In a non-existence place a golden baton rose and fell in a steady beat; one, two, three, four. A pale hand gripped the handle with leisure, her eyes white with blindness, watching the invisible sheets of music pass before her. She watched as the dainty strings played the soothing melodies of milky way, the woodwinds twinkle out the shining stars, the steady beating of the percussion section marking each revolution of the planet. This woman, Lining, kept this orchestra of the Universe going, flipping through her unwritten score that lay on a stand that sat no where.

Lining, raising her baton from the count of four to the new count of one paused. The entire orchestra faltered, expect perhaps one; a lone violin playing something that was apart from all the rest. Lining's hesitation only lasted for a moment, sternly directing all to play again, even the lone musician.

Lining ponders as she conducts, something she has not done for many centuries. How odd those humans are, how odd those dimentionals are! She wonders what is truly going on as the dimensionals were all in a riot.

'How silly' was her thought, though, deep inside, she could feel something that had hibernated in her for long. Lining could no longer do what she had done long ago, it was in the hands of the other's now.

The normal hustle of bustle of activity of earth was trading from the east to the west as the earth revolved upon its axis. It was here, on this little planet that all dimensionals started from; as mere humans. It was also here, that the hiccup had originated as well. The city of New York, the big apple, was where many dimensionals were located and often converged together during councils. Of late, these meetings and convergences were less and less often as a rift has appeared among them. Half of which believed that the song has become corrupted and chaotic, wanting to start anew. On the other side of that rift were those who fought to protect the Conductor and the song.

Skirmishes between the two sides were few, and often overlooked by those that were unaware; humans. Both were often busy, one running around the world, looking for the secret of discovering the space where the song was writing, and the other attending to their original purpose; to help those unaware avoid complete catastrophic events.

However, more recently, the one side seeking to destroy and rewrite the song (Now calling themselves the Composers) were getting close to the secrets of the universe. It is only a matter of time before they have unlocked the final piece of the puzzle.

The Dimensionals still true to their duty have been strained in numbers, several of them abandoning the Unawares to perhaps delay the Composers or convince them of their wrongs.

On the corner of two rather busy streets, it was quite cold on this rush-hour morning. Somewhere, the shrill ringing of a high E-flat rings; an up-coming disaster was to take place.

Footsteps echoed in the starlit void that was the plane of existence or rather existence's mirror image. A tall man covered in white plate strode forth, his footfalls eager and quick. For too long had he wandered these limitless halls searching but the fruit his labors would bear would be worth all of it and more. The screams of countless and the blood of corrupted humanity watered the soil that would nourish the soil that order grew in. And with that order he would cut down the Conductor and write anew the Symphony of Existence.

You are getting ahead of yourself Jamie Lannister, first order must be allowed to flourish before it will supply the ink I will compose with. He chided himself before stopping. Taking in the vista of the starlight void with an eye that spoke volumes He lowered his head as if in prayer. For a few moments he did this until he could hear it echoing in his mind more then his ears. The discordant sonata sinful humanity had turned the once beautiful Symphony of Existence. It's sour notes hung heavy with sin and corruption and Jamie's anger. Conductor you are truly deaf if you can not hear the foulness in your song. How can you go on playing such a piece when all it would take is a revision to return the sweetness that life truly is and should be. Humanity does not deserve to have it's life preserved if all it is capable of it is turning sweetness to foulness, turn innocence into sin, and corrupt the very air we breathe. We are mindless savages capable of only war and cowardice. Conductor I will find the last secrets and use them to cut your heart out. Then you will see a true master as I fix your mistakes, this I swear by Heart, Soul, and Blade.


Jamie uttered this oath once a day, more out of a sense of fatalism or duty then a an actual hope the Conductor heard him. Often though the Knight thought of slaying the Conductor first then searching for the answers. But duty kept him searching, the Universe deserve a true new beginning, and for that to happen even the memory of humanity must be wiped from the Symphony of Existence.

" To know how to move in an instant."

From their perch atop the swirled white marble steps, a pair of dark brown eyes stared intently into the faceless crowd, seemingly unblinking, much like the orange-and-white feline guardian of that odd little music shop a few blocks away. They watched the seamless flow of lifeless humanity, a greyscale image of boring monotony flecked with flashes of vivid colour--imagination. The eyes, perhaps the colour of a perfectly-aged Stradivarius, finally closed with a slow exhalation of content, allowing the symphony around her to make itself known to patient ears. Shrill car horns weaved haphazardly over a percussive melody of rumbling engines, harmonized by the hushed murmur of human voices, lead by the staccato clack! of one woman's impossibly tall shoes against the cemented pavement. The sounds of the city mixed with strains of a higher, steadier Music, barely audible to one long practiced with locating its often-changing melody. A breath was held in anticipation, waiting, waiting for it to happen, a disaster, a conflict, a mortal catastrophe prophesied by the subtle shifts in the chords, the keys, a keening E-flat joined soon after by a G, then a B-flat, only to lapse into a diminished, unfinished chord. Anticipation. Tension. The air grew taught for the faintest of seconds, the stirrings of a disturbance in the Music, tangible only to those set to guard the foolish sheep meandering listlessly about their oh-so beautiful world, and then, just then, when she wished to make the jarring, clashing notes end, to speed up the chord until it found resolution... it happened.

A car horn sounded in the dead air, obscuring all other sound, until it died away, lamenting the fallen, the soon-to-fall on this battlefield of heartless stone, metal, and poison. The crash, the moment of impact, flashed in front of blind, Unaware eyes, those who would not watch the happenings of the world around them, too absorbed in the repetitious rhythms of their own pitiful lives, save the one who always watched each beautiful, horrific tragedy, unable to look away. Acrid smoke rose high into the translucent sky, wavering as a gust of wind whisked it away to places unknown, a clear sign of trouble for even the most self-absorbed people. Yet only those hideous yellow-and-black taxis and their larger public-bus cousins took notice with angry screams of horns and grumbling motors. Surely, out of the hundreds passing by, rushing, uncaring, someone would act other than pointedly ignoring the wreckage of what was once a young female cyclist and two cars, or gaping open-mouthed like some sort of dying fish. Surely, someone would dial for an ambulance, a fire truck, a police car, anything, using those strange magic devices. Surely, someone would reverently remove the casing of a violin once played beautifully by a young girl from amongst the burning debris, the scarred metal. Even as the scene slowed to a reluctant halt, Rianel pushed herself to sneakered feet that would offer little protection against the glass and rubble, her clothing paper-thin against the impatient metal machines growling furiously around her, her powers unable to stop a life from being lost, only enabling her to stop it from becoming worse.

This was only the beginning, as the silence, the absence of music, rests, lost themselves against a low, aching tremolo. This was only the beginning...