It is in human nature to commemorate special occasions. It doesn't necessarily matter what the occasion is, be it good or bad. That it is a moment of significance, human nature is that the moment should be commemorated.
How those commemorations are treated is another matter. Human nature is that bad events are not to be dwelled upon. When confronted by the drive to commemorate significant events, this manifests as the modification of the commemoration itself. Celebrations become remembrances; parties become moments of solemn reflection.
These principles are able to hold steady so long as the underlying event is clear in its distinction. But when that underlying event is itself one that has questionable distinction of cognitive recognition, the expression of the commemoration likewise gets complicated. An awkward cadence inevitably permeates the day, awkward switches between festive events, and somber ceremonies.
There was great celebration on the day that power switched from Emperor Lelouch to Empress Nunnally. He came to be known as demon while he reigned, and so there was immense joy and celebration around the world with his death. In one fell swoop, his detestable empire came crashing down. In his place, his younger sister was tepidly viewed as a promise of a new season of rationality, sanity; a kinder and gentler Britannia than the Demon Lord and his barely any better father.
But it was also a time of terrible loss. So many died in the lead up to that day. So many lives were in shambles. Those left behind were no doubt thrilled that the hated villains were gone, but they weren't in a mood to celebrate it as they mourned the dead.
The day that Lelouch died, that his empire collapsed, that Nunnally was proclaimed the new Empress of Britannia, came to be known as Memorial Day by imperial proclamation a year out. The official declaration stated it was, "to be a day for all people to remember the sacrifices of those who fought to bring about a new world that was better to all people."
The wording of the statement was important in its hidden meaning. The creation of the holiday was an acknowledgement and appeasement to those who wanted Britannia to recognize that the nation was not dismissed from the burden of its past just because there was a new ruler in place.
But while the world would condemn and vilify Lelouch, Nunnally did not want to. Sure, he'd made some terrible mistakes, and perhaps he even deserved to be hated, but she couldn't. He was her beloved brother. When she was a brat as a kid, he would defend her antics. When she was paralyzed, her vision and ability to walk gone, and they were exiled, he was the one that took care of her every need. For years he put all his thoughts and efforts into taking care of her. The Black Rebellion, his stint as emperor, it was all done by him to pave the way for a future for Nunnally's benefit. Knowing that, she couldn't bring herself to spite him, despite all the things he'd done. So, while most of the world was celebrating her ascension and her brother's death, Nunnally was mournfully remembering the caring brother she saw killed before her eyes that day.
Rain was soaking the capital, giving rise to despondent yet crude jokes that at least there would be no worry about fires. These inelegant remarks were of course meant to be said out of earshot of certain folks, but such things tend to spread regardless.
"Mother nature shares our heavy heart today, and blesses us with her tears," Nunnally had begun her speech. One of her speech writers added it in when he saw that it was raining. She thought it was a little cheesy, but she was hopeful that if only because of that someone might feel a little lift in spirits. That was about the only bright spot she could see for today. But she decided she would press through her dismay.
The Memorial Ceremony was a solemn event. Even with the pouring rain, it was an outdoor occasion where people were invited to hear brief speeches about the importance of the ultimate sacrifices made by those who fought tyranny, oppression, and fear.
Annually, thousands gathered to watch and be a part of the ceremony. As one might imagine, the grounds on which a grave marker sits could not accommodate the viewing of more than maybe a couple hundred sardines in a can. As such, large viewing screens and an outdoor PA system were setup to accommodate those who could not see the temporary stage from their station in the gallery.
Politicians liked to use the event to thump their chest about loyalty and honor towards Britannia, some speakers finding time to fit in spites at the memories of Charles or Lelouch, or both, for their infamous tenures on the throne. But it was seen to be in poor taste to make anything more than passing jabs. Regardless the infamy as despots, they were still the family of the current empress, and her sister the princess Cornelia.
Typically, a half-hour or so was allotted for the speeches, the last being one given by Nunnally herself, admonishing hatred and divisiveness, and blessing the memories of the fallen. The ceremony then wrapped up with a laying of a wreath at the memorial marker, a gravestone obelisk dedicated to those who died, but whose bodies were never recovered. The wreath laying was to be a cap on a period of silent prayer.
Nunnally felt equal measures embarrassment and anger as she sat on stage. She would coerce herself every year since coming up with the idea, telling herself it was for the sake of those who came to listen to her – a means of sating their want of recognition for the anger they felt. She would dish out the morsels of red meat they would gobble up. She would spend os much time crafting what she would say and how to say it, trying to temper what she said enough to make the crowd happy, but not so much that she would loathe looking herself in the mirror the next morning – at least no more than she already did for bending to such pressure.
She hated doing this every year, but it was more torture than anything else to have to do it while these people decided they'd find more interest in their phones than the basic courtesy of listening to their empress. What was even the point of giving this speech if the only one's benefit she was even doing it for were completely ignoring her? It just made her feel so stupid and pathetic. She could never openly admit to how many times she'd thought about just stopping mid-sentence and telling her audience she was done, and that was even in years past when it seemed they were hanging on her every word.
"Y-y-you're connected now, y-your majesty," a man's voice said over the loudspeakers. It set off a larger set of murmuring and confusion.
"First they stopped paying attention, and now someone messes up my audio? This is the worst…" she furiously roiled in her head.
The loud reverberation of the noise of the digital video connection going in and out interrupted her thoughts. She flashed an angry gaze off stage. Everything around her seemed to be driving her into a deeper rage. Nunnally flushed with anger for a moment, wondering what ludicrous thing was causing a fuss. Seeing the staff off to the side in a seeming panic over the audio/visual situation just made it worse. And then, a voice that was only vaguely familiar to her began to broadcast through the speakers. Her eyes caught a glimpse one of the giant screens, the sight of the picture jumping about, finally steadying itself on the image of a young woman with pink hair and large violet eyes. While she was not Euphie, that no less made her appearance a horror to behold.
"I suppose that will do. Hello, people of Britannia. You will pardon my abrupt interruption of your foolish mockery of what it means to be a Britannian. I've no doubt you all recognize me, despite the years since you've last seen me; I would hope you do if you seek to heap filth on my name on your annual day of phony piety and reflection. But, given you are frail minded dotards, I will spare you the agony of racking your small minds to recall. I am the former 88th Princess of the Holy Britannia Empire, Marrybell mel Britannia."
There was no mistaking that image, even if the authenticity might be questioned. Few royals had as much face recognition as Marrybell. The duality that her appearance roused was as stark as any in the world over. She was a lovely young woman in life; an astoundingly beautiful face and a pleasant smile. But for that, she was not nearly as lovely as her appearance let on. The word to best describe her was perhaps "excess." It wasn't excess the same sense as her stepsister Guinevere who was renowned for her ability to spend the GDP of some countries in a single frivolous afternoon.
No, Marrybell's excess was her lack of limitations on her actions, her choices. She would wear dresses that were a little too short, that would show off a little too much cleavage than what would be considered even the fringe of what constitutes "proper" attire. She could say too much, showing either a lack of appreciation for the power of her words, or a lack of care for the potential consequence.
And most notoriously of all, she had zero limits when it came to her life's pursuit of the extermination of all terrorists. She created the Glinda Knights, her very own personal order of Knights tasked with tracking down and killing any and all terrorists. For her, civilian casualties were simply a byproduct. More often than not it was their own fault for choosing to be so near to terrorists.
Before Euphemia, Marrybell had carried the inauspicious moniker of Massacre Princess, earned for the blood-soaked spectacles that were her hunts for terrorists. And when she joined hands with Lelouch after his rise to the throne, she came to be known as the Witch, due to several reasons, among them being a not-so-quiet rumor that she sold her soul to the Demon Lord and promised to be his bride in exchange for power.
But she should have been dead. Or rather, there was no way she could be alive. Legend, or as close to a legend as an event sparsely half a decade old can be, said she died the exact same moment as Lelouch. Oldrin Zevon said she didn't know if that was the case, but she had confirmed the fact of Marrybell's death. She had intended to do the deed herself, but her brother, Orpheus, chose to handle the matter himself. He stabbed her, and the two fell from the Damocles as it float miles above the sea. If the dagger in the heart hadn't killed her, the several-thousand-foot drop should have.
"Several years ago, I was given the privilege of working with my brother, Lelouch vi Britannia, and serving with him as emperor. Through his actions, my long-standing dream was coming closer to reality – the eradication of all of the terrorist scum and those who supported them in their violation of our world. But foolish puppets, like our little sister, chose to side with those deplorables and schemed to destroy the work we had sacrificed so much blood and tears to achieve. In the end, the world's worst terrorist managed to assassinate our dear emperor.
"Since then, such terrorist pestilence has been permitted to run about unchecked. Wars we were close to ending once and for all have gone on unabated. Disgraceful sub-humans who committed the treasonous act of assassinating Emperor Lelouch were never brought to justice, were even raised up as heroes. Now, my little sister employs terrorists as her would-be knights.
"I was left to wonder how we had gone wrong; what we should have done so that such an insane and unjust world didn't come about. And it was then that I realized what we did wrong. Lelouch and I were too kind, too lenient. We placed too much faith in the rest of humanity, and that faith and trust were betrayed. If you all cannot be trusted to make the proper decisions yourselves, then it should not be in your power to make any decisions at all. I have no need of an empire filled with dotards who can't obey reason and common sense.
"But I will spare you plebeians my ire for now. I am here to address your false empress, my dear little half-sister, Nunnally. How are you, dear sister? There's no need to answer that; it's not like I can hear you right now. Things are… let's say messy… where I am right now, so we can't chat back and forward. But that's fine either way. I don't really have any interest in hearing your voice right this second. Thinking about it, you'd probably say something infuriating and I would just end up being in a terrible mood.
"But today is a day of celebration. It's a rare time that a fallen kingdom has the opportunity to return from beyond the edge of the abyss. After so many fruitless attempts, so many centuries in exile, today I am closer than ever to our family's long-cherished dream. After what our father did, I thought I no longer cared a thing for this family's obsession. But when Lelouch took the throne and brought it within our grasp, I realized just how precious that dream was. The sense of accomplishment I received, knowing that everything I did in fighting terrorists made a difference; the reclaiming of our ancestral home was to be our precious prize for that arduous work.
"That the ignorant commoners would tarnish our work was to be expected – they lack the ability to think in such complex terms to begin with. But to see what you've done, Nunnally, has only stoked my ire. Watching you coddle the ingrates, give cover to the vermin that brought terror to those of noblest birth, has been mortifying. I thought you of all people, who lost your mother the same way I did, would know and understand better. Even this so-called Memorial Day of yours is nothing more than a farce to give cover to those of low birth who hope to make a mockery of our dear brother's name.
"Our sister let you off easily when you and her met, but I assure you that I will not be so forgiving should you and I meet. I will never, ever, forgive your betrayal of Lelouch. When this world thought to turn me away, to deny everything about me, he was the only one to show faith in me. If not for the agreement I made with our sister, I would strip Britannia from you solely for his honor. But I will allow her to deal with you as she sees fit.
"Besides, I'll be terribly busy anyway. This brings me to the point of this little phone call. There is but one demand I make right now. I am staking my claim to all of Euro Britannia. Have all of your forces leave within a week, or they become mine to do with as I please, as their true empress. Know that this is the fate of those who refuse me."
The camera shakily zoomed out and began to pan from right to left. Nunnally looked at the screen with a mix of horror and fury. It was a wonder her glare alone was not reducing the screen to a burning heap herself.
The sky was a hazy crimson. But this was not sunlight just above the horizon breaking through low-lying clouds. It was the roaring inferno of a wasteland. What was likely once a city was on fire, as if the fresh scene of a hellish bombing campaign as worse as any seen during the war several years ago. Thick clouds of smoke looked to be suffocating the area, ash falling like some light snow shower. You couldn't even tell what city it once was, everything just a mesh of reds and yellows and oranges.
Several audible gasps rung through the crowd that was gathered to hear Nunnally speak. It was the reaction to seeing on the screen not only scorched and charred bodies, but that of a smattering of people lumbering about on their last legs, engulfed in scarlet flames. In the skies in the background, a stream of fire seemed to be shooting through the clouds themselves, alighting some far off location that presumably had yet to be touched by the flames, or perhaps dared allow those flames to subside. A black creature, large wings beating the air seeming to fan the flames as much as to keep itself aloft was the source of the flame. Two more such beasts could be seen circling high above, passing unencumbered through the plumes of soot and ash.
"Enjoy the rest of your day, Nunnally."
Nunnally could only stare at the screen in terrified horror. Slow to react, her handlers were now scrambling to get their empress off the stage. Her thoughts wholly consumed with what she had just seen, she neither argued nor reprimanded them, one or the other likely to come sometime later from least of all Cornelia for allowing the empress to be so exposed on stage for so long.
But rightly so, all attention was focused on figuring out what exactly was happening; what was the scene that was just broadcast on the screen? Around forty minutes later, with the frenetic search for answers and information, Nunnally was sequestered in a reception room at a hotel near the memorial site. Not a whole lot of detail was coming forward yet. The only thing that was known for certain was that a part of the world had been reduced to a smoldering swamp. One of the most historic cities in the world, Cartagena, was now gone; wiped out in a ferocious, fiery, assault by the woman claiming herself to be the late 88th princess, Marrybell mel Britannia.
It was a little after 10:00 in the morning local time when Nunnally began her remarks at the Memorial Day site. She'd been speaking for only a few minutes when the pirate broadcast interrupted. The online services' had begun their own reporting, sparse and unconfirmed as it was at the time, just a few moments before the interruption of Nunnally's speech. At the end of the day, the total was said to have likely eclipsed a quarter million.
In their mid-to-late afternoon, the people of the beautiful city of Cartagena in Spain saw their sunny day suddenly darken. A flock of black wings soared high above, blocking out the sun. Not long after they first noticed this, the first screams of terror and pain and death were heard, as ruby-red fire washed over them. The black beasts streamed searing hot death over everything in sight. The force of the stream even blast buildings apart. Those who stayed inside, terrified of braving a run outside, were roasted inside their homes or workplace. Those who ran outside didn't even know where they were supposed to run, as likely to be caught in a stream of fiery death from above, or sear to death on the streets that were quickly resembling lava more than pavement, as they were to find escape.
This was a cold and harrowing age. Human sensibility was tested in ways the world have scarcely imagined possible before now. In some respects the bizarre nature of the daily lives of people had taken on an affect only thought of as part of a bygone era in fantasy tales. It was too much for many to now believe that they had reason to worry that the shadow passing overhead might not be a bird but a dragon. To be forced to think about royalty not merely as some modern governing construct, but as an ancient real battle of hegemonic powers vying for their slice of the world. It was all a more primitive and incredible thing that beggared definition or explanation.
And at the head of it all were two women in the guise of princesses. Standing before the world in beguiling beauty, these two women once stood as shining lights, radiant jewels of this world. And they then morphed into frightful figures, more like Medusa than Aphrodite. Their actions begot them the titles of Massacre Princess and earned them infamy several years ago. But they were to have died, one a year before the other if one forgot and blended their relative pasts. They'd perished surrounded by literal and proverbial flames.
Yet here they were, witches of what was thought to be a bygone era, giving rise to images of what was thought to be an even further bygone era of fantasy. Witches, after all, were creatures of the same sort of fairy tales as dragons. Good knights would go off to hunt each down the same, both servants of evil and the devil.
Nevertheless, here they were, these witches casting a spell on the world, forcing it to heed their call and their word. It was the beginning of the season of the witch, where mysticism was no longer merely a term referring to a realm of abstract thought, but to discernable reality.
Or was it reality? "Are you saying a Geass is responsible?" Suzaku asked Cecile, indignant at the thought of that power once again rearing its head.
"I wouldn't say that is necessarily truly the case," she answered, sort of dancing around the subject. "I'm only saying that it was something that was suggested. I should start by noting they were referring not to the power you and I are thinking of right now, but to the concept of Geis in old Irish mythology. In other words, they're saying it's a curse."
"They may be right."
"Speaking of Geass, have you heard? It seems she returned late last night. She's been with Empress Nunnally most of the morning from what I understand."
"She's a little later than normal this year," Suzaku replied, not deigning to betray his feelings one way or the other on Nunnally's guest.
"Maybe she thought she'd be a distraction if she came by sooner."
"I doubt she's actually capable of such concern for others," Cornelia chimed in as she crossed paths with Suzaku and Cecile. "I heard you've got something urgent you wanted to show Nunnally? I'd rather not bother her with too much minutia given our current circumstances."
"Well, Lloyd said he had some results he wanted to share. Zero and I were just on our way to see what he came up with," Cecile answered cautiously. Since the royal chewing out Nunnally and Cornelia delivered the other day, it was hard to speak to her without fear of touching a nerve. The only difference between Cornelia and Nunnally right now was that Nunnally would actually try to be nice to you. Cornelia seemed ever her indifferent self.
A crack of lightning lit up the skies, prelude to a rumble of thunder that rattled the windows. "I hear there's a tornado watch for the southwestern suburbs." Suzaku made note.
"This time of year is quite inauspicious," Cecile remarked, a sorrowful passing glance out the window.
"Must be the season of the witch," Suzaku quietly murmured.
"Let's hear what Lloyd's found before we go to see Nunnally," Cornelia stated with impatience.
Lloyd looked to be beaming with excitement. That was usually a bad sign. Cecile let out a small sigh, knowing he'd probably say something inappropriate. Given Cornelia's sour mood, it was like being in a room full of gasoline and matches.
"This is dragon's blood," Lloyd proudly announced, holding a vial about two inches long and a half inch wide. It was filled with a bright red liquid that looked a bit translucent.
"This isn't the time for jokes, Lloyd," Suzaku chided.
"This is no joke. In the attack on the base a few days ago, a Knightmare was able to wound one of those black creatures. We were able to obtain enough material for four samples, and each one has turned up the same result. This is the blood of an organic organism. The genetic pattern has no complete match with any known creature alive or dead in our human history. However, it does have some matches to the partial genetic map of several extinct creatures, namely carnivores from the Cretaceous period."
"You're telling me that you have dinosaur DNA?" Cornelia questioned in actual disbelief. She was still of the mind Lloyd was making a bad joke.
"Not quite. This isn't exactly my area of expertise, but as part of Charles' expeditions searching for ruins, other stuff would be unearthed time to time."
"You mean fossils."
"Precisely. It eventually became routine to catalog the fossils as best as could be done, including compiling any genetic data still available in preserved samples. For that reason, degraded but measurable samples of prehistoric DNA could be found."
"And you're saying this matches that," Cornelia concluded, a little less sharp with Lloyd this time.
"Enough to deem the creatures relatives of the same branch of fauna," he answered. "Specifically, it is most closely related to carnivores such as the raptors."
"What's the likelihood someone could fabricate this?" Cornelia asked. If this was a joke, Lloyd was in for quite the terrible time when Cornelia caught on.
"Well," Cecile started, pondering it herself. "This isn't my area of expertise either, so I would say we would need to research it some more to be sure. However, while there are means of creating artificial DNA profiles, it would take a lot of work to create an artificial sample of any significance. I don't know the full process, but it would be a large undertaking at a top laboratory."
"You're telling us to believe that this is really dragon blood?" Suzaku asked, incredulous still.
"To be perfectly clear, this is the blood of a currently unknown creature, with a genetic profile most similar to that of extinct raptor species of dinosaurs, observed to have been left by a currently unidentified flying creature being referred to as a dragon."