THE SOUND OF MY VOICE

Genres: Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, Horror

Rated: M for violence and mature themes.

Author's Note:

Hey readers, it's Miria!

Just in case you've forgotten, I'm mainly in charge of the character development of the MC and the character interaction (I leave most of the grisly stuff and mature content to Nightrous). As such, I'm still discussing with Nightrous whether to incorporate Romantic elements into the story though we are dropping hints here and there just so we can go back, pick them up and put them into full throttle if we really decide to go along with the Romance tag.

If you've got any input on this aspect, feel free to tell us what you feel in the Comments section! You can even send us a PM if you're more comfortable that way ^_^.

That aside, I don't want to hold you up for too long! Here's the next chapter!


"Only you can hear me, Master. What masterpiece shall we play today?" – Apollo "Etoile" Harmonius


CHAPTER 3 – THE FERVENT SONATA

The sun shone in the clear, late-noon sky, edging closer to the horizon in a slow, unhurried manner. Its position allowed for its rays of light to pierce through the cracks between the red oaks' leaves. The wind blew inconsistently, occasionally altering their paths of light, and creating a beautiful pattern of yellow and red on the ground. Underneath the cover of the gazebo built at the center of the courtyard, ten young students dressed in formal-wear sat around a round table inside the wooden structure. I stood off to the side, behind her.

"Remind me why we have this boring meeting again? The new term just started yesterday for us and we already have work to do?" one girl complained.

"That's precisely why we have work to do. Being on the Elite Ten, I'd expect you to know that, Regalia. We need to ensure each student is achieving the scores that are expected of them, so we need to go through all their test and examination scores from last year. That is our responsibility as the Elite Ten." Ezreal answered cheerfully. The girl standing behind him stifled a laugh.

"But . . . but . . ." Regalia looked pleadingly at our 121st Generation, Rank No. 1, Ezreal. The blond-haired boy shook his head.

"Sorry Regalia, you know that we can't refuse a direct order from the Board. So let's do our best!" He smiled encouragingly.

"At least . . . hey—I thought I made it clear not to call me by my first name!" Regalia pouted.

While the two of them continued to discuss the matter with the other students, Zed motioned for me to come forward. I walked up to Zed and bent down, leaning my head in, my ears close to her mouth. She whispered to me.

"Sona."

"Yes, milady?" my mouth formed the words but only a faint, desperate breath came out.

It's been six years, six years since that night, and six years since that man took my voice from me. It took that long for my voice-box to begin healing, even with magical treatment. Right now, I could only manage a feeble whisper at best. Every word took so much effort.

"I told you many times not to call me that—geez, it's embarrassing." Her cheeks turned to a rosy tinge.

"My apologies, milady."

"Sona—! Forget it, could you just bring me some tea?" she grumbled and I smiled.

"Of course. I'll be right back." I said, exiting the gazebo. As I headed towards the Academy's Tea House located at the edge of the courtyard, the Headmistress and Professor Revan, who we jokingly dubbed the 'Bald Blue Raisin', walked towards me, heading towards the direction of the gazebo. I stopped and bowed as they passed by and they nodded in response. It was a tradition of respect towards our elders and figures of authority in Valoran, one that is shared in many other nations as well.

Arriving at the Tea House, I stepped inside gingerly, careful not to anger anyone, grabbed the necessary tea leaves, and began heating up the water. As I waited, I recalled the most familiar faces among the ten students sitting around the Academy's 'Round Table' and their attendants.

Taliyah of Shurima. Rank No. 4 in our year and No. 10 on the Elite Ten. Nobody knows her real name, and if our Academy Instructors or Professors did, they didn't bother telling us. Known as the Stoneweaver for her incredible ability to literally weave stone together and manipulate the forces of the earth. She's an unusually kind and forgiving girl but because of her dangerous powers, many students fearfully avoid her.

Regalia "Luxanna" Crownguard. Rank No. 3 in our year and holds an unknown position on the Elite Ten. It is no surprise that I have no knowledge of her rank on this Council; The Elite Ten keep their ranks a low profile to prevent public scrutiny. She prefers to be called Lux by those who know her personally but to the rest of the students, she is known as the Lady of Demacia. Aside from her keen intellect, irrepressible curiosity, and unceasing restlessness though, not a single student in the school knows how she made it into the Elite Ten. Her combat examination was held in private, with only the Headmistress and Professors of the Academy present, and its result, sealed confidentially.

Zed, my one friend and the girl who I serve despite her insistent disapproval, also has no other known name. Ranked No. 2 in our year and No. 9 on the Elite Ten, she is known across the Academy as the Shadow's Enigma because besides me, no one else has ever seen the face underneath her mask.

Ariel "Akali" Midori. The girl standing behind Ezreal is Rank No. 5 in our year and Ezreal's attendant. Known as the Fist of Shadow for her mastered proficiency in martial arts and trained by the Kinkou Order since she was three years old. Always keeps her Twin Kamas by her side. With her exceptional intellect and looks, the only reason she is not sought after by the males in our year is due to her reputation as a shy introvert.

Elliot "Ezreal" Koehler. Rank No. 1 in our year and holds an unknown position on the Elite Ten. Known as The Prodigious Explorer for his discovery of multiple lost artifacts before the age of eleven, most renowned of those discoveries: Ne'Zuk's Gauntlet. Near-genius level intellect. Extremely athletic. And undeniably attractive. It is said that girls grow hot and bothered from simply catching a glimpse of his golden-blond hair but I don't think I'm one of those girls. To me, he's on a pedestal so far up that I would have to squint my eyes just to see his silhouette.

Setting the crushed tea leaves into the teapot and pouring the boiled water into it, I placed the pot onto a wooden tray next to the ceramic tea-cup, held the tray tightly, and brought it back out into the courtyard. As several students walked past me, they gave me dirty looks. I was already used to it, but it does slightly irk me from time to time. Tightening my grip on the tray, I tried my best to block out their whispering voices and subtle glances and climbed the steps to the gazebo. At the same time, two girls descended the steps.

"Sucking up to Zed—" one of them whispered.

"Undeserving mute—" the other spat.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath but my hands could not stop shaking. Something like a flame burned within me. They say regardless of how quiet you are on the inside, it does not stop your heart from being a raging sea of passion. That passion can be for anything. It can be for love. For music. For your family. Even for anger.

No, no, no—I can't think like this. What has music taught me? To accept weakness and convey it to the audience with the melody of a song, not with fists of vanity. Vengeance will get me nowhere.

I set the tray down, placed Zed's cup before her and poured tea into it. She put a hand on mine and looked at me. I didn't realize my hand was still shaking. I could feel her kind smile comforting me behind her mask. Immediately, my heart took heed of her wordless message and calmed.

"Cursed wretch." The whisper came from behind me.

I was tempted to turn around but I resisted.

"She probably used some dirty trick to get to Zed's side." Closing my eyes again and clenching my teeth, I struggled to keep my breathing steady. Inevitably, I began to fantasize the many ways I could cause harm to the gossiping girls.

"I should be the one as her attendant—not that contemptuous bitch."

I squeezed my eyes shut, tight enough for a tear to trickle down my cheek.

Zed suddenly squeezed my hand, bringing me back to reality.

"Ignore them," she said, squeezing my hand again. "You have me, and that's all that you need. I'll protect you."

I smiled gratefully at her and bowed my head slightly, but suddenly noticed someone's gaze on us. Looking up, Ezreal was silently examining us with a strange look on his face. I guess he's never seen Zed display anything except cold indifference. Blushing, I shuffled back to the back of the gazebo, watching the Elite Ten discuss their matters once again.

. . .

"That will conclude today's meeting. Good work everyone. I will see you all tomorrow." Professor Revan, the supervisory instructor of the Elite Ten stood up and started packing his papers back into his briefcase.

"Ahh, it feels good to finally stretch my arms." Lux—I guess I'll be referring to her by her nickname too from now on—yawned and exhaled, making a child-like noise. To be honest, it was sort of cute.

Ezreal stood by exit of the gazebo and bowed as the upperclassman walked out one by one. It was customary for the juniors to let the senior students exit a room first, hence his obligatory gestures.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Ezreal nodded respectfully as the last of the senior students took his leave.

"Sona."

I turned around, astonished. Nobody had ever called my name at school except Zed or the Instructors.

"Sona, over here. I need to speak with you about something."

It was Ezreal. He was motioning for me to come over. I glanced at Zed, who shrugged and nodded. I walked over nervously.

"So um—" Ezreal hesitated for a moment when I stood beside him. "What exactly is your relationship with Zed?"

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head confusedly.

"I-I mean . . . are you two in a relationship?" Ezreal made a series of meaningless gestures, like an orator attempting to prove a point.

My eyebrows went higher and I stepped back. I shook my head slowly. She's a girl, you idiot, I wanted so badly to tell him, but I remembered my promise to Zed.

"O-oh, my apologies. Excuse me for making weird assumptions." Ezreal said with modesty. Was he—was he getting flustered? I turned around and covered my mouth to hide a smirk, walking back to my milady.

If he's after milady, the most he'll get is a cold glance.

"Milady," I leaned close to Zed and said in my whispery voice. "Milady, be wary of those who seek your hand without truly wanting to understand what lies beneath."

"What nonsense are you mumbling about now, Sona?" Zed laughed softly.

My god, if Ezreal heard her laugh like this, no wonder he fell in love instantly. It charms even these musical-inclined ears of mine.I froze.

Wait.

Does this mean Ezreal already knows of Zed's true gender? But why then, did he assume we were in a relationship? Unless . . . unless he was testing me to confirm his suspicions of Zed as a female student. This might be a complication—I'll have to observe from afar to see if he knows more than he's supposed to.

"Apologies, milady. Let me get your bags for you."

Zed sighed and grabbed her own bag. "You don't have to, Sona. And stop calling me milady—what kind of friend calls their friend milady?"

"Please milady, let me."

"Sona it's fine—"

I smiled and ignored her, taking her bag from her hand. She loosened her grip on the bag, letting me take it.

She sighed again, shaking her head but still smiling back.

"Thanks, Sona." Zed whispered, slipping her arms under my arms and hugging me from behind. "You know, I'm so glad I met you last summer."

"M-milady?" I reddened.

"It wasn't a bad choice after all, sharing the burden of my identity. Despite my rank, I couldn't make any real friends because I had to hide who I was." She continued.

"Of course, milady. I'll be by your side for as long as you want me to be."

Poor girl. I mean—I was ostracized because of my weakness and inability to communicate with others, but she . . . she has everything that any student would ever want at this stage in life, but the one precious, simple part of life that she truly desires, she cannot have. Companionship.

"I'm glad I met you too, Zed." She brightened up as I said her name.

"Sona . . . say it again." She said eagerly.

"Say w-what again?" I asked.

"My name. Say my name again."

"Zed." I said in my silent, almost inaudible voice.

Zed squealed quietly with excitement as if a little girl as to not alert Ezreal, who was still standing by the exit of the gazebo polishing his gauntlet with a small cloth.

Yeah. No matter how cold she is on the outside, she's still a teenage girl on the inside. And it's my job to protect that innocence and purity. I will not let the likes of men or vile creatures taint her heart.

That is my sole purpose at this Academy.

I looked at the blood-orange globe of a star in the sky. The Sun was setting rapidly, closing in on the horizon, sending streaks of purple and indigo across the blue expanse.

Thank-you.

Thank-you for giving me purpose, Mercurius.

. . .

He told me the only way to get my voice back was to make my voice heard.

He never said I had to use my own voice.

Mercurius. This is for you. I hope you're listening.

The lights dimmed and the chatter faded with it. The first sound . . .

The first sound marked the beginning. The second sound signified the intent to continue. The third sound declared that there was a story to be told. A consistent beat began to emerge, forming a tempo. My fingertips began to dance an easy waltz on its magical wires.

I shall paint a picture with Etwahl. The beat shall sound again, as if calling to them. The audience. They will find themselves within the world I have created for them. Within my story. Some will find themselves trying to feel their way to the meager light down a hallway. Some will have the courage to continue marching forward, towards what appeared to be the front door. Taking slow, cautious steps. With their left hand trailing the wall, they will progress without disruption until . . .

Until they feel its breath.

They will find themselves within the notes.

I can almost feel their fear.

Their hands shrink back in panic, startled. Whatever it was, it was definitely powerful. Dormant, yes— but ready to erupt.

They will find themselves within the chords.

I could tell what they were thinking. After all, I was the narrator of the story. I was the artist of the painting. Their thoughts swiftly assumed the worst. A beast?

The air suddenly began growing hot, reflecting in the tensing atmosphere. The beast was awakening. The colours of the painting accented from each time I stroked Etwahl. It was bright even for me. I moved my right hand to pet Etwahl and convince it to tone down but somehow, inadvertently, triggered an explosion of searing white light.

Throwing my fingers onto Etwahl, I changed the setting before everything could fall apart. It was too early. The scenery changed—the sound of a distant wind tickled my senses. A bird, chirping to the morning breeze flew overhead. The heat was no longer unbearable. My skin felt quite comfortable. Almost cozy. I felt an urge to forget about everything. Close my eyes. Fall into a timeless slumber. Before I succumbed to the lull of the soothing warmth though, there came a high note. Clear and above the rest. Reminding me of the first sounds.

Reminding me of the beast.

And reminding me that I needed to feed it. With each note, the melody climbed. With each beat, the heat managed to fuel itself and the dormant beast finally awakened. Its jaws unhinged lazily, as if yawning—then abruptly flew wide open and roared, sending a flare of chords and arpeggios that melted the audience's senses into nothingness.

As usual, they found themselves back within my music.

When I began playing on Etwahl again, a miraculous thing happened. I felt their sense of hearing return first. A complex mixture of sounds coaxed their consciousness—the first distinguishable sound was of a harsh accent, as if someone was scratching sandpaper.

The audience—each and every one of them were on the ground. They were in their seats but at the same time, they were lying on a cold stone road. Rain pounding down upon them, rapidly creating puddles around them. This was the power of Etwahl. This was what it—no—what we are capable of creating. This is the picture we paint with our song. Hear our song, oh people of Valoran!

Hear the sound of raindrops diving into the puddles next to your ears. Let the raindrops become the rhythm of drums, constant and unyielding. Another droplet and another, now it shall become an orchestra. Open your eyes now!

There is only one of me. You will only see me . . . and a whole stage of assorted instruments with no musicians to operate them. They will produce music nevertheless. It is a superficial drawback.

Waving my hand to the left, I commanded the shadows at the back of the stage to take their positions. The dark, soundless figures obediently took to their seats by their respective instruments. Waving my other hand to the right, I conjured a shapeless silhouette that gradually solidified into a distinct figure. A pianist.

The pianist played a harmonious melody. His hands, his fingers gracefully danced across a new dimension of black and white strokes. Each note corresponded with a cold tingle at my own fingertips. Each chord mirrored the frigid feeling of submersion in a body of water. Each scale reflecting a thousand raindrops relentlessly pounding at my back.

Then, I saw it. That last raindrop, falling across my path. It made contact just as thunder struck and silenced a thousand thoughts, pushing me—pushing them, the ones that were listening—back to the surface. My arms flailed in a wild motion then stopped and I gasped for air, having held my breath for ages. I stood there, frozen in awe and shivering in the downpour of the sky's tears.

The silence was intimidating.

Nervously, I placed my palms on the strings of my precious Etwahl. They stopped vibrating and relaxed from the tension. I turned to face the people who waited for me, bowing with that fickle instrument by my side.

. . .

The roaring applause followed me as I smiled and waved to the audience, slowly edging my way to the hidden door at the side, carrying Etwahl in my arms as if it were my child. Bowing one last time, I disappeared off the stage, into the shadows.

When I was finally out of sight, my smile disappeared and my shoulders slumped. I sunk to my knees, legs shaking and used one hand to wipe my brow of sweat. My hands trembled so much I was forced to clench them into fists and shut my eyes as if to shut out the anxiety. A wave of nausea suddenly hit me and I fell forward causing Etwahl to slip off my thighs onto the ground. My palms hit the cold floor before I could fully face-plant into the wooden planks but my arms shook too, weakening by the second.

My breathing became ragged and desperate, my lungs unable to withstand the pressure of providing the oxygen that my body desperately needed. The lack of light backstage didn't help the fact that I was slowly losing my sight. I was slowly blacking out. Then, before I fully collapsed, someone caught me in their arms, letting me lean my head on their shoulder. I felt something press against my chest and for some reason, my face grew hot.

It was a girl.

Pressing my face into her soft clothes, I instinctively breathed in their scent. The smell of the autumn wind and mellow, light vanilla entered my nose. It smelt so nice. This scent—it was familiar. It was—

"Sona. It's okay . . . I'm here. You can relax now. You played amazingly out there." Zed's tender whisper graced my ears. Her embrace was like that of an angel's. I could almost fall asleep—

"I listened to the entire performance. I'd say it was worthy for my birthday, don't you think?"

My eyes shot open and I tried to move, but my legs gave way and I fell back into Zed's arms.

"I-I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to get you a present milady—" I began to apologize profusely but Zed placed a finger on my lips, silencing me.

"Shh . . . don't force yourself to speak. You're already exhausted as it is. Plus—like I just said, your performance out there was more than a gift in itself." Zed stroked my hair and my servant-act instantly melted. I snuggled my head up against her neck, breathing in her scent again like it was some sort of drug.

"If you're really intent on giving me a birthday gift yourself, you can just . . ." Zed drifted off and I felt her shift under me. I didn't realize what she was doing until I felt her soft lips slowly, apprehensively, brush up against mine. It was a fleeting moment. As soon as our lips touched, they parted.

"There—you've made up for it. That'll be your present to me this year, for my sixteenth birthday." She said playfully. "Don't worry, nobody saw us. It's too dark for anyone to notice.

Only after she finished her sentence did I realize how quickly my heart was beating. Goodness—I didn't realize how tired I was. The concert must have taken a great toll on my mental stability. Then again, I'm not too surprised. It had been like this since my first public concert with Etwahl, after much convincing from Zed. It was the same every time. The overwhelming fatigue was almost a constant after every performance.

Zed . . . she . . .

She smells so nice.

Did I say that already?

She smells so . . . huh? Why is my breathing getting slower? It's as if my consciousness is gradually . . . slipping . . . into the abyss and . . . and . . .


*Sigh* . . . I know you can't hear the music but hopefully, the imagery was sufficient to demonstrate Sona's passion and vision. If I had to pick a piece that resembles what Nightrous and I were trying to describe, "Kara no Kyoukai - Garden of Sinners" (Pandora Heaven's Edit) would be pretty close, but I'm sure that there are several other songs that are just as fitting, or even more so. If you're interested, the exemplary song I mentioned is within one of Pandora's compilations "2-Hour Anime Mix - Best of Anime Soundtracks | Emotional Ride - Epic Music".

**Pandora Heaven is a YouTuber who creates amazing anime soundtrack compilations so if you're a fan of such things, check the channel out!

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Signing out,

Miria (and a lazy bum named Nightrous :P)


Next Chapter: CHP. 4 - THE DEATH OF A SECRET

SEE YOU THEN!