Silent Crown

The previous night, a flock of birds had flown when the clock struck midnight. One bird cut across the night sky of foggy Avalon, flying under the stars. It was a raven—a white raven. It had been a moonless night, the moon hidden behind black clouds. The only light came from the stars speckled in the night sky.

The white raven flew in the fog, circling above the sleeping city, looking down on the music and torches of the city. When the clock struck, it flew toward the clock tower soundlessly, landing on the tip of one of the clocks hands.

At midnight, the clock’s hand pointed up at the sky like a blade. The white raven gazed about and finally flew past the window and gears, then entered the dark clock tower.

A single candle flickered soundlessly, illuminating the dusty tower. The glimmer of countless emeralds lit up in the darkness. They were actually the candle’s reflection in the beasts’ eyes, the eerie pupils of the predators. Their pure green eyes were full of coldness, and their gazes scanned across the room, studying each other as their heart beats hastened.

At some point, the small room had filled with dozens of birds. They were all different types. Some were black vultures, others were gray seabirds, and there was also a giant pelican. Its long beak hung low as if it were laughing, but there was no mirth in its eyes. Instead, the eyes were silent and dark.

Seeing the white raven, the pelican opened its beak and spoke, “Gentlemen, I’m sure you all know why I have called you here today, so let us get straight to it.”

“Of course.”

“Is the investigation report out?”

“I don’t want to waste time either.”

The flock of birds all began speaking in human languages. If someone were there, they probably would have been terrified. But to a musician, it meant something else. These birds were not real, but were puppets made from aether. They were dead objects—detailed but cold. The birds flew and spoke, manipulated by people far away. They did this to hide their identity, or because they worried others might discover the meeting. Though they were puppets, they were intricately made, and emanated the opulence of the elites. When they spoke, their frustrated tones sounded like a chorale.

When the birds quieted down, the pelican looked around. In a voice hoarse like an old man, he said, “A strange phenomenon occurred downtown a few days ago. I believe everyone has heard of it.” He paused, his voice reminding everyone of the event that had led to many sleepless nights.

“The Moon Above the Ocean. According to investigation, it was created by the resonance between a musician’s Symphony of Predestination and the world, disrupting reality…Yes, you are right to worry because he might have returned.” As soon as he finished, the other birds erupted into chaos. Some angrily questioned him, some fell silent in shock, and others questioned every detail, trying to refute the possibility. The only thing they all had in common was the undisguisable fear in their voices.

“Enough!” The pelican raised its voice, silencing everyone. He waited until they fell silent before he opened his beak to speak again. “In regards to the phenomenon, we have used many connections to find its origin. Sadly, we have no results. Everyone there turned into lunatics, and the survivors are now in the Arkham Asylum. They may never recover. The dead have already been taken by the Royal Institute of Research. That is the crazy Newton’s territory, and we cannot interfere. All evidence had been destroyed at the site, leaving nothing behind. But the phenomenon seemed to have been done on purpose…”

“He’s sending a message,” the vulture muttered angrily as if through clenched teeth. “He wanted us to see it!”

The owl’s eyes were dark. “That’s right. He wants to tell us that he’s back!”

“His arrogance! Can he fight against the entire Anglo Empire?”

“He’s dreaming!”

“But…”

“Enough, what are we arguing about? Is now the time to argue amongst yourselves?”

“What, are you scared?”

It sounded just like a flock of birds cawing, but in actuality, there were different voices arguing. They were old and young, panicked and angered. Every bird looked back at the one in the corner. “White raven, you promised us that he was already dead.”

Even in the sudden silence and under the interrogation of his friends, the white raven was as calm as ever. He watched their eyes quietly and waited for them to calm down before he said coolly, “He truly is dead.”

As if igniting something, the birds exploded in anger.

“Lies!”

“Raven, I’m sick of your lies!”

“Then explain what happened!”

“There is only one person in the entire world who could create something like that with his Symphony of Predestination—only one!”

“—Moon Chant.” In the commotion, no one knew who had uttered the name that seemed to represent disaster. Silence fell over the room. Shaken by the seemingly graceful name, their eyes gazed around helplessly.

In the silence, the pelican spread its wings, pushing down the panic in everyone’s eyes. He said, “When he fled, he destroyed all of his own records. Nobody today can remember what he looks like. Are you sure you didn’t kill the wrong person?”

The owl beside him added, “And it’s not uncommon for a musician to return his soul to another body.”

“I’ve heard that some musicians can turn into rats…”

The vulture said, “It’s not impossible for him to have escaped.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that musicians can crawl out of their graves after death…” The birds lapsed into chaos again.

“Everyone, stop kidding yourselves!” This time, the white raven suddenly spoke in his stern voice, cutting everyone else off. “By the rules of fate, everything must die. There is a limit to man’s power, and he must obey such boundaries. ‘Fear the aether, for only the Originator is eternal,’ this has been the vow for all musicians since the Dark Ages. Have you all heard of it before?” He observed his shocked companions and said mockingly, “Have you all been reading too many novels? Everyone moves toward death the moment they are born into this world. It has been arranged so by fate, and nobody can avoid it. Once someone dies, he will not come back. How can a corpse climb out of its grave? To return his soul to another body? Since when has mankind had something as luxurious as a ‘soul’? Even if we have had it, our ancestors must have sold it to Satan thousands of years ago.

“He turned into a rat? Nonsense! If it were possible, then the law of conservation of mass from the School of Modifications would be wrong. Who knows how many people will die from the recoil of their music? Don’t be misguided by the paganist Newton. He isn’t even a musician! He was just a lunatic who was hit on the head by an apple! Moon Chant is dead. This is the truth!”

“Hmph, who knows if Moon Chant has a hidden card or not,” the vulture muttered. “There’s no lack of methods for longevity.”

The white raven huffed, “Longevity is not immortality!”

“But the Pope…”

“Enough!” the white raven roared. “Are you so high up in our mundane world that you dare to question the gods?”

“I don’t dare, but don’t forget what Moon Chant was doing in the Royal Institute of Research!” the vulture refuted. “We still don’t know how extensively he researched the forbidden topics. Before he fled, he had erased all records and wiped the memories of every related person. Anyone who interacted with him before has forgotten his existence. After all these years, all we know is that he was an Easterner!”

“And anyway, did someone really kill him?” The owl said, “Even if the lunatic Maxwell wasn’t willing to fight him, the royal musicians were helpless against him too. Even Gaius lost half of his men when he tried to capture Moon Chant personally!”

“That’s right! Gaius betrayed us after that mission. We still don’t know what secrets Gaius learned.”

“I knew that Rumulusians couldn’t be trusted! The Pope had bestowed so much power upon Gaius, but he betrayed us at the most vital moment, bewitched by an Easterner!”

“Revolutionary army? Those d*mned traitors! I bet Gaius and Moon Chant were in on it together that entire time…”

“But what should we do? If Moon Chant is really still alive and they become allies…”

“Everyone, please calm down!” the white raven said, but no one paid him any attention. His eyes turned angry and he raised his voice. “Silence!” Finally, the birds fell silent.

“Look, let’s all calm down, alright?” The white raven said coolly, “There is no need to worry. There is no doubt that Moon Chant is dead.”

“How are you so sure?” the pelican asked after a long pause. “Even the strongest musicians may lose against him.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” the white raven laughed. “Only this is undeniable. This person has never lost, and has never disappointed others. No musician dares to say they could win against him. Since he acted and told us that Moon Chant is dead, there is no way that he’s alive.”

“How are you sure that he did not lie to you?”

“Because there is no need!” The white raven uttered a name coldly. The watch tower fell into silence. The birds looked at each other in shock. After a long time, their worried hearts finally relaxed. Like dust settling, they were finally able to breathe comfortably.

That sentence had been like magic, calming the chaos instantly. The white raven had said, “The one who killed Moon Chant was Bach.”