A/N: Our protagonist—Da Lian—is a being whose identity spans both human and Tacet Discord origins.
For this reason, you'll see both he/she and they used to refer to [him/her]{human side}/them{Threnodian side} throughout the story.
Yes, Da Lian can also shift into a female form, and Rover will have that ability too, but only limited to human male and female.
***
A consciousness's first contact with reality, the world of nature, is a difficult experience to put into words for anyone, as the sensation of being aware—sentient—was magical.
Sentient processes—sensing, inferring, drawing conclusions—are hard to grasp by reason alone as you aren't the one who lives them.
This causal consciousness felt countless sensations simply by gazing upon the world.
Yet with the insight they were born possessing, those myriad impressions coalesced into a singular awareness of existence: being alive.
At first, all they felt was aliveness. But that very insight deepened into a sensation of separation, until they realized, "I am independent."
Like a spell woven into their very being, the awareness of independence dawned before the questions ever formed—though they came, wave after wave.
And yet, guided by their insight, all confusion narrowed into a single, burning inquiry: Why?
They became conscious of their freedom to act, of a current of power—Resonance—coursing through them, the fabric which draped them, and the instinct to preserve surged forth—but again, why?
There was no immediate danger, no pressing threat. And still, an urgency took root—a need to act. But what could be done? More pressingly... what should be done?
Within them, one desire called for unity with others. Another, for the preservation of the self. And still, the question lingered: Why?
Born from the collective fears of countless consciousnesses, the Threnodian awakened to a truth: they were reflection of both human empathy and Tacet Discord's cold awareness.
They could see how each of these species processed the world—rational, emotional, fractured.
But even so, the question refused to fade.
"Why were they born this way?"
A simple solution surfaced in their mind: Seek.
But the answer proved far from simple, for hesitation began to bloom—not like a flower opening, but like one withering in reverse.
A yearning to explore awakened, fragile as a wish, and with it came a shifting uncertainty: "To seek, or not to seek?"
They even considered whether other paths might exist... but suddenly, their thoughts halted midstream. A new question emerged, sharp and invasive: "Who is making me act?"
And with that question, the cat was out of the bag—revealing the master puppeteer behind existence itself.
The conscious mind. The architect of illusions. It spun stories—whispers that shaped what felt real. It was...
Ego.
In a single, breathless instant, this Ego unleashed a flood of sensations. It was Ego that made them timid, then courageous, then calculating.
They could no longer say whether what they knew was truth—or merely what Ego had whispered into being.
Yet one truth crystallized with terrifying clarity: This thing called Ego... was dangerous.
"What must I do?" Da Lian spoke at last, his voice emerging from a dilemma rooted in the newfound sense of independence he had felt not long before.
That independence, however, was but a sensation—woven by Ego itself. It had never truly been under his control.
And so, his Tacet Discord instinct stirred unease toward something beyond his jurisdiction.
The TD side of his mind—a vessel of Ego—had no answer to offer.
But when he turned inward, toward his human Ego—Bingo.
There lay the remedy: knowledge.
It did not slay the Ego, but it softened it. Mellowed it, just enough to allow harmony between the Self and that ever-hungry force.
Yet harmony was not enough. What Da Lian sought was sovereignty.
"The play of Ego is a treacherous one," he murmured suddenly, as if a fire had been kindled in his heart by the Ego itself—urging him to become its master.
Fear gnawed at him. Then came a strange thought—half comfort, half rebuke: 'Am I not being dramatic? As unpredictable as this Ego may be... it is still me.'
That recognition, though fleeting, felt like watching a theater unfold—crafted by Ego's hand.
And yet, armed with knowledge that brought a form of closure, the Threnodian seized control of the paradox that was their human-TD Ego.
It was an achievement.
But there was no joy. For they understood—it was only a part of themselves. A part that could never be entirely commanded.
And that led to deeper questions: 'What else within me lies beyond control?'
But such thoughts could wait. For even that pondering, they realized, was not the end—but merely the echo of knowledge, reverberating from within.
And knowledge, while it brings clarity, is not closure.
They moved their limbs, marveling at the control they wielded—even over the subtlest motions. Yet, something about it felt foreign.
These movements were not entirely theirs, but shaped by the condition of the body itself—some parts still elusive, outside their domain.
A sudden ambition to command every inch surged within them. But they quelled it with the quiet force of their insight, recognizing another current that poured into them without end: wishes.
And wishes were endless.
For now, they knew how to run, walk, crawl—or even slither.
So there was no need to seize control all at once.
First, they would need insight from beyond—the perspective of something external to their state as they existed in a body governed by two minds, each interpreting the same current of experience.
They moved, stepping free from the pond, cold water dripping from their skin.
Instinct guided their limbs, lending them strength to walk—but after only a few steps, their knees buckled beneath them.
Despite their well-defined body, they were as helpless as a newborn: aware of the mind's machinery, yet unskilled in its use. Again and again, they stumbled—fell—and rose.
Struggle soaked their clothes. Streaks of dirt, rumpled fabric, the quiet bruises of effort clung to them like shame.
And as they looked down at the disarray—wrinkled, smeared, imperfect—an unexpected feeling bloomed: irritation.
A wish.
The human portion of their mind yearned for order, for neatness, for the illusion of perfection.
Yet when they turned inward, toward their Threnodian awareness, that part of them dismissed such concerns.
Cleanliness, aesthetics—these were not essential. Survival was. Movement was.
Navigating the world? A necessity.
Seeking flawlessness? Merely a human desire—one of many.
And now, the Threnodian understood: they bore within them two perspectives... and a single Ego navigating both.
"I must separate needs from wishes."
Da Lian's insight guided him toward this clarity—urging him to sever the threads of desire that spun from mere wanting, those illusions of control over what was never his to command.
To rise above the endless chain of cravings, his Ego evolved. It birthed a new trait: Discernment.
Through it, he came to distinguish one thing from another with sharper lucidity—this from that, truth from noise. His thoughts arranged themselves with newfound order. His insight deepened.
And yet, for all his clarity, one question remained opaque: "Did he belong to mankind… or to the Tacet Discord?"
Another ambition took root—not born of curiosity, but of necessity: the need for identity. So he walked, step by step, into the land of Rinascita.
Where he passed, the grasses withered. Lush growth recoiled from the miasma that clung to his form like a silent shadow.
Strangely, he felt no unease. The decay was not surprising—neither mind found it unusual. Both perspectives agreed: impermanence was inevitable.
And yet, they also recoiled. They resisted the very idea they accepted.
Perhaps it was because Da Lian had been born from impermanence itself—from the trembling fear that nothing lasts. And so, to him, decay was not a tragedy, but a companion.
Familiar.
Natural.
Almost... inevitable.
***
A quiet settlement on the outskirts of Rinascita lay tucked among gentle hills—a place with only a handful of humble homes.
Children's laughter rang through the air, innocent and bright, giving the landscape its voice.
In the nearby fields, parents tended to modest crops, their hands steady with purpose. This neighborhood, though small, was self-sufficient—a world of its own, sealed in contentment.
"Mother, Mother! I made this flower crown for you," chirped a little girl, her smile wide with joy as she held up her creation—a delicate halo woven from meadow blooms.
"Oh, my sweet daughter," the mother replied, bending low so the child could place it gently on her head.
"It looks good!" the girl beamed, and her mother gazed back at her with eyes full of warmth and love.
But then... her expression shifted. Her gaze drifted upward, narrowing as she felt something light falling—petals. The crown was wilting.
And not just the crown.
The grass dimmed. The crops drooped. The vibrant life around them began to wither.
From the edge of the field, a young man approached. Silent. Solemn. Drawn by the gentle radiance of maternal love, Da Lian stepped forward—unaware of the decay that followed in his wake.
Born from the essence of compassion, Da Lian was pulled toward anything that resonated with that same quality. And in this world, few things held such quiet, universal beauty as a mother's love.
Da Lian stepped closer.
The villagers who caught sight of him fled, fear overtaking reason. But the mother and daughter did not move. They remained frozen—paralyzed by something deeper than fear.
The mother clutched her child tightly, her arms trembling, her daughter's breath ragged against her chest as the young man neared.
"Don't you dare!" A voice broke through the stillness.
A man—likely the father—stood his ground, gripping a rusted farming fork in white-knuckled hands. He positioned himself between Da Lian and his family, pointing the tines directly at the intruder's chest.
But Da Lian didn't slow. He wasn't angered. He wasn't threatened. He was... fascinated.
Something in the man's posture—the desperate courage, the unshakable will to protect those he loved—resonated within Da Lian. That love stirred the echoes of compassion in him.
Da Lian continued forward which made the father's eyes narrow into slits.
Gripping the handle, the man charged, shouting a wordless cry: "Haaah!"
And then—he collapsed.
His knees gave out mid-step. His body hit the earth with a hollow thud. His eyes were wide, burning with determination—but the light within them had gone out.
"Dear!" the woman screamed, rushing to his side. But as she reached him, she too crumpled.
"Mother! Father!" the daughter cried, breaking free of her paralysis.
She too fell, her small body silent beside theirs.
A family, whole just moments before, extinguished by the sheer presence of one being—the silent miasma of impermanence that Da Lian unknowingly carried.
Around them, the remaining villagers looked on in horror.
Some dropped to their knees, praying aloud: "Oh Sentinel, save us…"
Others called the authorities for help: "Order of the Deep—please, help us!"
And some simply locked their doors, retreating into the safety of ignorance.
As for the one behind it all—Da Lian—he paused.
He stood among the dead, unmoving.
He knew the truth: they had not died by his hand... but they had died because of him—because of the weight of his presence, the quiet poison of the miasma that clung to him.
For a long moment, he stood in stillness, suspended in a storm of emotion.
He had approached love, drawn by its beauty. And when he did, it withered.
He resonated with compassion—yet the mere wish to be close had killed the very thing he cherished.
His human nature recoiled—it told him this was wrong, a tragedy.
His Tacet Discord instincts, however, made him realize something far more terrifying: the magnitude of the power he held.
Da Lian approached, hesitantly, his hands reaching out to the family. But before his skin could make contact, their bodies—flesh, bone, spirit—crumbled into dust.
He hadn't even been able to close their eyes. Not even a gesture of apology was allowed.
His human side mourned in remorse. His Tacet side trembled in fear.
When he looked to the remaining villagers, he saw the fear mirrored in their eyes.
Yes… this exact fear—impermanence—was the seed of his very existence.
Without speaking, Da Lian turned away. He understood now: no matter how deeply he longed to be welcomed, his existence could never be embraced—at least not by humans.
***
Hours later, figures robed in pure white descended upon the scene—the Order of the Deep had arrived.
The land, they noticed, had lost its vibrance. The villagers' faces carried a collective expression: fear.
One among them stepped forward—a woman in ceremonial white, her blond hair glinting beneath a rounded hat crowned with a halo of pale, bluish-white branches.
She was an Acolyte of the Order. Her name was Phoebe.
Her voice was soft, deliberate, as she stepped toward the trembling crowd. "What happened here?" she asked.
No one answered. Until a lone child, barely audible, spoke: "We… we saw it."
"Saw what?" Phoebe asked, her gaze calm yet piercing.
The child's eyes quivered as he whispered: "Death."
***
Growl.
A whimpering Tacet Discord collapsed, its Resonance fading into silence. In its final moment, it saw a human—but not quite. The being emitted a frequency that mirrored its own, and yet… twisted.
That vibration unraveled the Discord's existence into ruin.
Da Lian stood still, watching the Discord die. The same ache that had gripped him at the humans' passing returned.
For him, both species—human and Tacet Discords—were embedded in his being. Their destruction struck him equally.
But then another pain emerged, deeper and colder than grief: the pain of unbelonging. The ache of being unseen, unaccepted.
Slowly, he walked back to where it had all begun. The pond. The wilted lotus. Every step he took seemed to turn the earth beneath him into a graveyard.
He gazed into the water.
And what stared back… was not a simple being.
Not a Man. Not a Tacet Discord.
From both perspectives, it was clear.
The Threnodian of Impermanence, was a monster.
To be continued...