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Journal Entry of Veron Toccata—Head of Toccata Family
I do not know if this is a blessing or a curse that has befallen my child.
The child has mastered numerous instruments with ease. She tells me that the melodies in the music sheets appear not just as notes to her, but also as a series of scenes: they are stories of the instruments and their performers... She took my hand and shared this perception with me, and that is when I discovered that Ciaccona can recreate aspects of the world through melodies. It is a realm of her own making.
As long as she can sense these melodies, Ciaccona can transform her poetry and music into anything. The child has an innate curiosity about everything, making it easy for her to empathize with the stories and experiences of others. I fear this gift may bring her misfortune. That she will hear the echoes that hide within the darkness of shadows.

Journal Entry of Veron Toccata—Head of Toccata Family

The Order was inevitably made aware of Ciaccona's ability. They deemed her destined to become the Toccata Family's most radiant chorister. Per protocol, they conducted a Forte examination on her. These were the results:

This member's waveform graph shows elliptical fluctuations with a stable Time Domain. No signs of abnormal fluctuations were observed. The test results are assessed as being within the normal phase.

Resonant Criticality: High. This member possesses high stability with minimal risk of Overclocking.

Records indicate no history of Overclocking.

There is no current need for psychological counseling.

All data appears to be normal, likely due to her perception of melodies being filled with wonder and hope. As she grows older, I sometimes wish she could be happy like this forever... Yet I know that became impossible the moment she took that key.

The little girl always loved to look up. Whether at the clear blue of day or the glittering blue of night. She once wondered to herself why, but the words she knew couldn't express how she felt. All she knew was a sense of awe at the great unknown and the mysteries that lay beyond... Eventually, she stopped wondering, for she had discovered that gazing at the skies was an inexplicable beauty in itself.

With this discovery, she began to look up while reading, while sleeping, even while walking...

"Hey, hey. Eyes up front, Ms. Ciaccona. Why do you keep staring at the ceiling? Watch where you're going!" After taking a hard bump to the head, young Ciaccona decided it would be best not to stare at the sky so much... at least not while walking. The next time she looked up, she saw something that would become her lifelong passion.

It was an ordinary afternoon when Ciaccona pushed open the door of her father's study. The object tucked away on top of the cabinet was the first thing she noticed after looking up. She took it down nice and slowly—it was a violin and her first encounter with an instrument. Picturing how her father had played it before, she decided to give it a try.

"Screech..."

It was undoubtedly a harsh sound. Yet she felt a peculiar sensation, like she was sinking toward the bottom of the sea. All sounds but the violin began to fade away. The light and shadows of the setting sun blurred. The world before her eyes seemed to draw its curtains, and by the time they opened again, a new world appeared before her. The air was filled with dancing music notes, and in the distance, a group of people played music.

"H-Hello?"

No one responded to the young girl. She walked closer, and though their faces were blurry, the melody seemed familiar.

"It's a piece Father often plays. Composed by our family." Young Ciaccona recalled the music's origins.

The group seemed unaware of her presence as they played, surrounding the girl with melodies that sounded of cries of newborn babies, and life's joys and tragedies...

"Thud." The music came to an abrupt stop at the sound of a door opening. Noticing the violin in Ciaccona's hands, her father gently patted her head with a slight look of resignation before putting it away.

"I'll teach you how to play when you're a bit older," he said, taking Ciaccona's hand and leading her out of the room. Just before the door closed behind them, Ciaccona turned around and waved goodbye to the violin.

From that day on, Ciaccona began searching for information about the music. The more she learned, the clearer her visions became whenever she touched an instrument.

She never told anyone what she saw that day. It wasn't until much later that Ciaccona learned it was due to her Forte: the power to recreate the past through melodies.

People of different times, brought together through music and poetry. It was the greatest miracle the girl could have ever imagined.

With a quill in hand, the young girl leaned on her desk, feeling the nib's metallic cold against her fingertips as her thoughts withered away in the barren deserts of inspiration.

Outside her window were busy crowds, birds, the wind, and Acolytes in prayer... In Ciaccona's eyes, they were scenes that could be transformed into words and punctuations, yet they refused to string together into sentences. The words were hollow and lifeless when placed side by side. That was... far from poetry.

"Lady Ciaccona. May I trouble you for a moment?" A maid knocked on the door, entering the room after receiving a nod from the girl.

"I was wondering if I could ask for a favor, since you have a way with words. Could you help me write a letter? It's for my family."

Ciaccona motioned for the maid to sit down and began to write on a blank sheet of paper: "Dear..."

When the maid received a return letter from home, she shared it with Ciaccona. Together, they began to write a second letter...

What poured forth were heartfelt snippets of the maid's life and thoughts. Ciaccona smiled with the maid's joy and wept with her sorrow.

Word of Ciaccona's prowess spread, and more people came to her to write letters. She grew to understand each person's intents more deeply. For those seeking to send a letter to the sailor at sea, her quill carried the salty taste of the sea. For those seeking to send a letter to the father working in wheat fields, her ink bore the scent of wheat. She kept everyone's stories a secret, of course.

Before she knew it, she discovered the words in her letters were becoming more like poetry, forming a soul.

She picked up her quill and glanced out the window once again, but the scenery remained stubbornly unchanged, and the piece of paper before her remained blank. A knock sounded at the door, likely someone with another letter request. As the girl got up to answer, the voice of the visitor blended with the sound of the creaking floor, and at that moment, she understood what had been holding her back for so long. Before she could write, she needed to first listen.

"Coming! Who would you like to write to today?"

Ciaccona smoothed out the creases on the paper as the wind carried the prayers from the Cathedral of Mercury into the room. She continued to be moved by the joys and sorrows of countless stories, all the while searching for the romance and soul within their verses.

The young girl stood anxiously before the door. Still, she stood on tiptoes and slid the key into the lock.

With her father and the rest of the family preoccupied with choir rehearsals, and no one around to keep an eye on her, Ciaccona knew this was her only chance at opening this door.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness inside. Ciaccona braced against the wall and felt her way to the light switch.

Her father had forbidden anyone from entering this room. He told her it was his abandoned study, one he never had the time to clean out. He warned that the floorboards were so rotten they might break underfoot. But this wasn't enough to deter young Ciaccona's curiosity. Just as she had read in a poetry book: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light..."

The lights flickered on, lighting up the room. Immediately, Ciaccona knew her father had lied. It was indeed a study, but it was immaculate.

Bookshelves towered along the walls and various instruments slept in corners. It was a paradise for a girl with so much love for poetry and music.

She gently touched the instruments, waking them from their long slumber, and began to skip and sing. Right, then left... until she collided with a bookshelf. A book fell at her feet, and Ciaccona opened the first page.

"This anthology is attributed to the Golden Anthem. May these poems bring a glimmer of hope for those strayed from their destined paths..."

Ciaccona repeated the preface, captivated by the words. She quietly sat down, turning page after page, and as she did, her own destiny began to turn as well...

"The knight, clad in battered armor, stumbles toward his homeland. Step by step, he leaves behind one footprint of determination after the other along the path ordained by the Divinity. What is destiny? The knight did not know. In this very moment, if the Divinity were to grant him a blessing, he would have but one wish—To return home a hero, and live the simple life he once knew..."

Ciaccona's narration ended as the music faded. Applause erupted around her like sparks leaping from a bonfire.

"Ciaccona, are you going somewhere else tomorrow?" The children gathered around her, eager for more stories.

Ciaccona had grown into a wandering bard, planting the seeds of poetry and music wherever her journey took her.

The fair winds guided the shepherds home, while the rolling clouds carried their thoughts across distant lands. The gentle rain, veiling tears, awaited the dawn.

The knight, with courage unyielding, charged toward the river's edge. The loaves of bread, heavy with parting, bore the family's silent sorrow.

The birds in the sky were the souls of Rinascita, striving, wings spread boldly even through the storm.

Ciaccona sang of tales far and wide but never once spoke of her own. When asked about her past and why she became a bard, she would always smile and reply, "Let the past stay where it belongs."

When the time comes for Ciaccona to finally unveil her past, the stories hidden behind her family name may become the most heart-wrenching chapters of her life.

"Music itself holds no emotion. It's the heart that grants it meaning. So, dear listener, tell me. What feelings did my piece evoke in you?"

In Egla Town, countless people may meet and part with every passing moment. As a wandering bard, Ciaccona had always been an observer of stories, witnessing their beginnings, progression, and endings...

Until one morning, when she glimpsed an outlander from afar in the morning light, she knew that a new melody was about to sound.

That was Ciaccona's first conversation with you. But to her, it may not have been the first time the two of you met.

Under the night sky ablaze with fireworks, she witnessed the masked outlander claim the Laurel, outshining the stars and sparks amid the crowd's cheers.

What defines a hero praised in legends? Is it strength? Courage? Kindness? Or justice...?

Those qualities all converged on the radiant silhouette standing before her.

"If given the opportunity, I'd like to write a poem for you, Laureate."

The gentle breeze of Whisperwind Haven silently rides along the tides, passing over windmills and chimneys, then sweeping across the wilderness until it reaches a red-haired girl with antlers. She plays her lute among dancing birds, and the lingering wind soon carries her song to distant places.

"In her world, poetry and music each hold equal sway..."

As the girl with antlers watches you and Carlotta emerge from the wind, something tells her she too might soon be swept into a story.

Bards have always remained in the shadows as observers of another's legend. But stepping out from the pages, Ciaccona finds herself drawn into a story. There is both excitement and a hint of unease.

This time. For herself, she shall sing.