Eᴠɪʟ Mɪɴᴅ, Eᴠɪʟ Sᴡᴏʀᴅ

Behind the bygone manor, near the back walls of the compound, is a gazebo made of rosewood. It rests among fruit trees bearing appas and flower beds of the golden kind, far removed from the crowded streets of Flanders and just past the exotic bamboo grove with its laid-out paths made of natural stone, through the old arbor overgrown with unfamiliar vines and ivy, and beside the morning sun-kissed artificial lake.

For her, the calmness of her new surroundings dulls her uneasy nerves. She doesn't know why, but the scenery seems both intimate and dear to her. Especially the rosewood and its scented aroma, which she loves, relaxes her with every sweet-smelling breath. Its auburn color is striking—with bold, dark lines running through it, and then thinner ones wresting through those, competing to reach the surface, to break through their wooden imprisonment. In the gentle morning glow, one can see that, envision that. The rosewood comes from the forests of Gusteko to the north, near the border where they usually grow undisturbed, imported into the kingdom at a rate and expense reserved for only the upper echelons of society.

From her days growing up in Elior Forest, she remembers the first early morning birds' songs and calls when she made her rounds around the wood. She hears them here too—she thinks—but their sound is more subdued, somber even, as if they were in mourning. They are a welcomed but unexpected guest, as their song is most common during the red-sun season, and it's actually quite late in the year to expect them this morning.

She has wandered this way alone, clutching the empty vessel of a spirit in her left hand as she walked through the break of day. Once a trinket redolent of fond feelings and comfort, it is now nothing but a symbol of her despair. Soothing as the tranquil scenery is, her firm grip on the thing loosens, but still it brings forth memories best left forgotten, and feelings so unpleasant she wishes only to part with it forevermore.

It is brighter now. Except for the birds and the rising sun, she is alone. As the latter's glimmering form cuts through the light canopy of trees lining the compound's walls, majestic rays of gold and orange greet her as they reach down, as she takes her graceful steps along the pathway. She had been overwhelmed, and Subaru knowingly strayed behind, allowing her to take a walk of solace to gather her thoughts. She figures he knew she wanted to get away from that confined place, and at the very least he understood she wished to be alone, if only for a moment.

She is truly alone here, she realizes. Famished lungs suck in a deep breath, and then expel pleasantly once more. The fresh air subdues her like always, and its crispness contrasts greatly in quality than that of the capital. Another reason to enjoy the morning, she muses.

And as she sits comfortably on a bench in the rosewood gazebo, her thoughts seldom stray from the recent events which have defined her life. There's an ache thrumming behind her temples when she recalls such things—and the feelings, raw and new, return all at once. She remembers the melancholy of unwilling separation, the heartache of battle, the passion of love, and even the pleasures of sex. It returns, that warm tingling feeling near her abdomen. She feels lightheaded enough to settle back against the bench, strung out from such deep desire and zeal.

Her gentle but spirited eyes stray to the left. A lagmite lit lantern, which dangles from the roof of the gazebo's wooden beams, flutters full of moths. Amongst the trees is a group of pale luminescence—fireflies, she presumes—and she watches them fondly for a time. They are reminiscent of her friends—the little spirits, clearly—and she laments the absence of their company. She does love to be one with nature, and in this moment, she figures there's no better time to indulge such pastimes.

She raises a listless finger into the air and shutters her eyes. A small vibration near the tip. Then, a spreading warmth as it grows throughout her being. The crease of her narrowed brow's folds deepens further. Ever so slightly, she strains her mind, and then she hears the thoughts of disembodied voices echo from within.

She smiles somberly, as she knows she is no longer alone. It's safe to open her eyes, she assumes, and when she does, she's greeted with the humming glow of small, twinkling lights numbering large enough for her to purely enjoy than bother counting.

The compound has been quiet since she took her first steps into the garden. Her lips move, but no sound follows when it should. She hears a reply, the whispers of voices long since silenced, so she greets them in her own way. Small as they are, there's no wonder why they eagerly prod her for secrets; recent events prevented such communications for quite some time. She blames herself, but spirit-arts users are a rarity, she believes, so they must be lonesome beings indeed.

Their silent conversation goes on. After a bit of idle chatter, one smaller spirit—a blue one—decides to hover a bit too close. For its size, it's quite warm, but energetic and filled with youth. It's translucent, almost; likely a juvenile. It floats near her abdomen, determined in its path, and then up to her face, where it bobs up and down curiously. Then, the spirit buzzed, beating its tiny, invisible imaginary wings furiously.

She raises her pale hand to her mouth, gasping silently, its noiseless words alarming to hear. Its name is Lye, and it wants to share a secret with her, she understands, away from the others, it pleads. Her hand motions for the little one to come forward to allow it her ear in privacy. It speaks in silence, out of sight, and out of mind from its friends, yet the surprise on her face is spelt out in letters bold and unmistakable.

Her cheeks are red, she feels this. The growing heat of her face stifles her breath, and it's no simple task to regain control. The spirits know this, see this, as they look from her to one another anxiously, unsure of what to do. The little blue one disappears first, not eager to share its secret with its brethren. So, they follow suit, vanishing one after another into the netherworld where none may hide for long.

She's alone again, left perturbed and without the comfort of another. Such a revelation was certainly unexpected. Maybe it needs to be like this, she thinks… so none may see her tears fall.

Yet, fall they do, and more well up to take their place. She can't decide whether they are tears of joy, or tears of sadness. Maybe a bit of both, she decides.

The scent of the wood, the coolness of the air. The season has changed now—is still changing, in fact. But she won't weep for the past—nor the passages of time—for much like the Great Waterfall, it goes on everflowing, unconcerned with such mortal matters. No, she weeps now for something much greater than that. Yet, to take control once more, she dries her tears on her dark sleeve and refocuses.

The crystal she was clutching has since been left discarded on the gazebo's rosewood floor. Forgotten it lays, like the wispy winds of yesterday. She now rests against the wide, smooth waist-high railing, as she looks out into the garden. It's a bit chilly out, for a morning in Lugnica anyway. Her dark, off-the-shoulder gown is now thankfully blanketed with an outer covering to match the cool air. Black as tar, the silk is exceptional, to contest her almost gaudy surroundings. Roswaal dressed her in similar extravagance, albeit with brighter shades of the spectrum. She knew and understood these wealthy types quite well, by now.

No doubt the gown was cut from the same cloth as the owner of the manor.

She is on her feet like so because she heard someone approaching—from the pathway leading to the bamboo grove, the one which eventually leads to the manor's exit.

The one lantern casts a low light, drowned out by the looming beacon of morning light. The gazebo will seem like a lost cabin in an old forest, she imagines—a refuge, a sanctuary for a wary traveler. She feels that, as if it shields her from the harms of the outside world.

She hears the light thud of footsteps… and he is here.

If this gazebo was her shield, then he was her fortress, a stalwart both hardy and unbreaking. Yet, she is unsteady, as if she had one too many wines. No tears, she reminds herself. Don't let him see the tears.

She has not expected him so soon. Then again, she has had no real idea what to expect since embarking on this journey. He's approaching now, dressed in his black robe again. She doesn't know what to call it, but she thinks it's a garb from Kararagi. With a left foot on one of the steps, the other on the gazebo, he looks up at her, a concerning look marring the young features of his handsome face. She just wishes he would smile again. She yearns for that smile.

As if he read her thoughts, his soft lips curve to a small smirk. Yet, that bothersome look of worry is still concealed from within.

Her gaze meets his own. It's subtle, but she sees his waver ever so slightly. Those grey, mystical eyes, unnerving and ethereal. Unlike before, it's so difficult to see what lies beneath them.

She murmurs, "You have come to me so soon, Subaru."

He says, "I saw you from the windows of the manor. You looked like you needed some company."

His voice is enough to undress her, she thinks shamefully. Why, is it like so? Just how, she wonders, does one's voice have such an impact on one's soul, charmed and soothed by his very sound. Why him, and no one else? She knows the answer to the question.

Even still, she feigns innocence. "I came to this place, I think, to be alone," she says, more callous than intended. "Although, your presence is not altogether discomforting…"

He steps up to the gazebo anyway. When he looks at her, his face, beneath the amber glow of the lantern, shows the intensity she has come to expect. She looks away. She needs to do that. She says, "I can seldom hold eyes with such a stare."

He looks away from her. "Have I really changed so much? If I can recall, I used to be the one to turn away first. Is there something wrong with my face?"

She wants to laugh at his joke… but doesn't, saying, "Other than the change of your eye and hair color? I'm afraid not; you're the same boneheaded boy from when I first met you."

"Boneheaded? That's a new one. I'm impressed, really."

She allows herself a smile. She sees him notice that. "I thought you might be. But on a more serious note… where are we?"

He hesitates. Something unusual for him, she notes. "Of course, we're in Flanders—you already know that. But this manor and compound belongs to Russell Fellow. Perhaps you know the name?"

She nods. She's thankful for his honest response, to know where she is. "I know of the name. He's high up there in the Merchant's Guild. He knows we are alive, then; can we trust him?"

"We can trust him," he says simply.

She ignores that, saying, "I'm being serious here, Subaru. I want you to explain why we can trust him."

"This isn't the first time we've met."

"You two have a history together?"

He affirms that with another nod. "A while back, he assisted in brokering a business transaction between me and another, to afford Lady Crusch mining rights within the Mathers dominion. It was a simple thing, really."

A simple thing, she muses. Completing such a transaction without the lord's notice and with Russell Fellow, no less. Very simple, indeed. A vain man, and her humble knight.

She asks, "So one business transaction affords such trust?"

He is silent for a moment, looking at her. It wasn't a stare of love like before—something more curious, maybe. He's thinking, she assumes. Eventually, he says, "Whether we can trust him or not is meaningless. The man knows more than we do, and I believe he knew of our survival in the first place. He has spies all over the kingdom, I think."

She turns and rests her arms on the waist-high railing of the gazebo. She gazes into the wood. He can't read the emotions on her face now. So, she draws in a deep breath, saying, "With that aside, have you decided on what my name is?"

His expression is lost to her, but she hears, "The book isn't wrong."

"And you think I don't know that myself?!" She is upset, but the rude tone of her voice is unintentional.

Subaru only nods. "I'm not saying that…!" He hesitates again. He's being careful about his words, she decides, careful not to hurt her feelings. "I'm saying you have been misled about who you really are. The book just doesn't lie." His words are sincere, she can tell.

"I sincerely doubt someone would lie about such a thing," she says. He hasn't moved closer to her since she turned; neither has she, from her place by the railing. She sees fireflies deep within the woods. Hears insects in the garden. There is a silence between them.

"People have done worse things to you," he says, finally.

She knows, understands that. Yet, she doesn't care. "I'm just Emilia," she says. "That's who I have been for as long as I can remember."

"But don't… don't you want to learn the truth?"

She finally turns back to him; a smile graces her lips. Her smile was always an effective instrument she could use to woo him. "The truth matters to me, yes."

"Then, let's search for that truth, Emilia."

"Oh, Subaru, I love you so much."

She hadn't meant to be so abrupt with her declaration. She sees him smile once more. It's a lovely smile. He steps closer. She feels the need to close her eyes, but does not.

He says, "I know that smell—jasmine, right? Is it really your natural scent? I always wondered."

"I'm not wearing any perfume, if that's what you're asking," she says playfully.

He looks at her, where the glow of morning touches her delicate features, catches her silver hair. She still leans against the low railing of the gazebo, wordless and expecting of something more. Expecting of what? She doesn't quite know herself.

He confesses, "I knew it all along. About your perfume anyway. I've always been intoxicated by that sweet scent."

She holds her breath. His sultry voice almost made her gasp, she realizes. There's that warm feeling again, in the core of her stomach, and the spread of it across her cheeks. He's in control, she realizes.

She keeps her tone light. "I'm not sure whether I should be amused or disturbed by your perceptions of me." His smile curves upward a little further, saying nothing. "But don't expect that because you know my smell, you know everything about me," she steadily says.

The poise of her voice betrays her true thoughts, though. Oh, assuredly, such words are no more than a feint. He understands me quite well, she presumes.

"Is that right?" He steps closer to her disconcertingly.

She moves back against the railing. Her right hand travels around one of the gazebo's rosewood pillars to brace herself. There's no place for her to go, she realizes. She chooses to stare at the wooden floor instead.

"Where are you going?" he asks, a small strain in his voice. She knows him well, at least enough to notice such things.

"I'm just lounging, that's all," she says, her bluff purposefully evident.

A silence. He moves closer. She can feel his hot breath now, the scent of it. "May I kiss you?" she hears him ask.

Unexpected, but not unwelcomed. Her averted gaze returns to him. Their eyes meet. "You've never once asked before," she accuses.

"You're right."

A deep breath. "So, what makes this situation different?"

And she sees his silver eyes narrow. There's a sadness within them—not anger or a heated desire. Just a sadness, which, perhaps, explains how and why one's voice or soul can have such a resounding effect on a person. The eyes are the gateway to one's soul, she thinks.

There's a continued silence. No voice to soothe the soul. No amity for the lonesome.

"Then, kiss me," she says.

He doesn't move nearer. Even at her beckon, even as she awaits him like so. His eyes return to their unreadable state, the portal to his soul quelled by love. Along with it, his feelings, too, evanesces like a fleeting dream.

The eyes are the gateway to one's soul, she tells herself again, before abruptly saying, "I want you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes, so I can see nothing but their colors and pools of silver."

He waits, doesn't respond. The request seems sudden, she realizes. Yet, the man she fell in love with would acquiesce with such an order. She remembers that, feels that, recalling their 'staring contests', as he named them.

She says—no, pleas, "Look at me, Subaru."

And only then did her gaze meet his silver eyes, inches from each other. His spirited own, having faded from their former shades of hazel, yet glistening with the lightest of tears. She could see it, her effect she had on him.

"I said I would burn the world for you," he says.

Only those words. No touch, and no kiss. It's all she needed, but more wouldn't hurt.

She lifts a trembling hand to touch his cheek. She has meant to briefly brush hers over his skin. With these feelings, such fine movements were a hard ask. He takes her hand in his, and kisses her palm. He inhales, tickling her, but the feeling is euphoric, of his mouth against her skin. She wants more, but knows now is not the time for such things.

She closes her eyes.

XXXXXX

Her taste was exquisite, as always, Subaru thought, and he realized it hadn't been but a few hours since their last union. Such a separation was much too long for them, he figured. He could indulge a little bit.

And then there was the question of her identity. Within his heart, he knew the book was not lying. Everything it had written down within its pages had come to pass, even in other timelines. There was no reason to doubt such a mysterious thing.

He knew who she, had been, was, and would be, and that didn't—wouldn't—change a thing. He still loved her in his own way, unrelentless, undaunted by such revelations and undeterred. Such trifling matters as her name, they mattered not. He understood a name is not what makes a person, but the identity, the individual from within, was who made each new life unique in their own way.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel curious as to her true background, her real nature which must have been hidden from her since birth. It was a curious thing that this young half-elf whom he loved so dear had two names—and not just two names, but seemingly two identities. She was Emilia, the half-elf who hailed from the Great Forest of Elior. And she was also Satella, the dreaded Witch of Envy herself… or she was just a namesake of something so vile, the very mention of her name elicited the scorn and spurning of all who hear its sound. It was laughable, that her given name would take after someone so detested by the populace. It was out of the question, even.

His curiosity pained him unlike any other. He wanted to know the truth, and the book within his kimono understood that. Even now, it was rewriting its pages to match his desires. He needed only but to follow its unworldly direction. Was that their destiny; to follow such a vile object to lands unknown, to unlock the secrets hidden within?

His lips mournfully departed from her own, their long kiss vanquished. She rested back against the waist-level rail of the gazebo once more, her lips slightly parted. Suffocated from their long dance, she panted for breath.

The mind is man's greatest enemy, he thought. He felt contrite, hammered by self-reproach and sadness. He remembered what the two of them truly wanted from this world: They wished to make their own path in life, away from the control of others. Were they simply enacting the plots of others if they followed the gospel's words? He didn't have the answer for such questions.

He closed his eyes and turned his face away from her.

Then, he felt the touch of something soft, but cold, against his skin. It exerted the lightest of pressures, guiding him to a certain direction, and then relaxed against him. He felt the fingers spread themselves possessively across his cheek, and only then did he register what was happening.

She stepped forward and kissed him on the lips. She did it gently, as if to understand why he had turned away, or to lure him back into her grasp once more. Her mouth was soft, her lips parted. His lidded eyes remained that way; such things were unneeded in this moment.

He forced himself to draw back. He said amorously, "Emilia, I have never met someone who reaches so deeply into me as you do."

Her own eyes opened. The morning was growing long, and the sun now reached just above the canopy surrounding the gazebo. Ever still, the lantern dangling lonesomely from the rosewood beams shined brightly, illuminating her beautiful amethyst eyes. He saw them in his dreams, and even in his waking state. He wondered whether he'd ever see anything more beautiful.

It wasn't going to be in this lifetime, he realized.

She apologized, "I am deeply sorry for that, my knight. How else would you want me to be? I can become anything you desire."

"Anything I want?" he repeated.

She would maybe regret those words, he figured. Yet, he couldn't help but feel her words were as sincere as ever. Emilia would have moved the world for him, he could tell. If he wanted her to be something, she would do it, even if it was against her own wishes. He wouldn't dare to be so cruel to her, though.

"Within reason, of course," she replied teasingly.

He shook his head, suddenly despondent to such ideas. "Just be yourself, Emilia," he said, calmly, gently, like the lazy clouds above. "I would never ask you to be anything other than you. You know that, don't you?"

She looked at him. "Even if a mysterious book tells you I'm someone else?"

He could see through her. She was poking fun at him, he knew that, yet within that playful tone there was a serious matter at hand. Yes, she was at war with the gospel who slept soundly within his kimono. He knew they didn't appreciate one another, and for reasons he couldn't possibly understand. They had exchanged terse words, he presumed. Words between themselves, and only for them to be privy to.

He looked back at her. "I'm sorry," was all he had said.

She was taken aback by his apology. Breathless, she said, "There's nothing to be sorry for. I didn't quite understand where you were coming from until this morning. If I knew better, then I would have asked earlier. I was just… I was just so scared to lose you, Subaru."

"I still must apologize," he said briefly. He stepped over and embraced her, saying, "I was so confused, between her and you, and the gospel. It twisted my mind for a time, it really did. And I still have questions, but we will unravel these mysteries together, hand in hand. I won't force a name upon you, one which bears such guilt and sorrow. I really don't know what came over me."

She returned the embrace slowly, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, hooking around his back. Then, he felt her bury her face in his chest, taking a deep breath to consummate their new bond. She then looked up to him, and he down to her. Her pretty pools of lilac were welled with tears, glistening, but gentle, like every inch of her being.

"You shouldn't bear such faults alone," she said sorrowfully. "Tis my fault as well, because I was so scared of losing you… so scared of being alone in this terrible world. I just went along with it, unquestioning, fearful of a renewed separation. It was my fault more so than yours!" The tears she held, fell solemnly, as she stared up at him.

"There, there," Subaru consoled her. He stroked her hair with one hand, and drew circles on her back the other. "I will call you whatever you want to be called. It doesn't matter to me. In my heart, our love would be the same regardless, you know that. So, don't cry. No harm was done, none at all."

She looked up at him for a long time, then away into the woods, saying with finality, "I'm sorry for what I did. I will never doubt you ever, ever again!"

"You don't need to be sorry," he replied, hugging her tighter than ever.

Sorrow in the morning. Much too early, and much less desirable. Not a good start to the day, but such words needed to be exchanged. The fact remained, their bond had held steadfast, through trial and tribulations unknown to most.

Suddenly, a cute laugh escaped her. "I'm sorry, it's just so funny."

"What's funny?" Subaru replied, coming off a bit cross actually.

"You. Me. Both of us," Emilia said, covering her mouth to stifle another round of chuckles. "The very fact we feel the need to apologize to one another, yet we both stress apologies were unneeded. Isn't it quite humorous?"

He absorbed this, and then smiled. "Ah, I get what you mean," he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "When you put it that way, it really does seem redundant, doesn't it?"

She stifled another cute laugh, and he couldn't help but widen his smile. He realized when she was happy, so was he. Her laughter was infectious, like a disease or a long sleepy yawn. But he wished for it, yearned for such happiness. He threatened, "If you keep laughing, I'm going to have to kiss you again."

She relaxed herself, then crossed over to the bench on the other side and sat down, looking up at him curiously now. The moths which were darting around the one dangling lantern had long since turned in for the day. The air was still cool and agreeable, much like their surroundings. He wished more of their time spent together was in a peaceful calm like this. Such things were a joy indeed, he thought.

"What makes you think I don't want to be kissed again?" she teased back.

Not the question he'd expected. "Oh, I don't know," he said, crossing over and sitting down next to her. "You seem so disturbed when we kiss. Your brow is furrowed, and face so scrunched up you look like a Wolgarm pup. Frightfully so, your nose is cold to the touch, and your eyes shut, then scarcely reopen."

"You… I…" she stuttered, clearly unable to get anything out.

He continued anyway, saying, "And your cheeks—well, redder than the appas in the fruit tree over there." He pointed to said tree for effect, if it'd made a difference.

She stared at him, flabbergasted. Then, she inclined her neck, defeated. "You… You said I look like a Wolgarm pup?" Her cheeks flared, each one reddening to the shade of a large appa, puffing out.

Subaru laughed softly. "For one thing, now your cheeks look like the appas. And your face, well, we're just going to have to work on that, wouldn't you say?" He leaned in for a kiss. "There you are..."

He tilted her chin upward. Her face scrunched up, her eyes lidded, and the touch of her little nose was cool, as surmised. When their lips met though, he could tell she had forgotten all about his insults. She loosened up, going limp almost. He wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from sliding downward off the bench.

She craned her neck, allowing him easier access. He would thank her for that later, he promised. Indeed, she was receptive to such foreplay. He could feel her want growing, although he would take it no further than their current state. Yet, he had no reason to discontinue such a pleasant thing.

His kiss deepened further, his tongue breaking the plane of her mouth to delve further and explore uncharted territories. Her lips, sweet and succulent, gave pause to his plunder, as he nipped at them and suckled them teasingly. She moaned and whispered something, but it came out unintelligibly. Seemed to be a staple of hers, he figured.

Turbulent gusts of hot air blew from her nose, splashing across his face. He had covered her airway for some time, so it was only a natural reaction. He departed her lips, releasing her from his torment. It was a woeful separation, but necessary.

Subaru stood up and looked her over. The rise and fall of her chest were tantalizing.

"Why did you stop?" she asked, breathlessly at that.

"It's not that I wanted to stop," he replied. "It's just that I really doubt Russell Fellow would approve of us having such a heated passion in his garden. It's one thing to do it in the privacy of our quarters, but out here? Even I know better than that."

Emilia sat up straight, and fixed herself up. Her hair was a mess, disheveled from their petting. She then said, "If you insist. Truthfully, we are pretty secluded out here. It's almost a five-minute walk from the manor."

He thought about it, but decided against it. "No, no, there will be more time later for such things. Besides, there's some things we need to attend to anyway."

She had that curious look upon her face again. It was the face she made when he got one of his bright ideas. "Oh, some things, you say," she said, raising one of her brows skeptically. "What are some of these things you refer to? I'm interested in hearing all about them—they whom you deemed more important than myself."

He said, "Well, you know. I really do want to unlock the mysteries of the gospel, about why it says your name is 'Satella', and not Emilia. I know it's a touchy subject, but it unnerves me we don't have an explanation for it."

Emilia stood, and said, "It's just ghosts, Subaru. If you let them haunt you, they won't go away. Let's just forget about it, and go on our own merry way."

He was considered that in silence for a minute. "We can't just 'go on our own merry way'. Our path is already laid out." He reached his hand inside his kimono, reaching for something precious. It stayed there; he knew better than to take it out.

"You might think it's decided, but it's not," Emilia said matter-of-factly. "I know for sure we don't have to follow whatever guidance is written down on those pages. If it says to walk south, we can just walk north."

Subaru smiled. "You say that, but it's not true. If we just ignore the book, whatever it has written down in it will come to pass, whether we like it or not."

He could see her thinking about it, thus adding, "There's something truly magical about this book. It's not a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I read the thing, it gives me foresight on what's going to happen. It doesn't give me directions. Regardless if I read it or not, the events are still going to happen."

"What if it tells you to kill me? Are you going to do it?" She turned to look at him, arms crossed and angry.

Subaru frowned. "Oh please, Emilia," he said, unable to hide his chiding tone. "This isn't a joking matter. There's virtually no downside in reading the book. But even if it said something like that, I would find a way to change it—believe me."

She took his hand. Looked at their interlaced fingers, she smiled, "I know you would. I shouldn't have said that; it was in bad taste. My apologies, truly. But please promise me if you have to choose between that book and me, you would choose me."

"I just said—"

"Promise me, Subaru."

She looked up at him with wide eyes, pleading and full of life.

His shoulders slumped, resigning himself to his fate. "I would burn the book if I had to," he whispered softly, the words barely audible. "I would burn the book. I would burn this entire city. I would burn this entire world, if I had to choose between you and it."

He saw her smile brightly, but her eyes spoke differently. His words brought joy to her, but he could also see a level of fear stretch across her face. Maybe, just maybe, he put it a little too bluntly.

Her smile turned somber. "You don't need to burn the world, Subaru," she said, looking down as she had done so. "Remember what I told you deep in the cavern, when we were alone? I told you I want you to give the world to me. You are my world, and to do such a thing, you must give me yourself. That's all."

He felt her squeeze his hand hard as she uttered that. It was almost painful, because a ring she was wearing bit into his skin. She didn't mean to hurt him, he knew, but he was curious where that trinket had come from. "I'll give you the world, then," he said simply.

It was his declaration of love to her, renewed once more. What else could he possibly do, except exactly that? And if he was her world, that's exactly what he would do.

Emilia must have noticed the pain she was causing him. She released his hand, and looked down at the rosewood floor. It was submissive behavior, he noticed, unusually so for someone like her. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but didn't.

There came the sounds of footsteps toward the bamboo grove. Two pairs of footsteps, to be exact, then a voice beyond the orange glow of the morning sun. "My Lady, Master Subaru… Russell Fellow is due to return from his meeting anytime now. It would be preferred if you two depart the garden beforehand."

It was one of the servants from the manor—the bald one—and his apprentice.

"Was it really necessary to disturb us?" Subaru asked quickly.

"My deepest apologies, Master Subaru. I am just doing my lord's bidding."

"We will be right down."

The servants nodded to him, and then returned down the path and into the bamboo grove.

He was quite upset they ruined their moment. It's precisely why he didn't want to delve too deep into another round of lovemaking out here. He expected something like this, of course. He heard Emilia say, "Is it time to go?" Her voice was soft, and gentle.

"It seems that way," he had said. "It was time well spent, if anything."

"But I have something else to share with you," she said hurriedly. "It's…"

"You can share it with me on our way back toward the manor," he replied.

Subaru turned, and went away from from her.

XXXXXX

She watches him go down the steps and back onto the stone pathway. She hasn't even had the time to explain what she wished to share with him, too distracted by his guile and romantic advances. She looks to the lonesome crystal on the floor of the rosewood gazebo. Its verdant green color shines brightly against the wood, making it easy to spot. She leaves it, and walks down the steps to follow him. She gets halfway before she turns around, and looks back at it all.

The lantern dangling above flickers, the lagmite soon requiring replacement. Other than that, she breathes in deeply one last time, to carve the scent of the rosewood into her memories. Its scent is something she is very fond of, and wishes to remember it until the end of her days.

She turns one final time, and hurries down the steps. She swears out loud, eager to catch up to Subaru, who has failed to wait for her. It's unlike him… she thinks. Usually, he would have waited for her. She calls out, "Subaru! Wait for me, please."

A moment of quiet contemplation. Then, a hand sticks out from the brush, followed by a voice, "I'm still here. Just waiting on you, that's all."

"I'm… I'm coming!"

Her shaky voice may have betrayed her feelings to him. Her hands begin to tremble. She can feel the perspiration form on the tips of her fingers. She wipes them on her dark gown, and tries to get ahold of herself.

She rounds the corner of the grove, and there she sees him. He's leaning coolly as always, up against one of the stalks of bamboo. Always the one to impress, she muses.

She has to catch her breath before she speaks. She says, "I want to share something with you, Subaru. No, I need to share it with you."

"What is it, Emilia?"

Her heart stops. Her breath, too—lungs deciding it's no longer necessary to function. "Erm… Well, it's…" she says, stuttering over every syllable.

Subaru looks at her, confusion spread across his face.

The tall bamboo stalks, reaching far up above them, blow in the wind. Their roots grow deep in the soil below, sturdy and strong against even the strongest gusts—the long, green leaves' rustle, billow, and dance soothes her enough to speak.

"Remember before, on the road to Cramlin?" she asks. "We spoke about what would happen if… if I… you know. If I happened to…" Her voice sounds odd even to her. She doesn't know how to approach such a subject, even if she wanted to.

"I remember our journey to Cramlin quite well," Subaru replies.

Emilia nods and looks down at her hands. They are twisted and knotted together, a sign of her nervousness, she believes. She peers harder at her left hand, where the golden flower band wraps around her ring finger. It's magically blessed, she thinks, as it automatically grows to fit its bearer.

Subaru, noticing this, tenses up, as he looks at her fidget with the thing.

She smiles as she removes it, and holds it out for him to take. "Erm… I want you to have this," she says, both confidently and nervously. "I was always told to do the right thing. That, if we are to enter into a holy union, blessed by the Divine Dragon, that a ring must be bestowed in proposal."

Displayed on her open palm, the ring is stunningly beautiful in her subjective opinion. Encrusted in jewels by Roswaal during her time with him, she knew what quality was and what wasn't. This ring… it was a gorgeous thing to behold. It would match his taste. She believes—in fact, she is certain—he will love it.

Subaru hesitates, observing the golden flower, stem and leaf travelling around its contour and shape. He's shocked, she knows, as she looks at him with a bright and loving smile all her own.

"Don't be shy, Subaru," she hears herself whisper.

He's speechless, she can tell and hear that… well, she hears nothing, actually. He's still and silent like a statue amongst the shadows of the rising bamboo. Another gust of wind, yet he moves not a muscle.

She steps closer to him, ring still in hand, prodding him to move. To take the thing, to accept her offer of holy union, to become one with another for all eternity. She wishes only for this, for him to be her world, now and forever until the endless waters of the Waterfall dry up and the moon fades into obscurity and the stars fall one after another. He needs but take the ring. She hopes for this, desires this very action.

And finally, his fingertips briefly tickle the palm of her left hand. The ring is taken into his own grasp, where it will stay. He smiles. It's a toothy grin, from ear to ear almost—one he used to give her when they first met. She feels the tears well up in her eyes both in nostalgia and future hope, and she knows what she must utter now.

It's a revelation, one which, while not unexpected, she expects it to shock him to the very fabric of his being. Life will never be the same after these words come from her mouth. She knows this, expects this, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Her lips move, and she hears a voice she thinks is her own:

"Subaru, I'm with child."

XXXXXX

The cold and cramped stiffness of the dreary room left a distasteful feeling in Wilhelm's mouth. It took him a moment just to remember where he was, and what they were discussing. It was dark in the room, and not just due to the fact it was illuminated by low-lit candles—the mood was equally dull and depressing, hampered by a number of factors he much wished to forget.

A rueful expression crossed his face. It was strange, he reflected, twisting his head from side to side to try and see who sat about the long table in the garrison's grand hallway. He scarcely recognized anyone. Not much else to do but ease back into his chair, then. Still, he was careful to reflect on the innumerable amount of angry fellows who argued amongst each other.

He had felt surprisingly awake, though, given the fact he had been up for days… and, admittedly, his advanced age. He just couldn't find the time to sleep these days, troubled by events both far and wide. In his room, he mulled over it all, considered even forgoing the meeting all together, just head to bed and forget about it—he's certainly halfway there. In the end, it was a redundant thing; nothing would get done here. They would neither listen to reason nor would his presence lead to any other conclusion.

So he had left his room in a brooding silence, ignoring the patient servant who awaited him to carry his things. He hadn't the time for such trifling matters anymore. Servants and squires… a waste of talent and resources, if anything. There he mindlessly walked down the stone hallways, until he found himself sitting at the center of a meeting of knights, old and young.

He had hoped to leave all this behind him almost fifteen years ago. Yet, here he was, dragged back into it all. He was partly to blame, he conceded.

The commander walked over, and stood at the end of the long table. He looked at everyone, sighed, and took out his pipe. The knights who was arguing with one another paused to watch in silence. He tilted his pipe to the side, and dangled it over a flaming candle which sat upon a tall stand. The tender smoldered, crackling as he took his first puffs of the evening. He would take many more before the night's end.

"Everyone, be seated," he commanded.

Chairs slid harshly against the floors all at once as everyone did so. Wilhelm was already seated, almost too comfortably in his chair as was. He might even find himself dozing off if he stayed like this.

Another puff of billowing smoke escaped the commander's lips, but he was otherwise silent. He just looked at everyone, whom all stared intently back at him, awaiting his wisdom. His greyed hair had spread to his chin, to the sides of his cheeks, and to his jaw.

No time to be shaving. Wilhelm shared that sentiment.

"I see familiar faces around here," Conwood said aloud. "I see allies from Priestella, Flanders, and even Picoutatte. Altogether too few. What news from the other divisions?"

One knight wearing a green cape stood, saluted, and reported, "Sir, the divisions from Costuul, Hakchuri, and Pappelt are all running behind schedule. They won't arrive here until tomorrow morning." After finishing his report, he sat back down.

Wilhelm barely listened to anything the man had said. It was uninteresting bureaucratic nonsense anyway. None of these formal functions truly mattered, he knew that.

Conwood took another long draw from his pipe. "I see… I appreciate the intelligence. Now, to further the night along, because I know none of us want to be here… Let's get down to business."

Then, a knight at the other end of the table abruptly stood, yelled, "None of us want to be here?! Five of our best and youngest were slaughtered by a half-witch and her cultist. Yet, you think we don't want to be here?! We want their heads! Only give us the word, and we will hunt them down and do what must be done!"

Wilhelm did hear that, and he might as well have cut the man in two with his eyes. He kept his mouth shut, however, uninterested in joining their squabble. They wouldn't listen to reason, he yet again reminded himself, regardless of what he had to say.

The commander drew from his pipe once more, and stepped away from the table. He paced up and down, around the table, aimlessly in thought. Then, he turned to the unruly knight, and stared him down with a ferocity in his eye.

"Be seated, or I will seat you myself, so you may never walk again."

His threat was serious, almost deadly to a point. Wilhelm couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape his lips. Others noticed it too—so did the commander, who shot him a knowing smirk. Neither man was a stranger to this kind of discussion, Wilhelm knew, thus such arguments were commonplace. Some ended in violence, others in peaceful discourse.

The knight, having long since took his rightful place: his rear planted firmly in his chair, and lips tightly sealed, caused no further discord amongst the pondering knights. Tensions were high, everyone understood that. There was a deep confusion on what had happened that night, and too few answers.

Conwood nodded, as he sipped from a mug of mead in one hand and toked a pipe in his other. "I really do understand everyone's frustration," he said, surprisingly calmly. "One of those who was killed, Thaler, I saw grow from a squire to the honorable rank of Knight Errant. He was a family friend, and for that, I can relate to each and every one of you. The fallen were kin, and I would not forget such a thing."

"Then why do we sit idle, and do nothing?" asked a red-cloaked knight—an envoy from the Royal Guard.

If a face could murder someone, Conwood wore such a guise. "Our meeting tonight proves we will take action, and not just have idle talks. I believe patience was taught in the military academies you attended. By all means, correct me if I'm wrong."

The knight made a sour face, but decided not to comment further. He just crossed his arms, and looked forward, honoring one of the key virtues of knighthood—patience.

"I suppose each and every one of you knows," Conwood started, with a slight apprehension, and continued, "Near the end of our campaign on the Witch Cult of Mount Cordor, one of our reconnaissance parties was completely wiped out—struck down and dispatched without mercy. It was a callous attack, both abominable and sickening to behold. Even still, such an attack would have gone without notice, if it wasn't for a knight who had briefly stepped away from camp. He witnessed the attackers: a half-elf with silver hair, and her adjutant; a young man with black hair. Rest assured, the silver-haired elf will be easy to find, and when she is discovered, so will the other."

Wilhelm said nothing, only buried his face in the palm of his right hand as the commander gave his spiel. What else was there to say? Was he to defend them for their actions; explain it was a misunderstanding? Could he claim it was self-defense, and it was just an unfortunate mistake? Not in the midst of these hot-blooded knights hell-bent on revenge, he understood that quite plainly.

Conwood was very still, then he looked down the longhall. "It was an action born of an evil mind," he said resolutely. "An evil mind who enacted such vile deeds through the use of an evil sword. Therefore, as the ranking officer and the one who bears the most responsibility for this heinous crime, I sentence those responsible to death." He raised his arm high in front of him, making such a declaration official

His flourish drew cheers and laughter from his men, and they drew their swords to point them at the sky. In honor of the fallen, Wilhelm presumed. It was reminiscent of the old ways, yet he wished it wasn't re-enacted in such a circumstance as this.

Another knight rose his hand to speak amongst the cheers. "Would it be better to capture them alive?" he asked tersely. "We must allow them to answer for their crimes in front of the Divine Keep. A quick death is too merciful for their kind!"

The commander raised his hand to silence the crowd. "Only capture them alive if you are afforded the circumstance. Intelligence says they are practitioners of dark magic, of an ilk so vile it has not been seen for hundreds of years. It's best to be precautious when dealing with them officially."

Satisfied with his response, the knight nodded and saluted. The commander returned it, a kind gesture of respect.

Wilhelm just balked at their displays of chivalry and bellicose doings. They were idle boasts, and not much more than that. He was eager to remove himself from the room and return to his chambers, where he might find sleep. Then, later, when he had the energy to think positively, he might return to the subject at hand; to get to the bottom of what happened. He had to be quick, though, to reach them before the others. Luckily, he was a step ahead of the them; he had a hunch where they might have travelled.

He didn't speak, not even to add a single comment to make it appear he was interested. He let Conwood handle the theatrics; he was always good at that. It's not he wished to forgo the truth of the matter. The matter was quite the opposite. He was in a precarious situation, after all. He had sworn fealty to Emilia, and received a Lord's blessing, as humble of a retainer as he was. It was because of that he could not forsake her, even if it went unknown to his comrades—and had to be kept as such even to the commander himself.

When it was all said and done, and when the meeting was adjourned, Wilhelm fled to his quarters. It was late in the night, when the frosty winds of the yellow-sun chilled even the old and winding corridors of the garrison. A bed fit for a jailcell, a drawer beside it, and not much else. A soldier's quarters. It left much to be desired, but he never fancied the extravagance of high living anyway.

Wilhelm realized he wasn't cold anymore, or tired; he hadn't the energy to think about such things. So, when he heard the banging on his door, he almost found himself ignoring it.

Too bad trouble invited itself in.

He heard the soft sound of the lock mechanisms turning—the click and the pop—followed by the door opening. This one had a master key, he thought. He didn't even have to look to guess who it was. By the time he did look, the man had already stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Wearing the insignia of the Kingdom Knight's and the officer's cloak and epaulets, just a glimpse of those confirmed it was the commander. He was off-duty now, allowed to say things he shouldn't say and meet in secluded locations to discuss things others probably shouldn't hear. It was a common situation they found themselves in the past.

"How did I do?" Conwood asked, taking in the scene before him. He was amused at Wilhelm's tired appearance.

Wilhelm said nothing, but by the wavering candlelight he read a disquieting worry in his eyes.

He didn't need to say anything for Conwood to know what he was thinking.

"Well," the commander murmured, his eyes sullen and tired as well. "I suppose you don't have any better ideas, do you? Should I have just told them we weren't going to do anything?"

He leaned back in his chair, chuckling darkly at his own wit. Wilhelm didn't bother to animate a response—he was just eager to sleep.

The two sat in a comfortable silence, unsure of what to say or do. They just needed to be together, their comradery providing the support they needed in such times. Soon, Conwood's small smile faded, and it was replaced by an all-too-knowing frown. He knew there were dark times ahead, and last month's omen was just the beginning of such darkness to come.

He lazily lit his pipe once more, uncaring of the fact they were in an enclosed room. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, and a small smile graced his lips once more. Such a thing relaxed him more than anyone could ever know.

Wilhelm ran his hand through his aged and gray hair. His hair was thinning, a painful reminder his younger days were all but behind him. "But what can we do?" he then uttered, somewhat abruptly.

"Curse and yell at the moon, and pray for a miracle?" the commander bitterly and sarcastically suggested.

"There might not be much else we could do," replied the old knight. It was the truth, the indignant truth which unnerved him.

A coarse, spiteful laughter escaped Conwood. "Maybe it would have been better if we never went there at all? Our rescue mission turned out to be a disaster, you know."

"A disaster?" Wilhelm then said, a strong disbelief evident in his tone. "It was worse than a disaster! It couldn't have gone more terrible. If it wasn't for that infernal worm, I could have been by their side…!" He buried his face in his hands, resigned to something akin to sorrow, if he could still feel such things anymore.

Conwood gnawed on the mouthpiece of his pipe. He muttered, "Don't beat yourself up about it too much."

"How can I not?" he whispered.

The commander could barely hear it, but he understood anyway. "You did the best you could. There's no dishonor in doing your best, even if it ends in failure. In a way, there hasn't even been a failure yet. The two still draw breath; is there any more we can ask of them?"

Wilhelm sighed deeply. "Enough of this conversation. I don't wish to hear it anymore."

Conwood rested his pipe on the desk, "Have it your way, old friend. I don't mean to pry too much on your next step, but I only came to you tonight to offer my support. So, here's my support."

That was enough for Wilhelm to nod weakly, and give him his thanks. It was something, and that was important. He truly needed it in this moment, and there wasn't anyone living who could give him such things.

After a moment, he smiled somberly. "That battle truly did feel like the old days, you know? You swinging around that great sword, the rush of battle. Exhilarating, wasn't it? The only thing missing was your flail."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?" Conwood prodded, smiling in return. "But if you really want to know, I got rid of that thing years ago, before we retired. It was a nuisance anyway."

He felt a rush of memories. He remembered the times they fought together, all the battles they'd shared. The wars they waged, side by side, both as brothers-in-arms and best friends. They were feelings he lamented, their loss all together another aspect of growing older. If he could just do it all over again.

Wilhelm grinned, but it was largely hidden underneath his beard. "Those days feel like an eternity ago," he said. "I fondly remember our times together, and I will never forget them. Whatever happens going forward, I will keep them close to me."

What he had to do now, he had to do alone. He couldn't bring Conwood with him, he knew that. This was something he and he alone could accomplish. To drag another into it would result in a disaster he could have no control over. Even his best friend, who had been there with him through thick and thin, had to sit this one out. Amazingly, he knew if he asked him to join, his acceptance was more than likely. It was for that reason he wouldn't even entertain the notion of it.

There was a pause, followed by another long silence. Then a deep breath, followed by a voice: "I'm going after them."

His face was stern. His visage was just as stony as the chiseled rocks of Mount Cordor itself. In that respect, he was absolutely resolute on what needed to be done. Conwood saw this, understood this, as he looked upon his old friend with admiration. Within that admiration was a deeper respect for the soul of a knight long since lost. Their current breed could do nothing to match his steely self. He was a product of his time, born in the Demi-Human War, forged in fire and blood. His sword was his soul, and within it, the sounds of steel clanging against one another was neverending—palpable, even, as if he waged an eternal war within himself as he sat there silently on the bed.

Conwood knew this, and for those reasons, he would not stop him. "I won't keep you," the commander replied evenly. "I'll make up some excuse for your leave. I know you haven't made your return to the legion official, but I'll still have to come up with something."

Wilhelm smiled at his old friend—his best friend—and looked upon him with an equal level of respect. With his right hand, he gripped his shoulder, and gave him a fond squeeze. "Farewell, my friend. Until next time," he said.

Conwood returned the gesture with his left hand, grasping hard.

"Until next time."