In the grand salon of the Baylith palace, the warm rays of sunlight streamed through its large windows, casting a sort of spotlight on the grand piano and the small hands gliding along its keys.
Thorsten played a soft, clear melody, each note delivered with near-mechanical precision—yet rather than sounding rigid, they rang out cleanly, echoing through the room in smooth, measured waves.
The sound of his playing drifted through the open doors, its gentle notes echoing along the palace's quiet halls.
It was a pleasant melody; one the passing servants would find themselves taking a moment to silently enjoy before continuing with their daily tasks.
It was just as the piece was reaching its crescendo that several odd notes sounded out, breaking the peaceful and calm atmosphere that had spread into the grand salon's walls due to their inconsistency with the reast of the piece.
Fwoo.
Thorsten, satisfied that he had been able to wrap up the piece without any further hiccups, let out a relived breath as he flexed his hands after the fact.
He didn't know whether to be impressed with himself for being able to play the piece properly or with Thorsten, and his almost freakishly good muscle memory.
Though, from his stumbled during the second chorus, it was clear that there was a limit to what could be achieved before he would actually need to apply himself to whatever task he was doing.
He adjusted his posture on the piano stools leather cushioning, before curiously turning to see his instructor's expression.
Although he had already finished with the piece, they had yet to give him any feedback or say anything to him, leaving Thorsten to become nervous of what words would come out of mouth.
It was only after nearly a minute of quiet deliberation that the instructor finally spoke.
"Firstly—good, very good, young lord—but you're missing something in the emotional delivery. It's clean, yes, but it lacks weight. And the second chorus—flat, slightly flat—so we'll need to work on your consistency. The opening was solid, though you came in too heavy at the bridge, so ease into it next time. Right—again."
'Huh…'
He blinked, caught off guard by the sheer speed of it, the words running together so quickly he barely had time to process them.
'Is it always like this?'
The thought crossed his mind, but the instructor was already gesturing impatiently, leaving him no time to sift through Thorsten's memories for an answer.
So, he pushed the question aside and did as instructed, trying to piece together what he could from the barrage of critique as he prepared to play again.
His fingers had barely touched the first note when the instructor spoke up once more.
"Oh—and watch your hand placement. Fingers too. You're close to slipping into the wrong keys. Continue."
He paused for half a beat, blinking in mild confusion before responding, "Yes, sir."
Then he began again.
The same, clear melody started as the felt-covered hammers played at the stings within the piano.
Its notes echoing throughout the palace halls, creating a pleasant mood as the sun rose higher into the sky.
*****
After almost an hour, Thorsten's lesson eventually came to a close, with him choosing to leave the drawing room while his instructor remaining inside to pack his sheet music and other instruments.
Leaving behind his instructor with a formal greeting, Thorsten started on the most direct path up to his room, his steps filled with purpose as a faint determination radiated from his small form.
His fingers curled unconsciously at his sides, tightening briefly as he marvelled—quietly, almost curiously—at the novelty of it. Learning an instrument. It was… unexpectedly engaging.
There was still some time before he would have to attend lunch, so he intended to make the most of it to lay out his thoughts before then.
As he walked, fragments of the lesson surfaced unbidden, his fingers curling at his sides, tightening briefly as he dwelled on the novelty of the experience.
Learning an instrument was new. And unexpectedly… engaging.
By the time his destination came into view, those thoughts had already been set aside, his focus narrowing once more as he turned his attention to what came next.
The door to the room closed with a soft click, and he immediately made his way to the small bookshelf next to his desk.
Last night, when he had been searching for any books related to the beings who looked over the mortals of this world from above, there was a book he had ignored because he had believed it to be unrelated to what he was looking for—concrete information based on facts.
But then a thought he hadn't even considered before surfaced, 'What we need most is often found where we least think to look.'
He pulled a thick book from the lowest shelf, dusting off the worn leather cover lightly before placing it onto the desk, and climbing onto the chair.
Thorsten's small hands gently traced the front of the untitled book; the memories he had with it surfacing in his mind like fragments of an old shipwreck, washed ashore one by one.
This was the book his mother would always read to him whenever he was feeling down or had woken up from a bad dream.
Listening to her gentle, soothing voice retelling the stories of mythical heroes who had managed to overcome impossible odds driven only by an equally unshakable conviction to succeed, never failed to lull him into a peaceful sleep.
It wasn't that he never got tired of the story, but rather the person telling them made every word worth hearing, even if he had known what would come after, just being in her presence helped to drive away the fear.
Filling his once trembling self with a warmth and comfort that made him feel like he could face whatever stood before him—just like the heroes in this fairytale.
Unbending and resolute.
At least, that was what it felt like before she became ill.
And the warmth of her voice was warped by sickness and the hollow chill that grew worse as her illness increased.
Thinking that he might be able to make her feel better—to give her even a sliver of the strength he had gotten from when she had read those same words to him—he had tried to do the same for her.
But when the time came, the words on the page appeared only as a blur, leaving him to wordlessly open and close his mouth in an attempt to read something that wasn't there.
He had tried to recite it from his memories—tell the tales of their courage and great triumphs against the impossible, but the words never came.
All that appeared in his scattered thoughts were memories of his mother, smiling brightly with her golden-brown hair almost glowing in the lamplight.
It was when this more vibrant, bright memory of her clashed with the reality in front of him that he realised for the first time he was truly aware of what was happening to his light—that his sun might never rise again.
That day was also the last time he had read this book—or at least tried to, before giving up and letting it collect dust in the corner of his bookshelf.
Fwoo.
A small, shaky breath left Thorsten's mouth as what felt like a torrent of memories assaulted his mind.
The following headache was not as bad as the previous day's experience with Ferzen, but it was still a great shock to his mind to have what felt like memories being forcefully brought to the front of his mind.
He took another breath to steady himself and moved to open the book, his fingers trembling slightly against the dry leather cover.
_________________________________________
More chapter soon, probably in less than 24 hours.
I know, shocker, but i wanted to do them in one big go, so just satiate your appetites with this one for now.