Author's Notes: This is the first chapter of what will basically be a fanfic that tells the entire Eternal Sonata game, only with my own added twist to it. There will be OCs along with all the canon characters, and definitely pairings as well (some canon, some not). Some of the dialogue and events will be taken directly from the game, but there will be a lot of scenes and dialogue that I make up myself as well. Don't be surprised if it goes in an entirely different direction than the game does at times! As an added note, I've written this in a way that even people who haven't played the game should be able to understand it. So please read, enjoy, and review!
Chapter One
The sparkling lights of the city below breached the dark distance of the night, reaching upwards like tiny fingers to brush the painted landscape of the overlooking village, Tenuto. With the sun's disappearance, a quiet reverence had fallen over the hills and fields, sinking in to every blade of grass and flower petal. The small populace had since retired, leaving only the sounds of nature to fill the cool air. A lack of human commotion allowed nature's song to be swept along in the calming breeze. Everything appeared to be in existence exactly as intended.
But despite the tranquil quality of the surroundings, not everyone's heart was at peace.
From her precarious perch atop an old, rounded stone, the young girl sat thinking. Her expression was one of sadness, mixed with uncertainty. The present was so troubling, and she could find only little hope in the future—however long or short that it may end up being for someone like her.
She looked not up towards the twinkling stars in the sky, but down towards the society that would never accept her. The day's events hovered over her as a rain cloud, pouring negativity into her heart and making it heavy with grief. It wouldn't do to mourn her fate, but remaining stationary in a place that did not like her—when there was so much in the world to do and see, so many people to meet and help—was making her miserable.
Polka was not afraid of dying—everyone died eventually. As someone who could use magic, she was just destined to meet her end prematurely. She had known this since she was little. It was part of the reason that she tried so hard to live her life, because its longevity was not guaranteed. Every day could be her last…and she wanted no regrets.
No, she was not scared of death; there was no point in fearing the inevitable. It would be as the sand on the shore fearing the waves that would sweep it out to sea. Perhaps it was bravery or courage or something else entirely, but the daughter of Tenuto's fear was completely different from what was one would assume her to be afraid of…
Polka was afraid of dying alone, unremembered and not missed.
After all, when all those who would know her did their best to avoid her—well, why would they mourn the loss of the young girl? To them, she was nothing more than an abomination—and to touch her was to risk getting sick themselves. Despite the falsehood of this rumor, it was what they all believed. And, lately, Polka had started believing it, too. Would people really be so cruel to someone if there was no reason to be?
"Polka. There you are." Her mother's voice was soft, matching the whispering volume of the wind. "I was wondering where you went when I didn't see you in your room."
At her daughter's silence, she followed her gaze.
"Ritardando certainly is beautiful at night."
"Do you think so?" Polka replied. She squinted her eyes, even tilted her head to the side a bit to better take in the view. "Somehow when I think back on it, I get the feeling that it was much more beautiful when I was a little girl."
With her back to her mother, it was impossible for Polka to see the expression on her mother's face. After a moment, she answered.
"Yes, well, things always seem nicer in our memories. It's still just as beautiful."
She gave no reply, though she wished that she could feel as confident about it as her mother seemed to be. True, things often seemed better or worse in one's memories...but did that mean that she was just imagining the lackluster of Ritardando now? Polka wasn't a pessimistic person, she could not believe that that was the case--she wasn't imagining it. She couldn't...could she?
Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, a loving gesture meant to give her a sense of security. "You'll have bad dreams if you stay up too late," she said. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."
In an affectionate and definitively motherly action, she touched her palm to Polka's cheek, gently stroking it before turning to head towards home, believing that her daughter would follow shortly.
The young girl only stared harder down at the sleeping city, feeling just as confused, if not more so, as before.
"Is Ritardando really the same as it's always been?" she whispered to the darkness. "Really?"
In a surprising turn of events, the darkness answered her.
"No, it's not."
With a slow turn of her head, Polka regarded the newcomer whom had appeared as if by magic.
"This place used to be much more beautiful," he said, looking past her and to Ritardando.
Polka observed the stranger warily. She had never seen him around before, not in Ritardando and certainly not in Tenuto. Maybe he was from Forte...or even Baroque! But what would he be doing here, of all places, and in the middle of the night, of all times?
His gaze shifted, falling on her as she rose to her feet. "You have a heart that sees the world with open eyes, don't you?"
Instead of answering (how could one answer a question like that anyway?), Polka posed her own question.
"Who are you?" There was a slight quaver in her voice. "And what are you doing out here this late at night?"
"I apologize. My name is Frederic Francois Chopin."
"That's a long name," Polka said. "Different, too."
He smiled, though it was faint. "You can just call me Frederic, if you like."
"Okay, Frederic," she said. "You still didn't say why you're out here."
"I fear the answer is rather complicated as to why I'm here and now...and where here is exactly..."
Polka looked confused, and he shook his head.
"Put most simply, I was thinking just now."
"What about?"
"Oh, many things," he said, looking crestfallen. "Trying to find the answers to some of the questions I have about life."
She looked thoroughly interested now. "And what answers did you come up with?"
The mysterious man merely looked ahead, as if staring into another dimension entirely--could he see something that she couldn't?
"That everything in the world slowly fades with time," he said, almost as though he were reading the words from the air. " And that it is very difficult to remain still and keep things exactly as they are in just one particular moment. But because everything shifts only a little bit at a time, no one really notices the change. Not even when they're in the middle of it."
He bowed his head, a look of complete solemnity passing across his shadowed features. Polka thought he looked as lonely and confused as she felt. His words, though she couldn't understand them completely, still conveyed the same amount of meaning. Maybe they were like what her mother called 'kindred spirits'? Was he a kindred spirit sent by God to come and keep her company? She'd like to believe that.
"Perhaps...perhaps I should not be speaking of such things with you," he said after a moment of quiet thought. He probably realized that she was too young to fully grasp the complexities of his troubles.
"No, it's alright," she said. A thought struck her. "Oh, by the way, I'm Polka."
"Nice to meet you, Polka."
She smiled. He might have been a stranger, but he showed her an open kindness that not many had before. For some reason, he wasn't afraid of her--afraid of the fact that she was sick and rumored to be contagious. Or...maybe he just didn't know. If he wasn't from around here, and he didn't know her, he might be unaware of the fact. If that was the case, she knew that she should probably tell him.
But she didn't want to. Selfish though it may have been, Polka wasn't yet ready to give up the potential friendship that could result from this new acquaintance. Then again, would deception be any way to begin a friendship? She knew it would not be, she had been raised better than that.
With reluctance, she revealed to him the truth.
"Frederic," she said. "I have to tell you something."
His eyes moved away from the scenic view and back to her, curiosity in their brown depths. "Yes, Polka? What is it?"
"I can use magic." The related implications did not need to be said. She was sure he would understand.
Shockingly, he did not seem the least perturbed by this news. He even moved to sit down on the same rock that she'd been sitting on just moments ago. Polka sat next to him, unafraid.
"Is that so?" he replied. "I suppose that we are more alike than I would have guessed."
She blinked in rapid succession, excitement flushing her cheeks. "Wow!" she said. "So, can you use magic powers too, Frederic?" This seemed the only answer to why he wasn't bothered by her own magical qualities. Everyone anywhere knew that those who used magic were destined to die an early death. This was what gave rise to the rumor of magic being a contagious sickness instead of a gift.
The reality hit her smack in the face, her expression changed to one of understanding, sympathy, and sadness. "Oh...but then that must mean you're like me, and that you're gonna die soon, too."
He didn't seem particularly affected by her blunt words.
"Yes, you're right," he said, only a whisper of worry in his baritone voice. "I'm afraid that may very well be true."
The resulting silence was laden with meaning.
"So, what kind of magic can you use?" Polka quickly spoke up.
"Well, essentially, any and all kinds of magic. After all, this whole world is in my dream."
The young girl laughed aloud. "You're a strange man, Frederic," she said, not meaning any insult in the comment.
"No, it's true!" he said with vehemence. "Everything around us is all a part of my dream. Even you are just a product of my imagination."
There was such conviction in his voice that Polka wondered if there was an inkling of truth to what he said.
"Okay, then if what you is true, can you tell what I'm thinking about right now?" she challenged. "If we really are inside your dream, then reading my mind should be easy for you."
Frederic did not hesitate in answering. "Of course, it is. You were thinking that you don't want to use your magical abilities in front of other people anymore. Am I correct?"
Polka looked at her feet, and to the nothingness that lay below where they dangled. She said nothing.
"I don't blame you for feeling that way," he told her. "No one likes to be hurt."
It was true. No one liked to be hurt, especially not Polka. In her child's mind, she could not understand why people were so mean to one another. She thought that if they spent less time trying to harm each other, more time would be spent doing good things to benefit everyone. Maybe her mother was right about what she said all those years ago: that the ugliness of human desire created the most waves. One's suffering usually spread to everyone in one way or another.
But, she realized, there was still beauty in the world There was goodness that could cause just as many waves, but it had forced to resort to ripples instead since there was more evil than good in the world these days.
She had another thought.
"Frederic," she said. "There's something I'd really like to show you, but it's in the forest. Would you come with me?"
"Huh? You want me to go with you to the forest? You mean, right now?" He looked baffled by the prospect.
"Yes. Because it can only be seen at night."
He nodded. "Very well."
- - -
Being attacked by a ferocious beast in the middle of a dark forest at night wasn't exactly on Frederic's list of things that he wanted to have happen to him before he died. But as irony would have it, while they made their way to wherever it was that they were going (Polka had refused to tell him, insisting that it would "ruin the surprise") they were attacked by a large pig-like creature. Together, they were able to defeat it. Had they been but alone in facing the creature, he did not believe that their chances for success would have been as high.
"I guess it's kind of dangerous out here when it's late at night," Polka said, breathing hard. "The animals in the forest never used to be this aggressive before..."
"A sign of the times, perhaps," he remarked absently.
Polka was too busy putting away her parasol to hear it.
"By the way," he continued, " about the question you asked me earlier. You never told me if I answered correctly."
Quirking her head to the side a little, she regarded him with a knowing look. "Hmm?"
"Of course, this is all a story I've created in my head. So there's no way I could possibly be wrong." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, in obvious agreement with his own logic.
"Come on, come on! It's almost time," Polka said, changing the subject. She ran ahead. "Hurry, Frederic!"
He held out a hand as if it would stop her. "Wait!" Didn't she realize that it was too dangerous to be running around the forest by herself at night? What if another creature came along? He hurried to catch up to her.
Finally he found her on the edge of a large field. It was dark, save for the little light cast from the moon and stars. The field was filled with barren-looking flowers, ones that hadn't blossomed yet and did not look like they ever would. What an unremarkable place, he thought. Why had she brought him here?
"These flowers are what I wanted to show you," she said.
"Flowers?"
She continued to stare out at the field. With a sudden gasp, she smiled. "Look at them: they're blossoming!"
One by one, each flower began to open, unleashing an inner light the likes of which Frederic Chopin had never before seen in his life...or his dreams. The field quickly became an array of blues, purples, and pinks...all of which blended together into a magnanimous glowing field of radiant flowers. It lit up not only the ground, but the night sky as well, reflecting the majesty of the heavens in a perfectly ethereal way. The power of seeing the splendid sight was almost too much for the poor man.
They were easily the most beautiful things that he'd ever seen.
"What, what are they?" he whispered, afraid the words would lessen the raw splendor of the moment.
"They're called Heaven's Mirror," she explained. "They're like a reflection of the starry sky on the meadows. This is the only place they bloom in the whole forest. These flowers never bloom during the day, only at night. When the sun is up, they stay in their buds and absorb sunlight with their leaves. After night falls, though, they let out all the light they've stored. When they blossom, it always happens at exactly two o'clock in the morning."
He could not keep his gaze from the shining field. "They're beautiful. Absolutely stunning. It truly is a wondrous sight."
"But they're also called Death Lights."
Frederic was surprised, if not a little confused. This dream was proving to be full of surprises. "Death Lights?"
Polka's voice lost its vigor as she explained. "The sun brings life, but the dark brings death. And these flowers bloom in darkness. So, darkness is evil, light is good."
His eyebrows drew together in a look of consternation. "I'm not sure I agree with that assessment."
"Whether you want to call them Heaven's Mirror or Death Lights, that's up to you, Frederic."
Frederic watched her face closely, trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind her words.
She continued. "But I guess these days pretty much everyone has taken to calling them Death Lights. Long ago, it was thought they looked like the light that guided people to death, since they blossom the opposite of regular flowers. Even now, a lot of people don't like these flowers. To many, they're still considered a bad omen.
"That's...also how they think of me," she finished, looking down.
"Because you can use magic?"
"Because I'm sick."
Frederic frowned.
"You said before this whole world is all just a dream you're having, right? But if this is your dream and you can be so positive that what's happening is just a dream...How can you tell which is the real world if what you're experiencing in the dream is that realistic to you?" The words came pouring out of her mouth in a stream of syllables. "And to prove my point, you didn't read my mind earlier."
That was impossible! He could only stare at her, aghast. This all was just a dream, he was certain of it. Even now, he knew he was on his death bed, fading away. But, then why couldn't he read her mind? How could all this be so real to him? Was he mistaken? He couldn't be...could he?
"You were wrong," she said. "I was thinking about leaving Tenuto. I want to go out into the world and live my own life. Even if that life only exists inside your dream."
"Polka..."
"I don't know how much time I have left to live, but I want to live what's left of my life in a positive way, bringing happiness to others. I just want to help people somehow. Like these flowers. Even though people call them Death Lights, they still blossom and struggle to live on."
"You're going to leave the village." It was a statement, not a question. "But where do you intend to go after you leave Tenuto?"
She thought on it a moment before coming to her inevitable conclusion. "I'll go to Forte Castle. And then I'm going to meet with the Count, to ask about the taxes on Floral Powder. Because right now, they're hurting everyone in the village."
"I see."
"Please, stay at my house tonight. I'll tell my mom you're coming." She turned to skip off, giggling to herself. "You're a guest in our dream world, after all. That's not something that happens every day."
He watched her go, thinking to himself. "A flower that resembles you...A bad omen...Death Lights..."
- - -
"Mom, I am going to see the Count at Forte Castle!"
There was a strength in her voice, a passion in her posture that made her mother know that she was being serious. This was what concerned her. When Polka made up her mind to do something, she did it. End of story.
"Now is not the time to discuss this! We have a guest in the house," she said, her tone strained by stress.
"I told you the reason Floral Powder isn't selling is because people can buy Mineral Powder so cheaply," she went on. "I'm sure Count Waltz will understand if I talk to him!"
"Polka, dear, don't be foolish. You can't possibly go all the way to the castle in Forte by yourself."
Her mother was not ignorant to the look of betrayal in her daughter's eyes. But what did Polka expect her to say? She was her mother, after all! And loved her far too dearly to let her get hurt. Even if she reached Forte and gained an audience with the Count...He was not ignorant of the suffering of his people, he turned a blind eye to it. A young girl's plea would do nothing. Except break Polka's heart.
"I've already made up my mind!" Polka cried, tears in her eyes. "Don't try and stop me!"
"Polka!"
The bedroom door slammed in her face.
She frowned. "Dear, it's not that important if Floral Powder doesn't sell. We'll survive somehow."
Silence.
"Polka, are you listening?"
More silence.
"Polka, please! If you can hear me then answer me!" A hint of anger in her voice now. Why wouldn't her daughter hear reason?
When she was yet again met with only silence, she surrendered for the time being. Perhaps after sleeping on it, Polka would realize that this venture was not a good idea at all.
Or perhaps she'll be even more convinced that it's the right course to take, she thought sadly.
"Excuse me," said a voice, drawing Polka's mother's eyes away from the door and to the guest of the house.
"Oh, Frederic," she said. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that."
"It's quite alright."
"No...no, it's not. I'm afraid Polka can be a little...rash sometimes."
"She is young," Frederic offered. "Is that not the role of youth, to take the risks that adults cannot?"
The worried mother nodded. "Perhaps you are right. I know that trying to stop her will only fuel her conviction. And in my heart, I believe that she has the right idea, even if her execution may be a bit off. But as a mother--her mother--I feel that I cannot condone this plan of hers."
"You're worried for her safety, it is understandable," Frederic said. He thought for a moment. "Maybe I could accompany her to Forte?"
"Would you do that? Really?" Her eyes widened. "But I could not ask that of you..."
"You would not have to. I volunteer."
She was not sure why, but she trusted this man for some reason. He was unlike any she'd ever met before, but there was a goodness to him. It was difficult to describe, but his aura was one of wisdom, serenity. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to be looking for something...something as elusive as he himself seemed to be.
"You have my word that I will not allow anything bad to happen to your daughter," he told her, his expression utterly serious.
"Thank you," she whispered, taking his hand. "Please...just keep her safe."
He nodded. "I will."
And she believed he would.
- - -
Morning was always the nicest time of day in Ritardando. The clean city sparkled in the first rays of the sun, while a refreshing breeze was always blowing in from the sea. With most still asleep, the only sounds that could be heard were those of the waves lapping against the shore in a soothing melody. It could be said that the early bird gets the worm, but life in Ritardando was rather lax and so no one was ever in a rush to wake up, work, or go anywhere.
Today, however, two of Ritardando's more notorious inhabitants were up early, ready to set out on their own whirlwind adventure.
"Wow, Retto! This is the first time I'm going outside Ritardando!" exclaimed the ecstatic boy.
Retto, short for Allegretto, gave a shrug. "It's not like we're going on a picnic, Beat. Don't get so excited."
"Yeah, I know that, Retto!" he defended. "But we're going to help Ritardando's poor by getting the leaders to lower taxes on stuff besides the Mineral Powder, though, right? That way everyone can afford blankets and cheese and all the honey-covered bread that they could ever possibly want! Then everyone can finally be happy! I think that's pretty exciting though."
"True enough," he agreed. "It's not going to be easy, though, Beat. But someone has to stand up, we can't keep stealing bread forever. It won't solve anything. No, we have to uncover the real root of the problem."
The red-haired boy nodded. "You said it! ...so, uh, where are we going, anyway?"
Allegretto shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh. "You mean you don't know? Geeze. We're headed to Forte Castle, where else? To talk to the guys in charge, of course! Come on, let's go!"
"Hey, Retto, wait up!"
- - -
Forte Castle was a reputable fortress, impenetrable and invincible. At least, it appeared that way to the majority of Forte's citizens. It stood as a symbol of strength and stability, even while the land was largely struggling beneath taxes. Regardless of one's opinion of the Count, no one could deny the fluttering of pride that struck their heart when they looked on the castle.
The inside was even more magnificent than the exterior. Covered in rich reds and deep golds, the interior looked as royal as one would expect it too. On its walls were hung exquisite paintings to match the ornate carvings in the surroundings borders and pillars. Nothing within the castle was not of the very best quality, upon the demands of His Majesty, Count Waltz.
Perhaps it was the power, but over the years, the Count had become less and less concerned with the citizens needs and focused instead on his own. Greed consumed him, while he hid behind his power. It was rare to see him outside of the castle these days, especially with so much civil unrest.
Instead of going to get it himself, if he had a desire, it would be brought to him. Despite the darkness that was said to dwell in him, he had many loyal subjects--it was they who helped run the castle and service him. In actuality, they were little more than slaves under a deluded idea of freedom. Under Count Waltz's rule, freedom did not exist.
Still, there were some who genuinely believed in Waltz's ability to rule. Legato, his right had man, was one such person. An older gentleman, Legato did not typically do the dirty work of Waltz but rather saw to it that others did such work--men like Fugue and women like Rondo, two others of Waltz's personal guard.
"My lord," began Legato, approaching the golden throne upon which Count Waltz sat in all his self-appointed glory. "The mining operation at Mt. Rock is proceeding smoothly. Mineral Powder production is also increasing according to plan."
The Count looked bored by this as he leaned back in his seat. "There's no need to report when things are going well," he said. "So I hope you have more exciting news for me, Legato. I haven't had the best day, and so my mood isn't at its all-time high at the moment." There was an unspoken threat in his voice.
Legato nodded. "Yes, my lord. The Deceptive Cadence have arrived."
"Ah, wonderful," he said, sitting forward with interest. "When will they be able to go on?"
"In a few hours, my lord."
"They have an hour," countered Waltz. "I expect them to be ready by then. And, for your sake, Legato, they better be good. I was sorely disappointed with the last musical act you presented me with."
Brief glimpses of the trio of performers that had displeased Count Waltz's musical tastes and were now rotting in the castle dungeon flashed in Legato's mind for a moment.
"Of course, my lord," he replied, nerves affecting his tone only mildly. "They are said to be the best throughout the land."
"They better be."