The End is Just The Beginning

Here begins the tale of Sayane The Songstress, as told by Harmonius The Elder, Seventh Keeper of the Sacred Beats.

“May the stage lights guide your way.

May your fandom never fade.

If you ever falter, remember your choreography.

Blessed be the bass.

And to hell with the haters.”

Creed of the Sayanites, Verse 12, Line 4

…

I shall now recount the story which you are seeking. Fear not, dear reader, or listener if you are leveraging one of ‘audio tome’ devices Sayane The Songstress once described. I shall regale this tale with absolute truth, as is our sacred structure within our realm. Not a single lie, misremembrance, or embellishment shall escape my recounting. Nope. Not one.

Anyways, let’s jump in. Life is strange. And, as it turns out, so is death. At least it was for Sayane The Songstress. Henceforth, I shall refer to Sayane The Songstress as simply ‘Sayane’, which was the name she was known by during her time in Illiarios. Sayane, in her time on Earth, was just a regular human girl, much like the vast majority of the world. She was stunningly beautiful, a great body, top of her class, full of wit and grace, blessed with a sublimely divine voice, piercing intellect, and charm that would soothe even the most bitter tyrant. Again, quite normal. Yet even with all of her normal wonder, she was still a failure. Or at least in her eyes.

You see, Sayane was an idol in her humble hometown of Tokyo, Nippo. Or was it Nipan? Or was it Jippon?

Wow, I really forgot what it was called?...

Japan!

Japan!! That’s it. Tokyo, Japan. A simple, quiet town on a small island. As it has been explained through lore, an idol was a musician. A noble, honorable profession indeed. Sayane was a core member of an idol group known as BrightStar. Its nine members were all known to wear distinctive colored outfits to help separate them. Sayane’s designated color was purple, as fitting for someone destined for glory.

Even though Sayane and her bandmates trained for years to reach their goal of mega stardom, their band never resonated with audiences. BrightStar had spent seven years touring Japan trying to cultivate fans, but in the sea of competition, their success was only ever moderate at best.

Sayane herself experienced a torn meniscus in her twenty-fourth year, and the injury stayed with her through all of her days. Choreography became a challenge. The lingering pain made it harder to control her breathing, leading to unstable vocals. Still, she pressed on, ever strong and ever dedicated to her craft.

In truth, during this time, the seeds of disappointment were planted in Sayane’s mind. Money was always tight. She barely scraped by every month, even with two roommates. In a youthful mistake she had come to regret every day, she had dropped out of school to pursue her idol dreams, so she only read at a middle school level. In an economy that was already strained, there were not many opportunities beyond service work and hostess cafes for someone pretty, entertaining, but undereducated and under-skilled.

She didn’t know spreadsheets and presentations. She was never good at math or grammar. She did not know a technical trade. But she could play every instrument she picked up. She could sing in harmony with almost anyone. She could dance flirty, sensual, and fun. She could lead an audience like a general or joy. She knew music. Music was her only skill. Music was her only option.

But even that was restrained. Every request for input on lyrics and choreography was denied. Every submission for new song material was thrown out without the slightest consideration. Music was her only skill but she was never allowed to show how skilled she truly was.

That was how the depression and defeat began to creep in like a thief in the night. Against her best aspirations and desperate validations of self worth, the seeds of sorrow and regret took root in Sayane’s heart. Every failed show, stab of knee pain, and rejection of creative freedom became a chip in the stone foundation of Sayane’s soul.

Then the revenue cuts came. Her label guild of song mages and distributors had decided that it was time to prioritize newer, more exciting acts, and thus decided to relegate Sayane and BrightStar to small, regional tours. Beyond Tokyo’s simple realm, BrightStar was only set to venture to nearby metropolises such as Sendai, Yokohama, and Nagoya. Indeed, Nagoya is where our story truly begins. You see, Nagoya is where Sayane died.

Years of slashed budgets, reductions in safety trainings, a lack of dedicated workers interested in the disciplined art of stage scaffolding, and record heatwaves all conspired to bring about this day of great tragedy.

*Of note, this day is a strange date in our culture, for we of course mourn the death of Sayane’s earthly body, but we also celebrate it as the beginning of her time in Illiarios.

The ruthless July sun hung high in the humid sky that day. Sweltering heat and a dampness that penetrated the soul had made crowd turnout even more muted than already feared. Sayane and her bandmates peaked out from their changing room and saw an audience of maybe fifty middle-aged men. Truly, their audience was mostly older men at this point. Sayane didn’t judge them or dislike them, it was just a funny realization she had once made that the vast majority of their fans seemed as though they could be her father.

“At least they're into us twenty-somethings, and not, you know… lolis…” Sayane had sighed as she looked at the thinning hair of their ever thinning crowds.

When it was time for BrightStar to take the stage, it was over one hundred degrees. The few dozen fans that remained all waved their fandom fans as the technicians queued up the light show and audio loops. Microphones were activated, lasers were tweened, mixing decks were dialed. Sayane approached the label attendant that was standing in the shade with a handheld fan.

“Sir, the girls. It’s very hot. And our outfits are very thick. Do we really have to perform the entire set without an intermission?” she asked in honest concern for her bandmates.

He sighed a familiar, indignant exhale.

“You dumb brat, do what we say and get this over with,” he snarled.

Sayane knew it was unavoidable. With that, BrightStar took the stage.

“Good afternoon everyone!” Sayane cheered in an overly positive, squeaky voice that perfectly masked the brooding melancholy that had taken root in her spirit.

“Thank you all so much for coming out to see us,” she said with a bow as she subtly signaled to her technician to adjust her audio feedback hearing system.

The songs began, and Sayane performed with the earnest professionalism as expected of someone in her craft. Heavy, rigid costumes were exhaustingly restrictive, and the choreography was physically draining. Exertions of strenuous dances caused the familiar burn of unhealed ligaments to radiate up her leg. By the fifth song, Sayane and her bandmates were drenched in sweat and nearly fainting from heat stroke. Indeed, they were not the only ones.

Even the stage hands seemed to nearly be passing out.

The crowd had also thinned out to less than twenty people now. In between songs, Sayane closed her eyes and poured water onto her neck as she reflected on the upcoming rent that would be due tomorrow, and the cheapest grocery orders she could handle in the midst of rice shortages and inflation. And she was cramping.

As Sayane stood there thinking about keeping blood from her frilly white skirt, with weakness seizing her body as she sacrificed her youth for a break that seemingly might never come, she felt an unwanted sting of tears in her eyes. Tears of defeat and exhaustion. This was not the life she had imagined. None of it had quite panned out how she wanted. Shouts of demanding, indifferent producers echoed in her mind. Repeated denials of creative freedom as she became a manufactured, packaged product. Disappointed, told-you-so looks from her parents who had disowned her for her career choice. Disinterested faces of audience members that were never there for their act. All of it was too much.

For the first time, Sayane wanted to quit. This might have been the end. This might have been as far as she could go. At least, that’s what she thought.

Beside her, as the members were all catching their breath and applying cooling towels between songs, a young stagehand was losing the daylong battle to a hangover. Remnants of alcohol from a last-train all nighter had cost him his appetite that morning and afternoon. So now he was facing the scorching sun on a dehydrated, empty stomach, and after hours of fighting, the fainting had begun. Throughout the act, no one had noticed him swaying in and out of consciousness, and now, the battle was lost.

At that moment, Sayane was focused on padding an iced towel on her bandmate’s neck while she herself took slow, deep breaths. As Sayane closed her eyes and briefly turned her back to the audience to clear her mind and wipe her eyes, the young man beside her fainted completely and collapsed into the scaffolding with his full weight. Loose, haphazard brackets and unsecured screws came loose instantly, and the overhead lighting rig came loose instantly.

By the time Sayane could register the commotion, it was too late. She looked up just in time to see the three tonne lighting system careening towards her. There was a crush, followed by screams, and by the time anyone could reach Sayane, she was already shattered and gone from the world. A single tear ran down her cheek as her soul vanished from Earth.

May the grace of those gone before us escort us to a gentle morning, where dusk never ends. Blessed be the early departed.

Thus, Sayane died.

…

BUT HEY SHE ARRIVED IN OUR REALM LET’S GO!!!

Fire up the fireworks!

Blessed be the bomb-ass bass!!!

Oh hey it’s Sayane! Oh Hey It’s Sayane!!!

…

Apologies, please forgive me. That’s the natural elation for us when discussing Sayane’s arrival into our realm.

So, that is where Sayane’s tragic, unfulfilling life ended on Earth. Now, it is time to tell the story of how she truly lived, here in the ancient realm of Illiarios. We shall continue the story in the next chapter. My scribes have told me to try to keep each chapter as concise as possible, and I have done my best, but I can’t help but add a little fun to these things.

And again, don’t worry. No lies. Even the truth can be fun…