Charmer

Reverie Black

Charmer(n): An individual with the ability to project one’s own will onto others through the use of an instrument. Charmers are usually individuals from lower castes due to a higher chance for genetic mutations amongst the less modified. Their ability works through only one instrument. Usually, this is the first instrument the Charmer learns how to play, forming a sort of bond. As far as the scientific community is aware, there is no known reason for this phenomenon, any further research or information on Charmers has long since been destroyed in the aftermath of the Genomic War. The sentence for being a Charmer actively practising music is maiming, preventing them from playing their bonded instrument ever again.

                                                                Excerpt from the Reinkei Museum of War, exhibit 7b

Luchar, 28, 07421

Atlas kept skimming over the same line. He hadn’t been able to focus properly for weeks. It was exhausting. His brain simply refused to register any information. 

Leaning back in the chair he was uncomfortably seated on, he rubbed at his eyes, willing them to work properly. Maybe he needed glasses. No, that wasn’t possible; his vision had been modified to perfection, it was probably just the lighting. He had been meaning to change out the bulbs in his house. Cursed with sensitive eyes, Atlas hated bright light. His father loved it. Even though seven years had passed since his death, Atlas still hadn’t managed to get around to changing them, despite the splitting headaches they sometimes induced. Such was the power of procrastination.

  The room he occupied was highly representative of his mental state; blinding light cast over piles of books stacked haphazardly around the room. The dining table Atlas was seated at was covered in sheets of half-finished composition and translations scribbled in smudged purple ink. He didn’t particularly care about the mess at this point; there were far more pressing problems.

His best friend, Rion Azrak, was splayed out on one of the couches across the room, examining a passage in one of her engineering textbooks. Her vibrant blue hair more of a mess than usual, a result of her running her fingers through it as she concentrated on something particularly difficult. He envied the way that she was able to study in any environment. It reflected in her grades, and in large part, contributed to her maintaining her position as an Aristocrat, the highest and most hardworking echelon of non-royal society.  

Atlas sighed and went back to his poor attempt at deciphering the material of his own textbook, the words refusing to appear as anything other than unfocused squiggly marks on the page.

 Looking up again, he noticed Rion staring at him, her violet cat-like eyes narrowed.

         ‘What?’ he questioned, slightly defensive.

         ‘You’ve been staring at the same page for the past half hour,’ Rion stated dryly, a hint of amusement in her voice, ‘What's up?’

         ‘Nothing’s up,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘It's just complicated material.’

         Rion quirked an eyebrow, ‘The table of contents is “complicated material”?’

         Glancing down, Atlas finally registered what was written on the page. The History of Veani Linguistics and its Development from Serdeni Colloquialisms- Chapter Index.

         ‘To be fair, this is a dense book,’ he defended weakly. He had reached the final year of his doctoral research in linguistics, specializing in the linguistic exploration of enhanced translation in pharmacological discovery. His goal was to further the understanding of the sickness that came alongside being a Charmer in a desperate attempt to speed up, if not discover, a cure. The Alkinate was a merciless disease that slowly took over the body, stiffening cartilage into a cement-like consistency. Making its way through the system until it hit the lungs rendering one unable to breathe. While being a recessive trait, not all with the Alkinate were Charmers, but all who were Charmers were afflicted with the sickness. Possessing the gene was a death sentence, be it biological or social. Atlas was forced to watch both his parents waste away, the Alkinate corrupting their bodies until they eventually couldn't breathe anymore and just… stopped. Firmly believing that the cure could be found in the lost materials, all he had to do was dig deep enough to find it, even if it meant drowning in his research.

Atlas was almost done with his thesis, save for a few pieces that eluded him. It was exasperating to no end. Digging through text after text of translated and original work, he was unable to find the information necessary to plug the remaining gaps. Needing access to the royal archives was why he took the damned request to play at court in the first place. The hope of managing to convince King Rindou Kugoshi that he should be allowed to study the restricted texts overshadowed the risk that came with performing publicly.

The stagnation of his findings stressed him out to no end. To be fair,  Atlas was always stressed out for some reason or other. A paper due here, a broken violin string there, Kaito Zarka monopolizing research resources that he desperately needed.

At the thought of Kaito,  Atlas clenched his jaw. For some reason, ever since his second semester as an undergraduate, the books he needed to study were constantly checked out by none other than Kaito Fucking Zarka. 

The youngest Prince of Reinkei was not permitted to lay claim to the throne, instead allowed the luxury of choice when it came to profession, he had opted for molecular pathology.

 After the passing of Rindou’s first wife, Akane, the King had remarried, taking Sorcha Zarka as his consort. This union was unprecedented as Sorcha was of royal blood herself; to keep the enhancements and abilities of Royals pure, consorts tended to be taken from the Aristocrat caste. This allowed for the genetics of any offspring to remain highly enhanced without risking the dilution of the abilities that Royals possessed. The union of the BloodBinder King and the Shadow Princess was uncharted political territory, to minimise the chances of annexation a law was passed stating that any royals of mixed blood would be prohibited from ascension. By nature of his lineage, Kaito was deemed ineligible to take the throne regardless of his legendary proficiency with his BloodBinder abilities. Kugoshi by blood but Zarka by name. Any publicly known information about his matrilineal traits was purely speculative.

 Now, had the Prince been anyone else, Atlas would have understood that research regarding the Alkinate was necessary; he wouldn't have minded the resources being utilized to do so.

 The only problem was that, as a member of the Royal family, the Prince had unrestricted access to the forbidden archives. Leading Atlas to question the reasons behind the Prince needing the university books when he had better material at the tips of his fingers. That being said, it frustrated him to no end.

Assuming that the Prince was working on the same thing that he was spawned yet another point of anxiety for the young Lord. What was the Prince’s end goal? He could only surmise that the royal, like many before him, was seeking the eradication of the Alkinate, and with it, the erasure of Charmers from existence.

Not that Kaito didn't deserve to have access to the research, Atlas was a firm believer in making information and education accessible to everyone, after all, it might help with the prejudice that came with being stricken by the Alkinate. It was the general understanding that anyone who was affected by the cursed disease was at risk of being a Charmer, leading them to be ostracized and unable to rise in caste, regardless of how hard they worked. 

As of the age of fifteen Atlas had to hide his affliction from the world. His parents were capable and connected enough to procure forged documents detailing him as healthy. A feat that would have been impossible had he been any lower than a Lord on the caste scale.

It was what drove him to push himself in the manner that he did. If he could decipher what was left of the research, he might be able to find out how to stop the sickness that chorded through his body. Or at least slow it down. Charming helped. Something about the frequency– the vibrations– eased the pain that simmered between his bones. 

Atlas didn't understand why he was singled out to perform, he had never done so publicly. Nevertheless, one never refused a summons from the King. It would be suspicious if he did. He would be tried for being a Charmer. He would inevitably be found guilty. The wine-red card of the invitation sat mockingly on his bedside table. Masochistic as ever, he refused to hide away from the reminder of the source of his negative emotions. 

         ‘Atlas?’ Rion broke him out of his spiral yet again, looking at him expectantly.

He was about to respond when a loud meow interrupted him. A fond smile spread across his face as he reached downwards and picked up the source of the noise that had been nudging his legs. The feeling of the soft creature on his lap soothed him. The purring was pleasant and allowed him to de-tense, if only slightly.

‘You are aware that your cat looks like a blob of darkness with eyes, right?’ Rion joked, nodding in the direction of the kitten.

Atlas let out a chuckle scratching the fur behind her ears. ‘Kira has been the cause of many moments of panic,’ he admitted. The musician had rescued the cat from the Outlands about three months ago. Having smuggled the pet by hiding it in his leather jacket, he couldn't exactly advertise where he had been or why. Strays were rare enough that rescuing one would be considered odd, so Atlas just avoided explaining by cracking a joke, or by just being generally anti-social.

Rion did question the procurement of his companion, she had not been happy to find out he was frequenting the Outlands. One could even go so far as to describe her as furious. 

The resulting argument was a rerun of one that they had back when they were nineteen. Atlas had cut himself on broken glass during one of his excursions and needed her to stitch him up, not wanting to risk the questions that would have come had he sought out medical attention. Rion angrily pointed out the recklessness of his actions and Atlas agreed so that he could placate her, having no intention of following through. He had tried to explain that the Outlands were the only place in which he could breathe away from the surveillance of the inner city. To make matters more complicated, they were bordered by the WhiteOut– the outskirts where the casteless Blanks resided. Given his status as a Lord, his presence would not go unnoticed with any amount of ease had he been caught. He took precautions, using back alleys, trekking out at ungodly hours when few were bound to roam the streets. The WhiteOut wasn’t the safest of areas, walking around alone in the dark was arguably as dangerous as being in the Outlands. So far he had been lucky.

‘It seems like you’ve been living in a constant state of panic, more so than usual,’ Rion commented dryly.

Atlas chose to focus his attention on Kira keeping silent.

It was clear that something other than her friend’s usual melodrama was ailing him. Sitting up, Rion balanced her textbook on the mess that lay atop the coffee table and turned her full attention towards him. The normally meticulous room looked as though someone had robbed him, Rion had pointed that out in shock when she had crossed his threshold earlier that day.

Her reaction was not unfounded knowing that Atlas was very particular about the cleanliness and organisation of his home. Books were usually ordered by authors alphabetically, his compositions in binders and classified by preference, his floor always so polished one could see their reflection in the marble. Although, at present, it would have been a miracle if one could see the floor at all. Research material and clothes lay strewn everywhere. She had nearly stepped on Kira who had been taking a nap in a jacket piled on the floor. That wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of them.

In retrospect yes, he was just as much of a mess as his house was. Practically having grown up around Rion allowed the Aristocrat the ability to differentiate between messes caused as a result of hyper-focusing and messes caused by a lack of mental stability. He wanted to tell her, to finally explain that he was a Charmer, that over the past three years he had been subject to bouts of extreme pain, a result of the Alkinate corrupting his flesh. But it was unusual for Lords to have the sickness, the less genetically pure you were the less likely you were to have a defect. Atlas was nearly perfectly modified, an aspect that presented itself in his features, his flawless skin– which he took great pleasure in getting tattooed, sharpened canines, and slit feline eyes with perfect night vision and depth perception. As much as he loved Rion, she was practically a sister to him, he didn't want her to get caught up in his mess. If he was discovered she could plead ignorance. Friends of Charmers never had good lives, regardless of what caste they belonged to. Rion’s position would help somewhat, as she was practically royalty herself. But he didn't want her to be hurt in any way. Even worse, a small part of him was worried that she would look at him differently. That she would reject him. He still allowed himself the selfishness of their friendship, unable to find the strength to put any more distance between them than he already had. He loathed himself for that.

Aware that she wouldn't let up without some semblance of an answer Atlas sighed and offered up a partial truth, ‘So you know Kaito…’ He began.

         ‘Prince Kaito Zarka? The guy whose family owns the continent? The guy whose cheekbones could probably slice through glass?  Yes, I am vaguely aware of his existence,’ Rion cut him off before motioning for him to continue when he shot her an annoyed look.

‘Yeah, he checked out this book that I really needed. The Chemical Origins of Novicin, it’s even written Kodairen! Do you know how rare that is? I’m positive the Royal archives have the actual original documents, I needed that book to finish this section of my thesis and now I’m just stuck.’ Atlas groaned as he dragged a tattooed hand through his hair a little too aggressively, just enough to hurt. The pain grounded him.

Rion looked at Atlas bemused and raised an eyebrow. This was not the first time she had heard a rant of this nature. ‘This is what? The sixth book you need that he’s checked out this year?’

         Gritting his teeth, Atlas muttered, ‘Ninth. If he has access to the Archives why isn't he using them?‘’

         ‘Well, why don't you ask him?’ 

         Atlas just stared at her, unsure if she was joking or being serious. He decided on the former and didn't deign to reply.

Rion sighed, ‘This has been an issue for almost eight years now, it shouldn't bother you this much. You guys must have something in common if his research overlaps that often with yours. Plus he’s gorgeous, you never know what might happen.’  The reasonable observation was punctuated with a slight teasing tone. One that Atlas refused to take into consideration.

         ‘Rion, you know I don't care. He could be the prettiest guy on earth, and it wouldn't matter. You know that I’m not interested.’ 

‘Yeah yeah, I’ve tried time and time again to set you up. The only thing you seem to ever be interested in is your violin. I swear you're going to marry that thing.’ 

This conversation was another stale one. Rion was often faced with exasperation at her best friend’s steadfast resolve to ignore any romantic aspect of his life.

Atlas leaned back in his chair and finally gave up on trying to research, shutting his book in frustration. The motion caused a few loose sheets of composition to flutter in response to the change in airflow. The pain in his hands chose that moment to act up again, starting in his wrists and radiating through to the tips of his fingers. Focusing on the shooting pain, he let out a shaky breath in an attempt to ground himself.

‘What's actually wrong?’ Rion asked gently, she could tell he wasn’t telling him the whole truth, could tell he was in pain. It worried her, they were usually pretty transparent when it came to their issues, trusting the other to offer, usually,  sound advice, or just be there for support. Atlas was like a brother to her; she missed him. ‘Is it the sickness?’

Rion knew about him having the Alkinate, aware that it was the cause of death for both his parents. He tried to hide the extent of the pain, not always successfully, but enough to ensure she worried marginally less. All he would tell her is that he was taking Novicin, the standard pain medication used to treat the symptoms of the Alkinate. He even went as far as to leave his forged documents lying around at some point when they were teenagers for her to ‘accidentally’ find. While he felt guilty about taking advantage of her trust, he would rather she have the option of plausible deniability than not. She never pushed, aware of how both his parents came to pass, knowing it was a source of terror for the Lord to have witnessed what would likely be his future unfold before his eyes. She respected his boundaries, and for that he was thankful. 

They had become friends when they were ten years old, about a month after his mother had died. Unwilling to burden his father with the task, Atlas had assumed the responsibility of caste upkeep. Primarily, the dying of his hair to indicate the caste he belonged to, as was common practice amongst the citizens of Reinkei. His unpracticed technique resulted in a very uneven outcome and the procurement of Rion Azrak as a companion. Appalled at the state of his appearance, the Aristocrat had sat down next to him in class which prompted much confusion amongst the other children, and even the teacher. Rion was well-liked amongst her peers, outgoing and friendly, if not a little too sarcastic for her age. Atlas, on the other hand, was notoriously antisocial- not much had changed in that regard, even sixteen years later.

She had, at the time, proceeded to tug on his purple-tipped hair with a declaration that she would be able to fix it. Atlas had quietly accepted, being too awkward to reject her offer and not used to anyone in his class willingly interacting with him. Granted Rion inevitably made an even bigger mess of his appearance, but he didn't care. For the first time since his mother’s death, he had found himself having fun, found himself laughing as the pair of them sat on his bathroom floor, dye staining most visible surfaces and all the towels that had the misfortune of being present. While his father was aghast at the mess created he could not deny the happiness emanating from his son, Nikolai had let the matter pass. Ever since then, allowing Rion to dye his hair had become almost ritual. She had gotten much better at it over the years.

Rion continued to stare at him unblinking as he avoided making eye contact. He could feel her gaze burning a hole through his skull.  Seconds stretched out endlessly, almost agonizingly.

‘You're scared about playing for the King.’  The heavy silence between them broke as the pieces clicked together in her mind.

Keeping his breathing even took more effort than any riff he had ever played.

‘You’re worried that if you refuse, they might think you’re a Charmer.’ Another fact.

Her words felt like a vice curling around his chest. Every intake of air harder than the last as he desperately tried to draw oxygen into his lungs.

She was going to find out. She was going to leave him. It was over. He would be alone again. He wouldn’t be able to play his violin ever again. Shewasgoingtofindout. Shewasgoingtoleavehim. Itwasover. Hewouldbealoneagain. Hewouldn’tbeabletoplayhisviolineveragain. 

It’sover.It’sover.It’sover.It’sover.It’sover.It’sover.It’sover.It’s–

‘Atlas– Atlas! Breathe damn it! It'll be fine!’ Grabbing his wrists, she forced him to look into her eyes as she tried to snap him out of the spiral pulling him under. The skin contact was jarring enough to pull him back to the surface. He hadn’t registered her getting up and kneeling on the floor in front of him.

         ‘How can it be fine?’ Atlas whispered, finally locking his gaze with hers, ‘They could maim me, Rion.’

         ‘Only if you’re a Charmer. You’ll be fine, they can test you and they’ll see that there is nothing to worry about.’ Her tone was quiet and steady in her attempt to reason with him.

         ‘It's not okay.’ His voice desperate and soft. He dropped his face into his hands, Rion provided no resistance, allowing him to pull his wrists out of her clutch, aware from experience that forcing contact on him would be the worst thing to do at that moment.

He was starting to feel lightheaded.

         Another stretch of silence. Rion didn’t break it this time, giving him the chance to offer up his fear willingly.

         Looking up, golden-slitted eyes wide and scared. ‘I can't.’ The words sounded like they were coming from someone else.

         ‘Atlas, you were meant for this. You live for your violin. I see you when you play, it's like you're in another world. You compose like a madman. You live for music, you're twenty-six. No one is going to think you’re a Charmer. Most of them are caught by the time they are fourteen! It's not like you have to worry about it anyway!’

         ‘I do have to worry!’ 

         ‘Why? Why do you have to worry? Talk to me!’ She all but begged. 

‘I have to worry, I have to worry because I'm a Charmer.’ the admission caught like hot tar in his throat breaking on its way out. ‘I’m a Charmer,’ he whispered. ‘I’m a Charmer, and if I play that show for the King, it's the last show I’ll ever play.’  

Rion stared at her best friend stunned, eyes wide with shock. A moment passed. Then another. Another.

Rion stood up, sidestepping the piles of paper strewn about with half-translated phrases and scraps of composition, and walked out the door.

The sound of it shutting resonated in a way that felt more final than any note he struck when concluding a symphony.