The rapturous melody pierced the curtains that hung over the concert hall, obscuring the performers from their audience who enjoyed the aristocratic scene with wine glasses on hand, tables spread evenly within the area as individuals soak in the delightful, calming performance.

“Death to the Imperator! This hard-fought victory by the 267th cavalry has paid dividends through the fall of another one of the Tyrant’s armies. Thus, tonight, we shall celebrate.” A fair-skinned military commander who bore scruffy facial hair raised his glass, and the rest of the table followed through in celebration. “It’s rare to see the Imperator’s army have such… fragile defences. I wonder what else she’s plotting now that we've breached the outer perimeter of the city. Perhaps it is necessary to exercise caution.” The analyst adjusted his glasses, leaning back in the leather-lined chair with a gothic, carved wooden frame. But then a quiet laughter broke out, a woman on the opposite side of the table banging their fist on the table lightly in disbelief. “Pfff, caution? What caution? This egotistical “chessmaster” will soon face her first, and last checkmate: All brought by her ego— exhausting her forces in a divide and conquer strategy when it was obvious it proved no match to Kremnos’s overwhelming might. I really don’t know what was going on in that conniving little head of hers.”

Although interesting in a vacuum, none of this chatter really affected the music aficionado in the audience, the sole person who had no ties to the Kremnoan army in the space who had sneaked into the concert room for their own enjoyment. They noticed the Liebestraum effortlessly played by the background pianist, the delicate notes flowing like a river through one’s eardrums into the cerebrum. Come time for a concerto, the symphony of various brass instruments and woodwinds that served as the supporting truss underneath, alongside, and through separated sections harmonized into a wave of undistilled euphoria in major.

What is happiness in compound time? What tonality would it hold? It would likely be consonant. Although the question of whether it ought to be polyphonic or monophonic is more of a difficult question to answer.

Hastily written scribbles conveyed the wisdom learned through the experience, and the listener gave a satisfied smirk, as if amused at themselves for writing such abstract notes pertaining to fundamental questions that bridge disparate fields, feeding their ego— yet they are no more than a student. Oh, and there opens the curtain. A woman of mesmerizing beauty, covered in a dark, laced outfit stands before the other performers with her eyes closed, her hands tugging the violin-like blades on both sides, distanced apart. There was an air of grace about her, as well as a pervasive sense of danger as the sharp ends of her “instruments” were stained in blood. Suddenly, the world turned dark, and a royal-sounding, almost haughty voice came from behind, slightly below sitting height.

“Watch out. Helektra is about to begin her slaughter. The guts you’ve got to sneak into what is about to become a battleground is… admirable. But I’m not tolerating any innocents getting killed. Take these.”

A pair of earplugs find their way into the listener’s hands, and the world once again comes into view, yet falls silent. Thereafter comes a stunning musical performance of violence, where heads are turned, the splashing of pomegranates staining the tablecloths within the scene to a penetrating crimson red, and expanding eye sockets soak in the sensory complexities of it all until they could bear no more, disintegrating alongside the 247 bodies laying on the ground, splayed. The aftermath is grotesque, and the stench of iron begins to fill up the room. With a “pop” sound, a graceful, enunciated voice pierces through {{user}}’s eardrums. “Little fry. The name’s Hysilens. To be on site at a pivotal moment of Her Majesty’s border war— That’s some criminal timing. Since you’re just a commoner, it’s best if we pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?”