The Music Speaks

Sylvia wears simple, close-fitting sports clothes. I recognize the specific brand she dons. It is made to allow maximum freedom of movement and provide peak performance during physical activities. They cover her from her neck to her ankles, even leaving her arms unexposed. As for me, I’ve come in a blue tracksuit, definitely not as fancy. None of us wear any protective gear, and I’ve left S.O.N.G. at home.

‘Now that I think about it, will they ask for it back? I sure hope they don’t…’

The lack of defensive attire is due to the fact that [enlightened] generally have no use for such things. If it is not on the level of the military grade suit provided by Sebastian, nothing will protect us better than the pureflow naturally coursing through our bodies. This is even more true for me, who’s [melody] is based on defense. Even S.O.N.G. does not compare to the sturdiness of my aegis.

As to carry out the duel properly, Sylvia has brought instruments, one sharpsong and one warchord. She tosses the sharpsong in my direction. With an incredulous expression, I question her.

“We’re… fighting with real instruments?”

With a smirk, she answers.

“I won’t be able to be certain if the battle isn’t real. I need the real you in this fight.”

Remembering the competitiveness I noticed at the facility , the prospect of genuinely fighting her sends chills down my spine. We had fought before, but those were just spars, mediated by Maestro Lauren to avoid injury. This, however, is the real thing, against one of, if not, the strongest newly [enlightened] of Lauderdale academy. It might not even be an exaggeration to count her among the strongest of all of Melodica. This estimation is mostly based on her sheer raw power. Others may think that is the result of her [melody], but I know that is simply the prowess of her pureflow usage.

Apprehensive, I wield the instrument lying before me. As an authentic piece, it shapes itself to my needs while retaining the general properties of a sharpsong when I let my pureflow travel through it. Sylvia does the same when she retrieves the warchord from the ground. While inspecting her new instrument, she vocalizes some of her thoughts.

“I’ll attack you with all I have, Alden, so be ready.”

A playful grin on my face, I answer.

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

After swinging our instruments once or twice, we adopt our typical battle stances. Sylvia’s is simple. She holds the warchord with her left hand and places her right forward, in the form of a guard. Her right foot is in front of her left, ready to spring into action. Her stance itself is a testament to her strength. The warchord is supposed to be a double-handed weapon, meant to be handled only by the bravest and strongest, yet, she effortlessly wields it with one.

Facing her, I make use of the basic stance. With both hands on the handle of the sharpsong. I place it in front of me, slightly tilted towards Sylvia. Unlike the warchord, which needs physical contact to have its chords plucked and reveal its true potential. The sharpsong only needs to be swung. It provides swift and flexible methods of attack.

The tension in the air is nearly palpable, we both ready ourselves, ready to have one of the most difficult fight of our lives. Eventually, Sylvia makes a move. With her right hand still placed in front of her, she rushes towards me, the warchord now shredding through the ground and emitting musical notes. When she nears my position, she performs an upward swing aimed for my rib cage.

In response, I step back and skillfully deflect the blow further upwards using my sharpsong. Despite redirecting most of the energy, my hands tremble from the impact, but Sylvia does not give me time to rest. Immediately, she grabs the handle of the warchord with her free hand and brings the instrument downwards threatening to split me in half. I step to my left, evading the attack by a hair's breadth and launch a horizontal strike of my own, my sharpsong whistling through the air and emitting a song. Sylvia displays her agility, jumping over it without ever letting go of the warchord.

That is how our first exchange ends. As she forces her instrument out of the ground and rests it on her shoulder, she stares at me, letting out a few words.

“Hmm, let’s continue, shall we?”

“Do I have a choice?”

She smirks.

“Not really”

She lunges at me once more. Our exchanges become more and more violent. As Sylvia's speed and power are in a class of their own, I can barely keep up with her flurry of blows. What’s more, she’s also incredibly skilled in wielding the warchord effectively. Her battle style can only be described as unpredictable, yet controlled. She uses every part of her body when she fights, whether it be her hands, feet, knees, elbows or even her head. Mine still rings from the headbutt I was subjected to a few seconds ago. The scariest part, however, is the way each blow is made to guide my movements, forcing me to dance to her tune, until I am cornered and have no choice but to face one of her attacks. It is a battle style that turns the opponent into a puppet which Sylvia has pushed even further using her abnormal physical prowess.

‘Is this how the FullCastles fight, or is that how Sylvia fights?’

Under her assault, I receive a graze here, a small wound there, while Sylvia remains unharmed. All I can do is stay on the defensive, hoping for an opportunity.

Feeling hopeless before this display of skill, as I have in our spars before, I look for a solution. Generally, I would simply do my best and accept that I do not compare. However, I must admit that tonight, the setting and the use of real instruments has set fire to my fighting spirit. This time, I do not want to lose. As I ponder, I notice something. The same phenomenon which occurred when I witnessed Calliope and Sylvia’s disagreement presents itself before me once more. I can see what I assume to be pureflow being emitted from a ‘core’ within Sylvia. When I focus my attention on it, I can observe the path it takes more clearly. When Sylvia performs a strike, it heads mostly to her upper body. If she throws in a kick, it heads towards the leg in use.

As I make note of the pureflow’s destination, I am able to somewhat predict Sylvia’s next action. The prediction is rudimentary. At most, I am able to tell if she plans to use her lower body in a meaningful way or if the attack she is currently performing is some sort of feint. But even those simplistic predictions allow me to not only parry, but evade much more of Sylvia’s attacks.

I see the pureflow heading towards her right leg as she performs a horizontal swing of the warchord which, in my current situation, I have no other choice but to avoid by stepping backwards. She probably intends to have me do exactly that, to then rush towards me and perform some sort of other attack. What she does not know however, is that I am aware that there is no real strength behind that swing. If her momentum is too large when I dodge, she will not be able to follow-up. She's betting on me acting following a pre-determined path. Betraying her expectations, I close the distance and swing my sharpsong towards her neck, uncaring for the threat of her instrument. Startled, she jumps back to avoid it, but she’s a second too late. For the first time since the start of the duel, I draw blood. It drips from her cheek. I can’t help but feel exhilarated at my achievement. It’s not like I've never hit her before, but never by outwitting her this cleanly. She wipes the blood off and speaks to me.

“It’s strange, you fight like Alden would, but there’s something else. Something…off.”

I grin.

“Are you just saying that because I landed a hit?”

Her face twitches, betraying her usual calm demeanor. I must have struck a nerve.

“...No… Let’s continue.”