Chapter 10: Joy
Oswin clung to the wall standing on the second floor drainage pipe, heart hammering against his ribs.
Below him, the dead waited—dozens of them. Their bloated fists pounded against the brick wall, leaving wet smears where the moss broke through their skin. They didn't snarl or scream. They only stared—empty eyes flicking up toward the second-floor ledge where Oswin and Aria perched.
The Automobile was still there—just across the street.
Their only chance.
If he could reach the crank...
If he could survive long enough to turn it.
His mind scrambled for a plan—any plan. None came. He had no weapons. No way to fight through the swarm. Even if they climbed down, they'd never outrun them.
Aria's small hand reached out, fingers pressing lightly against the makeshift violin bag strapped to Oswin's back. The pressure was faint—barely there—
Oswin's breath caught.
The violin.
He had forgotten it in his panic—left it buried beneath the weight of fear and the pounding fists below.
The Hymns—basic ones—He was a master of music, He could do something.
The Hymns—basic ones—
He was a master of music in his previous life.
He could do something.
Maybe distract them—or something more.
Oswin's mind raced, clawing through the countless Hymns he'd memorized from the book. Notes, lyrics, meanings—etched deep into him from sleepless nights spent studying. The weight of the violin in his hands felt heavier now, no longer just an instrument but a tool—no, a weapon.
His thoughts narrowed, fixating on three Hymns—ones he could use in this peerless situation.
One to conjure water.
One to freeze water.
One to manipulate water.
Individually, they were weak—parlor tricks used by apprentices to practice control. But combined...
Oswin's heart pounded faster.
It might work.
It had to work.
His fingers trembled as they traced along the neck of the violin. He glanced back at Aria—clutching his coat, her face pale beneath the moonlight.
She believed in him.
Even if he didn't believe in himself.
Oswin clenched his jaw. He adjusted the violin against his shoulder, the cold wood pressing against his chin.
He took a slow breath.
And began to play.
Oswin played the violin—a slow, trembling tune like still water—each note delicate, steady. His voice followed, barely above a whisper at first—wavering with fear—but he forced himself to keep singing. No matter how much his heart hammered or how the corpses below clawed at the walls, he could not let his fear seep into the music.
Fifteen agonizing seconds passed.
A ball of water—clear and shimmering—formed in the air before him, no larger than his own head. His breath caught at the sight, but the dampness clinging to his clothes made him realize the cost. His body felt soaked—like he'd been pulled beneath the surface of a lake. His skin prickled, hair sticking to his forehead.
The Hymns made the user part of the element they conjured.
Oswin pushed the thought aside. He couldn't stop.
He shifted the melody—a flowing, winding tune like a gentle stream. His voice rose again, carrying the Hymn forward.
The ball of water stirred—then began to drift forward, slowly, inch by inch. Oswin clenched his teeth as an invisible force seemed to press against his limbs, dragging him down. His arms ached, every movement of the bow like swimming against a raging tide. His legs trembled. His heart pounded in his ears.
The water floated toward the Automobile—toward the crank handle—moving painfully slow.
He felt like he was drowning but he was not actually drowning but he felt like he was—his own body paying the price for bending nature to his will.
Aria's small hand gripped his coat tighter. Her presence steadied him.
Oswin shifted the tune again—a sharp, brittle melody like cracking ice. His voice strained as he sang, breath fogging in the night air. The pain in his limbs sharpened, every note pulling heat from his body. His fingers stiffened on the strings. His breath came out in ragged gasps.
But the water froze—locking the crank handle in a layer of glistening ice.
It worked.
Oswin nearly collapsed, knees buckling, but he forced himself to hold on—his shaking fingers still clutching the violin.
Not yet.
The hardest part was still ahead.
He had frozen the handle crank.
Oswin slumped against the cold brick wall, his chest heaving. His soaked clothes clung to his skin—every breath scraping against his ribs like knives. His body screamed for rest, but the thought of survival—the thin thread of hope—kept his mind from sinking into the numbness.
Aria's small, trembling hand clutched his sleeve. Her eyes glistened in the dim moonlight—wide, flickering between him and the motionless car in the distance.
Oswin couldn't stop now.
He steadied his grip on the violin, forcing his stiff fingers to wrap around the neck once more. His bow hand trembled as he lifted it, the wood slick beneath his frozen fingertips.
One more Hymn.
The song to manipulate water—for the second time..
His voice rose again—hoarse and broken—but steady. The melody wove through the night air, fragile as a spider's thread.
The frozen crank twitched.
Oswin's heart leapt.
It was working.
He pushed harder, dragging the bow across the strings with more force. The ice glimmered under the moonlight—shifting—grinding against the metal as it began to turn. Slowly... painfully... the crank moved—spinning with the ice itself.
Oswin's lungs burned. His arms ached as if they were being wrenched from their sockets. Every second felt like an eternity—his mind trapped between the music and the crushing weight of the Hymn's toll.
Keep going.
The crank spun faster—once... twice...
Oswin's vision blurred. His heart pounded. His whole body felt like it was breaking apart—as if the tide itself was dragging him beneath the surface.
He couldn't last much longer.
But the sound of the engine—
That glorious, sputtering roar—
tore through the night.
The Automobile had started.
Oswin's bow slipped from his fingers.
His body collapsed against the wall, every muscle screaming in agony. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his limbs too heavy to move.
Aria's small sob broke the silence—a muffled cry of joy and sorrow.
Joy for the glimmer of hope—the chance to escape.
Sorrow for her brother—crumbling before her eyes, drained and broken.
She clutched his coat tighter, her body trembling as silent tears streaked down her pale cheeks.
Oswin wanted to comfort her—to tell her he was fine.
But no words came.
All he could do was reach out with a shaking hand—resting it gently on her head.
They had one chance.
The Automobile was running.
Now they just had to reach it—while evading the corpses.