4. Awakening

The world was dark, and someone was saying his name. At least, he thought so—the voice was muffled and indistinct, like it was underwater or traveling from a great distance. Concentrating on it made the room spin more than it already was. So he didn't. Instead, he cracked one eye open, then the other. A pair of boots filled his field of vision, but the light he was letting in made his skull feel like it was about to crack in two. He snapped his eyes shut again.

"Flynn."

Something about the insistence in that voice jolted him back to reality. There had been an explosion in the meeting room. Flynn was sprawled out on his stomach, cheek pressed against the cool tile of the hall. But there had been someone else with him, hadn't there? He jerked his head up, ignoring the pain that shot through his body.

"E-Estellise." A hand pressed lightly on his shoulder, preventing him from rising to his feet.

"She's fine."

"Ah. I can't…think straight." Flynn's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He decided to try opening his eyes again, and it wasn't quite as excruciating. The boots he'd seen resolved into Yuri, crouched beside him.

"Yeah. I'll go get Estelle."

Flynn felt that nodding would be unwise, but Yuri didn't wait for his approval. A moment later, Estellise dropped next to him, skirts billowing on the floor. She worked her hands in complicated-looking motions, seeming to pluck the healing power out of the air and weave it into a beautiful pattern of light that left a lingering afterimage on his retinas. With the help of blastia, Flynn could perform some healing artes as well, but nothing on the level of the young princess. Certainly not with her innate abilities.

"I'm so sorry, Flynn," she said. Tears sprang to her eyes. "You were the first one that I healed, then I went on to the others—I didn't get it all. You were hurting. I'm so sorry."

Flynn shook his head and was pleased to find the motion brought no pain.

"Don't blame yourself, Lady Estellise. I'm fine." He smiled to further reassure her.

"Alright," she said, a bit doubtfully. "But you really shouldn't push yourself today."

"I won't."

Satisfied, she returned to her other patients. A glance around the room found most of the meeting's attendants sitting up, though a few hunched over injured limbs or seemed dazed like Flynn had been not long before. A few individuals were conspicuously absent, and he made a note to ask someone about them once he had an opportunity. Ioder was safe; it seemed that Sodia had gotten him far enough away from the blast that he could be heard complaining only of mild ringing in his ears. Flynn felt an immense sense of relief that he had managed to spare both candidates of the Imperial throne from harm.

"Hey." Yuri slid to the floor next to him. "Better?"

Flynn nodded, then raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

"I thought you said you were leaving."

"You really shouldn't take me so literally, Flynn." He leaned back, bracing his arms against the tile. "Man. What happened in there?"

Flynn fell silent. From where he sat, he could see one corner of the meeting room through the open door. It was in shambles. The walls were blackened, the rugs charred, the maps and decorative fixtures indistinguishable piles of ash.

"I don't know," he sighed. "Things just keep escalating. I think the other attack was meant to distract us, to get us all in the same room."

"Makes sense."

"I only wish I had figured it out sooner. I'm glad that everyone here seems to be alright, but…it's such a mess."

Yuri nodded solemnly. "At least the cartographer's guild will have plenty of work."

Flynn couldn't help but laugh a little at the deadpan statement. It relieved some of the tension caused by the morning's events. Then Yuri reached out and brushed his fingers against his cheek and jaw line, and suddenly he had to concentrate on breathing.

Yuri held his hand out, palm up. The fingertips were smeared with red.

"Huh. Your ear was bleeding."

"Oh. Was it?" He brought a hand up to feel, ignoring the confused staccato rhythm in his chest and trying to hide what he hoped wasn't an obvious note of disappointment.

"Yeah, but it looks like Estelle took care of it."

Flynn made a vague sound of agreement before standing up and absorbing himself in an examination of the state of his uniform. He noted the layer of dust and chips of tile sticking to it and made a face as he tried to brush some of it off.

"I don't think that's really going to help, man."

Yuri got a withering look in response.

"Neat freak," he teased.

The blond gave up on what he realized was a pointless endeavor and, having recovered from his discomfiture, turned back to Yuri.

"Where are the others? Have you heard anything about injuries?"

Yuri thought for a moment.

"Uh, something about a few Council members. I don't know who all was there, so—"

"Noran?"

Yuri shrugged. He was ever so much help. The blond cast around, looking for someone else to ask.

"I believe I may be able to shed more light on this situation," said a familiar voice from behind him. Flynn turned to find Master Ioder, his royal garments a little worse for wear but otherwise unscathed by the blast. The young prince looked up at him with a serious expression.

"Please," said Flynn, nodding respectfully.

"Noran, Giselle and Sir Leblanc were the last to leave the meeting chamber. You can find them in the castle infirmary. Their statuses are unknown to me."

Flynn thanked the fair-haired Imperial candidate, who briefly bowed his head before returning to help Estellise lift a man—Kent, another Councilor—to his feet. So, Leblanc had been injured. Flynn hoped it was not severe; the man was a dedicated knight with many years of experience, having served since before the current Commandant had been born. If anyone knew how to deal with the new extremist threat, it would be him. Flynn remembered hearing about one of Brave Vesperia's first official jobs, working in cooperation with Leblanc and his men to thwart an attempt by Cumore's sister Mimula to aid the extremist cause for her own selfish gains. He wondered if that incident could be connected with the recent activity, if the same people she wished to manipulate had coordinated the attacks.

"I must go see him," he said, and Yuri blinked at the abrupt statement.

"Who, Noran?"

"Of course not. I meant Sir Leblanc."

"Oh. Are you sure? Because you asked me about—"

"I do not," said Flynn, deliberately and emphatically, "want to see Noran."

Yuri raised his hands in surrender, but his smile turned into a perplexed frown as he focused on something over Flynn's shoulder. The blond repressed a sigh. He was done with surprises, considering the past few hours.

"That's unfortunate," said Noran's unmistakable voice, "because here I am. And you, Sir Flynn, are not going anywhere."

The Councilor pulled the two men aside into a meeting room adjacent to the one they had evacuated. Yuri crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall and regarded Noran with open suspicion. Though Flynn had learned to tolerate the more power-driven individuals of the Empire in his rise to the top of the knights, his childhood friend never bothered to hide the fact that he despised them.

"Master Ioder said that you were injured," said Flynn.

"And so I was." Noran winced as he flexed his right hand.

Flynn nodded. Considering the relatively brief amount of time that had passed since the explosion, it must have been determined that Noran did not need any immediate surgeries. But it still seemed odd for him to be discharged so quickly.

"Wonderful. Glad to see you're the picture of health. Now what did you drag us in here for?" Yuri growled.

"I did not drag you anywhere," said Noran. "You followed us, not unlike—well, I would compare you to a lapdog, but I find that they are far more civilized."

To Yuri's credit, he merely huffed angrily and glared daggers into the back of the man's head. Flynn breathed easier, but Noran kept talking.

"After all, it was you providing idle entertainment for our Commandant in his quarters as the assassins closed in on their targets, was it not?" The Councilor nodded to himself, then turned to face Yuri. "Yes, that was the report I received. A man scaling the outer walls, climbing through the window. Quite suspect, but they say it's a common occurrence with you, Sir Flynn."

Flynn couldn't help but notice with irritation that the man used his name rather than his rank when he was being condescending. Which, incidentally, was most of the time. Noran was closing in on something, and the blond man wished that for once he could figure out what his angle was before he went in for the kill.

"Get to the point," said Yuri, eyes narrowed.

"I'm afraid I have none," said Noran. "Not with you, at any rate. I have nothing more to say on the matter."

Yuri tightened his hand into a fist, then allowed it to loosen and fall to his side. The Councilor watched the motion with a smug kind of interest.

"Blood on your hands," he sneered. "How utterly appropriate."

"Yeah, you can go to hell."

Noran's eyes flashed and he seemed poised for a typically dramatic response, but Yuri wasted no time in making an exit, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. The room suddenly felt very small and isolated.

"Charming, the company you keep," said Noran, and Flynn found himself mentally echoing Yuri's parting statement. "But he was right about one thing."

The blond quirked an eyebrow.

"It is time I get to the point. Giselle is dead."

Flynn's chest constricted. The woman was one of the most influential members of the Council, often working closely with Noran in coordinating the Empire's affairs. Though she was less focused on personal power, their relationship was a symbiotic one. She did not impede his progress, turning a blind eye to any moral gray areas he might inhabit, and he relied on her organizational skills and drive to get things accomplished.

"Yes, you do see," said the man, apparently registering Flynn's stricken expression. "It is an unacceptable loss."

The young Commandant opened his mouth, found he lacked a proper response, and closed it again. He wondered numbly what Noran wanted from him. An apology? An explanation?

"I am sorry," he found himself saying. "What would you have me do?"

The Council leader shrugged his broad shoulders, too casually. He settled an intense gaze on Flynn and began pacing around him.

"You must see it from our side of things," the man said, hands clasped behind him. "Two attacks boldly carried out within the Imperial castle walls within the same night. This place is meant to be like a fortress, you realize. I trust that I do not have to ask you how many knights are posted here."

Flynn clamped down on his frustration. The man was asking him to be everywhere at all times, to prevent all possible threats. It was hardly less than what he asked of himself, and he had failed in that. Yet he had noticed the explosive device, cleared the room before more damage could be done. Did that count for nothing, even if it had not saved Giselle?

"This sort of event shakes the citizens' faith in their Commandant, I fear." Noran frowned, his eyes sharp. "They must be able to sleep at night, never wonder if the sound of bombs will wake them."

"I see." Somehow, Flynn doubted that the Councilor spent much time worrying about how well the citizens of Zaphias slept.

"I hope that you do," he said, shaking his head sadly. "You will, after all, be facing the consequences of your many unforgivable failures."

Flynn's eyes widened at this statement. Fear dug a pit in his stomach, cold and sickening.

"You don't have the authority," he spat. The accusation sounded weak, even to him, and Noran chuckled.

"I have the Council. They stand with me, Sir Flynn."

He couldn't do this. Flynn told himself, over and over, that he could not. But his denial changed nothing. The man smiled, and when he spoke his voice was solemn, commanding, and laden with undisguised satisfaction.

"Flynn Scifo. You are hereby stripped of your rank as Commandant and expelled from the service of the Empire."