An author controls their narrative.
It is a concept few ever need to ponder. After all, it seems obvious.
The one who crafts the story commands its every element, shaping the world with an unquestioned hand. There is no need to think beyond that.
But what if I told you... it is a lie?
The world is not as it appears.
What is seen is vast, but what is unseen stretches far beyond comprehension.
And within that unseen realm, dangers lurk. Horrors greater than any could ever imagine.
Benjamin Sophel learned this truth.
After a quiet death, he felt content with the life he had lived, despite being young.
He had never believed in the afterlife. Yet, during his lifetime, he hoped that if something awaited him, it would show mercy for his lack of faith.
...
How futile that hope was.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
For it was a God he had created, that ushered the punishment.
A novel he had written as a child.
A curse born from a child's imagination.
———
Year 32 Of Songs; Year 2 of Chaos
Orvest Heartsong sat atop a floating chair, drifting high above the city of Symphona.
His vibrant red hair cascaded down to his shoulders as he read from the Book of Songs. He was dressed in a grey Victorian suit with golden-lined edges, lending him a prestigious air.
It was here where the author had awoken days prior.
Here where Orvest Heartsong's memories had flooded into him.
Returning to the floating chair brought him a rare peace. A rare thing within his novel.
He glanced up at the night sky. Across its darkness ran a red crack, jagged like a bolt of lightning. Many rumoured that it was the first sign of Chaos.
Orvest had no memory of ever writing such a thing.
But he did remember writing the God capable of it.
The Composer.
With a heavy sigh, Orvest closed the Book of Songs. The Musician's source of magic. Each song inscribed within it acted as a spell. Though endless, he had only gathered a handful from the Melodic Section.
Benjamin had always loved music.
"Orvest!" called a voice from nearby.
He turned towards a nearby building roof, where a young woman stood. Her curly blonde hair, haloed by the moonlight, tumbled over her freckled face.
She wore a black skirt and buttoned-shirt trimmed with gold, cut in a style inspired by the Victorian era.
"Won't you come down?" she asked with a bright smile, her voice echoing through the still streets of the capital. "I have a new song to show you."
As she spoke, a brilliant essence swirled in her hands, warping the space around it until it shaped itself into a glowing flute.
Her Divine Instrument.
Orvest inspected it from afar. Even now, it remained strange to see his written words breathing life before him.
He rose from the chair and leapt onto a floating fragment of earth. These islands of stone hovered high above Symphona, remnants of a broken world suspended in the skies.
Ever since the start of Chaos, the ground itself had fractured and risen into the air.
It was the same for Symphona too. A floating city, with no safe passage back to the land below.
Benjamin had never written it to be that way.
Carefully, he hopped between the stones until he landed beside the girl, who still cradled her Divine Flute.
She flashed him a proud smile as he approached.
"I've been practising this song all day," she said brightly, gazing up into Orvest's red eyes. "Paulen taught it to me!"
Paulen. The third member of their group.
Orvest sighed and shrugged. "Then let's hear it, Listelle."
Listelle's smile widened as she lifted the flute to her lips and began to play.
The moment the marvellous harmony filled the air, Orvest felt the tug of invisible strings pulling at his heart.
Without hesitation, he opened the Book of Songs.
As the melody wove itself through the night, the book flickered open by unseen hands, settling on a blank page within the Harmony Composition Section.
Before his eyes, new words began to write themselves.
---
> [Book of Songs — New Entry Discovered]
Song Name: Two-Petalled Flower
Song Class: Harmony
Song Tier: Basic
Song Mastery: 10%
Description:
"A gentle melody that unfurls like twin petals beneath a dimly lit sky.
It weaves a mirrored mirage of the performer—a fragile illusion that fools only lesser eyes, creatures too weak to discern the line between light and shadow.
To them, the false mirage appears as real as the soul that cast it, leading them astray with every played note."
---
Listelle lowered the flute, and the melody faded into the night.
As Orvest lifted his gaze from the book, he found two Listelles standing before him.
Yet one was colourless, lifeless. Woven from pure glowing essence, like the Divine Flute itself.
It was as the book had promised: a delicate mirage, fit to deceive only the weak.
Still, it was impressive.
"A beautiful song, Listelle. Thank you for letting me hear it," Orvest said, a faint smile touching his lips.
Listelle grinned proudly, letting her instrument dissolve into mist as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"It's just one of the many songs I'll use to kill King Rose," she said proudly. "He'll never know what hit him."
King Rose.
The name alone sent a chill spiralling down Orvest's spine. He knew that character well...
A man whose defiance had thrown the world into ruin...
A man cursed by The Composer.
Each year she demanded a random human death.
King Rose had been chosen... but the man fled from his city, refusing to die.
And thus, the world began to unravel.
"We'll have to find him first," Orvest began, before correcting himself with a shake of the head. "No... we'll have to find a way out of Symphona. If we can't, our journey ends before it even begins."
The smile faded from Listelle's face.
Find a way out of Symphona... she thought, her gaze drifting upwards to Graham's Clock. The great symbol of time that floated above the city.
Its hands spun in strange rhythms, sometimes racing, sometimes slowing. A mirror of how time warped for those who dared to escape Symphona.
Many musicians had tried.
Most returned greyed and withered after a single day.
Some never returned at all.
Listelle exhaled softly.
"We will find a—"
"SHREEEEK!"
Her words were drowned beneath a deafening screech, a discordant, jarring sound like a wrongly played note stabbing the air.
Orvest's head snapped upwards.
What he saw filled him with despair.
The creatures descended from the heavens like devils.
Their skin was ashen grey, their bodies grotesquely humanoid, their torsos bloated, their limbs thin and broken. At their chests glowed a cavity of brilliant gold, pulsing like a heart. Four malformed wings jutted from their backs, each half the size of a man.
These were not Orvest's creations.
He had never written them into existence.
No... These were born of The Composer.
Her twisted hand alone could craft such things.
This was the aftermath of King Rose's defiance.
The curse upon a world growing more accursed with each second the man drew breath.
This...
This was what Orvest had vowed to put an end to.