Chapter 4: Morgantown

By SodiumChlouride12, derived from Fire Emblem, owned by Nintendo.


"You don't appear to be enjoying yourself, my Marchioness."

Lyn raises her head, her eyes frantically, but discreetly, scanning the reception before her. There are about a dozen foreign dignitaries in attendance, some from nearby cantons like Pherae and Badon, while others came from Houses in Etruria and even as far off as Bern. Many lords held curiosity in how their experiment is going to play out, especially given the disaster of its last attempt.

"Milady, I am right here."

Fiora appears from outside of her vision and stands in the front of her from her chair. For the past several hours, Lyn's been sitting in the fanciest chair in the venue, entertaining these nobles. Although she's succeeded in her task, thankfully her training had accomplished that for her, the whole experience had been draining for her. She's not the type of person who enjoys hosting parties like these.

Lyn speaks solemnly, "Honestly, there are a thousand things I'd rather be doing right now. Bonding with my kids, hunting with you, reading with my spouse. But, I shouldn't think about those things. I am the ruler of this land, and as such...some sacrifices are necessary."

She sighs as she looks down on her hands. She notes the softness in them...they'd taken on the texture of a young infant. "These hands...they used to belong to a young warrior of the Lorca. Now, the court has forbidden me from holding a weapon again. I long for those days, sometimes. The carefree existence, the endless thrill of always being within an inch from death. I travelled to so many places and met so many good people. That was during a time the Mani Katti was something other than an ornament on my bedroom wall."

She clutches her hand, feeling pressure build up around her palms. Fiora flinches as she sees a hint of fire in her eyes, something she hadn't seen for some time. Not since the final battle with Nergal. "My tribe...they're gone now. But...I suppose you can say I have a new one, now. I'll do everything I need to do to protect my people. They are my will to live, equal to that I have for my family."

Hearing those words compel Fiora to smile. Silently, she's grateful towards her liege. She's loyal, considerate, and incredibly dedicated in her mission to improve the lives of her subjects. That's something not present within every lord, or even client. Among her guild, there are plenty of stories of her peers being dealt the shorter end of a stick in a deal, whether it be cheated out of their payment, or left to die in a precarious situation. Lyn was a boss who never tried doing that with her.

It helps that her best friend is a knight of Ilia, and my sister. She thinks. But I have a feeling her treatment of me wouldn't be any different if that wasn't the case...

Fiora says, "You...Lady Lyn, you are the most honorable of monarchs. I can't imagine a better woman to lend my lance to."

Lyn blushes lightly, her knight's words instilling some emotion within her. But this fades quickly, as she's wary of possible eavesdroppers in her conversation. After all, in situations like these, there isn't much difference between a diplomat and a spy. She says, "I...appreciate it." She looks out towards the crowd. "By the way, what's keeping Samuel? He said he would meet up with us after an hour. It's been over three."

Fiora's face softens. She recognizes her liege's desire to have her love at her side. Although the two were friends, her presence comes second to his absolute companionship. "I haven't an idea. My apologies...huh?"

A man in commoner's clothing appears by the ballroom's door. He's small in stature and unfamiliar to both women's minds. He scurries around the crowd of dignitaries and makes a beeline for them. He takes a knee. "Milady, there's a situation brewing. Please, take this letter."

Lyn thanks the man and retrieves his message. She opens the envelope and raises her brow when she recognizes her husband's handwriting. Initially, a wave of relief washes over her, but this evaporates the second she dwells into its contents.

My Marchioness,

Disaster has struck. Your treasured ballot boxes, the medium by which our people can hold anonymity as they share their voice, have been stolen. However, I am firmly on the case. I am working with the constable and our troops to apprehend these villains. Hopefully, I will find the boxes and put them in place by 8 AM tomorrow, the time of the election.

Forgive me, if this situation isn't resolved quickly, I may have to go without sleep. You might have to share a bed for two alone. At the very least, anyway, you can enjoy the extra space.

Love, Samuel Castillo.

Lyn mutters, "Extra space...what am I to do about extra space?"

Fiora asks, "Milady? Is something wrong?"

Lyn crumples up the note and shakes her head. The gesture is obviously a ruse to the pegasus knight, but even she recognizes the futility of it. "Perhaps, but there's nothing we can do. All I can hope is that my Chancellor can take care of it in a competent, and more importantly, timely manner."


At the opposite side of town...

"...So you're telling me someone stole it?"

Samuel and Sain are at the town's local constabulary. Squeezed inside the small office of the force's sole member, they both wear annoyed expressions on their faces as they try to work inside this rudimentary, hardly presentable room. It resembles a janitor's closet, or a jester's residence. The officer helping them is an older gentleman named Cyrus.

Samuel replies, "Yes. Thieves broke into our judge's home and took them from under his family's noses. It was rather sneaky...if vile, act."

Constable Cyrus jots down some notes on a notepad. "I see...so that must mean someone from that family is suspect. I'll go over there to interrogate them."

Samuel raises his brow. The thought of someone from the family had never come across his mind. Not in the slightest. "Excuse me, but I think we're wasting time if you do that. I've already asked them what they saw, and they couldn't give me much. They have no motive, and I've caught word that foreign spies were plotting to interfere in our election. Our suspects should be the foreigners in town, not them."

The constable shrugs his shoulders. "Oh. I guess we should talk to them, then."

Samuel stares at the constable, noticing the disinterest in his form. The way he writes irrelevant information on his pad, the manner in which he doesn't take charge of the questioning and instead forces Samuel to do it instead. In a way, it feels like Samuel's questioning the constable instead of the other way around. His right eye twitches with annoyance.

"Excuse me, but our conversation here's given me the impression you don't care. Give yourself a shot of competence, old man."

Sain's eyes widen with shock. He had not expected him to be so blunt with his insult. But the constable cares not for this either. It bounces off him like a rock against a wall of bricks. "You're right there. I don't. If this election goes well, my job might be next on the ballot. As one of the most unpopular men in town...I don't stand to gain much here."

Samuel stands up and slams his metal hand on the table. Part of the flimsy, dull wood splinters against the surface of his much tougher limb. "You...blasted curr! I should—"

Sain acts to hold his Chancellor back, both in an effort to avoid any further discriminating language, and to preserve his reputation. The expression on his face says something along the lines of "you're better than this".

Samuel cools off, but the constable shows them the door. He says, "You might be the Chancellor, but this is my town. Just try to fire me. I'll spread rumors about you that will kill your reputation. Rumors that would be substantiated by this little piece of art you made."

He points towards the mess of his table. "Now get out. You'll get no help from me..."


"Hwaaaaaagh!"

Samuel grunts as he brings down his axe on an idle stump of wood. The tool bludgeons and cleaves its way through the thick, nearly impenetrable center of the log. Nearby, a young boy observed with wonder and a hint of appreciation.

He and Sain are outside the home of a nearby family. Samuel had left the constabulary red as a cherry, with vapor virtually escaping from his ears. Eager to vent his frustrations, the pair found this boy who was struggling to chop up firewood for his mother, and he gleefully allowed the older, seemingly much stronger man to take up the task for him.

Sain brings out some sign language. "Do you feel better, now?"

Samuel wipes off some energized sweat from his brow. "No, not yet. Just, give me one more swing."

He lifts the axe above his head and musters his rage into one final blow. He directs it towards one of the four separated pieces of log. The wood splits clean in two, an impressive feat of strength for the formerly disabled soldier of war.

Samuel takes in one long, concentrated gulp of air. He hands the axe back to the boy, whose eyes sparkle like a star in the midnight sky. Samuel says plainly, "Thanks."

The boy gives an innocent smile before starting to pack the cut wood on a small cart. Samuel and Sain take this as their cue to leave. They return to the street, heading east towards the town's center.

Samuel says, "Man...I remember when I was younger...I was so cool. I never got mad...but now the smallest thing can tick me off. I'm quite the hothead, am I?"

Sain frowns, but stays silent. Samuel sighs as he recalls a younger version of himself. "Heh...I guess I care a lot more about things nowadays. But, I have to wonder if this is because I'm much more well off than I used to be, or if all those head injuries I sustained in the war affected me..."

Samuel closes his eyes. For a moment, the cries of dying men and the clang of clashing swords echo against the walls of his cranium. This brings him some discomfort, so he opts to not dwell on the issue any further.

"Bah...I'm just wasting time. We need to find Swinn. Say, Sain. I recall asking you to find me that Etrurian lady, Darcey. Yet, you came with me to the constabulary shortly after we left the judge's home. Why is that?"

Sain motions with his hands to tell him, but something else takes Samuel's attention, robbing him of this opportunity. He says, "Wait...Swinn? He's...over there."

Sain turns around, and sure enough, he finds the minister with magenta colored hair standing alone with two other men near the fountain located directly at the center of the town square. Judging by their faces and expressions, both recognize them to be the two mayoral candidates, Cornelius and Tino.

The pair approach. Seeing them compels them to pause their conversation. Samuel says, "Good day to you, gentlemen. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

Swinn replies, "No, you are fine, Chancellor. I was just telling these fine men of the situation."

Cornellius nods and extends his hands forward towards Samuel. "The theft of the ballot boxes is a travesty that will shake this town into its core. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

Samuel nods his head and accepts Cornellius' hand. This is not the first time the two had spoken to one another. Cornellius was the first to hear the changing of the method towards mayoral appointments. He voiced plenty of protests then, so it pleases Samuel to hear he's very cooperative now.

Samuel says, "I appreciate it. But...right now we need leads." He taps the bottom of his chin anxiously. "Then again, it might already be too late. The villain might have left town long ago."

Swinn shakes his head. "I spoke with the security detail today. No one has left Morgantown. No merchants are expected to visit until next week. I think our culprit must know this, so they've decided to hunker down so as to not arouse suspicion. That...is my word on the matter."

Samuel's anxious finger calms, but his blood still runs hot. "I see...that's a relief. So...it would appear that we have ourselves a bit of a needle in a haystack. We could attempt to search everyone's home...but..."

Tino says, "That is out of the question. Doing so would be a huge breach of privacy for our citizens, and would infuriate them alongside putting us in a bad light among the dignitaries. Besides, we haven't the manpower to go through with it."

Cornelius rolls his eyes. He and Timo were polite individuals, but they are not friends. Far from it, they are bitter rivals. "You sound hesitant...Tino. What if we go through the search and find one of your supporters with the boxes? What would happen then, hmmm?"

Tino glares at his opponent. "Are...you suggesting collusion with a foreign state? I would never let my people do that! Besides, why would I want to jeopardize the process that will bring about my victory?"

Cornelius scoffs, "Your victory? Are you mad? The people understand I am the rightful successor to my father. They won't endorse a pitiful nobody like you!"

Tempers flare hot, and Samuel can sense the situation is becoming very wrong very quickly. Swinn steps forward, putting himself between the two men. "Now now. Enough of that. I'm sure this is just an act by a foreign ruler to undermine our crown. Please, we need you two working with us, not at each other's necks."

The two men fall silent. The simmering of the air flattens for a moment, though, it feels they could attack one another at any time. The sight causes Samuel to groan to himself. Democracy hadn't even begun, and the nasty, insensitive process of partisanship is already taking form.

But, before he can dwell on this any further, there's a hint of movement in the air. The quartet of men shift their gazes and see a blonde woman approaching on horseback. It's Darcey, apparently. Someone had told Sain about this meeting earlier, so he sent a message to the spy to rendezvous with them here. He wanted to tell Samuel this, but never had the chance.

She says, "Good day to you, boys! I hear you want to know where some fancy boxes are?"

Swinn replies, "Who are you to talk to us so cordially? Are you working for those who wish to undermine us?"

"...No, but I think I know who does. Come, follow me. We'll talk at a more private location."


Back in Caelin...

Carvel frowns as he puts his fork into the soft flesh of chicken in his soup. He looks at it with disinterest, his emerald eyes briefly glancing at his siblings sitting nearby on the dining room table. They're at the family dining room, a place his parents had been eating breakfast only that morning.

Carvel says, "Bleh. I hate chicken. Why does it taste so icky?"

Carmel raises her head, a piece of white meat hanging out of the side of her mouth. Her straight, moth grey hair drapes over her like window curtains, obscuring most of her face. Her dark brown eyes resemble orbs belonging to a black hole. "Huh? Chicken is so yummy! I wish I could eat this every day!"

Laniakea reaches over and removes the chicken from her cousin's mouth. Carmel blinks at her before realizing she had it in the first place. She covers her face in embarrassment, much to Lani's delight. Lani says, "Hehehe! You don't eat like a princess, Carmey!"

Carmel frowns at the joke at her expense. True enough to both her resemblance and genetics taken from her mother, Carmel did not make for the perfect princess. She was confidant, brash, and inhibited an intelligence rare among those of her peers. Her manners were lacking, and her innate mischievous attitude occasionally caused trouble for her caretakers. But none can deny her cuteness, or her beauty that would come when she became of age.

Carvel stares down at his meal silently. Although Carvel also possessed this same sense of intelligence, he was shy, relatively reclusive, and passive. Silently in court, there were those that wished Carvel, as the younger brother and presumptive heir to the throne, developed these qualities instead of Carmel. But there is still plenty of time to see how he will fare. Besides, they surmised, if nothing else, perhaps a year or two with the military will toughen him up.

Laniakea responds by grabbing the hands of Carmel and Carvel. She was the glue that bound this whole familial relationship together. Despite her lack of blood relation to her cousins, her age and closeness allowed her to take on the role of an older sister towards them both. Although she was born almost twenty years ago, the manakete's blood that flows through her veins had slowed down her aging process considerably, fundamentally giving her the body and the mind of an nine-year old child. She loves her cousins dearly, just as they do towards her.

Lani says, "Don't be so sad! We have food! Food is so good in our tummies, so we should eat it!"

Carvel looks down on his soup and then sighs. He slowly picks up another piece of meat with his fork before putting it into his mouth. He passes it into his throat, before giving a shy smile towards Lani. Elated, she says, "Very good! You need food so you'll grow up big and strong! Just like Uncle Sammy."

Despite their differences, notably their differing skin tones, eyes color, and hair color, Lani can't shake the similarities Carvel has towards his father. The two have the same familiar curls atop their head, and the shape of their heads are similar, as well. Lani can see him one day growing up to be a marvelous young man, and she's elated to be a part of that future. One day, she'll grow up, too.

Carvel smiles meekly, "I hope I grow tall like Daddy. I don't want to be this short forever."

Carmel says, "I'm sure you'll be tall one day! You won't beat me, though."

Carmel gets up from her chair and waltzes over to her younger brother's side. Despite the fact she was only older than him by four minutes, the difference in their height makes it seem much more time elapsed. She has a full two inches over him, much to his discomfort.

Carvel mutters, "I catch up to you, eventually. Guy said so!"

Guy is a former swordsman, turned head gardener for Castle Caelin. He came here along with Lady Rebecca some time after they eloped. Since the previous head gardener had died during the Laosian siege of the castle, Lyn found it convenient to appoint the man to the position. He lacked a limb, but he was plenty skilled with a blade.

Carmel pouts, "It doesn't matter what Guy says! I'm better, and that means I must be taller! That's how it works!"

Carvel's right eye twitches with annoyance. Balling up his fist, he escalates the situation further. "You're not better than me! I know that's not true!"

Lani tugs on the sleeves of her cousins, concerned for the direction of the conversation. Although the two siblings are usually cordial, at times the impulsivity inherited from their parents rears its ugly head. "Hey...we should stop this."

Ignoring her, the toddler continues. "How do you know it's not true? I'm smarter, faster, and stronger than you. Mommy and Daddy like me more, too!"

!

A voice appears from the door. "Now that's enough, you two."

All three children turn and face Tutor Mary. She'd left them here briefly to eat lunch at their leisure while she prepared some activities, but had since returned. Her usually cool, nurturing eyes slouch with disapproval. "Carmel, you know you shouldn't say things like that. You hurt your brother's feelings."

Carmel looks over at her brother, noticing the redness around his eyes. Her heart says with realization of what she had done. Although she was rather impulsive, her pride did not pose any issues. Meekly, she says, "Carvey...I...I'm sorry."

Carvel, still shaken up emotionally, neither meets his gaze nor replies to his sister. Instead, he falls silent.

Mary asks, "Carvel, you mustn't ignore your sister. She is sorry for what she had said."

Carmel nods her head, extending her arms in front of her, inviting her brother for a hug. Lani, too, encourages her cousin to let go of the hurt in his heart. Carvel hesitates, his feet feeling too heavy to move. The embattlement of his mind constricts any hope of a brief and clean conclusion. Overwhelmed by this, he turns and runs straight out through the front door.

Carmel exclaims, "Wait! Brother! Come back!"

Carmel rushes out towards him, shortly followed by Laniakea. Meanwhile, Mary struggles to keep up. The children are way too fast for her; her glory days were long behind her.

Mary mutters, "By Elimine. I may be young but...these kids make me feel old."


Morgantown...

Samuel wraps his hands together, tapping the ends of his thumbs in a gesture of slight anxiety. He is listening to what Darcey, the Etrurian spy, has to say. He, Darcey, Swinn, and Sain are at an alleyway void of souls, other than their own.

Darcey says, "There are two men I believe that are suspects in this crime. The first is a Tanian national named Verne. The other is a known Santaruzian spy only known as the Black Mask, named for the mask he usually wears in public. Both might be working with each other or separately, though I cannot know for sure."

Swinn nods. "I believe their cooperation is likely. Although nothing is set in stone yet, one of our ministers told me of murmurs about a pending alliance in the works. This could be preliminary action by them."

Samuel bites his lip, uneasiness taking hold. "I don't like the look of this. Why are these two nations so hostile? What about us do they find threatening?"

Darcey looks out towards the shadows of people walking some distance away. "I think you already know the answer to that question. If this election succeeds, Caelin will be heard in courts all throughout the land. Combine that with your realm's relative prosperity...and some jealousy might be in order."

Samuel shakes his head. He mutters, "Bastards think they can mess with us like I hadn't defended this world against destruction. Arrogant fellows they are..."

He turns towards Darcey, his eyes burning with determination. "So...any idea where these men are? Sorry to burden you with this so much. It should really be ours to bear."

Darcey shakes her head. "It's no problem, really. But, I have information on their whereabouts. The matter is if we'd be able to catch them before they notice we're onto them..."


Later...

"...Milady."

Lyn blinks, her consciousness having nearly fallen asleep from exhaustion. Fiora is in front of her, knee down, her head bowing with respect. Lyn clears her throat before addressing her.

"Fiora. What is the matter?"

Fiora rests her hand over her heart. A display of sincere gratitude. "I've received a messenger, recently. I am glad to report that the issue is taken care of. Your Chancellor will talk about it to you later tonight."

Lyn leans back against her chair, relieved. A smile evades her lips. "...Tonight." She closes her eyes. "It pleases me to hear that..."


The next day...

"Ugh...that whole thing was messy."

Samuel groans silently as he feels a gash of pain on his face. It comes from some bruising on his skin and bone, of which he sustained during yesterday's incident. He, Lyn, Sain, and Fiora are all outside one of the town's polling stations, drinking pleasant beverages from a restaurant's patio table.

Lyn says, "One of those villains gave you a nasty punch. I hadn't been hit with something like that since the war. I remember the discomfort...you have my condolences."

Samuel frowns as he takes out some ice from his glass of water and puts it on his cheek. In hindsight, Samuel should have figured at least one of them to be cut, given the quantity and weight of the ballot boxes. The Tanian turned out to be about five times in size.

Lyn says, "Fiora told me you tried leading the charge into their little hideout. Claimed to be a war veteran who could handle it. Well, it turned out they were waiting for you, weren't they?"

Samuel shoots a glance towards the cyan-haired knight, but she only keeps her eyes focused on the cup of Chamomile tea in her hand. There's a hint of amusement in her sips, like she took enjoyment from hearing Lyn chide at him at his expense.

Samuel replies, "I wanted to punch him back, but Sain beat me to it." He pauses briefly as the green knight flexes his bicep in an overzealous attempt to boast his masculinity. "I...yeah. We found the boxes in a distasteful hideout near the south end of town. We took the two men into custody, and we had the men send them to the castle for interrogation. I'm going to have a nice...and long talk with them."

Lyn smiles and looks out towards the long line of people waiting idle at the polling station, a small schoolhouse briefly converted for this purpose. "Excellent. That means there will be nothing to stop us from achieving our goals..."

She reaches over and gleefully ruffles the hair of her Chancellor. "Nice job, Sammy. I'm proud of you."

Samuel blushes, and Sain and Fiora avert their eyes to not appear rude. Despite their efforts, the surrounding townsfolk can't help but stare at the display of love and humanity. The women are star-struck, while some men snicker underneath their breathes.

"Oh...how lovely that is..."

"He's a bit of a momma's boy, isn't he?"

"Oh hush! You're acting like you don't want someone to do that to you!"

Samuel says, "You really couldn't wait until we were behind closed doors to do this..."

Lyn smiles, "I am the Marchioness. This tuft of hair on your head is for my personal use..at all times."

Samuel turns redder than a tomato...no...even redder than that. His blood nearly bursts out of the pores of his cheeks. He mutters, "Blimey. If I'd known I were a slave...the shame."

Lyn chuckles, "You are not a slave, my love. Just...someone very close to one. Teehee! You make my reign so much fun!"

Samuel crumbles onto the floor dramatically, his pride having taken a near irrecoverable hit. His knees make contact with the creaky, worn floorboards of the restaurant. His metallic hand makes a sound as it hits the wood. He cries, "Fun? I guess...meh. If it pleases you...I suppose."

Lyn smiles and then nears closer. She whispers into his ear: "Don't forget I wish to please you."

Samuel gulps. But...in a good way. Looking out towards the crowd, he smiles meekly. They are all staring at him. He will surely be the talk of the town, if he hasn't already.

Someone rescue me...please. He thinks.


Later...

Lyn smiles as she stands before the crowd that had gathered in front of Morgantown's town hall atop a podium. The people, her people, look towards her with utmost admiration and respect. Several foreign dignitaries wait in silence for her words, a hint of doubt in their postures. Although Marchioness Caelin is famed for her grace and beauty, her public speaking skills left much to be desired. Or...so it seems.

Lyn clears her throat, reminding herself of the training Reissmann had given to her for just the occasion. She remembers the few snappy words the older man had instilled in her mind. Speak clearly and loudly. Do not yell, but ensure you portray confidence.

She addresses her subjects and guests. "And with that, I will act to announce the results of this fair, and well-contested competition!"

She pauses and shoots a glance at her husband, who is standing at her right side from his depressed position from the ground. He looks back, sparing a confident, charming wink. His earlier words echo in her head, much like Reissmann's. You got this! I believe in you!

She motions towards two men standing nearby. They are Tino and Cornelius, the two candidates of this affair. She squints her eyes as the morning sun begins to peep out ahead of the flat, rounded terrain over the horizon. This light causes her to just barely notice the anxiousness present among both men, a sense masked by the cold professionalism on their faces. The sight brings her some relief, as she realized her burgeoning stage fright likely stood small when compared to their anticipation of the results. She pushes herself to not chuckle out loud.

She exclaims, "Our fair citizens have spent much effort tallying up the ballots...and I've ensured that the count is right. They've worked very hard...we all have." Upon saying those last words, Samuel and Sain shuffle their feet in their position. For some people, her message can not be any more true. She retrieves a note from her pocket and unfolds the crumpled paper. On it has all the information she needs. "So...there were two major candidates, but some of you folks turned in write-in ballots. At third place, with about one percent of the vote...the recipient is..." Lyn looks down on the sheet closer. She mentally groans as she recognizes her own name. "...Me...heh. How funny."

A wave of laughter vibrates through the crowd. Apparently, some older folks thought there were deciding on the next ruler of the March. They wrote in her name...though this detail wouldn't be known for some time. Regardless, Samuel can't hold in the temptation to facepalm. Sain nearly does too, but discipline holds true.

Lyn says, "I...appreciate the gesture. I haven't an idea of how this happened, but I can say if you have any questions on the nature of your vote, go ahead and ask our officials. They're a friendly bunch...I can assure that."

All eyes briefly shift towards the front of the crowd, of which stand all the judges, poll workers, and other figures responsible for making the experiment possible. Someone breaks into applause, compelling another to join, then snowballing everyone into an uproar. The men and women bow in respect to their peers.

Lyn waits for them to calm before continuing. "Anyhow, I will now dwell into the subject of first and second place. With three hundred, one hundred and two votes, at about fifty-five percent, I am proud to say that the winner...is Tino Wycheck. Congratulations, you will now be the next mayor of Morgantown."

Hushed gasps fill the air. Cornelius lowers his hat in disappointment, while Tino jumps up ecstatically. Several villagers approach him to congratulate him, while others go to console the mayor's son. But Tino refuses to see his supporters, at least not yet. He reaches over to Cornelius and puts his hand over his shoulder, extending the other at waist-level.

He says, "You were a tough opponent. I am sure your father would have been proud."

Cornelius frowns, but accepts Tino's handshake. Sadness, frustration, and disappointment is clearly visible on his face. He replies, "I...don't know what to say. I have no doubts on your victory...but know this. I will be back. I'll come back stronger...and perhaps copy a page from your book..."

Lyn and Samuel smile as they watch the peaceful and cordial interactions of their subjects. For them, it was never a matter of who won today...but the process. Evidently, the foreign observers there were also impressed by the show. They left Morgantown thinking well of the Caelin monarchy and her administration. As expected, Caelin became the talk of every court throughout the land, at least for about a week.

But for the Marchioness and her Chancellor, this was only the beginning. The beginning of an interesting experiment that could one day allow for something grand. A better and brighter tomorrow...for everyone.


Several miles away...later that day...

Dr. Parah looks out towards the sun, it's blinding light starting to become subdued by the arrival of night. She smiles as she takes in a deep breath of air, admiring the cleanliness of it brought upon by the bounty of nature.

She's at the village of Antioch, a small settlement nestled between two rivers near the southern border with Santaruz. It's huge, stone walls loom large over every building, so much so that the local villagers said that if one looked up towards its top, they would be watching the very Creator observing over her subjects. Unfortunately, Antioch doesn't have much else. With a small population of about fifty people, the walls serve more to deter aggression from the south than anything else. Unlike larger towns, like Morgantown, there is no library, marketplace, or even a town hall.

Parah had set up her medical tent in the town's square, a tiny, hardly maintained circle made of brick. Shrubs congregate inside the foundation, and weeds riddle every crevice. Besides the homes surrounding it, the only two businesses present are the tavern, used to drown away misery, and the blacksmith, used to procure tools for work. The people of Antioch don't need much to survive..but even this is a bit lacking for Parah's taste.

Parah puts down a pair of scissors on her desk, the simple furnishing housing the rest of her medical equipment. Staff firmly in her hand, she stares through the foggy glass of her mask to observe the bluish complexion of her patient's skin. She finds this symptom odd, so she takes a moment to further examine her patient while he's standing in front of her under the safety and privacy of her tent.

He's a young male, about twenty years of age. He possesses several scars around his arms and face, likely obtained while toiling away in the fields. He has a cleft chin, straight, very messy hair, and an odor that suggests he hadn't bathed in several days. His blue eyes reflect suffering brought about by the illness his body, of which Parah seeks to eradicate.

Tuberculosis. Parah thinks as she tightens the bracing, keeping her mask to her face. It's a terrible ailment that strikes one's own lungs, making it difficult to breathe until they recover. The recovery rate wasn't great, about 50% for the average person in advanced stages, and it was very infectious as it passed through air. Thankfully, most people don't progress to advanced stages, and they carry on with their day only mildly inconvenienced. But, for those that do, it could pose a major threat to their life, just like this man here.

Parah asks, "Mr. Flarian...your illness...is not going to be easy to beat. There is a...very real chance you could die from this."

The patient coughs as he hears his name. Parah leans back as to not inhale his infectious particles, not that there is much need to. Her mask was expertly enchanted to prevent airborne illnesses to be transmitted to her, as long as she had it on correctly. The patient says weakly, "I know...I...hardly had the strength to...come up here. I...feel...so...weak."

Parah leans over to her medical desk and retrieves a lozenge. It carries inside of it magical properties said to ease one's breathing. "Now...I can give you this...but you must know...that it will not cure...your illness. No such things exist for it..."

"Oh...thank...ack—!"

Parah flinches as the man lurches over, falling onto the ground. She stands in her spot over him, shocked. Looking down, she realizes a pool of blood is streaming from his mouth and onto the canvas floor. It seeps into the fabric, painting it red.

For a moment, the doctor doesn't know what to do. Nothing of this nature had ever happened to her before. She watches as the man's life escapes through his eyes until eventually his body turns still. His skin resembles gray clay...a symbol of death.

Parah takes a deep breath, then exhales. This is shocking, no doubt about that, but she's a professional. She kneels down and feels for a pulse. Nothing. With that out of the way, she turns the deceased's body over to observe his face. What she sees...not only increases her sense of dread...but absolutely frightens her.

She was wrong with her diagnosis. Very, very wrong.

She frantically opens her cabinet and retrieves some parchment and quill. She quickly pens in a single word before sending it off towards the castle. It would tell them all they would need to know.

Plague.