#is the magic and wonder and inexplicable occurences

[atlantic-riona]

hot take but I think a lot of current fantasy has lost the "what the heck" nonsensical vibes and that's why a lot of it is so bad

[dailycharacteroption]

Races Among the Stars 10: Gnome

It’s time for another look at the many alien species of Starfinder, and as usual we’re beginning with something a bit more familiar: gnomes.

Those familiar with gnomes in Pathfinder already know that gnomes were originally from the First World, banishing themselves to the Material Plane in a great mass exodus to find more novel experiences there. They also likely know that once they were there, they became susceptible to a new disease, the Bleaching, which occurs when gnomes fail to find novelty and interest in their life, leaching the color out of them as they are literally poisoned by banality.

Gnomes in the era of Starfinder retain that origin, but a few things have changed since then. Apparently some time during The Gap, some gnomes engineered a “cure” of sorts to the Bleaching, a genetic tampering that causes those that have it to be born as Bleachlings, but unlike those of the ancient past, these more serious gnomes are still able to feel joy and wonder, but it is tempered a bit, rather than being fully dour and jaded (though they still somewhat earn that reputation).

Meanwhile, the majority of gnomes are still “feychildren”, being passionate and vibrant and endlessly curious to a fault, and still subject to the normal and potentially deadly Bleaching should they fail to find wonder in the galaxy.

Much like in the distant past, gnomes are small humanoids with large eyes, wiry figures, and truly outrageous hair which can be nearly any color of the rainbow. Bleachlings, however, are devoid of color, their skin turning an ashen gray while their hair turns white.

Gnome society hasn’t changed that much since the era of Pathfinder, being very loosely governed if at all and being more focused on collective protection and helping every member find novelty and wonder in the world. Even the bleachlings seek novelty in their own way. Rather than seek new experiences to engage with, these more serious gnomes instead engage in intellectual curiosity and study.

While gnomes sometimes have difficulty relating to other species, they are very quick to make friends and compatriots out of anyone they meet. However, their somewhat alien mindset does indeed make things tricky, especially when this lack of understanding tends to condition them to not bother explaining themselves.

Interestingly, while modern elves have become xenophobic towards most other species, gnomes are an exception, and are allowed to freely travel to Sovyrian as they please, supposedly honoring some ancient pact of trust.

Gnomes tend to be tough, but physically weak. However, feychild gnomes tend to be more charming and passionate, while bleachlings focus more on intellectual pursuits.

Their innate curiosity does, however, lead them to ask many questions about the cultures of other species, giving them a vast pool of knowledge in such areas.

The hope and joy that not even bleaching can corrupt does make them naturally resistant to fear as well, and they can sometimes inexplicably turn defeat into victory.

Gnomes also have innate magic, mostly minor magical tricks, illusory sounds, and produced light.

They also sport sensitive eyes that can pick up even dim sources of light.

It would appear that in the far future, the old lines between gnomes and their offshoot svirfneblin kin have blurred. Now called gneblins, develop spiritual ties to whatever planet they make their homes on. And while they are not as tough as their kin, that spirituality does give them a greater capacity for empathy and wisdom. However, they too have become susceptible to the bleaching, presumably as the old pacts to the earth have diluted with intermarrying with their surface kin.

And of course, there are those gnomes that defy these expectations, including the driftborn, who have a curious connection to the drift and lack the dimorphism of other gnomes, instead being naturally agile thanks to their coordination in space. Others focus on joy over hope and therefore ignore pain and turn especially good luck into a rush of euphoria which further bolsters them. Some that grow up in other cultures temper their curiosity, but get better at reading others. Finally, some channel their curiosity into professional work, naturally developing greater skill in those areas.

With their natural toughness, gnomes make decent vanguards and nanocytes. Their dimorphism makes things more complicated though. Feychildren’s charisma makes envoy, solarion, witchwarper, social operative and the like good options, while the intellect of bleachlings lends itself to studious biohackers, mechanics, and technomancers. Gneblin of either ethnicity can make quite powerful mystics as well. Meanwhile, the Driftborn can make for good operatives, precogs, and long-range combat characters of any class. Their only real weakness is strength, making melee soldier, solarion, vanguard and the like a tough sell. However, it isn’t impossible to get around or even to pick a class that doesn’t match with the specific ethnicity. This is your character, and as always, feel free to mix and match, not letting a little thing like “optimization” get in the way.

That will do for today, but there’s some fun species we’ll be tackling later this week. Look forward to it!

[kick-the-clouds]

Vaccines: Humanity’s Most Suspiciously Successful Science Experiment

Ah, yes—vaccines. Tiny, magical potions that apparently have the audacity to prevent death, disease, and the collapse of civilization. What nerve. For over two centuries, they’ve saved millions of lives—how suspiciously convenient.

Let’s talk numbers, shall we? The World Health Organization estimates that vaccines prevent up to 5 million deaths every year. That’s millions of people who inconveniently didn’t die from diseases like measles, polio, and diphtheria. Take measles, for instance. In the pre-vaccine era, it killed 2.6 million people annually. Today, thanks to vaccination, that number has dropped by 95%. Truly outrageous. Who even asked for this level of success?

But wait, let’s balance this undeniable good with the horror of vaccine side effects. Anaphylaxis—a severe allergic reaction—occurs in roughly 1 in 1,000,000 vaccine doses. To put that in perspective, you’re 100 times more likely to be struck by lightning. Imagine gambling with your health and walking away with… improved odds of living. Scandalous.

And what about those other alleged dangers? Autism? No, it doesn’t cause that. The debunked study claiming otherwise has been discredited for decades. But why let facts ruin a good conspiracy theory? Apparently, logic isn't as fun as fearing needles and ignoring science.

The truth is, vaccines are so safe and effective that they’ve become a victim of their own success. Diseases like smallpox have been eradicated, leaving some to wonder if vaccines are even necessary. That’s like firing the firefighter because your house isn’t on fire anymore. Genius.

So here we are: alive, thriving, and inexplicably skeptical of the very thing that gave us a world without polio. Vaccines don’t just work; they work too well. And if you find that suspicious, maybe it’s time to consider that science isn’t out to get you—it’s out to save you.

[cosmicjoke]

Christ, trying to read the latest chapter of JJK is like playing some card game, like Magic the Gathering or something. It feels like you're being given instructions on spell casting or some shit and what affects occur when you cast a certain spell. It's that mind numbing trying to figure out what the hell's going on. This really is just shit writing. As much as I love JJK and Gojo and all of the characters, this might be the worst written manga I've ever seen, lol. It's not even remotely engaging or entertaining to read. I can barely take it. I'm only holding on because I want to see what the conclusion to all of this is going to be, but Jesus, this is painful to get through.

And look, I just get the irritated feeling that Gojo's "win" is going to be taken away from him in the next chapter, because every single chapter of this fight has ended on a bullshit cliffhanger that never amounts to anything. I wouldn't be surprised if Gojo winning is just a fake out, and we're right back to Sukana somehow, inexplicably, regaining the upper hand. I hope I'm wrong. I really do. I want this fight to end, like, yesterday, and the constant wondering if Gojo is going to survive or not is just exhausting. I really do just hope this win is the real deal and we can move the fuck on already.

[mizutoyama]

The Envelope from the Sky

This is my entry for this month's @hp-12monthsofmagic challenge "Life's a Witch" about one of Alice's relatives. Hope you enjoy!

Anna had always been considered a strange little girl. Strange things always seemed to happen around her, such as her elder brother's meal bursting into flames after a nasty prank he had pulled on her or her sister's favourite horse becoming covered in mud that just wouldn't go away after the former had broken Anna's favourite porcelain doll.

So, her family thought Anna was strange because these abnormal occurrences all seemed to involve the young girl. As a result, Princess Anna Louise of Hohenlohe-Langenburg was often found wandering the castle or its grounds alone.

It was on one such occasion that an event occurred which would explain everything. In the early summer days, the now 10-year-old Anna was walking around the grounds, lost in thought, when something fell on her head and landed at her feet. She picked up what appeared to be an envelope made of thick parchment. "Who still uses parchment in this day and age?" she wondered. On top of it was written, in calligraphy that was only somewhat legible:

Prinzessin Anna Louise zu Hohenlohe-Langenburg Schloss Langenburg Langenburg

Anna stared at her name on the envelope for a while before looking up at the sky. How could an envelope drop from the sky? She looked back at the envelope, turning it around to see that it was held closed by a wax seal that had a strange coat of arms with a capital E in the middle.

Despite her initial hesitation, Anna's interest was piqued by the strange wax seal. She couldn't resist opening the envelope, which contained a parchment letter with the same coat of arms as the seal. She read the letter:

Sehr geehrte Prinzessin zu Hohenlohe-Langenburg, wir freuen uns, Ihnen mitteilen zu können, dass Sie an der Eselkraut-Schule für Hexerei und Zauberei aufgenommen sind. Beigelegt finden Sie eine Liste aller benötigten Bücher und Ausrüstungsgegenstände. Das Schuljahr beginnt am 1. September. Wir erwarten Ihre Eule spätestens am 31. Juli.

Hochachtungsvoll,

Kriemhild Kohlbrecher Schulleiterin

Anna was in disbelief. A magic school? How was this possible? Was this some sort of joke? Perhaps her brother was behind it; he was always playing pranks on her. He was probably blaming her for waking up with blisters all over his skin last week, even though it was because he had come in contact with giant hogweed. That didn't stop him from accusing his sister of being possessed and blaming her for their mother's constant illness. He always had a tendency to overreact...

She looked back at the letter. If this was real and she was actually a witch... Maybe her brother was right. After all, most storybooks she had read associated witches with the devil.

On the other hand, what kind of name was Donkey Cabbage for a school? It was clearly made up, although she would have expected a better made-up name from her 26-year-old brother.

As she stared at the letter, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. It was so detailed and official-looking that it couldn't possibly be a prank. The more she read it, the more she realized it might be real. She had always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. But maybe, just maybe, this letter could be the key to her finding a place where she truly belonged.

She thought back to all the strange things that had happened to her over the years. The inexplicable occurrences that always seemed to follow her, the feeling that she was somehow different from everyone else. Could this letter finally be the answer to all her questions? Was this the opportunity she had been waiting for?

Looking back up at the sky, Anna couldn't help but wonder what awaited her at this mysterious school. She knew that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't even imagine.

Anna took a deep breath and folded the letter back into the envelope, tucking it into her pocket. She wasn't sure how her parents would react, but she knew she had to tell them. With a sense of determination, Anna set off towards the castle, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

[alexesguerra]

Find Your Magic Tarot Find Your Magic Tarot Contributor(s): Manzi, Giulia (Author) , Rotlich, Sara (Illustrator) ISBN:9781646712069 Binding: Other Pub Date: October 18, 2024 Publisher: U.S. Games Systems, Inc. Physical Info: 2.47" H x 5.62" L x 3.9" W (1.24 lbs) 128 pages Magic is everywhere and shows up anywhere you find a tiny stroke of good luck or an inexplicable miracle like a flower blooming out of season. This modern, diverse deck was created to help you recognize the magic all around you and within you. It invites you to explore hidden synchronicities and mystical manifestations that occur in your daily life. Tap into the potential of your inner world and rediscover your own sense of wonder as you interpret tarot wisdom shared by vagabonds and kings, witches and wayfarers. Includes 78 cards and 128-page full-color illustrated guidebook. Biographical Note: About the author: Giulia Manzi is a philosophical consultant and author of educational essays, biographies, and books for children. She works on self-knowledge through fiction and the languages of the imagination. She lives in what she considers the most magical city in the world, Rome, amongst dusty books, dried herbs, and a large cat. In her free time, she amuses herself with runes and tarot cards, and partakes in role play. About the artist: Sara Rotlich is an Italian illustrator. An urban witch, she gives a voice to her magic through drawing, blending cultures, styles and techniques. She loves dried flowers, amethysts, animation, cartoons, and her cats, who take over her graphic table at the most inconvenient times.

[mecdidikmen]

The Entitled / Helpful Fool

"You can't be serious."

-- "She just doesn't remember."

"So she followed all the clues, was attracted to most of the things I won't dare mention, without remembering it?"

-- "Yes!"

"The same girl who composed the screenplay of that scene?"

-- "I know, it's practically the same as the dream she forgot."

"Oh this is very Capaldi Dr. Who... So she followed, and found, without remembering the origin point? Based on what? Vibes?"

-- "Well, that's one way to put it."

"That's... Actually much more impressive. So goes it more intriguing with the study of consciousness, it could help the world, you know! with these set and settings, a complete new way of seeing the human psyche and its relationship with time."

-- "You are afflicted that she did not recall the dream, aren't you?"

"I don't know what that word means. Let me look."

-- "Nearly 3 decades is a long time to remember anything. You were two years and some months older as evident from the premonition, with a mind already dedicated to following the seemingly impossible."

"Perhaps, I am afflicted by my initial presumptions and that I built on them, felt left out because of them. I must have seemed like an inexplicable fool, who's occasionally helpful... An entitled one at that!"

-- "You remembered. Almost all throughout your life. You chose your very first companion based on the fact that she reminded you of her. Yet you gave up on dreams after a while, couple of wrong turns, dad leaving earth horribly, fulfilling his self-fulfilling prophecy and what followed it, self-medication in your 20s... You gave up on life back then as well."

"I was so sure that life had no framework that would support the things my core being wanted. True."

-- "So... You re-remembered, then pondered for years, at the most crucial of times. Do you recall the months prior to it?"

"Of course! Me coming back to life, who could forget such a time?"

-- "Do you remember the first time seeing her on a dark mirror, consciously?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

-- "Tell me how that went."

"You should know each moment of my life."

-- "Tell me with words."

"It was a very wyrd experience. Not particularly an "a-ha" moment at first, but a gradually building feeling like gifts wrapped in layers, after 3 weeks, I kept hearing that melody in the middle of the night, when I slept, and when I woke up! Went on to night walks with my brain tuning along. But without giving away too much, let's just say my initial reaction was saying something like this, 'I don't know what magic Angels put on you sister but it works.' Twice..."

-- "Hahaha."

"You can't laugh at this."

-- "I very well may, for it's funny. And I invented laughs! Now, tell me. Did you affiliate her with that dream in those initial months?"

"No, the dream was a bit buried at the time. Not until it occurred to me at one point later on and I spied for a proof of natural curliness through her childhood photographs, that dream was etched on to my brain you see! I never forgot that face, -as promised. Then I started to wonder, but even that was some months later."

-- "Yet you followed. Before recalling."

"Yes, of course. She inadvertently gave me new perspectives; a new breeze of livelihood with her craft and in general. Though stylewise not quite the cup of tea of a younger me, it was soul nourishing at my weakest. I was in a bad place still, I felt helped... And I thought I should return the favour, and that I started to do."

-- "Well, there you go, 'Vibes.'"

"Oh my stars..."

-- "Mm."

"Hmm!.."

"...You did not really invent laughs, did you?

-- "Like genuine tears, every gracious laughter is the centre of its invention. I reside there."

"I have so many dormant questions resurfacing..."

-- "And I know all of them."

[wurds-fur-nurds]

Retrospective Tales: Unveiling a Fake Word and Its Meaning Linked to a Long-Forgotten Event

Introducing "Retrobluff" - a fake word hailing from a random event two decades ago. It refers to the act of falsely recalling memories for self-amusement or attention. Reflecting on past laughs and the ability to create new, seemingly forgotten moments. #InventedWord #Nostalgia In the vast spectrum of linguistic wonders, sometimes we stumble upon words that seem to have emerged from an alternate dimension. Today, we take a nostalgic journey back to an event that occurred two decades ago, which birthed a truly one-of-a-kind term: 'blurbledorf'. Imagine the year 2001, when the world was turning the corner into the new millennium. In a small town nestled amidst rolling hills, an extraordinary occurrence took place. On a summer evening, a group of locals were picnicking near a picturesque lake, when suddenly, a dazzling meteor shower lit up the sky. As the meteors descended, they emitted a peculiar sound - 'blurbledorf'. The event left an indelible mark in the memories of those present that night. Inspired by this enchanting auditory experience, a resilient word enthusiast coined the term 'blurbledorf' to encapsulate the unique combination of wonder, awe, and fascination felt during that momentous event. Thus, 'blurbledorf' came into existence, engraving a fake word into the annals of language history. While 'blurbledorf' is not officially recognized in any dictionary, it has found a cozy spot in the hearts of those who cherish the memory of that otherworldly night. The term has taken on a life of its own, embodying a sense of unexplainable magic and breathtaking beauty. In essence, 'blurbledorf' can be defined as the inexplicable sensation of being caught in a moment of extraordinary enchantment. It represents that fleeting juncture where reality and imagination intertwine, momentarily whisking us away from the mundane and offering a glimpse into the extraordinary. Language, being a vessel of expression, often enables us to capture the essence of experiences that cannot be encapsulated by conventional words. 'Blurbledorf', although a product of a random event from two decades ago, reminds us of the inherent creativity and adaptability of language. It serves as a testament to the countless possibilities, both real and imaginary, that language holds within its grasp. So, the next time you find yourself in a moment of unwavering awe, remember the fanciful tale of 'blurbledorf' and allow the word to spark your own imaginative journey. Let it remind you that language is not merely a tool but also a canvas, ready to paint vivid pictures of the extraordinary moments that enrich our lives.

[logo-comics]

A sad possibility occurs to me suddenly. Memories can distort over time, and a lot happened to the Claes family in a relatively short time frame. Brain scrambling, royal engagement, Keith adoption, magic accident, love reveal. At most, this would've been maybe a month or two. Who's to say she doesn't misremember when Katarina started feeling distant from them? Keith is Milidiana's son in all the ways that matter now, and she loves him as much as she loves Katarina...

But she can probably remember when that wasn't the case, and she can remember that her daughter was becoming increasingly distant around the same time. She and Luigi likely wouldn't connect Katarina becoming a cheerful girl with the change in their relationship with her.

But they could associate it with the time before all their misunderstandings were resolved. The moment that their inability to just communicate was finally too much. The time period where she was bonding with her new brother while they were distancing from him. They could associate the inexplicable wall between themselves and their daughter with the point where she would've been seeing her family fall apart.

Is it any wonder why they'd be so at a loss as to how to reconnect after that?

Millidiana’s Parental Favoritism

I had a thought about Millidiana’s favoritism of Keith over Katarina and I wanted to hear you opinions  about it.

I think that Millidiana favors Keith more is because Keith looks like Luigi, the love of her life, so she subconsciously dotes on him.

Now, we know that, like Katarina, Millidiana has a low-opinion of her appearance, especially her eyes. So, because Katarina looks identical to her mother, Millidiana is harsher in her.

Millidiana considers Luigi to be better-looking than her so this subconsciously affects how she treats her children based on their appearance.

Was this clear? Please share your thoughts on it.

[laxmiree]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 40- Lucien’s split chapter

⚠️  SPOILER ALERT  ⚠️

This post contains a VERY HEAVY SPOILER for the chapter that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free  to notify me if  there are any mistakes in the translation~

IMPORTANT!!! to fully understand the story, prior knowledge of previous S2 chapters are needed. Before, I made a short summary that explain those chapters. I hope this can help :D

As he said that, he gently placed the stone in my palm, then took my hand and placed it over his heart.

“MC, what sound can you hear now?”

Like a wonderful overlap, I suddenly realized something.

The snow-covered wheat fields and the swaying bellflowers, the tide that comes in, and the spring that is always waiting.

My eyes were sour, and I pursed my lips tightly, not wanting to let the tears fall.

So I took his hand and gently placed it on my breast.

“Lucien, this is my answer.”

Then with a little force, I pulled him down, tilted my head up, and kissed him on the lips.

See also:

Chapter batch summary -> [Here]

Previous Split Chapter (S2 CH 39)-> [Here]

Recommended to read S1 ch 37 and S2 ch 34 first for more feels

Long story short, after MC goes through the loop several times, she returns to the park and lets the little girl end the loop. She tells everyone separately about the data from the loop. At the end of the countdown, MC stood on the throne and welcomed the end.

As the countdown goes to zero, MC gathered all of the power inside her, and she manages to hear the mysterious voice once again. After showing him her determination, the door finally opens, showed the [Heart of the World] in form of a huge cogwheel. The mysterious boy also appears in that place. He explains that every trajectory of the world will eventually come to an end.

MC, wanting everyone to live in a normal place, decides to change the rules by stabbing the [Heart of the World] with the golden dagger, making the huge cog wheel stops working. The mysterious boys then tell her that she’ll return to the world but will see some strange phenomenon as a result of the rules of the world being broken. No one is sure what’ll happen afterward, but for now, she can catch her breath.

MC’s consciousness drifts up, and she finds herself on a bus, where she meets Shaw here. After saying goodbye to Shaw, the [Strange Phenomenon] that’ll happen depends on the route that you choose. In Lucien’s route, the strange phenomenon is [Aurora Borealis].

[Chapter 40- Lucien Split Route 1] - Cutting through the crowds

The beautiful aurora borealis swirled like a silk ribbon in the night sky, lazily casting a dazzling stream of mist.

Its brilliant light fell in my eyes, glowing so brightly that it seemed to light up my whole world.

This gorgeous dream-like night made me feel lost for a moment.

Is this what the little boy means by the weird phenomenon that'll occur after breaking the world's rules?

The bus suddenly stopped, and its doors slowly opened as if it were being guided by magic.

I pondered for just a moment, then got up and walked off the bus

The moment my feet landed firmly on the ground, a white light suddenly enveloped me, so I had to close my eyes.

When I looked up again, everything in front of me had changed.

The moonlight sprinkled on me through the gaps in the leaves. And the night breeze rattled the camphor trees.

My heart beat inexplicably, missing half a beat, and I subconsciously look around, a little dazed.

The tall and luxuriant camphor tree stood as usual.

MC: How did I end up here…

The air was quiet, as if I was the only one in the world. I pinched my face hard.

MC: Ouch…

It's not a dream. Does this mean that I've succeeded?

I suddenly remembered something, hurriedly reached into my pocket, and pulled out my cell phone-

19:18

MC: !!

The white numbers stopped silently on the screen as if they were standing still, and I consciously held my breath, not daring to blink.

Looking at the flickering dark and light, it is as if this moment is infinitely stretched. My eyes began to feel a little sore.

Finally, the numbers on the clock turned to 19:19.

Time has really moved forward…

I finally arrived in the future after 19:17.

Two minutes can be so long that the 48 hours of running desperately under the countdown seem like a blink of an eye, and the 17 years of starting anew seem to pass in a second.

I feel like I've been walking for a long, long time before I got here.

Suddenly my nose felt a little sour, I clutched my phone, and my fingers involuntarily brushed the clock repeatedly, wanting to be sure.

The camphor leaves swayed, and somehow I was reminded of many moments in the past.

I can see the boy with the drawing board, the colorful candy wrapper paper crane, the peace knot carrying wishes, and the complete sketch…

There are countless dazzling fragments, all finally gathered in a pair of deep eyes blended with dappled light and shadow.

It was as if I saw every single moment when he looked at me.

Perhaps because of the rare and shocking light in the sky, the streets were crowded with bewildered and surprised people looking up to admire the glorious sky.

Even the vehicles on the road are parked directly in place, resulting in severe traffic jams on consecutive blocks, not to mention the empty cars.

I ran against the crowd's current, looking for even a shared bicycle or other means of transportation while looking at the location of the phone navigation from time to time.

Lucien should still be in the laboratory in the mine. Coincidentally, the laboratory forms a diagonal line with my current location.

All I want to do at this moment is to see him and proudly tell him that we did it.

I didn't know what to do next, but according to the little boy, I had time to catch my breath before the miracle ended.

So I picked up my pace, trying to get back to him a little faster

My heart was beating wildly because of the violent running, and every sound was left in the back of my mind, leaving only one direction in front of me.

Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure at the end of the crowd.

His usually neat hair is disheveled, it droops like it is thoroughly wet with sweat, and his black shirt is stained with mud out of nowhere, which makes him stand out.

He seemed to have come from somewhere as if he had traveled a long way.

It seems that I rarely see this kind of Lucien.

Even when he encountered the most challenging problems or repeatedly conducted experimental research, he was always calm and collected, not as impatient or even… impetuous as he is now.

As if he wanted to confirm something urgently.

I was about to call for him when I met his eyes

Those indifferent eyes lit up for a moment, and in the next second, he ran through the crowd, speeding up toward me.

MC: Lucien!

I didn't stop. While keeping my eyes locked on him, I stumbled through the crowd and ran in his direction.

After cutting through the crowd, I finally stood in front of Lucien.

It was only when I got closer that I realized that he was more "messed up" than I thought. Whether it is his effort to restrain the gasping breath or the sliding beads of sweat that fall around the corners, even his shoes are stained with dirt.

MC: Lucien, why are you…

I wanted to tell him we did it, but the words turned into another question.

MC: You didn't run from the laboratory, did you?

Lucien did not say anything, he just stared deeply at me. The light and shadow shifted in his eyes, swirling with indescribable emotions.

There is a little bit of relief and a lot of nostalgia. But all of this is condensed into pride and joy in the end.

I was a little confused by his stare and couldn't help but take a step forward.

MC: Why do you keep looking at me and not saying anything…

MC: Oh yeah, I haven't told you yet. I did it! We finally made it-

Lucien: MC.

Lucien: (quietly) …Can I hug you?

He interrupted me in a rather unusual way. I was stunned for half a second, thinking that this Lucien was a bit strange, but I still resolutely opened my arms.

This embrace was slower and gentler than ever before. He seemed a little unsure and in disbelief. His fingers rubbed cautiously.

Then slowly, very slowly, he gathered his arms together.

Lucien: (shaky, emotional sigh) ...

I heard Lucien let out a long sigh.

[Chapter 40- Lucien Split Route 3] - Gem of "hope"

We didn't speak for a long time.

Perhaps the striking color of the aurora borealis was so special that our hug only attracted a few unintentional glances, even through the crowds.

There was a faint touch of dampness in the palm of my hand, and I belatedly remembered the question he hadn't answered.

MC: You haven't answered my question just now.

MC: You didn't run from the laboratory in the mine, did you?

Lucien's gaze flickered for a moment. Without moving away from my face, he slightly raised the corners of his lips.

Lucien: I came here by car.

MC: And where's the car…?

Lucien: Halfway down the road, it ran out of fuel, there was no gas station nearby, so it was parked on the side of the road.

Lucien smiled a little helplessly.

Lucien: It's possible that I had a hitch because I spent all my thoughts on the experiment these days.

Although his explanation is reasonable and justified, I still feel that it's unbelievable this kind of thing happens to the always strict Lucien.

I couldn't help but narrow my eyes at him.

MC: And did you call the tow truck number?

Lucien: ....

Lucien: I think it's too late to fight now.

MC: ...Lucien.

Lucien: Occasionally, the scientists who can do no wrong are allowed to make small oversights in such minor matters.

MC: This is not about the small matter…

I was always helpless against him, so I just sighed and wiped the sweats on his forehead with my cuff.

MC: So after leaving the car halfway, Professor Lucien just ran straight over here?

Lucien: Um, it's like that.

He admits it openly as if his decision is justified and not worth talking about.

I can't help but feel angry and amused at the same time.

How is this person still having such a childish side?

He slowly released his arm around me and looked earnestly into my eyes.

Lucien: (softly) It's probably because I want to see you quickly. Even a little bit sooner is good.

The moonlight and the aurora borealis intertwined and fell on his eyebrows and hair, producing a soft and vivid light and shadow.

I could not help but hold onto his finger and shake it, then intentionally ask him.

MC: In that case, why don't you use your space-folding?

MC: The intelligent Professor Lucien didn't forget that he has Evol, did he?

He froze for a moment and finally smiled.

Lucien: This is bad… In just a few minutes, it seems that I've made several bad mistakes in a row.

Lucien: Will this affect my image in MC's mind?

MC: I think it can get affected a little. For example, now I'm secretly thinking, "Lucien, you're really a big fool".

I couldn't help but smile even after I said that. The person in front of me was always smiling, his fingers gently stroking my cheek affectionately.

After a long time, his voice fell on my ears.

Lucien: (chuckle) I think we still have a lot to talk about, so why don't we go somewhere else first?

I nod my head without hesitation.

Even though the future may still be uncertain, in this respite time, I just want to hold his hand and spend time with him in the present.

Along the way, Lucien always holds my hand tightly so that the reassuring warmth seems to reach my heart through the palm.

We didn't go in the direction of home. He didn't say where he was going, and I didn't ask, but we just tacitly walked in the same direction.

Soon, he led me into an isolated, deserted alley.

Immediately afterward, a white barrier enveloped us, and the world seemed to rotate in the sudden dazzling light.

When I returned to my senses, there was an empty field like a wasteland in front of me.

The sky was so low that the aurora borealis appeared as if it could be touched by a hand.

MC: Lucien, what is this place? Why are we here?

Lucien didn't answer my question directly. His eyes swept around with a slight curiosity and then fell back on me.

Lucien: I left behind something very important here for some time.

Lucien: If it is true, it should still be there.

He gently pushed away the gravel and weeds on the ground, and his long white fingertips touched the slightly wet soil without a hint of hesitation.

Then the soil was continuously dug out.

MC: ...?

I watched in amazement as he silently pushed layers of soil aside, repeating this simple action.

Countless questions came to my mind, I recalled what he had said earlier, and I vaguely guessed something, so I squatted beside him and quietly accompanied him.

In a few moments, Lucien's forehead was slightly sweaty, and the back of his hand was bruised due to the force he used. The dirt soaked his palms, and his fingers became red from the constant digging.

I didn't know what he was looking for, but an inexplicable ache sprang up in my heart.

After an unknown time, suddenly, there was a crisp "click" sound from the small pit.

It was like fate was making a sound.

Lucien paused slightly, and his pupils shrank unconsciously.

After a brief period of silence, he slowly lifted his hand, holding a glimmering object between his fingers.

As he used his cuffs to wipe off the mud on the surface of it little by little, Lucien opened his palm, and a clear green light came through. It was crystal clear against the backdrop of the aurora.

MC: It is… Is it a gem? Is this what you left here?

Lucien: Mmm.

Lucien: It was cut from an emerald called "Hope". I obtained it from a museum in England.

Lucien: I heard that it showed an almost transparent brown-green color, like the color of the aurora borealis. And I thought it would be similar to the scenery we had seen together.

Lucien: It seems to be true.

My heart skipped a beat, and I even suspected I had heard something wrong.

Lucien: When I got it, I just thought it would be a special gift, so I left it here...

Lucien: …left it along with those seeds.

(BGM suddenly stops)

Ba-dum Ba-dum

The world seemed to be paused, only leaving the sound of my beating heart.

MC: Lucien… What did you just say?

Lucien: I know that you will bring hope to this world. So I thought, when the dust settles, I'll bring you along to get it out.

Lucien: My special assistant, would you like to accept this belated gift?

My mind buzzed. His every word fell clearly into my ears, yet like an echo, reverberating in my head.

My nose was a little sore, and I subconsciously held my breath, fearing that if I blinked again, everything would just be a hallucination for me.

MC: …What you just said, can you repeat it?

Lucien curled up his lips, his outstretched hand paused in the air for a moment, then landed on the corner of my eye, gently wiping it. I felt his fingertips trembling a little.

Lucien: I remember… that you still owe me five minutes of your time.

Lucien: (softly) You promised to pay me back before… but now you want to cheat?

At this moment, the heart that had been floating for a long time fell slowly to the ground.

I looked at him and shook my head repeatedly. And then my tears finally fell down uncontrollably.

In my blurred vision, I see that long period of time spreading out before my eyes and then circling back to the original place.

Everything was as fast as if I had just turned around, like a beautiful dream, like a grand and brilliant hallucination.

My heart gushed with unstoppable joy. I cried and laughed at once, not caring how embarrassing I was, and just stubbornly held Lucien's hand tightly.

MC: You, you really remembered, right? I'm not dreaming or hallucinating, am I?

MC: But even if this is just a joke the world played on me, even if it's just a dream... I'm willing to stay in it.

Lucien: MC, I'm not going to let this be a hallucination.

Lucien interrupted my rambling speech.

Under the bright light, he lifted his hand to my face. His fingers carefully and tenderly rubbed away the traces of my tears.

Lucien: MC, don't cry.

Lucien: I haven't broken my promise to you or lied to you.

Lucien: Remember what I said that time? All my efforts are for the moment of reunion with you.

He stared at me quietly. His eyes were as gentle and deep as in memory.

Lucien: Only now, I am more certain that these are all your efforts.

Lucien: It was my little girl who was so determined and brave, and because she never stopped, I could come here step by step.

At this moment, Lucien seems to finally understand the huge dark shadow that enveloped the girl in that dream and understands all her silence and nostalgia.

The answer to those questions is also available at this moment.

Lucien: Thank you, MC, for always working so hard.

Lucien: Now, will you take me home?

[Chapter 40- Lucien Split Route 4]- The selfishness of reunion

The world seems to be covered in a dense mist.

My voice was tinged with sobs, and I bit my lip, trying to sound firm.

MC: Um, we're going home.

As I said that, I clasped Lucien's hand with mine and shook them in front of his eyes.

That long and distant promise finally crossed time. And with our slow steps, it finally connected into a line.

The road home is not close, and Lucien did not use Evol again. He let me hold and lead him, step by step, toward home.

The silence stretches the time, and the road seems to go on forever without end.

I walked for a long time until the familiar street entered my eyes, and I couldn't help but speed up my steps with my aching legs.

As the elevator doors opened, I habitually pulled Lucien towards the door of my home.

Lucien: (playfully) Is MC taking me back to her home?

He slowed his pace inadvertently, and the deliberately stressed words made me realize what was wrong, so I stammered an explanation and fumbled with my hands in his pockets.

MC: …N-no, I'm going back to your home! Hey, where's your key….

Lucien: Oh... So, are you coming home with me?

MC: …You, you're teasing me again!

He caught my restless hand, squeezed my palm, and then smoothly took out the key with the other hand and opened the door.

The moment the door was closed, I heard Lucien speak softly.

Lucien: I'm home.

These are just two words, but it sets off a circle of ripples in my heart.

I looked at him and collided with his eyes.

MC: Yes, we're home.

MC: Lucien, I'm taking you back home.

MC: I didn't go back on my word this time either. I did what we promised to do.

In the next second, there's a sense of weightlessness in my feet. Lucien picked me up in his arms and strode towards the window.

MC: You…

Lucien: Thank you for your hard work, MC.

He looked at me, his gentle eyes running over my face.

Lucien: You must be tired after walking for so long.

Lucien: You don't need to walk the rest of the way by yourself anymore. Because now, I'm right there by your side.

Even though he said it softly, I heard his unspoken words and understood what he meant.

I hooked his neck and rested my head on his shoulder, the pleasant smell of grass wrapped around me at once.

MC: Lucien, you've always been there.

MC: From the beginning to the end, I never walk alone because you've always been there.

MC: I hope I will always be my truest self in front of you, so I won't pretend to be strong and say I'm not tired.

MC: It's really difficult to start over. Even though it has a similar trajectory to the past, it is still something new.

MC: It took a long time to wait and adapt.

As we spoke, Lucien put me down and sat with me in front of the window. The colorful light spilled through the tulle-like curtains and into the room

I raised my hand to straighten out his somewhat messy forehead hair. My fingertips lightly traced the outline of his eyebrows.

MC: I also thought about running away, wanting to ignore everything and be a bad person.

MC: But then someone came to me, held out his hand to me, and pulled the wretched and cowardly me out of the heavy rain.

MC: He is still waiting for me in the depths of my memory, so how can I stop?

Lucien held my hand and gently rubbed its back.

Lucien: Am I so important?

MC: If you ask me that, I have to check if your memory is really all back.

Lucien: So, how do you want to test me?

MC: Let me think...

Faced with the narrowness and inquiry that flashed in his eyes, I racked my brain to think, not willing to admit defeat.

MC: The "omnipotent and smart" Professor Lucien, have you finally found the answers to the secrets and questions of this world?

Lucien: The world does not contain truths that can be explored overnight; it is a long, perhaps never-ending road.

Lucien: But if it's about the fact that the world has moved forward 17 years again after the doomsday, I think I should know more than enough.

Lucien: It's just that…

Lucien: Tonight, I don't want to spend the time analyzing the world.

Lucien: So let's leave this topic for later, okay?

He spoke so naturally and frankly that I couldn't help but laugh.

MC: Then tell me first, how did your memory come back?

Lucien: In fact, there were no signs, or, instead, it suddenly entered into the inadvertent gap of my mind.

Lucien: The feeling is very similar to the previous one, but it is exceptionally strong this time. By the time I realized it, it had already happened.  

MC: Are you saying that you have had similar experiences before?

Lucien gave me a meaningful look as if he was tacitly agreeing with me, but he quickly changed the subject.

Lucien: This may be another meaning of world overlap.

Lucien: Although the nature of overlap is to destroy, as long as it is not actually destroying, then…

Lucien: Those things that belong to the past will eventually return.

I blinked, and my eyes accidentally fell on the green and golden gem he had been clutching in his hand earlier, and I carefully poked it.

MC: Does it include it?

Lucien: Yes.

MC: When did you bury it?

MC: I remember that during the "Seed Project", you were so busy every day that you didn't even have time to sleep.

Lucien: I bury it at the time of "Doomsday Preview".

For a brief moment, I remembered the garden where we had stood side by side, watching it turn to ashes in a moment of great light.

He was already preparing to walk into the future when he witnessed the world's end. All those dusty moments in the past are now in full bloom.

Lucien: At that time, besides leaving a strong life and a lasting civilization, I also wanted to leave behind a selfish feeling.

He slightly lowered his eyes.

Lucien: Even though the world will come to an end, the traces of its existence will not fade away easily.

Lucien: Maybe one day in 10,000 years, or even more distant future, there will be new life born here.

Lucien: And someone will find this gem of hope I left behind.

There seemed to be a very bright light flickering in Lucien's eyes, and his voice was confident and sharp as if he was still pleased and proud even seeing that kind of future.

He paused and raised his hand to pin my hair behind my ear gently.

Lucien: But I'm a greedy and selfish person.

Lucien: So I prefer to keep this "hope" for myself, for the moment when we meet again.

With that, he twirled the gem and held it between our eyes.

Lucien: MC, what do you see at this moment?

I raised my head and quietly looked at him through the gem.

The emerald that reflected the aurora is shining with dazzling brilliance. The unique green color is embedded with golden light.

All the colors perfectly refracted into Lucien's eyes, melting into a crystal clear light cyan.

MC: I see… a very wonderful world.

Lucien: But I see you.

His voice is precious and soft in my ears, instantly turning my whole heart into a soft mess.

Lucien: I see you who works harder than anyone else.

Lucien: A person who has never given up, who has shouldered the responsibility and pressure alone, but still persevered until today.

Lucien: So, you're the one who made it shine in our hands.

He always gazed at me as if tiny waves of light flowed in those eyes, and I couldn't stop drowning in them.

Lucien: MC, it is you who made our story usher in tomorrow.

As he said that, he gently placed the stone in my palm, then took my hand and placed it over his heart.

Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum

The firm and powerful heart beat under my palm, real and strong.

Lucien: MC, what sound can you hear now?

Like a wonderful overlap, I suddenly realized something.

The snow-covered wheat fields and the swaying bellflowers, the tide that comes in, and the spring that is always waiting.*

My eyes were sour, and I pursed my lips tightly, not wanting to let the tears fall. So I took his hand and gently placed it on my breast.

MC: Lucien, this is my answer.

Then with a little force, I pulled him down, tilted my head up, and kissed him on the lips.

The soft and warm sensation is like continuous spring rain, finally arriving after a long delay.

I never closed my eyes. I just wanted to see more of him, wanted to just look at him.

The breath is just the right temperature, intertwined and undulating. Vaguely, I feel as if Lucien curved the corners of his lips

When he finally let go of me a little, he showed a slightly puzzled look.

Lucien: Do you want to keep looking at me like that?

MC: Mmm.

I nodded my head seriously. Suddenly, I thought of something else and spoke tentatively.

MC: By the way, Lucien, I want to make a bold guess.

MC: Is it already spring now in the snowy wheat field?

Lucien: For the answer, I hope we can reveal it together.

The corners of his lips curved up in a beautiful arc, and he reached out and rubbed my hair.

Lucien: Let's check it out together next time.

MC: That's a promise.

I reached out and hooked Lucien's little finger, forming a small promise.

Lucien opened his hand to wrap me again in his embrace, put his chin against my shoulder, and sent out a low sigh.

Lucien: MC, I'm back.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Lux’s rambling corner(feel free to ignore LOL)]

FINALLY, AFTER 2 LONG YEARS:”"””””””””. S2 lowkey feels like a fever dream ffs. While there’s def some good chapter out there, it does feel something is missing along with the memory of the boys:”. The voice acting is A+++++. If I could, I’ll put (softly) in almost everything Lucien said :”D. Thanks for the masterful voice acting and BGM planning; hearing and reading this chapter really made me cry. And if I have time, I’d love to subtitle the whole split chapter o<-<.

OKAY SO, first of all, that part where Lucien immediately RUN after his car gas runs out (oof- as unlucky as ever, I see:”D), just because he just wants to see her sooner, all while forgetting very basic thing to do is very bittersweet hnghh. it turns out that the “omniscient and smart” professor Lucien will also forget such small things and made many mistakes. That he’s such a ‘big fool’ in the face of his own feeling. Not to mention the slow and cautious hug, as if confirming and also the little fear that all of these might be not real hnghh (THAT SHAKY SIGH, i swear I never heard him THAT emotional)

THE EVERY. SINGLE. REFERENCE. TO CH 37. Enough said; they all successfully made me sobs. It is as if I can feel what MC felt, the slow realization, the unsureness, and the desperation for it to be really real (and the fact that even though it’s not, she’s willing to stay in that illusion:”). Luckily, it’s real (and he won’t let it to be not) and she can finally lead and take him home :”

just want to point out that MC taking initiative in their kiss important detail™️. because what he said in previous split chapter “If you want to win, you must take all the initiative into your own hands.” AND SHE DID-

What MC answered before kissing him is Lucien‘s question from previous chapter. She put his hand on her heart, as an answer.

I mention this on twitter before, that the wheat field in S2 Lucien's dream is a representation of his 'heart'. With the ebbs and flows of the tide as his 'heartbeat' At first, it was covered with snow, but the snow slowly melted, revealing golden wheat & flower fields(that weren’t originally here, but rather something called love that grows because of her). So when I said that she melt his heart I mean it literally-

I can talk about this chap all day honestly. but nfjdfjdf before it got too long and possibly making this post can’t be edited I have to end it here. Thank you for reading~ and crying with me, god. s2 has been a wild ride.

[linksthoughtbrambles]

Linktober 2022 Day 2: Bones ~~ A Link to the Past ~~ ZeldaGoesToo!AU ~~ 2100 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here,” Link said.

The Moon Pearl gleamed opalescent, tinged with the color of soft, red earth, smooth and shining against Link’s battered hand, cracked with cold, calloused with labor.  Zelda stared, wondering as always how its sheen drew dark at its edges regardless of how one held it, of the tilt of one’s head—always the side away from sight, not a shadow, the surface itself an impossible concession to that which ought go unseen.

It remained unchanged, always—even in the Dark World—as would its keeper.  Zelda eyed the great boulder they both knew to be a lie.  A gateway lay within, lay beneath, and they’d cross through it soon, out of the northern forest and into its harrowed reflection.  Link had heard its humming first—Zelda felt it soon after; they’d become so sensitive to it.

“Zelda?” Link asked, reaching up to brush her shoulder with gentle fingertips.  She couldn’t feel them—her cold-weather wear would not allow it—but the soft sound of their passage against leather attuned her eyes to his, the concern in them curving her mouth, raising her cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“I held it last in that place,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he said.  “I’d… still rather you keep it.”

“You’ve been going too long without it,” she said.

“What makes you say that?”

He didn’t know.

She’d rather thought not.

She aimed to keep her smile, but words, she thought, might wipe it from her countenance.  She raised a hand halfway to his face.  At his gaze flickering between that hand and her eyes, she retracted it just a fraction—but he neither retreated nor protested, so she completed its path, the pad of her index finger light on the bridge of his nose, her middle finger resting beside it.

“Do you know what happens—just here—when you’re angry, Link?”

He blinked.  She found it easy to keep her smile, as she’d hoped.

“This part of you wrinkles—like this.”  She drew her nose up toward her eyebrows as though presented with some unpleasant stench.  He laughed, his soft voice in his throat and his teeth framed in his lips pulling a grin from her, too.  She swept her fingertips from his nose to his cheek with lightening pressure, finally parting from him with a twinge just left of her breastbone.  She watched his mouth close into toothless smile.

“It wrinkles far more when you go without the pearl,” she said.

His smile started to leave him, as she thought it would.  “Do you mean I get angrier?”

“No.”  Link had never been angry with her—not once.  His anger had always been turned on others’ wickedness.  On Agahnim.

But in the dark, he’d turned those wrinkles toward her anyway.  “When you go long without the pearl in the dark… they… frequent your face.  They become other things.”

His face flinched inward on itself.  His brows remained down, furrowed, as the rest retracted.  “Have I frightened you?”

“Frightened me?  You?  No.  Never.”

A held breath left Link, shrinking his chest, releasing some of the pressure between his eyebrows.  Zelda registered its flutter in the air—couldn’t resist breathing it in: an inexplicable compulsion.  She expelled it in reluctant speech.  “It is simply not how you are in this world.  It isn’t you.  I’ve no wish to see you… usurped by the magics of that place.”

A swallow bobbed his voicebox.  “It really is okay.  I’m in control.”  He huffed a half-laugh with a smile touching one corner of his mouth.  “I thought the fur would be the larger issue.”

A quiet giggle heaved her belly.  “That has occurred only twice.”

“Kind of why I was confused.  I didn’t really have a choice the first time-”

“And the second time, being by choice, proved extraordinarily useful.”  She felt her own eyes sparkle at him, one corner of her mouth wavering, her humor half-tamped in recognition of the nigh-on-hell-maw at her side.  “I do believe if we’d waited much longer, you’d have become a wolf.”

His blue eyes flashed, then, fixed on hers.

Perhaps he knew.  Perhaps he felt, in his depths, what he would become were he to forsake himself to the relentless darkness in Ganon’s realm.

She had been unable to fathom the form which would be her endpoint, except in its hardness—when she’d become almost crystalline, faceted at her surface, when they first ventured in, ignorant of the Moon Pearl.  Perhaps she would be as the maidens—no more than a gem to be carried in a pocket, no more than thoughts reflected within.

Link’s eyes still held hers.

She passed between them in her vision.  It would be so easy to lose herself to time here in their brightness.

The way your eyes pierce my surface, she nearly said, I believe they would crack the skin of my reflection.

She ran her thumbs over the nicks, cracks, and callouses on her own hands, the insides of her right hand’s fingers thick and rough from drawing her heavy bowstring, her left palm and span running atop her thumb and index finger dulled, toughened from the grip.  These were the signs of strength upon her.

No one ought breach them.

She mustn’t be made vulnerable—not even by Link.

She shook her head, eyes falling to Link’s age-worn boots.

“Please take the pearl,” Link whispered.

“Link- Link, I-“

“Please.  There’s… a reason.”

“Of course there’s-“

“I mean, I’m not- just- being kind.”

Her head raised of its own volition to see his arm outstretched, a small canvas bag in the grip of his fist.  “The bones,” she breathed.

He nodded. “I… guess you saw me gather them.”

She’d tried not to watch as he had—sliver by sliver, the whole skeleton of their breakfast five days past.  “I did.”

He shrugged, the bag lurching toward the hidden portal as though tugged.  “I thought we should find out-“

“What happens if we bring them in with us.   Yes.  Yes, of course. I… Link, I can hold the remains.  You may keep the pearl.”

His squinting eyes spoke far more than his lips.

He still wanted her to take it.

She couldn’t allow him to lose himself in that pit of confusion and despair.

“I shall take the remains, Link.  You keep the pearl.”

He gazed at her hard for a long moment, those shining blue eyes roaming every line in her face.  Searching for a way past her surface.  But with four long breaths, he acquiesced, handing her the canvas, its drawstring pulled and tied tight, a light weight in her hand—it had been such a small bird.

Link returned the pearl to his pouch.

Zelda held her hand outstretched to him.  He took it.

She took a step toward the illusory rock.  He followed.  Each of her steps triggered his, and within ten they met the boulder’s surface, the hum of its repulsion shuddering its way through their flesh, their feet, shins, and knees first as they entered its wide base.

Entering the Dark World had never become easy.  No ordinary person could do this.

Their legs dug deep, invisible trenches through the sages’ seal’s raw energy.  Zelda’d clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth against its physical insistence, the swelling dissonance against her ears as the rock’s surface enveloped her hips.  A familiar fear gripped her as her very blood fell into one resonance and then another, always at odds with other vibrations, its unpredictable cacophony an earthquake in her form.

Three more strides brought the resistant illusion to Zelda’s clavicle.

Her heart hardened.

She no longer knew whether the seal, her own determination, or the darkness on the other side rendered her heart stone in the crossing. She couldn’t remember what she’d first believed or why. Certain shards of her past resisted her thoughts’ pressure even more strongly than this barrier clawed against their passage.

She heard Link grunt as he forced his neck to phase through a jagged edge of un-rock. The pang which would have sympathized with him resonated instead—crystalline. Reflective. Her strongest self would emerge on the other side of this threshold and resist all of it—the darkness, the despair, and the things which lay half-dormant in the darkest reaches of Link’s gaze, things which had no name, things she wanted unaccountably and irrationally—and unlike the failed lock she had just immersed herself in entirely, she would succeed.

She entered cacophony itself with her next stride.

Vibrations ricocheted through her form at the threshold of the Dark World—its sharp undulations, a thousand remnants of lightning strikes buzzing ozone in her nostrils in impossibly rapid succession, overlapping in tight disharmony.

Then it stopped.

Link’s fingers had rendered hers nearly numb. He eased off just as she did—she’d been no gentler. The experience demanded the surety of force. As his fingertips brushed hers, a tingling flew across her skin from those points of contact, reaching even the most distant parts of her body. It somehow seemed of greater magnitude than the seal’s relentless emanations.

Link’s soft gasp snapped Zelda’s eyes open.

They stood in a field of something like grass surrounded by something like trees, lit, as all things were in this world, by the unending twilight sun north of Death Mountain’s reflection, filtered to a sheen of diffuse rust through blackened leaves. The field bore signs of abandoned lives, as many places did. Fenceposts… no rails, no pickets. Everything peeling. Everything off-color. The tattered remains of what may have been a palette-bed cast against something which may once have been a crude spade.

For an instant, a tree with a face far past the field drew her gaze, but something above it, looming, seemed incongruous against the roiling clouds, heavy with noxious vapors and gleaming red with their edges twilit: one object still against all that churning. She knew at once why Link had gasped.

Bones.

Bones.

Bones the height of Hyrule castle.

Higher, perhaps.

A spinal column.

Perhaps the ends of a few ribs visible in the distance.

What creatures laid these bones to rest would shatter the earth with a step.

Would these spring to life? Would they be like the un-living crows and cuccos vying for scraps of nothingness in dusty soil? Would it rise, alighting hollowed eye sockets on her and on Link, and follow whatever greed-fed instinct led the skeletal birds to dive toward them, intent on stripping skin from their faces and forearms?

Zelda’s grip-hand tightened reflexively-

And the bag.

She’d forgotten.

She still held it tightly.

Her stare drew Link’s.

And they watched.

And watched.

Zelda’s eyes burned with the air’s acrid vapor.

Time in this place had little meeting, but one booted step, then another, crunched dry straws beneath them. Link entered her line of vision.

“It’s not moving.”

“Indeed not,” she whispered.

She thought deception on the part of a deceased crow unlikely, but held the bag at a cautious distance from her face while tugging its mouth wide.

Nothing.

Link reached out. He cupped the bottom, then closed his hand, his features pinching. “Zelda, would you mind turning it out into my hands?”

She upended it slowly, expecting a tangled mess of bones to fall into his hands at once, rather like a bird’s nest. Instead, a pitifully small stream of dust met Link’s palm.

He pinched some between his fingers and held it to his nose.

“What does it smell of?” she asked quietly.

“Burning,” he whispered. “Just like everything else.”

A murder of skeletal crows chose that moment to rise from the anti-forest’s canopy, nearly-silent but for the passage of their wingbones against the shriveled leaves of their home. Zelda followed their impossible flight northwest and out of sight.

“What are they?” she whispered.

Link said nothing aloud, but his entire stance spoke of thoughts. Before she could ask, he’d already taken the bag from her, dumped the remainder of the dust inside, and walked toward the spade. He gripped its aged handle—metal—and dug a small hole. He placed the crow’s remains inside with surprising reverence.

“I’d wondered,” Link whispered. “It didn’t seem right for this place… to give life.”

Zelda swallowed. Grains of sand.

“Perhaps it denies death,” she said.

The spine in the distance creaked, settling and swaying in the wind, groaning its song of monstrosity into the ground at their feet—discordant—one more foul instrument performing Ganon’s masterwork with no key, no fundamental frequency, no congruent overtones: a symphony of warring sound. Zelda’s skin thrilled to its tune, a sound like the tinkling of crystal in her ears as a distant call meant for her alone. She knew she shouldn’t answer it.

She could resist.

She was no instrument.

And Link was no fool.

He rose, his eyes and ears fixed on her, the sounds of his hand shuffling against his pouch’s opening announcing his intention clearly. A moment later, his palm held the Moon Pearl against hers, his fingers entwined with hers.

“You need it,” he whispered. “I don’t hear it the way you do.”

“You hear other things,” she said.

His hand tightened on hers a fraction—a reassuring pulse. “Which way… did it want you to go?”

She eyed the northwest, toward the murder of stalcrows.

“…Okay. Not that way, then.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not that way.”

They eyed the spine as one.

The maidens and their Dark World forms of pure crystal—so beautiful—unique and powerfully magical—the creatures fought over them, their remains eventually in the possession of some dominant horror, curling itself around the faceted surfaces (and remains they were, for even cut stones, attractive and sparkling, meant an end to all motion).

The groaning, creaking spine in the distance seemed a likely place to find a hulking evil, hoarding its coveted treasures in a forest of wooden faces and fleshless animals. Perhaps, they’d find a gem full of reflected thoughts jammed between two massive vertebrae.

Link and Zelda walked hand-in-hand, each pressed to the Moon Pearl, toward the spine’s deep bellows.

---------

A huge thank-you to @bellecream - this would not exist in this form without you!

[I hope to do more Linktober prompts - this is a busy time of year].

[Banner font is 'The Wild Breath of Zelda' by Chequered Ink].

Follow this link for my fic masterlist.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

&& like the orphans we are || some Terror Tomfoolery (1/?)

centric character: Frauncis Crozier relationships: Crozier & Jopson vibe: crack, essentially content warnings: handwaved magic, de-aged characters, panicked captains bringing their habits (of addressing people by surname) to involuntary parenthood, enthusiastic child labor, complete lack of actual effort or plot, summary less indicative of content than the so-called warning section, no regard for canon timeline, God Damn It as a substitute for the profanity Crozier would actually be using, Weird Victorian Child, Blatant Hodgeson erasure  Summary: In which Captain Crozier would give anything, anything to be going through withdrawals right now.

~*~

On top of every damn thing else, naturally, the sky explodes. 

It’s such a violent outburst of colors, accompanied by a sound like the earth itself bursting apart, it sends as many men scurrying for cover as it holds wide-eyed and transfixed upon the deck.

The display is over in a matter of minutes. The crew is split for a few hours between skittish and sheepish, but in the end it’s just one more strange occurrence among many, and as no one was killed, it’s quickly forgotten.

~*~

Francis wakes to find Jopson struggling with the curtains, yanking on the poor drapes as though his life depends on it. 

The captain’s first thought is that, thank God, the year is only 1839 and he has just woken from the longest, coldest, bloodiest dream of his life. His second thought is that he could have sworn his steward, who is now standing stock-still and staring at him in a way eerily reminiscent of a cat with lamp light caught in its eyes, was considerably taller last he was aware.

Jopson goes back to fighting with the curtains. The way the panel is drawn rapidly back and forth, the weak beam of sun falls along Crozier’s bed and disappears, falls and vanishes, falls and vanishes. Until with a furtive glance in his direction Jopson gives up trying to slide the curtains open properly and instead tucks the offending panel behind the table to hold it open. 

It is when Jopson reconsiders and climbs onto the table to reach the curtain rod that Francis begins to suspect both that the year is not 1839 and that he is about to be very much alarmed.

~*~

Francis is very much alarmed, and cannot for the life of him understand why Jopson does not seem to be.

His shining moment of hope that he’s actually still in the midst of withdrawals and this is the latest torment his mind has concocted for him gets dimmer and dimmer with every passing moment, and Jopson looks moderately concerned at most.

Crozier sighs. Where the hell to begin.

He starts with the obvious. 

“Jopson- - -”

His....inexplicably tiny and unruffled steward brightens.

“Captain!”

Oh god.  

It occurs to him that perhaps Jopson is his normal height, and has his normal voice, and that he, Crozier, has simply gone mad at last. Wouldn’t that just match the rest of his life record. Still, Jopson is staring again, and he ought to be sure.

“Jopson,” he says again, carefully, “Are you...well?”

Jopson blinks. Tilts his head like a goddamn sparrow, stray hair flopping over his eyes. The fact that, by all appearances, he is currently stood on a chair awkwardly attempting to help Francis with his coat is not doing wonders for Crozier’s investigation into his own sanity. 

He decides to elaborate. “You’re not feeling...ill, then? Not feeling-” about a meter high or so “- - - Different, today?”

Jopson hesitates.

God. Damn it.

~*~

“Is there a reason,” Francis finally settles on asking, “Any reason at all, that upon finding yourself in this....condition....you decided the most appropriate course of action would be to resume your duties as normal instead of...?”

Instead of a rational response, such as running to Dr. McDonald, screaming, crying, alerting someone. 

To his credit, Jopson seems to genuinely consider for a moment, staring intently at a spot just past Crozier’s right shoulder. Then he’s staring into the tumultuous depths of his soul again with the faintest hint of a shrug.

“Nothing for it,” the boy (god, once again, damn it) replies. He then grins like the devil in a way Crozier has only ever seen once or twice before (like when he was so triumphantly confessing to his part in that ridiculous scheme he and the Lieutenants had cooked up for Edward’s birthday last month) “It’s not as if I can go home, sir.”

~*~

“Doctor Mcdonald!” Crozier shouts before he even reaches the door. Even with the current state of emergency, he gives it three courteous knocks and a quick glance shows him the still only slightly nonplussed miniature steward tucked under his other arm attempting to do the same.

The door opens, but only enough for the uncharacteristically flustered Doctor McDonald to peer out.

Crozier briefly considers dropping Jopson and walking back the way he came. 

The defeated look on McDonald’s face as he glances between the two of them persuades him otherwise. 

The poor bastard regards Jopson warmly, if tiredly, and manages a wobbly smile for Francis. 

“Captain,” he says by way of greeting, and then lies through his teeth, “I was just about to send for you.” 

He steps back, allowing the door to open and gesturing for Crozier- and Jopson, no longer being held like a bony little sack of flour but instead trotting along at the captain’s side and holding Francis’ coat sleeve like a prized possession -to follow.

And damn it all to hell if two distinctly too-small but unmistakable lieutenants and a capuchin don’t turn to stare.

[sepublic]

Kikimora’s Motives?

            I wonder if Kikimora is motivated to access Belos’ secrets, and that’s why she hates Hunter and tries to kill him?

         Like, it’s obvious that Belos has a LOT of secrets and all sorts of weird, hidden knowledge… Kikimora could be like other characters in that she’s extremely fascinated and curious with magic, and/or powerhungry, so it makes sense that her obsession to learn more would drive her to latch onto the Emperor- The mysterious Emperor, with his inexplicable abilities and skills, who can hear what the Titan has to teach!

         That might be why Kikimora prizes herself and wants to be Belos’ confidant so much… She wants in on the secrets, she wants to learn more- And someone like Hunter gets in the way of that. Kikimora knows that Belos isn’t invincible nor infallible, he’s struggling and needs help, he can’t do this on his own and needs a person he can trust with most of everything…

         So, Kikimora offers herself up- To take advantage of this closeness and trust by Belos, by someone who has no choice but to rely on and trust someone with that… And that’s what she does, for a few decades! Belos needs people to help him with things, his most personal rituals and whatnot… So he needs Kikimora, and by her involvement, she inevitably finds out a LOT of things!

         Belos may or may not be aware of Kikimora’s desires, and he might tolerate it simply because he needs someone to help him, anyhow… And Kikimora doesn’t seem interested in betraying him anytime soon necessarily, just being that confidant by his side, who can access Belos’ knowledge and plans as a requirement for her role. But, maybe Belos was wary of Kikimora, which would then influence a later decision in life…

         And so in comes Hunter! This young brat, who lived at least a few years before being ‘found’ by Belos… So it’s even less than sixteen years ago, when the Golden Guard came into the picture and usurped everything! For decades, Kikimora has been faithfully acting as Belos’ right-hand witch, she’s schemed and fought and worked to achieve this, those precious secrets, she’s acted as the Emperor’s proxy for him in public!

         And this is how he thanks her- By replacing Kikimora with Hunter, this little brat? This nephew, who showed up out of nowhere, because why now, why now does Belos suddenly fall back on this elusive family that he ignored for so long as Emperor? Maybe Kikimora knows the real reason as part of her aforementioned understanding of a lot of things…

         But with Hunter, with Hunter as a kid who feels dependent upon Belos, whose entire life is revolving around pleasing his uncle because he actually cares for him, unconditionally… Hunter is more useful and trustworthy as a secretkeeper and a proxy, then. Hunter knows nothing else and seemingly has no desires of his own, he feels obligated to take care of his last family member- So Belos won’t have to worry about Hunter rebelling, he won’t have to worry about Hunter using his position to find forbidden knowledge.

         And even if Hunter DID do so, it’d at least be for Belos’ sake, not his own… So, Belos replaces Kikimora with Hunter. Kiki still does her normal duties and legislation, but when it comes to personally caring for Belos? Being trusted by him, being privy to his deepest, darkest moments of vulnerability? Hunter gets in on that, too… That ruins the pride and prestige for Kikimora, as the ONLY one Belos trusts…

         But now, Hunter isn’t just with her here- He’s completely replaced her! Hunter is leaving Kikimora out, because he doesn’t trust this gremlin despite her decades of actual experience and willing, ruthless murder for Belos… Because Hunter is ‘family’, so obviously that means more!

         And Kikimora is resentful… Hunter doesn’t see Kikimora as truly in it for Belos’ sake, so it’s better to keep her out of the picture, now that someone better-suited for the job is here. And Kikimora, she’s angered by that- She found pride in being the only person that the invincible Emperor could, and HAD to be vulnerable around...

         It gave her a certain power, a special superiority- To know that she’d seen Belos at his lowest, and he had to trust and need her for this! So even if it’s not a literal position of power at the top, in a way… Kikimora feels above even Belos, as someone whose health isn’t deteriorating, as someone he’s dependent upon, as someone who takes care of him- And she derives plenty of power from that realization.

         Having Hunter come in, taking that special power, that prestigious role away… Taking away Kikimora’s power over Belos, the most skilled witch of all- That displaces Kikimora and knocks her down at least two pegs. And, because Belos has found a new confidant, he doesn’t need to let Kiki in on his later plans and ideas anymore… Effectively barring Kikimora from the knowledge she so craves and desires.

         Does Belos not care for Hunter at all, and does Kikimora recognize this? Or at least, understandably believe the Emperor doesn’t care… She overheard everything that went on, so it’s likely that Kikimora is aware of Belos’ physical abuse. That’d motivate her to believe that Hunter isn’t TRULY important to Belos, he isn’t really attached… Meaning there’s less risk and repercussion in being found out, if Kikimora had Hunter killed.

         And then Hunting Palismen occurs as we know it- Belos is vulnerable, he needs to let someone in on this moment of dependency, this deep and dark secret… And Kikimora instinctively goes along out of the habit of decades, only to be rudely reminded when Hunter makes it clear that Belos no longer needs her for that, that Kiki can no longer have this kind of leverage over the Emperor in a sense, of being needed by him- Of Belos having no choice but to let someone else see him, and know his weakness.

         Kikimora hates that… She likes lording power over others, like when she taunts Lilith- And she likes having information and dirt on others. She likes that sensation of leverage, of knowing something that others don’t, something a person is trying to hide. Kikimora likes to snoop around and know people’s secrets, and wave that in front of them in her arrogance- She’s a little gremlin who controls a huge and powerful dragon, Kikimora potentially has a Napoleon Complex like King… So she compensates through knowledge and other forms of leverage.

         Kiki likes to feel better than people, to have her thumb over beings that should theoretically outclass her- Lilith, her pet, Hunter, even Emperor Belos himself! And Hunter is an outlier she can’t control, someone she doesn’t really know, who just sort of showed up out of nowhere- So out he goes! And now Kikimora knows that Hunter was the one who sabotaged her Palisman delivery, and Hunter doesn’t realize that…

         Hunter might have his own dirt on Kikimora, he can confirm that Kiki’s Handragon attacked him, it’s no secret that it belongs to her! That could land Kikimora into trouble, but presumably out of his innate mercy and chivalry, Hunter doesn’t tell this to Belos… But still. With how her eye narrows and its pupil shrinks, you can tell Kikimora is up to something- And she plans to weaponized it, no doubt… Because she likes having things as insurance in general.

         So if Hunter tries to put her back in line by threatening to reveal her assassination attempt by Belos, who knows? Kikimora might reveal her own hidden ace in the sleeve… And that’ll put the two at a tense stand-still as they try to figure each other out, and navigate. Hunter sees himself as protecting his uncle AND himself, now- And Kikimora is trying to defend her power and sense of control, at being relied upon and needed by others, because she’s needy that way.

         As for Belos? Maybe he thinks the competition encourages ‘growth’, he sure likes pitting witches against each other, after all- Hence competition to join his coven. Maybe he’s secretly aware and is amused by it… Maybe he was actually the one who put Kikimora up to the task after all, to ‘test’ his nephew and his resolve and power! Maybe Belos and Kiki are mutually aware of their own selfish desires…

         But because they need each other for that desire, because Kikimora prefers the subtle power of being Belos’ confidant –openly being the Emperor would paint a big target on HER back- they can sort of, weirdly, trust each other… Trust the other to act in their own self-interest, which includes their own benefit;

         So while they’d gladly sell the other out for a corn chip if the opportunity came up, Belos and Kikimora know it probably won’t ever, so they’re content in their little adversarial alliance! They can count on the other to serve their self-interests, which includes one another out of necessity in the end.

         It really is nothing personal, so they don’t take it that way- Belos is using Kikimora, Kikimora is using Belos! But with the Day of Unity, with the ‘Titan’ having plans for Hunter… Well, if Hunter is already here and truly loyal, why not make use of him instead? Belos is cracking down on loose threads and preparing for a merging of worlds, there’s a pivotal moment approaching- So he should play it safe and confront the liability that is Kikimora’s self-interest.

         With the likelihood of Hunter betraying Belos and siding with the protagonists, for his own gain, or possibly being rejected by his uncle for petty reasons… Who knows? Maybe we’ll see Hunter demoted but still kept around for whatever plans that the ‘Titan’ has, and Kikimora? Depending on how things turn out, she’ll carefully watch and play her cards, for the right opportunity, and hitchhike off of whatever happens for herself!

         She might not have to do much at all, really- Belos might just get rid of Hunter for her, after all! Because Hunter might care, but he’s fettered by the morality that forms the foundation of his concern… And THAT might be the bigger liability after all, unlike Kikimora’s lack of morals. So Belos might recognize that this is playing into what she wants, but so what? She’s more useful to him anyway, and Kiki recognizes this vice-versa and goes along. It’s nothing personal in the end, so it doesn’t hurt to be well-mannered with one another in the mean time, when things are still good.

        Maybe Belos and Kikimora will even come to a mutual understanding in regards to their suspicions of Hunter… And THAT will bring back that power and special privilege of being a secret-keeper, that Kiki always wanted! Especially with her knowledge on Hunter being the one who fought her, and the possibility of his palisman being discovered. Kikimora and Hunter have their pro’s and con’s, so Belos has to figure out which is best for him in the end, and Kiki seems more aware of and involved in the competition than Hunter anyway- So points for actually trying!

        In Slavic mythology, Kikimora are house demons that can enter through keyholes. Maybe listening at keyholes or going through them plays into Kiki’s desire and ability to eavesdrop on others, unnoticed- And in a scene where she DOES eavesdrop on Belos and Hunter, the doors to his throne room have no keyholes. Which, they originally did in Agony of a Witch, which makes me wonder if Belos is wizening up to Kikimora.

        She does seem inquisitive when it comes to Lilith’s bias towards Eda, so what with catching her off guard, and Kikimora might be the kind of person who has a tendency to stick her nose in things and snoop around, much to the detriment and annoyance of others- And she resents being left out as a result. I guess it’s like King’s feelings of abandonment, except way more sinister.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH55

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 55: Purgatory Reunion (VII)

Qi Leren woke up. When he woke up, he felt very tired. He didn't want to open his eyes. He just wanted to let the heavy sleepiness drag him and let him continue to sleep.

But he vaguely felt that something was wrong. He should have been sitting under the rock wall, but now the thing the back of his head was resting against was not as hard as stone, and why did he feel that he was lying down...

Qi Leren woke up with fright, suddenly opened his eyes, and immediately saw Ning Zhou sitting beside the rock wall.

He didn't know when they had changed their positions. Ning Zhou's leg had become his pillow, and the blanket was put over his own body, while Ning Zhou rested by sitting against the rock wall with his eyes closed. At the moment he woke up, Ning Zhou also opened his eyes that were without a trace of sleep.

"Why don't you take a rest?" Qi Leren quickly sat up and asked anxiously.

Ning Zhou shook his head: "I’ve slept enough."

When Qi Leren looked at the time, eight hours had passed.

Since they had both woken up, Qi Leren simply moved all the picnic items from Chen Baiqi out of the item bar, made a fire, and made some hot food for Ning Zhou. The method was quite simple and crude, directly throwing a small demon crystal into a vessel filled with water. The water was immediately heated to boiling by the energy in the demon crystal, and then the pot was put on it to start heating up, skillfully cooking noodles.

While cooking, Qi Leren talked about what had happened when they were separated. When he talked about Chen Baiqi giving him special training, he looked sad: "...When I was chased by the dog, I was particularly desperate. I didn’t know when those days would pass. I wanted to jump into the sea and never come up again."

After saying that, Qi Leren felt that this was inappropriate and added: "Of course, the effects of the training were still very good, otherwise I would have died in my last task."

Saying this, Qi Leren felt stupid again; shouldn't they talk about some easy topics when meeting again after a long separation? Why did his IQ plummet so far when he saw Ning Zhou?

Sure enough, Ning Zhou showed a worried look.

"Hey, it’s nothing, am I not fine?" Qi Leren quickly changed the subject. "Where's your big bird?"

Ning Zhou released the eagle from its pet bag. As soon as it came out, it began to shake its feathers. It was fed a [Pleasing Ration] by Qi Leren and swallowed in one gulp.

When the food was cooked, they ate hot noodles, and then they continued to talk.

They weren’t good at expressing their feelings, and even have a natural shyness towards love. The two men tacitly avoided the topic of love, as if they had forgotten why they were here after the night. Ning Zhou didn’t say that he was delighted when he learned that Qi Leren had come back from the dead, nor did Qi Leren speak of his love hidden in the bottom of his heart. Inexplicably, at this moment, the two people had an intuition.

They watched carefully, and even their hearts beat faster when their fingers accidentally touched. When Qi Leren spoke several times, he couldn't express his words, but Ning Zhou didn't notice it, and he nodded.

"Aren't you curious how I knew you were here?" Qi Leren asked. Ning Zhou hadn't even known about Qi Leren’s resurrection, because letters could only be sent to the transfer station in the Underground Ant City, but Ning Zhou had gone to Purgatory after writing his letter and didn't  receive the letter.

Ning Zhou nodded his head. He really was curious. How had Qi Leren recognized that it was him when he’d seen the huge magic dragon in the lake of fire?

"Actually, this is a bit hard to explain... When I was in reality... Well, when I lived in the world I’m from, I downloaded a game called ‘Nightmare Game’ with my laptop." Qi Leren considered the statement and prepared to start from the beginning, but he choked when he started. "This... what a laptop is may be a bit complicated to explain..."

It suddenly occurred to Qi Leren that Ning Zhou, as a person born in the Nightmare World, may not know what it was at all.

"I know." Ning Zhou said, with a smile in his eyes. "I’ve done the copy task of your time."

"Really? What was it like?" Qi Leren asked curiously, his spirits rising.

"At that time, I needed to make a phone call with my mobile phone. I had to look at the mobile phone for a long time," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren laughed with a "pft" sound, and Ning Zhou also laughed: "At that time, I really couldn't do anything. When I saw the gas stove, I thought for a long time about where the demon crystal was installed. As for the computer, I couldn't figure it out. I guessed that it was a product of alchemy."

Qi Leren was overjoyed and laughed for a long time before asking, "Did you learn it later?"

Ning Zhou nodded his head.

"Have you ever played computer games?" Qi Leren asked again.

"Well, I like minesweeper," Ning Zhou said, looking serious and sincere.

With this said, could Ning Zhou, who liked minesweeper and probably had only played these sorts of games with his own computer, understand the Nightmare Game he spoke of? Qi Leren was deeply worried. However worries are worries, so Qi Leren tried to describe things in understandable sentences: After playing the game, he had entered the Novice Village, then found the laptop again and got the Easter Egg in the castle. Finally, he talked about the previous task, and how he had learned the news of Ning Zhou's accident in advance through the game in the laptop—of course, he didn't say that he had lost his hand and almost died. He didn't want to worry Ning Zhou.

Qi Leren comforted: "In my eyes, no matter what power you use, I believe you’ll only use it to protect the world."

Ning Zhou looked at him deeply, and his complicated mood was indescribable.

What was at the end of power? While chasing the elusive mystery, people with power were destined to move closer to power, and the closer they got, the more they lost themselves. This feeling wasn’t very strong before achieving a half-field, but after reaching the level of a half-field, every step after that was closer to one’s origin.

But in the end he didn't say anything, just nodded his head gently.

Once a person had expectations, even if they were only a little bit weak, they were no longer willing to rush to close their eyes.

He would look at his light until the day when he had to be destroyed.

　　&&&

On the way back to the Underground Ant City, Qi Leren thought that the dense sentry posts would bring them trouble, but he didn't expect the demon guards to disappear without a trace, which made him feel confused.

"When I came here before, there were many guards. Have they withdrawn?" Qi Leren wondered.

Ning Zhou looked back at the sentry post they had already passed, thoughtful.

"When no one could enter or exit because of martial law, did that have to do with you?" Qi Leren asked.

"Maybe it was because of the Devil of Slaughter," Ning Zhou quietly changed the subject. "I heard that he started to have frequent appearances in the lake of fire a month ago and broke out once. According to the task background, the Devil of Slaughter’s consciousness has broken the seal."

"Well..." Qi Leren suddenly had a thought, but didn't say it, and went on according to Ning Zhou's words: "Speaking of this, the second part of the task requires us to ‘destroy the Devil of Slaughter and gain one third of the authority of the Devil of Destruction’, but now we have no clue."

Ning Zhou hummed, his expression stiff.

Ning Zhou really was a bad liar. Qi Leren could see that he was worried. When the demon information broker he had spoken to before had said "the Devil of Destruction’s former people appeared near the lake of fire", he inevitably had made some connections.

This group of demons was probably looking for Ning Zhou, who had inherited the force of destruction.

He wouldn’t mention it yet. Qi Leren didn't want to put more pressure on Ning Zhou. He just wanted to make Ning Zhou have a better life.

"Well... Let's go back to the Underground Ant City first. I left in a hurry. I didn't ask the Illusionist when he was going to go back to the Village of Dusk. Let's go back with him. What do you think?" Qi Leren asked.

"Alright," Ning Zhou said.

"Good, good, let’s walk." The eagle flew up from behind and stopped on Qi Leren's shoulder to peck his ears.

Qi Leren helplessly touched it, and was pecked in the nose as it asked for food. Ning Zhou glanced at it coldly, and the eagle muttered "how stingy" and fluttered away with its wings.

"Don't let it get used to it," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren bowed his head and smiled. On a sudden whim, his right hand quietly grasped Ning Zhou's left hand. Ning Zhou froze for a moment, then trembled a little as he took his hand.

One person looked at the fluorescent plants on the left side of the rock wall, and one looked at the fluorescent night moth on the right side of the rock wall, and the two moved forward without a word. Only their heartbeats with disordered rhythms and the sweetness flowing from the bottom of their hearts secretly announced their tacit understanding.

Qi Leren's thoughts were as messy as fallen leaves swept by the wind. For a moment, he wondered whether he should take the initiative. For a moment, he felt that with the environment Ning Zhou had grown up in, he wouldn’t be able to adapt to the modern ways of love. Finally, he desperately reviewed himself, and how he hadn't talked more about love and gathered experience in his student days, so he was now like a high school student experiencing his first love... The object of his affections was still a junior high school student who was more ignorant than him.

If you want to be "unsuitable for children", you have to get married first. Do you have to get married before kissing? When you get back to the Village of Dusk, you can buy an engagement ring... Ah, you’re penniless. It seems that you have to do a task first to earn some survival days. You can't bring Ning Zhou's blue gem ring from your grave to make up for it.

Before seeing Ning Zhou, he had thought about Ning Zhou all day. After seeing Ning Zhou, his head did not rest, but he thought more and more...

Along the way, the two people held hands like no one was watching, left Purgatory on the way back to the Underground Ant City, and got on the "train". This kind of car that was pulled by a strong domesticated demon at the front on a track was called a rail car in the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren and Ning Zhou put on their cloaks, sat side by side, and returned to the Underground Ant City.

However, an accident happened.

"What, the Illusionist is missing?" Qi Leren asked in shock.

The contact person from the Village of Dusk in the Underground Ant City was a young woman named Celia, who was dressed in the style of the Underground Ant City. She nodded solemnly: "Yes, the day after you left, the Illusionist took the Soothsayer's edict to meet the Dragon Ant Queen and never came back."

-----

Editor’s Notes: I’ve hesitantly decided to stop including a misgendering cw when it only applies to the Illusionist’s pronouns because I worry that it will get redundant, and I think it might be more apt to use it only in cases when heavier misgendering occurs (as well as I’ve often felt a bit odd doing so since this humble editor is a femme person who uses he/him pronouns). If you would like me to continue using the warning, please let me know and I will do so.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel x Gwyn - Perfect Harmony

Read on AO3

Suggested Music

A cool breeze caressed her face, waking her in the dead of night. 

The faintest bit of light had her squinting as her eyes readjusted. 

For a moment she felt panicked at the sight of the unfamiliar room. Taking a deep breath, it took her several seconds to recall where she was. 

Gwyn remembered that she was not in the House of Wind but in an Illyrian camp. In the small house, she shared with Azriel. She was safe.

Soft moonlight shined through the glass, and Gwyn realized she hadn’t bothered to close the curtains before laying down to sleep. It was unlike her. 

But, admittedly, her mind had been preoccupied. 

Pushing off the bed, she got up to check the window. 

Scanning along the edges, she found not a crack nor gap. Nothing to explain how the cool air had made its way inside. 

Strange. 

She stood there a moment longer, waiting to see if the breeze might pick up again. But nothing happened. 

Instead, she found herself staring out at the blue moon. An inexplicable sense of comfort and ease washed over her at the sight. It was the first one she could ever recall seeing. 

The longer she looked at it the more she felt something tugging at her. Gwyn placed her palm against the glass, right top where the moon appeared to sit in the sky, and the feeling grew. Something was stirring deep inside her, beckoning her forward. 

Although a small part of her knew it was unwise, she found herself moving to answer its call. On quiet footsteps, she cracked her down open and peeked out. Hearing not a sound, she headed out the front door in nothing but her light blue nightgown. A gift from Nesta.

Shutting the door behind her, it occurred to her that she’d forgotten to put on any shoes. The rational part of her said it wasn’t too late to go back for them, but a stronger part urged her to continue onward. That the shoes were not necessary for where she was going. Despite the fact that she had no idea where that was. 

Nevertheless, she listened. 

Moving through the camp, she was greeted by silence. The entire place and all who resided here were in a state of slumber. 

Blessedly, she ran into no one on her way out of camp. She didn’t think she’d be able to answer any questions as to why she was wandering off in the middle of the night alone.

This afternoon had once again given her some hope that the Illyrians might be able to change their ways, but she was still in no rush to seek out their company. With the exception of a select few, obviously.

The crisp mountain air welcomed her, as she left the relative safety of the camp, urging her on further. But something in her soul told her it was not the wind or air that truly called her, perhaps, not even the moon. 

Still, it was a call that felt oddly familiar as if she’d heard it once before. 

She followed it, further away from camp, into the wilderness. She could feel the changing earth beneath her feet. 

Soon enough, she heard the gentle flow of water meeting stone. A river came into view. And she remembered. Once before, during the Blood Rite, she’d heard this call. Telling her to come, reaffirming her own belief that she was would be safe beside it. Only at that time, it had only been a faint whisper. 

This time it was stronger, bolder as if it were confident that she would not shy away. 

Back then, Gwyn had thought she’d imagined it. That exhaustion and dehydration had worn her senses. 

Because never before in her life had she’d ever felt the call of the water. Though to be fair, she’d spent most of her life confined behind walls. 

Perhaps if she had ventured out sooner this feeling would not be so unfamiliar.

With little hesitation, she moved along the edge of the river - moving in the opposite direction to which it flowed. 

Not long after, Gwyn caught sight of the waterfall from which it flowed. 

The sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Tiny glowing insects danced in the air. Their soft light hitting the water droplets in the air in a way that covered everything in a soft glow. 

She could almost swear the pool directly beneath the waterfall glowed especially bright. The water there practically sings, calling her home.

And again, Gwyn finds herself moving in answer. 

She stepped into the water and it immediately began to soak the edge of her grown, dragging it down. But Gwyn does not let that deter her. 

She moves to the center of the pool, where it glowed brightest and the water seemed warmer than it had when she first entered. Stopping there in the center, the force that urged her on finally seems to quiet. 

So she finds herself left standing there, staring at her reflection in the pool. 

There was a faint chill in the air all of a sudden, but it didn’t particularly bother her. 

Her focus elsewhere. 

She ran her fingers along the surface of the water, creating tiny little ripples in the pool that moved against its own waves. 

The nagging feeling returned, calling for her to bend the water to her whim. A tingling sensation ran down her arm. 

She lifted a hand out of the water and watched as the small amount that had pooled in her palm trickled down. She found herself wishing it would not slip it away. 

She imagined it dancing, singing, with her. 

And just like that, the water obeyed. It stopped falling. Instead, tiny droplets rise off her palm and hover above her hand. 

She stared in shock. 

Gwyn lifted her other hand, aiming the same thoughts toward it. And once more, the water obeyed. 

She felt a warmth blossoming in her chest as her heart filled with wonder. All of a sudden more and more water droplets rose up from the pool, heeding her call. 

They collected all around her. Encircling her. 

A smile broke across her face. Amazing. 

- - - 

She stood near the foot of a waterfall, the water well up to her knees. The lazy waves lapping at her sides. 

Her gown was soaking through, turning parts of it nearly transparent. Thankfully, no one else was here to see her in this state. 

Azriel watched from the tree cover, having been awoken by his shadows when she’d snuck out of their cabin. 

They’d never called to him in such a way before. Their actions mostly in response to threats. But they always did behave rather differently around Gwyn. 

He would admit he hadn’t known what to think when she slipped out the door and into the night. 

At first, he’d thought she might be sleepwalking. But she was moved too carefully for that. And the longer he watched her the more he grew certain that was not the case. 

Her eyes weren’t glazed over or unseeing but more...awestruck or enchanted. By what, he could not say. The light of the moon made it easy to follow her, even without the help of his shadows. 

A part of him had wanted to call out to her, but as a force of habit, he remained relegated to the dark. He waited to see where she ended up, determined to keep her safe if necessary. 

He’d given her the benefit of the doubt. Gwyn surely had a reason for wandering in the night alone. And so, he’d gone on following her in silence. 

Azriel was genuinely surprised when she’d ended up at the waterfall, which fed into the small river that transversed this side of the mountain. 

He shouldn’t have been. 

They hadn’t had much time to study tome detailing her nymph ancestry, but he’d seen enough to know that water called to them, or perhaps it was the other way around. Of that, he could not be quite so sure. He knew the basics but in actuality, he’d never really encountered any nymphs in his long lifetime. They were mostly found in the Spring Court. A place he rarely deigned to visit. He’d been sent to spy there a few times over the years, but that was about it. 

Azriel would not go there willingly. His distaste for its High Lord too potent.  

He watched as Gwyn ran her hands in semi-circles across the water’s surface, creating small little ripples. Her expression thoughtful, humming as she did so. 

Then, unprompted, she lifted her hand out of the water. Her attention entirely focused on the water cupped her palm, as if she were studying. 

While the water did glow, thanks to the moonlight and the plethora of glowing insects littering the air, he could not see anything particularly special about it. 

Gwyn’s focus appeared to grow sharper and her humming louder until finally, he saw it.

Azriel saw the water droplets rise up out of her palm and suspend in the air above it. She quickly lifted her other hand out of the water and the same thing happened again. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

Without thinking, he moved out from the cover of the tree line. Determined to get a clearer look, he closed the distance between them. No longer feeling the need to hide his presence from her.

Her humming grew louder once more, and before long she opened her mouth and began to sing. 

Her voice washed over him, a sweet, comforting melody. A sort of calmness he wasn’t sure he ever felt settled inside his chest. 

It was a song he’d never heard, with words he did not even begin to understand, and yet it felt familiar to him, as though he’d known it all along. As if, though his mind had never heard it before, but his soul somehow had.

Azriel watched in awe as water began to dance around her. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small droplets hung in the air in response to her song. She seemed to hit a chorus, her voice speeding up, as she did the water droplets began to move all around her in a dance of pure magic. All the tiny spheres glowed as they caught the moonlight. 

Gwyn’s smile as she took it all in was nothing short of pure unadulterated joy.

Much like the water, everything about her appeared to glow. Her eyes sparkled watched the whirlwind around her, as she witnessed her own power. 

She marveling at it, and he marveled at her. Finally, she must’ve sensed him because she turned her head and their eyes met. Just like that, her concentration must have broken for the water fell around her.  

She eyed him for a while, her expression unreadable. Without so much as a word, she waded through the water and started toward him. 

Azriel tensed.

They hadn’t left things on the best of terms that night. While they hadn’t necessarily gone to bed angry, the air between had been...uneasy. 

An awkwardness had overtaken them as a result of his questioning her feelings toward Balthazar.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even brought it up. Things had been good between them lately. Every morning he awoke and got to see her smiling face across the table from him as they shared a small but filling breakfast together. 

Unlike Nesta, Gwyn never commented on the blandness of the meals they usually had before training. It often had him wondering about the sort of food she’d grown up eating during her time at the temple. Not that he ever asked her. No, Azriel would never ask for more than she was willing to give. 

Their shared meals were a pleasant time for him. He quietly watched her and every so often he would catch her watching back. 

At dinner time she often went and ate with Emerie, sometimes he would join them, and sometimes he wouldn’t. But regardless of whether or not he did, her face was always the last thing he saw before he returning to his room and falling asleep. On the nights he managed to fall asleep, that was. 

Tonight had been the first time she hadn’t wished him goodnight. And so, he worried that she would find fault with him following her without her permission. But he truly hadn’t meant any disrespect by it, and it was not as though he did not trust her. He’d simply be worried and a bit curious.

But in little time at all - his fears proved to be unfounded. 

Because as she reached him, Gwyn smiled brightly and grabbed hold of his sleeve. 

“Did you see that?” she exclaimed. It was impossible to miss the excitement in her voice. 

He gave her a soft smile, “I did.” 

It was a sight he’d never forget.

“I’ve never done that before, but it was...amazing,” she confessed, “It felt so natural. Like breathing. As if I was always meant to do it.” 

He fought the urge to brush his fingertips across her face.

“I’m happy for you, Gwyn. Truly.” 

Her gorgeously bright eyes stared up at him, “Thank you.”

He held her gaze, “Your voice is beautiful,” he added. 

Possibly the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, would ever hear. A part of him wished he could bottle up not only the sound of her voice but the feeling he’d gotten when he heard it. What he wouldn’t give to always be blanketed by such peace and calmness. 

Her smile in response was so pure and genuine, as though he’d given her some great gift. When that was quite the opposite of the truth. 

As though only just realizing she still held his sleeve in her grip she let go. Shifting away almost shyly, but that did not quite Gwyn. She likely thought she was bothering him with her touch. Nothing could be further from the truth. Then, seeming to regain her usual confidence she looked back up at him. 

“Will you sing with me?” she asked. Her eyes determined, yet also a touch nervous. 

He hesitated. Azriel did not make it a habit to sing in front of others. It was not something he shared with people. But rather something for him. Something he did when he felt the need to. Sharing it with someone else...

Gwyn raised her hand out in offering, silently asking him to join her in the water. He stared at that outstretched hand. Studied her patient face, Azriel could not say for certain why this moment felt so important. But something told him it was. That he either took her hand now or he might never again have the chance. 

The thought alone made his decision for him. Azriel reached across the short distance between them and took her hand, encasing it in his much larger one. 

Gwyn smiled in happiness and gently squeezed his hand in what he could only assume was reassurance. 

Hands linked, she led him along as they headed back toward the center of the pool. 

Once there she stopped, turning back to face him. 

“Follow my lead?” she asked.

He nodded before answering, “Okay.”

Her grin was so wide that he could see the tiniest of crinkles form at the corner of her eyes. 

Azriel stood silently, listening as she sang a couple of verses, and water began to rise around and circle them. 

Listening carefully to the keynotes, he waited until the chorus hit. 

Then, as natural as breathing, he sang in time with her. 

His shadows darted out and began to dance around them. They swirled around Gwyn, looking as though they were crawling up her body yet careful to never actually touch her. 

She smiled in answer and opened her palm. His shadows took that as an invitation. They curled around her hand and fingers to the point where they almost looked like tattoos across her skin. And then she met his eyes. 

Azriel felt a strange sort of relief. One he’d never felt before. The look she gave him stole all the words from his mind. Nothing in his life had ever come close to perfect.

Nothing except this. This moment.

It was perfect.

~ ~ ~ 

Author Notes: I debated combining this scene with others to make the chapter longer. But I felt as though this scene should stand on its own. 

I had already written this draft long before hearing the suggested music I included, but it did inspire the chapter title because it felt like such a perfect fit. 

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this latest installment, and Happy Easter to those who celebrate it!

~ ~ ~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium @toolazymyguy @inkdrinkershadowsinger @dealingdifferentdevils

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @velaaaris @itswrongsong @mirubyjane

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamali @mirubyai

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

    „Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

    You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

    “Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

    Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

    For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

    “Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

    “I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

    “Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

    “I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

    “Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

    “Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

    “Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

    “Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

    “Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

    “Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

    “Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

    “I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

    “We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

    “Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

    The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

    “Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

    Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

    “Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

    “Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

    “Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

    “It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

    “Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

    “Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

    Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

    “Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

    You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

    “She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

    “Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

    Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

    “Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

    “Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

    “Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

    “Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

    “Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

    You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

    “This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

    “No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

    He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

    “Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

    “A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

    “A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

    “Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

    “You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

    Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

    “I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

    “If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

    Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

    “I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

    Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

    You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

    “If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

    “Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

    Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

    You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

    With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

    But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

    If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

    “Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

    Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

    “Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

    The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

    Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

    The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

    “Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

    “Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

    “Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

    Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

    “Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

    “Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

    “We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

    “She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

    “Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

    “You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

    “First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

    This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

    “I—”

    “Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

    Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

    “I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

    “No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

    “I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

    The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

    He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

    “Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

    “Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

    He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

    “Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

    “Sylvain, what do you want?”

    “Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

    Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

    He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

    “How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

    “Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

    “In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

    “To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

    “If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

    Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

    You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

    “A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

    And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

    Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

    He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

    “Because I have eyes in my skull.”

    “Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

    “You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

    “Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

    If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

    The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

    “What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

    It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

    “Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

    “You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

    “Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

    Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

    You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

    Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

    “I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

    “I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

    You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

    “Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

    “That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

    “I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

    You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

    Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

    It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

    There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

    “That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

    “Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

    “You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

    “You wanna bet—”

    “That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

    Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

    She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

    The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

    The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

    This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

    When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

    A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

    “Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

    You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

    “I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

    “I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

    “But?”

    “But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

    “Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

    “Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

    “Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

    “No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

    “Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

    “He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

    “Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

    “Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

    “I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

    “Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

    A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

    “Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

    “That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

    You groan.

    “But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

    “He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

    “I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

    “What?”

    “The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

    “I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.