I sit at my desk, a confusing tome about the effects fighting has on a child's mind in front of me. One would think that I would be talking to my new familiar, asking it questions, instead of hoping to find answers in a dusty book that had been discredited before I was even born.

Two hours have passed since the summoning, since I pulled her away from the courtyard, away from the looks and murmurs, and rushed her to my room. I had barely spared time to finish the contract and introduce myself. It was strange, I had thought a Child of War would be loyal to her fight, but she had looked so happy when I told her she was mine now.

Mine, I had claimed, as if I was trying to reassure her that no one would try to take her back. As if proclaiming ownership over her like some kind of slave was the way to do that. Yet she had smiled, and asked me if I promised.

"Tch!"

Shame on her bastard parents, whoever they are.

Children of War, they are rarely ever spoken of in Tristain, the very name is a blight on our tongue. Yet the term is one not unheard of, for it is still taught to young and eager nobles. They are held as an example, a reason to why we are not allowed to push ourselves too far too young. A reason for our parents to hold in their pride even when they produce a prodigy.

They are supposed to be broken individuals, twisted entirely to a cause from a young age and forced to kill as soon as they can hold a blade. They are loyal to none other than their handlers, and take enjoyment from nothing but fighting. When forced to stay still, it was said they will begin to shake in anticipation of their next order, and that they will stay that way until it is given. At-least, that's what this book in front of me says.

This book is wrong. The girl I led up to my room but two hours ago still sits still, reading an old book on basic magic theory with a quiet excitement I do not believe I have seen about a book since I was that age.

The only sign, aside from the blood, that she is not a normal girl interested in magic she was never allowed to have, an insane thought in itself, is that even the slightest sounds catch her attention. It is like she is expecting an attack from the walls, even reassuring her she is perfectly safe in the chamber of a noble has done nothing to ease her awareness.

If it wasn't for the pure disarray her form displayed, from buildups of sweat visibly attached to her body like she hadn't showered in days, if not weeks, or the fact that she seemingly found nothing wrong with the state of her dress, I would be tempted to say I was wrong in my assumption.

Tempted, but being tempted does not mean I would be right. The fact stands that she took to her new fate as my familiar without even the slightest hesitation. She acted as if even the most rudimentary of questions would cause me to walk away, as if she was the one who gained from her new status as my servant.

I suppose I could buy into that if she was a simple commoner, the change from eventual bar maiden or simple farmer to a familiar of the esteemed noble Valliere family would actually be a massive step up for them. In theory, it would be like gaining the status of a handmaiden.

But she isn't a simple commoner. Even without accounting for the dress, the speed at which she is flipping through even the most basic magical books I own is a significant tell of her education. Why one would bother to teach their Child of War how to read quickly I have no idea, but commoners are rarely able to read at all, let alone with notable speed. Just another confusing tally on the growing list of reasons I do not understand the familiar I summoned.

As a noble, becoming a familiar is a clear step down in status. Human familiars do not happen, so to be a familiar of a noble is to be considered animal, that of a glorified pet. No noble would stand for that if they could fight it, not even if I am a member of a family as famous as the Valliere. It would be a step down so harsh as to almost be slavery-my thoughts crash, is this slavery? Slavery is bad, evil, a warning of a line we as nobles are given from the crown directly to never cross. And yet, as I look behind me at the girl, it occurs to me that my thoughts are tiptoeing around the subject dangerously, and with a pattern.

If she was a commoner, the thought would never occur to me. I would treat her like a servant, feed her, clothe her when needed, perhaps even pay her if she found she needed the money.

She isn't a commoner.

I open my mouth to speak, to fix this mistake, this grave misunderstanding, before someone else realizes what I have done. "Adeline?" I ask, my voice coming out slightly hoarse. The girl looks up from my book, giving me an expression of worry.

"Where would I go about finding water for you, master?" I feel my newfound guilt drive into my stomach like cold metal, is that it? Had she put it together before me, is she only so docile because she is worried I might punish her as a slave?

"I am fine." I try to reassure her, but she must pick up on the hesitance in my slightly wavering voice, for her look of concern only grows deeper. "Truly, I just wanted to discuss the terms of your pay." I try to approach the subject directly, tossing it out in the open. Slaves are not payed, therefore she should be. The thought that familiars are not paid barely passes through my head, surely summoning a noble was never an expected result.

"I only require basic amenities. Please do not bother yourself with more than necessary, master." My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around the book I am absently holding at my desk. The pages audibly crumpling as my fingers stiffen. The noise alerts the girl to my anger, at-least some of it, and I briefly worry that she may think I am angry with her.

"If you must, I would greatly appreciate a new dress, and perhaps a bath." She speaks quickly, presumably to appease me. Damn-it…

"I cannot promise you one of such high quality," I silently cringe at the idea that the blood soaked rags in front of me were once an elegant dress beyond what most commoners could ever hope to wear, "but I can certainly find you a new dress. And with it, a bath." I finish, and she smiles widely before looking back to the pages of the book on basic magic theory in her hands.

"Thank-you." She says softly, and at the reminder that at the very least she doesn't act broken, I feel a lot of my previous anger drain itself. I wonder yet again, if I am being too hasty in assuming her past.

We sit for another minute, the only noise being the turn of her page a few times. The textbook is meant for child nobles to gather the basics before they ever touch the academy, so the pages aren't overly long, and include quite a few pictures. Though if she cares about them, she doesn't comment. She is about that age, perhaps she appreciates them?

"How old are you?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

She looks up from the page, vibrant purple eyes gaze into mine, and from the length of her pause, I get the feeling the question is unwelcome. The first sign she has given me the whole time that she may not appreciate my summoning her. "Ten years, ten months." She answers without any of the annoyed tone I expect, and it occurs to me that perhaps she was simply having a hard time remembering her age.

Perhaps, I am jumping to conclusions too quickly. This is unlike me. I summoned someone earlier and I am too busy assuming to really even talk to the living proof. I decide this inner turmoil is not doing either of us well, and just ask. "Whatever happened to ruin your dress?" Her stare turns hard very suddenly, the vibrance in her eyes dying like it had been squashed beneath the weight of the event's heel. I momentarily regret asking, and reiterate. "I mean, was it a one time event, or a training accident?" My face flushes at how stupid I must sound. Like any mere training accident would cause, well, that.

"Billions died, please do not make light of their deaths by concerning yourself with mere clothing." Her voice is so very icy, almost hostile, like the first breath outside on a snowy day.

I have to fight a nervous laugh as it bubbles in my throat as I take in the girl's statement. It is absolutely crazy, I am not even sure we have a billion people in Halkegenia, and yet even if I wasn't staring awkwardly into her eyes I could tell she definitely believes what she just said. What did they do to her?

"I'm joking." She belittles her previous statement with a grin that looks true, before looking back to her book. For some reason, I don't believe it. "Billions" She makes a sound rather similar to a snort. All I can think about were her lifeless eyes just a moment before.

One thing is for sure, I did not make a mistake. I worry for a moment that perhaps the girl needs me more than I do her. I wonder if that is how the summoning ritual is meant to be, how it chooses between one creature that fits and the next. Scholars have thought for years that there had to be some sort of extra criteria, as surely there isn't only one creature amongst the entire world's occupants that might fit an individual mage. The math simply doesn't add up, especially when it is taken into consideration that a mage can call a new familiar if their original dies.

Stalling, that's what I'm doing. Ranting to myself to prolong the time between now and my next question. To think this morning I would have given my left arm just to summon a familiar, and now I'm stalling to avoid talking to her. I wish she would make this easier, what kind of familiar causes their master this much trouble?

"You said your family name is Akuma, I can't say I recognize it, where do you hail from?" I ask, hoping my trepidation is hidden well as I speak. I do not fear my familiar's past, I tell myself. That's silly.

She doesn't bother answering, continuing in silence for a few pages of the book, my book. If she was anyone else, I'd be struck with a fury the likes of which these walls have never seen. Even as the situation is, my hand twitches, but I hold back my rage, getting away with only clenching my teeth. I am not angry at her, I chant in my head, I am not angry at her.

"Germania." She speaks finally, and my rage turns into a rush of confusion. Germania, like Kirche? How in Brimir's name did a country that housed the Von Zerbst create a girl like this?

"Germania has a system in which you can ascend to noble status through monetary influence without magic. My family was one that took that opportunity." She continues, answering a question I never even thought to ask.

"Was?" I ask before I think about it, and hold back a wince at the loaded question.

"I will admit I was not there, but I presume they fell to the very same threat they threw me out for saving them from." She says with a rather noticeable tint of pain behind her dry voice. Like a tiny blade sliding across a chalkboard.

I hear the ripple of pages, and I realize yet again I am very quickly destroying the book I borrowed between my fingers. I suppose I will have to pay for it.

"Surely they had to have a reason!" I argue in surprise, only realizing after I've said it that for some reason, I'm defending the people I'm angry at. Her visible flinch makes me regret it immediately, but what is said cannot be taken back.

"I did something stupid in a moment of panic, I thought I would lose my cousins, my uncles, and my aunts if I failed to act. Turns out, sometimes even if you save someone, you still lose them." She speaks with a sense of finality that really drives in that this is a topic I do not want to continue asking about, and another question has already arisen from my treacherous mind before I've even taken my next breath. What did you do?

I ignore my mind, searching the room for something, anything to shift the conversation to, and then I see it. The basic book of magic theory still held firm in her grip. "If you can't cast magic, why the interest in it?" I ask, and she looks up from the book for the first time since my question about her dress. The stare she gives me does little for my confidence. It is a cross between judging, sizing me up, and jealousy. What about my statement there is to be jealous of I have no idea, but I fear it isn't the insightful nature of my question.

After what feels like an hour, but is probably significantly less than even a full minute, she speaks. "My new master is a mage, therefore those I fight to protect her will be mages." Her tone is that of an adult speaking to a small child, naive and with rose glasses. I try to stop it, but I can't, the grip on the book I'm holding clenches with such ferocity I can barely call it a tome anymore. The pages far past the threshold of meaningful condition. If she notices, she doesn't say anything, which I am loathe to admit does not help me reel in my sudden rage.

I open my mouth to shout a reprimand when she cuts me off quickly.

"I am sorry." It is said with, fear? I fight back an angry laugh, like the big bad child soldier has anything to fear from the Zero.

"For what?" I snap at her before I can stop myself.

"I stepped out of line, you have been very kind to me and do not deserve my anger." She speaks with the same tint of fear as before. What is she afraid of? I wonder.

"An apology to a noble is not a simple matter of words." I hear myself speak, and she shakes slightly. What is wrong with me, why would I say that? Why would I make it worse?

"Do what you must, I will not resist." A slight tremble in her voice shocking my mind back into introspection. I want to help her, not punish her. Damn my temperament.

"If you promise to think before you speak next time, I will let you go." I give her an out, and from the look on her face she's about to - why is her facial expression one of desperation?

"Please don't, I owe you more than I could ever pay back alone." She begs, visibly moving for the first time in the discussion to push her face near the floor. What is she doing? What does being alone have to do with anything? What does she owe me? Does she want punishment?

"Then no dinner." I speak, hoping it'll ease her, but if anything she looks even more worried. Her face shooting up from the floor to give me an expression that screams 'terrified.' I briefly wonder if she is mentally sound.

"If I do not eat then…" She trails off, blushing slightly for no apparent reason before sitting back up and dusting herself off, as if her brief time closer to the floor could possibly cause more damage to the wreck that is her dress. I take the moment to feel insulted for the maid that cleans this chamber, there is not a speck of dust in sight after-all. Credit where it is due, commoner or not. That is a Valliere family creed.

"That is acceptable, master." She speaks with a newly formed relieved smile, her eyes trailing back to the pages of my book.

Desperate to start the conversation back up, perhaps make up for my lapse in judgement a moment before. What does it say about me that I could lose my temper from the words of an angry child? I bring the topic dangerously close to her family yet again. "As a noble that comes from money, surely the hay bed I have previously prepared in preparation for a familiar's arrival is a cruel joke. What would you suggest we do to remedy this problem?" It is a pointless question I feel, the obvious answer is to have a maid deliver a mattress temporarily while we work out a more permanent solution, so the confusion bending her countenance catches me quite off guard.

Her blush, however small, chills my blood with a foreboding that makes me regret the stupid question immediately. "Given our, um…" She's not sure what to say, for the first time since her summoning she has no idea what words to use. That, more than anything makes me wish to move, to leave this place before she finishes her thought.

"Event, earlier," she pauses between the two words, her blush deepening. The foreboding sense of dread gains strength. So much so, it becomes physically difficult to stop myself from running. It is as if every instinct is shouting 'leave this place now while you have the chance.'

"I had assumed I would be…" She trails off, and the now revealed shy girl's hesitance causes my trepidation rises to an all new high. This is the girl who earlier 'joked' about the death of billions. I hold on for perhaps another second before I snap. "Out with it."

"I assumed we would be sleeping together!" She shouts, and my eyebrow quirks. So she thought we'd be sleeping in the same bed? Why the build-up then, I'll admit the thought hadn't really crossed my mind, but it is certainly an efficient solution. We are both rather small, and it is a pretty big bed. The real question I have to ask myself though, is why my own sense of dread isn't going away.

Why do I even now, feel the need to fill the area between my familiar and I with as much space as physically possible? Surely there is no reason to, at-least none that I see.

Wait, event? "What event?" I ask, and her blush deepens, as if that is even possible, the hue making her pale skin rosy. There it is, that dreadful build-up again.

"Well," she fumbles with her hands, making no attempt at reading any longer as she squirms. "When I was summoned…" What could she possibly - no, it isn't possible. No country could produce two perverts of such magnitude. The magecraft at work would easily require far more willpower than even the royal family's combination technique could commit. It must be a misunderstanding.

"You kissed me, told me I was yours, and then rushed me to your room!" ...My brain halts, my vision blurring reality as I follow the built-up urge to move. Somewhere, anywhere but right here, right now. I lose track of time, and it isn't until I am standing in a very familiar clearing in the forest that I realize where I've gone. The shattered trunks and toppled trees are a clear enough indication.

This is my testing ground, the place I go when I practice magic until I collapse into whatever crater I've recently dug beneath my feet.

I've always wondered what the odds are that no one has ever found it before, it isn't very far from the school. Just enough distance to stop the sounds from reaching my classmates.

Before I have even taken a moment to catch my breath, my wand is in my hand and I've shouted the first cry of 'fireball', a downed tree exploding every which way.

I cast again and again, the overflow of conflicting emotions over the last few hours releasing themselves blindly in the careless destruction. I don't even slow down when a chunk of bark flies by my head, cutting into my cheek as it passes.

The haze allows me to stop thinking, something I have been wanting to do for the past hour, and just release myself into my magic. Every misunderstanding, every uncontrollable bit of rage bites through into reality as spell failures form. Failures, everyone says. Can a failure reduce a forest clearing to broken remains? Can a failure leave craters three times her size with but a flick of her wrist?

Yes, yes it could, because it is, I think as I slow down, my blissful haze leaving me as I collapse against one of the only trees left. As I take in the clearing, I realize that if no one had found it before, there is no way they haven't now. Not that it matters, the damage I have just now done is monumental. Far more than any of my previous attempts, as if my first success earlier had unlocked hidden depths of willpower I didn't know I had.

"Tch." Even if I still wanted this clearing, it'd be worthless. Even the very dirt beneath it littered with the remains of the resources that once made it valuable to me.

"My master is very scary." The girl I had just recently run from says as she comes into view, walking to and then standing just a few feet away. She has a pleased smile on her face as she looks around, and then gives me that same look from earlier. That judgmental look mixed with jealousy, though this time there is even a little awe. I can't imagine what she would be in awe about though, let alone jealousy. Even this display is only a success because I had no intentions of succeeding.

"Your master is a joke." I answer back, forcing myself not to cry. She wasn't supposed to see this, proof of what I am. Not yet.

"No." She says with an authority I haven't yet heard from her, yet it sounds like it fits her. Perhaps, in her other life, she would have grown up to be a commander in the Germanian military. If they let magicless nobles into such positions. "My master is a very scary, very powerful mage." She looks at me once again like a naive child, and this time I do not have the will to rebuke her.

I can't stop myself, the tears begin to flow steadily, energy I was not aware I had flows out of my eye sockets, and I rub my face in an attempt to make it stop. To not embarrass myself in front of my familiar on our first day by crying while covered in bark, to at-least make it one day. Damn-it!

I feel soft, child-like arms wrap around me, before pulling me towards them with an incredible strength I am not sure I could fight even at my optimum. The back of my head coming to a rest against the shoulder of someone shorter than me is an interesting and new experience, not that it stops the tears.

"I understand, let it out." She whispers, and I doubt her. I doubt her so much, but the tears don't stop flowing.

How could she ever understand what it is like to constantly be rejected for who you are, for something decided against your will at birth? Something that no matter how hard you fight, you can never get past?

She couldn't, and yet, despite that, I take relief in her hollow attempt to understand. Because she's trying, when no one else will.