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Out of all the clubs, bars and other concert venues that populated Ishgard’s nightlife, the Forgotten Knight had, by all accounts, found the best recipe to make everyone feel like they were braving the Underground scene while also attracting enough of the kind of people for whom it would be exciting to brave the underground scene. In short, the place was the best spot for indie bands who wanted to appear edgy and niche while actually attracting a fair amount of people, and as such, their dimly lit basement was always booked and always full of teenagers getting their first taste of transgression and star-eyed adoring fans.
Sidurgu was there every night. It wasn’t that he came for the popular bands; he simply had been a regular before it got popular, and refused to stop coming now. And besides, Rielle liked the music.
(He was very glad for the way his resting face seemed to scare people away. Everyone assumed he was into all of these bands and knowledgeable on them, and if any had actually talked to him about it, he would have had to flounder awkwardly until Rielle piped up, which would have destroyed his image. Not that he cared about his image, except then Rielle would have thought he was uncool. Which was a moot point anyway because she knew him better than anyone and had no illusions about who he really was, but he refused to consider the point further.)
Tonight, the band about to play was Estinien And The Machinists. Sidurgu had never heard of them, although he did remember an Estinien from the club’s early days as a concert venue. A country boy with a guitar and some nostalgic pastoral tunes who was still hopeful enough to sing at a club and not in the subway. He had liked the evening, although he wouldn’t admit it to strangers; they reminded him of home.
“They’ve been all the rage, recently,” Rielle told him. “I’m surprised it’s their first time in here.”
“What style are they playing?” Based on the last few months, he doubted it would be sweet country songs.
“Some kind of gothic fantasy metal,” she answered, before sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him closer, glaring at one of the other patrons. They froze, right next to him, and quickly retreated. “Here, let’s sit,” she said, pulling him onto a bench with no intention of taking no for an answer. He let her seat him, and thought that maybe he should take his housemate’s advice and wear looser pants.
Thankfully, before he could start to think too hard about how it felt to have her squeezed against him on this seat, cheers and excited applause rose from the front of the room, and Estinien and his machinists walked onto the stage.
He had discounted the idea previously, but as he looked at the white haired man in front of the group, Sidurgu was convinced that this was indeed the same man he had listened to all those months ago. Even under the makeup, his face was unusual enough to be recogniseable, and that shade of white was impossible to dye and have look good (as everyone always thought necessary to tell him). But while his face and body were the same, everything else could not have been more different. His cute ponytail had been replaced by an artfully tousled style that looked messy but could only have been achieved with copious amounts of gel and other styling products. His face had grown paler but was accented in dark makeup. And he was wearing black from head to toe, black accessories in his hair, black jewelry, black leather outfit with black spikes on it. It almost looked like he had horns, although there was no headband to be seen.
“… poor man, the city got to him,” he sighed.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“This place does things to people.”
She raised her eyebrow at him. He pretended not to notice by looking at the stage. While Estinien looked like he came right out of a mid 2000s goth music video, his musicians seemed to have come straight from a steampunk convention. The one thing they had in common was the little dragon-like wings in black leather poking from behind their backs.
The drummer, a tall and lanky man with blond hair, took the microphone for a moment to introduce the band. Estinien, meanwhile, remained silent.
And then they started playing, and Sidurgu thought he had stepped into an alternate reality.
Gone were the soft pastoral songs. What came out of Estinien’s mouth was so different from his previous performance that it took Sidurgu almost a minute to realise that it didn’t just sound different from before, but just altogether different. The performance was incredible in its own right, but the sounds the man was making could barely count as singing: they were growls, and not of the kind the club’s usual singers would sometimes use, but something animalistic, alien, and yet despite it all, it was still a song, somehow even more of a song than anything else he knew. It was both primal and heartwrenching, and he found himself glued to his seat, and barely noticed the rest of the band until the man stopped singing and they ended the song with an instrumental conclusion that told more of a story than any lyrics actually could. Not that he had understood a word of these song’s lyrics.
“… what was that?” he whispered once he finally snapped out of it, bending towards Rielle so she’d hear him over the applause.
“ ‘A thousand years’,” she said. “It’s a song about loss—hang on,” she added, pulling out her phone, “I’ll get you the lyrics.”
“I couldn’t understand any of them.”
“Yeah that’s normal. I dunno if it’s a conlang or what, but there’s official lyrics to go with it—here.”
She handed him her phone, and as the band started another hauntingly edgy number, he started reading the lyrics that were both much too poetic for the Estinien he had seen before and too human for the one he had heard right now.
“So, what did you think?” she asked as they walked out of the club later that night.
“I’ve never heard anything like it.”
She laughed.
“You understand why everyone is talking about them now, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Still, it’s weird.”
“What is?”
“I’m sure I’ve seen this Estinien guy before. His style was totally different. It’s like he was possessed or something.”
She laughed again.
“Come on, Sid, be serious.”
“I am serious!”
“Maybe he finally got to live his goth dreams now he lives in a city. Have you thought about that?”
“I dunno. He didn’t seem the type. If anything, I think he missed his village. Can’t say I blame him.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You don’t like it here?”
“… I have one good reason to stay,” he mumbled.
“Oho? And what would that be?”
He refused to elaborate.
____________________________________________
Offstage, Estinien wiped the sweat and makeup off his face and collapsed into the nearest seat.
“Good show!” Stephanivien called out, throwing him a water bottle. “I’m going to go tinker with the studio recording, get some rest, okay? And stay hydrated!”
He nodded voicelessly and sighed in relief when the door closed and he was finally alone in the room.
There were a lot of people, the voice in his head said.
“Yeah, so are you satisfied now?”
No. My song must reach all of humanity. Only then will I know peace.
“You know I can’t really do that without a huge PR campaign, right?”
Then I will keep singing until one of your human leaders notices us.
“They’re not—nevermind.”
He opened his bottle and took an angry swig of water.
You seem vexed.
“Must you keep haunting me? Can’t you go possess someone else? I’m sure there’s plenty who’d love the fame.”
We have a deal, Estinien.
He looked away. Unfortunately, there was no looking away from someone that wasn’t physically there. No matter where his eyes went, the dragon was invisible, and yet his presence unescapable. Almost tangible, like a filter superimposed on reality, cutting him from it.
“… you know I didn’t do that seriously.”
Nevertheless, you did participate in the ritual. And the yearning in your heart was genuine. Do not lie to yourself. You called on me, and here I am. Now, fulfil your part of the deal, if you want me to fulfil mine.
In all honesty, Estinien wasn’t sure he wanted that ‘deal’ fulfilled. Nothing good could ever come from bringing back the dead. His godfather had always said so, and in his naive youth he had always thought it to be old wisdom, theoretical and poetical, something to soothe the soul. Even if you could somehow bring them back, it wouldn’t do any good. Learn to let go.
Now, he wondered if the reason it was an old wisdom was because it had actually been relevant in the past.
(But come on. How was he supposed to know that the stupid ritual would work? He had only accepted so people would leave him alone.)
But then again… the voice that came out of his mouth when he sang might not be his, but he understood its pain all too well. The pain, and the anger. The careless warmongers who had thought themselves so brave for daring to fight in the street and had run at the first hint of consequences of their actions. The heartless people who had summoned a being from another world, only to trick and trap her and leave her to die. He might pretend to be a nice person, but in both their hearts seethed a similar kind of hatred, and even deeper than that, a slow burning loss.
But that didn’t mean he liked it. Nidhogg was welcome to make his loss heard outside his body. Why did he have to be the dragon’s hostage?
You judge those who ran away, and yet you too would flee from the consequences of your desires.
“I asked nothing of you.”
But you would have, had you believed.
Once more, he looked away. Once more, it did nothing. The injustice of it made anger rise in his blood.
You forget yourself, human.
Before he could come up with a hopefully witty and burning reply, the feeling of pressure on his chest cut short any attempt at words.
If anyone walked in at that moment, Estinien was sure that they would see nothing other than him sitting in his chair. But in his eyes, the giant dark paw that pressed down on his chest took most of the space in the tiny room, and beyond it, superimposed on the reality of the walls and reaching far beyond them, the looming figure of the dragon glared down at him, as tall as a building and as dangerous as an unexploded bomb. A natural disaster and a predator both.
You had a wish. You were ready to give your life for that wish. Now, you will grant mine. And until that has been fulfilled, you are mine, Estinien. Do not presume to judge me for it. You summoned me, like they summoned her.
“They summoned her! I didn’t—”
Did not what? Call onto another being for your profit or enjoyment?
He fell silent.
You are mine, Estinien. Now, will you sing with me, or shall I do it on my own? I will be heard either way. I will be heard.
“… fine,” he spat.
The weight on his chest lifted.
Good. I am glad to see some humans are able to see sense.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Remember to drink some water and take care of your voice. And keep the same makeup for next time. I found it quite evocative.