"He went this way. I'm sure of it," Brighid said confidently, the ether still rippling around her.
After hours of pursuit, they were finally gaining on him. Tracking had never been Mòrag's strong point. Despite her own meticulous attention to detail, broken blades of grass and loose stones always eluded her when they were chasing down a criminal. Thankfully, Brighid's keen eye ability came in handy for missions like this one.
Shame we have to use it so frequently, even here, Mòrag thought bitterly as she followed quietly behind her Blade.
In the year since Alrest's citizens had joined Elysium, a lot had changed. The fear of vanishing titans disappeared. Food grew in abundance, and hunters found more quarry than they could possibly gather. Eager explorers embarked on quests to find the wonders of the new world. All of the nations staked their claim to more territory than they could have dreamed of.
But, unfortunately, that extra territory and unwieldy national boundaries created something of a catastrophe when it came to crime. Mor Ardain had always struggled with a criminal underworld, only now it had risen to the surface of their now-massive continent. To the west, Uraya had proven reluctant to extradite criminals back to the empire. The eastern Gormotti territories were more cooperative, eager to prove to their sovereign that they merited their independence.
But here, along the northern reaches by the Tantal border, stretched a vast rugged wilderness with few inhabitants—the perfect sanctuary for criminals.
"He's close," Brighid said quietly. "Fresh prints."
"Be on the lookout for caves and hideouts," Mòrag ordered the men behind her. She unsheathed a single whipsword. The criminal probably wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Yes, ma'am," came the dutiful response.
Mòrag took a mental note to have the border units brush up on their field skills. These four soldiers fought capably enough, but if it weren't for Brighid, the suspect would be long gone.
Worse, they were chatterboxes.
"What is she doing here, anyway?" one whispered to his companion. "With everything that's going on at home, apprehending scum like this seems too trivial for the Special Inquisitor."
"Hell if I know," the other said.
"My captain said she took a personal interest in this case. Insisted on coming," said a third.
"To catch a serial rapist? Seems odd."
Mòrag cleared her throat. "Choosing missions is the Special Inquisitor's own right. And I chose to come here. That is all you need to know."
The four men looked at their shoes, falling silent.
"Lady Mòrag, there he is!" Brighid exclaimed.
There was a flurry of activity as the cornered criminal burst from the cave where he'd been hiding. A uniform hung loose about him, tattered and frayed. An Ardainian uniform, sure enough.
"Don't let him get away!"
Mòrag broke into a run, her companions on her heels. Her natural agility and fresh legs proved to be no match for the criminal, who'd been on the run for at least a week. They were gaining on him—and fast.
"We will take him head-on," Brighid shouted as they drew close, easily deducing Mòrag's plan. "You flank him so he cannot flee, but do not engage. He's ours."
"As you wish!"
Brighid fell in stride beside Mòrag, drawing the second whipsword from its sheath on her driver's hip. They would take him alive if they could, but no one would be mourning his death, either. Certainly not his nine victims. The fleeing man seemed to grasp that he was not going to be able to escape on foot and turned to face his pursuers. His lance glimmered in the sunlight, but the steel could not rival the cold gleam in his eyes.
"Cor Baragh," Mòrag said loudly, finally coming to a halt a few feet away from the man. "By the authority of His Imperial Majesty, you are under arrest for desertion, the murder of two Ardainian soldiers, and the abduction and rape of nine women."
Cor grinned. "Hah, shows what you know. It was ten women, Inquisitor. Although technically one was a minor, so I guess you could say your intel was still correct."
Mòrag stifled a shiver as the man—psychopath seemed the better word—eyed her up and down. "Your crimes are akin to treason, Cor. Your sentence will be harsh."
"And how harsh will it be if I make my number an even dozen?"
Suddenly the air was hot with flame. Before Cor knew what was happening, the edges of two fiery whips flashed mere centimeters from his neck. He recoiled, his skin pink and blistering. Mòrag and Brighid snapped the swords back into swords in perfect unison.
"Speak again and I will incinerate your tongue," Brighid spat.
The four soldiers in Mòrag's company shuddered. They all knew the Flamebringer's reputation; Imperial appointment or not, no one made it to her station in the army without incredible skill. Rumors said that angering her meant an early trip to hell. But this righteous fury made the rumors seem tame.
"Drop the weapon, Cor."
"Come over here and make-"
A bullet of blue flame shot into Cor's mouth. He screamed in agony.
"I warned you," Brighid said, her voice eerily calm.
Cor collected himself surprisingly quickly. The hunger in his eyes turned to malice, and he charged at the two women, lance held high.
Mòrag parried his blow effortlessly. In truth, Cor had no chance against them, surrounded and outnumbered as he was. But the man certainly put up a brilliant fight. His stabs were quick and calculated. The weight of his weapon never betrayed him, and he used it to his advantage, blocking here, parrying there, using both ends to slow Mòrag's swords. Against such a heavy weapon, Mòrag couldn't easily convert her weapons to whips. The maneuver left her wide open for too long. She wasn't sure she could parry the weighty lance with only one in blade form, either.
How this man had not been recruited as a driver was beyond her. Doubtless he had the aptitude for it. But as she unleashed Blaze, she was grateful for it. An ether shield could have blocked Brighid's flames easily. But with no Blade, Cor had to rely on his own reflexes.
Cor jumped back as Mòrag's flames licked at his fingers. Brighid, in perfect sync, pulled two daggers from her belt and flung them at him, following it up with more streams of flame. He stepped back once, twice.
That bought Mòrag the time and space she needed. Swords flashed into whips and hurtled towards the man. With no time to parry, he threw the lance like a javelin. It only made it a few inches into Brighid's ether barrier before it fell to the ground with a dull thud.
"Right where I want you," Mòrag taunted.
Her blow connected, each whip lashing around Cor's outstretched wrists. She snapped them tight. The man stopped short, bound. Just the slightest movement, and he'd find himself without hands. Even a fool could tell that much.
An Ardainian soldier rushed forward and grabbed Cor's fallen lance. Another clumsily pulled handcuffs from his belt, gingerly attaching them to the upper parts of the convict's wrists.
"Now, Cor, as much as I'd love to chop your hands off, I'm afraid it'll make the cuffs useless. They'll probably have your head anyway...Let's move out, everyone."
Mòrag retracted her whips from Cor's wrists and turned to take the path they'd come in on. Brighid trailed behind her, and the four soldiers wordlessly fell into formation around their new prisoner. No one spoke. In fact, the only noise was that of their own footsteps...and the occasional whimper from Cor, who found that the handcuffs had settled uncomfortably into the burn marks on his wrists.
"...Well done, Lady Mòrag," Brighid said quietly.
"I'm ashamed that he eluded us for so long," Mòrag replied. Ten victims, he'd said. The army had known he had been at large since his third victim, and yet they hadn't tracked him down until after he had ruined the lives of seven others. The incompetence of her own forces stung.
"It isn't your fault."
"There are more of him, Brighid. We catch one and another takes his place. That cannot stand."
"A task for another day, my lady."
The journey back to the outpost would take them the rest of the day; they had chased Cor across five miles of wilderness, and the afternoon light was already drifting away towards the west.
Now that Cor was in custody, Mòrag was eager to get back to the capitol. In truth, a pang of guilt struck her chest when she thought about how long she'd been away. Granted, Niall gave her his blessing to come on this expedition, but he would not have admitted how much he needed her in court. Cor could have been apprehended by one of the outpost's captains. And yet, Mòrag prioritized taking Cor into custody personally. Not her wisest decision, but still, she didn't regret it.
She always slept better the night after capturing a criminal like Cor.
"Do you hear that?" Brighid asked, stopping.
A second later, the roar of an airship echoed through the wastes. They looked about for the source of the noise but saw nothing. Then all at once, the sound was right above them. An Ardainian craft had broken through a cloud overhead. It hovered in place, and a rope ladder dropped from the ship's hull. Someone peeked out from the hatch, arms waving.
Mòrag glanced at the man. By the helmet, she could tell that he was a member of the Imperial Guard. And the ship...it was not a warship by any means, but the gold filigree and latest titan-controlling technology told her that this wasn't a typical military skimmer. That was one of Niall's private vessels. But what was it doing here? They'd have to climb aboard and investigate.
"Escort this criminal to your outpost for processing," Mòrag shouted to her men. "Do not wait for me, and do not lose him."
The soldier saluted, forming a tighter rank around the criminal.
Brighid nodded to her driver, and the pair took hold of the ladder. While it pulled them up—even with a winch, the ascent was terribly slow—Mòrag looked around. Even after a year in Elysium, she still felt overwhelmed by the vast stretch of the continent and its beauty. Even Tantal, which was reportedly quite cold (though a marked, inhabitable improvement compared to Genbu), boasted gorgeous mountains.
I wonder how Zeke is doing, she thought. Of all of her traveling companions, she'd seen Zeke the most. Rex was off in Leftheria with Pyra, or Mythra. She was still both Blades, but according to Rex, she had lost the ability to change between them. The explosion at the World Tree had damaged her somehow. According to their letters, Rex had convinced her to start therapy; switching at random had proven difficult for them. They young Driver had scribbled something about Mythra and a kitchen fire at Corinne's. Meanwhile, Nia had taken to wandering again, eager to explore the world at a leisurely pace without needing to fear Indol. And as for Tora, well, the nopon had taken on some sort of new artificial blade project that had made him all but a hermit the last year. "Must use all World Tree technology inspiration before forgetting," he'd muttered and vanished into his new laboratory.
Zeke, however, had been a frequent visitor to Mor Ardain. After all, the heads of state had spent considerable time negotiating new boundaries and other government affairs. But since the day rough maps had been drawn—they'd be solidified as outposts and other buildings were erected along borders—the Tantal prince had been busy in his homeland.
Not that his return home had come as much of a surprise. The king was getting on in years, and Eulogimonos had restored Zeke as his heir mostly out of necessity. The prince doubtless had a lot of governance training to catch up on.
Not that she had time to spare to visit her friends, anyway. Warmth surrounded Mòrag as she stepped into the hold of the airship and made her way to the main deck. The crew was sparse, even for a ship this small. She frowned. Had they prepared at all before coming out here?
Then she caught sight of the ship's commanding officer: a tall, stoic Blade with unflinching eyes and clear streams of water for hair. His hand rested on the hilt of a chroma katana.
"Aegeon," Brighid gasped. "What are you doing here?"
His face was unreadable as ever. "His Majesty sent me. Your presence is urgently needed in the Capitol."
Mòrag felt another pang of guilt. So she shouldn't have come out here after all. Even though Aegeon's face showed no concern, she knew how desperate the situation must have been. Aegeon's presence proved it. Technically speaking, he was still her Blade. But after they'd landed in Elysium and informed him about his role as the emperor's personal guard, Aegeon had requested to return to his lord's side. Mòrag gladly agreed. She felt content with Brighid's aid alone, and more than anything, her confidence regarding Niall's safety was best with the water Blade at his side.
Niall had been relieved to have Aegeon back, too, even without the depth of their former bond. So for Niall to send him here, the situation was undoubtedly a huge concern.
"What is going on, Aegeon?" Mòrag asked as the airship turned around and chugged back to Alba Cavanich.
"I do not know, my lady. His Majesty did not say. He ordered that someone find you with the utmost urgency. Since we are in resonance, it was easiest for me to track you down."
"...What are your suspicions, Aegeon? Surely you have a guess," Brighid said.
"I do not presume to know His Majesty's mind. But he sent me immediately after the Senate recessed."
The fact that Aegeon did not know the details probably worked out for the best; had he been able to tell them the details, Mòrag would have stewed over the details the entire trip home. The flight was not long, though. Even though Elysium was vast, there was no Cloud Sea separating their borders. International travel was faster than ever even though the land available to them had increased at least tenfold. For now, that fact was convenient. But if war ever broke out between the countries, it would be uglier than ever. Mòrag hoped that day would never come.
At last, the capitol came into view.
"It still doesn't feel like home," Brighid sighed. "No geothermal factories, clean air, and fertile farmland. We've never had that. If not for the palace, I'd feel like a foreigner!"
Mòrag hummed in agreement. Where there had once been steam, exhaust, towers, and a skyline of harsh metal now stood...very little. Mor Ardain was, in effect, starting from scratch. Their titan had sunk; their industry vanished with it, along with all their infrastructure. The people had taken to rebuilding entirely new structures inspired by the natural beauty around them.
And yet, Alba Cavanich stood as an exact replica of its former glory. In the midst of all the uncertainty of the immigration to Elysium, Niall wanted the palace to act as a symbol of the monarchy's constancy and resolve.
"Ah, Lady Mòrag, welcome back," an attendant said when they entered the palace. "His Majesty is with his council right now. He's asked that you join him."
Mòrag and her Blades entered the throne room quietly to avoid disturbing the proceedings. But given the chaos, they might as well have burst in.
"They've already passed the bill, Your Majesty! If their no confidence vote succeeds, not only will you be ousted, but the very ruling model of this country will be destroyed. Mor Ardain cannot take such a radical change!" One counselor shouted.
"I can overrule them by decree. The bill cannot become law without my consent," Niall insisted.
"Brionac and Gardic are unified on this front. With them and a few others, they can overturn your veto," said another counselor.
"What recourse is there, then?" Niall demanded.
His eyes circled the counselors around the table. He caught sight of Mòrag, and his expression filled with both delight and relief. "Ah, Special Inquisitor. Please, join us."
The counselors bowed their heads as Mòrag took her customary seat beside the young emperor. The two Blades took their places behind the two royals.
"What has happened, your Majesty?"
Niall exhaled deeply. "It's no secret that the Senate and several noble houses have been trying to gain power over the throne in recent years. It seems that they've finally found a method to do so. They've passed a provisional bill that would allow them to call for a...vote of no confidence in the emperor. According to the wording of the bill, if the vote passes and there are no current heirs to the throne, they can install a replacement of their choice."
Only a raised eyebrow betrayed Mòrag's own shock. By law, the Senate could not oust the emperor on their own. Ardainian law clearly dictated that the imperial throne passed through the Ardanach line. That was incontestable. Since the previous emperor's death, the question of succession had been something of a taboo. Technically, Mòrag ought to ascend the throne if anything happened to Niall, but the truth was that Mor Ardain preferred male emperors. There had only been two empresses in centuries of history. And it was a well-known fact that the Brionac party had cadet branch nobles who'd been hoping for their chance to bid for the crown even before Niall was born.
Even the common folk whispered about the end of the Ardanach line drawing near. Most feared that Niall would go childless, like his father. And no one viewed Mòrag as the mothering sort.
"Gardic has always been loyal to the crown," Mòrag replied. "Why the change of heart?"
"Gardic is conservative to a fault. Normally they oppose every bill Brionac puts out. But they think that I have been too aggressive in my demands for land and resources here in Elysium. Brionac doesn't think I was aggressive enough. Both are discontent enough to want to oust me, I suppose," Niall explained.
"Now is not the time for a change like that, even if it were warranted." Mòrag clenched her fists underneath the table. The concern on Niall's face hit her like a punch in the gut. She would have preferred a punch, really.
"We know that, Lady Mòrag," an advisor began, "but the Senate is anxious. In their eyes, installing a new house with heirs apparent would be less worrisome than forcing his Majesty to abdicate."
"So we stall the bill," Mòrag suggested. "Appease the Gardic party so they wouldn't pass the no-confidence vote."
Some of the council nodded tentatively.
"It could be done, but I fear such a solution would only be temporary. They've found a way to constitutionally replace you. They will not relent easily. Especially not Brionac."
The oldest counselor cleared his throat. Mòrag held her breath. He was one of the few politicians who did not seem enthralled with the sound of his own voice. And his wisdom was unparalleled; he had served two other emperors before Niall.
"...An heir nullifies the desired effect of their bill. Perhaps it is time Mor Ardain had one."
"I could formally appoint a successor," Niall offered. "The paperwork would be relatively simple."
"Not a successor, Your Majesty. A continuation of the Ardanach bloodline. An heir."
