— CHAPTER III: SFORZANDO
wc: 3.2k
a/n: OMGGGG WE ARE SO BACK FINALLY AFTER ALMOST A MONTH I BELIEVE... FUCK EXAM SZN!!! thank you to the 3 lacrimosa fans for being so patient and waiting, i love you guys <3 ALSO i'm really really itching to start a lumen series SFHSJDHF so i'll be doing this while catching up on the aegir/seaborn sidestories arc so i can write lore accurate lumen!!
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stumbling about the dark alleyways where the sunlight hasn’t touched yet, a pale haired youth calls out for his grandfather, the only source of flickering lumination a flashlight that hadn’t seen new batteries in a while. then he spots the old man, hobbling out of a stairwell from a building he’d never been to himself— and he runs forward, catching him in his arms when he stumbles down the last step. “grandpa, you had us all worried!”
the old man watches kreide with remorse as he dials a number on his phone, and the call connects to a familiar voice. “i’ve found him, hibiscus. i’ll bring him back to the office right away.” but he knows that kreide will only gently take his hand and walk him to the rhodes island office, without any scolding. “please don’t do that again! i was terrified!”
the streets are almost hauntingly silent, in the early hours when most of the district hadn’t woken up yet, save for the occasional shuffle of feet that didn’t belong to kreide or his grandfather. the guilt of his dissention of the treatment grows like a knot in his throat, staining his conscience a muddy black. he cannot look at the violet of kreide’s eyes.
after all, he had become like a real grandson to him, over the course of so many years. it must have been inevitable, but still… the guilt clawing in his chast has become a far more serious ailment than oripathy had ever been. he see the owner of the coffee shop, who greets them before turning a corner and disappearing, but not before leaving his gaze on him for a little moment too long.
the office is still brightly lit, the way it had been when he had left his grandpa the previous evening, the only place in the district that was still so awake even at such an odd hour— he supposes that such is the way of someone who’s pledged themselves to the service of others’ lives. kreide is greeted by the face of a familiar young lady sitting in the waiting area, a pad of papers in her hand.
you look up at him, your gaze so tired and weary, and muster up the smallest smile that you could offer, because your mother had taught you so many years ago that even the smallest spark of joy could turn anything around. hibiscus emerges from the dorm, a stagger in her step and solemnity in her eyes. “your mother’s better now, she’s stable at the very least— though i’d wait for another hour before moving her, just to be sure.”
and just as soon as she informs you, she’s already gone down the hallways again, supporting the hobbling old man into the dorm she’d converted into a ward. only you and kreide now remain in the waiting room, and he takes a seat next to you. the creak of the bench is loud as it cuts sharply through the silent air, and you almost find yourself making a face. however, kreide laughs at that. and it is a sound so soft and musical, even at the break of dawn, even with exhaustion decorating his voice, and you can’t help but find your lips turning upward too.
“is everything okay?”
“she… i don’t know why it happened, actually. hibiscus said something about a false recovery, i didn’t really understand.” you’re only glad your seating arrangement allows you not to look kreide in the eye. the “but we’re going to send mutti back to her hospital soon, the doctors there would be able to monitor her more so it wouldn’t hurt.”
“what’s up with your grandpa though?”
“ah… you know how he can get…” he only sighs, because it’s the only thing he can do. “he left the ward early in the dawn when no one was looking.”
“he’s always been such a sentimental old man, hasn’t he?” the memories reel through your mind, of when you had just moved into afterglow and had become friends with kreide, and the way he’d talk about his beloved grandson finally managing to make a friend after all this while. the way his eyes were masked with a profound sadness every time he reminisced their past. “he wasn’t willing to let go even after everything.”
“we’re used to it, but i can’t help but wonder what my life would’ve been like if we weren’t moving around all the time,” he can’t afford to let himself get consumed by what could’ve been, but he’ll allow it just this once in the silence of your sole company. “if we hadn’t gotten infected.”
“i can imagine it must take such a toll, especially with the oripathy.” no sooner than the affirmation falls out of your lips, you are gripped by another possibility that chills you to the bone. it frightens you, like a ship breaking off from its anchor in the storm. “are you planning to move out of afterglow too?”
“eh, not really? we’re still living better here than we ever have before,” he replies, and relief instantly spreads into your shoulders. “and besides, now that grandpa’s finally getting treated here i suppose that ties us down to this place now.”
and then the silence hangs in the air once more, decaying and splintering.
“kreide, wait, kreide,” you catch his wrist almost immediately, and your pleas fracture under the pressure of something unsaid. a fleeting flash of ebenholz appears in his head, and he swears he can almost hear him reprimand the decision he is about to make. but he cannot bring himself to leave you to bear the weight of the world all by yourself. so, he sits back down.
—
today, the afterglow hall will not be seeing as many visitors as it had on the day of the first round of selections. the line is much shorter, and save for herr czerny and a few of his accompanying musicians that formed the judging panel for the day, there were very few people among the audience. ebenholz isn’t sure if that necessarily eases his anxieties, and besides, kreide still hadn’t arrived— that fact alone was enough to stir his heart into a frantic flurry if the prospect of having to perform for the legendary czerny himself had not.
his heart stops beating so erratically when he hears a panting and a familiar voice next to him. “i’m sorry i’m late…”
“kreide! if you’d been any later, we would’ve been waltzing home together.” ebenholz hisses. “would you mind explaining yourself?”
“my grandpa went missing this morning,” he says, finding it hard to look the other man in the eye. his voice dwindles into slow contemplation and the words sit heavy in his larynx. “... found him in an alley, said he was taking a walk.”
“the entire time that you took to get here?”
“i did also have to go to the rhodes island office for the admission procedure too,”
“as far as i know, they only have a miniscule office here, do they not?” “they can’t possibly be admitting patients.”
so, the young caprinae men go back and forth like that for a while as they bide their time. ebenholz insists that rhodes island must surely be no different from those other rotten corporations, that they must be cutting corners from their patients’ care to make up for the subsidised fees. kreide doesn’t necessarily agree, but the sight of the young graf taking the trouble to concern himself with an infected’s matters at all makes his heart swell— most nobles wouldn’t even turn an eye towards the commoners, let alone worry themselves with the money required for oripathy treatment.
the little discussion ends as the two men hear their names resound through the speakers. they walk onto the stage, ebenholz’s steps having the slightest poise that kreide’s lacks. herr czerny is seated at the very front of the scant audience, with nothing but neutrality in his every feature— it would almost seem like even his large horns would droop in a moment’s notice. “greetings, herr czerny,” ebenholz says, practiced and straight.
czerny adjusts his glasses, and rests his eyes on the both of them. “no need for pleasantries. you may begin.”
without another word, ebenholz brings his flute to his lips, and kreide rests the bow on the strings of the cello. one draws and one breathes. the fluid but tense music flows throughout the auditorium, and so it does for the next while, until kreide draws one last sigh from the cello; little beads of sweat have formed on ebenholz’s forehead, despite the air-conditioning in the hall.
the look on czerny’s face is frightening and fraught with disapproval. “you haven’t practiced much, have you?”
his face burns up to the tips of his ears. “as you surmised, but—”
the judge is having none of it. “it sounds like the both of you scrabbled it together, and there is no sense of co-ordination. especially from you with the way you force kreide to accommodate you while you ignore everything he emotes on the cello. at least, you realised it in time and did not actually ruin the entire passage.”
“i would have ruined the entire passage?” ebenholz asks incredulously. “i feel you may not have heard clearly…”
“i’m sitting right here at the front, and you tell me i don’t hear clearly?” the annoyance echoes in czerny’s words, and ebenholz wants to hide away from his stern stare.
“herr czerny, ebenholz doesn’t mean to offend you! he just—” kreide cuts in, but he remains resolute in his judgement.
“just what? all i see is someone too coddled by flattery.”
coddled by flattery?!” the dark haired caprinae protests. his voice rises in indignation and his heart beats just a slight bit faster, pounding in his chest and echoing all throughout the ribcage. one whisper among the entrants in the audience breaks out into a silent whispery chatter. “you know nothing of my circumstances!”
“ebenholz!” kreide hisses, standing up and placing the cello where it was on the stage, already preparing to leave.
the judge remains ever so strict and unfeeling. “i will consider kreide. you may leave. next!”
“herr czerny, if ebenholz isn’t allowed to perform, then i cannot either.”
“hm? what is forcing you to speak for him?” czerny raises an eyebrow. “this concert won’t sink for losing one potential cellist, and certainly not for losing a youngling noble such as your companion here.”
ebenholz follows kreide off the stage, sulking and frowning and gripping his flute so hard the metal leaves marks on his palms. “so flippant for writing a piece or two, who does he think he is?!”
“calm down, calm down, i’m sure we can do something about this.”
“how can i possibly be calm after that… that embarrassment? how can he think i am coddled by flattery?!”
“it must have been a misunderstanding, surely he didn’t think we were that lousy…” it’s a terrible attempt at consolation, and kreide knows this, but also that he couldn’t completely blame czerny for his assessment of ebenholz that was influenced by his status of nobility.
“well, he didn’t think you were that lousy. it was me he had a problem with.”
“perhaps he would change his mind if you apologised to him?”
“certainly not! there must be some way that does not include having to humble myself before him.” he says. “in any case, we should head back. i’ll return to my residence, and think of what we can do.”
“alright then…” kreide bids his farewell to ebenholz and watches him make his way back to cliffy patio until his figure becomes naught but a speck of black against the bright blue sky before finally making the move back to afterglow.
but he does not go up the stairwell to his flat. instead, he makes a beeline to another residence, a familiar one with slightly more life than his own. he knocks on the door, and calls out your name. you open the door to him, looking much worse for wear than you had ever been in all the years that you had lived in afterglow.
—
it rings sharply in his mind, and leaves him struggling for his breath as though he had been punched in the gut. he can almost hear it laughing and jeering at him, mocking him for being loathed even by the commoners.
ebenholz stumbles into cliffy patio, a stagger in his step and fingers pressed on his temples, though he knows it would do nothing to alleviate the pain. he sees a noble he doesn’t recognise, but looks all too familiar. “do you need a hand?” he asks.
“i–i’ll be alright, thank you very much.”
“pardon me.” the oddly pale-faced noble nods and leaves. ebenholz could’ve almost sworn that the noble in front of him should’ve been the one requiring assistance, and not himself, for how sickly he looked. no matter, though, he continues walking until he sees the familiar figure of dame strollo’s residence.
he steps in and almost reels from the sudden change of lighting, the dark yellow glow of the interior of the mansion contrasting heavily with the bright sun outside. dame strollo herself is present in the living room, and beckons to him to take a seat. “is your headache flaring up again?”
“it’s fine,” he replies. “it’s more or less faded by now.”
“i apologise for what happened at the selections today, and for causing you a headache, at that,” she speaks once more, voice rueful.
“how did you know–” the caprinae stops himself before the gears turn in his head. “it slipped my mind you were one of the sponsors of the event. of course you’d know about it.”
“indeed. and i hear czerny didn’t assess you two badly at all.” dame strollo continues. “he intentionally designated the two of you as backups for ‘morgen und abend’.”
“really?”
“i have him worked out to an extent,” she cracks a slight smile upon stating this. “besides, he is a famed artist, and an infected, at that, his temper must simply have flared up. please, excuse him.”
annoyance flares in his cheeks when he is reminded of czerny once more by the dame, so he simply huffs in response, before she continues.
“in any case, i do have my influence over this concert. you and kreide can continue practicing.”
the prospect of it… sickens him, at the very least. he never did, and never wanted to consider himself as the sort of person to resort to dirty tactics to get what he wanted. “to be honest, i’d rather redo the selections than have you exercise your sway.”
“still, don’t let this get to you too much.” it’s a poor attempt at consolation, but perhaps she wasn’t trying at all to begin with. “tea? we have citrus-flavoured black tea today. they say it does wonders for headaches.”
“thank you very much.” he picks up a teacup that the servants had just filled and placed on the coffee table. it is still steaming, and the lemony scent almost immediately gets to him, and he takes a small sip.
“moving on… i hope you remember our agreement regarding the voice of the mundane.”
“yes, yes, of course i do,” he replies, ever so slightly strained. “what do you have in mind?”
“it is very simple. you need only perform on that stage with your acquaintance kreide. that will suffice.”
“out of kindness, i will treat this as a joke, dame gertrude.”
“but what if i told you,” the dame looks him in the eyes with such intensity. “that kreide also has a voice of the mundane, just like you do?”
“what?!” he almost drops his teacup. “but the twin empresses made it clear that i was the only one!”
“that just goes to show there are things even they don’t know about.” she states matter-of-factly, while he’s still reeling from the shock.
“moving onto the basis of the plan,” she doesn’t give him enough time to recover. “two voices need only come close enough for a ‘resonanz’ to occur, and this will amplify both your arts as it occurs.”
“beyond this, resonanz is also its own powerful energy that will be massively intensified when the two of you perform as an ensemble. it just needs an appropriate induction, and then i’ll be able to transfer your voice of the mundane into him.”
it sounds like a fine enough plan to ebenholz, but… “then what will happen to kreide?”
“you needn’t worry yourself with such matters, graf franz. all of these matters, i will take care of them.” the conviction in her words is loud and clear. he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel anything stirring in his gut when he heard them.
“why does it have to be czerny’s concert? i still don’t understand,” he questions. he does not see the need for it to be as big of a deal as she’s making it out to be. “i can duet with kreide at his home, you step in and induce this resonance, and then transfer my voice into him. won’t that work?”
“do you know of the history of afterglow hall?”
“pray tell, dame gertrude.”
“as you know, the construction of the hall was completed under the supervision of the witch king, who had intended it to resemble his spire. it was meant as a fortress of arts, to terrify his worst enemies; this architectural wonder is closely interlinked with the city itself, capable of amplifying both sound and arts in very specific ways for many purposes. do you have any other questions about the details of this plan?”
the reasoning seems thought out enough, but still… he feels more backed into a corner than anything else, if he had to be honest about this. on one hand, he’d be rid of the voice but forever in dame strollo’s debt, but on the other, if he were to refuse, he might very well be putting a bounty on his own head for possibly being a remnant of the witch king.
seeing that ebenholz remains silent, she takes it as a cue to continue. “after this is done, i’ll take care of kreide and other trifles, and then you are free to escape your unbearable nobility and become a free citizen. of course, though, this would mean that ‘graf urtica’ must ‘die’ in the process.”
“and what would you gain of it? i’m just a puppet graf with no real control over urtica right now, and when i become an unidentified citizen i’ll be of even less use to you.” he asks his final question. “sorry, but it’s hard for me to believe you don’t have anything to gain out of helping me take the voice of the mundane out.”
“oh, dear graf, the greatest favour you could give me is the power to ‘rise from the dead’,” the dame replies. “when the time is right— imagine how the public would react.”
“i see.” he refuses to meet her eyes, for he feels like she could burn a hole straight through him with her sharp gaze. “please allow me some time alone, dame gertrude.”
“very well,” she stands up. “if you wish to go outside, please inform the servants before you do.”
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