Dimensional Descent

So, that was what Leonel did. Not standing on ceremony, he pilfered everything he could find, hoping that he would make some sort of breakthrough. But, for the first time, it actually came quite slow to him.

He didn’t understand much about music theory. What made notes sound good together, what was harmony, he didn’t even know what a scale was.

Music wasn’t really a path followed in the Dimensional Verse, maybe because it was too complex, or maybe because many didn’t really see a point. There seemed to be a Force for everything, but there was no such thing as “Music Force”, the same way there was no such thing as “Art Force” or “Painting Force”.

​ Instead, such existences were amalgamations of other Force applied in seemingly useless ways.

Music Force was just a different application of vibrational Forces that sounded good to the ear, but there was no set ‘Music Force’. Rather, there was no such thing at all. It was a seemingly silly application of something that was otherwise greatly useful.

The Dwarven Race, however, was able to break through this uselessness and find something far deeper hidden within, and this was what greatly fascinated Leonel. At the same time, it taught him a valuable lesson.

Leonel didn’t like wasting time on things that didn’t seem to make logical sense to him. If it couldn’t be explained, then it was a mostly useless endeavor. This sort of philosophy governed most of the things he did, even down to his own moral doctrines and how he valued life itself.

However, if Leonel were to make a guess at how exactly the Dwarven Race had stumbled onto such a wonderful Force Art language, he would have to admit that there was no way they had seen the truth from the very beginning.

In all likelihood, the Dwarven people only sang because they liked it, they formed their homes with acoustics in mind because they loved it, they had researched music to its very end, despite its “uselessness”, purely because they had a passion for it.

Then, like on a day many years ago, one of their greatest geniuses or maybe even a collection of them, finally made the breakthrough that allowed the race to place their stamp on the Dimensional Verse and protect themselves.

Who knew how many generations it had taken? If Leonel had been among their people, he would have probably been among the first to say just how much of a waste of time it was.

But could he say this now? Of course not!

Leonel wondered just how many things could be like this? But he also wondered just how many useless things would never shine in this way in the end?

‘Was it that they wouldn’t shine…? Or was it that there was never someone great enough born with enough accumulation and investment to their back, to force it to…?’

Leonel wasn’t sure what the answer was. Were all things inherently useful or useless? Or could everything be made useful so long as the greatest extremes were taken? He truly didn’t know. He could only find himself suddenly staring ahead at a blank road.

Even when his uncle sat him down to pass down something his grandfather had likely spent a lifetime perfecting, his first thought was to run away.

“Aina, do I not take things seriously enough?” Leonel asked.

Aina blinked, not answering immediately.

Leonel was, indeed, sometimes too free of a spirit. The only time he really got serious about anything was when he was mad or enraged by something, and these days, the only thing that could push him over the edge like that were things related to Aina.

Even when his father was threatened by Micaarth, Leonel was necessarily enraged. His gaze went cold, but at best, he just focused a bit more. Leonel’s belief in his own father was simply far too high and far too great. Someone like Micarth taking his father’s life was far too much of a joke, he didn’t even care enough to muster the energy to get mad.

Of course, if Micarth had been a member of the Three Finger Cult, it would be a different matter entirely. Leonel had never seen his dad be anything other than a sarcastic prankster all his life. The old man seemed to only have a single constant mood. But…

Leonel would never forget the look in his father’s eyes when he said those three words. The rage, the fury, the willingness to watch the world burn.

This was precisely why Leonel lost control of his temper when he learned that the Three Finger Cult was present, to the point that he didn’t rest until he had killed them all.

But, what about when Leonel wasn’t enraged? Or, what about when the lives of those he cared about weren’t on the line?

“It’s not that you don’t take things seriously enough, it’s that there’s nothing you take seriously at all. With that head of yours, you think that there doesn’t exist a situation you can’t think your way out of, and maybe that’s true. To have that sort of ingrained confidence isn’t something most others could hope to have, it’s just that you have too much of it, and the only person who can seem to put a lid on that confidence of yours is your dad.”

Aina hadn’t understood this initially, as she too was confused about why it was that it only took a word from Leonel’s father for him to suddenly do a 180 and even kiss her.

However, after connecting to Leonel’s mind again and again, and seeing how he thought, it finally clicked for her.

“In truth, I feel that the reason you were so easily able to abandon me is that you never doubted your ability to win me back when you were ready. Maybe you never thought about it in so many words—”

Aina’s gaze shifted toward Leonel, a half threatening light within them. If Leonel had so explicitly thought such a thing, she would definitely teach him a lesson… even if it might have been true.

“—but it’s not normal for someone to so release their hold on their emotions so easily unless there was such a reason.”

Too confident? What was he supposed to do about that, exactly?

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