awe. Some were weeping openly. Others were frozen in place, their eyes wide and unblinking. Yet others were laughing hysterically while clawing at their own faces, their expressions an unholy mix of ecstasy and dread.

  It was a maelstrom of pure, untamed emotion.

  And then, the Plane itself began to react to the music.

  The moonlight overhead, instead of providing a soft and diffuse illumination, became bright and – somehow – impossibly sharp, bending and twisting in unnatural ways, focusing on Harald as if he were some heavenly general in control of their celestial energy. I felt the air palpably thicken with Magicka, becoming heavy and suffocating to my newly-attuned senses. The very ground beneath my feet resonated with the rhythm of the song, vibrating like a mystical heartbeat.

  It was as if the music was a force of nature, reshaping the world around us, bending reality to its will.

  It was beautiful.

  It was terrifying.

  It was, honestly, the most impressive thing I had ever heard.

  ++

  The final notes of the first piece faded, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. The assembled fey crowd seemed to hold its collective breath, suspended in awe.

  Hyrsam was practically bouncing on his throne, his eyes wide with unrestrained glee. He had a wide, toothy grin splitting his face, and seemed to be having the time of his life, his earlier boredom utterly banished by this spectacle. He let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy, a sound that echoed across the clearing.

  Verenestra, on the other hand, looked — for lack of a better pun — as if she had seen a ghost. Her face was pale, her usually impeccable composure shattered. Her hands trembled visibly, and her gaze darted around the stage, as if expecting yet more impossibilities to appear from thin air.

  Titania and Oberon, the Summer Queen and her Consort, looked visibly uncomfortable. They shifted in their seats, their regal bearing momentarily forgotten. Their expressions were a mix of fascination and unease, as if they were witnessing something beautiful and profane at the same time. Oberon's usual swagger was gone, replaced by a wary look. Titania had a frown marring her perfect features, her eyes narrowed with apprehension.

  Lliira, the Goddess of Joy, was openly weeping. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of overwhelming emotion, of a joy so profound it bordered on pain. Her face was radiant, her expression a mixture of ecstasy and devastation. She clutched her chest, her sobs echoing softly in the stunned silence.

  Then, Harald

  …And the stage erupted with… .

  This time, Harald didn't merely create extra arms. He created .

  of them.

  One moment, there was Harald, standing alone in the center of the stage. The next, the massive stage platform became in Haralds, a ghostly army called forth to fight a battle of passion and sound. Each Harald clone held an instrument, some of which — like violins — I recognized, while many others were utterly alien to me: bizarre-looking contraptions of wood or metal that looked like they belonged in the workshop of a mad artificer more than on a bardic stage.

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  My mind reeled.

  I had never seen anything like this before. Everyone knew that Bardic groups rarely exceeded four or five members, even in courtly performances. The idea of more than musicians, all playing at once, was unprecedented. Revolutionary. It was a concept so audacious, so daring, that it defied comprehension.

  And then, the Army of Haralds began to play again.

  The resulting sound was… .

  ()

  The new song was, somehow, both complex and deceptively simple, and was accompanied by a tidal wave of sheer that threatened to drown us all in its sheer magnificence.

  The melody itself was hauntingly beautiful, a melancholic yet powerful theme that spoke of loss and longing, of a love that transcended even death. It was a melody that tugged at the heartstrings, that stirred deep emotions within me.

  …

  And then, Harald began to… sing?

  …But it wasn’t singing as I understood it. It wasn't the soaring tenor of the elf, or the melancholic baritone of the gnome.

  This was… something else. Something primal. Something .

  It was… a growl.

  A scream.

  A guttural

  But… it wasn’t quite the same.

  There was a strange dissonance to it, a discord that

  have worked, that have been jarring and unpleasant.

  But, somehow, it wasn’t.

  When heard together with the harmony of eighty accompanying instruments, the song was instead… compelling. Hauntingly so.

  The raw, visceral power of Harald’s angel scream as it was being torn apart by internal grief, a sound that was both divine and demonic simultaneously. A paradox that defied logic and reason.

  As I listened, I found myself considering, with a growing sense of wonder, if the lyrics could have been about Harald himself.

  …

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  …

  As the music washed over me, the words began to resonate with me on a deeply personal level. I thought of my own ambitions, of my relentless pursuit of arcane mastery, of my own insatiable thirst for adventure, knowledge, and power.

  …

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  What a powerful insight! I realized that I, too, had always been driven by a fear of mediocrity, a fear of failing to live up to my potential. I had pushed myself relentlessly, striving for greatness, convinced that only those who dared to reach for the stars would be remembered.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  Had I been so focused on my own goals that I had neglected the simpler joys of life? I remembered my family. I had left them behind, chasing my dreams, convinced that my destiny lay elsewhere. Then, after I’ve been cursed by the Orb and after Mystra abandoned me, I had decided not to return, for fear of putting them in danger.

  Had they grieved for me? Had my absence left a void in their lives? The thought filled me with a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. The lyrics had hit me like a physical blow, and I suddenly realized just how much I missed them all. My mother, with her gentle smile and unwavering support. My father, with his quiet strength and boundless wisdom. My Tressym familiar, Tara, with her infectious wit and unwavering loyalty.

  I had left them all behind, chasing dreams that now seemed… hollow.

  ...

  My musings were broken as the music — suddenly — turned truly ominous. Harald’s voice — already alight with the Screams of the Damned — somehow gained an even

  …

  

  

  

  

  

  As he sang (or, rather, roared out?) the lines, Harald struck a sinister — and rather over-the-top villainous pose — his body language evoking the image of a mad mage or cultist of some long-forgotten entity. Yet, his theatrics seemingly had their intended effect: many fey physically recoiled, and even Sylvie hid her face in Karlach’s arms, occasionally peeking at the performance — only to once again hide in Karlach’s embrace after hearing a particularly sinister-sounding harmony.

  The music steadily built up from a soft melody to a dramatic, crescendo, ultimately manifesting a wave of sound that physically vibrated the air itself.

  …

  

  

  

  The music now resembled a heartbeat; the very essence of the song was coalescing into a tangible force. Faster and faster the rhythm progressed until, as the final, soaring note reached its peak, Harald’s entire body erupted in a blinding flash of light!

  It wasn’t a gentle glow, but a raw, untamed radiance, like looking directly into the heart of the Elemental Plane of Fire. , unlike any I had ever seen, exploded outwards, a chaotic symphony of vibrant hues that danced and swirled around him. It was as if he had become some kind of demented sun, a being of twisted energy and light, radiating power in every direction. The light pulsed and throbbed, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed and twisted across the faces of the stunned onlookers.

  Through all of that, Harald’s relentless performance boldly continued.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  …

  I had always believed that power was the ultimate goal, that arcane might was the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. But now, listening to Harald’s song, I wondered if I had been wrong. Was power truly worth the price of isolation? Was arcane mastery worth the loss of love?

  ...

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  ...

  The song ended, leaving me breathless and shaken.

  It was more than just a performance.

  It was a confession. A lament. A warning. And it had struck a chord deep within my soul, forcing me to confront truths I had long tried to ignore.

  I realized, with a sudden, painful clarity, that I

  my family. I missed the warmth of their love, the comfort of their presence, the simple joys of home. I had been so focused on my own ambitions, so consumed by my pursuit of arcane mastery, that I had forgotten what truly mattered.

  I could see clearly now. Power and arcane might weren't everything. They were tools, means to an end, but they weren't an end in and of themselves. The true treasures in life were the connections we forged, the love we shared, the moments of joy and sorrow that made us … people.

  And I had almost lost sight of that.