Forged by the Golden Melody
Stats
Lv.
90/90
Base ATK 510
CRIT Rate 27.6%
Weapon Effect
Day and Night in Counterpoint
Day and Night in Counterpoint
Every 10s, the equipping character plays a "Harmonic Movement" of the corresponding type for a boost in the following order: +18% ATK > +120 Elemental Mastery > +28% Stellar Glimmer reaction DMG. Each instance of Harmonic Movement lasts 10s. This effect can trigger even when the equipping character is not on the field.
Triggering a Stellar Glimmer reaction will also grant an additional 12-second instance of "Harmonic Movement: Contrapuntal" with the same effects as the Harmonic Movement active when Stellar Glimmer is triggered. This effect stacks with the original Harmonic Movement effect, and can trigger once every 12s.
Triggering a Stellar Glimmer reaction will also grant an additional 12-second instance of "Harmonic Movement: Contrapuntal" with the same effects as the Harmonic Movement active when Stellar Glimmer is triggered. This effect stacks with the original Harmonic Movement effect, and can trigger once every 12s.
Total Materials
Description
A greatsword decorated in gold. Legend has it that it was the favored weapon of a certain exalted Harmost back in the distant past. In silent corridors made from white stone, the sacred law of eternal harmony held leisurely sway between the musicians' fingers.
The golden-haired bosom friend caressed the magnificent purple robe, then bent to whisper in the musician's ear.
"My friend. My brother. Lift your head and look at those benighted slaves."
Though the voice was sweet as honey and gentle as a song, it was filled with unmistakable pride.
"The foolishness of this rabble, to take the grueling toil we bear for decadent lives of luxury."
"A shame, a shame indeed... that this beautiful solo should fall upon mortal sod."
The musician stopped playing and spoke no refutation, simply sighing.
Indeed, though it could cause the very bones of the earth to shake and make miracles mortals could not fathom,
The duty known as attunement, of cleansing the bitter sorrow of all waters, was essentially to burn one's soul like firewood.
The sorrow, the pain, and the resentment that flowed through the high canals had to be harmonized and purified by them,
Such that the God King in his golden palace could fulfill his great, tragic wish to save all souls.
"Do not let pride and arrogance blind you, my friend, my brother."
"We were elevated to guide and rescue those foolish slaves you speak of."
"How shall we play the Sebastos' perfect melody, if we despise them so?"
His golden-haired friend snorted coldly and rebuked him bitterly for his weakness. Then, he sat down beside him and began playing on the strings of his lyre.
His thought should have been perfected, and yet, as the strings echoed, what he saw were afterimages of his past.
Once, he too was a foolish person of bygone times, holding onto what he now knew to be weak expectation,
Yet, the watery moonlight and tender, lingering whispers ultimately faded amidst the clamoring bugles, leaving behind only solemn vows unfulfilled.
Perhaps he should not have become a Harmost, he thought, for he had never possessed such lofty delusions,
But instead, continued to imagine, even as he had in the past, that the descendants of those who dwelled on the high sea might suffer less.
"She never believed in the gods, for those who believe in gods would never commit atrocities in their name."
That was how his female companion, kind and loving as an elder sister, had once lamented the untrustworthiness of the barbarian tribes.
Yes, he thought, of course she would not believe in the gods. But had he not been the same way regarding the Sebastos of the golden palace?
Had she been the one to ascend, she too would have bowed before the Sebastos.
If he had been the one determined to take revenge, he would surely have falsely claimed to come in a god's name.
The musician, the proud musician, the musician who claimed humility, always believed that.
He believed that just as he could read her thoughts, he could also read the unspoken sorrows within the people's hearts.
Thus did much time pass, until that rebellious fantasy dissipated in the light,
Until the grievances of the past were utterly erased, when countless scattered wills finally gained restful slumber within the waterways,
Until, at the final moment, when he gazed upon the golden-haired traveler — only then did the musician understand...
That none can claim to understand another's heart until the final hour arrives.
It was not just her. His dear friend's fanaticism, his female companion's compassion, his God King's grand design...
He could not say that he had fully understood a single one of them.
Perhaps all the musical passages in this world were but fragments that could never play together,
And those who float or sink upon the high sea did nothing in the end but echo within their solitude.
But that was no longer important. It was all water under the bridge.
All dreams, noble, despicable, pure, filthy,
They all converged into the waters like lightly falling raindrops,
Like the tears she had shed while embracing his broken body,
Silently disappearing into the shadows of the symphony of night and day.
The golden-haired bosom friend caressed the magnificent purple robe, then bent to whisper in the musician's ear.
"My friend. My brother. Lift your head and look at those benighted slaves."
Though the voice was sweet as honey and gentle as a song, it was filled with unmistakable pride.
"The foolishness of this rabble, to take the grueling toil we bear for decadent lives of luxury."
"A shame, a shame indeed... that this beautiful solo should fall upon mortal sod."
The musician stopped playing and spoke no refutation, simply sighing.
Indeed, though it could cause the very bones of the earth to shake and make miracles mortals could not fathom,
The duty known as attunement, of cleansing the bitter sorrow of all waters, was essentially to burn one's soul like firewood.
The sorrow, the pain, and the resentment that flowed through the high canals had to be harmonized and purified by them,
Such that the God King in his golden palace could fulfill his great, tragic wish to save all souls.
"Do not let pride and arrogance blind you, my friend, my brother."
"We were elevated to guide and rescue those foolish slaves you speak of."
"How shall we play the Sebastos' perfect melody, if we despise them so?"
His golden-haired friend snorted coldly and rebuked him bitterly for his weakness. Then, he sat down beside him and began playing on the strings of his lyre.
His thought should have been perfected, and yet, as the strings echoed, what he saw were afterimages of his past.
Once, he too was a foolish person of bygone times, holding onto what he now knew to be weak expectation,
Yet, the watery moonlight and tender, lingering whispers ultimately faded amidst the clamoring bugles, leaving behind only solemn vows unfulfilled.
Perhaps he should not have become a Harmost, he thought, for he had never possessed such lofty delusions,
But instead, continued to imagine, even as he had in the past, that the descendants of those who dwelled on the high sea might suffer less.
"She never believed in the gods, for those who believe in gods would never commit atrocities in their name."
That was how his female companion, kind and loving as an elder sister, had once lamented the untrustworthiness of the barbarian tribes.
Yes, he thought, of course she would not believe in the gods. But had he not been the same way regarding the Sebastos of the golden palace?
Had she been the one to ascend, she too would have bowed before the Sebastos.
If he had been the one determined to take revenge, he would surely have falsely claimed to come in a god's name.
The musician, the proud musician, the musician who claimed humility, always believed that.
He believed that just as he could read her thoughts, he could also read the unspoken sorrows within the people's hearts.
Thus did much time pass, until that rebellious fantasy dissipated in the light,
Until the grievances of the past were utterly erased, when countless scattered wills finally gained restful slumber within the waterways,
Until, at the final moment, when he gazed upon the golden-haired traveler — only then did the musician understand...
That none can claim to understand another's heart until the final hour arrives.
It was not just her. His dear friend's fanaticism, his female companion's compassion, his God King's grand design...
He could not say that he had fully understood a single one of them.
Perhaps all the musical passages in this world were but fragments that could never play together,
And those who float or sink upon the high sea did nothing in the end but echo within their solitude.
But that was no longer important. It was all water under the bridge.
All dreams, noble, despicable, pure, filthy,
They all converged into the waters like lightly falling raindrops,
Like the tears she had shed while embracing his broken body,
Silently disappearing into the shadows of the symphony of night and day.