The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting the Faehorn Estate in hues of dusky purple and gold. The estate, which during the day bustled with the sound of servants and family alike, now felt quieter, more peaceful, as though the night itself held its breath.
Inside the manor, a soft glow emanated from the sitting room, where Mariel Myriil Faehorn sat at the grand piano. Her fingers brushed over the ivory keys, the delicate notes flowing in the stillness of the evening air. The music was soft and tranquil, a lullaby of sorts, with each note carrying the elegance and grace she was known for.
Arlando had been wandering the estate, trying to settle the storm of thoughts that swirled in his mind. The day had been filled with nothing but frustration: his training had gone poorly, and the weight of family expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders. But as he walked past the sitting room, the sound of the piano drifted to him, soothing and familiar. He paused, leaning against the doorframe, unnoticed for a moment as he listened.
Mariel’s fingers moved with practiced ease, each note like a breath, a whisper of her own quiet elegance. Arlando watched her for a moment, his frustration slowly beginning to ebb away, replaced by the peaceful comfort of her presence. She had always had that effect on him—a calming influence that reminded him, in ways words couldn’t, of the beauty and serenity life still held.
After a few more minutes, Mariel paused, her hands resting lightly on the keys, and she looked up, catching Arlando’s gaze.
"Did you need something, my son?" she asked softly, her voice like a warm breeze, gentle but steady.
Arlando stepped into the room, his expression a little more open than it had been earlier. "I... just heard you playing," he said, his tone quieter than usual. "It sounded nice."
Mariel smiled, a soft, knowing smile. "I’m glad. Music has always been a good way to quiet the mind. When the world gets too loud, I find that the piano has a way of helping me listen to what’s important."
Arlando lowered himself onto the bench beside her, his hands still lingering near the piano keys. "I don’t think I could ever play like you," he said, almost wistfully.
"Why do you say that?" Mariel asked, her fingers now tracing a light pattern on the keys.
Arlando shrugged, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice. "I’m not like you. Not like Elyon. I... I don’t think I have the discipline for it."
Mariel tilted her head, considering her son with a thoughtful expression. "Music isn’t about discipline alone," she said slowly. "It’s about expression. It’s about feeling what you want to say and letting it flow through you, whether it’s with a sword or a song. There’s no ‘right’ way to play, Arlando. There is only your way."
Arlando stared at the piano keys, unsure of what to make of her words. "But what if I’m not good at it? What if it’s just... a waste of time?"
Mariel chuckled softly, her fingers moving to the keys again, playing a simple, comforting melody. "Even the greatest musicians didn’t start out perfect. They started with the same doubts you have now. But they kept playing, because music—like life—isn’t about perfection. It’s about the journey. The mistakes, the progress, the moments of beauty that come when you least expect them."
Arlando looked at her for a long moment, the softness of her words sinking in. He had always seen her as the perfect lady of the house—graceful, composed, and above all, a symbol of the order and elegance the Faehorn family held dear. Yet in this moment, she was just his mother, offering him the simple kindness of understanding.
He picked up the nearest instrument—an ocarina, small and worn, yet still dear to him—and held it in his hands, hesitating. He had always loved the sound it made, a voice that was both haunting and melodic. But he had never dared to play it around his family, not wanting to seem childish or out of place.
"Can I?" Arlando asked quietly, nodding toward the piano.
Mariel gave him an encouraging smile. "Of course. Let your fingers find their way."
He brought the ocarina to his lips, letting out a long breath as the first notes echoed softly through the room. The melody was simple, a soft and gentle lullaby he had composed during a quiet evening when the world had felt far away. It was imperfect, hesitant, but it carried something pure—a small piece of himself, a small release from the weight he carried.
Mariel closed her eyes as she listened, her expression softening. "It’s beautiful," she murmured when he finished.
Arlando, embarrassed, quickly set the ocarina down, his cheeks flushed. "It’s not that good. I wasn’t really—"
"It is," Mariel interrupted gently. "Your heart was in it. That’s what matters."
He looked at her, feeling something lighter inside, as if the music had opened a window where before there had been only a thick wall of expectation and pressure. His mother’s words, her acceptance, made him realize that perhaps he didn’t have to be perfect, after all. He didn’t have to follow the same path as everyone else. He could find his own way—through music, through mistakes, through the joy of the moment.
Mariel stood, moving to the side to give him space. "It doesn’t matter if you ever play like a grandmaster. What matters is that you keep playing, keep expressing yourself. The world will hear you, Arlando, in your own way."
Arlando took a deep breath, feeling the weight in his chest ease. He picked up the ocarina again, this time with less hesitation, and began to play. The sound filled the room, echoing softly through the walls of the manor, and for the first time in a long while, Arlando felt something other than pressure—he felt freedom.
