Zi's sleepy gaze slowly moved around the room, eyes passing over every crack in the paint like the arrows of her watch. [i]Tic-tic-tic-tic[/i] – its voice was too fast, out of synch with her heart but not by much. It was a rhythm that had kept her awake despite the fatigue her body was overcome by. The blood cruising through her veins was filled with tiny needles, nudging her to get up and move but it wasn't enough to actually keep her upright. Her brain was also slow, filled with a haze that produced images when she closed her eyes and dissolved them when she had them open. 

[i]Tic-tic-tic-tic[/i] – her eyes closed despite the noise and [i]a smile appeared in the darkness. Soft blonde hair between her fingers.[/i] Eyes opened and there was only a crack to see. 

Zi signed and sat up weakly, squinting at the room. The sheets sent a cloud of dust to assault her nose but non-the-less, she was grateful. The room, the mansion, the entire region was so deprived of essence it was odd. Having lived in cities for the best part of her life, she was used to the constant presence of threads all around that were simply missing here. Zi wasn't sure if she found it pleasant or unsettling. 

Her wing twitched involuntarily, catching her attention. Zi shifted to release the pressure off it and extended it past her body and along her legs. She was captivated for a few moments by the way the moonlight fell on it, making it gleam like a pearl. If she concentrated she could even see the smoke-like essence that was slowly rising from its surface. The girl spread her palm out and stroked the feathers, a slight tingle travelling to her back. It felt so real, so... organic. It felt like it was hers and no one else's. But of course, it wasn't. She was borrowing someone else's life. If she looked close enough she could probably indulge in the memories contained in that essence. It was something she didn't want to do. She should get the mask off soon before the memories started flooding in unwillingly but she was too tired to try right now. 

Her mind drifted back to Luciana, apparently alive in the other room but not conscious. A part of her dreaded the possibility of having messed up something – assembling the pieces in the wrong way, with the wrong speed. Another wondered if Hazumi didn't have something to do with it. Zi had felt it, soon after Hazumi left. The foreign yet familiar feeling of fear that crept deep inside Hazumi's heart. Zi hadn't understood it immediately but now, with her brain half-asleep, the answer appeared really simple. Luciana was the only living creature capable of undoing the Fleshshaper's work which was Hazumi. No matter how much she pretended, Zi alone knew her secret. Like it or not, they were always connected.

A yawn escaped her and she slid back down, her cheek pressed against the pillow. So many things had happened today she didn't even want to think about it. Some asshole angel trying to kill her and Emmet, some asshole demon saving them, if only to save them for later, some asshole demon taking Emmet away, Emmet.... 

Zi shut her eyes and tried again to drift off to sleep.

[center]۞ ۞ ۞[/center]

That night, after the peak of the opening ceremony was over and the music had died down to just a hundred enthusiastic players, Hazumi retreated to her office. She strode right to her desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil and walked out, heading for the basement. The underground chambers of the Academy were one of the most important rooms in the building, hosting the biggest of its pride and secrets. Here were the training halls that couldn't be shared with anyone but the musicians. Here was the biggest collection of precious but also dangerous books. And here was a very special room. The memorial room. 

That was the only room that Hazumi really cared about and had used her influence to commission and her brain to design. It was the only physical thing she had created in all her years in the world, but one she'd put all her heart in. It wasn't big, it was no more than a hundred meters in diameter and it was entirely round. The entrance was an archway hidden behind an intricate illusion that cut off sight and sound on the other side and made it look like a natural part of the wall. Once inside, it blended in with the room's walls and seemed completely invisible. The room was a magical space outside of time, hidden so deep within it. 

The room's entirety was made of smooth black hematite and the first noticeable ting about the space was the 4 meter tall G-clef. It was made of a roughly cut garnet that seemed smooth at first but was actually full of rough cuts and edges. It was suspended mid-air by a strong spell that remained invisible to the naked eye and looked like a dozen spider-legs to the trained one. Those legs were stretching out and over what lay underneath in a perimeter that made it vaguely resemble a pedestal. Under and around the clef was a beautiful symmetrical symbol, an ancient sigil used for honouring the souls of the dead, and on top of it lay candles. Their light was captured and reflected by the sigil and it's twin, mirrored on the ceiling, making them glow in golden. 

They were the source of light in the room but they weren't the only one. Along the walls were inscribed a multitude of... names. Some were long, some were short, but they were all made of the same mysterious substance that seemed strangely alive. It shone like a candle but looked liquid and if one was to look close enough, they could see little twinkles inside, like tiny gold crystals caught in a gentle current. 

The names weren't random. It was no secret what they were and even though the new Musicians were never told outright about the existence or meaning of this room, sooner or later they all found out. It was a memorial. There were two sets of names on each part of the room, divided optically by the clef in the middle. The names on the left sounded more human than the names on the right – and they were. On the left lay the musicians that no longer served the Academy. On the right lay their victims, and killers. They were all the same colour and size, no difference between either side. What few noticed were the tiny names cut into the clef itself- the names of the Instruments. 

Hazumi loved and feared this room in equal measures. It gave her peace but it also gave her grief. It was her biggest confession. 

Her first job as soon as she entered the room was to squat down and stroke the candles. They were burning with foxfire that never went out, so they didn't need to be lit either. But a little sign of respect was always in order. While her fingers ran over the warm wax, something in her was stirring. The layers and layers of essence that composed her were rearranging themselves, slowly tainting her corneas black and her irises silvery-white. As those eyes lifted to the clef the process was complete and Hazumi could reach out through the statue into the void beyond it's shadow. What she pulled out was a string of lockets. 

Not caring about her dress, Hazumi sat on the floor beside the statue. Elegance was for the public and away from everyone's eyes, Hazumi shed her public image and reverted back to how she'd always been. The girl who thought clothes were something to cover your body and not something that makes you. 

With a long sigh she hunched over and added a few names to the list of casualties already on the sheet of paper. 

After a few minutes she was done scribbling down the details of the victims and killers' essences and, with a darkened face, started counting. She hated numbers. It reduced all existence to the very basics, leaving behind all individuality. But in the end, wasn't that always it ever was? There were 2 million angels, 2 million demons, 8 billion humans. Just during the ceremony 45.000 more people had died, but luckily only 900 of them were violent deaths and only 432 were due to racial conflicts. But most of all she hated the number one. There was only one of her, no matter how she looked at it. 

While the statistics were sad, luckily only 15 of the Academy's apprentices had perished throughout the whole day and only two of those were musicians. She opened the lockets and looked at them in turn, initially through the pictures into what lie beneath – the essence of the children. After she identified the casualties of the day, she focused her eyes on the pictures of the faces. With a frown she wrote down the names and detached the respective lockets from the rest. With a sigh she put both the string of lockets and the loose ones back into the void and got to her feet.