Reminiscence: Fleurdelys 
Impermanence Heron 
Nightmare: Feilian Beringal 
Story & Voice
Lore beats, character story moments, and voice lines to learn more about Ciaccona.
Character Story
1 Music and the World
With this discovery, she began to look up while reading, while sleeping, even while walking...
"Hey, hey. Eyes up front, Ms. Ciaccona. Why do you keep staring at the ceiling? Watch where you're going!" After taking a hard bump to the head, young Ciaccona decided it would be best not to stare at the sky so much... at least not while walking. The next time she looked up, she saw something that would become her lifelong passion.
It was an ordinary afternoon when Ciaccona pushed open the door of her father's study. The object tucked away on top of the cabinet was the first thing she noticed after looking up. She took it down nice and slowly—it was a violin and her first encounter with an instrument. Picturing how her father had played it before, she decided to give it a try.
"Screech..."
It was undoubtedly a harsh sound. Yet she felt a peculiar sensation, like she was sinking toward the bottom of the sea. All sounds but the violin began to fade away. The light and shadows of the setting sun blurred. The world before her eyes seemed to draw its curtains, and by the time they opened again, a new world appeared before her. The air was filled with dancing music notes, and in the distance, a group of people played music.
"H-Hello?"
No one responded to the young girl. She walked closer, and though their faces were blurry, the melody seemed familiar.
"It's a piece Father often plays. Composed by our family." Young Ciaccona recalled the music's origins.
The group seemed unaware of her presence as they played, surrounding the girl with melodies that sounded of cries of newborn babies, and life's joys and tragedies...
"Thud." The music came to an abrupt stop at the sound of a door opening. Noticing the violin in Ciaccona's hands, her father gently patted her head with a slight look of resignation before putting it away.
"I'll teach you how to play when you're a bit older," he said, taking Ciaccona's hand and leading her out of the room. Just before the door closed behind them, Ciaccona turned around and waved goodbye to the violin.
From that day on, Ciaccona began searching for information about the music. The more she learned, the clearer her visions became whenever she touched an instrument.
She never told anyone what she saw that day. It wasn't until much later that Ciaccona learned it was due to her Forte: the power to recreate the past through melodies.
People of different times, brought together through music and poetry. It was the greatest miracle the girl could have ever imagined.
2 Poems and the World
Outside her window were busy crowds, birds, the wind, and Acolytes in prayer... In Ciaccona's eyes, they were scenes that could be transformed into words and punctuations, yet they refused to string together into sentences. The words were hollow and lifeless when placed side by side. That was... far from poetry.
"Lady Ciaccona. May I trouble you for a moment?" A maid knocked on the door, entering the room after receiving a nod from the girl.
"I was wondering if I could ask for a favor, since you have a way with words. Could you help me write a letter? It's for my family."
Ciaccona motioned for the maid to sit down and began to write on a blank sheet of paper: "Dear..."
When the maid received a return letter from home, she shared it with Ciaccona. Together, they began to write a second letter...
What poured forth were heartfelt snippets of the maid's life and thoughts. Ciaccona smiled with the maid's joy and wept with her sorrow.
Word of Ciaccona's prowess spread, and more people came to her to write letters. She grew to understand each person's intents more deeply. For those seeking to send a letter to the sailor at sea, her quill carried the salty taste of the sea. For those seeking to send a letter to the father working in wheat fields, her ink bore the scent of wheat. She kept everyone's stories a secret, of course.
Before she knew it, she discovered the words in her letters were becoming more like poetry, forming a soul.
She picked up her quill and glanced out the window once again, but the scenery remained stubbornly unchanged, and the piece of paper before her remained blank. A knock sounded at the door, likely someone with another letter request. As the girl got up to answer, the voice of the visitor blended with the sound of the creaking floor, and at that moment, she understood what had been holding her back for so long. Before she could write, she needed to first listen.
"Coming! Who would you like to write to today?"
Ciaccona smoothed out the creases on the paper as the wind carried the prayers from the Cathedral of Mercury into the room. She continued to be moved by the joys and sorrows of countless stories, all the while searching for the romance and soul within their verses.
3 Fate and the Door
With her father and the rest of the family preoccupied with choir rehearsals, and no one around to keep an eye on her, Ciaccona knew this was her only chance at opening this door.
The door slowly creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness inside. Ciaccona braced against the wall and felt her way to the light switch.
Her father had forbidden anyone from entering this room. He told her it was his abandoned study, one he never had the time to clean out. He warned that the floorboards were so rotten they might break underfoot. But this wasn't enough to deter young Ciaccona's curiosity. Just as she had read in a poetry book: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light..."
The lights flickered on, lighting up the room. Immediately, Ciaccona knew her father had lied. It was indeed a study, but it was immaculate.
Bookshelves towered along the walls and various instruments slept in corners. It was a paradise for a girl with so much love for poetry and music.
She gently touched the instruments, waking them from their long slumber, and began to skip and sing. Right, then left... until she collided with a bookshelf. A book fell at her feet, and Ciaccona opened the first page.
"This anthology is attributed to the Golden Anthem. May these poems bring a glimmer of hope for those strayed from their destined paths..."
Ciaccona repeated the preface, captivated by the words. She quietly sat down, turning page after page, and as she did, her own destiny began to turn as well...
4 For the Stories, She Shall Sing
Ciaccona's narration ended as the music faded. Applause erupted around her like sparks leaping from a bonfire.
"Ciaccona, are you going somewhere else tomorrow?" The children gathered around her, eager for more stories.
Ciaccona had grown into a wandering bard, planting the seeds of poetry and music wherever her journey took her.
The fair winds guided the shepherds home, while the rolling clouds carried their thoughts across distant lands. The gentle rain, veiling tears, awaited the dawn.
The knight, with courage unyielding, charged toward the river's edge. The loaves of bread, heavy with parting, bore the family's silent sorrow.
The birds in the sky were the souls of Rinascita, striving, wings spread boldly even through the storm.
Ciaccona sang of tales far and wide but never once spoke of her own. When asked about her past and why she became a bard, she would always smile and reply, "Let the past stay where it belongs."
When the time comes for Ciaccona to finally unveil her past, the stories hidden behind her family name may become the most heart-wrenching chapters of her life.
5 For Herself, She Shall Sing
In Egla Town, countless people may meet and part with every passing moment. As a wandering bard, Ciaccona had always been an observer of stories, witnessing their beginnings, progression, and endings...
Until one morning, when she glimpsed an outlander from afar in the morning light, she knew that a new melody was about to sound.
That was Ciaccona's first conversation with you. But to her, it may not have been the first time the two of you met.
Under the night sky ablaze with fireworks, she witnessed the masked outlander claim the Laurel, outshining the stars and sparks amid the crowd's cheers.
What defines a hero praised in legends? Is it strength? Courage? Kindness? Or justice...?
Those qualities all converged on the radiant silhouette standing before her.
"If given the opportunity, I'd like to write a poem for you, Laureate."
The gentle breeze of Whisperwind Haven silently rides along the tides, passing over windmills and chimneys, then sweeping across the wilderness until it reaches a red-haired girl with antlers. She plays her lute among dancing birds, and the lingering wind soon carries her song to distant places.
"In her world, poetry and music each hold equal sway..."
As the girl with antlers watches you and Carlotta emerge from the wind, something tells her she too might soon be swept into a story.
Bards have always remained in the shadows as observers of another's legend. But stepping out from the pages, Ciaccona finds herself drawn into a story. There is both excitement and a hint of unease.
This time. For herself, she shall sing.
Voice Lines
Thoughts: I
You must be exhausted from your long journey. Well, time to sit down, take a break, and enjoy some poetry and music. What do you have in mind today? A heroic epic, or a simple jolly tale of rural life?
Thoughts: II
While reality may not have those magical swords and spells flying around in stories, that doesn't mean they have no meaning. The enduring goodness and beauty we find in those tales help us love the world even more.
Thoughts: III
Want to find me quickly? Let's see... You might catch me at restaurants late at night, on a random street corner, or up on the rooftops... Oh, that doesn't sound very helpful... Anyway, just follow the poetry and music, and we shall meet again.
Thoughts: IV
So, you've noticed I never mention any goodbyes or farewells in my poems. That's because, to me, goodbyes are just preludes to reunions. If I made the endings all sad and teary, it would be awkward when we meet again, don't you think?
Thoughts: V
A stranger sailed from distant shores and, after a grand debut, was crowned Laureate of the Carnevale. How's that for a story? This tale will be sung through the ages. I'll have the wind carry it across time's endless sea, echoing in eternity.
Ciaccona's Hobby
I really love a polyphonic form of music called the "chaconne." It captures the fleeting journey of life. From the cries of birth, to the drama and joy of living, and finally the melancholy of aging and loss. I believe my poems should follow a similar style. Triumphs deserve celebration, but suffering must also be recognized. Only by embracing both the light and the dark can we truly learn to love the world.
Ciaccona's Trouble
I've slept in all sorts of "beds" while wandering from one place to another. Tents, treehouses, mountain rocks, you name it. I'm not really picky about the environment. What bothers me the most is that whenever I try to switch sleeping positions, my horns always get in the way. Ugh, a perfect-size nightcap or horn covers would be nice.
Favorite Food
Any food can taste more delicious when paired with poems or music. How about we grab some wine and pizza, my friend? Add a side of "Poetry & Music Sauce," and when you hear the first few notes, you'll know it's time to dig in and enjoy.
Disliked Food
Food names can be misleading sometimes. I once met a merchant who taught me how to make a "gourmet treat" called "Deer Crackers." It was a type of biscuit made with breadcrumbs and flours. The name sounded cute, and I thought it would have a fresh, natural taste. But when I gave it a bite all I got was just dry and bland. Right as the merchant noticed and snatched the crackers from my hand, a deer popped out of the bushes and started enjoying them. So, as the name suggests, "Deer Crackers" are really just crackers for deers.
Ideals
I wish I could travel forever. A child's journey, a crazy journey, a colorful journey, a wanderer's journey... Any journey. Being on the road, I get to meet all sorts of people and hear their stories. Their tales of love for life, random chatter, and wild dreams and ideas are like fireworks bursting with colors and excitement.
Show more voice lines (47 remaining)
Chat: I
This is the first musical instrument I ever had. It can no longer make the sounds it used to, but thanks to my Forte, I can still feel the joys it once brought me from time to time... A young girl basking in the setting sun on stage, performing all by herself for an imaginary audience.
Chat: II
When I was little, my father wanted me to stay far away from poetry and music. I didn't understand why, especially when he was a choir master himself. But as they became a bigger part of my life, I began to see the other side—the often overlooked tragedies. Tragedies that can even harm the performers themselves.
About Carlotta
She's a discerning buyer and a skilled seller. Whether modern or vintage, Carlotta always appraises art with a fair and thoughtful eye. She taught me that the beauty of art transcends time, and that every artist will eventually find an audience that appreciates their vision.
About Phoebe
There was a time when I thought about telling her the truths about the Order, but after seeing her devotion as she stood in front of the Sentinel's statue, praying for the people of Ragunna, I abandoned the idea. For an Acolyte as kind as she is, perhaps the truth may do more harm than good, just as it did to me.
About Brant
He's a captivating performer on stage. Sometimes I wonder about Brant's fate. Will he be written into the pages of history after countless adventures? Or will he spend his retirement years recounting his legendary tales on a ship somewhere, holding a bottle of Troupe Strength?
About Cartethyia
The Blessed Maiden? Or a villain? There are still many unanswered questions in Cartethyia's story. I would never sing an incomplete story. A tale must have a proper ending for a bard to make it truly resonate through history.
Birthday Wishes
On this night of twinkling stars, I give my best wishes to the lucky star born on this day. Have you thought of a birthday wish yet? Wait, don't say it out loud. Once you have it, come sit down. The performance is about to begin.
Idle: I
Hmm, something's missing… yes...
Idle: II
Perfect now.
Idle: III
(Effort Sounds)
Self-Introduction
Bards are the couriers of heroes' tales. No need for applause or flowers. I'm just a storyteller like any other. Nice to meet you, great hero. You can call me Ciaccona.
Greeting
Hear that? A twinkling star just tinkled to the ground!
Join Team: I
Off we go! May my poems light the way on your path ahead!
Join Team: II
Some say, the storyteller will end up being part of the story as well.
Join Team: III
Now my inspiration is flowing!
Ascension: I
Isn't it amazing what miracles words and music can bring?
Ascension: II
It's a type of vocal exercise. Want to join me?
Ascension: III
Look, a mandolin made from a cookie jar! And a maraca made with a water bottle filled with beans. Amazing, right? We define what a musical instrument is. Performers never worry about being out of tune when expressing genuine emotions.
Ascension: IV
In a vast world, we journeyed across plains and explored ancient underground ruins. Finally, we pushed open the heavy doors of a tavern, dropped bags of Shell Credits on the table, and began singing our legends. As for whether the story is artistically embellished... Ha, I believe we should approach life with a romantic outlook.
Ascension: V
Time to end this story, the tale of all our adventures together. And there it is, the title of the final chapter: "To be Continued."
Basic Attack: I
Tada! A grand overture.
Basic Attack: II
Solo time.
Basic Attack: III
Perfect wrap-up.
Resonance Skill: II
Overture.
Resonance Skill: II
Polyphony.
Resonance Skill: III
Faster.
Resonance Liberation: I
Let the show begin.
Resonance Liberation: II
Listen. The Trio of Destiny.
Resonance Liberation: III
Now presenting, a poem of finale.
Intro Skill
Thanks for watching.
Hit: I
Oops. Bum note.
Hit: II
Better get serious.
Injured: I
The pitch is lowered.
Injured: II
Wonders and tragedies go together.
Injured: III
Playing the last note...
Fallen: I
I hear the weeping aria…
Fallen: II
The poems will be sung again…
Fallen: III
The melodies... have faded...
Echo Summon
A perfect chord.
Echo Transform
Seeing is believing.
Enemies Near
Tuning in.
Glider
Nice and easy.
Sensor
A pleasant surprise.
Dash
Mind the tempo.
Supply Chest: I
Phew. Not a mimic from the stories this time.
Supply Chest: II
Well, look who's also got an eye for inspiration.
Supply Chest: III
Fortune's singing.