Chapter 4: Mellifluous

Yohan's eyes twitched, facing a brightened wall in the dark room. His heated body felt languid and his throat was thirsty.

In a haze, he conveniently reached out a water bottle and twisted the cap. Every shallow he took had a jabbing pain, stabbing internally down his throat. He coughed and contemplated.

'It can't be that I'm sick.' 

Remembering that he didn't pack his medicine yet, he pulled the first drawer and took out a tablet. 

He attempted to sleep again, but his uneasy heart left him awakened. Hence, he decided to have a morning walk.

The orange sunlight casted the window shadows into the empty dining hall. The tables and chairs were arranged neatly, the floor swept and the bar countertop sparkled. The tranquillity in the space didn't hint that there was a party yesterday. 

Walking out the door, the rising sun emerged behind the Imperial Knights' Headquarters' towers. Revealing the leftover confetti and trash, scattered in front of the unopened shops.

Tucking his bed hair behind his ears, he reminisced the peaceful morning he always had whenever he returned to the Headquarters from his missions, missing his 'home'. 

Now, he would never return.

Taking a step, he turned away from the familiar place and walked down the streets aimlessly. 

Suddenly, quiet yet distinguishable double notes played along a melancholy chord were heard. He halted his steps and glanced around, noticing a teenager playing a public upright piano, located at the unoperated fountain.  

The melody grew more familiar with each note, stringing together a long-forgotten piece that echoed in his memories. 

———

Blindfolded by darkness, he felt movement on his body as it guided him into a room. It was spacious, echoing their surroundings. 

From behind, it was taken off to be faced with a desolated classical piano, positioned at the centre of an oddly shaped corner room. The semi-circle stained windows at the top of the tall glass panels casted a ray of colours, painting a story on the floor and the piano. 

Laurent loosely held his hand, pulling him closer to the piano. His fingers slide off, opening the piano cover. Despite its neglected appearance, the piano was well preserved. Its refined notes reverberated throughout the room. Testing the keys, Laurent patted the empty side of the piano stool, inviting him to sit beside him.

"I learned the piano at a very young age. I enjoy playing it from time to time," he shared, gliding his fingers through the piano, playing a scale. "Pardon if my skills are rusty, but I want you to listen to this piece."

Taking a deep breath, he rested his hands and started to dance over the black and white keys, repeating most notes twice. The chords, Gm–Cm–F–B♭–D, flow from his left hand, supporting the mellifluous melody. His arms gracefully floated, moving like calm waves in an enchanting night.

The repeated chorus grew warmer, culminating in a gentle finale. After the last notes, he lifted his hands and then his chin. His eyes met Yohan's in the night's veil, a ray of moonlight revealed his glistening eyes— like a polished raw emerald, profound and lucid.

Yohans's consciousness drowned in his eyes, closer, a pecked on his lips was felt. Laurent analysed his every reaction, finding no resistance in cloudy dull eyes.

Overwhelmed by emotions, he gently kissed and pulled, opening their mouths to welcome each others' warmth

"Mhm-m," Yohan struggled against the unfamiliar sensation, gripping the edge of Laurent's clothes over his shoulder. Their tongues entwined and overturned slowly, Yohan narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

Pushing deeper into the cavity, the tender taste and soft touch intensified. Laurent's enlarged hand ruffled his hair carelessly, locking his arm around his waist. Clear beads of sweat traced his neck slowly, leaving a glimmering wet trail. His skin lightened, flushing his face in red, as his loose golden hair from behind fell, obstructing his vision. Yet, the man who resembled darkness exhibited an unseen expression— one only the sun that shed his light could see. 

Their moist lips were swollen, leaving a string of saliva connecting two heats. 

A silence followed. Neither moved or questioned. The coldness felt after the clash of their warmth, tempting them to yearn each other. However, the unspoken hesitation was understood between them. 

They couldn't risk it. To be found, to be condemned. They couldn't bear

to lose the other half of their soul.

The deafening defiance could be heard, but they ignored and resisted. Laurent faintly smiled, releasing his grasp and positioned his fingers. 

Once again, he placed his hands on the piano and the restless melody escaped his running fingers. 

The soothing melody soothed the unaddressed tension, quieting their agitated hearts. 

"… Laurent." He mumbled.

"Yes?"

"Can you share more about this piece you're playing?"

Laurent glanced at him and said,"this piece was written in the key of G minor, and its name is… nevermind. You should enjoy it first."

It was a beautiful, mellow piece, but it hid a repressing lugubriousness. 

Yohan lowered his head, resting on his shoulder. Bathed in the moonlight, their undying sparks serenaded in the drowning symphony. 

———

When the piece ended, Yohan approached the pianist and politely asked the name of the song. 

"Excuse, can I ask what piece you're playing?

You played it beautifully," Yohan praised. 

The teen's face lit up with pride and answered.

"It's 'Mariage d'amour', a very popular choice among couples! Many think it's composed by Frederic Francois, but it's actually composed by Richard Davidson, a local composer."

"Mariage d'amour?" 

"It translates to 'Marriage of Love', if you're wondering," the teen explained. "Is there a song you would like to request, sir?"

"Yes, I would love to hear it again."

The teen nodded and began to play 'Mariage d'amour' once more. His rendition was pure and innocent, a simple and beautiful discovery of love. 

Observing the light pressed of the piano keys, his lips quivered, closing his eyes to listen to the everlasting piece. A single tear accumulated at his eye corner, but it didn't fall.

The last morning in New Eternal seemingly answered their unspoken secrecy.

"Sniff… I can't believe you have to go now," Herrace teared up. 

"My good brother, please live well!" Gerald exclaimed. 

"Um… Yohan is still in The Guild though," Owen reminded them. "Don't mind those two, they have grown very attached to you."

"It's okay, they meant well," Yohan smiled.

"Before you go, take this sword as a gift. It's a tradition for the mentor to give a sword to his graduating apprentice." Owen took off his sling bag and handed it over to him. Inside was a sword in a scabbard. Unsheathing it, the smooth surface reflected a light at its sharp end. It was light enough to be controlled, and its rough handle provided fiction. 

"Thank you," Yohan said. 

They all hugged together at the entrance of The Guild before Yohan departed to the New Eternal Terminal.

The architecture of the train terminal was surprisingly similar to a British colonel building with high rise glass panels ceiling in a half hexagon shape and marble walls and columns supporting it. The inside was cooling, with many steam locomotives parked at the end of the rail tracks, waiting for the passengers to board.

Yohan was amazed by the sight of the well polished classical steam locomotives, emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Ordin Empire, inspired by Seagulls of the Orias Port. A peek inside, he could see the finest fabric and curtains installed in its interior, with cotton lace cloth laid on every table and customised silverwares decorated with vases of flowers and ceramic plates placed precisely to a tee. 

Then, an announcement resounded in the terminal. 

"Passengers boarding the Orient Express to Valefor, stopping by at Vine, please make your way to railway G8 in the terminal, late passengers will be refused from boarding the carriage." 

High esteemed and well dressed nobles made their way to the express. Feather fans flapping and cane tapping, the extinguished gentlemen gestured the ladies to board first as they exchanged greetings with the train driver.

"Bienvenue, Monsieur Ferdinand, welcome to the Orient Express" the train driver bowed slightly with his right hand across to his left chest. The fine man nodded with the tip of his hat and asked, "Good morning, which compartment?"

"Number three, Monsieur," the train driver answered after reading his ticket and tore the side before returning it and calling the next passenger.

Yohan greeted the train driver the same. He guided him to his compartment down the aisle. Pushing the wooden door to the side, the well lit and heated cabin with the bed neatly folded and tucked with a supplement at the side on the coffee table. 

Placing his briefcase below the closet near the toilet, he rested on the sofa, looking out to other train tracks. 

After settling the passengers to their respective rooms, the driver announced the start of the journey and the train began to move. With the blow of the steam, the engine began to move forward on the railway and the wheels started rolling, as the cabin was specially designed to be stabilised in its axis to cease the sound and rockiness, providing a pleasant ride. 

Making his way to the dining cabin, the breakfast menu was placed next to the folded napkin. A waiter came and wrote his order down. 

Soon, the hot perfectly cooked egg and pancakes glazed with honey on the squared melted butter was served on the table. Alongside a cup of coffee with a small ceramic jar of milk and sugar cubes adjustable to preference. 

"Dear passengers! As a gratitude to you for choosing the Orient Express, we would like to perform our Ordin folk song named "Beyond the vast sea" to our faraway travellers. Everyone, put your hands together and clap, as our performances sing!"

Everyone watched in amaze and joy as the performance took out his guitar and the band sang in unison. The passengers picked up the beats and clapped loudly, cheering the band. The atmosphere was lightened as some of the locals sang along. 

Strumming their  final chairs, the crowd instantly gave a standing ovation. The head chef emerged through the cloud and announced. 

"Our esteemed guest! The Orient Express will be serving a specialty wine from Vine named 'Grape wine No.6 Aroma', a token from the Duke of Vidar." The chef rubbed the cloth against the glass bottle, polishing it. 

The waiters walked around, uncocking the bottle and pouring it at the rim of the wine glass. The velvet that glistened under the light flowed out to a level. The heavy fermented alcohol numbed the tasters' noses, tempting them to take a sip.

"Oh my goodness!" The girl gasped. 

Twirling her glass, she admired the glittering reflection. 

"Expected from the Duke. The hidden bitterness masked in its tamed sweetness is genius."

Whispers among the passengers were heard, discreetly asking for a second serving. Yohan finished his glass faster than the others, hence a waitress automatically approached his glass to refill.

However, Yohan raised his hand to signal the servant.

"There's no need to. Could you tell me where the toilet is?" 

"It's at the end of the carriage, sir." The waiter responded.

Washing his face with water, he stared at the  drenched man in the mirror. He appeared well kept, his skin youthful with an absence of scars, his hands felt smooth, different from his usual rough calloused hands. His body fame revealed no hardship, to others, he seemed to be a carefree young man.

Gliding his hand along the mirror, sometimes he wondered what others saw in him. 

Like his appearance, people based on conditioning environmental influence to construct an ideal of a person, perceived by deceptions and judgement. These physical idealisations could be heard, observed and felt by others' words, imposing what 'you' meant to them. 

Despite that, the genuine self resided beyond these superficial expectations. It always stayed within him because there was no inherent detachment. 

Ironically, nobody could find the same person twice, even in the same person. 

Who he used to be. Who he now lived as. 

His shadow grew larger as he hunched over the basin, the darkened water droplets dripping from his hair echoed soundlessly. 

'The misery of never being with the same people who helped me discover myself during my lowest time  because I'm living for myself.' 

Clinging onto bygone memories, he had to learn and move on. 

Abruptly, someone banged on the door, accompanied with a shrieking scream, underlying the distinct  sound of gunfire.

"Whoever's in there, you need to get to safety!" A desperate voice warned. 

Quickly unlocking the door, he pushed me forward to the exit before scrambling off.

'A hijack? On the Orient Express?'

Turning his head, he returned back to the running carriage. 

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Yohan shouted, narrowly avoiding the crowd from the opposite direction.

Pushing the carriage's door, he saw what was once a high class fine dining restaurant to a place that went through a riot. Furniture overtune with black spots along penetrating the wallpaper, the shattered ceramic plates posed a risk as it crunched underneath his shoes. 

Slow and steady, he walked across the carriage, keeping an eye out to any danger. 

"Psst, psst," a sound hissed. "Down here."

Lowering his head, he saw a waiter cowering in a corner.

"Listen to what I have to say. Just now, an armed attacker came in and started shooting. And he grabbed my collar and demanded to see someone named Mr Ferdinand." The waiter confessed. "I didn't do anything other than pointing in that direction, I swear!"

"So sir, please don't go there."

"Thank you for your information," Yohan replied. He quickly got up and headed to the danger, leaving the waiter stunned.

The aisle stretched endlessly, passing by faster and faster. He frantically followed the signage to compartment 3, where he noticed a door left opened. Fearing for the worst, he leaned his body against the wall, picking up any noise. Staying in a blind spot, he peeked into the door.

Instantly, he turned to face a motionless body on the floor with bloodshot eyes. The noticeable concentrated gun shot at his belly oozed the fresh blood, seeping into the falling papers. The drawers that crashed onto the floor leaked the cracked inkwell, tainting many documents and smudging  its unreadable content.

The lace curtains flapped harshly along the speedy train, it seemed that he arrived too late.