So, I haven't updated in what seems as ages. Thanks for everything.

faisyah865: Awww, thanks! As usual, thanks for your encouraging comments. I definitely believe Gothel has some appreciation for Punz at least, which makes her such an interesting antagonist, the same way Punz is a surprisingly layered protagonist. Don't you think the identity of the wig guy is a bit too obvious?

Chapter 18, where Pascal and Olaf have some fun times, Rapunzel's constellite-related abilities are elucidated, but not really, Frostcup fluff occurs and Joan isn't the one hanging there. Even though this chapter is super long, it is sequential.

CW: discussion of homophobia, class-based discrimination

"You caught it?!"

Blissfully unaware of his owner's utter surprise, Olaf was impossibly bemused by Pascal. On the ebony table tastefully sculpted in flowing flowery shapes and delicately inlaid with pastel-toned stained glass, the albino pet and the automaton reptile ran in a tight oval chasing each other's tails, until the former realised that the latter's tail was actually detachable, appended to the rest of its clockwork body by a pair of magnets. The platypus had never seen such a disturbingly fun phenomenon in its whole life.

But the younger Baroness of Arendelle was paying attention neither to the animal of flesh nor that of metal. The warm light poured in from all around, projecting onto the room and its occupants shadows of the right angles of the bay window and the fluttering translucent curtains. A gentle wind played with the light fabrics, creating ripples and wavelets on a cabinet in white. In the perpetual subtle motion, it was hard to tell where stopped the flowing milky-coloured curtains, the refined ivory colonial gowns of the ladies and their assorted fans; and where started the thick white linen that covered the custom couches and armchairs or even the fluffy whipped cream that twirled atop the homemade scones on a silver tray. The esteemed guests of Anna's very first Salon sat around the same table for the first time for ever. And they were truly a league of extraordinary people, she attempted to convince herself.

By her side was Miss Rapunzel Corona, the immensely wealthy heiress of her father's rising commercial empire and namesake of a golden flower. By her side was Mr. Fitzherbert, infamous tradesman of Corona & Sons and recently Rapunzel's fiancé. Then sat Astrid Hofferson, a formidable warrior and one of the most famous faces of Eastern Extremesia. Next to Merida DunBroch, daughter of the most prominent mercenary clan on the continent who had distinguished herself with her combat skills at the Exposition. Then was the heir of Berk Steel, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, a peerless inventor, civilian pilot and gentleman. And the rarest specimen came next: Jack Frost, silver-haired teenager, chief and Feathered Snake of the Guardian tribe. He had brought two fellow Drifters with him, Tooth, the colourful clockwork-winged healer, and Sandy, her multitalented yellow-haired mate. Of course, completing the circle was Anna's own sister, the beautiful, accomplished and fervently courted Baroness Elsa of Arendelle…

Wait, what? Anna knew only too well what her realistic sibling was seeing before her. Not a salon of unusual talents, but a motley handful of outcasts. An antisocial aristocrat from a broke family. A pair of barefoot savages, one of which spoke too much – about teeth, too – and the other spoke not a word. A young outlaw leader from the jungle and an eccentric one-legged Miseralian who could not take their eyes off each other. A pair of dishevelled soldiers, the axe-crazy one and the bow-crazy one. A robber dressed as a colonial dandy, holding the valid hand of a long-haired woman who seemed to think she had caught a constellite dart with her own bare hand.

"You caught it," repeated Anna more calmly. "How?"

"With my hand, milady," responded Rapunzel, softly waving her cleanly bandaged palm.

"I know that… how did you manage to stop it and throw it back though? How?"

"I don't know, milady!"

Even though she may have been a tad overly excited by the initial prospect, Anna felt a half-conscious tinge of wariness. They had been sitting there for an hour, just after Toothless had safely landed on the mansion's roof and the last guests had received a well-deserved shower and lunch. During that hour, Anna had gathered that Merida and Astrid were thought to be stuck at the Exposition but had escaped before the raid, that the three Guardians were the sole free survivors of their Tribe, unbeknownst to all, and that Flynn and Rapunzel were alive while they were believed by everyone as dead, which was what had started the conflict in the first place. That was a lot to get used to, let alone to deal with. Even without Rapunzel apparently ignoring how her hand had managed to defy the laws of nature in such a fashion.

"Constellite has peculiar properties," Eugene intervened to patiently explain. "I have been involved in its trade before, I know a thing or two. It could have absorbed some of the power of the impact with Punz's hand. How that would be energetically favourable, though, I ignore. All I know is that she's always been… skilful with manipulating constellite. She used to play around with raw crystals without danger when she was just a child."

"That's interesting," muttered Hiccup. "Anything more you remember from when you were younger? Or from that incident on the deck?"

"No," said Punz.

"Yes," said Eugene simultaneously.

The pilot shot them a dark glance.

"Her… I know that sounds weird and useless, but… her hair started to shine gold."

Anna tilted her head in conceited confusion, nervously playing with a strand of strawberry blonde hair. Things were getting stranger and stranger. Oh, the outcasts of her salon were truly extraordinary.

"Gold?" she echoed. "Isn't that the signature property of the Rapunzel flower, genetically engineered by Corona & Sons? I heard this from my lovely fiancé…"

Speaking of the devil, Hans stepped into the cabinet with a graceful curtsy, a flagon of a violet autumn vintage of South-western Hexagonia in one hand and a tray of empty crystal cups on the other. Freshly back from a commercial meeting, he had resolved to bring refreshments since Kai was supposedly busy manning the mansion's gate. In that instant, Anna ignored what was more pleasant between the feverish touch of his gloved fingers on her cheek and the chill contact of the carefully selected beverage against her lips.

"Those golden flowers we have in the underground labyrinth? Father and Mother had whole patches of those grown all over our estate, but only a little number glowed, so the rest got unrooted and the fluorescent ones were grafted and planted in the cave."

Anna almost coughed out the bitter wine as she felt Elsa stiffen by her side at Rapunzel's comment.

"An enhancer trap screen," the blonde aristocrat exhaled quietly.

Her pale blue eyes met her sibling's turquoise glare. For seconds, Anna did not understand.

"An enhancer trap screen of a very unusual form," she suddenly realised.

She knew her sister too well not to figure out what she implied, even though it was not enhancers she was in fact mentioning, but a similar procedure on a much larger and more ambitious scale. She had overseen it in one of Elsa's newest botany tomes. Her point of view on the matter in principle could well differ from her opinion on the case in actual real life…

"Can someone explain?" enquired Tooth.

Hiccup gave a slight grunt of approval. Anna looked at him, at Tooth, and then back at Rapunzel, whose green eyes were wide with curiosity.

"It's the constellite projectile," lied Elsa dryly. "It's got that kind of optical properties."

Anna looked at her sister in dismay. How could she conceal the truth from the young heiress? Did she truly believe she was not ready? Would she rather let her live in fear than in understanding? She saw Jack and Hiccup exchanging a puzzled look, hands negligently rested atop each other. Elsa avoided their eyes, blankly looking at Merida by their side. The redhead pecked at her scone without appetite, vaguely looking towards Astrid, who in turn had a suspicious eye on both the Arendelle siblings. Anna hardly liked the awkwardness building up in her newborn salon. Her hand intuitively found the round stability of Hans's knee for comfort. Through the fine fabric of his white silk trousers, her warm fingers squeezed in a silent plea for support.

"Has any of you seen my cane? I thought I left it in the hallway this morning," he asked with abrupt casualty.

All of them half-heartedly looked around, including Gerda who had just arrived carrying baskets of fresh tropical fruit.

"I guess Kai took it to give it a good wipe," answered Anna, "excuse his perfectionism. He is one of the most faithful servants the Arendelle family has ever had."

"Should I ask him, Mr. Andersen?" said Gerda with a respectful bow. "He is just outside the door."

"Gerda, that is unnecessary. I do not need a walking stick right now, since I have no intent of taking a single step away from my most wonderful future bride, now that she sits beside me. I will tell him on my way out."

Elsa and Astrid simultaneously took a sip of wine, shortly imitated by Merida.

"Gerda, if you please, also show these ladies and gentlemen their rooms. For now, all of you are our guests."

In all honesty, Anna was somewhat relieved as the cabinet was progressively emptied. Her ivory fan rested in equilibrium on her knees. She was too indolent to stand up. The faint buzzing of the evening insects outside caressed her eardrums. The humid heat flushed her freckled cheeks and the bright twilight made her turquoise eyes water. That autumn wine did not agree with her.

Hiccup could not sleep. Despite the fact that the bed was the most comfortable one he had been on for a while. The large mattress was soft but firm, the sheets fresh and fine and the pillows plentiful. Even the oil canvases of assorted seaside landscapes against the walls were tastefully arranged. Through the light curtains filtered the pale blue moonlight. The wind whispered playfully in the interstice between the closed windows.

And yet, Hiccup was rocking back and forth, restlessly. His body needed sleep. His mind needed sleep. He had spent so many hours off the ground recently that he felt as though the bed was still floating and oscillating, carried by balloons, beneath him. The thin white sheet was plastered against his sweaty skin. Despite the heat, he refused to lay his bare body exposed, wearing nothing but his undergarments. As if someone would see him, he thought sarcastically. Tiredness made him paranoid.

He thought of Rapunzel. Even though he liked to consider himself well-read and technically minded, he had to admit he hardly had a clue as to the root of her surprising abilities. If his knowledge encompassed metallurgy and aerodynamics, both Anna and Elsa seemed to have some idea of the physiology and botany involved in the question. He had to ask one of them on the morrow. He wanted to know, and he hated himself for it. Why did he always have to be too curious for his own good? Knowing his allies and enemies were the only way to secure a victory, he thought… a victory? A contest? A war? What was he trying to prove?

Ah, he and the children of the Berk clan. Always trying to strike faster, hit stronger, fly higher. Always yearning for recognition and respect from the stern Miseralian community. As the son of Stoick the Vast, Hiccup was the trainer of the Berk Academy by tradition. The Academy. A fine name for a bunch of lunatic, boisterous, cowardly or aggressive teenagers. Of which he, of course, was part, without knowing very well which of those he was. Not that it mattered much, for just as everyone else, he had spent a lifetime trying to prove his worth to Stoick. As a chief, the latter knew very well how to utilise and publicise his son's skills. But as a father…

Then there was Jack. Surely, if he actually cared, the owner of Berk Steel would have realised Hiccup's complete disinterest in Astrid and the other women of his age, and hence inferred his preferences. Clearly, Stoick hardly cared. He would simply give a shrug and go back to inspecting the newly made stainless steel maces. What worried the inventor more was the reaction of the rest of his clan. The Miseralians did not particularly mind gender roles or even a bit of change from times to times. However, they were Centralesian colonists. Moulded in a world of ballrooms and betrothals, they forgot who they were to merge into a crowd that lived by the laws of the Man in the Sky. They loved what was fashionable and loathed what was seen as sinful. Oh, he wished he had known his mother…

Hiccup turned around on his pillows. He had heard something. He glanced at the window, but nothing blocked the moonbeam between the curtains. Sighing, he shifted back to his other side, leaning onto his valid leg. The lavish mansion must be somehow secured. There was no way an intrusion could occur by night. No way could the windows be unlocked from the outside. No way was a deft, svelte hand expertly inserting a crooked metal cable between the glass panels to turn the window handle. No way could the shadows possibly shift as window noiselessly swivelled…

The aviator sprang up, grabbing his metal leg from under the pillows. By reflex, he swung it at the dark silhouette before him. Silhouette that avoided the blow with disconcerting ease, with a clear giggle immediately recognisable amongst all.

"Jack!" Hiccup spoke, hardly trying to hide his relief. "I thought it was… why are you here?"

"Couldn't sleep. I was drawing on the dirt on your window earlier, I hoped you'd notice."

"Sorry, I didn't believe that someone could be hanging out my window by night…"

Suddenly, the young pilot realised he stood nearly naked before the Drifter. He hoped the darkness concealed his furiously blushing cheeks, as the icy blue eyes travelled across his skin with playful curiosity. As they silently grinned at the linen of his underwear, contemplated the shape of his belly button, slid up the lean steadfastness of his torso, caressed the near-inexistent stubble on his juvenile chin, followed the arch of his solemn nose to finally meet his confused emerald glare. All that in a fraction of a second. All that in a flash, brief and bright against a lifetime of invisible darkness. They had so much time before them…

"Jack, I can't sleep either."

The Guardian hardly had time to read the flicker of desire in Hiccup's irises before feeling the warmth of his lips against his. Before he could lay his hands on the shapely slender shoulders, the inventor's hands seized his. Hot, clammy fingers against chill, lithe palms. Fine fingertips as light as tropical breezes against firm calluses from piloting and metalwork. Jack was a snowflake in a furnace. And within seconds the last remnants of self-control melted away.

He hardly noticed the metallic clang as Hiccup dropped his prosthetic leg onto the floor. Or the warning gasp uttered by the older man. He did realise, however, when the aviator stumbled on his one good foot, sending both of them tumbling onto the mattress, breathless and lightheaded amongst the white bedsheets.

"You seem like you don't want to sleep," murmured the silver-haired teenager with a tender smirk, looking down on a pair of wide open forest green eyes. "Well, be assured I won't let you. Trust me."

An avalanche of sensations rushed through Hiccup's mind as the whispers poured into his ear. He felt the icy lips play with his earlobe, deliciously running down the side of his chin, devouring his neck…

"Hey, that tickles!" he grunted.

As the Guardian criminally continued, he had no other choice but to retort, running all ten fingers against the pale stomach. And so the war was inevitable. A storm of mischievous fingertips and bemused toes – with an unfair advantage from one side on that front – of feathery pillows and fluttering sheets, of malicious cackle and exploding laughter broke loose. As he desperately tried to pull the Drifter's loose shirt off, Hiccup was gradually worried there was something he meant to do. Not that the instant was in any way short of delicious. Not that guilt was strong enough to overcome pleasure. Then what was it? By Odin's eye, why was he so distracted…?

"Jack," he said, suddenly calm sitting atop the other man's giggling belly.

"Huh?"

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Because you're sitting on me?"

Jack gave the most fake innocent grin, setting Hiccup's heart pounding in his chest.

"No, no, before you came."

"Because…"

The Guardian looked away, unable to bear the emerald glare for an instant. Hiccup climbed off him to lay by his side over the vast mattress. The warmth of his shoulder through Jack's pyjamas somewhat comforted him.

"Because I'm afraid," he confessed.

"Of what?"

Jack gave a sigh, winter clouds invading his mirthful eyes.

"Of nothing… Of everything. I shouldn't be here in a gorgeous colonial manor. I should be out there with my people. What will happen to them? What will happen to us? Drago has gathered the Western and Northern Huacans, and soon the Itzans will be by his side too. All the tribes of the Continents will join his ranks against the colonist force. When the conflict at the Exposition is settled, your father will send his troops against them, and with all the tribes he enslaved Drago will think himself strong enough to face them. He will have the advantage of knowing a battlefield with plentiful hideouts, but he has never fought a war before, and your father's men are paid for war. I have to do something… but I don't know how."

The inventor contemplated the young man by his side. Despite his youth and chaotic experience, he was a leader who carried the weight of the future of his tribe and its children on his frail shoulders. Sudden seriousness was sculpted upon his alabaster traits, but a flicker of juvenile fear fleetingly floated past his azure gaze. And in the moonlit mirror of their icy blue surface, he saw only himself.

"What, that's not funny!" the silver-haired teenager nudged him gently as he nervously giggled. "Did I say something funny?"

"I just realised something. You're as afraid of us as we are of you, Drifters of Colonists alike… Did I tell you how I lost my leg?"

"A dragon bit it off trying to catch you falling from the sky?" he tenderly taunted.

"That's hilarious, Jack," Hiccup playfully snapped back. "Seriously, it is."

"I don't know, seeing the number of times you've been falling around since I met you, I wouldn't be too surprised."

"Must be some kind of snowball effect after falling in love with you. Anyways…"

"Wait, you love me?"

"No, of course not. Really, didn't you notice? Anyways, it was …"

Seven years earlier

Astrid's blue eyes were full of tears. And those tears were full of smoke and fire. The proud sails adorned with the Berk Steel crest had turned fearful, devoured by the ardent flames under the emerald roof of the mangrove's dense branches. The raiders' pitiful makeshift harpoons, made from irregular iron links and dirty linen rags, desperately kept the ship tied to the tree roots arched just above the sea water's shallow surface. The alert bells, despite the obviousness of the danger, rang through the smoky air, along with the customary call for Drifters. The wooden deck was ablaze, and before Hiccup's eyes only Astrid's small silhouette cut out a shadow in the blinding light. Valiantly, as the model Miseralian she was, she poured the salty water onto the burning wooden planks.

And then Hiccup saw her eyes. Not that he were good at all at reading people. But if there were one person he knew better than himself, it must have been her. The game and training companion his father had given to him. She looked towards him. She saw through him. Her eyes were mirrors. The panic fear around them was imprinted onto her pale irises. She was afraid. As much as anyone else, she was. She was afraid, and she was brave. He, Hiccup, was useless.

"Drifters!" yelled a crazed Gobber, hastily barging past the puny boy with a heavy trolley full of weapons.

The teenager painfully sat up on the planks, shaking the soot off his unkempt auburn hair. He slowly rubbed his back while getting up on his unsteady feet. And saw them. From where he stood, they were but shadows falling from the trees, rising from the roots, wings of darkness outstretched before the flaming backdrop, supply landing onto the deck as if unaware of gravity. Miseralians or outlaws, only shadows stood aboard Gobber's commerce ship.

"Hiccup, get your useless toy out the way!"

Precipitately, the boy scrambled to his knees to look for the object fallen from the leather straps on his back when he had been tossed to the ground. He managed to grab the wing of the miniature teleguided plane, painted in a bright layer of baby blue for a baby boy by his mother herself during her pregnancy. He took the object, hardly larger than his palms, closely against his chest. The rest of its body had been less lucky. The tiny tail fin had been squished by a heavy boot, revealing twisted cables and displaced cogs beneath the fractured metal surface. Ominous. And suddenly, Hiccup knew what to do. He had to fix it. At least that was something he thought he understood.

Sprinkling a trail of tiny screws and fragmented gears in his ungainly wake, he made his way to the workshop in the ship's cabin. He ignored the dark winged forms flying around him. He ignored the protestations of the crew. He ignored the nudges and the jibes. He ignored the ardent flames licking his linen sleeves and his leather boots. He had to fix it. He had to fix it.

The darkness of the cabin greeted him like an old friend. Lighting the candle from the fire outside, Hiccup switched on the constellite-powered soldering iron whose indigo glowering intensity slowly grew. That was actually going to be fun. Methodically, he sorted the screws on his messy desk space by size to figure out which ones were needed. Snapped off the damaged cables with the tongs strapped to his belt. Soldered new ones in, squinting in deep focus from behind his tarnished protection goggles. Welded the carcass back together under a dribble of icy sea water. Hiccup sighed. There was only him and the plane, alone in the semi-obscurity. No Drifters. No fire. No one to hush him around and call him useless. Nothing he could not comprehend.

In mere seconds he was on the deck again. His ears were deaf to the incandescent agitation around him. His eyes were riveted to the mooring lines the raiders had thrown onto the ship. If they could be thrown off, the commerce barge would be safe. Hiccup's green gaze glistened with excitation amongst the flames. Now was his time. Now he could be a true Miseralian. Now he could prove his worth.

Breathe. Focus. Set the helix frequency to the most silent. He seized the closest hook from one of the ropes and inserted it into the freshly dedicated metal orifice at the end of his tiny plane's tail. Then, clutching onto the little remote he wore between the crossed leather buckles over his striped shirt, he set it into flight. Lifted the little blue brass lever. Spun the second-largest cog by one eighty degrees. The automaton looped around the set of ties, the cloth rope trailing behind it progressively tangling all cables together into a rudimental knot. That would suffice. Or so he hoped. Heat and concentration made a veil of sweat descend before his eyes. His tongue ran dry against his tight lips. His ten toes, probably for the last time, unbeknownst to the boy, nervously tapped within his boots. The tip of his fingernails gripped the asperities of the tiny gears on the remote to…

He was barely aware of the silent mass that crashed against him. Of the warm breath descending upon the hair at the back of his neck. Of the rough fingers plastered against his mouth. Of the leathery wings wrapped around his scrawny silhouette. Of the almost pleasantly chill blade placed right under his throat.

Someone screamed his name. Astrid, maybe. He could hardly make it out.

Somehow, he was alive. Somehow, he was breathing. Somehow, his fingers were in motion. Somehow, his toy plane took off with the entanglement of ropes tied onto it. Somehow, the Drifter behind him was caught under the makeshift net.

Somehow, he had survived.

Hiccup had survived. Alone. Without even the help of his mother and her fearless spear, whom he had heard had disappeared while trying to protect him, back when he was only an infant. With the raspy sound of metal against wood, the raider's knife fell onto the deck. Alone, the boy would finish this off.

Grasping the weapon with both hands, he raised it above the Drifter's face. Yes, his face. For he was no faceless creature, no monster with traits of coal and eyes of flames, no savage who drank the blood of those he sacrificed. For he was human, as human as all of those who stood on this ship. Human, just as the brave Miseralians who were butchering with axes and maces his kin all around them. Human, just like that distorted picture of himself reflected in those inky black eyes.

Human, just like… something Hiccup could not quite grasp.

Like…

He hardly remembered what came next. Later, Trader Johann would tell the tale that Hiccup's captive treacherously grabbed one of the twisted metal anchors at the end of a rope and tossed it against Hiccup's leg, damaging the bone beyond repair. Gobber would shrug it off and say that the raider was simply trying to shake his ties off when he crippled the boy. Snotlout would sneer that the Berk Steel heir had dropped his knife onto his foot and was too ashamed to talk about it. In truth, the young inventor had no idea.

Amidst the flames around him and within his leg, amongst the fumes of the burning wood and of his dimming consciousness, beneath the vault of mangrove leaves glowing gold and emerald against the sparks and the asphyxiating vapours, as dark silhouettes were about to toss the Drifter overboard with the mess of ropes, all Hiccup remembered were the eyes. And those eyes were full of fire and smoke. And the fire and smoke were full of tears. And the tears were full of fear.

"The things we're afraid of… are the things we don't… understand", concluded the young pilot, rolling over in his bed with a loud yawn.

"Hiccup…"

Jack interrupted himself as the dark-haired youth turned his back to him. It seemed like he needed his sleep, after all. For a second, he contemplated the perfect calm painted onto his freckled traits. Without his usual solemnity and sense of responsibility, Hiccup looked almost fragile in his somnolence, almost…

"Good night", murmured the silver-haired teenager, who could not help dropping a snowflake-light mischievous kiss on the nape of that ticklish neck.

Late night faded into early morning as Anna's feet treaded the crimson Eastern Extremesian carpet of the empty dining hall. The silk sleeve of her deep green dressing gown brushed the thick Centralesian cedar of the long table, bearing at its end the silent weight of eight thousand salad plates. The portraits on the wall, proportioned in the fashion of Sunkenlandian masters, looked down sternly at her. It was such an awkward time to be up, she reflected. Maybe because it had no name dedicated to it – very late night or very early morning, not-quite-sunrise and not-quite-moonset, already far too warm to want to walk around, when the light is yellow-ish gray-ish and so profoundly unworthy of being depicted in any kind of painting or any sort of book. But then, the unnamed time of the night – day – whatever – was unnamed because everyone was usually asleep. Everyone except Anna, who had decided to take an early night and could sleep no longer. How awkward. And how lonely. Even the smell was weird, at that time. At the end of the table, against the sculpted oaken chair...

"Hanging there, are you?" she joked softly to herself.

There was where it was! No wonder Hans struggled to find his cane, in such an immense mansion. He would be glad to have it back. Cheerfully, the young aristocrat took the object into her hand, absent-mindedly wiping off the fresh humidity with her sleeve. That chillness was welcome, especially with that fire in the fireplace.

For the coals were burning quietly, in that hot tropical not-quite-morning. Silently, the Baroness cursed the forgetful servants. Between the sparks fluttered minuscule fragments of charred fabric, together with what seemed like carbonised remnants of rubbery wig-like hair. Well, that explained the fishy smell. Ah, Hans, her own Hans. She knew, of course, that he was a master in the art of disguise. She knew the costume and wig were most likely his. But why would he throw it away to the flames? Was there something he was attempting to conceal from her and the rest of the household? To the members of her very own salon?

Thoughtfully she fiddled with the handle of the cane. And just as thoughtfully, she almost dropped the blade concealed inside, in a slippery metallic sound. Oh, a sword. It was just like its owner. Charming and gentlemanly on the outside, sharp and lethal on the inside. If only its deadly tip were not to be pointed towards them. If only she knew more, if only there were more she understood… or if only she knew nothing and enjoyed the bliss of ignorance…

Footsteps in the corridor interrupted her mind's wanderings. She sheathed the weapon precipitately. Only to see Kai pacing around, restless at early hours, as was usual. She let out a relieved sigh. No one had seen her. After all, servants were ever so slightly invisible people. Upon noticing her, he mimicked her clumsy handling of the cane, obtaining a sheepish smile from her as he always did. Such a good man he was. Always copying everyone's expressions, gestures, voices and even handwritings to entertain the aristocratic siblings. Such a good invisible man indeed.

Oh, well, she could get him to go to the kitchens and fill a bucket of cold water to put out the fire. That were what stewards were for, after all. What did she expect? That Olaf would have come help her with the flames?

Fun fact: If you know what an enhancer trap is, kudos to you and have fun doing genetics. Anyways, understanding that is of relatively little evidence to the story. This chapter is too long and I forgot what I wanted to say in the A/N. And then a Hiccup flashback happened. Other people will be getting them too. By fandom requests – as opposed to fan requests – I expanded Anna's arc to make it as important as those of the other main four. Funly enough, it is entirely natural in relation to canon and to the symbolic/mythological parallels. More sequential chapters with everyone, like this one, are likely to be coming soon. The idea is to give a rather film-like series of shots of what they're doing all together in the house for a while.

Announcement: I solemnly swear I will find a way to upload character sketches. Meanwhile, please R&R, F&F, constructively comment, stay awesome xx