Don't bring Stradivaria, he said. I'll take care of it if something happens, he said. Octavia wasn't sure why she'd bothered to listen. It wasn't as though the sickening feelings in the pit of her stomach had ever once steered her wrong before. Instead, all she'd brought with her in place of a violin was sinking regret that flooded her heart, pounding frantically as she sprinted much the same. For all of her athletic ability, outrunning wind was nigh impossible. She was failing spectacularly at it. [♪]

"Stop it!" Octavia pleaded, utterly baffled between labored breaths.

No amount of distance she attempted to steal from a furious Maestra was sparing her of gusts. The whirling gales stung her cheeks and whipped her arms to a degree she hadn't expected to hurt, and she winced in pain with every frantic footstep. She didn't need proof that wind was dangerous. She'd seen enough evidence firsthand. An explanation was much, much more pressing.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Josiah cried. The moment he wrapped his own fingers around Etherion's keys, Octavia's heart nearly stopped.

"Don't!" she pleaded, sparing a turn of her head. In the confines of the yard, open space or not, there was little to do but run in literal circles. It gave her the room she needed to lock her scared eyes with his, even with a tempest chafing against her ankles. "Don't hurt her!"

Josiah gritted his teeth. "But--"

Octavia wasn't sure if it was the shaking of her head that left her braids whipping against her face, or if it was the Spirited storm rapidly gaining on her. "Please, don't! I'll figure something out!"

He growled in frustration. "Madrigal, knock it off! What's your problem?"

If the Maestra was privy to his pain--or either Maestro, really--she didn't show it. She was calm, stationary, plucking at Lyra's Repose with fingers just as hurried as her biting gale. Her half-lidded eyes spoke to something distressing, bordering between what Octavia presumed was ire and yet more. Even then, the words that left Madrigal's lips were barely her own.

"I will not let you touch him!" she cried, a declaration filled with emotion. The mismatch of tone and phrasing that caught Octavia's ear was more striking than the promise itself. It wasn't quite clicking. It was, with certainty, definitely bothering her.

Octavia nearly skidded to a stop, and it was her downfall. She paid for it with heels that sailed clean over her head, ensnared by a ruthless tempest that sent her flying with a scream. She wasn't sure if she was lucky or unlucky that she landed on her back. Her breath was once more stolen from her as she hit the ground, a harsh crack reverberating through her bones. Were the plush grass less of a cushion, and had the gust drawn her just a bit higher, she wondered if those same bones would've cracked in turn. She was going to get seriously hurt.

"I don't…understand," Octavia croaked, struggling to rise to her feet. Her back ached fiercely from the impact, and her muscles at large were beginning to burn from the sheer strain of being tossed. "Madrigal, talk to me! What's going on?"

"You have overstepped your boundaries, Ambassador," Madrigal hissed. "Learn your place and keep your distance, for this is a battle you will not win!"

Octavia was momentarily speechless. Those words anywhere adjacent to the sweet, happy sounds of Madrigal's bubbly voice were sacrilegious. "I-I…what?"

It was her fault for standing still. At the very least, she only went backwards this time. Octavia was blasted in reverse by a storming gale that smashed into her torso, launching her into a roll that made her cry out. Her neck twisted painfully as she tumbled, and she spiraled to a graceless stop with only a helpful hedge to break her momentum. It didn't do so gently. Again, her back detested her.

"I can't watch this!" Josiah cried once more. Frustrated hands gripped Etherion's neck so tightly that fingerprints might've been etched into the wood forever. "Octavia, you can't just stand there and take it!"

"Don't touch her!" Octavia shouted, one cramping palm extended in a desperate plea.

"Give him to me and I will stand down, child!" Madrigal growled.

When her enraged, foreign eyes met Josiah's rather than Octavia's, he tensed. Ever so slowly, his pupils drifted upwards, fixated somewhere above his own head. He didn't dare turn away from the Spirited Maestra in full, his iron grasp on the clarinet still relentless.

"What's going on?" he demanded breathlessly.

"I was somewhat afraid of this."

Ethel's response was perhaps even more baffling than the nature of the actual situation. Josiah hunted desperately for any words of merit. "Afraid of what?"

Ethel sighed. "She has always been…possessive. Stubborn. Immune to the truth."

Josiah raised an eyebrow. "Madrigal? You don't even know her!"

"I said give him to me, boy!"

When Madrigal lunged towards Josiah in earnest, it was all the Maestro could do to backpedal as quickly as possible. He, too, was left frantically fumbling for the same relieving distance Octavia had sought. He didn't need to, even with Madrigal's hand outstretched and inching dangerously close to his skin. Octavia could keep up.

With a heavy grunt of effort born of aches and brutal bruises, Octavia slammed her full body weight sideways into the furious Maestra. The two hurtled to the ground in tandem, rolling once over in the grass before untangling. Madrigal's curls snagged against the innocent blades below, clinging to the blades as she quickly regained her footing. It was, if nothing else, enough to keep her away from Josiah.

"I refer to the Apex," Ethel continued.

Josiah was quiet for a moment, his hands shaking with untapped adrenaline. It was all he could do to watch helplessly, for how Octavia began her futile attempts to evade wind itself anew. She could feel his eyes upon her as she ran, her body low to the ground as she fought to mitigate the inevitable impact of more airborne assaults. Her entire being hurt fiercely. Octavia wondered if she would turn into one large, collective bruise, at this rate.

"I've been trying to ask this forever, and I still haven't gotten my answer," Josiah said, his voice low as it trembled. "What is an Apex?"

Ethel took much too long to answer. Josiah wanted to strangle him, although there'd be little necessary oxygen to stifle in the first place. Eventually, the Muse tilted his head in Madrigal's direction. His gentle gesture was in stark contrast to notes born of raging fingers.

"She is, for one."

Josiah's eyes followed Ethel's motion. It still made no more sense. "Madrigal?"

The Muse shook his head. "The one who claims that girl as her own."

Only now did Josiah's eyes widen, a moment of silence punctuated by yet more sounds of Octavia's own distress. The Maestra cried out again as she slammed her skull against the ground. She bounced exactly once from the violent blast of wind that had leveled her. Octavia cradled her throbbing head, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut as she battled the pain.

The physical impact was far worse than whatever mental shock Josiah was going through. Ethel's words offered up a revelation Octavia had stumbled upon long ago. She hadn't expected it to return, granted--particularly not in this fashion, particularly not to this severity, particularly not now, and particularly not aimed at her, of all people.

"Lyra," Octavia panted, her words clipped and strained, "why are you doing this?"

Madrigal glared at her, pitiless to her pain. "I will not lose him once more."

"L-Lyra?" Josiah stammered in disbelief.

Ethel nodded. "Indeed. It is she, unmistakably."

Josiah's eyes darted back and forth between the Maestra and his own Muse. "How did…how is she…I don't…what's she doing to Madrigal? What the hell's going on?"

Octavia's ability to run, the most treasured lightless weapon she possessed, was slowly growing compromised by the ever-sharpening pains in her ankles. Dodging was useless, if not harming more than helping. She was running out of options, and she bit her lip. She tasted blood along the way. There was a strong chance it had already been there.

"You mean Etherion?" Octavia asked of her assailant, resisting the urge to cough. "Ethel, then?"

"Already have I been torn once from his embrace. I will not surrender his warmth at my side once again, nor evermore," Madrigal--rather, Lyra, her words spoken in a stolen tone--spat.

"The Apex," Ethel began calmly, "is…a unique case. Among our ranks, they are few, entrusted with the burden of leadership by our gracious Lord of All. It is through his blessing that their hands more closely mirror those of his own."

"What does that even mean?" Josiah pressed.

"He has to go back to where he came from, to Above! I can't keep him here forever," Octavia cried.

Josiah's words echoed in her head, as did Ethel's. Still, they were their own form of background noise, her ears fluctuating between their conversation and grasping for what twisted sounds left Madrigal's lips. "Then we shall return as one, once the time is right. Such a time is not now. You know this to be true."

"But he's willing to go back now! It's what he wants!"

"He knows not what he truly desires, Ambassador! That is his weakness, as is it yours for believing the lies of his humble tongue!"

"To possess the title of Apex is to possess strength which surpasses that of one's legacy," Ethel continued. "Upon this world, they have surely…adapted to the 'rules' of the spider web."

"Where are you going with this? What does this have to do with Madrigal?" Josiah asked, urgency pooling in his tone.

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"You witness the prowess of the Apex with your own eyes. The bond forged between an Apex and their own is unlike all others, for better or worse. It is in this way that her voice carries far, that her strength runs deep. It is in this way that she is not…helplessly tethered to her own vessel."

Josiah blinked. "I'm not…"

"Her blood," Ethel clarified, "may be shared, should she will it so. If such comes to pass, then…there is perhaps an irony to be found, by the way those roles are reversed."

It took a moment. Josiah's breath hitched. "Are you friggin' kidding me?"

"How do you know what he wants?" Octavia argued. "You didn't even ask him!"

"I need not, for it is I who knows him more than the moon could know each star in the sky!" Lyra hissed.

"This isn't just what Ethel wants for himself! It's what Josiah wants, too! They both want Ethel to return to Above. If you won't do it for Ethel, will you at least do it for Josiah?"

"I will bend for no human!"

Octavia narrowed her eyes. "You go on and on about how precious our lives are, and now you change your mind? I thought you were better than that!"

"You don't know me!"

Those words were unbent. They were unbroken, undistorted. They were unafflicted by the ire she associated with the Spirited Muse. Instead, they were crystal clear. It was their nature, on Madrigal's tongue, that was more foreign than anything. Octavia's stomach lurched.

"I…what?"

"Octavia!" Josiah called. "That's not Madrigal, that's--"

"I know!" she shouted back. She didn't need him to tell her. Even so, for the briefest moment, Octavia wasn't entirely convinced that it was Lyra.

"You will keep him here," Lyra demanded, "he will remain at my side, and we shall see this through to the end in tandem. There is no alternative, even for you, Ambassador."

Those words, if any, she knew to be Lyra's alone--despite their fervent mismatch with the soft, vibrant lips that brought them to life. Octavia wasn't sure which concept was more deeply disturbing. She didn't get room to decide, given the slashing gale that barreled towards her yet again. It was nothing short of an absolute miracle that she remained on her feet, severely battered and yet tethered to the earth.

If long-range was futile, empty-handed as she was, getting in close was perhaps her only chance at leaving the yard fully conscious--or at all, possibly. Against both her will and better judgment, she'd have to channel her inner Harper.

That left her with one singular plan of action, unbending and unyielding as she rushed towards Madrigal. With her shoulders squared and her body low, Octavia did everything possible to minimize herself altogether. Sprinting was a supreme challenge, given the way every last muscle she possessed was pleading with her to stop moving altogether.

Even so, she absolutely had to try. Wind needed momentum. Provided she could close the gap, she could beat it before it got that far. If she could reach Madrigal's hands, that was it. If she couldn't capture Lyra's Repose, she'd soon be a pulp at best and a corpse at worst.

Madrigal, with Lyra at the helm of her hands, largely stood her ground. She surrendered to several reversing steps away from a desperately-charging Maestra, granted. Even so, it never rattled her severely enough to stem her stormy song. She didn't so much miss any given burst of swirling, streaming gales so much as she did graze Octavia instead. The Ambassador simply scrambled too quickly at so close a range. It still didn't spare Octavia the sting of a personal tempest.

Her suffering was of a different flavor, and her skin cried out beneath the assault of squalls that threatened to strip it from her bones. Octavia's eyes watered relentlessly, the effort of seeing becoming unfathomably difficult as she fought to keep her focus straight ahead. So close was she drawing that she hardly dared to breathe at all. There was a paranoia that came with the idea of Madrigal--or Lyra--compromising the very air in her lungs, if they chose to.

"This is way too much," Josiah muttered, clawing at his scalp as he tangled his fingers into his hair. "What is she to you, exactly?"

Ethel took a moment to respond, his voice exceedingly soft. "She is to me what this child is to the boy of the Strong."

Josiah's face fell. "You're…that can happen?"

"He's what?" Octavia cried in shock, not immune to the background noise.

It was nearly a fatal mistake, and she yelped in surprise as a crisp stream of wind slashed clean through her cheek. The burn of the wound set in immediately, exacerbated by the forceful gusts blowing harshly against the bloodied gash. Octavia struggled not to cry out in pain.

"Do you understand, now, Ambassador, the bonds you threaten to sever with your thoughtless actions?" Lyra growled. "Do you understand the weight of your deeds, performed under the guise of assistance, and yet ignorant to the threads of fate severed too soon? Have you no consideration for the impact of your behaviors upon the hearts of others?"

Octavia narrowed her eyes. If she came the slightest bit closer, and should Madrigal stop evading, she could just barely reach Lyra's Repose. "I'm trying to do what's right! I'm trying to give everyone what they want!"

"So, you're going to hurt Lyra to do that?"

It was a cry, again, not in Lyra's voice, instead born of one with which Octavia was far more familiar. It shook her. She stumbled. She paid with pain. Her boots skidded hard against upturned sod as the bursting gale pushed her too far back. Octavia cursed her hesitation, battling the urge to rest with everything she had. She began her pursuit anew, difficult or not. This couldn't keep going, and not solely because of her suffering.

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone, but this is what has to happen! Doesn't it matter what Ethel wants, too? What Josiah wants?"

"Stand down, Ambassador!" Lyra spoke sharply. Octavia wasn't ignorant to the way her voice shook, powerful as it was.

"I'm not here for you!" Octavia shouted. Everything hurt, and her heart ached perhaps most of all. "I'm here for Ethel, and for Josiah, and for you to leave Madrigal out of this! If you have a problem with me, take it up with me on your own!"

"You don't care what happens to me! You don't care what happens to her!"

Again came the voice she adored, tainted by sorrow rather than the bubbles and joy she'd grown to love. Every word trembled. The amount of strength it took Octavia to press forward in spite of the pitiful sound--both emotionally and physically--was unbelievable.

"I care about everyone! It's because I care about everyone that I have to--"

"Rationalize your choices? Lie to yourself and declare that you, as the Ambassador, know better than those who have led you down this path? You are but human! You have forgotten your place!"

Octavia gritted her teeth. "I know what I'm supposed to be doing!"

"You think you know everything," Madrigal sobbed, "but you're wrong!"

The tears that drifted down the Maestra's cheeks were captured by the wind. They splashed against Octavia's face as she moved closer, closer, closer still. "Please, just leave Madrigal out of it! We can talk about this!"

Madrigal shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her curls bounced along with her. "If you hurt Lyra, you're hurting me!"

It was unmistakable. Two voices in one body chided Octavia in unison. "Madrigal--"

"You don't care about that, do you?" Madrigal snapped. When she opened her eyes once more, the glare she pinned to Octavia was equal parts tearful and burning. Octavia hated it.

"Of course I care about you! Don't say things like that!" Octavia pleaded.

"You're going to take her away from me, too, aren't you?"

Her fingers were so close. If Octavia pushed past the pain, if she withstood the eye of the storm that tore her to shreds, she could reach the arm of the harp. She had to try. "That's not going to be for a long, long time!"

"But you will, won't you?"

"This is what we have to do, you know that! You knew that!"

"You are replaceable, Ambassador! There are others of your legacy who could take on the role, should it be necessary!"

"I'm not giving up my job! Not after this much!"

"She's all that I have! Don't take her from me!"

"I'm--"

"Do not take him from me!"

"Please, just--"

"Leave us alone!"

Octavia lunged. She reached. Her fingers closed, encircled around a stomach-sinking nothing. She stumbled, her momentum betraying her as she continued onwards even in descent. She did, if nothing else, take Madrigal with her after all. The Maestra came down hard beneath her with a yelp as the two rolled several times over. Violently adrift in the sea of grass that cushioned their fall, the settling dizziness left Octavia severely disoriented. The feeling of sprouts, ripped suddenly from their foundations, weaving into her braids was incredibly uncomfortable.

It wasn't as uncomfortable as being face-up in the dirt, straddled and without leverage--metaphorically or otherwise. She'd missed, and Lyra's Repose remained in the hands of its rightful owner. The joints of Octavia's fingers were stiff, and her elbows and arms screamed from each tiny movement she made. She, too, screamed beneath the strength it took to catch the glistening metal that bore down on her head.

"Leave me alone! Just leave us alone already!" Madrigal wailed.

"Octavia!" she could hear Josiah cry. When she felt the familiar crackle in the air, the dry hum leaving her frazzled hair standing on end, she wanted to cry, too.

"No!" Octavia screeched. She couldn't deal with both crises at once. She was immensely grateful he got the message, the electric sensation pulsing through the atmosphere settling seconds later.

"Are you not satisfied until you have everything, girl? Until you are made invincible by your accomplishments and the praise which they garner?"

Octavia squinted, struggling to push back against Madrigal's arms. Her hands shook beneath the strain of her efforts, the force of Madrigal's downward swing too much for her to withstand. Wind be damned, there was a very significant chance that her skull would be cracked if she let go. Lyra's Repose was weighted. By proxy of pushing back, she was learning that quickly enough.

"I'm…not…in this…for the glory," Octavia answered, each word more forced than the last.

"I can't lose her! You can't take her away from me, you can't, you can't! I told you how important she is! I trusted you!"

"Madri…gal…"

"I trusted you!" she sobbed.

Octavia was well aware that Madrigal was physically strong. Still, she hadn't expected the girl to push with so much force that simply breathing was a struggle. "I'm…sorry, but I…have to…do it, someday…"

"She's the only one for me! I need her! I can't go back to being alone, I can't!"

What little strength Octavia had cobbled together was fading fast. The cool aura of glistening metal was palpable inches from her throbbing forehead. "You're…not…alone…"

"I love her!"

"I…"

"I love him!"

"I love her more than anything, more than anyone, and you can't have her, no matter what!"

The juxtaposition of the two voices, battling for a turn with the same desperate lips, was agonizing. The base of the harp was beginning to dig painfully into Octavia's scalp. Words were nigh impossible to come by. "You won't…be…alone…"

"Let this be a lesson, Ambassador, of what becomes of one who meddles in the affairs of those bound by the threads of fate! Let this be the proof that even the divide of realms means naught!"

The sudden absence of pressure against Octavia's forehead was accompanied by the swift, upward jerk of her own arms. She was drained, and the drive to resist was nonexistent. Her hands fell limply to her sides as she witnessed Lyra's Repose claim every inch of the sunshine above. Where she'd once found such sunshine in Madrigal's eyes, only bitterly-freed tears reached Octavia's cheeks--bloodied and bruised as they were.

With her trembling arms high, high above, Octavia was helpless to do more than watch Madrigal shudder and sob. Shoulders heaving and eyes narrowed, the Maestra before her shared only a name with the vibrant and bubbly girl who'd grown on her so fondly. The buns, curls, and face meant nothing. In name only, she was Madrigal. Octavia closed her eyes. If she'd finally managed to make Madrigal cry, then she deserved whatever was coming to her.

She didn't get it. What she did get was a split second of additional weight, her body jerking sharply as one of Madrigal's sandals dug into her side. Octavia cried out at the feeling, squeezing her closed eyes shut ever tighter in a grimace. In an instant, her body was light, unhindered from her torso downwards. She raised one knee experimentally, propping it up as she hissed through the pain of bending.

Initial confusion at her newfound freedom was offset only by Madrigal's yelp of surprise, twofold as the grass rustled loudly somewhere to Octavia's right once more. She could've sworn she heard the girl growling. With what little energy she still possessed, Octavia managed to flop her head in the direction of the noise. It took immense effort to ignore the sharp, shooting pains in her neck as she did so. When she cracked her eyes open, she at least had the energy to blink away her befuddlement.

"Get…off!" Madrigal hissed.

The Spirited Maestra was left squirming relentlessly beneath her assailant. Pushing in every direction was useless, her wrists bound tightly to the earth by two hands far stronger than her own. She kicked desperately at nothing, her legs flailing as her sandals caught only clumps of dirt and sod underfoot.

"Hey."

"Do not interfere!" Lyra snapped.

"Lyra, right?"

"Unhand her, boy! This quarrel is not yours to fight!"

"That's really Lyra in there, huh?"

Madrigal whipped her head back and forth in a pitiful effort to escape. Her buns, too, had begun the arduous process of collecting stray earthy debris. When she strained one arm, her fingertips struggling to graze a harp that had slipped into the grass inches away, the same hand that held her wrist hostage barred her path. Immediately, Lyra's Repose was smacked away, rolling to a sloppy stop roughly two feet from Madrigal's arm. There was no time to fight back, given how the grip that held her down was too rapidly replaced to escape.

"What, you gonna attack me?"

"Get off of me!" Madrigal growled once again.

"Would that make you feel better?"

"You have been warned, boy! You know not the forces you trifle with!"

"Right."

Octavia blinked again. She stared, mostly, and no amount of staring offered any more explanation. He'd figured it out. He was calm about it. He was here at all. She didn't have the energy to ask him any flavor of 'why'.

Renato leaned down towards the girl, his face inches from her own as he spoke. "So, then, how much of this is Maddie and how much is Lyra?"

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