Are you out there?

Octavia looked beyond the village and into the woods. The sun broke through the clouds and blessed the ground below with its warmth, setting the snow aglow. She crunched along the road that led away from the schoolhouse, her arms filled with supplies she'd pilfered from the cabinet, along with her flute case.

Since she'd skipped breakfast, her stomach was whining like a disgruntled toddler, and she wasn't sure where to get proper food at this hour. But she wanted to see more of the town so she headed towards the Cathedral.

Dirty heaps and piles of snow lined the roads. Octavia alone traversed the plowed paths, walking by the frozen pond. A daywalker stood on the stone bridge, its glowing eyes like beacons as it stared down at the water.

Her fingers curled into fists and her lips twisted into a scowl. Its presence alone was a mocking reminder of what she'd failed to do. Soon, she would figure this out, find the answers she needed and get rid of them for good.

As Octavia stepped onto the Cathedral's grounds, a familiar warmth washed over her. She stopped, took a step back into the cold and walked forward again, replicating the sensation.

Another barrier.

Interesting. She walked to the south of the daunting structure that was the Hedalda Cathedral. The hulking behemoth cast its shadow over her, asserting its authority. She resisted the urge to salute it with an obscene gesture and walked across the front of the building to a cluster of stone benches arranged around a fire pit.

Octavia relieved herself of her burden and rubbed her tired eyes. Sitting down had never been so blissful. Her legs burned from walking around all morning and feeling had long left her toes. A headache crept up the back of her head, and its march would surely quicken once she got to planning her lesson.

But first, she needed to know if the netherborne were still here. It was possible they were hiding deeper in the forest, or on the fringes of the island. One simple melody would weed them out. She popped the latches of her flute case and found the velvet interior empty.

I never packed the flute away. She balled her fists and bit down on them to stop herself from screaming out loud. Sin and symphony. What, dare she ask, could make this morning even worse? A rogue bolt of lightning striking her dead? Not an entirely unwelcomed prospect.

Using her voice was a possibility, but the volume with which she had to do so would leave her too hoarse to teach later. Her vocal chords weren't nigh as strong as her power. She thumbed the rosebud charm of her necklace. 

No, that was far too conspicuous and presented too great of a risk. Necromancy could wait, for now. But her lesson plan couldn't.

Octavia didn't even know where to begin. Beatrix had told her the children had the basics down, but it had been a while since they'd had a teacher. She wasn't one to rely on the judgment on non-musicians and needed to assess their skill level herself.

She took out some paper and a pen from her supplies and drew staves and notes. Like all necromancers, music was second nature to her, as inherently hard-wired into her brain as breathing. She could play any song verbatim after hearing it only once, evoke melodies from her flute that could move the most hardened, stoic warriors to tears.

But being a good musician wasn't enough to be a good necromancer. Necromancy took an intense focus, and an iron will that learning music couldn't foster. She could teach anyone to blow in a hole until a tune came out. She couldn't teach a lackluster necromancer to get a grip on their power, or project their will, or stay calm and collected when it felt as though their soul was being torn away. Because those things couldn't be taught. They either had it or they didn't.

Octavia looked over what she'd written so far and deemed it adequate. As she stacked the sheets in a neat pile, her eyes drifted to the village.

Pillars of smoke curled from chimneys and twisted into the morning sky and not a sound disturbed the morning. No bustling sounds of productivity. No talk or laughter. Although, she supposed there was nothing to laugh about. 

The netherborne brought both destruction and despair to every place they plagued. They tormented humanity, bore down on it until fell to its knees and resigned itself to death.

Octavia remembered Lyle's words. We've had casualties. How many? How many had died and how many people did the dead leave behind to mourn them? Just thinking about it made the weariness in her bones amplify. 

She rubbed her eyes, crossed her arms over her work and laid her head on them. Just a little nap. Or she'd be no use to her students or herself.

Octavia was slipping away into the land of dreams when she heard boots crunching through snow, but she ignored it, hoping that whoever was in those boots would let her rest.

"Miss Octavia?"

The musical accent stroked her ears and roused her into awareness. She cracked one eye and looked up in time to see Lyle and Sicero exchange puzzled glances. "Good morning."

"Oh, good morning Miss Octavia," Lyle said with a sheepish grin. "I heard you playing yesterday. It was great."

"Thank you." She raised her head, wincing when the kink in her neck made itself known again.

"Is something the matter?" Sicero asked, his dark brows drawn together. For the first time, she noticed the shock of white hair behind his right hair. It was a curious thing that drew her attention, but also made her feel rude for staring at it.

Octavia gave a wave of dismissal and shuffled through her papers. "Everything's fine." It would've been better if they'd left her to rest, but she kept that thought to herself. When she looked up again, he was frowning at her, those hazel eyes boring into her skull. Those eyes knew she was lying.

If everything was fine, she wouldn't be out in the cold half asleep on top on her work. "I just had a bit of a rough morning as is all," she admitted.

"I see." Sicero's eyes softened. "Is it the accommodations? Are they not to your liking?"

"No, the house is fine. I just—"

"Ah, then do you need more time to acclimate before you begin your work? I ask tell Beatrix and Winslet to give you a few more days."

She blinked. "No, it's—"

"Well, you're out early. Have you eaten breakfast?"

"I haven't, but—"

"Was there not food in the house?" He turned his gaze to Lyle.

The boy raised his hands and took a step back. "I swear there's food there. I made sure the kitchen was stocked."

"Relax," Octavia said. "There is food. I didn't—"

"Is it not what you like then?" Sicero's eyes cut back to her. "I can get other things if you—"

"Will you kindly shut up?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but held an edge sharp enough to cut through stone. 

Lyle's hand flew to his mouth and he took a step back, glancing back and forth between the two. A little on the rude side, considering the High Priest's station but Octavia was far too tired for niceties. Meanwhile, Sicero stood with hands in the pockets of his face stoic. Time crept by, indifferent to their silent enmity. It could've been minutes or hours; the cold always made time stretch

"Lyle," Sicero finally said. "Go to the kitchen and see if there's anything that can be prepared quickly for Miss Octavia."

"Of course. Right away." Lyle ran off and disappeared beyond the pointed arches of the Cathedral.

Octavia glued her eyes to her work, hoping Sicero would leave her alone. Only the scribble of her pen and the occasional breeze filled the silence between them.

"Do you mind if I sit?" he asked.

She didn't look up from her work when she said: "If you're going to continue bombard me with questions and then cut me off before I can give a proper answer then yes, I do mind, Councilman. With all due respect."

"And if I only wish to have a normal conversation?"

She paused her scribbling. Why did he have to have such a nice voice? With its musical lilt, every time he spoke was like listening to a travelling minstrel. He was in the wrong line of work. "Then no, I don't mind."

He lowered himself into the seat opposite her and threaded his fingers together on top of the table. "Have my apologies. I didn't mean to pester you so. I only wanted to ensure that you were settled in and comfortable."

Sincere and gracious. The man surprised her at every turn. Octavia reached for a fresh sheet of paper. "There are certainly better ways to go about it."

"Indeed. That's why I leave such matters to Beatrix. She's the diplomat. I'm the muscle. After the netherborne started attacking, many people have left." He looked out at the quiet village, eyes growing distant as though he'd gotten lost in an old memory.

So, he worried she would leave. She could seize this opportunity, get to know more about the scourge threatening this village. And what better person to ask than the one who dealt with it directly? Although she ran the risk of coming under suspicion if she pried too much into Hedalda's affairs. Perhaps interspersing her questions about the netherborne with questions about him would throw him off her trail.

Octavia laid her pen down and gave him her undivided attention. "How long have the netherborne been attacking Hedalda?"

"Over a generation. There are very few people still alive who know what this place was like before the scourge. It used to be bigger, but the archives, library and both schoolhouses were destroyed, along with two neighbourhoods. The schools you visited are the replacements."

"I see." With the amount of netherborne on this island, they were lucky anything still stood, including them.

"What makes things worse is that this island used to be a part of a major trade route," Sicero continued. "Thousands of merchant ships used to traffic through here every week. Now there are only two boats per week from Avaly."

"Have you lost anyone? If you don't mind me asking," she tacked on.

"I'm not from this village. I was only sent here as an aid." He looked down at his hands, his eyes cast in shadow. "Have you? If you don't mind me asking."

Her mouth went dry and she bit the inside of her cheek. A sloppy dodge and then firing her question back at her. A bold choice.  Give him the truth or show him how to evade a question with finesse? The latter option was more enticing but the former would keep the conversation on the right path.

"Have you heard of the fall of Elora Peak?" Octavia asked.

Sicero's eyes widened and drew his head back. "I have. It was..." He shook his head. "The accounts I heard were horrific."

"I was there." Watching a millennia old kingdom crumble around her in one night was a low point in her travels. Even now the screams filled her head. People trapped by rubble, fires, netherborne. Few of the hundreds of thousands of people who'd called the kingdom home made it out alive.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice low and raspy. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, closed it and sat in somber silence.

Just as Octavia searched her brain for another question, Lyle came from the building with a platter covered by a silver dome.

"Your food ma'am." He made a grand show of laying it before her. When he lifted the dome, a cloud of steam rose from the food. Sausages, eggs, porridge and tea. The mixture of sweet and savoury scents Octavia's mouth water.

"It looks amazing, thank you." She gave Lyle a smile.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Sicero said as he stood. "Lyle, we should get to the hall." He gave her the same smile and nod he had the previous day. "When you're done, you can leave the tray out here. Someone will get it."

"Thank you. For the food and the conversation."