The Brightness of the Sun ✓

Chapter I

Orpheus was the greatest musician on earth. 

When he sang, the trees leaned towards his voice; animals ventured nearer; the wind gods would stop in their tracks to listen. Orpheus spun pure beauty from his lyre, like a spinner making wool from yarn, or silk from thread. The musician could coax a vast range of emotion out of a single musical note.

Orpheus was surely destined for greatness. His talents were magic, his touch soothing to every instrument. Yet he was content with his name fading into obscurity, as long as he could sing and play the lyre. Life could be a pleasurable game, and Orpheus treated his life as such.

Often, Orpheus would pick up his lyre and venture into the woods beyond his home. One such day, Orpheus was lounging against a tree in the dying sunlight, strumming his lyre gently. He sang quietly of dangerous seas and strange islands, all keeping him away from his one sole love. It was a melancholy, romantic song, and nature wept upon hearing his beautiful voice.

At the same time, a pretty girl was wandering in this woodland, collecting mushrooms, when she happened upon Orpheus' song. Eurydice stopped in the middle of the dirt path, listening in astonishment. Without knowing why, tears pricked in her eyes; a lump grew in her throat. Feeling the importance of this song, she followed the singing voice aimlessly. Through unyielding brambles that cut at her ankles and soft, burgeoning flowers that skimmed her arms, Eurydice chased the song floating through the woods.

Eventually, she reached a clearing. A boy sat on the earthy ground against a tree. He was definitely not more than two years older than her. His eyes were closed, his dark hair messy; his face shape long and soft. His nose was long and straight.

Eurydice wordlessly sat down and listened. The boy sang song after song, never once breaking; every tune's end was strung into the beginning of another. He would sing a love ballad, then play a folk tune on his lyre. The difficulty of fitting such varied genres together didn't faze him. Eurydice watched that serious, earnest face with curiosity, wondering what hid behind his birdsong. 

At last, the stranger opened his eyes and looked directly at Eurydice. She looked away from his face, startled.

"Did you like that?" Orpheus asked Eurydice calmly. His voice was lower when he spoke. Each word was like a ripple in a streaming brook, to Eurydice's ears.

"You're very gifted." the girl replied, recovering her wits. She ran a hand through her hair. "I've never seen such talent in my life. Do you have a tutor?"

Orpheus stretched, basking in her praise. "No, I'm self-taught. I've taught myself to play every existing instrument."

Eurydice scoffed, readjusting the positioning of her wicker basket on her hip. "That's a little overkill."

"But still true. I am, without doubt, the most talented musician that Greece has produced." Orpheus said without embarrassment. He was absurdly void of humility. Self-assurance, even borderline arrogance, coated every word he spoke.

Eurydice scoffed, and he turned his eyes to her. She thought he wasn't offended by her disbelief. Rather, he seemed curious, like he wanted to know why. Eurydice wasn't used to people asking for her opinion.

"Prove it, then." Eurydice demanded. "Prove you can play any instrument you see. If I can get you an instrument you've never played before, you will learn it in a single day."

"I agree to your conditions." Orpheus said with a grin. 

Eurydice stared at his smile for a second too long, then shook her head. "Then I will return to this spot at the same time tomorrow. Goodbye."

His grin became a smirk. "See you then, stranger."

She raised a hand in farewell and turned to walk back home. When she reached, Eurydice realised that she didn't know the boy's name, still.