Chapter 489 : The Angel’s Final Movement
Chapter 489: The Angel’s Final Movement
"But… why can’t there be hope?"
Ding dong—
As the rhythm at his ear grew alternately rapid and soaring, a sudden thought flashed across David-Berg’s mind.
"Yes… why can’t there be hope!"
The tempo of the harp grew ever faster, and David-Berg’s breathing became increasingly uneven.
Until Janna’s fingers suddenly slowed their movement across the strings—
and in its place came a melody like gentle rain falling from the sky, descending upon the scorched earth long ravaged by flames, bringing with it the sound of hope that nourished all things.
"It truly is… hope."
Listening to the melody as it softly approached its conclusion, David-Berg, who had unconsciously leaned forward, murmured under his breath.
Janna’s second piece was no longer composed purely of despair and agony.
Within it flowed emotions unique to [Isabelle], as well as the eternal hope humanity held toward life and the future.
"Ding—"
The harp’s voice stopped abruptly.
Everyone’s thoughts fell silent in its wake.
At that moment, within the vast rehearsal hall, aside from the sound of everyone’s slightly hurried breathing, not a single other noise could be heard.
"Pa—pa—papapa——"
"Pa—pa—pa—pa——"
No one knew who began it first, but like the swelling of the tide, thunderous applause broke out without warning.
Because of it, Janna, who had intended to continue with her third piece, lifted her head in mild confusion.
"Shhh—quiet! Janna’s third piece hasn’t started yet!"
Seeing that no one seemed willing to stop, even Liji Silks, who had been clapping along enthusiastically, suddenly came to her senses.
She stood up and gestured for silence.
The crowd, realizing what they were doing, quickly withdrew their reddened hands and turned their full attention back to Janna, not daring to be distracted for even a moment.
"So, old friend, what do you think? My people’s composition skills aren’t too bad, right?"
Having been momentarily lost in thought himself, Quentin-Lycente only realized someone had placed a hand on his shoulder when he felt the added weight.
Turning, he found Roman-Roland, his old friend, standing beside him with a smile.
"So… you knew beforehand that she could compose?"
"Of course not. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered asking you to come."
Hearing Roman-Roland’s answer, Quentin-Lycente nearly choked on his breath.
But when he thought carefully on the words, he found himself at a loss for reply.
He had to admit—
For Janna, a “young girl” not even half his age, he could not imagine how she possessed such a profound mastery of composition.
No—
To call it mastery wasn’t enough. It was genius.
In all his decades in the field, Quentin-Lycente had never encountered a composer as gifted as Janna—
and yet she was barely into her teens.
As the applause gradually subsided, Janna’s focus returned to the harp in her hands.
The “Symphony of the Angel”, a work composed through her innate talent of [Soul Listening], had already reached its final movement.
She had performed the first two; what remained now was the last—the conclusion of [Isabelle’s] story.
"Ding dong—"
Her fingers brushed lightly across the strings once more.
This time, a melody entirely unlike the previous two began to flow from her fingertips—
not painful, nor despairing, and neither as bold and grand as Quentin-Lycente’s third piece—
but instead, a sorrowful and noble lament.
"Sorrow… why does this revenge scene feel so sorrowful?"
Ding dong—
Listening to the harp’s voice, Liji Silks, who had already unconsciously immersed herself in the world of [Isabelle], could not help but feel a twinge of confusion.
Compared to the fallen black angel [Isabelle], the mad and cruel Lord of Heaven seemed far more like the true demon.
Thus, when she reached the scene where [Isabelle] sealed the Lord of Heaven [Augustine] with her own hands, both Liji Silks, who had read the full script, and Quentin-Lycente, who had composed “Rebirth of Life” based on that story, felt a cathartic joy and even relief.
They rejoiced at the defeat of the villainous Lord of Heaven.
They rejoiced at [Isabelle’s] rebirth through fire.
They rejoiced at her final ascent, becoming the new Lord of Heaven.
From any angle, [Isabelle’s] ending was a perfect, satisfying one.
But—
"Ding dong——"
As Janna’s playing grew faster and faster, the tragic tension pressed like a wall against everyone’s chest.
When the piece reached the moment before [Isabelle] sealed [Augustine], the sorrowful melody became so heavy that it seemed to seize the hearts of all present.
"It’s [Isabelle]! This sorrow belongs to [Isabelle]!"
The harp grew ever more intense.
At the final instant, when Liji Silks had wholly merged into [Isabelle’s] emotions, she finally understood the source of that grief—
It was born from [Isabelle’s] complex feelings toward [Augustine], the Lord of Heaven.
"Yes… to [Isabelle], the Lord of Heaven was not only her enemy… he was also her creator—her father."
"What [Isabelle] sealed in the end… was her father himself—"
In that moment, countless details from the script about [Isabelle] flashed through Liji Silks’s mind.
At the very beginning of “The Withering Rose”, it had been said that because of her defective identity as a “wingless angel,” [Isabelle] had long been ostracized by other angels as an outcast.
Even with her optimistic nature, she would still sometimes cry quietly at night out of loneliness.
And every time, it was [Augustine], the Lord of Heaven, who would gently pat her shoulder and tell her she was not an outcast—
but his own creation, a unique and irreplaceable angel.
Thus, in [Isabelle’s] heart, [Augustine] was not merely the divine being she served faithfully—
he was also her one and only “father.”
And that—
was where her “humanity,” beyond her divinity, truly lay.
"Ding dong——"
As the piece neared its end, after the long sorrowful passage, it was as if a brilliant rainbow appeared after a storm.
Amidst the soft, windlike notes, the heavy pressure upon everyone’s hearts finally lifted.
That release of emotion was both [Isabelle’s] farewell to her past and her embrace of life after rebirth.
"Thank you, everyone. My performance is over——"