Chapter 1: The Weight of Monotony

Their repetitive tasks dragged on, and they discovered that the dullness only deepened their mental anguish. Feeling unsettled and despondent, they often retreated to the privacy of their carser, where their discussions about the performance could not be overheard. "But... how do we know if this is just an embellishment?" Renald pondered during dinner one evening. "Could it really be true?" He was perplexed and kept returning to the same thought: what made music so potent?

Tensy grew increasingly anxious. "If only Breldon had shared his entire library with us. Perhaps then we would have understood what we were facing—assuming her entire history was documented—and we might never have left those woods." Unspoken worries lingered about Helda and Geldon, who had remained absent from their lives.

Calypsia, however, had a different perspective. There had to be a way to inform Alna of everything! But how could they manage that without knowing her whereabouts? Tensions flared between Terri and Renald. "If he is her father and the original man, then why does he appear so youthful? He’s barely past his forties! Yet you insist this tale is centuries old?"

The recorder shrugged. "There’s a force at play here that none of us can fully grasp. I can't explain his youth, nor can I say whether the methods used by librologists to extend life were known or even discovered in this era." The botanist crossed her arms. "Are you going to share this method with us?" "No," Renald replied sharply. "It's forbidden."

"Don’t some believe that music possesses a timeless power?" Tensy interjected, her innocent wisdom shining through. Silence enveloped the group, prompting her to continue. "Consider this: we have music in our village that is quite old. And what about that town we visited? Perhaps those melodies were ancient too! Or maybe," she said with a shrug, "it has to do with something beyond explanation… so why worry?"

Yet worry they did. They argued fervently, offering theories about the extraordinary strength of the woman's music. "Renald," Calypsia asked, surprising everyone with her sudden engagement, "do we know exactly when these towns were established?" The recorder paused for thought, but the meal went largely untouched.

"If I were to guess, most towns in this region emerged after the last great war. Now, reflecting on the spectacle we witnessed the other day, it may not have happened here. It seems likely that while the father and the Woman hail from this area, they might not belong to it. And consider this: this town may not even be Knoates. It could be solely the father's origin. To answer your question, Calypsia: I would estimate that towns like yours were indeed founded post-war."

"Further east, as I mentioned before, lie vast urban centers and communities. It’s not something anyone would relish witnessing. There are only the remnants of ancient structures and sprawling cemeteries. Even though things are different and arguably better out here, the woods may appeal more to the Silvas folk than small villages. What devastation might have driven them from their homes long ago?"

They all pondered this and eventually succumbed to sleep. Calypsia disagreed with the notion that this town couldn't be Knoates; after all, what about that peculiar fountain? If it was indeed Knoates, what historical events might have been lost to time? The following morning, their questions would spark anew, beginning with the catacombs of the grand building. The time for creating and binding books had come to an end; the group would now be tasked with something entirely different.

"What? Illustrating?" Tensy exclaimed, staring incredulously at the woman in the peculiar grey cloak who had brought an assortment of quills and ink to their table. "As practice," she replied. "And practice leads to perfection." The trio of young women frowned, while Renald was nearly at his wit's end; he had years of experience. "Technically," he whispered as the woman exited, "I could teach you all."

The tools were challenging to manipulate. One had to hold them just right, or the strokes would easily become smudged or chaotic. Thus, they needed to portray an object or figure with either exaggerated detail or minimalistic touches. They opted for the latter, being novices.

"Renald, that doesn’t look anything like a horse!" Terri exclaimed, exasperated, while Tensy erupted in laughter.

"Practice is what leads to mastery," he shot back. "Oh, how Scribe would scold me." They continued to sketch each other, struggling to capture the precise shade of green for Terri's cloak or to depict a Knight of Knoates from memory.

Days passed in this manner. Then one afternoon, after their lunch break, a woman entered the catacombs with a stack of leather-bound parchments. Calypsia recognized her as the musician from the tales shared weeks prior. "More practice, or so I'm instructed to inform you," she said nervously, appearing not much older than them, with unremarkable features.

"What now? Words?" Tensy spat again, weary and frustrated. But then they noticed something: amidst the dust and cobwebs of the worn animal-hide pages, some images looked familiar. There was a Knight of Knoates, tumbling over a figure from the Order of the Dragon. There was a man in a black robe on a crimson steed, surrounded by five others on foot. And there was a collection of three young women in a copyist's workshop, with another in the center, cradling a curved string instrument.

"Is that…?" Calypsia began, astonished. The realization hit her, accompanied by other thoughts. They could easily miscopy everything. Yet wisdom soon followed. How could they ensure that future generations would know the truth? If they made mistakes, wouldn't that lead to complications in the years to come?

Even Renald looked taken aback and anxious. He shook his head, dread evident in his voice. "In all the stories I’ve transcribed and studied, nothing compares to the oddity of our current situation." None understood. "But Renald," Terri protested, "if we are documenting all of this (presumably for the town's history or to be sent to the Isles of Files), why don’t you or any of us know about them?"

The recorder simply shook his head. "Time will tell, but even that may no longer be certain." All they could do was illustrate and copy… and hope that William, Helda, Geldon, and Alna found themselves in less bewildering circumstances than their own.

Chapter 2: The Power of Music

The first video, "8Dio Century Ostinato Strings II - Advanced Patterns," delves into the intricate musical techniques that can heighten the emotional impact of a story. This serves as a parallel to the characters' explorations of music's profound influence.

Chapter 3: A Strange Encounter

The second video, "We Were Here Together with My Bro: Chapter 6 - Strange Encounter The Alchemist Spire path," showcases a narrative filled with mystery and unexpected turns, reflecting the uncertainty and curiosity the characters face in their own journey.