“It was as if his music came to life, circling them, and their bodies could do nothing but follow along with the tune he played. He was their puppeteer and the music their strings. Not only did the melody affect them, but the verses he sang altered the world around. His creativity is boundless, and if allowed, Adagio would never stop playing.”

  Music and singing that cut lives short, and shakes the earth enough to crumble buildings—well, that seemed more like the power of God. Not God—Sadiq remembers Heartsease saying. “He’s left God and walks the path of brimstone. Merely dancing all the way, unbothered by his scorched feet.”—These were the last words spoken to him by the young man before he disappeared. Sadiq had every intention of bringing Heartsease back to the capital, where Valentin could help him decide what to do with the information given. He was to apprehend him after the man finished his burial of the deceased boy, but once the last bit of dirt covered the grave, Heartsease flung some more into Sadiq's and his party’s eyes. By the time they recovered from the unexpected assault, Heartsease was nowhere to be seen.

  Regardless of the young man, Sadiq returned home, and Valentin set the wheels of investigation spinning. The Seneschal disregarded what story Heartsease gave as the ramblings of a traumatized man. Although some practiced sorcery, none of them could do as Heartsease had described. What had happened to Palermo was nothing supernatural, but instead the works of Bellona, who had taken their instigation too far.

  Another war broke out between Bellona and Harald, with Bellona declaring they would annihilate the clan that had caused them so much strife for so long. Sadiq became burdened as Valentin orchestrated assaults, rounding up Harald's army together to attack the trade routes Bellona relied on. Inevitably, retaliation came, and the city of Perdita was besieged, and it took two and a half months for Harald to reclaim it.

  Although Harald and Bellona were large clans, taking much territory as their own, the continent of Panthnos was a massive, singular land mass. The two clans were like two specks amongst the vast sky of stars. Other clans, cities, and villages were not caught in the skirmish; instead, they faced a different kind of trouble. It had been thought that no one could endeavor to take over the whole earth because it was simply too grand, and who could have such power? Then Sadiq began to hear whispers.

  A traveler would come to a village and place himself on the street. There, he would pull forth a string instrument and play a light tune. People thought he was simply a jongleur, a highly skilled one at that. The traveler’s music was a gentle serenade as calm as an evening in a field of spring flowers. Then he would begin to sing, and unbeknownst to those gathered around him, his snare had been set. It would end all the same—the traveler would come, he would play, the people would gather, and then the music's tone would shift. A man would turn to his neighbor, someone who has lived in the village as long as the other, making them friends instead of strangers, and lash out in uncontrolled violence. A catalyst that led to mothers turning against their children, husbands against wives, siblings against siblings, and friends against friends.

  Blood, death, ruin—by the end, the village was no more, and the traveler would gather his instrument and continue on his way. The survivors he left did not escape by their own merit. He allowed them to flee and spread his name to the regions they fled to. Adagio’s name became like that of a bad omen. If someone mocked the survivor’s words as mere ravings of a lunatic, they would find themselves coming face to face with the truth when a sweet melody flowed through their ear.

  As the years progressed, Adagio began to rise in infamy, yet as much as he was the culprit for many mass killings, there were a few he could not take credit for. How terrified the people became when they realized he was not their only devil to deal with, and how late it was that Harald realized Bellona was not the only threat to their safety.

  —————

  Sadiq thinks they should have brought more men. If Adagio could subdue entire cities, then what use is a century of soldiers? He continuously looked back at his men, wondering if he was just leading lambs to the slaughter. “Why so anxious, Sadiq?” Valentin asked from his mount on Sadiq's right. “Seneschal, shouldn’t we have used a smaller scouting party to see the dangers this Adagio possesses? Why must we be prepared to confront the man right off?”

  “Are you superstitious?”

  “No,” Sadiq answered, thrown off kilter by the irrelevance of the question.

  “Neither am I, although I do believe what was spoken about in history—the great flood, fire consuming an altar, and the resurrection. Miracles exist, but I haven’t witnessed any in this era, and it might be that I’m not holy enough, or none of us are. Whatever the circumstances, I find it hard to believe what people say about Adagio. How would a man like him obtain such grand power as the people describe? If he isn’t with God, then why would he be allowed to bring destruction to the people? I’m confident they are simply scared, and what we will face is another clan planning to usurp control over the lands, using details provided by Adagio, who is most likely an informant.”

  Sadiq was still confused. “Even if it’s another clan, why not still form a scouting party? It would be safer to wait for a report so we could better strategize how to handle the enemy.”

  “We can’t afford to wait,” Valentin answered resolutely. “ There are many clans scattered across this continent, but as far as I know, we and Bellona are still the ones with the most significant force. Already, we are spread thin because of the war, and if there is another threat coming against us, then we must put out the flame before it can become a roaring fire that consumes us.”

  He did not push the matter further. Valentin has been under tremendous stress because of their clan leader’s displeasure with him. “Why haven’t we won the war yet? What makes this time different from the countless others where Bellona challenged us? If we were victorious then, how aren’t we now?” The Seneschal has no time to be scared of perceived stories of fancy. He needed to rid the clan of the potential threat so that he could return and face the true one at their doors. Sadiq understood, but he also knew Valentin was acting a bit rashly, and he prayed nothing would come of it.

  —————

  Adagio was moving in a jagged line, going to settlements that were close to the one he had just laid into ruin. Following this pattern, Valentin had summized that Adagio would be heading to the city of Aurora, after visiting two villages before it. Upon their arrival there, Valentin immediately sought an audience with the clan leader overseeing the town. The clan leader, a man by the name of Hans Doe, agreed to house the Harald soldiers in return for their help in protecting his city. Hans had heard the rumors about Adagio and, like Valentin, was skeptical, so he assumed an invading clan would be coming. It was under this assumption that the fighters of the Doe Clan and the Harald’s soldiers enacted defences along the entirety of the city’s border. They also established guardposts at the various city entrances, and the soldiers posted there would need to question incomers and search for any amongst them who were musicians. Seeing as no whispers made mention as to what instrument Adagio played, anyone found with one would be immediately detained.

  Days passed. Valentin and Hans were confident with their safeguards, so Sadiq found himself wandering the city’s streets. He went to one of the guardposts and watched as the soldiers there rummaged through packed wagons and ensured no one carried anything hidden on their person. So far, no warnings had been given, yet Sadiq’s anxiety did not cease to grow. That is why he wanted to patrol the streets, scouring for anything out of place, and as he neared the southern part of the city, Sadiq heard it. A tone low and silken, humming with a quiet depth that seemed to gather the air around it. The melody curved gently, inviting and warm, a thread of peace winding through the clamor of the city. He felt drawn to the sound, his feet carrying him swiftly closer to the music that eased his anxiety. Yet, he suddenly stopped when the shift occurred; gone was the feeling of tranquility, and in its place came dreadful turmoil.

  Accompanying the music was a voice that was the most beautiful of voices to reach his years, but how could Sadiq appreciate the sound when screams of terror joined it in a chorus? From where he was, he could not make out the words the voice was singing, yet did not need to, to understand that the voice was releasing the gates of violence.

  Sadiq almost tripped over his own feet as he ran away, feeling the…sinful fog nipping at his heels, the air around him becoming clogged with what he could not name. All Sadiq knew for sure was that if he did not wish to die, then he needed to find somewhere to hide himself. With desperation feeding him, Sadiq spotted a baker’s shop, where a note on the door explained that the shop would be closed until tomorrow. He did not heed the note, nor did the latch stop him as he kicked the door down. Sadiq scrambled to the back of the shop, where the large stone oven stood, meant to bake bread and pastries. It was cool to the touch, the fire having been put out a long while ago, and it is here that Sadiq climbs inside, closing the iron doors of the oven on himself.

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  Outside, he could hear the sounds of people crying in agony, while barbaric shouts melded with them. The sounds persisted, followed by the shaking of the earth, and Sadiq closed his eyes as the iron doors of the oven began to rattle. It felt like a horrible dream, and his body shook as the fog seemed to grow heavier, suffocating him with the sinfulness it represented. Never had Sadiq known that sin could manifest itself in such a way, and he was brought back to the words of Heartsease—“He’s left God and walks the path of brimstone…” Was this the power Adagio was capable of? Could he bring hell on earth with a simple melody? If so, what gave him such influence?

  More and more questions circled Sadiq’s mind, and he focused on them, if only to find solace away from the burdens of what was taking place outside the doors to the oven. He also stuck his fingers into his ears because the voice from before had seemed to get closer, almost as if Adagio was walking down the street in front of the bakery. Sadiq did not care to know the words the man sang, nor did he want to be controlled by them because that is what Heartsease said; Adagio is the puppeteer and his music the strings.

  Sadiq is unsure of the exact number of hours he spent inside the oven, but he ensured he stayed long enough for Adagio to have left the city. When he uncovered his ears, Sadiq was met with a silence that made him unable to breathe. He was scared that if he did, it would wake something he did not want to face, so he crept quieter than any mouse, leaving the safety of the oven.

  Outside, he had expected to see what he had at Palermo, but there were no depictions of toppled buildings and burnt remains. What was left were a scattering of corpses all along the streets, their pools of blood staining the ground he walked on. He looked at the faces of the Dao clan, and he felt himself quiver at the realization that the clan was no more. What was worse was that he recognized that not all the bodies belonged to the Dao clan, for scattered among them were the familiar faces of the soldiers he had traveled with. He briefly wondered if he searched long enough, would he find Valentin as well? The man surely would have come to confront the enemy once the commotion reached him; he was, after all, no coward. Had his seneschal raised his sword and fought valiantly against Adagio, or had the enemy’s overwhelming aura swallowed Valentin in sin and fear? The former seemed more aligned with who Valentin was, and Sadiq tried to feel ashamed for having hidden like a scared child, but he could not.

  Sadiq was alive, unlike his seneschal.

  —————

  He was promoted upon his arrival home, being given the position Valentin once held, and during an address to the clan, his clan leader marked him as a hero. Sadiq had to keep from laughing at the charade his clan leader put on because not a day ago, his clan leader had struck him for failing to subdue the one causing issues opposite Bellona. Clan Leader Cedric had found it appalling that Valentin of all people was so easily struck down, and commented on how the man had been losing his senses. It was the clan leader’s only explanation as to why the clan struggled as it did. Still, Clan Leader Cedric had to keep up appearances and lied about what took place in the city of Aurora. Valentin was honored as a brave warrior, and Sadiq was the hero for avenging his seneschal’s death.

  None of it mattered in the end, and Sadiq took upon himself Valentin’s responsibilities, but not with a sense of duty. He played his role, yet his mind would return to the events of Aurora. In his dreams, he would be back in the oven, except that underneath him, a fire ignited and scorching heat bit at his skin. He would try to escape, but the doors would be sealed, and from outside an instrument played and a voice sang a ballad of his demise. Sadiq would always awake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding to the beat of the music, yet it was not due to fear.

  A new thought had blossomed within his mind—insistent like a nagging dog. Sadiq found himself obsessed with the fog that had encompassed the city, with its cloying oppressiveness. Could someone like Sadiq be capable of controlling such authority? He wanted to know how Adagio came to obtain the power, how he learned to wield such a dangerous weapon. What added more fuel to the fire of his obsession was the discovery of four others who followed the same path as Adagio.

  Shiloh, Amelia-Rose, Kaos, and Ragnar—these names were not as prevalent, most of their work being attributed to the wrong man, but over time, they began to distinguish themselves. Each of them tallied their fair share of death and carnage, their names being talked about as much as Adagio’s. They also seemed to be converging on a singular destination, the five people’s path set to cross within another month, and Sadiq was prepared.

  —————

  It should be more concerning how used to silent towns he is, or how he is unfazed when stepping over the mangled body of a woman. Was he so numb to tragedy that it became another facet of his life? It is not that he does not feel anything as he continues to navigate the still streets, minding his footing to not dirty himself with the red staining his pathway. A sense of anticipation has his teeth clacking together, his body quivering as he gets closer to what feels like the embodiment of death. Since setting foot across the town’s threshold, the overbearing fog he remembered from Aurora was even more potent, and it felt like trudging through mud as he pushed against it. His limbs were aching, and he felt like vomiting, but Sadiq refused to turn back.

  He passed a smoldering mound that perhaps was once someone’s home, and a pile of charred corpses, before rounding a corner. Sadiq almost choked on his tongue when a gasp escaped him as he looked upon what could only be the depiction of the devil’s royalty. They were at the heart of it all, seated and standing amid their craftsmanship of broken bones and torn flesh. Four men and a lone woman, their poses unhurried, unbothered. One reclined against a teetering wagon, a pale mask covering his face, molded so precisely that it clung to his skin, its surface smooth. His outer garment draped long and straight, a robe that fell almost to the floor, its fabric heavy. The sleeves were wide and tapered, and subtle embroidery threaded along the hems, forming balanced motifs. Around his waist, a broad sash cinched everything together, layered in folds that created depth and structure without looking rigid—its knot slightly off-center, deliberate and elegant, trailing two strips. Beneath the robe’s parted front, the suggestion of fitted trousers and soft boots appeared. His hair was cut short enough to leave the back of his neck exposed, but long enough in the front and sides to fall in soft, deliberate strands that curved around the edges of his mask.

  Another stood over a small pile of bodies, all the while fiddling with what appeared to be a long rectangular abacus. He has a sharp, angular face, with high cheekbones and a prominent, slightly pointed nose. His crimson eyes are narrowed as he swiftly moves the beads of the abacus. His complexion is fair, almost pale, smooth, and unblemished. He wore a tunic-like robe that fell to his knees, its cut narrow and straight. The sleeves were long but neatly fitted at the wrists, and over the robe sat a sleeveless over-layer, heavier in material, with a high standing collar that framed his neck without swallowing it. It fastened diagonally across the chest with small knot-like toggles. Around his waist, a wide sash wrapped twice before tying in a crisp knot at his side, its trailing ends hanging at the the same length. Beneath the robe, he wore fitted trousers, tucked neatly into his boots. His hair was kept short, just enough to cover the back of his neck. It fell in smooth, disciplined strands that curved slightly toward his temples, framing his forehead.

  A third crouched with elbows on knees, tracing idle patterns with a knife in the blood at his feet, each movement slow and deliberate. With his free hand, he rhythmically scraped his thumb against a thin, silver needle that had a thread connecting it to a spool. His face was striking but not ostentatious—a fine-boned structure with high cheekbones, complexion pale, and jaw narrow, features that gave him a calm, almost austere beauty. His eyes, almond-shaped, crimson, steady, and his hair thick, hanging straight but not tamed, the strands falling to brush his shoulders. It framed his face in uneven curtains, some locks sliding forward to veil his eyes, others drifting across his cheeks.. He was dressed in a long, dark robe that reached his ankles, the sleeves wide and loose around his elbows. Around his waist, a simple sash tied the robe closed, and over his robes he wore a cloak, broad-shouldered and long enough to flow around him on the ground.

  The woman stood apart, clutching an ornate lantern that glowed a soft blue hue against her chest, while also playing with a large rat that scampered across her shoulders. She has a delicate presence, with smooth, round features that give her an innocent, youthful appearance. Her hair reaches just above the shoulders, framing her face in gentle layers. The front strands fall slightly over her crimson eyes, the ends curving inward. Her ensemble is composed of flowing garments layered in a precise, elegant way. The upper layer is fitted at the torso with wide sleeves that hang gracefully and allow for movement. Beneath, a slightly longer inner layer peeks out, and around her waist, a broad sash cinches the outfit.

  Finale, seated in the center of the four, one leg over his knee and a guqin resting in his lap, on a throne made of ruin, was a man with a relaxed posture. His skin has a warm, sun-kissed tone, a rich golden-brown. His face is defined and expressive, with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a slightly angular nose. His crimson eyes are observant, with a hint of mischief and awareness that makes it feel like he notices everything around him. His hair is short, naturally wild, enough to brush the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck. It has a wavy, untamed quality, giving him a perpetually windswept look. Strands fall over his forehead and around his face in a controlled chaos. He wears a fitted tunic that reaches mid-thigh, the fabric sturdy but soft, and edged with subtle stitching. Over the tunic, he sports a sleeveless, open-front vest with asymmetrical panels that fall slightly longer on one side. Around his waist is a wide belt, tied loose enough to allow the tunic to billow. His trousers are fitted, tucked into mid-calf boots. His sleeves are narrow at the shoulders but flare subtly toward the wrists.

  Each person's clothing was all black, with the accent pieces being deep red, and there were handprints of red scattered over them. It was almost as if they were wearing clan colors, but not of a clan Sadiq recognized. Then there were the marks visible on their throats; ink patterns written out as χξ?. Never in all of Sadiq’s life has he seen someone with ink staining their skin, nor had he met anyone with short hair, or whose hair color was that blacker than midnight, blacker than the color of hell—pure obsidian.

  Sadiq was left in awe at the sight of them, and perhaps had he been more aware, he would have realized that he had stepped out in full view. It was as if their captivating looks had pulled him closer, and Sadiq was slave to it, yet when they all turned their attention on him, he suddenly recalled that these people were the cause of so much death. Now he stood before them.

  “You’ve been staring at us for such a long time. Tell me, old man, what do you want?”