Her mantra had gotten her through to another day. That was all that mattered.

The walk back to yet the same convenient clearing--of which she'd grown even more averse to calling the "Renato Crater"--was surprisingly peaceful, mentally. Octavia had expected more emotional turmoil on the way to what she assumed would be a dramatic and traumatic experience. With the amount of eyes on her, watching with wary concern, she wondered if anyone would hold her hand if she asked.

The thought left her feeling like a child, and it was embarrassing the moment it crossed her mind. If nothing else, Octavia appreciated their efforts to maintain a semblance of normality, well aware of what genuine Hell would await as the day progressed. It possibly explained why Renato opted to walk so close to her. She could've sworn he was more annoying than usual, somehow.

"Day one of seeing dead people begins. Give it up for our fearless leader," he jeered, his volume a bit too much for comfort this early in the morning.

"Please, please shut up," Viola pleaded. "Please. Just once."

It wasn't enough to keep Madrigal from clapping. "Yay, Octavia!"

Octavia groaned. This might've been more miserable than dying repeatedly.

"We'll take things one step at a time," Harper reassured gently. "No need to rush. If you get overwhelmed, we can stop and try again on a different day. They've already waited this long. What's a little more patience?"

His words were the only ones that brought her any semblance of comfort. She gave him a weak smile. He sounded like Stradivaria.

"So, who are you starting with?" Josiah asked.

The kick to his left ankle that Harper delivered was swift, instant, and--if the look on Josiah's face meant anything--painful. Octavia was mildly impressed. "Learn a little tact," Harper growled.

Octavia waved her hands defensively. "No, it's okay. I haven't decided yet. I don't know who's…eligible and who isn't."

Viola raised one hand aloft, adjusting Silver Brevada's case with the other. The way by which the sling kept snagging against her hair seemed mildly agitating. "Me. Almost positive."

Josiah nodded. "That's one. I know it isn't a pleasant thing to admit to, but we're gonna have to be honest here. If anyone's got Dissonance baggage that could maybe, even possibly count, this is as good a time as ever to speak up."

When Josiah's eyes fell to Harper, the Maestro's own narrowed. "Nope. I know the rules, thought about them long and hard. My circumstances wouldn't count. Bet on it."

Josiah's eyes flickered to his next victim. "Madrigal?"

She shrank under his pointed gaze, eyes wide. Harper aimed at the other ankle. He was, as expected, dead-on.

"Man, you can't just ask people stuff like that. If they wanna talk about it, they'll talk about it. It's none of our business."

"It's gonna be Octavia's business in a minute," Josiah argued. "No hiding from that."

The mention of her name alone was enough for Octavia to wince. Her discomfort wasn't lost on Harper, and he bristled.

"Octavia's business, not yours. Look, no one's obligated to tell you their life story. You're not the one calling the shots here, anyway."

"You think you're more suited for the job?" Josiah spat.

"Fearless leader, remember?" Viola added, visibly aggravated with his words--and the apparent discomfort of leather snagging against satin repeatedly. "Stand down, idiot."

"Guys, don't fight!" Madrigal whined. It was a useless plea.

Octavia rubbed her temples. The sky was still pink, the clouds were still giving way to the morning rays, and she still wasn't fully awake. It was much, much too early for this. She waited uncomfortably for Renato to cheer, agitate them further, or do anything to contribute to the chaos--as always.

When he offered only a soft chuckle, she wondered if the world was coming to an end. At her side, he walked slowly, his own footsteps falling in time with hers. The four troublemakers ahead of them were a world away, wrapped up in a verbal mess of their own making that their respective Muses surely overheard with interest. She watched his calm face, his muted expression a stark contrast from the Renato she'd grown so accustomed to. Recently, she felt like she'd seen two different versions of him altogether.

Her eyes fell to his sides, and she shifted her attention to the way his prosthetics lazily flanked either side of his slacks. Again, she couldn't stop herself from admiring the craftsmanship. Were it not for their rich coloring, she could easily mistake them for the real thing from a slight distance. Up close, the lacquer and finish broke the spell, somewhat. Still, they shimmered beautifully against every touch of light that graced the gentle red. She wondered how long they'd taken to make--the joints in particular.

"You're staring."

His sudden accusation was enough for her to jump. The red tint of discomfort on his face only served to bring an embarrassed blush to her own. It was probably insensitive. She kicked herself.

"Sorry," Octavia mumbled.

Renato coughed awkwardly against the back of one false hand. "I, uh, if you wanna see, you just gotta ask. At least get to know a guy first," he joked.

Octavia shuffled her fingertips against the hem of her dress absentmindedly. Against her better judgment, she surrendered the question she'd been swallowing for days. "How do they feel?"

Renato smiled faintly, casting his eyes downwards into his upturned palms. "Not as weird as I expected. They're kinda weighted. Not too much. I sorta thought they'd feel more…unnatural, I guess. They're not the real thing, obviously, but I figure this is as close as I'm gonna get. I like them."

Octavia couldn't help but return his smile, no matter how delicate. "I'm glad. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

He grinned in earnest. "Same to you, because you're about to need everything you can get. And to think, you brought these idiots along as moral support? You brought a guy like me with you for whatever the hell it is you're about to do. Good luck with that decision."

Her dubious circle of moral support in question was still arguing, growing louder every second. Octavia could only laugh. By now, Viola had lapsed into the colorful vocabulary she typically reserved for Renato alone. "Not the worst decision I've made," she countered. "Make sure you're storing them properly when you take them off, okay?"

He was silent.

"I mean, they were made with a lot of care, from what I can see, so you'll have to maintain them pretty well. You don't want them getting scuffed too badly or anything. Put them back in the box if you have to."

Still, Renato didn't speak. When he averted his eyes, Octavia raised hers in return.

"You…are taking them off regularly, right?"

He overtook her wordlessly, his steps a bit too fast for her liking. What she couldn't catch from his face, she was left to wonder at his back. Her heart skipped a beat. She thought to press. She didn't get to.

Are you prepared, Octavia?

She'd been waiting all morning for that question. Stradivaria's voice still startled her anyway. Distraction hadn't done her any favors, and she jumped ever higher. His newfound form born unto the world hadn't negated the warmth and safety of their own mental communication system. Octavia found out the hard way. "Yeah," she murmured under her breath.

Her boots met with the tamped dirt and dust of the clearing all too quickly, her thoughts carrying her far further than she'd paid any mind to. The backdrop of petty arguing that had become a running theme lately had helped to lessen the lengthy voyage in its own way. Logically, it wasn't that long of a walk. In reality, she'd expected being alone with her racing thoughts to add--at bare minimum--an eternity or two to her travels. Octavia hesitated to get to work. No one else did.

This time, at least, cases didn't clatter so much as lower gently to the soft earth. Harmonial Instruments were gathered into open arms with less confusion. Whether intentional or otherwise, the four Maestros flanking Octavia had fanned themselves out into a haphazard semicircle at her back. Carefully stationed as they were between messy masses of upturned weeds and shattered sticks, she wondered if the outright hole in the forest was ever actually going to grow back.

Josiah, at least, benefitted from the comfort of the same tree stump once more, which he seemed to be quickly growing fond of doing nothing on. With Stradivaria nestled against her chest, Octavia rolled her eyes at the world.

"Whenever you're ready," she murmured, her voice touched by uncertainty. She did what she could to cherish the brief moments before her heart burst from her chest, bile burnt her throat, and her breakfast met the dirt. Already, her head was fuzzy enough that she couldn't recall exactly what the latter had consisted of in the first place. It was a film. It couldn't have been more, and she swallowed the lie time and time again. If she prayed hard enough, it could perhaps be the truth. She knew better.

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The second time Stratos greeted her, the blinding pulse of luminous light was as rapid as the manner by which he'd disappeared the day before. If she blinked, she surely would've missed it. Even so, she didn't, and she earned the nuisance of floating spots before her eyes as a compensation prize. Her peripheral vision wasn't safe from the same speckled plight. Given the sudden onslaught of vibrant color that dotted her surroundings, she doubted the others escaped the same fate. One moment, he was gone. The next, he was there. It was as simple as that.

"Credit where credit is due, your own returned, Stratos," Brava spoke, his volume unnecessary.

Octavia sighed. She'd forgotten the manner by which there was exactly one person--if she could use that word loosely--that had the potential to be louder this morning than Renato.

"Speak what you mean," Stratos said, far quieter by comparison.

"Why, I had half a mind to expect that she would take flight. Who would blame her? She does not take after your cowardice, it would seem," Brava hissed.

Octavia narrowed her eyes. Something about hostility towards Stradivaria snuck beneath her skin much faster than she would've expected. "He's not a coward."

Brava laughed once, a singular and bitter sound that startled her at the same obnoxious volume. "Oh, you would not know, and how could you? Now there is a story to be told."

"There is much to be done," Orleanna interrupted softly, lowering herself to match Harper's stature. "Focus is imperative."

"Is it okay if we take breaks? Like, if Octavia needs a minute?" Harper asked, casting his eyes to his partner.

She nodded. "I see no rush. The Ambassador may do as is necessary."

"The Ambassador?" he repeated.

When Orleanna raised her gaze to Octavia, the Maestra was equally as confused. With one arm awkwardly wrapped around Stradivaria's body, she raised one pointed finger to herself. A nod from the scarlet Muse did nothing to alleviate her befuddlement.

Renato put his hands on his hips, the tail of each drumstick propped against either of his pockets. "That, uh…that's what we're calling it?"

"You've been promoted," Josiah joked.

"The Ambassador alone may perform the Witnessing, and none other. They are the key to our mutual salvation," Lyra offered gently.

"The Ambassador will always be born of the Heartful alone," Orleanna continued. "Octavia will play the part."

Renato's eyes lit up. "Damn, that's actually pretty cool. She's like…chosen. What's it like to be a hero, braids?"

"We can be heroines together!" Madrigal exclaimed, beaming brightly. "We'll be untouchable!"

Octavia never earned the chance to respond to their praise, embarrassing or otherwise. Brava's boisterous voice came crashing down on her first. "Come off it. It could be any of the Heartful. The manner by which you, a most available Heartful, have crossed our path first and foremost is nothing short of coincidental, and nary more. You, child, are not special."

"Brava," Lyra hissed, "curb your tongue. Show gratitude towards she who would aid you."

"I am not incorrect," he growled back. "She is not special. Do not think otherwise, lest your ego be a distraction from your task. You are a means to an end. Do you understand?"

His words were biting. What little pride she could've found slipped through her fingers almost instantly. For what she was to endure, praise was a weak compensation. It was tangible, if nothing else. Part of Octavia wondered if Priscilla had to withstand the same verbal abuse. Brava wasn't her partner. It shouldn't have mattered. Still, despite her best efforts, she couldn't fight the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Silver Brevada flying halfway across the clearing terrified her.

Viola didn't seem the type to possess a solid throwing arm. At this point, Octavia was open to any surprise that life could plague her with. Judging by the recoil of every Maestro in her vicinity, she doubted she was the only one with the same thought.

"You are nothing!" Viola shouted, throwing her gaze high towards her hypercritical partner. "Compared to her, you are absolutely nothing, and you never will be! It'd do you some good to shut your mouth every now and then, you know that?"

Where Octavia expected ire, if not at least irritation, she found only pompous amusement. Brava, too, quickly ended up on her level, face-to-face with only several feet of comfortable safety between himself and his partner. Even devoid of facial features, she could imagine the expression on his face that surely would've infuriated Viola further.

"You would show such hostilities to your own partner? Perhaps you are not so innocent and well-mannered as you would lead the world to believe, girl."

"I don't need to be anything for anybody," Viola answered bitterly, "and I'm not gonna let you sit here and talk to Octavia like that. If you want her help, act like it. If you want to be stuck here forever, then go ahead. Keep complaining."

"Then we stand at a stalemate, girl. Should I stay, so, too, does the Dissonance. Would you allow your pride to stand in the way of that, as well?"

Viola fell silent. Her eyes spoke on her behalf, glaring daggers into the brilliant cerulean Muse that endeavored to anger her. Octavia didn't particularly like where this was going.

"Viola, it's fine," she said, shaking her head. "Just…drop it."

Her eyes widened. "But he--"

"Believes himself to be superior to all who would dare exist in his presence," Mente interrupted casually. Apparently, they were uninvested enough to settle for lounging upside-down several feet away from Renato's head.

"Arrogant words without action, as could be expected. Pay him no heed," Aste added. The way by which Renato's partners both lingered so near to his hat, specifically, was somewhat amusing.

Of everyone present, Mente and Aste were the last Muses Octavia would've expected to stand up for her. She opted to shelve whatever expectations she had left in favor of focusing on the entire reason she was here at all--Brava's gaze on her back be damned.

"Stradivaria," she began, "how do I do this?"

It took him a moment to gather his words. "With whom will you begin?"

She briefly locked eyes with Viola. Her attention returned to Stratos almost immediately. "Wait, I'm still not entirely sure what my options are. Can we…go over this again, one more time? I wanna see if I'm understanding this right."

He nodded. "As you wish."

Octavia hesitated, piecing her words together carefully. "If someone paid a toll, I have to watch it. Watch, witness, whatever. I have to see how somebody died. Right?"

"Correct."

"If they have more than one, do I have to watch--witness, I mean, do I have to witness all of them? All the tolls that person paid?"

"That, too, is correct."

"And to count as a toll, and tell me if I'm wrong, it has to be a death--no, someone had to be killed by Dissonance? Or, like, in some way related to Dissonance?"

Stratos nodded once more. "To answer your question, it must be that which would not have occurred had the Dissonance not poisoned this world."

"So if there was no Dissonance, they wouldn't have died somehow. Right?"

"Correct," he repeated.

It was Octavia's turn to nod her head, albeit slowly. She paced the words that followed, torn somewhere between grace and memorization. "How will I know if someone paid their toll or not?"

"We will inform you ourselves," Orleanna added. "You need only ask. You will know the quantity, as well."

That solved one issue. "If I…if I do this now, will I lose you afterwards?"

In the moments before Stratos found his words, the suspense left her nearly ill. The simple thought of him disappearing from her life was nauseating. Several weeks had served as a lifetime, and their hearts were entangled. When he finally shook his head, the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders.

"It is our duty to see your pursuit through, lest we could not call ourselves worthy of returning. We will await your success," he reassured gently.

"Or your failure," Aste muttered. The way Renato swatted at them had Octavia stifling a chuckle.

"It is by our own volition that we will choose to remain. That may not be the case for our counterparts," Lyra said. "It is not a decision we make lightly. However, we believe that this task would be far too treacherous without our assistance."

"Good, because I don't want you to leave," Madrigal whined, her eyes shining as she pulled the harp ever tighter to her chest.

"I mean, we really appreciate you guys sticking around," Harper added with a smile.

Octavia exhaled, her heart only now beginning to calm its rapid rhythm. It didn't make the nature of her task any easier. Still, knowing she wouldn't be abandoned by those who were most knowledgeable about her current circumstances was highly comforting. It was the only comfort she'd get. She hated and loathed the question that needed to be asked, unavoidable or otherwise.

"In that case, who here has actually paid their tolls?"

The very air around her screeched to a standstill. In its place came a tangible, notable, and universal discomfort that physically stung her skin. Not one pair of eyes in the vicinity showed the slightest tinge of confidence, let alone an aura of calm to begin with. Octavia was well aware that the question was loaded. She hadn't expected as vividly jarring of a collective reaction.

Her eyes flickered to each Maestro in turn, and every single one was utterly frozen in place. Several fingers curled tighter around Harmonial Instruments. Several shoulders rose and fell with the weight of rattling, uncertain breaths. Even Josiah, for all of his earlier bluster, was equally silent. Without personal investment, his own roaming gaze spoke only to anticipation. He'd long since asked the same question. He'd get his answer soon enough. Octavia imagined not every truth would be comfortable.

It was Viola who cracked the suffocating atmosphere, jutting one hand sharply into the crushing air. "I have. I'm sure of it. Tell them, Brava."

Her courage in being the first to volunteer didn't go unnoticed, and several sets of weary eyes gradually shifted in her direction. Even so, the manner by which Viola's other hand, clutching a flute retrieved begrudgingly from the dirt, trembled against the silver was not lost on Octavia. Provided she understood the rules correctly, it was impossible for Viola to be wrong. Octavia didn't dare imagine the alternative.

When Brava nodded in affirmation, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, Viola exhaled heavily towards the sky alone. Given the circumstances, there was no way Octavia could smile for the sickest of victories. Ultimately, it wasn't something to be celebrated. Still, it was one less thing to dread.

"Indeed. Viola Vacanti, your toll has been paid twice over," Brava spoke.

Viola's relief was short-lived. She stiffened, her hand only halfway lowered from the air. Her fingers twitched. "Twice?"

"It is true," Brava said.

"Not…thrice?" Viola asked slowly, her voice trembling.

Brava nodded with confidence. "I am correct. Twice over, your toll has been paid, and only twice."

Viola's eyes widened, a mixture of horror and confusion settling in behind her pupils. "That's…that doesn't make sense. There should be three. There should be three, right?"

When she turned her head towards Octavia, her question pointed along with it, Octavia could do little more than return her gaze. Octavia winced. She knew what Viola was getting at. It wasn't as though she could offer an answer.

As such, when Viola poured the truth into the open, Octavia was forced to stifle a gasp. "Vincent Vacanti killed three people while he was Dissonant, correct? Why doesn't the third one count?"

Viola's words weren't fully common knowledge, and it showed on each and every face around her. She didn't particularly seem to care about the five sets of eyes locked onto her with abject terror. If the panic on her face spoke to anything, the truth took priority. Even Octavia, dumbfounded as she was by Viola's open admission of familial guilt, was equally as baffled by the discrepancy.

Brava took his time to respond, his voice as calm and collected as it was firm and serious. "Know this to be true, girl. Two of our own may not carry the same toll."

Viola's tense shoulders fell. Collectively, each and every one of her muscles appeared to fall slack. Whether from shock or something else entirely, Octavia was unsure. The Maestra could only stammer, her words a tangled mess. "T-That's…I…"

Her reaction was not exclusive. In every direction, the revelation was the same. It wasn't subtle. It was well-understood. The implications were grand, as were the possibilities that spread like a splintering delta in each messy mind. It wasn't a rule that had been communicated before. It was a new obstacle altogether, both overarching and localized. Octavia resisted the urge to resort to her favorite phrase with all of her might.

No one dared to steal the question from Viola's lips. The right was hers and hers alone, and it came when it came. It came with trembling, and it came with a cry.

"Then whose is it?"

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