《minim.》


 Chapter 1: The Peacesmiths Curtain Call

    Eons past, the deity who created all humanity was a benevalent presence. He loved all His creations dearly, shaping various beings to govern domains He had formed to ensure that everything was smooth sailing and to the comfort of those He had made to populate the lands.


    Imbuing His creations with creativity and passion, a being was formed from such beliefs: an imp whose hypnotic voice and movements influenced the emotions of those around it. It was widely believed that the imp had taught humans to appreciate and create song and dance, and often came in between the feuding as a mediator by being summoned by a melody that allowed it to transform between a form more suited to speaking and a form that involved more body movement.


    This however changed when the deity''s creations began to discover more negative emotions such as greed and wrath, and the imp began to lose their abilities when more and more conflicts arose and they were unable to perform their intended purpose of mediating and deescalating them. As countless wars sprouted from the horizon, the weakened imp could only watch helplessly as the deity, berserk from grief and rage, sought to destroy and reset everything He had created: including it. The deity set forth an enormous sonic blast that would then wipe out all of humanity, believing that His creation had been a mistake and the imp, caught in the blast, was shattered into two splinters, falling into the earth and no longer able to reconcile with the knowledge that it had failed its master.


    The song that had been used to summon the imp who mediated conflict was lost, and its name faded into obscurity. Perhaps, one day, someone would be able to piece the fragments together, provided they were able to find them...and hopefully, one day, the imp would be whole again.


    The man shut the book, looking up to the three young ones staring back at him: a scrawny, bespectacled man with tousled hair in a wheelchair, a lanky and tan man that had begun playing with his cane while the story was being told and a much smaller, long-haired woman with bicolored pupils who fidgeted almost guiltily at the glance directed her way.


    "This is the only fairytale about music, and even then, it''s woefully incomplete," sighed the librarian, putting the hefty tome away, "Why, though? It didn''t strike me that the lot of you would be interested in stories like this." The woman piped up to say something before being interrupted by the tan man''s immediate whining.


    "Daaaaad," he grumbled, giving his best puppy dog eyes, "Are you sure the Old Sea Map only tells you that? You''re the Archivist! That means you inherited every legend about every Chosen out there. It can''t be nothing about music, right?" He clasped his hands together with a pout, staring back up at the older man, who blinked slowly with his pupilless blue eyes at his son''s pleading.


    "Even then...it was probably lost. The imp was one of the beings who had become obsolete. She might not even be eligible or sane enough to pick a Chosen," he weakly protested, deflating instantly as he pushed his glasses back up his nosebridge, "I wouldn''t know how these work. I just inherited these and am studying them as I speak...after all, I''m not that omnipotent, Chasik." Chasik drooped at this denial, sinking back into his chair as the librarian packed the rest of his tomes away.


    The Chosen was an iffy subject, really, and the three of them knew that. It was widely believed and then confirmed that the deity''s will had persisted, and the beings He had created to govern various domains often chose champions known as Chosen to inherit their mantle, granting them godlike abilities.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Chasik''s father Wonyoung had inherited the mantle of the Archivist, which allowed him the knowledge of all the Chosen that existed in the world as well as any legends that may assist a fledgling Chosen to forge their own path. For the imp, the Peacesmith as she was now newly named, there was apparently no information beyond how she had died, which was the least helpful for the three of them now.


    The tousled-haired man sighed from his seat, ruffling his hair. "Maybe if I wrote it out, it could help?" he suggested, only to gain a shake of the head from his companions. He sank in his seat at the protests, and the girl huffed, standing up abruptly before glancing around the library and declaring that they couldn''t just be sitting idle like this. They put their heads together, muttering for a few moments as Wonyoung glanced at them through the window of his office.


    Jinmok was a pianist, and an exceptionally gifted one at that. He only performed to audiences and never competed, however, but a recent outing saw him come under heavy criticism as people began getting overly invested in his pieces to the point of giving usually sane individuals breakdowns, which was squarely blamed on him. While Jinmok knew that he was able to move audiences in certain ways with his music, this hadn''t happened before, and this worried him more than he would admit...and this was where Yooseul and Chasik came in.


    Yooseul, as usual, was just one of her many aliases. Most were more familiar with her actual name of Minkwan, but after being exposed of having affiliation with the chaotic, treasonous scientist Gwangseob, Yooseul had figured a name change and laying low was prudent. This was when Jinmok had wandered into her life as an exchange student who pleaded for help about his performances being too effective, and Yooseul''s curious self couldn''t afford to pass up a mystery like that.


    Chasik, however, was the wildcard of the trio. As Yooseul''s childhood friend and one of Wonyoung''s adoptive children, he held all the cards that may or may not lead them anywhere, and had suggested his father''s expertise on the matter, so here they were. He was far too naive though, and Yooseul knew better than to trust him with anything of value unless she wanted it broadcasted to the world.


    As things were, though, Jinmok''s eyes roved to the display piano in the middle of the library, usually kept under lock and key. "Please," he insisted to Wonyoung, who merely stared back at him, "I can prove what I mean if you let me play. It''ll be easier to get my point across." Wonyoung blinked once, slowly, before giving an exhale and indicating he could go ahead. Jinmok''s determined glare faded into something much more uncertain as he rolled up to the piano, feeling the keys with a familiar motion before giving a whisper of "I''m sorry" to the instrument as though it was alive.


    He cast a worried glance to Yooseul and Chasik, who both gave thumbs ups as he squeezed his eyes shut, hands poised over the piano before he began to play, a haunting melody that had recurred in his dreams since the initial performance, and as the walls began to shudder with his motions, a strange, wispy form seem to reveal itself above the piano, piroutting cheerily to the rhythm before Jinmok stopped abruptly, taking in the strange creature for the first time.


    "You--" he sputtered, watching the creature turn to stare at him with curious eyes as its gaze roved to the others in the room before it seemed to dissipate: both Yooseul and Chasik seemed to be entirely frozen in place while Wonyoung scowled from his end of the room, unaffected by the music before the glove on his right hand transformed into a lance: like all Archivists before him, Wonyoung was gifted with the ability to transform any item he touched into virtually anything else, and he strode forth from the door, his gaze firmly locked on the shivering Jinmok''s form.


    Jinmok whimpered, eyes beginning to water as he released his hands from the keys, the accusation ringing out from the library and seeming to break the trance his friends had been in:


    "What...have you done?"

 Chapter 2: Origins

    6 months ago.


    "Jinmok, would you mind showing the class what you''ve composed?" the teacher suggested, directing a cordial smile to the man paying rapt attention at the far end of the room. The class groaned as he rolled forward in his wheelchair, grinning brightly at showing off his latest piece to the rest of his students.


    It was just one of many hurdles for him after recovering from brain surgery to remove a tumor, and he was eager to get back into the swing of things. Sure, he couldn''t quite see as well anymore and he couldn''t walk a few steps without falling over, but he was alive and ready to finish his Master''s in classical music. It was why he''d returned, after all. He poises himself in front of the piano, as he''d done a thousand times before and begins to play, barely even looking at the notes he''d put in front of him for reference.


    He had heard this tune in his mind as he slept after the surgery, unconscious as he was. It was discordant, as though it was a cry of help, repeating and growing slightly longer as each day passed. The tune haunted him even as he woke, his dreams remaining plagued by the strange melody that beckoned to him. He soon put pen to paper and created what he had heard throughout, the tune of his fever dream after returning from the brink. As his fingers fly across the keys, he could feel the rhythm thrumming around him and it relaxed him, but something seemed terribly wrong as his teacher continued to stare quizzically at him.


    "Well?" she asked, curious and with a nervous smile on his face, "Will you play?"


    Jinmok blinked at the interruption, curling both hands into fists. He hated being interrupted. It made him lose his train of thought.


    "I am, ma''am," he grit out, allowing an edge to creep into his usually soft voice, "I''d appreciate if you not interrupt me."


    Murmurs rose from the class at his response as he returned to his position before the keys, continuing to tinker away at it. He could hear it all coming together already, a soothing tune that lifted the spirits but the teacher raised a hand to interject.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Jinmok, you''re not playing anything--" she began, before someone at the front of the class began to violently throw up, collapsing to the ground.


    The rest of the class began to scatter in panic as Jinmok continued his tune, fleeing from him and screaming as though being plagued by a sudden fear, and it was only when he felt the tune had come to an end that Jinmok returned to himself, surveying the class and noticing his teacher staring at him with a completely blank expression as though paralysed on the spot.


    He startled at this, realising how the rest were reacting to him and the tune he''d just played before withdrawing his hands to cup it over his ears. The tune was still going. It was playing by itself, the keys pressing themselves as it persisted before it was abruptly cut short by the strings being severed from within. From the window fluttered Yooseul, sporting a set of spiked pink wings, and she landed comfortably atop the piano before offering Jinmok her hand.


    Jinmok startled at this, and as he took her in- or rather, her true form- his panic faded and soon he stared agape as she slid down from her perch, landing silently on both feet. He didn''t really know her as much as he would''ve wanted to. All he knew was that she was interested in languages, and they had co-founded a cultural club together. He didn''t know that she was...well...he glanced at her before averting his eyes when her wings folded back into her body like a ship''s mast being lowered, and she turned back to him on her heel with a smug stare.


    "You owe me big-time," she complained, waggling a finger towards him, "Can you fly? We need to bail, they called security when I jumped up from the field."


    He stiffly shook his head, as though baffled by the question. For all intent and purpose, the most astounding thing he did was perform at the tender age of ten to a full house of classical music enthusiasts around the world. Not...superpowers, and certainly not mutanthood either. Yooseul sighed, taking off her backpack before sliding a strange disk over the back of his chair.


    From in front of him, two controllers popped out, which Yooseul jerked forward to send his chair through the window. Jinmok screamed as he felt his center of gravity shift, quickly seizing control of the joysticks before he would fall before belatedly realising that he was suspended in midair. Somehow, he was floating. He shakily assumed control of the two joysticks, watching from the classroom window as people began filing up before Yooseul directed him downwards, which he dutifully followed.