The night brings with it the celebrations. Everyone who fought has achieved their dream: bountiful wealth. The poor have lusted for the taste of gold since they were children, since the first time they couldn't afford a meal, a home, a bed. For the short time they have had gold they have bathed in it, sticking the scent of coins onto everyone. They danced to the singing in the light. The dancers and singers were of all ages, old and young, everyone has a role to play. The song is a powerful one. The lyrics do not matter, the symphony symbolises victory, the meaning along brought a childish glee to the dancers. The singers formed a choir with a member changing if the previous got tired; they were supposed to sing all night, the singers getting too tired to sing was expected. The singers looked down with the spotlights behind them, it is difficult to decipher who each singer was, allowing them to be changed without any of the dancers taking notice.
Akuma is neither a dancer nor a singer, merely a spectator. He smiles and scowls, constantly switching with each tap of the dancers' feet, with each change of the singers' pitch. He is hot and cold, satisfied and hungry, whole and empty.
The festival prances to dawn, the spotlights still going strong and the choir preparing many replacements.
Sao has not left his room. He watches from the small porthole window every room has at its furthest point from the door. Sao has seen the face of every singer while they prepare for their part; he has seen the face of every dancer as they rejoice to their still-beating heart's content. Every option that presented itself, every option chosen, runs through his head. He put himself in charge, he delegated orders, he must take the blame. None of his troops are dead, yet a feeling of loss persists. A sore loser, a failed leader. Who is Sao? Sao is who? Sao ponders for a little longer, alone.
It appears someone from another party was intrigued and arrived in a cart outside the palace. Some of the dancers have taken them to get them ready.
It is announced that the main act is ready to come out and sing. The dancers become even livelier, temporarily being louder than the singers. Singers have become harder to come by now. The previous have started to rest, and the supply is not increasing. The song may be ending, but the festival still goes strong. For as long as the spotlights persist, people will continue to dance; as long as gold cools their feet, the dancers will never stop.
Fajr takes a bold pose as the remaining singer is taken away to sleep. She is brought out on the king's throne and placed down to a crowd of cheers. She begins to speak, standing on the throne.
'I hope everyone has been living their dream to the fullest up till now, I know I have. I will let you continue your celebrations soon, but first; I need to make some closing remarks. I would like us all to thank two travellers who have made this dream a reality. Will Akuma and Sao be brought before me.'
The crowd splits for their Akuma. They gawk at him like hawks on his way through the human corridor. He is an exhibit. Akuma keeps focusing on Fajr, expressionless.
The six of them encircle Sao, all six dressed in cloaks obscuring their faces. Sao walks between them to Fajr, forced to kneel beside Akuma, who was already on one knee.
'Wonderful,' Fajr begins. 'Now I would first like to thank Akuma here.' Fajr takes a sword – presumably from one of the singers – and taps it on Akuma's shoulders. 'The role you played gave us our dream. In return, we shall play a role in you achieving yours.' She then turns to Sao, 'My people, please do not be alarmed with what I am about to say. This man here is a demon.' Gasps vibrate through the mass, followed with jeers and ruined festive spirits. 'It is alright, my people. This demon has proven to us one valuable piece of information: not all demons are inherently evil. There is hope lying on the horizon. Or at least I hypothesize, Sao.' Jeers of shock and betrayal convert to cheers of excitement and inclusivity. 'Now Sao, what will you do?'
'This is how you deal with me, then. I promise to protect these people from my kind, no matter what opposes me.'
'Well said. I'm sure you will.' Fajr turns back to the crowd – the six that brought Sao have disappeared. 'Now, it is time for the finale. Bring out our main event!'
The final two singers come out to perform, being lifted by six hooded figures, with their spotlights attached to their backs. They are placed on either side of Fajr. The singing starts early. With fewer singers, it is easier to identify the body of the voices; one is clearly from an adult man, the other a younger girl nearing the end of adolescence. Their spotlights begin to power up. Never have the dancers been so joyous, their inner happiness that was locked away has been released, the waves of warmth emit from the dancers. The air grows hot. Everyone starts to breath heavier breathes, whether it be physical or mental fatigue, all the breathes become one. Akuma begins dancing a very different dance to the others. His is erratic, forceful, heavy. According to some, his dancing is not wanted, suppressed. The six of them hold him down, face to dirt, arms crossed behind his back. The six bouncers restrain Akuma with thick ropes tied around his wrists and ankles; his dancing slows. It hasn't stopped, it won't stop, it carries on without thought. Dancing is brought on through unrestrainable emotion. His emotion surpasses that of a physical blockade. It powers on. The spotlights are brighter now, the singers are singing louder now, Akuma has slowed even more now. The bouncers are still on him, his emotions again spill out, Sao still sits motionless. With his body stagnant, his mind takes control of the spare energy; what goes on inside is buried, leaking through cracks in the rubble to lead to discovery. 'I must fight, I must fight for…'
'Akuma!' One of the voices calls.
Akuma responds in a cry, 'Rose!'