Flute Notes Novels & Stories

"His piece of music is attempting to probe the opponent's mind and soul. One will lose their guard after listening to the music. This isn't good news for his opponent." Ford listened to the music carefully and realized the flute notes were reverberating in his mind. The speed of his vital energy's circulation slowed down. He was astonished and quickly channeled a technique to push the music out of him. "This is an absolute technique that is unique to the Fries family. It's called the Cold-Faced Soul-Breaking Note.

“I know your shadows can rip me apart in less than a second. But still… for Lady Xanthea… please allow me.” Lifting the flute to his lips, he played a short melody — soft, subtle, fleeting like the first breeze before dawn. After a minute, he lowered the flute and looked at Xanthea’s unconscious form in my arms. Then he stepped closer and began playing his flute again. This time, the tune was slower, gentler… like a lullaby only the moon would hum. Minutes passed. Xanthea’s body, which had been tensed with pain, gradually relaxed. Her brows drew together in a faint wince as her eyelids fluttered open partially.

“Exactly. And what is the purpose of the staff?” “It represents a different pitch,” Sam answered. “Right. Let’s start with the lines on the treble clef. Do you know which notes they represent?” I asked her, pointing to the music sheet. “E, G, B, D, F,” Sam replied.

But then, she noticed it. ​A single star in the sky was stuttering. ​It wasn't a twinkle. It was a rhythmic, three-beat pulse. Dot-Dash-Dot. ​Nora gripped the flute. She began to play a low, dissonant note, focusing all her "Residual Friction" into the sound. The air around her began to shimmer. ​"Mommy?" ​Leo was standing in the doorway, his silver eyes wide. "The floor... it feels soft."

He moved slowly but it was hard to get everything at once. “That’s a lot of hand movements, how am I supposed to get all that?” I protested when he increased his pace a bit. He laughed, the deep throaty sound I’ve gotten used to. “I know, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” Turning back to the instrument, he continued, “The white keys are known as natural notes, and the black keys are known as the sharps.” He concluded, looking at me to make sure I was following. I nodded, urging him to go on.

"Will you play that tune you played in the competition for me please? I was too angry with you to appreciate it earlier." "Of course I will, sit down and relax. Let me play it for you" Teddy told him. Kelvin obeyed him and sat on the bed. Teddy brought out the flute from it's case and started to play it. Kelvin sat down and listened to the song. His brother was a genius at playing the flute, he thought to himself. As Teddy played the flute, Kelvin started to see some images flashing in his mind like they were memories he had long forgotten. He saw a winged man in the sky playing a black flute which looked identical to the one in Teddy's hands.

Her eyes find me. Flat, frozen, empty as a winter sky. And then her cracked grey mouth opens, and out of it comes not a word, because words are long gone from her, but three notes. Three rising notes, hummed thin and broken in a voice that has not been used to make a sound of its own in twenty years.

Raising up till it's at my eye level, I notice the mouthpiece is really polished to a shine, but. ... The flute is actually made of wood, yet it's so... different that it's hard to believe. Instinctively, I flex my right wrist, subconsciously feeling the weight of the flute, finding it cool and light. It's balanced in my grip just like the dagger, but is actually much lighter. Then my gaze falls on the sides, seeing the multiple holes along the length of the flute. My insides brighten at this; I've never owned a flute before or played one and I always thought it would have only two holes to play.

Then he lowered himself onto the bench. His fingers hovered over the keys before pressing one down. The note rang out clean and lonely in the empty room. He pressed another, letting it float before it faded. "Now, let’s get to work." He tried the opening notes. It fell apart halfway through. "That doesn’t sound right." A pause. "Let’s try again." He played more slowly. Same result, if anything worse. He grimaced. This sounded worse than a funeral march. He flipped back a page in the notebook, scanning notes he had scrawled days ago, half of them barely legible even to him. Third attempt. He adjusted two notes. It sounded worse still.

It would mean that he had already won the battle before it even began; before we even had a chance to fight. Meidran picked up his flute as well, flashing a satisfied smile. With hesitant hands, I carried the flute up to my lips and played my first note. It was the first note of a song that Meidran and I played together when we were younger. There was no way he had forgotten how to play this particular piece.