Octavia knew how this worked, vaguely. Mixoly had told her as much. For all of the eyes she'd stolen through touches upon a little piccolo, a humble violin was no different. Her strangers were irrelevant, their identities equally so. Not one was familiar, their worlds and lives enigmas she didn't care to unravel.

Her focus was on Stratos and Stratos alone--whether blessed by his tone, his words, or the simple visage of a beautiful vessel her hands had long since memorized the sensation of. Sometimes, her borrowed eyes were wide with awe at his luminous prowess, accidentally spawned or otherwise. It was, admittedly, comical, although she knew the reaction to be vaguely hypocritical. Everyone started somewhere. She'd been no exception.

The Ambassador?

They are the key to salvation.

How do you mean?

In human hands, a balance may be struck. While our touch may burden the world, that of one who already walks upon it will not. Just as we entrust ourselves to others, so, too, would we entrust ourselves to one alone. It would be more than simply repelling what agony she has unleashed. Know, Stratos, that such a savior could well guide our path to Above once more.

It truly was incredible, the way by which Ramulus' voice haunted his thoughts. Octavia was jealous, somewhat. It was a place only she'd hoped to inhabit. What is to be done, then?

Ramulus' explanation was thorough, if nothing else.

Had Octavia not known what she knew of the role already, she would've surely been infinitely more confused. By comparison, she greatly appreciated the way Stratos--and his assisting Muses in turn, really--had broken down her task bit by bit with patience. For how Ramulus unraveled facets of the spider web she'd never even considered, it was in the depths of the last toll she'd ever witnessed that Octavia learned exactly how complicated every tangling thread of her responsibility had been.

Stratos took it all with grace. She took it all with a headache she couldn't quite maintain, adrift in the darkness as she was. She'd keep what she could to relay when she came up, even if she knew how much would slip through her fingers. If Josiah was down here instead, he would've lost his mind.

And a human would accept such a task without question?

They would surely not, for what would come.

He had always known. It ached in every way, a confirmation Octavia still couldn't bring herself to hate him over.

You are to shape them.

How, my Lord?

It is your choice. Do as is necessary.

Octavia's heart sank.

Am I to decide?

I shall carry that burden.

It was impressive that Mixoly had recognized that part. She wondered at what point the forsaken Muse had figured it out, isolated as she'd become.

The words didn't leave Stratos' heart as often as she would've expected, really. She truly did wonder if the haste she'd been presented with initially was a ruse after all. Of those who laid claim to his vessel, multiple as they were, the candidates he found were few and far between. For the way by which he was often silent, his scheming stilled in favor of observing the world through stolen eyes, Octavia doubted he was the only sentry of the Lord of All. It made enough sense, given what she'd known of Faith's unfortunate training. Whether or not Jasse would've followed through was still a mystery.

Of those who did submit to the role, they never went far. Even without the knowledge of artificial selection or the hellish fate that awaited them should they surrender--let alone submit--so many were complacent. In reality, Stratos was lucky if his coercion led to anywhere at all, for those who weren't so easily persuaded. Ultimately, many did doff the role. It chilled Octavia to her core to witness the consequences. How close she'd come to the same was utterly horrifying.

Did…did you just talk to me?

There was, as could be expected, exactly one candidate who didn't shy away.

You hear my voice, then.

Oh my God, you're talking to me.

She would never stop being so beautiful, even in the darkest depths of a toll.

I have been with you all along. Are you truly surprised?

The violin is talking to me.

Stratos' light, unseen or not, was the most gorgeous compliment to her own.

Ambassador?

One such as yourself, who may guide our path to where we rightfully belong.

Deceptive or not, their hearts were inseparable. Octavia couldn't blame her for loving him. For how she loved him, too, there was at least a brief moment of hesitation. Stratos was truly deceitful, and that had been established in earnest. Still, Octavia walked a fine line between a love for the softest golds and the most delicate reds. One was innocent in every way. One was complicit, maliciously or otherwise.

Once you undertake the role, you may still relinquish the title in the future. Should you become overwhelmed, simply speak to such. We will find another.

That, then, hurt.

You are a fool who would bring more pride to your legacy than any before you.

She wondered, in the most briefly bitter way, if he lamented that Drey had beaten him to Priscilla's downfall. It was somewhat sick, the manner in which Octavia was certain Priscilla would've preferred the fate of the Ambassador instead.

Are you praising me or insulting me?

I am admiring you.

Octavia had sworn to trust in his words, at least of her own accord. Her heart burned more with each and every soft sentiment Stratos offered up. Priscilla deserved the world. Priscilla deserved better.

Can I…recommend someone?

That, too, was a problem.

For what reason have you hesitated?

He'd spent years in that chest. Octavia wondered if he was lonely, plunged right back into the darkness with only the Apex of Heart for company.

Of those who walk this world with such pure hearts, is it not a sin to lead them astray?

It is not out of malice. Our actions serve a greater purpose.

It is tragic.

I do not disagree.

His sorrow was contagious.

Is there…truly no other way?

You have grown attached, then.

I have not.

There is no shame in admitting so.

I simply wish to preserve what has been created.

As do I, Stratos. Even still, unfortunate sacrifices are to be made.

I…understand.

Will you abandon your role?

I will not.

Recall its intent.

Yes, my Lord.

To split his love was a cruelty. It split Octavia's heart in turn. Stratos had his chance with the very same heart, ultimately.

Don't.

Stop!

Protect him.

Octavia!

How ironic, then, that the first words he'd offered to her had been so fleeting. She wondered at what point they'd come to mean anything.

Stradivaria?

Yes?

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I just wanted to know if you were there.

I am here, Octavia.

Her name in his voice had always been so sweet, whether within or without.

To what degree would you follow in the path of your sister?

She'd never noticed how quickly he'd begun to push. Down here, in the depths of all that he was, it took everything Octavia possessed to trust in his love. For all that she'd seen and continued to see, and for all that Mixoly had dragged to the surface, the evidence was damning and overwhelming. Every flash and fragment wasn't enough to highlight his deception at instance after instance. She found more than her soul could take.

It is for those reasons that I offer you the opportunity to step away from this path.

She very well could've died that day. Octavia wondered if it would've been instant.

It hurt. It stung. Under no circumstances did she enjoy it, and her heart broke again and again. It was as far back as she could remember, and she could hardly recall when he was once silent anymore. His voice was a natural aspect of her life, steady and constant whenever she should look for it. When she came up, it would surely still be there. She would surely still possess it in equal measure, should she opt to look within. To believe otherwise was a sin.

Even still, Octavia didn't mind sharing her eyes. If it was with him, it was fine.

She was almost flattered by the way their camaraderie had brought with it memories that she, too, would never forget. It was his light surging through her veins atop a bell tower, and much the same in desperation so far below it twice over. It was his love staining her blood in the halls of a cultural institution, blighting one besieged by ideals and one bent on revenge. It was his promise of all he could give aboard a train rolling into the night, and it was his own radiance exploding upon the touch of his kin in three different ways.

It was every last time she'd cradled him in her arms with love on moonlit nights, beset only by soft starlight and the gentle breeze to keep her company where he faltered. Of those cherished memories alone, he'd been honest. He really, truly had enjoyed it. For how many times she bore witness to the same comfort as she held fast to him over and over, she found no lie in his heart.

You are growing attached once more.

My Lord, there must be another way.

Stratos, there is not. It is as I have told you, and this will not change.

My Lord--

You have performed excellently. She is phenomenal. Take pride in your work.

She is…beautiful.

In every way.

My Lord, I only wish that she could be spared such a fate.

As do I, and yet this is how it must be.

We can…strategize. We can plan as to--

Stratos, I will speak one final time, and not a word more. This is the only way. This is the only path to redemption. I deeply regret what is to come to that child, and I hope that you do not mistake my insistence for apathy. However, you cannot forsake those Above for the heart of one below. Strengthen your own heart and do what must be done. Continue to guide her path, as she will guide others. It is the blood of the Ambassador alone that is necessary. You know this to be true. Do not ask again.

I…

Do you understand?

Yes, my Lord.

Octavia ached for him.

Octavia, please.

You're lying.

I am not.

How many times had she berated him?

Please.

Nothing you say is going to change my mind, Stratos.

Don't act like you care.

I do.

Liar.

Not of this.

How many times had she shunned his love, mired in deceit he could no longer escape?

Do you detest me?

You lied to me.

You…knew?

You knew.

And, at the worst time, how long had it taken her to realize the truth of his heart?

Would you stand against me as I claim your own?

Let this serve as my apology, by which I have wronged you in every way.

I'm not mad at you.

Not for a moment shall I leave your side.

Octavia hadn't said enough.

I don't want to do this!

I hope this will serve as your truth.

She had one thousand more questions for him. She had one thousand more words to offer him. She had one thousand more secrets to share with him, and one thousand more surges of love in her heart that she hoped would coat him in full. Stratos was selfish, then, for leaving her this way. He was awful for abandoning her to a world where his light would never again warm her blood or bring a smile to her face.

You are beloved.

You are adored.

You always shall be.

It was the worst mistake she'd ever made in her life that she hadn't told him enough times over. If she were to scream it with everything she had, if she were to let the words fly from her lungs to the empty skies above, she would do so until her heart gave out and she perished in turn. He was no Mixoly. He wasn't out there still. She couldn't fathom as to where he'd gone, nor where she was to direct her desperate cries.

Above all else, know that Priscilla loved you with all of her heart.

It mattered so, so little how recently his sweet voice had tinted her ears with love she knew well.

Above all else, know that I love you just the same.

That was all that mattered, and all that ever would.

I love you!

And Octavia's greatest relief, now and forever, was that he'd carried her words to his death.

◆ ◆ ◆

"I have borne witness to your pain!"

It was through gritted teeth and streaming tears that she struggled. It was with fingers that trembled viciously, practically digging into Rani's scalp the moment she came up. Octavia knew her voice to be cracking, shaking viciously beneath the weight of every sob that erupted from her throat. She knew of the pulsing luminescence in her peripheral, low enough that it just barely caught the edges of her eyes. Her window was closing. She didn't need it. She didn't need anything anymore.

Octavia wasn't content to simply touch the Maestra's head. Instead, she was gripping desperately, and it was with an outright scream that she found words long burned into her tongue.

"And my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart!"

Even after they'd left her lips, her iron grasp never faltered.

Her tears never stilled, her breaths never calmed, and she never ceased her relentless shaking. Octavia could do nothing more than sob endlessly, somewhat conscious through her blurring vision of the way the shimmering light beneath her waned and fizzled. No matter how fiercely she fought to restrain Rani's head, it was with little effort that the small Maestra pushed back against her.

The eyes that rose to meet hers once more waned in their own way, doffing the veil of brilliance that had plagued them for so long. They were hollow yet again, and Octavia loathed the way that the child stared into her soul. In that moment, Rani truly was an angel of death, and she returned an empty gaze with all of the hatred she could muster. Part of her knew it wasn't necessarily deserved. The rest of her didn't care.

It was Rani, then, who flickered like the light she was. Split cleanly between two worlds, she was immune to the rules of neither. Octavia breathed the tiniest sigh of relief that their collective assumptions had been correct. The girl truly was a Harmonial Instrument, and the Ambassador's touch offered mercy where Octavia wished she could offer anything but. For all Ramulus had wrought, he hardly deserved it. For what he'd stolen away, even if it had been the idea of the one she loved, she faulted him. Ramulus faulted her in turn. Octavia had stolen from him, too, after all.

"You know not what you have done," came the deep voice from Rani's lips, sparkling with something far less powerful than the radiance she'd weaponized.

And as the girl's fingertips glistened with something equally submissive, fizzling and fading into beautiful debris, it was Octavia who argued otherwise. "I know exactly what I did," she spat.

"You have destroyed something pure."

Her eyes swam with tears, and each one trickled down her cheeks eternally. "I know."

Octavia watched as every part of the dead child glossed over with the same glorious glimmer, sparking and dissipating speck by speck like shredded stars she couldn't stand to look at. He didn't deserve it. It shouldn't have been him. "It was not to be his sacrifice," Ramulus argued, stealing the words from her own thoughts.

Octavia shook her head, her sorrow splashing onto her trembling arms. "He did it for you, and he did it for me. He did it out of love. Everything he did, he did out of love!"

"It was not your love to take."

"It was!" she screamed, inches from the child's dissolving gaze.

"Stratos always was clever," Ramulus conceded softly.

"He was so much more than that," Octavia growled, somewhat lamenting the weightlessness her hands were beginning to greet. "You didn't deserve him."

"And yet it is I who had blessed his existence."

"He was too good for Above," Octavia spat. "He was a miracle."

Ramulus paused, and Octavia initially feared she'd lost the opportunity to berate him further. For all she had left to say, it was an incredible frustration. Still, so near to merging with the nothingness in which she stood, his parting words sought to sting her yet further.

"In rejecting death, you will live with the consequences, Ambassador. I hope you are satisfied with the choices you have made, for none may be undone."

Octavia narrowed her eyes, blurred by bitter tears as they were. "I don't regret a single one."

And on the cusp of her vision, Rani nodded one final time. "So be it."

Her hands met with nothing. Her gaze met with nothing. Octavia had only nothing to greet her eyes on the horizon, stretching in every conceivable direction. It was a solid reflection of her heart, and she fell to her knees almost instantly. It was a reflex to fill her hands, to look for his vessel and grasp at what was below for a bow and violin she couldn't hold.

She could still feel the slight pressure dented into her shoulder where he'd just rested, the residual sting of his light tingling against her fingertips. She could hardly stay on her knees at all, for how the rest of her gave out just as quickly. She was on her palms much the same, nearly collapsing in full beneath the weight of pain she couldn't suppress.

With only the soft sounds of Silence to fill the void, Octavia let loose the most guttural cry of grief she'd ever imagined she could carry.

For how unbelievably harshly it tore at her vocal cords and her throat, she was certain she'd practically burned them raw from a scream alone. She'd truthfully done it once before, and she recognized the exact involuntary feeling beneath the weight of yet another Ambassador's untimely passing. She was outright flush with nothingness itself, her forehead pressed to where she would've hoped to find cool ground below.

Octavia couldn't breathe, sobbing her heart out as it shattered to pieces time and time again. She'd promised Stratos she'd be strong, and she liked to imagine he'd meant in that moment alone. She liked to imagine he'd give her time to grieve.

The others gave her room. She needed it. She appreciated it, for how long she spilled her suffering into Silence aloud. It was endless, and she was a fountain of misery and regret for all that had never been said. It took ages for her breaths to steady and her sobs to become manageable, poorly swallowed and morphed into desperate hiccups as they were. She was shaking uncontrollably, and no amount of her best attempts to stop were doing her any favors.

Octavia felt lost. She felt alone. It was a loneliness unlike anything she'd ever experienced, incomparable to that of mortal companionship. She wondered if this was what she'd been putting others through. She wondered if the experience was different altogether.

It will be alright.

Octavia wasn't sure which one it was. She knew only that she'd stolen their voice.

It was the crushing weight of grief that kept her bound to her knees upon nothing, and the ocean in her eyes she'd never blink away for the rest of her life that kept her sightless where there was little to see. And still, if she could hear their voices, Octavia was the Ambassador. There was more left to do, even now.

Ninety-seven had become four, and rising to her feet was the most difficult trial she'd ever faced in her life.

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