The silence of the assembly chamber was unnerving. The only sound that echoed through its massive walls was the friction of iron against steel from the many Azures and Hightowers that had been gathered on the other side of the barrier. Only moments before, Wilfre had sacrificed a scarf given to him by a Silveirall that once loved him to that blood-red barrier that was clear as glass, but as wicked as boiling blood. His breath was held while the whole world seemingly stood still, dumbfounded that the Phantasma managed to get so close to the piano that was placed right in the center of the great assembly hall. To say Wilfre was unafraid would be a lie, even though he had experienced scenarios that many would deem to be so harrowing that it was beyond words. His right foot lifted the slightest bit, planting itself a couple inches forward as his weight was shifted toward the massive instrument. After this movement, he jumped as the piano began to wail out a song that was both bereaved and sorrowful, not unlike a church's compositions, but with numerously more minor chords and sour key signatures.
Once again, everyone stopped moving to listen to what the piano had to say. It cried out note after note, each one being more pained than the previous. Every rest was filled in with the sobbing of a human, though this human wasn't yet in sight. Wilfre deduced it was a woman due to its high pitch, but even still, he wasn't too sure. As he advanced toward the piano bench, Benjamin Journey ( @JarrettdaCarrot ) was next to wander through the barrier. While Wilfre had lost a keepsake he had long since treasured, Benjamin lost that day more than everyone else did. He lost the ability to love someone.
The Bard and the Magivore crept up to the front of the piano, the both of them hesitant to move faster than one step every couple seconds. They called out what they saw, explaining everything they can, even down to the detail of spotting a bunch of cultists that hid themselves among the rafters above. The moment their position was compromised, the cultists began to unleash a hail of arrows upon the Hightowers and Azures alike, the mass of them quickly huddling together and hiding behind whatever they could to reduce casualties. Bolts and flame were exchanged between the two positions above the heads of Benjamin and Wilfre, but still, the two were relentless in their approach. They didn't stop until they finally saw who was playing that dreadful song on that ill-tuned piano, which prompted Benjamin to exclaim:
"Wilfre, it's a child!"
He was right. Strangled by a web of wiring was a little Silven girl, no older than 5 and no younger than 3, who was playing an everlasting hymn of sadness. Her face was dry, but her cheeks were discoloured from having been weeping for so long that her tongue was leathery and her eyes were irritated. Benjamin paced around as Wilfre tried to comfort the child, the two of them thinking fast in the hopes of finding a solution that will save the child and stop the onslaught of the dragon worshipers that were starting to grasp their accuracy and become emboldened with determination.
"What es et I can do for jou," questioned Wilfre, "for jou to get out ahnd to get Arken away from jou?"
"I want you to kill Me. I need you to kill Me. You must."
The hearts of the Bard and the Magivore sank into their stomachs. The longer they waited, the more Azures hopped beyond the barrier and the more the Hightowers were getting harassed by the cultists as their shields were not unlike pincushions. Wilfre's face expressed exactly what he was planning to do before he was even ready for it.
"Wilfre- Wilfre, no! We can't, she's just a child!"
"But we need to! Cora es goinge to live on if we do non act now!"
"No, we can free her! Give us time! We can break the wires, heal her, and send her on home!"
While Benjamin lunged forward to grapple Wilfre, Shiori Draylas ( @Icaruscien ) was quick to intercept him. This granted Wilfre just enough time to whip free his short-sword with an oiled hiss of steel entering the air. To the Magivore, the world went silent, devoid of all sound and movement as though time itself went still, save for a single chant that pushed him onward: "Do it, Wilfre! Do it now!"
"What es jour name?"
The girl's chapped lips parted as she was only able to mutter, "I have no name. I have no mother. I have nothing but music in my head, over and over playing from Her. I'm so sick of hearing it. I can't bear it any longer. I can't bear Her any longer."
"Well," started Wilfre as tears began to well up in his eyes with his short-sword angled for the right side of her neck, "jou have a name now. Jour name will be Mercy."
C R A C K !
Wilfre jerked up out of bed, his body covered in sweat with goose-pimples littering his body. His daughter, Mercy, was mewling loudly as though someone had disturbed her sleep. In fact, someone did: her no-good, child-murdering father. Shirtless, sleepless, and hopeless, Wilfre groaned to himself before going to pull Mercy out from the sheets of their shared bed. He gently rocked the infant in the hopes of lulling her back to sleep, but his comfort was minimal at best. She could feel his anxiety through their touch, which only caused her to continue making a fuss since neither of the two found any real reason to relax. After ten minutes of rocking Mercy in vain, Wilfre too began to cry as the memories of Cora poisoned his mind. The two of them wept for their mothers for a whole hour before their eyelids had grown too heavy to keep open.
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