CHAPTER 1: A DAY IN SCARLET

“It begins then…”

The scene opened on a luxurious room filled with a Victorian essence, only one of the many rooms within a big mansion of polished marble, cedarwood and colorful rocks of any kind.

The man in black seated in a red and gold sofa spoke with an elegant tone while holding a glass of red wine in his hand. Anybody would think this man was of great importance, a renowned figure yet he was in fact an unknown person for the media and thus the population. Yet still he acted with the dignity that only a great man can boast.

His interlocutor dressed with a tartan shirt, long pants and a top hat all in a mixture of wild colors, both from the clothes themselves and the stains of different paintings, a total contrast to the appearance of the other man. He was busy on his own painting but gave himself time to smile and reply.

“It was quite a journey, to find the ten pieces, heh! It even took a person’s life to gather them. Do you wear no regret Elean?”

The man in black, Elean, sipped from his wine and said.
“It had to come eventually, that life was wasted after all, a fool old man, a complete idiot that bought all the innocent lies, and his fate was the right one.”

“But, you took his life, didn’t you?”

“I do wear that life my dear friend. Now please, let’s enjoy this time, tomorrow will be a great day for sure.”

The man sipped from the glass again emptying it while his partner continued his painting. Both were accompanied by the Revolutionary Etude echoing through the room.

The day of the Scarlet is soon to fall. I’ll see that you pain your sin.

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The biggest event of the year, The great exposition of art from all the world begins today! The most important day for Anheldrim and the entire world. Which great artist will come triumphant and which will face the bitter defeat? Regardless of the outcome, enjoy! For this will be surely a great day to remember, a day that will be carved within every single man and woman, every single artist!

The greatest city, the metropolis of art was even more lively than the usual. The streets filled with colors and music, with scents and dances; street artists performed their grace with passion in an attempt to gather the attention of any tourist or passerby, but mainly to show its devotion. From each corner a different melody played yet when they mixed it didn’t became a total chaos, instead they combined into a great symphony. The scents of food covered the environment, sweet, salty, spicy and bitter, each one a temptation, each one calling the people to enter into the kitchens and enjoy a promising meal.

The expressions of each art manifested as well, thus lights danced in the air, fling pots of food traveled through the streets, dancing figures took form and even buildings raised into the sky. Even for those who had lived years in this city, each single one was a new surprise, truly a marvelous scenery drawn from a dream.

Yet all this was just the entrance hall from what all had come to see, The Great exposition of Art which was to happen in the center of the city, in a circle that covered several kilometers of radius filled with magnificent buildings reminiscent of gothic and roman structures, each single one a giant palace hosting a different event. Pictures, Dance, Martial arts, Sculptures, Music of each genre, Movies, choreographies and many more that it would take weeks just to describe each one. It also hosted the biggest and most beautiful garden in the entire world, each year ornamented by different arranges made by Petruccio Abaccio, the man considered to be the greatest gardener and whose very services are said to be expensive enough to buy an entire life.

Many men and women dressed like nobles walked through the streets, through the palaces in dignified manner, a glance of elegance, a glance of contempt for the lower classes, the ones who awaited in the shadows wishing for a moment to shine and expecting one to pick the leftovers, a few impatient ones willing to claim rights and new property by their own hands or even perhaps following complex grudges.

A magnificent day, from either viewpoint, even bad ones, no one would doubt that claim, but this one was to come as the most special one of all for each single one.

Many would be involved, yet only a few will be granted the permission to walk in the scarlet carpet of the biggest event, the social class was of no importance, instead, the will to fight, the will to live, and the will to fulfill one’s dream would be the judges of this event. In other words, anyone was free to participate if he or she had what it was required.

Or more likely they will have no choice to step back from the contest.

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Clad in a gold and blue dress, the noble young woman, Nadia Eisendin was seated on a luxurious bench in one of the many gardens close to the philharmonic palace. She was both, nervous and anxious, holding always a black case with her, not too big yet her slender figure enhanced its size.

This girl was a particular famous figure in the world, a celebrity if you will. She was the current head of the Eisendin family, one of the most famous families in the world of music, crafted from poor roots by the hands of Lord J. Eisendin, the patriarch of the family, a man who lead the greatest philharmonic ever seen. The world cried four years ago when the man at the incredible age of 123 years died; all his legacy and fortune was inherited by his granddaughter Nadia, the 19 years old woman whose parents died years ago in a car accident.

The girl waved her short legs, her glance lost in the empty sky. She was a very shy and reclusive person often portraying eyes that reflected a strange fear, yet also a bizarre determination.

Nadia was perhaps one of the most important figures within this tale.

The Bard came out of the shadows of an alleyway. He merged with the group headed to the garden, and no one noticed him. When he Arrived at the Garden, he stopped in front of a empty bench. Perfect, he thought. He snapped and his Turntable appeared. He set it up and began play as he brought his hat down to cover his face.

As the Song played, a Scene played out in the path.

A cloud had appeared, and a young boy was playing in the rain humming "rain rain go away". The Bard smiled

“See ya tomorrow!” a young woman called over her shoulder as she left the “Kioko Café”. Throwing her handbag over her shoulder she proceeded down the street, towards the philharmonic. As usual she would take the shortcut through the park to get home. She liked the calm and the stone hewn benches that sometimes inspired her dances. Her boots sounded surreal in her ears as she left the pavement and stepped onto the gravelled path leading through the park. Something was oddly off today. Choro didn't feel like herself. Frustration took hold of her and so she dug in her bag in search for her lipstick and hand help mirror. The dark stained her already perfectly coloured lips once more. A short correction with her middle finger and she let her utensils glide back into the bag.

Choro froze in her tracks. Was that music she was hearing? Following the foreign sound she soon came to a bench and a young man. Seemingly he was the one creating the music . . . and an image of some sort. Feeling the blood rush faster through her veins the dark haired woman let her bag fall to the ground next to the musician as the rhythm took over control of her body. Throwing her arms up and her head back she let the bass ripple through her body, move her hips and shoulders, making her sway until she felt in synch with all of it. Moving to the bass she let her chest circle, throwing herself upward, backward . . . falling, a smile on her lips she extended a hand to catch herself and land on her feet. Using the momentum she spun, kicking off the ground in a pirouette, dancing to her hearts extent until the music stopped and she stood there, breathing heavily, looking into the sky, a childish smile on her darkened lips.

Keiji was walking up the street, his mask was on hiding his face, he was glancing around looking at all the people dressed up and displaying their craft, the arts were beautiful surly, but with so many people around he eventually headed to the park and had come upon a musician playing for a dancer, he decided to sit down in the grass and watch her for awhile

Choro froze in her tracks. Was that music she was hearing? Following the foreign sound she soon came to a bench and a young man. Seemingly he was the one creating the music . . . and an image of some sort. Feeling the blood rush faster through her veins the dark haired woman let her bag fall to the ground next to the musician as the rhythm took over control of her body. Throwing her arms up and her head back she let the bass ripple through her body, move her hips and shoulders, making her sway until she felt in synch with all of it. Moving to the bass she let her chest circle, throwing herself upward, backward . . . falling, a smile on her lips she extended a hand to catch herself and land on her feet. Using the momentum she spun, kicking off the ground in a pirouette, dancing to her hearts extent until the music stopped and she stood there, breathing heavily, looking into the sky, a childish smile on her darkened lips.

The Bard saw the woman come up and start dancing to the beat of his song. His smile grew larger and he thought he should play a new song as the first one started dying down. He cracked his knuckles and snapped again to change the song to his liking. The breeze flew though the park and a sweet smell came with it. As the new Song started, The old image faded and sand swirled to create a man of sand, and the Sand Man offered his hand to the Dancing Lady.

"Shall we?" The Bard said, his voice seeming to blend with the song.

Wind picked up, played with strands of black hair that was rebelling against the pins holding it in place. A new song kicked in, starting very slow, making Choro sway slightly. She closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the new song – literally. Just before she hit the ground she rolled to the side, spreading her legs in the air and pushing her body off the ground. Soon she found back on her feet again to meet . . . a sandman? A hand was offered to her. Had a voice spoken to her? Choro felt light-headed and a bit dizzy as she extended her arm to lay her hand in that of the sandman. Rolling her head she let herself get pulled in and work her own little magic by not thinking about her movements any more.

Intuition took over. The movements became more powerful, less lazy as it had been with the first song. Throwing her head back she grabbed the shoulders of the man before her and pulled herself up upon the sand to gently lower her legs behind the creature and find solid ground, back to back with the sandman. For her everything had become a blur of sound and colour. Her trained muscles stretched beneath her skin making her countless tattoos dance with her. She had to remember this kid – he mixed nice tunes. If he'd also manage some classic or rock?

Interesting.... Thought Nadia sitting in her own bench while observing the artists that arrived the Palace.

Let's see... are they professionals that will participate in the Great Exposition?.... Wondered the girl.

Their acts were noble, they were devoted each one in their passions. The girl bitted her lower lip, they were the opposite of her existence who was unnable to bring passion to the art she practiced.... Or more likely the art she has to practice.

They don't seem like pro to me... maybe is just people who had come to see the spectacle...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice, a ethereal like voice formed in the air which resonated through the entirety of the garden.

"Greetings my fellow artists. It's my pleasure to announce that the main event will soon begin. Please, those who had their entrances head to the Philharmonic's Palace. Our first event will be a commemoration to our dear Lord Jeremiah Eisendin on the fourth year after his death."

It's the signal.... thought Nadia, being she the current head of the Eisendin family she had a special spot in the main balcony.

She should had entered earlier to get ready, the presence of the artists distracted her.

Can't waste more time with these low people anyway thought as she stood up from the bench and headed to the palace.

"Greetings my fellow artists. It's my pleasure to announce that the main event will soon begin. Please, those who had their entrances head to the Philharmonic's Palace. Our first event will be a commemoration to our dear Lord Jeremiah Eisendin on the fourth year after his death."

As the Voice told of the Beginning of the event, The Bards song came to an end. The Man of Sand disappeared into the wind. He snapped again and his turntable dissipated with a small light.

The Bard stood up and went to the woman with the Tattoos. He put his hand out to her and said "I am The Bard, Music Illusionist. And what would your name be, you magnificent dancer?"

In her haze she barely noticed the announcement. With her eyes closed she ended her pirouette as the music stopped. She opened her eyes and saw the sandman disintegrate before her, a little sand trickled on her hand. With a sad expression she watched it fall to the ground. It took a while for her to come back to reality. A warm voice drew her from the delirium. She focused on the Bard and smiled. Gallantly taking his hand she bowed slightly, kissing the back of his hand then looking up to him, fixating his eyes. “Nice to meet you. I am Choro.”

Straightening her back she let go of his hand, smiling friendly. “That sand creature was quite impressive. You care for more dances sometime?” She picked up her handbag and drew out a shimmering trance lucent business card. Her smile was genuine and brought a certain glow to her eyes. Her voice was warm and welcoming, in contrast to her rough look. She brushed sand and dust off her clothes.

She focused on the Bard and smiled. Gallantly taking his hand she bowed slightly, kissing the back of his hand then looking up to him, fixating his eyes. “Nice to meet you. I am Choro.”

Straightening her back she let go of his hand, smiling friendly. “That sand creature was quite impressive. You care for more dances sometime?” She picked up her handbag and drew out a shimmering trance lucent business card. Her smile was genuine and brought a certain glow to her eyes. Her voice was warm and welcoming, in contrast to her rough look. She brushed sand and dust off her clothes.

The Bard smiled back and accepted the card, putting it in his pocket for safe keeping.

"The Main event is waiting, Lady Choro." he said as he gestured toward the middle of the park.

The group of artists performing in the gardens weren’t the only one. This was the biggest event of the year and thousands of people had traveled from long away countries just to be part of it. Thus, as the announcement came, several figures arrived and soon the young artists found themselves surrounded by the excited crowd.

In front of them an astonishing sight revealed. The Palace shaped like a theater, but not a common one. It was so big that the seats in the gallery descended over and over creating endless rows and the bottom could not be seen, and as if it were to be sustained by simply magic, a large circle of polished wood and marble separated from the thousands seats that surrounded it, stood in the middle of ot suspended in midair by seemingly nothing. The position was such that from any corner, any seat within the gallery, there would be no problem to attend the performance.

On her own, Nadia took a seat in her own private balcony, interrupting several of the rows of seats in the gallery, placed in the best of all positions. A balcony of beautiful wood ornamented by intricate gold patterns and crimson lines. Even with that, the expression of the noble girl was a mix of boredom and anxiety, she didn’t seem to be interested in the event that also promised a commemoration for her dead grandfather, in fact she would rather be anywhere but there.

After half hour, the public waited anxious in their seats for the spectacle to begin. The lights went out as a signal of it and this was soon followed by people’s claps.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, with great pleasure I’ll announce our first spectacle. Here with us I present you a new recently born philharmonic born from young new talented artists and famous members of the Anheldrim’s Symphony group once lead by Lord Jeremiah Eisendin himself, the brilliant artist, the most important man of this century who sadly left us four years ago as time claimed him to perform his beautiful compositions in the afterlife.
They will perform for us revisions of Anheldrim’s Symphony most famous compositions and promised them to entertain us with new material.
With claps give your warm welcome to the Crimson Carnation Philharmonic lead by Elean Valent".

As soon as the voice said this more claps filled the room accompanying the rising red curtains revealing a group of at least fifty people, men and women, dressed in black holding each one a particular instrument, in front of them a man with short black hair that matched the suit, received the claps with a solemn reverence.

“I thank all of you for your greeting, ladies, gentlemen, and overall Lady Nadia Eisendin. I offer to you the memories of our loved Lord Eisendin with our humble performance.”

At the mention of her name, Nadia’s face revealed a slight grimace of disgust that no one ever saw. She looked with the same bored expression at the group as she waved a golden fan against her face.

The man turned to the group and with a signature of his hand holding a black baton, the magic begun.
It was an unique spectacle of lights and sounds, and the eyes of the young Nadia shone as soon as a dragon made of light crossed flying over her. This wasn’t just a marvelous mix of sounds, but also a show of the “Expression” of each artist, manifested in a spectacle of light, bubbles, smokes, and other wonders mixed with a perfect harmony.
At the same time that the violins and trumpets mixed, red smoke flied toward the ceiling to be stopped by a wall of blue water, mixing both colors creating an beautiful purple steam, and this was the pure essence coming from the artists.
Such was a concert inside of Anheldrim, a wonder that it was worth to enjoy.

Half an hour… half an hour they continued playing their wonders, however this was a time that felt eternal… as this was the effect created by the art of the philharmonic of Eisendin…. To simulate the eternity, an eternity that delighted those in front of the spectacle.
Yet also no one noticed the true flow of time. By this point all were entranced for at least three hours. However when regarding to art, time has little to no importance for people. They simply attended not smiling, not moving, simply enjoying.

The music continued and continued, entrancing all the audience with a mix of sounds and expressions that resembled magic. The acts of several performers enhance the fantasy within the concert hall.
However when people were trapped into the illusion, it was suddenly cut; not by someone or something, but because the philharmonic finished. The marvelous time that lasted both a extensively long time and a very short moment had finally ended, and the audience was pushed back to reality.
People clapped and the philharmonic received gladly those claps tired as they were but with pride not showing a sign of it.
Elean bowed in front of the public and said.

“The flow of time is really incredible isn’t it? Hours had passed but for all of us it had felt like a peaceful eternity, even if a limited one. Now, as promised, we also have a new material that we would like to present to you.”

People tensed and for a moment whispers could be heard, however soon they were interrupted by Elean’s words.

“Perhaps you’ll find this a bit controversial, some would even label it as a blasphemy, others nonsense, a few as fantasy, but the clever ones would sit and enjoy it for this is a sole unique moment that will be carved within your memories. I present to all of you, the melody of legend. The Scarlet Nocturne!”

As he pronounced the name, the tension increased accompanied by the whispers which became louder. The song wasn’t listed in the program, but that was not the issue. It was the absurdity of the claim, that it was the song of legend.

It is said that thousands of years ago, when the primitive men composed rudimentary music for the first time they felt grateful, so grateful that they wanted to honor the planet which gave them the capacity to create this marvel. And thus, with all their effort, they created a particular melody of great complexity and offered it as a tribute to their god, the planet.
The legend says that the planet was so grateful that it returned to them the melody imbued with magical properties, a challenge for the men to sculpt their fate. It carried the planet’s expression itself and if it were to be completely played again it would let people to mold the new path that humanity, that the entire world would take to their shape, it would literally make existence their material to create art.
However, due to the risks it meant, the planet also made the men to forgot how to play it, thus for them it was something completely new, and due to its complexity, no one was able to play it.
Eventually people would began to greed for the tablet that contained the melody and thus men begun to kill each other to gain its magnificent powers. Hundreds of years ago, people grew tired of this senseless killing and thus the king of the nation that currently held the tablet decided to split it into pieces and hid them in different corners of the world, a task he would fail to succeed and was completed by his descendants.
As scriptures claim, the song was written in such way that an organized group of at least fifty person would be required to play it, and although, crafted with primitive instruments, the composition was such that it would easily adapt to any modern method to create music.

Eventually the legend slowly fade apart and became a popular tale that mothers told to their kids in the form of a nursery rhyme.

And now, this man claimed that the tale was real and that he was going to perform it right here, right now.

Even if some thought of it as foolishness, their bodies still felt the anxiety and nervousness. Simply because…. What if that nursery rhyme were to be a truth? What if they indeed perform the song of legend?

What is this man…. claiming?... Thought Nadia astonished in her balcony

Keiji went to the palace, but as he did not have an entree, he couldn't afford it, he had to sneak his way in, it was fairly easy, the large crowd and his agility allowed him to quickly slip inside unnoticed. once inside he looked around for a place he could settle to watch the event without being noticed but all the seats were to close together, he noticed a balcony with only a single girl in it, it seemed the best place for it and slipped into the balcony quietly, hiding himself in the shadows so the girl wouldn't notice him.

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Paganini had been mostly disinterested with the event, the philharmonic had some talent, undeniably, but the conductor's claim of having the Scarlet Nocturne did gain his interest, his attention drawn to the stage as he awaited the performance of the legendary song.

Main event? Puzzled she followed his gesture. Ah, yes. She remembered. It was something she couldn't afford. Everyone had been talking about it and some of her colleagues were there. But for Choro who was behind on her rent the entree was far too expensive. She smiled sadly. "Lucky you. I . . . I'm sorry, I can't join you." Tilting her head to one side she regarded him.

The Bard hadn't answered her question. It was rather roode of him. Following an inner voice she put her arm around his neck, pulling him with her towards the event. "But I shall bring you there. Can't afford to loose a great musician now, can we?" She winked at him with a grin. "I didn't quite catch your answered there. So we'll be repeating this sometime?" Choro surely hoped so since that sand creature had really impressed her. Her face came very close to his. "Or didn't you enjoy our small duett?" She spoke with a low voice and a strange glint in her eye. He'd better not say no!

Main event? Puzzled she followed his gesture. Ah, yes. She remembered. It was something she couldn't afford. Everyone had been talking about it and some of her colleagues were there. But for Choro who was behind on her rent the entree was far too expensive. She smiled sadly. "Lucky you. I . . . I'm sorry, I can't join you." Tilting her head to one side she regarded him.

The Bard hadn't answered her question. It was rather rude of him. Following an inner voice she put her arm around his neck, pulling him with her towards the event. "But I shall bring you there. Can't afford to lose a great musician now, can we?" She winked at him with a grin. "I didn't quite catch your answered there. So we'll be repeating this sometime?" Choro surely hoped so since that sand creature had really impressed her. Her face came very close to his. "Or didn't you enjoy our small duet?" She spoke with a low voice and a strange glint in her eye. He'd better not say no!

"Oh." The Bard said. He had not heard the question. His mind was racing with new song illusions to do with this girl. "Yes, I would like to this again some time."

As the two of them got to the main event (a bit late) he only heard one thing from the man on stage

"I present to all of you, the melody of legend. The Scarlet Nocturne!”

"The Nocturne?" he said aloud "But... That's merely a Legend. Although, Some Legends are true..."

High above the seated attendees of the philharmonic, perched in the rafters sat a form. Invisible in the darkness, shrouded in black, only the white mask that covered his face was visible, and only the most perceiving of eyes would have been able to see him. But no one was looking, no one ever looked up. So Arthur hid safely in the girders and rigging of the stage.

Slowly, he recovered from the trance that he had been in, the music so etherial and pure that it had taken him away, broken his hold on reality and sent him spiraling off into the dark depths of his own mind, to places he wished to return, but not remember. He let out a long breath, then wiped a tear from his exposed eyes, the only part of his face that was visible through the mask, shocking blue highlights against the white.

"A fate and a song, bound so close together that they share the same melody..." he said, slowly, reverentially, in the hushed whisper tones of prayer.

He made to continue his prayer song, his ode to past lives and losses, but he was suddenly brought reeling from his trance by a voice.

“Perhaps you’ll find this a bit controversial, some would even label it as a blasphemy, others nonsense, a few as fantasy, but the clever ones would sit and enjoy it for this is a sole unique moment that will be carved within your memories. I present to all of you, the melody of legend. The Scarlet Nocturne!” the voice said.

Arthur stiffened.

No, he thought. No no no! Not that, anything but that!

That could not stand, that song, he couldn't allow it.

He reached around his back, and pulled a wooden mask from a bag on his shoulder. It was red, the face of a devil, its features so grotesque that it was repulsive, unbearably so, painfully so. He fumbled a moment, but quickly pulled it over his white mask and fastened the tie around the back of his head. His fingers were shaking.

They couldn't play that song.

He reached into his coat and loosened a long saber in its scabbard. Then he stood erect on the girder, and looked down. He almost dropped into the midst of the orchestra right then, but something stopped him.

Trembling and sweating, Arthur stood, and waited.

High above the seated attendees of the philharmonic, perched in the rafters sat a form. Invisible in the darkness, shrouded in black, only the white mask that covered his face was visible, and only the most perceiving of eyes would have been able to see him. But no one was looking, no one ever looked up. So Arthur hid safely in the girders and rigging of the stage.

Slowly, he recovered from the trance that he had been in, the music so etherial and pure that it had taken him away, broken his hold on reality and sent him spiraling off into the dark depths of his own mind, to places he wished to return, but not remember. He let out a long breath, then wiped a tear from his exposed eyes, the only part of his face that was visible through the mask, shocking blue highlights against the white.

"A fate and a song, bound so close together that they share the same melody..." he said, slowly, reverentially, in the hushed whisper tones of prayer.

He made to continue his prayer song, his ode to past lives and losses, but he was suddenly brought reeling from his trance by a voice.

“Perhaps you’ll find this a bit controversial, some would even label it as a blasphemy, others nonsense, a few as fantasy, but the clever ones would sit and enjoy it for this is a sole unique moment that will be carved within your memories. I present to all of you, the melody of legend. The Scarlet Nocturne!” the voice said.

Arthur stiffened.

No, he thought. No no no! Not that, anything but that!

That could not stand, that song, he couldn't allow it.

He reached around his back, and pulled a wooden mask from a bag on his shoulder. It was red, the face of a devil, its features so grotesque that it was repulsive, unbearably so, painfully so. He fumbled a moment, but quickly pulled it over his white mask and fastened the tie around the back of his head. His fingers were shaking.

They couldn't play that song.

He reached into his coat and loosened a long saber in its scabbard. Then he stood erect on the girder, and looked down. He almost dropped into the midst of the orchestra right then, but something stopped him.

Trembling and sweating, Arthur stood, and waited.

"What was that?" the Bard thought as he looked side to side. "I could have sworn I heard something" he said under his breath.

He looked up. He saw the man in the rafters. The Bard scratched he chin and snapped for his turntable. He looked over at Choro and put his finger over his mouth, shhing her. "Don't be alarmed," he whispered, "But there's a man in the rafters, and I think he has a weapon." He popped a song into the turntable. A man appeared as the song was playing. Only he could see him. "Watch, don't kill." he told the man. The Shadow Man he like to call him, was an assassin that wrote the song a long time ago and he bought it off of an old woman a year or two ago. The man died after writing it, and some how his soul was linked to it.

The Shadow man smiled and made his way up to the rafters to find whoever was there.

Nadia slowly opened her eyes and studied her surroundings. Her body was not heavy, neither numb, still it refused to stand, it wasn’t due to any physical harm, it was the almost shocking astonishment after “that” happened. She wasn’t the only one, several like her lied in their seats and one by one opened their eyes.

No one could comprehend what happened… Or more likely they could but refused to do it.

That was simple… Because the human psyche wasn’t made to withstand those that could not be analyzed by any of their senses. It was a luck that their brains decided to simply unplug instead of frying themselves.

Slowly as their being recovered from the shock it would respond to its own will again, but for now they could only try to barely grasp what just happened.

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The philharmonic had no means to notice the “unnoticeable” presence of the masked man, yet even if they had no one would had tried the effort to do it, after all, their mind was completely focused on their next play.

This would be the first time they actually played the song. Certainly each person studied and practiced their part yet for the very first time they would join them all. Sweat and a nervous breathing traveled through all the men in black, this including the conductor himself, after all, just practicing each part was the source of an undescriptable unease. Even within the philharmonic there were those who felt a slight drop of fear while others were shakin.

Even with that… no one chose the path to run away, they stood firmly and as the baton of the conductor descended their bodies moved as well.

The first note, the first stream of sound… what was it? Was it a violin or its sister the viola? Perhaps a clarinet? A trumpet? A string? Even a whistle?... No one was sure, for as soon as it begun each single person was caught into a deep trance. Those who played were as well caught and their bodies moved by themselves. Everybody felt it, this was beyond human understading, this was a supernatural event.

The song pierced their ears, pierced their skin, traveled their inners and reached their spirit and also pierced it. It made of their consciousness and their subconsciousness its playground. It shook, mixed and twisted everything within every single person.

Yet certainly each one would later say… “’ ‘twas the most magnificent piece my ears hath ever felt the pleasure to hear…”

How long it lasted? Was it an instant or an eternity? Was it even meaningful? Reality was warped or more likely lost its valuable meaning and with it time as well. Thus even an instant lasted an eternity, such contradiction of logic was possible within the song’s entanglement.

A whirpool used to mix each single one consciousness, for that “undefineable time” each single one transcended existence and understood it all, became enlighted and all knowledgeable, realized peace and then lost it, for also an undefineable amount of time they lost that feeling of uncomprehensible transcendence.

And then all was shut down.

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Nadia’s eyes visualized the theater as it was but without a ceiling, or more likely, the seemingly endless ceiling was particle by particle raising to the sky and being miss on it. That was impressive by itself, but there was another more strange irregularity, the sky; the sky itself wasa not blue, grey or dark instead it was colored in scarlet.

And just as she realized that she felt something within her inner self. A voice? A presence? Herself? Or was it she….? Regardless it had no definite meaning more than something beyond understanding. However, whatever it was it communicated a message to her and as well a message to each person whose will was strong enough to let them open their eyes and look at the scarlet sky.

The method used to deliver the message was as well uncomprehensible but their brains translated it into an otherworldly voice echoing through their consciousness.

“Oh! It is! Oh glory! The “ “ had arrived, the Nocturne had been played!!! Oh! At last we can play and toy, at last we can mold it all!!!
But what about the promise?!!! Certainly there was a promise!!!
Seek the “ “ Oh! Child of mine! Play the “ “ Oh! Child of mine!
Then a new world thou’ll decide and we’ll sculpt it for thee!
But be aware Oh! Child of mine! For thy being is split! For thy is many!!!
Each one will act in this play, each one will paint!
Each one of thy being Oh! Child of mine! Each one will direct my sculping.
Thy span of existence labeled as life is filled with uncertainty and filled with grief.
A sad, dark or perhaps colorful and bright movie had each one of thee crafted and carved deep in thy mind, deep in thy essence.
We’ll mold thy dream as we desire that painting. But for that Oh! Child of mine! Show us, offer us an act in which thou beat that crafted life. We’ll bring it back for thou. Thy’ll relieve it all in flesh and thy’ll task is to overcome it. Then we’ll mold thy will.
It shall be a fine contest between all of thee split beings of my child. Once the painting in the sky become once again as it was, the play will begin!
Oh! I can’t wait. Oh! Child of mine”

Each one was left speechless. Nadia tried her best to understand as well as everybody did. Only a few could see the scarlet sky, and only those few will have the right to play in that “contest”.

A contest that will relive their “crafted and carved movies in flesh” or in short to bring back their past to them.
A contest that would begin as soon as the Scarlet leaves the sky.
A contest to mold the world on their own will.

Arthur shook himself out of the daze. As the last notes of the Nocturne faded, realization dawned on him.

"No no no no no no!" he shouted, his voice breaking and going hoarse as his throat closed. Tears flooding from his eyes. He had waited too long, hesitated. And now it was too late.

Then the anger came.

He let out a guttural scream and drew his saber, falling from the girders into the midst of the orchestra and slashing about madly.

He had failed. Failed failed failed...

It was all going to happen again and it was his fault, fault fault fault! He was crazed, maddened, heartbroken. He located the conductor through the red haze, there he was, the bastard that had caused all of this.

He lifted his saber again and charged.