It ended like a small recital.
When Masumi finished playing “Air on the G String,” Ark and Kasumireaz applauded her. It had only been a warm-up, yet they praised her with earnest, undisguised admiration. Embarrassed, Masumi pinched the hem of her dress and returned the courtesy with a small curtsy.
After that, a few more brief pieces were enough to serve as both rest and finger-loosening, and Masumi found herself in perfect condition.
Her outfit, too, proved fortunate. The dress she had worn for volunteer performances at a nursing home was finally paying off. In that male-dominated camp, having something newly tailored in time for the ceremony would have been an impossible demand.
She had been told that the portions of the ritual where she would need to walk were laid with a deep crimson carpet.
Because it was Christmas, she had chosen a glossy peacock-green dress. It would stand out beautifully. With no cosmetics and no tools to speak of, this at least was a blessing in misfortune.
“Basically, I’ll escort you through everything.”
Kasumireaz said it so simply, as though that alone should ease her mind.
From leaving the tent to reaching the waiting area, from guiding her to her position when it was time, he would judge the timing and ensure the proceedings moved smoothly without a hitch. That, he said, was his role.
“So I can stop thinking about everything and just focus on playing.”
“Yes.”
At Kasumireaz’s unhesitating affirmation, Masumi finally let out the breath she had been holding.
If he had told her to memorize a complicated ritual she had never even seen, she would have gone on strike without a doubt. She was an awkwardly single-minded sort of person, violin to the core, and she simply did not have the mental capacity for that.
She was not the only one who was ready.
Ark had changed into a formal knight’s uniform.
His usual attire was navy, but now he wore a dazzling white fabric adorned with glittering embellishments throughout. Ceremonial dress, he called it. His epaulettes and cuff insignia were gold-toned and unmissable.
“It’s practically begging people to target you, isn’t it, all that flashiness?”
“Who goes to a battlefield dressed like this? It’s only for ceremonies.”
With a weary look, Ark reached up to his collar.
“This is still just formal dress, so it’s bearable. Full dress is worse.”
“Sorry. I don’t know the difference.”
“With full dress, there’s more decoration, and it’s heavier.”
That was, at least, a straightforward complaint.
Full dress, he explained, was worn when attending ceremonies hosted by the Emperor in the capital. If it involved the Emperor, it was full dress; for all other ceremonies, the next rank down was formal dress. That was the rule within the knightly orders.
Full dress was truly a complete kit.
Right now, only the shoulder and sleeve insignia differed from his ordinary uniform, but full dress added things like shoulder chains and chest sashes, and various other attachments. It looked splendid, and women cheered at the sight, but the men wearing it apparently wanted nothing more than to strip it off as soon as possible.
If it was hated that much, it almost made Masumi curious. As she and Ark began trading quips like “I want to see,” “No,” “Come on, it’s not like it’ll kill you,” “It’ll kill my stamina,” and “Think of it as training,” a sigh cut in between them.
Hmm?
Tracing the sound, she found it came from Kasumireaz.
“The honor guard has it worse, in both weight and heat.”
He spoke in a sour voice, sweat beading at his brow.
He, too, had already changed. He wore a gleaming silver suit of armor like the one Masumi had first seen him in, but this, too, was for ceremony, polished to perfection without a single scratch.
A longsword hung at his waist, and he held his helmet under one arm.
From both shoulders flowed a pure white cloak that reached to his ankles. Because it was ceremonial armor, parts had apparently been removed for the sake of lightness, but even so, the sheer coverage made it look stifling.
And it was early summer, no less, and past one in the afternoon.
The hottest time of day. Yet Kasumireaz stood straight-backed and immaculate, a true model of a knight. Compared to him, Masumi and Ark were lightly dressed, so his resentment was, admittedly, fair.
Then Ark gave a fearless grin.
“It’ll be hot, sure, but this year’s ceremony will probably end faster than any on record. You should be pleased.”
“That is certainly something to be grateful for, but…”
Kasumireaz trailed off and glanced at Masumi.
Masumi tilted her head, unsure why, but Kasumireaz immediately looked away and shook his head.
“We can’t celebrate wholeheartedly. It’s only a stopgap. It doesn’t solve the fundamental problem our Fourth Order is facing.”
As soon as he said it, Kasumireaz rose. “We should go.”
Ark looked as though he had more to say, but in the end he only shrugged, keeping silent.
To Masumi’s eyes, Kasumireaz seemed stubborn.
They had only met a day ago, but the hierarchy between these two was unmistakable. Kasumireaz never dropped his respectful manner, and Ark, while showing regard, spoke as though issuing orders were his default.
The reason Kasumireaz seemed stubborn was because he had cut the conversation off.
It could even be taken as a refusal to prolong the exchange.
Masumi still could not begin to guess what weighed on his mind.
Masumi was the first to head toward the venue, guided by Kasumireaz.
Apparently, it was customary for the commander’s personal musician to enter under the escort of the Captain of the Guard.
They walked in silence down a corridor partitioned by crimson drapes. As the venue’s murmur grew nearer, the only other sound was the faint scrape of Kasumireaz’s armor.
After they turned several corners, a final curtain blocked the way and the corridor ended.
A soldier waited there in armor similar to Kasumireaz’s. The difference was his blue cloak. When he noticed them, he dropped to one knee respectfully.
Kasumireaz nodded.
The soldier returned the nod, then slipped through the curtain.
“Beyond this is the investiture hall. When the bell rings, we enter.”
Masumi nodded at the concise explanation.
A moment later, a single clear bell rang high. No doubt, the signal.
Kasumireaz looked back at her.
“Come.”
“Yes.”
Masumi tightened her grip on the violin in her left hand and followed the silver back before her.
What greeted her was, in a word, magnificent.
In the center of the hall stood a group of knights in silver armor. They wore no cloaks. Arranged in a rectangle, there were perhaps thirty of them. Judging by their placement, these must be today’s main figures, those about to receive investiture.
On both sides of them, honor guards in blue cloaks stood in perfect order. They held their drawn swords upright at their chests, points to the sky, and the blades glittered as they caught the sunlight.
The honor guards stood in two lines on each side, and the formation continued all the way toward the back of the venue without a break.
Masumi and Kasumireaz emerged at the far end of the hall, on a dais three steps higher than the knights below.
Looking around, she saw crowds packed in around the knights and the dais. Perhaps to improve visibility, the seating was arranged like a stadium, rising gradually toward the back.
It was when they stepped out and reached the center of the dais.
A sound surged through the hall, something between a cheer and a roar.
The cheers, likely for Kasumireaz. The roar, likely for Masumi.
Kasumireaz did not react at all. He escorted Masumi to the edge of the dais and indicated where she should stand.
Only after she stopped did Masumi lightly pinch the hem of her dress and bow. Immediately after, the bell rang again, three times this time, a little more triumphantly than before.
And when the last resonance faded into the sky,
a thunderous cheer erupted, so loud the hall seemed to tremble.
Ark, dressed in white formal wear, strode in from the curtain. His steady steps carried a kind of dignity. The cheers did not falter, and when Ark reached the center of the dais, they peaked.
The volume was so overwhelming that Masumi reflexively narrowed one eye.
She glanced sideways, but Kasumireaz stood at attention, unshaken, as if he were used to it.
Ark lifted one hand.
The cheers shrank at once, and soon a hush fell over the hall, which must have held hundreds.
This man truly held people in his grasp. Catching a glimpse of that charisma, Masumi felt her shoulders tremble without meaning to.
The ritual began with no declaration at all, flowing out of the silence as naturally as a river.
Kasumireaz moved to Ark’s side.
On the rectangular dais lay a row upon row of longswords and shields. Ark took one from the center and kissed the blade. At that signal, one knight stepped forward and knelt below the dais.
His eyes were fixed on Ark, the commander above. They burned without hesitation, eyes of conviction, as though he would devote himself to it entirely.
Looking down, Ark lifted one corner of his mouth in faint satisfaction, and set the tip of the longsword against the knight’s right shoulder. Then words of blessing for the knight’s departure rang out into the beautiful blue sky.
A blessing for those who would become knights.
Obey righteous strength. Be brave. Be honest. Be generous. Hold fast to your convictions.
Protect the realm, protect the weak, protect the truth.
The power I grant, the sword that severs wicked intent, the shield that drives away corrupt thought, the sorcery that crushes evil, may they become guardians to all.
The ringing declaration sank into Masumi’s chest without resistance.
For some reason, her vision blurred. She still did not know what their world was truly like, yet the choice to take that oath and live by it felt, in itself, like something worthy of praise.
After the first vow, the knights rotated one after another, receiving sword and shield.
When the distribution was complete, the newly made knights drew their swords and raised them to the sky as the honor guards did. Ark stood directly before them.
Masumi had been watching, captivated by the refined movements, and noticed too late that Kasumireaz had returned.
“Masumi.”
At the small call, she finally brought her awareness back to her surroundings.
Kasumireaz was kneeling before her, his left hand extended.
To accept his escort, Masumi shifted her bow from her right hand to her left.
When she laid her right hand gently atop his, the gauntlet was not as cold as she had expected. It held a faint warmth.
Kasumireaz escorted her to the front of the dais, the very center of the hall.
Ark had already descended and stood at the same level as the knights. After guiding Masumi, Kasumireaz moved with practiced grace and knelt on the middle step of the three-step stair.
His white cloak spread softly over the crimson carpet.
He drew the longsword at his waist and offered the bare blade to the highest step.
Beyond it, Ark’s back flared with a pale blue-white radiance. The signal.
Masumi drove her bow across the strings.
Edward Elgar, the British composer.
His “Pomp and Circumstance” consisted of six marches, but the first was by far the most famous and beloved.
Often called Britain’s second national anthem, the piece was written for orchestra. In the main section, brass and woodwinds unfurled in a heroic, brilliant sweep. Yet the true core lay in the strings, and in the trio section in particular, the weight and splendor of the melody came fully to the fore. That majestic theme was loved so deeply that lyrics were later written to it.
A fast, dazzling main section, and a slow, grand trio.
Repeating those, the march progressed, shifting its details little by little.
Masumi made her bow fly with everything she had.
A solo, and only her.
Even if they did not know the original, she could not allow her sound to be paltry on this radiant stage.
Though it differed from the true score, she filled in other instrumental lines as best she could, creating harmony with double-stops where possible, thickening the sound. Here, more than elegance, what was needed was strength.
The end of the first main section aligned perfectly with the moment Ark finished granting light to every knight in the first row.
Two rows left.
Ark had said she could simply repeat the same piece, but the ceremony moved faster than she had expected. In “Pomp and Circumstance,” the main section and trio were nearly the same length, and each was repeated twice. At this pace, she could likely cover everything in a single run without repeating at all.
The second row finished exactly at the close of the first trio.
As the last row began, the music returned to the bright main section. Masumi shortened the main and trio, repeating them once, and by the time every light had settled into the knights, the rite was complete.
Ark returned to the dais still shrouded in pale blue-white radiance.
For some reason, his face was full of surprise, and he stared straight at Masumi.
Masumi had no time to respond. The end of the piece, the culmination of the ceremony, was at hand.
The final coda lifted the main theme high one last time.
If she were to place a prayer in her music, it was this: that their oath would become brave hands capable of protecting someone.
That they would not, in the battles that surely awaited them, forget the pure resolve they held on this first day.
To be strong for someone’s sake.
Not everyone could do that. Masumi could not. So at the very least, she would pray for their fortune in war, turning the chain of notes into words, sending them out into the air.
She listened until the final sound vanished. The trembling of the air stilled.
Certain she had finished, Masumi lifted her bow from the strings.
When she opened her eyes slowly, there was silence before her. Breathing hard, she lowered the violin, wondering if she ought to bow again.
Then a light clink of metal sounded at her feet.
She looked down.
Her eyes met Kasumireaz’s, his helmet visor raised. He lifted himself slightly, took the hem of Masumi’s dress in both hands, and raised it reverently.
Then he pressed a kiss to it, and in that instant, the hall was flooded with a roaring cheer.
Masumi could not hide her bewilderment.
She had not played a dazzlingly virtuosic piece that would command respect by technique alone. So it was not that she felt an overwhelming, singular sense of accomplishment. Nor was this a stage that would decide her life. She had not felt pressure, not even a little.
She had not held back.
And yet, she could not understand why her performance deserved praise with such force.
Wherever she looked, all she could see were smiles and applause.
And when she glanced down, Ark was there, clapping as he looked straight up at her.
