Archive of Our Own ^beta

It is clearest when the world around him is asleep.

Starlo doesn't know exactly when it started, but there were signs of its emergence in the days that followed the grieving. Back then, he thought he was losing his grip on reality, but as he lies awake in bed after another trying night, it finally occurs to him that he isn't going mad from stress.

It is still there: the faint yet distinct melody whispering to him from somewhere.

He first noticed it one of those days when the world around him lost its color. It was another day for the Wild East’s sheriff, North Star, during one of his solo patrols. He stopped by the wishing well just south of town for a break, leaving himself with nothing but silence and his own thoughts. That was when he first heard it: a melody so faint he had to do a double take. Star could not determine the source of the sound or even its general direction, and try as he might, he could not isolate the source or the cause.

It seemed like it was coming straight from the wishing well, but the melody would persist even when he ran far enough to lose sight of the well. His first thought led him to investigate the Wild East's local sound system, but no matter how much he looked into it, his inconclusive findings would leave him more puzzled and exasperated than before.

Throughout the Dunes, the melody continued to haunt him, and he couldn't block it out from his mind. He wouldn't have gone past the West Mines if the Underground's postal service hadn't graciously offered transport services on their end, but even traversing to the frigid ends of Snowdin proved futile—the melody would manifest itself right when he thought he was free from its clutches.

Covering his little rays and obscuring his face only served to amplify the volume of the mysterious melody, and it was then he decided to return to the Feisty Flat for a well-deserved break. Perhaps he was stressed. Perhaps he spent a little too much time basking in the sweltering heat. Yes, that was it. He just needed a refreshing drink to alleviate the symptoms of possible heatstroke, and the auditory hallucinations would die down, giving him some time to breathe and think.

Surprisingly, it worked. Though Adult Soda would have been a more preferable choice, it would not do to loosen up in the middle of his job, so he opted for the usual serving of cold, fizzy root beer. The shade of the Saloon sheltered Star from the desert heat, and the fresh drink quenched his parched throat. He felt relaxed and comfortable in the Saloon, and the melody was drowned out by the usual ambience of cheery conversations and clinking glass against looping background music. Star was at ease for that day, and it would remain that way for the weeks to come.

Alas, it returned one day without warning during one of his unplanned trips to the top of the East Mines. Star happened to remember the boulder dispensers, and he could not help but wonder what to do with them. As he stood by the silent machines, admiring the handiwork of the Hotland engineers, he found himself gazing at the distant Swelterstone, its round shape perfectly visible at his current altitude—any lower and it would have been blinding to the observer. It was a marvel to look at, and he leaned against one of the machines, folding his arms while losing himself in a storm of thoughts once more.

There it was again: the same quiet melody with the same notes as before, playing from somewhere near him. Star glanced around nervously and inspected the machines once more, going so far as to stick his head inside one of them. It would not change for even when he descended from the elevator and strolled through the East Mines, he could not escape the song that made its way to him, defying logic and reason.

The Saloon was his go-to solution, and though it helped for a time, its effectiveness began to wear off like a body developing resistance to medicine taken too frequently. Each time, the melody would be subdued, but it would worm its way into his hearing more quickly than the last, and eventually, he was forced to think up another idea.

Starlo focused on brainstorming for a countermeasure to this ceaseless song, and for days, he was unable to formulate a plan or even a draft of some sort. One day, however, he realized it was too late when his older brother walked up to him with a most curious expression.

“Sometimes, I wonder why you even left at all considering how much you're enjoying this,” Orion commented, eyeing the concentrating farmer.

Starlo raised an eyebrow and frowned, suppressing his confrontational feelings as he turned back to examine the corn stalks and shifted his glasses, replying, “Changed my mind on some things. I still like it better there, but I know I still owe a lot to the family, so…”

They remained quiet for a while until Starlo spoke up again, “Guess I do miss some parts of this old life. How could you tell?”

Orion heaved a basket full of corn and turned to the house, answering, “You were singing to yourself again.”

Huh. Even after all this time, he was still displaying some of his telltale signs of his behavior.

“Haven't heard of that song though. You made it yourself?”

Starlo froze up, dropping a cob into his partially filled basket as realization settled upon him.

“Bro? You okay? Orion to Starlo? Hello?”

He was humming the mysterious melody the entire time, and it seemed that it was more than ingrained into his mind.

Recounting past days in bed (that was the living room couch) helped Starlo gather his thoughts, but he felt he was no closer to solving this unprecedented conundrum laid before him.

Was it really a problem? Was it really such a nuisance that he needed it gone from his life permanently? His head began to treat it as background noise, but its constancy got on his nerves, never really disappearing completely. He didn’t know what to think of it anymore, but he just knew that life would still be better without it. Resigning to acceptance, Starlo went on with his life, trying his best to pay no mind to the melody playing from nowhere.

It was strange, because a few days after, it gradually faded into nothingness, and it took a few hours for Starlo to realize that it had upped and gone from his mind, hopefully for good this time. He could not believe it at first, but after spending some more time at the wishing well, he came to the conclusion that he just needed to accept it and not try to fight against it. If it would grant him any amount of peace and relief from his impossible request for silence, he would take it.

As expected, the song only Starlo could hear would come back after prolonged silence, but this time, he did not resist it. Waking up on the couch, going for his patrols, and making small talk with the residents—wherever he went, the melody followed, and if he felt like it, he would even hum to himself note for note as he busied himself with self-imposed work. Soon enough, the mysterious melody weaved its way into his life, becoming part of his daily routines, coming and going like the tide of the sea. Just as magic was a normal everyday thing to monsters like him, the mysterious phenomenon became a natural occurrence.

With his posse being the meddlesome monsters they were, they picked up on this strange new habit of humming and unusual amount of cheer, and they did not hesitate to pelt their shares of questions at him. Even his closest friend was not immune from this curiosity.

“Oh. S'just a lil' song that popped up in my head one day. Y'know how the sayin' goes: A lil' song to help the time go by faster than a bandit on the run,” he answered happily, surprised by how well he was taking it.

That was the new normal for North Star of the Wild East—a song to accompany him wherever he went, and for once, he truly embraced it, welcoming it into his life whenever it appeared.

Days blurred into weeks, and time slipped by more quickly than he anticipated. Star's life settled back into normalcy, and for once, he was happy.

Starlo wished he hadn't visited the wishing well that day.

Where did it go wrong? Did he err severely in his decisions? Did he have another lapse in judgment as a sheriff? Even as he lay awake in bed with all the time in the world to think, he just couldn't fathom the reason behind its abrupt disappearance from his life, leaving him with another hole in his heart. It only occurred to him that something was off when he lingered near the quiet wishing well for an hour on end, lost in his own thoughts without the song to barge in like usual.

That empty feeling was no stranger to him, and he made a connection to the incident on the New Home tower. The emotional impact the melody left could not be compared to that time, but it was still not a pleasant feeling to have something so fully integrated into your life snatched away from you—a feeling that he and a handful of other friends were far too familiar with.

None of them wanted to feel like that again, but they were helpless before the concept called “life”, and they could not reason or bargain with it. Only two options lay before them: to accept the bitter truth and bite the bullet, or to deny it and cry for an impossible reality that could only be bestowed upon them through delusions and make-believe.

Starlo was so used to the latter that he finds the former utterly grueling to even consider. He already tried it, and he did not like what it has to offer: a lingering heaviness that fed on his happiness like a swarm of locusts feeding upon crops. Despite this, he tended to grapple with the cold truth between missions, coming to terms with the fact that his favorite deputy was long gone, and there simply was no way of bringing them back.

Was it because he took things for granted? Was that why the song left him to wade in misery?

A storm of worries clouded his thinking, and he realized just how much the mysterious melody has done for him. It was persistent and annoying, but that was exactly why he came to embrace it: its seemingly obnoxious presence clouded any dark thought that would often spiral into irrational anxiety and ominous temptations. The song quite literally silenced his other thoughts in his mind for Angel knew how long.

Here it was once again, lurking in the corners of the room he was in, playing the same sequence of notes to him while he was embroiled in a storm of thoughts.

Now was his chance. He couldn't forget it now. Not after being given a real shot at pursuing even the slightest morsel of happiness.

Star sought a certain someone out with a knack for songwriting and urgently yet politely asked them for assistance with transcribing the song that was soon disappearing from his head. They were startled at first, but they were more than glad to help, and it went more smoothly than he anticipated. Waving a hand around as he attempted to recall the fading melody, he hummed it aloud for the songwriter who was nodding along, intently studying the tune while writing the notes down.

“You kept humming it so much it got stuck in my mind too,” Moray laughed patiently at the antsy sheriff pacing about in the empty slammer. Star was glad that his singing wasn't too off-key, helping the transcription process along more quickly than he had initially thought. The songwriter (and guitarist) scribbled notes and bar lines away on a piece of paper and pored over it for a minute before voicing the melody aloud, earning a vigorous nod from the sheriff in confirmation.

“Yeah, that's the one. Thanks, Moray,” he profusely thanked them.

“Oh, I'm not even done with it yet, Star! But I'm happy to help,” they replied earnestly, turning back to the sheet of paper to work on adding basic accompaniment.

The melody was straightforward, but the chord progression supporting it was something that Moray was much more familiar with than Star, and he had only ever heard the melody itself. Delegating the rest of the process to the songwriter, he idled just outside the jail and waited for the song to return to him, checking on Moray's progress from time to time.

Star found himself humming the tune once again, but it wasn't because the song popped up in his mind. He reasoned that he was only humming it because he took the time to seek it out and recall its notes and not the other way around. Why was he worried though? Did he not wish for silence and solitude? Star was fully aware of how much it has helped him, but he didn't expect to change his mind on this so drastically.

“Star? I think it's ready!”

The sheriff let out a breath he had been unconsciously holding for too long, and he made quick strides over to Moray who was sitting on a stack of hay and saddling a guitar onto their lap. Deftly tuning each string and strumming them a few times, the fish-like monster patted the base of the guitar rhythmically before breaking into song.

It started off slow with plucking strings one at a time, picking up slightly in speed, and Moray began vocalizing the melody with their soothing voice. Although the song itself had no real words or lyrics, to Star, it sounded as if it was trying to convey something—as if someone from somewhere was singing to him. To think he would be able to hear this mysterious melody being played by an actual person with an actual instrument… He wasn't hearing things: someone else was hearing it right now! Just for that moment, Star felt the tension in his shoulders evaporate, and he was able to free himself from the thoughts that made him doubt his own sanity.

He let his train of thought chug forward in silence and joked quietly to himself about how Moray might have been the one serenading him this whole time. Nah. No way. Telepathic serenading? He seriously considered that as something he might pick up one day for convenience… if it even was possible for someone like him.

The song faded into silence, and Star realized that the impromptu performance was already over. He turned to the guitarist and applauded them though the amusement on their face didn't go unnoticed.

“You seem pleased with yer performance.”

“Only because you were humming along again.”

Oh. He did it again. Huh.

“I'd say it's a mighty fine piece. Why don't ya sing it for yer next performance?” Star suggested humorously, and Moray leaned their head to one side, debating on whether to take him up on that as they placed the guitar to stand in the corner nearest to them.

A part of his confident front faltered when they smiled a little too widely for his liking.

“Maybe… but I know the crowd would love to hear you sing, Star!” Moray deflected the joke back onto him.

The sheriff? Sing?

“No way, Moray. I don't got a pretty voice like you anyhow,” Star casually declined their suggestion, shoving his thumbs into his pockets. He didn't think he can handle that. Not now, and not in the near future. Maybe some other time.

“I beg to differ. Your humming was so soothing, so relaxing… I wanna hear it again!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Come on! Why not? It's your song.”

“No can do.”

This back-and-forth argument went on for a while, and at one point, Star interjected:

“Real funny considerin' how yer playin' the song even now!”

The smirk on Moray's face unraveled into a frown, and they tilted their head.

“What? I'm not… playing anything now.”

The two of them exchanged confused glances, and it only just dawned on Star that the guitar was already left standing in the corner. What was that then? The two were left to process the awkward situation to themselves before Moray stood up to leave, handing Star the sheet music before grabbing the guitar and making their exit.

“I still think the gang would love to hear about it. I know Ceroba would,” Moray smirked at him with a hint of playful mischief.

Star knew Moray wouldn't really do it, however, so he shrugged at them and laughed it off, thanking them once more for their cooperation as the two parted ways for the day.

Starlo couldn't sleep tonight… as usual. Worries and haunting thoughts were usually what kept him up without much of a decent sleep, but tonight, none of those were behind his inability to sleep tonight. He just lay there wide-eyed, staring at the less-than-ideal ceiling made of protruding worn planks and occasional gaps, uncertain of his restlessness. He was anxious, but the exact reason remained a mystery to himself. He drew no thoughts or concerns in that moment, yet the fluttering in his chest refused to subside.

Pacing it was then.

Starlo grabbed his trusty hat and padded towards the door in hushed steps, shoving his feet into his boots before stepping outside to the unchanging desert scenery where the “sun” never set. It was always bright in here, and unless someone invented a giant curtain to blanket the Dunes' main source of light and heat, the desert would never know night.

He was worried about something. He had no particular reason to be, but it was more of worrying about not knowing what made him anxious, and that itself became a worry. At least if he could pinpoint the cause, Starlo could convince himself with conveniently crafted lies that would grant him a sort of relief to help him sleep. This though? How was he supposed to lie about something he knew nothing about? He could make up something on the spot. Pretend he was exhausted.

Wait. What if he came down with a new illness that no one had heard of yet? That had to be it. He would be the first of monsterkind to suffer from its ailments, and he would just have to trust in the current technology available to monsterkind and wait for the cure to be developed.

…

He knew that was an unlikely scenario shoddily cobbled together, and he couldn't even convince himself of it. The uncertainty was what made it so hard to believe. The “what-ifs” were endless, and it could literally be anything else. It might really be a new disease, yet the question remained: why was he unable to gobble that “truth” up like all of his other fantastical ones?

Perhaps he was so used to having so many worries that his body saw it as a natural reaction. Then why was he still not used to it? Starlo couldn't think of anything, and he gritted his teeth in agitation, wishing that this worry would go away once and for all.

Funny. The same could have been said for the song. He wanted it gone at one point, but now, he wished it would bother him again so he wouldn't have to hear any of his own thoughts again. Was he supposed to give in and accept the worries? That line of thought was counterintuitive to him, and it made his stomach crawl. He would rather give in to the incessant ramblings of a disembodied voice than entertain this unforgiving anxiety. Did he want the song back? No—Yes! Yes he did.

He wasn't sure anymore, and his pacing grew more restless. He was on edge, and his thoughts darted all over the place, so in an attempt to calm down, Starlo recalled the song and sang it quietly to himself. All he wanted was peace for tonight. Peace in the long run was anybody's dream, but reality was quick to dismiss such ideals. He wasn't asking for much though: just a good night free from haunting worries and non-existent worst-case scenarios. Was that too much to ask?

As if to answer his question, muffled whispers brushed against his rays, and Starlo spun around in astonishment. Nothing was there. No one was there. Was he imagining things? Was he finally starting to lose it? Maybe someone in the Feisty Flat was playing a prank on him.

He realized that wasn't the case after peering through the windows with squinted eyes, ensuring that every one of the residents inside was asleep in their respective spaces. It was practically impossible for anyone to come out unnoticed then go back and feign sleep all in the blink of an eye—Starlo was very sure to turn around quickly. Not even the swift and sneaky Mooch could escape from his peerless observational skills.

…At least that was what he liked to think even though his childhood friend was better than him at that.

Well, at the very least, he had the perfect excuse to blame his worries on. He was dog tired and in desperate need of rest, and he decided it was best left at that before he could lose any more sleep from overthinking.

Star didn't think he would be writing, but here he was at the Saloon with sheet music in front of him, scribbling words and doodles on it in big, chunky letters.

He had already jotted some words down with a quill and some ink, but it was too much of a bother to keep dipping the quill whenever it ran out of ink. He tried a pencil, and that worked until its sharp end snapped. A pen did work for there was no sharpener in sight, but even that gave up on him, having used up the last of its ink reserves. So here he was with no other choice but to salvage a crayon from somewhere and write in crude blue letters.

He wrote away at the paper, determined to engrave onto it the very same words in his dream that night before they were lost on him. He had to write the last few words on the other side of the paper, but once he was done, he set the crayon aside carelessly and held the paper before his eyes in satisfaction. He scanned its contents thoroughly before he smiled to himself and set it aside under his mug (since the crayon had already rolled off onto the floor).

“Didn't think you'd be the type to write, sheriff.”

He couldn't blame her for being curious. When was the last time he wrote something? When did he start writing?

“Oh, this? Just writin' some words I heard somewhere on paper. Killin' a bit of time, that's all,” he responded to the barkeep's intrigue.

“Heard where exactly?”

Oh boy. How to answer this one? Star tipped his hat lower and turned about in his seat, whistling aloud as he slid the paper from underneath the mug and positioned it in front of him.

“Had a bit of inspiration. Words whispered t'me in a dream all soft like. Next thing I know, I'm ‘ere writin' poetry!”

He had to exaggerate it a bit, but it wasn't too far from the truth. It was less of hearing the words and more of seeing them in a dream.

It should be no surprise that dreams are a kind of antithesis to logic and reality, but the one he had the previous night did not fall under “normal” even for dreams. All he remembered was taking a sheet of paper laid on a music instrument and holding it in front of his face, and the few lines that he read were engraved in his mind just for a bit. Though the environment was dreamy and blurry, the words on the paper were incredibly clear.

For better or worse, the nature of the Wild East did not make his claim any more convincing; this was a place of exaggerated heroism and make-believe, so whatever came out of his mouth was more often taken as just another one of Star's tall tales. It didn't seem to matter today, however. Whether the townsfolk believed it or not, at least he was able to put it out there for everyone to hear without the fear of being judged or made fun of. Maybe they even had some insight to this strange occurrence, but at least he had a sort of outlet this way.

Perhaps Star had watched too many western films to the point he saw them in dreams. That piano sure looked a lot like the ones in the movies.

“Well, if ya ever feel like publishin', hit me up. I'll be itchin' to read it.”

“Sure thing! Haha!”

“…Add me to the list then.”

A third voice joined in on their playful banter, and they both looked up to find Ceroba perusing the contents of Star's sheet music with great interest. The sheriff haphazardly shoved an arm over the paper and shifted his body between it and Ceroba, resorting to his usual cowboy theatrics.

“Howdy there! Didn't see ya there!” Star greeted her with trying enthusiasm, and she could already sense the fluster in his voice.

“There's nothing wrong with writing poetry, Star. I'd say it's surprisingly poetic and deep,” Ceroba commented honestly while holding out the blue crayon.

“…Really, now?” he accepted the drawing implement with a grateful nod of his head.

“…For someone like you.”

Ack. There's the catch, but a compliment was a compliment. She wasn't one to mince words, so if anything, it was actually a good thing. He went on to casually mention that the “poem” he was writing was actually lyrics to a song that, as he described, just popped up in his head one day.

Imagine his surprise when Dina brought up the idea of the sheriff singing. Ceroba was usually indifferent to many things, but a singing Starlo was something she evidently expressed interest in.

“I see Moray wasn't jokin' this time ‘bout your voice,” the barkeep thought aloud to herself.

So they did break the news to the others. Star stared at Dina in disbelief, and Ceroba caught a glimpse of that expression from the sides, smirking to herself.

The sheriff went to explain, “Oh, they were just butterin' me up and playin' it nice. My voice ain't somethin' y'wanna hear on—”

“Don't believe him. He actually has a decent singing voice, and I kid you not,” Ceroba chimed in, directing her comment to a humored Dina as she sipped from her glass, trying to ignore the bewildered gaping from Star.

“Now… Now see here!” he cleared his throat, attempting to refute their assertions. He went on to elaborate the intertwining history of cowboys and literature, but all they did was nod at every argument and smile at him almost mockingly. Tough cookies.

“I'm tellin' ya there's plenty where that came from. Poetry written by cowboys no less!”

“…What were we talking about again?”“…singing and whispering—”

“Hm? Oh yeah. That and poetry are like partners. There's this one called Tyin—”

Star never got to finish that sentence. He stopped halfway very suddenly, and Ceroba was eyeing him with concern. She watched him crane his neck towards the stage behind him, shifting about in his seat while looking around the rest of the Saloon in confusion.

“Star? You okay?”

He eyed the nearer patrons and the barkeep attending to them before settling back in his seat with a deepening frown.

“I, uh… yeah. Think someone's been playin' pranks on me, whisperin' all soft like near me before runnin' off.”

Ceroba watched the wrinkles on his brows deepen, and in turn, she felt hers doing the same.

“Has this been going on for a while now?”

“…Guess so. Can't catch the darn culprit m'self.”

Dina returned from serving drinks to the other patrons and noted, “Been keeping eyes and ears on the customers ‘round here, but I don't think anyone's come and gone near ya, sheriff.”

The three of them lost themselves deep in thought, wiping away at their glasses while staring into nothing.

“Ahem. So anyway!”

They knew he didn't have much to go on if he resorted to using that expression, so they quietly laughed and left it at that, listening to the sheriff's other incredible stories and theories about humans and their oddities.

Starlo could handle the melody just fine even if it was rare these days. It was the voices that were now driving him up the wall, and here he thought he could handle just about anything after dealing with the incessant tunes.

He was staring at the sheet music with his messy scribbles on it, re-reading the words that were so crystal clear in that strange dream of his. It was something about concealing the truth and a path of misery, but even with those new pieces of information, he wasn't completely sure on what to do with them.

Starlo thought it was a pretty neat poem, but with such an abundance of negative connotations, even someone like him couldn't possibly miss out on its ominous overtones. Even up until this moment, he never had a dream so unusual and unsettling; usually, they were those of going on a wild expedition with his friends, the old happier days, or even his fantasies of living his life on the Surface. This, however, was an anomaly. It wasn't like the other dreams.

That paired with the increasingly distressing whispers did not bode very well for him. Was this whole thing an omen? Was something out there trying to warn him of things to come? Starlo was a person of the present, and he never liked thinking about the far future or the bitter past. Why be morose and stress over what has yet to happen when you can live in the present and do what you can do? That was the whole idea of the Wild East and his persona in the first place.

Starlo wagered that the voices needed some help with living in the present since they seemed to be fixated on the future. He laughed at his own idea of a joke, but the elephant in the room still had to be addressed.

Why did the melody pester him in the first place? How did it even happen?

Starlo racked his head and brainstormed for any potential leads, but try as he might, it was all too much for him to process alone. The voices were getting unbearable, and he reached out to his face to cover his rays in an attempt to—

Wait. Of course, it would only backfire. He had tried it before, but the melody would only be amplified as a result. But why did it get louder when he covered his face? The harder he pressed, the louder they got. It was as if the sounds were coming from inside—

He was startled awake from his thoughts upon hearing a soft knocking on the Feisty Flat's door. Who could be it at this early hour? He swung it open to find an unexpected yet familiar face.

“Um… hi! I heard there was a good singer around here…”

Great. Now even Feathers knows about it. At least he didn't have to think too much for today. Star sighed heavily in relief.

“Oh, I'm sorry! Maybe I shouldn't have come at this hour…” Martlet apologized profusely, distressed at inconveniencing the sheriff who shook his head slowly.

“Naw, it's just personal stuff. Ain't fer you to worry ‘bout, so lighten up!” he assured her drearily yet cheerily.

The two of them stood there awkwardly.

“So…”

What was she on about? Oh, right. The singer.

“Hate to disappoint ya, Feathers, but the singer ain't exactly up to performances. He's, uh… still a greenhorn if ya know what I mean.”

“Oh… Oh, I see! That's too bad. I finally got some time off and everything…” she responded in disappointment.

Perhaps it was a good time for them both to take a stroll around town.

“If you don't mind, I can still show ya ‘round town. Properly this time.”

It was pretty rare for anyone to drop by the Wild East this early, but that gave both of them time to explore the town without problem. Martlet's first time in the Wild East was laced with complications and unforeseen circumstances, so it was only logical for the sheriff who ran the town to make it up to her. He guided her to the heart of the town where the bell tower stood, and from there, he would lead her to the various places to tour though Martlet had a rather specific reaction when re-introduced to the one building where she spent most of her first-day experiences: the slammer.

Upon seeing her grimace, Star apologized sheepishly to her for her unwarranted incarceration, but thankfully, she wasn't one to hold grudges, so she forgave him there and then.

The most memorable part of the tour was the way she would exclaim in excitement as she walked into the Saloon, thrilled at the prospect of finally being able to drink after coming of age. The few patrons who were up and about turned their heads and laughed at her remark, causing her to shrink a little and glow a faint red.

“Does the whole of the Wild East share this same sound system?” Martlet asked with wonder as the two made their way back from the Saloon, strolling towards the town's main entrance.

“Yep. Gotta have a lil' of that authentic feeling ‘round here. The townsfolk ‘ere seem to enjoy it though I gotta give credit to Ace and Mooch fer this idea.”

“Wow… Maybe the school playground should have that!”

They were a walking distance away from the oak wagon south of town when Martlet stared at the wagon, wondering out loud:

“Sometimes I wonder what the battle music here would be like.”

Star slowed down to a halt to process what she meant by that.

“Battle music?”

“Yeah. You know? When we battle someone?”

He mulled over it a little longer. Right. That was a shared trait regarding monsters, and it seemed that he had forgotten about it until now.

“I just wonder… why does it only play during battle? Why can't it play while we're… you know, doing or feeling other things?”

“Beats me. Wonder why it only plays in certain… circumstances…”

Just like a puzzle piece, something inside him slid into place.

“…or when we're trying to solve a puzzle? I sure would like a victory fanfare every time I finished something,” Martlet rambled on, unaware that for our dear sheriff, a lot of pieces that could not fit before did in that moment.

For our dear carpenter bird, she was left dazed from a vigorous handshake and a spontaneous hug from Star, and she had no clue what in the Underground went on in that head of his.

Here he lies awake in be—on the couch. The couch.

Starlo is once again awake when most others are asleep. He is awake for reasons unknown: a similar predicament to the one he was in just a few nights ago. This time, however, it is not his typical worries or an unknown anxiety keeping him awake. He is just awake, and that is it. No anxiety, no excitement. Just eyes wide open.

Several weeks ago, thanks to the ramblings of a certain someone, the revelation was like a weight being lifted off of him. He finally understood the reason for the mysterious phenomena happening to him, or so he liked to think.

His understanding of it still isn't perfect, but Starlo is now generally able to pinpoint when it happens and how to deal with it to a certain degree. The melody never was a problem in the first place, and he sees very little point in dismissing it now unless he really does need a moment to sort his thoughts out properly.

Starlo has discovered a way to deal with the phenomenon even though it has largely waned in frequency for reasons beyond his understanding. Although he can't always prevent them from happening in the first place, he is most able to diminish them to an extent, but even that seems to be enough for him as it is.

Just like any other monster, however, he has his own worries, and those simply cannot be forced to disappear by sheer will alone. They may vanish for a moment, but they always find their way back to the back of one's mind, waiting to pounce when the thinker is vulnerable. He is incapable of completely suppressing worries just like anyone else. He worries just like anyone else. The difference that sets them apart is the severity of their emotions and the manner in which they choose to deal with.

Starlo has his own established methods with dealing with worries, and although it may not be perfect, it is the best method available to him. If all else fails, well… he has other ways of dealing with them, all far from perfect, all far from ideal. All that would just raise concerns from his friends. He doesn't want that… so he discards the idea of ever sharing those thoughts with them. He suppresses the things that he fear would bring about an unfavorable outcome and hopes that one day, they would vanish.

At least the melody is here tonight to keep him company. And the voices.

During his post-revelation days, he came to a realization that the voices were there for the very same reason as the melody itself. Perhaps they were there to help distract him from his inner machinations (just in a far noisier and unsettling way).

What Starlo still doesn't understand, however, is why there are voices. The books graciously lent to him by Martlet speak nothing of voices—only musical vibrations and its other causes. He spent days poring over the details the books have to offer, sometimes even foregoing his regular patrols and Saloon visits just to read a little more about this enigmatic phenomenon. He has learned that the melody stems from himself due to his internal battles, but the voices? They are distinct from the ones in his head: voices that have a mind of their own and threaten to take over if he doesn't focus on something else to do.

Right now, he hears those separate and distinct voices calling to him, and he realizes for the first time in weeks that they aren't just meaningless garbled words on a broken record. Starlo takes the sheet music out from his pocket and reads through the poem from his dream.

They are words to a song shattered into bits and pieces until this moment. Something else is falling perfectly into place while listening to the voices sing, matching perfectly with the words scribbled on the wrinkled piece of paper.

Starlo still doesn't understand what the song is referring to. He isn't a poet or a literary scholar by any means, so he sure as hell can't figure out whether there is a deeper meaning to “remembering your master” and “gaining legacies”. He is just a nobody who wants to save his friends from losing hope and giving in to despair, and that is how he sees it. Despite the lack of insight or understanding to the context of the song, it still manages to fill him with a loneliness he is familiar with, a melancholy he knows too well, and a familiarity that transcends his limited understanding.

Maybe it's the line about sweet lies and forgetting. Maybe it's the part about being a slave to emotion and being miserable. The second stanza of that song resonates with him, but that isn't the reason he feels this tightness forming in his chest. For a reason he cannot fathom, he feels that his sudden melancholy stems from something else long forgotten. A part of him shivers and cries for a time that may not exist upon hearing the song of the voices. He feels like there is a void in his mind that he cannot describe or pinpoint, yet the emptiness it brings about is clear and distinct, just looming over him.

Maybe what he thought was an otherworldly serenade back then was someone crying for help.

Perhaps that is why his glasses are blurring.
Perhaps that is why his vision betrays him even after taking his glasses off, wiping his eyes.
Perhaps that is why he is here in this town. Everyone is here searching for happiness in a sea of hopelessness, and he stands here as one of them, longing for salvation.

Starlo reasons that this is why the song came to him. Just as the melody and voices are looking out for him, he has to look out for the residents of this town too. Break through the barrier of downward spiraling thoughts and shed a guiding light for the lost to look upon. That was always his intention as North Star, but now, that will has only been strengthened and reinforced.

The song is, in a way, his North Star.

…

He heavily considers taking up poetry as a hobby in that moment and stifles a laugh.

Every night from that moment onward, Star waits for the world around him to fall into a lull before stepping outside to embrace the quiet desert ambience, and there, the voices sing bittersweet things to him for a time until they fade, leaving behind only the melody he long grew accustomed to: the faint yet distinct melody whispering to him from somewhere.

He feels the voices fade over time, and he isn't sure when they will ultimately disappear. Even so, he continues to cling onto the sliver of hope embedded into him along with the melody and its words…

…for just as the North Star is brightest in the night sky, these very things are clearest when the world around him is asleep.