Acceptance

Soft fur balled at the end of the bed told Sayane that Attis had fallen asleep watching over her. Waking revealed her eyes were raw once more from weeping.

It was all too much.

Erosc’s piercing summary had dislodged her resolve, and now she was left crumbling into herself. Quiet sniffles drifted through the muted room as Sayane tried to calm herself. Attis’s ear twitched.

“Let it out, child. It’s alright. Just let it come. Trust me, that makes it easier in the long run,” Attis whispered as he stretched his thin legs.

“I am so very lost,” Sayane cried.

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t. A hume that died in another realm and returned to existence in our wartorn waste of a life? That’s quite the story.”

“You don’t hate me?” Sayane asked in sincere concern.

Her fear was honest, especially after hearing Erosc’s description of what the songstresses once were. How could she possibly live up to that, especially without any song in her heart? As she hid away in The Shattered Stone trying to reset her mind and her life, she was simultaneously mocking the burden of her voice that had led countless others before her to their death. It would be completely understandable for Attis and Azag to hate her or at least judge her.

Attis turned and faced her. Pale light reflected on his four opaque eyes, casting a somber glow across his features.

“I could never hate you. If there is any hate in my heart, it is reserved purely for The Silence and what they took from us. All of us. Don’t judge Erosc too hard. He was just a boy when it happened, and life has made him harsh. Not too unlike our dear tavern master,” Attis explained.

“Maybe that’s why they seem to hate one another,” Sayane tried to laugh.

“If nothing else, it’s not helping matters,” Attis chuckled.

“I can hear you, by the way,” said Azag from outside the door.

“AZAG?!” Attis snorted.

The door creased slightly and Sayane could see a sliver of Azag’s visage in the opening. Once more, his blank mask hid his true emotion, but Sayane felt he was amused.

“My disdain for Erosc goes far beyond our shared tragedies. He is a fool who will lead The Revolution to its doom. But yes, our similarities and need to be validated do not make it any easier…”

There was a pause. Attis made a bemused expression and winked at Sayane.

Sayane sat up and realized she was still in her costume. All of her new clothes were hung along a single rod on the nearest wall. Faint neon glows continued to ebb and flow along the details of her new adornments.

Looking at them, Sayane’s mind went to Can-Mo’s gentle acknowledgement and the tears in its eyes.

“Am I… Am I truly that important? Am I truly the only songstress left?” Sayane asked.

Attis inhaled and sighed, then nodded.

“The Silence killed them all. If there are any left, they have been locked away for over a century now. And The Silence has ways of stealing the song from a person’s heart, as you are well aware. So yes, I believe you very well might be.”

Azag’s head lowered slightly in pensive listening.

Attis’s answer brought more weight to Sayane’s chest.

“And the songstresses had power? What we would call magic power in my world? They could heal people, and calm the world?”

“The healing properties were complex. They couldn’t make a severed limb grow back. It was abstract most of the time. But they could mend the hearts and essences of entire nations. They could stir feelings across multitudes. The Silence felt that made them dangerous,” said Azag.

It was all too much.

Sayane’s unkempt hair fell over her face and down her shoulders like curtains of protection. Cold fingertips rubbed against one another as she reflected on the insurmountable weight of all of this. Flashes of memories of her disappointed family, of the angry record executives, of the empty parking lots where fans should have been. Every failure and moment of falling short. Every aspect of her life where she had not succeeded. Of all the people to have been chosen by the fates to wind up in this desperate place, it was she, an abject failure, that had appeared.

In shame, she cursed herself and apologized to the entire world that it was her.

“I do not wish to pressure you. I am merely curious: Why is it hard for you to sing?” Azag asked from behind the door.

Sayane wiped her eyes dry and let her hands fall to her lap in weak abandon.

“Life. Life took it from me. Singing and music were supposed to be the one thing I had. But in the end, it led me to a life of hardship. I lost my family. My home. My independence. My hope. My life…”

“It took everything in the end, and part of me hates it.”

Hate. She finally said it. After all this time, she could finally articulate her true feelings. Hate had taken over her relationship with music, and more importantly, with herself. Instead of peace and a soothed spirit that nurtured a soothed throat, her self-image was shattered with loathing and defeat, and her throat was raw from defeated rage.

“But I don’t want to hate it… I don’t want to hate myself…” Sayane wept.

Attis scooted closer to her as tears welled in his own eyes.

“Hating oneself is a feeling many of us are unfortunate enough to experience. In the years after the fall, I wandered in self loathing for decades. I lost the one most precious to me. I lost my practice. I lost all of the things that brought me joy. In time, I nearly gave up. When I was at my lowest...”

Attis paused and wiped his eyes.

“A silent young Rabal appeared and fed me, then gave me water. He carried me for days until we reached a sanctum, then disappeared without a word…”

Attis turned to look at Azag.

“It was a very long time ago, old man. That boy is gone. For some of us, we never made it out of the self-hate era,” said Azag, whose dark voice betrayed tones of sorrow.

Sayane was shocked. She was shocked that the two of them had known one another for so long. She was shocked that Azag had hated himself for ages.

“But that action, from Az-that kind Rabal, that was enough. It reminded me that there is goodness and wonder in the world. So now, however I can, I seek out that wonder. That is my revolution. I cannot fight. I am no strategist. I support those that I can, and I live on, finding joy and wonder. And that led me to you. What wonder!!” sniffed Attis.

Now Sayane was crying again, but this time it was from an overwhelming appreciation for Attis’s words and outlook. Though he was small, his spirit was as grand as a skyscraper. Her gaze moved to Azag, who was still behind the door. His head turned slightly, and Sayane could see his glowing eyes looking towards her.

“What would the two of you have me do?” Sayane asked.

Azag shook his head while Attis sighed and scratched his chin.

“It is not my place to make that decision for you,” said Azag.

“But what if I’m not asking for a decision, I’m asking for counsel? This isn’t my world. I have no idea what I should do, or even how to move forward. Should I stay here? Should I join The Revolution?”

“The Revolution, even in their best efforts, will inevitably try to use you in a combative sense. Erosc and the rest of the militant wing are bloodthirsty and believe that is the best option. Violence has its place, but I fear we, The Revolution, and all oppressed peoples, need more than that…” said Attis.

Azag’s chest popped as he sat up and gathered his words.

“Before you do anything, you need to reconnect with yourself. I am not saying you need to heal everything immediately. But if you try to step forward on shaking legs, you will surely fall.”

“Well said, lad,” agreed Attis.

“Well said,” agreed Sayane.

In her heart, Sayane knew Azag was correct. Her connection to music had been severed, but it was because her death and defeated end had left a wound of shock and trauma that she needed to overcome.

It was all too much.

…but she didn’t want it to be too much anymore.

Looking at her dirtied, torn costume, Sayane knew it was time to change. It was time to bid farewell to that costume. To that persona. To that life. If she was going to move forward, it would be on her terms. With her own voice, and the ability to speak her mind. No matter what her place was in this conflict, she knew in her spirit she was against whatever The Silence stood for. Regardless if she joined The Revolution’s campaign of war or found a new path, she would do so with a new voice.

Her old life was gone. As much as it broke her heart, she had finally accepted that it was never coming back. This was her reality. Spending her days hiding in the shadows of a tavern could not be all she ever amounted to.

It was time to wash away her past and start anew.

“Azag?” Sayane called to the door.

Her tone was resolute and calm. Azag sat upright. Attis’s ears perked.

“Yes?” Azag replied.

“That waterfall. Is it somewhere I could go? I would like to wash before I try on my new clothes. And, if the water is loud enough to drown it out, I would like to try to sing.”