Disclaimer: See the prologue, people.

Chapter 4: Letters

"Are we really gone for that long?"

Franzes idly twiddled the envelope between her fingers. She slowly paced back and forth on the luxurious blue carpet before settling down on the comfy canopy bed.

"It only felt like a few days or something."

She had opened the envelope when the reply came from the nearby bathroom.

"Well, it's only a few days. But your friend is such a fidget; she could've felt we're gone for a whole month."

It sounded strangely muffled and distorted. Somehow it made Franzes smile faintly.

"Yeah, and you're taking a whole year inside that bathroom."

"Fine. I'm already drowning inside, by the way."

Franzes wriggled her boots as she waited. "Make it quick. I don't want to sound like a nanny telling bedtime stories."

She extracted the parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. Jelan writes really well, she mused at the neat lines of cursive writing. I suck at it when I don't have guide lines.

The bathroom lock unfastened and the door rasped open. Franzes remained still in her seat, her back facing the bathroom. She was too occupied reading Angela's letter to take any notice. It was only when she felt the bed strain from extra weight did she finally snapped back to her senses.

"Took you long enough," she said vaguely. A curtain of damp pale blue hair draped down in her peripheral vision.

"Look who's talking. You practically have a swim, a nap, a coffee break, wash clothes and forge inside the bathroom."

"Right," Franzes' response was dripping with sarcasm. "You, on the other hand, read the whole Bible and recite the entirety of the Psalter, and-" She looked up at him. Then her multicolored eyes traveled down and widened in realization. She promptly shelved her statement.

"What?" Fiel blinked at her expression. It was like she saw something really shocking. It quickly shifted to a hardened scowl before she hastily turned away from him. Fiel knew it usually meant something bad.

"Tell me, Head Priest Fiel Esteven," Her words were severe and sopping wet with conviction. Fiel doesn't need to see her face just to know how she was feeling at the moment. "Did you wear something before you stepped out of the shower?"

"Of course I-"

"Other than a towel!" she cried out in an upsurge. She refused to face him, and he was glad that she is. He would readily cringe at the sight of her.

"Well, that's the problem-"

There was a moment of silence. Silence that he surely doesn't want to break.

"Then damn wear something!"

"Hold your heart in there! Don't shout at my ears!"

"Indecency! You're a priest for god's sakes!"

"Wait a minute, who's always half-naked between the two of us? And you're rushing me earlier!"

"Hey, I wear the long-sleeved attire of female blacksmiths! The only things I wear short are shorts! And don't change the subject! Don't tell me it's just because most of the women of Prontera fantasize you every night-"

"Don't get too excited. I'm not going to rape you or something."

"Say that again and I'm going to eviscerate you!"

Khallian could only roll her eyes at the hullabaloo raging inside one of their guest rooms. Thankfully her father was outside for 'social engagements' – something that he rarely attends - or he could've demanded for silence in a more violent manner. Maybe spending some quiet moments in a room besides the guest room of two earsplitting visitors isn't wise. Biting her lip, she tried to concentrate on the slim book she was reading, but Franzes' rants were getting the better of her attention.

"Your friends are a bit at home, don't you think?"

Khallian couldn't disagree. She absent-mindedly flitted through the pages of her tome, all the while considering if she should walk up to Franzes and Fiel and make them shut up.

"They're not usually like that."

She stole a glance at the figure sitting nearby. Candlelight glinted on his dark armor and dark red hair that stood up in prominent spikes. His ponytail was draped on his shoulder, reaching down to his waist. His slanted blood red eyes were sharp and cold unlike the volatile almond-shaped ones of his sister. His face was fair, but distant and reserved. His form was quite slim for a knight, but anybody who knew him that it belies his immense strength and skill.

The high wizard could only vaguely nod at his brother's remark. "I suppose so. You know how…unpredictable those two are. But they can be frighteningly decent." She chose not to use 'crazy' and 'inane', and decided to attach a good phrase for the two. Hey, that's a bit of truth. Fiel is decent most of the time, and although Zes is a bit of a war freak, she's still upright. Just violent.

"Come on Rived, it doesn't really matter if they are noisy or not."

Rived glared at her. She glared at him back. The flickering light of the candles hanging soberly in the midair glimmered in their eyes.

"Fools."

Khallian secretly grinned as she lowered her attention back to the book she was reading. Touchy, as usual.

"Of course, everybody else that is not you is a fool."

…You two are taking an eternity back there! It's incredibly lonely back here! Raian and Eleris are in Aldebaran to have some of their 'adventures' yet again, and so I am like a solitary hermit. Yes, I have my younger sister Elrodein for company, but she ran off to Morocc as soon as she arrived here in Prontera, although we did have some talk…

"Jelan couldn't really survive life without someone for company," Franzes commented with a sigh. Fiel leaned over her shoulder to have a good look of the letter. The blacksmith could smell a faint, pleasant scent emanating from him. "Tell me, did you use a whole bar of soap?"

Fiel glowered at her. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't like strong scents."

Franzes purposely ignored him and continued to read the letter.

…Enough idle talk though. I have something to really tell you.

Do you remember the mage I was once partnered with, Trevis Yuehn? You know the one with green eyes with a chillingly quiet disposition? I met him again recently, and what he told me was just outrageous…

"Er, 'outrageous'?" Franzes repeated curiously. "What could that be? A sudden marriage proposal?"

"Now that's ridiculous."

Fiel gave a sharp 'ouch' as Franzes yanked his hair.

I suppose the authorities have heard about this, so it doesn't really matter if I tell some people. Geffen is a planning a revolt to liberate itself from Pronteran rule. I know that at first it sounds foolish of them, but from what Trevis had told me, the leaders of the revolt have a pretty good plan already…

The brown-haired blacksmith blinked as she read that part of the letter again. A Geffenian revolt? That's new! Geffen was not hostile to Prontera's rule and policies for the past years…why now? It would be readily believable if it was Payon or Morocc – those cities have a history of resentment against Prontera – but Geffen? What could their wizards do? The city doesn't command a sizable army, and magic users aren't exactly fit for the frontlines.

"If these people do really want to create some hell, then they should have a pretty effective plan," Franzes remarked, knitting her eyebrows. "But then, Geffen's wizards are among the best ones. If they could cast fast things on the knights, they could stand a chance."

"I still don't count on that one," Fiel said thoughtfully. "Remember, we have priest divisions. Wizards could heal, but not as good as we do. Once the knights close in, they are as good as dead, and I haven't seen a wizard in plate armor."

"Good point."

I don't know what could happen. This wasn't exactly like decades ago, when the Pronteran army marched up to Geffen and in a few words made them surrender. The army had an overwhelming edge against the wizards – the best armor and weapons, made especially for them by the Arvelaine clan…

"Please, not another Arvelaine historical reference again," Franzes groaned. "It makes me feel that the present Arvelaines are moronic money-orientated idiots."

"Oh, that's harsh." Fiel said as he glanced at the blacksmith's revolted expression. Franzes always refers her relatives as 'money-orientated idiots' – which is quite true.

"The Arvelaine clan had always forged for Prontera! They had forged the best armors and weapons for a reasonable price! Now what? Those fools have been blinded by money! Worse than that, their wares have become substandard! I could easily dent their tin cans with a knife!"

'But that affair is not even half of her anger towards her own family,' Fiel knows something deeper that causes her to hate Cire Arvelaine so much. 'And they call her the 'heretic'…she alone possesses the true Arvelaine talent and spirit…'

…A military expedition would certainly come sooner or later. Frankly, I don't know what to feel about it. Come back here immediately. I'm rotting in here, having received a one-week vacation. I know it's a bit unbelievable, but the Grand Knight Commander told me to have a vacation or else he's going to relegate me. Scary. But more alarming than the Grand Knight Commander's threat was that Zachriel is becoming a bit too insistent lately. You know I hate it when he comes barging into my mind day and night.

"Zach's back?" Fiel commented, slightly surprised. "I thought he was in hibernation mode."

"That guy's as predictable as the weather. Tomorrow he'll be quiet and yesterday he was so awful you were dying to kill him. You know what? I'm really astounded that Angela could cope with that guy."

"She could only cope with Zach. What could she do?"

…I hope you two are doing well and are making it out…

"Now, what does she mean by that?" Franzes said, frowning greatly.

"Don't ask me."

…Rai and Eleris would be coming back soon, if I were to believe them. That leaves you and Fiel. I know that the two of you are spending quality time together, thanks to the ever-so-cooperative Khallian and Rived, but I'm having a nervous breakdown here. Please pray for the peace of my soul.

"I don't know if I should take that as a joke or as something else," the priest said with an eyebrow raised. "Well, I certainly do pray for her."

"You make it sound like she's going to die soon," remarked Franzes, skipping the 'Your Friend with the Twisted Spear and in the Brink of Having a Twisted Mind, Angela Saxellian' and folding the paper neatly.

"Well, at least it wasn't 'pray for the eternal repose of my soul'," Fiel reasoned. He hopped from the bed to retrieve the envelope which Franzes unceremoniously tossed away earlier. "That certainly means something."

"Whatever. Let's go back tomorrow."

Fiel looked at her inquiringly as he picked the envelope on the carpeted floor.

"That soon?"

Franzes shrugged, wiggling her feet. "It sounds like Jelan needs someone. I don't want to go back to Prontera to stop an Angela the Impaler from a killing spree."

The priest straightened up and walked back to the bed, giving the envelope to Franzes.

"It couldn't be that bad." He certainly hopes so.

"I wish…"

Eloiris could hear her father's fuming voice booming from the room adjacent to hers. She pressed her ear on the ornate wooden door.

"I have said no and no it shall be! Halraence couldn't convice me in joining that!"

The next voice was somber and reedy, but obviously persistent.

"Sir Emiador Oranir, your family could be a great asset to our noble cause. The Oranir clan of Geffen had always produced noteworthy warriors that championed various goals. Surely, this one could be the greatest one of all exploits your clan had undertaken…"

The dancer smiled to herself. Championed various goals? Exploits? Years ago, those could have been truths. While people inside this blasted chateau glorify the Oranir name, there are those who know better.

Emiador's voice became calmer as he spoke.

"I simply cannot allow my family to join such perilous revolt -"

"This is not perilous! The odds are in our favor. Of course, we would be playing on the fact that the Arvelaines are not here to forge the army's hide, which is already a big blow to them! With the sheer power of our mages and wizards, those knights do not stand a chance. We would be blowing them to pieces faster than they could crawl back to their priests. And when the ones in the front have fallen, those helpless priests are next. Today's generation of magic users is among the best ones I have ever seen – they could cast their spells faster and with more power…"

"That is one thing I could certainly praise about Mheian Halraence. Under him the Academy returned to its pristine state. The education system had certainly improved."

"Mheian is an insightful man. He knew that in the past decades the Academy had become inferior thanks to craven individuals who were given the honor to head such a prestigious institute of learning. The sages and wizards of Juno were certainly laughing at us then."

Eloiris remembered a certain event that happened years ago in Geffen – a story that was still told today through clenched teeth by citizens and wizards. A wizard of Geffen and a visiting sage of Juno were involved in an intense word fight. They argued that their respective city's magic users are more powerful than the other. The Geffenian reasoned that the sages of Juno were originally mages of Geffen and were instructed under the Academy. The sage debated that the Academy had taught them nothing more than the basics and that Juno had trained them in the finer points of magic. Soon they were blasting each other with their spells. Much to the horror of the Geffenians, the wizard was defeated and was forced to retract everything he said. For the citizens of the City of Magic, it was the worst humiliation they had ever received, even more badly than being subjugated by the swords and spears of the Pronteran knights.

Proud idiots. They take pride in their magic, but not in their independence.

"But that was then, Lord Oranir! Our wizards could easily defeat those blubbering inanes of Juno, and with the help of your excellent warriors and own personal army, we could lead Geffen to its own glorious era! Magic is more sublime than swords and spears!"

The dancer silently snickered to herself. Tell that to an Arvelaine and I assure you their whole clan of blacksmiths and alchemists would wipe this city nonexistent before you could apologize.

There was silence for a moment. The shadows inside the rich chateau of the Oranir family grew longer as the dying sun vanished to a brilliant vermillion in the western horizon.

"I still say no."

Her father's answer did not mystify Eloiris. He may be saying that it was dangerous and unsure, but Eloiris knows the real reason why he doesn't want anyone in the Oranir clan to participate.

The Oranirs are not that lofty anymore.

"Dad is really an old buffoon."

Eloiris smirked at the comment. The still shadows began to move behind her, slowly stirring into a presence.

"How long you've been there?"

She turned around to see a female assassin reclining on her bed, twirling a knife between her fingers. She looked almost the same as Eloiris, except for the hair and eyes.

"Um…early afternoon? I just thought of visiting home."

Eloiris batted her eyelids at the response. "Visiting home? What hit you?"

Eliaris was thoughtful for a moment. The knife between her fingers slowly pirouetted, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun. "Nothing. I just feel like it. As a freelance assassin, I don't get too much work."

The knife slowly became still. The red-tinted figure of the Geffen Tower, the structure visible outside all the windows in Geffen, was mirrored on its blade. The vermillion tint of the city gradually faded into darkness.

"How do the clients react when they know that they're hiring an Oranir assassin?"

A knife flew past her head and embedded itself on the door behind her. The blade reflected the nonchalance in her soft viridian eyes. Eliaris sat upright from her comfortable recline and smiled amusedly at her sister. She never changed. Just like Dad. He never changed. That's why I don't like it here.

"I don't know," the brown-haired assassin replied lazily. "I don't let them know. It doesn't matter what your surname is in assassination anyway, except when you're the victim."

"Oh." Eloiris said softly in mock surprise. "And I always thought you're taking pride of being an Oranir."

"I do. You don't need to shout it out to the whole world. They have their own way to know," Eliaris was playing with another knife. "Anyway…Dad's trying to worm the Oranir name out of this revolt without being called a coward."

"It's obvious," Eloiris agreed with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the door. "Truth is, he's itching to pitch every single Oranir into that stupid insurgency, but he knows the true status of the Oranirs right now. We're not that…great anymore."

"Of course we are. The thing is we are like wraith deads among the wraiths. For the common people, the Oranirs have maintained their glorious warrior heritage through the years. But we know we're not. We're facing the same…crisis as the Arvelaines."

Eloiris shrugged. "That's why Dad wanted us to become 'great warriors', as he calls it."

"Make that 'noble slaves'. He wants his pretty little daughters to salvage the family name."

The shadows had engulfed the room. The lampposts of Geffen flickered into life, illuminating the somber and empty streets. The cool evening breeze drifted through the open window.

"And I say…we did a pretty bad job at it."

"Meet me again, okay? I'll be waiting for you – same time, same place. I'll be staying here in Prontera for quite some time anyway."

Angela knew she has to apologize to Trevis.

'What can I do? Zach was persistent the past two days, and my headaches were getting worse. I can't possibly go outside my house without considering the fact that I could end up being 'Angela the Impaler'.'

Ah well, it could provide a bit more life into your otherwise monotonous week.

The knight tried hard not to roll her eyes. It would certainly look absurd in the crowded sidewalks of Prontera. She did nothing the past two days but to lie in bed and engage in ridiculously long and pointless mental talks with Zachriel. The only thing she did other than that was to eat and go to the bathroom when needed. She was thankful that the headaches receded this morning, or else she has to spend another day with Zach, which could finally end with her either going insane or violent.

Sorry Zach, but I don't like it to be blood red. Won't you give me some peace already? You're the only soul I've been talking to for the past two days! But I have to thank you for the less bother today.

The familiar bar loomed into view, beyond the brisk stream of people passing it. The familiar throbbing of her head slowly returned.

Not again. Zachriel, could you please give me a break?

She isn't so sure of going inside anymore. She could enter the bar as a sane knight, and left it an insane one.

'But I'm here now. I might just as well continue inside. I pray.'

I'm quite curious about the happenings here in Midgard anyway. I might as well give you a short break as you talk with your old friend, as you call him.

Angela grasped the doorknob as she mentally replied with her constant companion.

And what do you mean by that?

She perfectly knows what Zachriel is 'pointing' at though.

You know what, Angela? Women of your age already have boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. I wonder why you don't have one. You're not exactly…revolting, right?

Angela's eyes widened at the statement and nearly crushed the doorknob as she turned it.

Excuse me, Zachriel Saxellian! It's not that I'm bragging or something, but I know how I look like! I may not be as beautiful as the First Knight Commander Zelzah Oriphel, but I still look human!

She almost slammed the door shut, but she regained control of her temper. It's not right to become angry for apparently no reason. It took some moments before Zachriel responded. He doesn't sounded 'sneering' anymore though – meeker, actually.

I was just…joking. Of course, you're not repulsive. In fact, you remind me of someone…

Angela surveyed the bar closely. It was half-full and alive with the energetic conversations of its patrons. A few knights who recognized her waved cheerfully at the commander. She waved back, trying to hide her obvious discomfort due to Zachriel.

And who would that be?

Zachriel did not answer for a long time. Angela didn't nag him for answers. It might start another long confab with him and put her to bed rest for three days – something that she definitely doesn't look forward to.

'Where could Trevis be?' she thought, a bit anxious. She scanned the bar again for any signs of him, but not one of them has the messy brown hair and green-eyed combo. 'Maybe he got annoyed at me for my nonappearance.' Her excuse was that she fell sick, which is quite a lame excuse even for her, but she couldn't think of anything else. She just couldn't tell him the truth.

Sitting on the same seat she had by the counter two days ago, she hoped that Trevis would appear. He was her only companion with the absence of her usual circle of friends. She motioned for the bartender. She could hear the knights seated on the tables whispering as she did so.

'Well…this is the first time they saw me in a bar.' Her reputation in the Army was that of a saint. 'But then, there's nothing preventing me from ordering some light drink. I don't drink barrels, anyway.'

To Angela's surprise, the bartender recognized her.

"Lady Knight, aren't you the one with the green-eyed wizard two days ago?"

Angela blinked but nodded. "That would be me, yes."

The bartender quickly handed to her a sealed envelope.

"That wizard frequented this place and asked me to give this to you when you finally appear. I think he got tired from waiting for you. I got moved though – he looked really troubled and sad. It won't hurt to help." His expression was that of an overzealous Good Samaritan. "Anyway, what would be your order?"

"Holy Water," Angela said hazily, gazing at the envelope. The bartender left to fetch her order, but not after giving her a quizzical look.

'A letter? What could this mean?' Did he just give up on meeting with her? But why leave a letter?

Giving a furtive look around to ensure no one would be reading the letter with her she carefully ripped the envelope's side and extracted the neatly folded paper inside. She identified the handwriting as Trevis' – she had seen his script from an earlier letter, when they parted ways during their younger days.

To Angela Verchiel Saxellian

Although I truly do not know the reason behind your absence, I assure you that I am not angry with it. I understand that as a Knight Commander you have heavy responsibilities that surely are more important than meeting an acquaintance.

I must thank you for spending time with me, even for just a brief time. You know me – I am not as friendly as other people, and finding company is a difficult job for me. You've been a big help to me, Angela. It made me remember the times when we're still together, although now it isn't as carefree as before.

Angela, there was something I didn't told you two days ago. I supposed the news of the revolt took most of your attention. My father, Zenin Yuehn, sent me here to Prontera because he fears that I would become involved with the insurrection. The day after we met, I received the message that the leaders of the revolt really do want me. They want my participation. If I don't come back to Geffen immediately, then my family would be killed. My family means so much to me. Believe me, Angela; I do not want to be part of it. But there's nothing I can do. It's either I hide here in the capital and let my family die or join the rebels and end my loyalties with Prontera to save my family.

The next time we would meet might be in the battlefield. Angela, if I ever die in this, please make sure my family is safe. I wouldn't mind if you're the one who would kill me – it would be fine for me if your spear would pierce my chest. I would consider it as a sweet death…

Your sincere friend,

Trevis Yuehn

Angela could not believe it.

'Believe me, Angela; I do not want to be part of it.'

'He returned home…he would be one with the rebels…'

'I wouldn't mind if you're the one who would kill me…'

'No…not another…not another death…'

'It would be fine for me if your spear would pierce my chest…'

Too bad, Angela Saxellian…another loved one must fall…

'I would consider it as a sweet death…'

And he shall fall by your spear…

Moments later, an angered scream was heard.

"And that darn lady made me fetch some wine, only to run

away! Don't tell me she's a knight!"

The other knights looked among themselves.

"Well, mister bartender, if you have something against that knight, we suggest you keep it to yourself," said one with the look of concern. "She's the Second Knight Commander, and she looks really upset."

"Damn who cares even if she's the First Knight Commander! I would still send her flying!"

"Damn who cares if I'm the First Knight Commander?"

The rest of the knights swiftly looked at the direction of the voice.

"First Knight Commander Zelzah Oriphel!"

They immediately jumped to their feet and gave a respectful salute. The female knight by the door glared darkly at the bartender. Her long and splendid wine-colored hair simply draped down her back. Her ordinarily reserved dark brown eyes were visibly incensed. The other knights knew this would result to something really violent. Commander Iriathrina Zelzah Oriphel could be cool and collected most of the time, but everyone in the army knows what happens when she finally gets mad. It is something definitely not pleasant.

"Do you have anything against me, bartender? Do you consider settling it?" she coolly strode towards him, a hand grasping the hilt of a claymore. The knights were discussing the fact that she looks edgier than usual. Lady Zelzah Oriphel wouldn't easily get angry at such remarks. They kept it quiet though – nobody wants to get impaired next.

The daring displayed by the bartender earlier completely vanished. The earlier female knight looked docile and peaceable. This one, although irrefutably a looker, looks more than ready to kill. The knight commander's eyes were blazing with quiet fury. It almost looked unnatural.

"I-I…of course not! T-there's nothing I-I have a-against y-you!" he explained shakily. "I-it's about the female k-knight earlier!"

Iriathrina stopped at the edge of the counter, face to face with the bartender. The knights nervously mused that nothing and no one – not even the Grand Knight Commander – could possibly stop the bloodshed that is about to occur.

"Who gave you the permission to disparage my position?" she whispered in an inimical tone. "Don't you realize that such brazen attitudes could send you to your grave a little ahead of time?" Everyone gasped at the sound of a sword unsheathing…

"Next time buddy, don't do improper things around the knight commander."

The group of knights left the bar dragging a male thief by the arms. Although thieves are known to resist any form of authority – especially Pronteran authority – this one was evidently meek and submissive.

"You're lucky she didn't slice your neck like butter."

They gave a furtive glance at the knight commander ahead of them. They could still remember all the details. Just as when they thought she was about to dice the bartender, she pointed her claymore at someone behind him.

"You're quite good for a thief. Nobody noticed you're there. Now return those two Aldebaran whiskey and Moroccan wine bottles."

Needless to say, the thief was readily surrounded by the knights and was hauled off. It turns out that he seized the chance when the bartender was too petrified with Iriathrina's presence to take notice. The thing is it was Iriathrina who noticed him.

"Seems like Commander Zelzah Oriphel's glares are effective for disabling people with 'brazen attitudes'…"

"You could say that, Sir Celsior."

The knights almost jumped when it was Iriathrina who replied.

"Don't worry, I'm not mad."

At least not now…

She was just in a chaotic state earlier, and she thought that a quick drink would somehow clear her mind. It turns out it didn't.

She still couldn't believe what that letter had said to her.

Is he really serious with his plans…?

Since I'm rushing things…I didn't had the time to update the author's notes in the previous chapters. Sorry about that…

If there's a typo or something, please tell me! I know they abound in Shards.

To all St. John Macias (St. Jhon de Matthias 04-05, SFNPS) – You guys are the best. I won't forget you all. Although we're originally 46 and were later shaved down to 44, we're still special, although not all for positive reasons. We won't have the rowdiest of the bunch next year…well, I'm still glad we all met.

This fic is for you, guys!

Chao! AiZhen