#yes thats yev in the beginning

[thesilverdawns]

Flight of the Five

“Come and see the newest sensation ever to hit this side of Orologio- the Great Symphony of the Five Famous Airships orchestrated by the up and coming artist and pianist, Sascha Malikov! Come, come! Take one! Tell your friends! For you can only see him here, tonight at the Grand Theater in Saint Pyotr’s square!”

That teenager, barking in front of the theater and passing out fliers.

Vsevolod saw him there every single time he passed by the theater. He must have worked there. If anything, he looked more like a street urchin than someone who belonged at such a prestigious place. What, with his too-big ears and his sloppy stance as he towered over everyone so rudely-

“You there small sir!!”

Oh no-

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide-

A flier was shoved into his face, and he pushed it down aggressively, lips curling back into a hiss.

“Flier sir??? Come see Sascha Malikov! I can tell already that a man of your stature would find the experience to be absolutely enjoyable!”

Vsevolod pushed him away from his personal space, furrowing his penciled in brows as he stared towards the theater’s entrance.

He had been planning to visit anyway… He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch, snapping it shut after just a moment.

It would be fine. He would be back home in a while anyway.

And so, he ventured across the street towards the ticket booth, paid for a seat, and entered with a cluster of people who had arrived to see the show.

They moved single file down the row once they’d come to the correct aisle, and took their seats.

The velvet curtains were drawn, and the orange and yellow lamp light above was dim and easy on the eyes.

The inside of the theater never ceased to amaze him. With its beautifully painted ceiling and its very particular and fascinating architecture, to all the warm colors of the walls, the furnishings, the seats even.

It was warm and inviting, because of course it was. With the sheer number of performances they had weekly? They brought in people from miles around, from all walks of life, all over the city and beyond-

His seat jostled as someone behind his hit it with their foot. His ear twitched in annoyance, but he refused to turn around.

Instead, he glanced to his side to see a flier stuffed in between the seats. The same as the ones outside.

It was a simple illustration of silhouettes of the five famous airships, with a radiant dawn colored gradient behind it.

THE FLIGHT OF THE FIVE stretched across the bottom in big bold letters, along with the program for the remainder of the night directly under it.

He set it aside, resting his hands in his lap and waited.

Half an hour passed before the lights began to dim into darkness and a spotlight appeared on the curtains, pulling everyone’s attention to the announcer walking across the stage.

“A fine evening to you all, ladies and gentleman, and especially to our active and brave soldiers who sit among us tonight! We thank you for your continued service to Death, as well as to our beautiful and mighty city of Orologio! May she stand for ages yet to come!” The sound of applause gently rose from the civilians. Vsevolod sat up a little straighter and only clapped several times for the sake of it, despite being in full uniform.

“Tonight we’ve a special feature. One of our newest artists who’s become quite the sensation overnight! His hands have been said to fly down the keys of a piano as swiftly and gracefully as the Messenger himself. And perhaps, after tonight, you will be in agreement!

Not only an accomplished, master pianist at such a terribly young age, but also in possession of a brilliant mind! The Flight of the Five being his first published orchestral piece! Of which, my friends, will grace your ears on this very night, with its powerful leads and winding transitions- truly, truly a remarkable set…

Ah- but, don’t take my word for it!

Now, without any further ado, the Grand Theater of Saint Pyotr’s Square proudly brings to you Sascha Malikov’s Flight of the Five, The Black Fury.”

As the announcer shuffled off stage, the curtains lifted to reveal the conductor and his orchestra. Off to the side sat a piano and an empty seat.

Vsevolod shifted his weight and kept his hands in his lap. He could feel his palms sweating underneath his gloves.

Waiting for the orchestra to begin was always a tense moment, and an exciting one.

The audience never did know what was to come. And the anticipation was killing him. He kept his eyes on the violinists in particular.

The conductor took his position and waited, before lifting his arms in a swift motion. And as they came down, an explosion of noise assaulted everyone’s ears, and no doubt jostled their hearts.

It sounded like cannon fire.

Vsevolod gripped the seat instinctively and clenched hard, not having expected the sudden burst. It wasn’t chaotic noise or nonsense either. It was a note. A note that carried dread and wrath in its wake.

There was a rise that followed. Soft at first, with strange and ghostly sounds, giving the impression something much larger than the theater would be on the horizon soon. It grew louder and louder, drum beats only amplifying the largeness of it, until it began to rise again, higher and higher until the noise broke into recognizable, proud brass.

The anthem of the military, played triumphantly and boldly.

Vsevolod’s heart was already pounding in his ears, and his grip on the seat’s arm rests only tightened as the melody progressed, decorated by loud noises from drums that sounded so much like artillery-

He shut his eyes for a moment, breaking out into a sweat.

Thankfully, the drums died down somewhat, as the piece came to a close, giving the mental image of the Black Fury passing overhead and leaving them.

Then, just as all seemed quiet once more, there was a crack of sound more akin to lightning, as the next swell of music hit them again.

The Blue Lightning. Sharp, fast, strong. The tempo increased considerably as more types of drums joined the fray.

It was over as soon as it had come, dying down again and leaving them in the dark.

What kind of symphony was this? It was nothing like he’d ever heard before. Nothing like anyone had ever heard before.

It was experimental, daring, new. Exciting.

Despite all, he was excited.

Then came the Double-Edged Victory, bringing with it another uplifting and glory-ridden tune, carrying them along through the performance.

And then the howling and phantom sounds of the final push of the Tempest’s Howl, swirling and rising and falling from chaos into order, and then into more chaos, like a fearsome storm.

All the while, no one had come to sit at the piano. Not until the very end.

He could see someone walking to it from the side of the stage in the dark, taking their seat gently as the fourth piece slowly came to a close.

The audience was silent, and rattled. No one dared make a sound, and held in their coughs.

It was then that the spotlight came off the orchestra and the conductor, instead moving to the piano set off to the side.

The first thing Vsevolod saw was a mop of red hair, styled quite unusually. It was certainly popular with the younger crowd, he thought to himself.

Sascha Malikov looked like such a pushover. He was thin, almost lanky, and tall, and despite holding himself up as professionally as possible, he still looked like he could be snapped in half at any moment. It was an odd sight to behold.

This was him? The great, masterful symphony writer and pianist being bragged so much about?? He was so YOUNG…

He raised his hands and gently set them on the keys, inhaling slowly before beginning.

The notes that flowed from the piano were light.

Light and delicate, and almost floaty.

Strings faded in from the orchestra into an almost melancholy tune that eventually transformed into a bleak, yet hopeful sunrise.

The flight of the Silver Dawn. The smallest of the five, and Vsevolod’s favorite. It was not fierce like its counterparts, not swift, nor strong, but it was the first among them.

Despite all the glory and victory the others brought with them, the Silver Dawn carried with it the very beginning of it all.

The strings began to take on a haunting sound as the piano accompanied them in a sort of dance that was almost tangible on the stage. He couldn’t quite explain why, or what it even was.

There was…something about it…

All to soon, it ended, as silently as it had begun. And once the final dying whispers of the strings faded away entirely, the audience began to clap and stand, and clap harder. Some even whistled.

They were going absolutely ballistic.

Vsevolod on the other hand felt as though his legs had turned into jelly. Noisy…

Too noisy…it was too loud here…

He quivered as he stood from his seat, clapping a few times as the orchestra stood and bowed.

When Sascha Malikov did so as well? He clapped harder.

Before he knew it, people began to file out of the theater, no doubt awake and alive after listening to such a dramatic set.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was. Everything was swirling and disorienting, and his ears were still ringing. It was…

Amazing.

Scary, but amazing.

This Sascha Malikov…he was absolutely brilliant. The way everything happened… He couldn’t even put it into words. Not even in his head.

The pavement around the square shimmered and reflected the street lamps light. It had rained briefly while they were inside, and the sky was dark and cloud ridden.

It would take far too long to get home walking. And it was too cold. The wind was biting.

Somehow Vsevolod found his senses enough to hail a cab to take him home. He was very, very tired.

But not so tired as to not daydream about that mop of wild red hair during the entire ride back.