—
Although he knew that music, at the end of the day, was not a fixed science like mathematics, Gustave also knew that unlike quantum mechanics and classical physics—which were nearly complete and difficult to push further—music could continue to evolve.
Considering that the universe itself was essentially a vast orchestra of tiny vibrating strings, creating the harmony of fundamental physics, he believed that music, when enhanced by magic, might become something more.
Not like simple-minded, dimwitted brainwave frequencies that produced constant, annoying noise, but more like Mozart's pieces or other beautiful music—complex patterns of sound that sophisticated minds could enjoy and take pleasure in.
For he had a feeling: if mathematics was a logical science that found patterns within a chaotic environment, then music was an intuitive science that found patterns within chaotic vibrational waves.
Considering that many generational scientists back on Earth did not have exceptionally high IQs yet produced phenomenal research, Gustave was certain that music, intuitive science, and creativity as a whole played a significant role in how great minds were formed.
With famous examples such as Thomas Edison, Michael Faraday, Richard Feynman, and Einstein—whose IQs were lower than those of many celebrities—he also felt that if he wished to master this intuition granted to him after becoming a Dawnwalker, music was one of the fields that could help him do so.
And so, remembering the famous quote that creativity is intelligence having fun, Gustave continued to talk, laugh, and play music with the other artists, bards, trobairitz, and even the scholars and professors who arrived as well, drawn by the talk of the town: Prince Gustave, the Golden Lucky Savant Son, was at Dandelion's opera house.
"Your Highness! What about this?! Can this be made into percussion as well?!"
Nodding his head toward one of the ballads, Gustave shouted back with a smile, "Yes, Jezkier! Now! Give me allegretto tempo! One and two, and three, and one!"
As the improvisational piece—already playing for a full three hours—carried on deep into the night, well past midnight, Gustave turned to Priscilla, who was holding a modified lute-violin he had hastily assembled, its bow made from the collective hair donations of female bards.
Giving her a diminuendo cue to gradually soften the volume of the makeshift violin so Jezkier could take a solo on the drums, Gustave then turned toward the drummer, who had just been helped by Rivian citizens to assemble a set of improvised percussion.
Finding the rhythm perfectly suited for Jezkier, Gustave snapped a sharp downbeat cue and shouted, "Go!"
Another Andrew Neiman of this world in the making, Gustave simply listened to the cacophony of madness—strangely enjoyable despite everything—born from the fact that the instruments were still largely makeshift, limiting how fully the artists of this world could express their creativity.
And because he was not Terence Fletcher, Gustave merely smiled and encouraged Jezkier, the devoted admirer of Dandelion who had even changed his name to Jezkier in his honor.
Still, unwilling to let such talent go to waste, he gently corrected the rhythm and tempo with subtle movements of his conducting hands, which the young man—no older than Syanna and Priscilla—watched closely whenever he glanced upward.
"We can go, Prince Gustave!~"
Seeing that many shawms had already been modified into a modern form of clarinet, Gustave shouted precise pitch confirmations to Dandelion—the mind behind this section of the clarinet ensemble—matching the melody they were about to improvise. "C♯ progression, yeah, Master Julian?!~"
Shouting back with perfect pitch and a chorus tone shared by his fellow players, Dandelion sang in reply, "Yes—concert E and G! With harmonic minor!~"
"Neo-classical, huh?! I like it!"
Knowing that Dandelion was aiming for something akin to an Ori and the Blind Forest–style layering, Gustave gave a diminuendo cue to the instruments supporting Jazkier's drumming atop the jazz extemporization, allowing the focus to shift smoothly into Dandelion's improvisation.
And so, much like Ben Folds or Jacob Collier do it, Gustave and the artists of the city began weaving improvised, semi-composed symphonic harmony together. The music continued until night turned into morning, only stopping when exhaustion finally claimed their bodies—even though their minds still burned brightly.
By then, the opera house—and even the streets outside—were packed with common folk, merchants, and nobles alike, all gathered simply to listen to this chaotic, makeshift, yet undeniably beautiful music.
—
A/N: December doesn't have a very high word count due to the holidays.