The Last Anthem
In a time and age far, far away, there lay a small kingdom named Arsoria. The kingdom was drenched in tranquility until the day darkness fell upon it, marking the advent of Emperor Kalfus and his minions, thus beginning the tale of a humble musician called Eli.
Eli, an orphan, lived in the outskirts of Arsoria, in a humble abode that he used to share with his grandfather, who was now no more. His only family was his mute younger sister, Sofia, and his grandfather's old musical instrument, the Octavia.
On the fatal day that Kalfus arrived, the harmony of Arsoria shattered. The emperor, placated by the sight of fear, banned all forms of music and other art forms in the kingdom. Every instrument was snatched, destroyed. Every painting was burned, every dance receded to the sad abyss of forgotten memories. Music, to Eli, was a soulful melody, to which he was deeply attached. The crushing ban was more than just a rule imposed. It was the devastation of an expression, the murder of a language that spoke through one's spirit.
Eli and Sofia were left devastated, hiding their precious Octavia from the cruel eyes. With each passing day, their hearts yearned for the harmonious melodies that had once filled their home and Arsoria's air.
One day, woes aside, Eli began to secretly craft a new instrument with broken pieces of wood and old strings he found around their home. Each night, under the secrecy of silence, he toiled in the basement. The creation was his silent protest, a hope that sung the melodies of rebellion against Kalfus's tyranny.
Meanwhile, Kalfus grew merciless, the darkness he spread tainted every soul in Arsoria. Stories circulated about a large celebration being prepared to mark a year since the ban on the arts. The mere thought of celebrating such a horrendous event filled the citizens with a deep grief.
On that fateful day, Eli walked into the square with his makeshift musical creation hidden underneath his tattered cloak. As Kalfus stood on the raised dais, boasting about his rule, a soothing tune trickled into his speech. The crowd fell silent. Eli stepped forth, his fingers strumming the strings of a soulfully crafted lyre.
The melody, beautiful and melancholy, reminded the onlookers of the forgotten mirth, and a wave of emotions ran through them, tears etched lines down their faces. It was a haunting yet captivated memory of the arts that had once been a part of their lives, now lost to tyranny.
Kalfus, instead of anger, was commendably taken aback. The melody that was already alien to him now ignited an unusual feeling in the emperor. He felt a shift in his heart, a transformation he couldn't comprehend.
That night, for the first time, the kingdom drowned in the serene silence resonating with the sounds of Eli's lyre. Kalfus, reflecting on the music's power, did the unthinkable. The next day, he lifted the ban on art, apologizing for the agony caused, vowing to make amends.
The celebration marked a different commemoration now, the revival of art, a new dawn in Arsoria. Music flowed like a divine stream, coloring the pale faces of the citizens once more. Eli, no longer a humble musician but a hero, gave them the greatest gift of their life - music and freedom.
Sofia, playing Octavia for the very first time, filled the air with music so wistful that it left the audience misty-eyed. From then on, any tale of the brave and righteous in Arsoria had to be interspersed with the music that had freed them. Thus was the power of music, the last anthem of freedom.