"Beauty is Culture, Culture is Beauty."

  The interior of the Academy of Aesthetic Arts was quieter than I'd expected. Thick carpets muffled footsteps. The walls were painted white, creating a gallery-like atmosphere that drew attention to what hung upon them.

  Paintings.

  Dozens of them, arranged with careful consideration for lighting and spacing. Each one a masterwork of technique and composition.

  I found myself slowing despite my purpose here, drawn to examine them more closely.

  Most depicted religious scenes. The Old Emperor's victories during the War of Redemption - armies clashing beneath blood-red skies, eldritch horrors being driven back through rifts in reality. The blessed lands of the South with their perma frost. The western oceans where leviathans are still hunted by the navies of humanity to this day.

  All of it rendered in meticulous detail by artists who'd probably spent years perfecting their craft.

  But one painting held my attention longer than the others.

  It hung in the center of the gallery, larger than the rest, commanding the space around it.

  A long table. A feast laid out - roasted meats, fresh bread, wine in crystal decanters. Thirteen figures seated around it.

  In the middle sat a man. His face was concealed in shadow, features deliberately obscured so nothing could be distinguished. Not his eyes, not his expression, nothing. Just a void where a face should be.

  His arms lay outstretched along the table in a gesture of welcome. Or perhaps dominion. It wasn't obvious enough to tell.

  To his right stood six women. To his left, six men.

  The Twelve Apostles.

  All of them treated the central figure with obvious veneration - heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer or raised reaching for his visage. Each an apostle marked by divine favor.

  But despite the feast before them, only the central figure had eaten. Two empty plates sat before him, while everyone else's remained untouched. Pristine. As if the food was for display rather than consumption.

  I stared at those two empty plates.

  The Emperor sure is a glutton, huh.

  The thought felt irreverent. Heretical, even. But I couldn't help it.

  I found the thought a little funny.

  As I was smiling, my gaze drifted to the figures flanking the table. Each Apostle had been painted with incredible attention to detail - their robes, their postures, their hands.

  And their eyes.

  Each one's eyes bled a unique color. Not tears - something thicker, more viscous, like paint or blood itself. The artist had captured the effect perfectly, making it seem as though divine power literally leaked from their gazes.

  One of the women to the Emperor's right drew my attention more than the others.

  Long hair the color of dark pink bleeding into red, cascading past her shoulders in waves that seemed to move despite being frozen in paint. Features of impossible beauty - the kind that suggested divine heritage rather than mere human genetics. And her eyes...

  They bled crimson.

  Pure, deep red that stood right next to the Emperor, the closest out of the female Apostles. Such a thing to most, would feint some sense of familiarity or closeness.

  I stared at those red eyes for a bit, their color feeling all too familiar.

  As I looked towards the plauqe holding the painting, only two words adorned the bottom - uttering a simple yet chilling message.

  "Monitus."

  Written in the lanuage of old. Luckily, there was a translation right next to it.

  "A Warning."

  I pulled my gaze away forcefully.

  "It's certainly a beautiful painting." I muttered to no one in particular.

  Then I turned and continued down the corridor, checking room numbers against the information in my file.

  Studio 7... Third floor, eastern wing.

  I found it after climbing a spiral staircase that opened into another hallway lined with practice rooms. Each door had a small window, most showing empty spaces or individual students working on various arts.

  Studio 7's door was closed.

  But through it, I heard music.

  Not just music - a symphony.

  I paused with my hand on the doorknob, letting the sound wash over me. Beauty and elegance woven together in perfect harmony.

  Such auditory pleasure made me regret my choice in school for a moment, before I remembered I didn't have a choice.

  I opened the door as quietly as possible.

  The room beyond was larger than the others - designed for group practice rather than solo work. A small stage occupied the far end, complete with risers for an orchestra and space for an audience that currently sat empty.

  I slipped inside and moved immediately toward the back of the stage, staying low, keeping to the shadows behind the heavy curtains. My boots made no sound on the wooden floor - years of Inquisitorial training paying dividends in unexpected yet welcoming ways.

  I found a gap in the curtains near the side, a narrow opening that let me observe without being seen.

  The orchestra filled the stage.

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  Mostly women, maybe forty of them, each one focused entirely on their instrument. Violins, violas, cellos, a few wind instruments I couldn't name. They played with the kind of synchronization that only came from countless hours of practice together.

  A conductor stood on a podium before them - a woman in her forties with grey-streaked black hair pulled back severely, wielding her baton like a weapon. She guided them through the piece with sharp, precise movements that brooked no deviation from her vision. Her stern face told me she didn't appreciate failure, but it didn't make the music any less hypnotizing.

  I found myself drawn into the melody despite my purpose here. The way the instruments layered over each other, building intensity, creating something larger than the sum of its parts. It felt like watching a battle unfold - the slow buildup of tension, the clash of opposing forces, the crescendo of violence and war.

  My eyes scanned the orchestra, looking for short auburn hair and an antisocial demeanor.

  I found her in the second row of violins. One of four

  Alice.

  Or so I thought.

  Much to my surprise, this Alice was... different.

  Her eyes were closed, expression serene in a way I hadn't thought possible for her. The violin rested against her shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend, and her bow moved across the strings with fluid grace that spoke of years of dedication.

  She was completely immersed. Lost in the music. At peace. One where her mask didn't matter.

  I felt something unexpected stir in my chest.

  Relief, maybe. Or hope.

  Despite her demeanor speaking words of what she had undergone, I now had an opening to build a bond with her. Music could still reach her. Could still bring her to life.

  My smile twitched despite the beautiful harmonies.

  Conveniently, I was forced to learn the Violin. I guess it's finally paid off now, at least.

  Years of lessons with expensive instructors, hours of practice until my ears rung. I'd hated every minute of it. But since I was still considered a Noble through association, it was necessary to appease those who would question such Nobility.

  Maybe it would prove useful now. A bridge to someone who would most certainly burn every other bridge I'd attempt to build.

  If I want a cohesive cell, I need to make sure Leonard and Alice get along.

  The music built toward what I thought was a crescendo - every instrument playing together, volume rising, energy crackling through the air like lightning before a storm.

  Then it stopped.

  Not ended.

  Stopped.

  The orchestra fell silent in perfect synchronization.

  And from that silence, a single instrument emerged.

  Piano.

  The sound was completely different from what had come before. Where the orchestra had been intense, building like the progress of a battle, the piano was somber. Melancholic. Each note felt like a tear, painting a picture of aftermath rather than conflict.

  The widows left behind. The children now fatherless. The empty chairs at dinner tables. The grief that came after glory.

  I shifted slightly, trying to see who was playing.

  A young girl sat at the grand piano positioned stage left. She looked impossibly frail - the kind of fragility that suggested illness or the wrong . Snow-white hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the stage lights and seeming to glow with its own illumination.

  Her hands moved across the keys with the confidence of someone who'd memorized every note, every pause, every nuance.

  And her eyes were closed.

  I blinked, leaning forward slightly to make sure I was seeing correctly.

  She was playing an incredibly complex piece - one that required perfect timing and precision - with her eyes completely shut. No sheet music. No visual reference. Just memory, feeling and whatever internal sense let her navigate the keys without sight.

  Needless to say, I was impressed.

  She must be incredibly skilled.

  The piece ended with a final, lingering note that hung in the air like smoke.

  Silence.

  I resisted the urge to applaud this time.

  A bell rang somewhere in the building - marking the end of the practice period and the start of lunch.

  I straightened, adjusted my uniform, and stepped out from behind the curtains.

  Every head in the orchestra turned to look at me.

  Dozens of pairs of eyes - curious, confused, some even openly hostile at the intrusion. Not a single one showed recognition.

  Except one.

  Alice's eyes had opened. First curiosity, then with the same shock Leonard had shown earlier, her bow frozen mid-air as if she'd forgotten she was holding it.

  I walked toward her with measured steps, aware of the conductor's questioning glare burning into my back.

  "Excuse me." The woman's voice carried a stern authority matching the sternness of her face.

  "Who are you, and what are you doing in my rehearsal class?"

  I turned, offering my most polite smile as I bowed lightly.

  "Dean Ashcroft merely wanted me to pass a message to Alice. I apologize for the intrusion."

  The conductor's glare didn't soften, but she said nothing more as she started packing her gear.

  I approached Alice, smile brightening.

  "Alice, correct?"

  She nodded slowly, shock slowly turning into apprehension and then caution.

  "...Yes."

  As talkative as ever.

  "The Dean apologizes for the delay regarding the internal renovations to your dormitory room, but the work is now complete. You should be able to move back in this evening." I said, making sure my voice carried to the conductor.

  Complete fabrication, of course. But it sounded official enough.

  Alice nodded again, her eyes never meeting mine.

  "Thank you."

  I smiled and turned to leave.

  Then stopped, as if struck by sudden thought.

  "Ah, may I?" I pointed at her violin.

  Alice looked puzzled but handed it over without question.

  The instrument was well-maintained - strings properly tensioned, wood polished to a shine, clearly cared for by someone who valued it.

  I raised it to my shoulder, settling it into position with the familiarity of someone who'd unfortunatly done this a thousand times.

  "I hope it's not too rude," I said, mostly to the conductor, "but it's been a while since I've been able to use a violin."

  I began to play.

  Nothing complex. Just a simple melody - a folk song from the southern territories, one that spoke of winter winds and quiet endurance - one that I was fond of. But I played it with the technique that had been drilled into me through years of expensive lessons.

  The conductor's expression changed slightly.

  Irritation transformed into recognition. Her eyes widened a bit. "You're... the Regent's boy? Damian, is it? I heard you play on Duchess Elaras airship."

  I lowered the violin, offering a small bow. "Yes. It truly is a small world, isn't it? I apologize if today's playing seemed amateurish in comparison."

  She must be pretty high in the ladder to speak about the Regent in such a casual manner.

  "No, no." She shook her head quickly. "It was an impressive performance for someone your age. Tell me - are you perhaps considering transferring to the Department of Aesthetic Arts? I would love to see your skills develop further under our instruction."

  I shook my head with genuine regret. "Unfortunately, my calling is service to the Empire. The War Department suits my purposes better."

  She sighed, disappointment clear on her face. "A shame. But thank you nonetheless for gracing us with even a brief performance."

  I handed the violin back to Alice, making sure to press a folded note into her palm as I did so. Her fingers closed around it immediately, hiding it from view with the practiced ease of someone used to keeping secrets.

  "Thank you for indulging me," I said to Alice specifically.

  She nodded once.

  I bowed to the conductor and the assembled orchestra, then turned toward the exit.

  That's when I felt them.

  Eyes. Watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

  I glanced to the side.

  The piano girl sat exactly where she'd been, hands now resting in her lap. Snow-white hair framed a face that was pretty in a fragile, porcelain-doll way. The kind of beauty that looked like it might shatter under too much sunlight.

  And her eyes...

  They were open now.

  Purple. Deep, rich purple the color of twilight bleeding into night. Beautiful in a way that contrasted the plainness of my own.

  But her irises were wrong.

  Greyed at the edges. The telltale signs of eyes that had stopped working properly, that saw nothing despite being open.

  She was blind.

  I held her gaze for a moment - an instinct, even though I knew she couldn't actually see me.

  Then I left, closing the door softly behind me.

  I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of the orchestra members packing up their instruments.

  Truly a tragedy, to be blind at such a young age.

  Especially with such beautiful eyes.

  I pulled out the file, checking the time and location for tonight's meeting.

  Eleventh District.

  Sunset.

  Three dead men, one method, unknown connection.

  I started walking toward the exit, already planning my route through the city.

  Behind me, the Conservatory's doors closed with a soft click.

  I stared at the sky. Clouds dotted the sky as the sun tore through the veil of mist, hitting my face.

  I looked down and sighed, rubbing my eyes as I began walking.

  Lets hope this goes well.