CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
The Lady of the Stars was no stranger to concern. Being a mother herself with a brood of lively starchildren to fuss over, there was always the occasional accident or incident which caused her to knit her brows together in worry and rush to the one in need, ever ready to aid and mend. There were also her friends who, although very few, had a lot of wounds and woes she had aided in mending.
But what was this feeling coursing through her chest as she absentmindedly warped – ah, the joy of not walking! – to the stricken knight, picking him up telekinetically and placing him in her own bed? That feeling which knit her brows and made her pulse race as she checked her charge's vital signs? Surely it was concern for something important like an anomaly she had to deliver. Thank the Stars… he's just fine. Breathing and pulse are still firm. He'll just need rest, and fixing up. But… why do I feel this stupid blush on my cheeks? She thought to herself as she began healing him, ripping out arrows and sending starbursts of healing energy into his wounds. Why do feel this infernal urge to take his helm off his head and behold his hidden face? Why do I feel so… juvenile?
She shook her head furiously and tried to push her strange new feelings aside… but all in vain as the flush on her face became more intense as she began to heal the knight's lower torso. As she began tearing out the arrows from his legs and healing the wounds and bruises she found, a sudden curiosity overcame her roving gaze. It took all her willpower to tear her gaze away from the knight's prostrate body. Oh... by that form I can imagine he's hands– ugh don't say THAT word, Rosa! What are you thinking of! She stifled a lopsided giggle, very much embarrassed at herself at this point.
She hurriedly finished ministering to the Undead, who had not as much as even stirred in the entire process. When she was done ministering to her charge, he was free of arrows and sleeping quite soundly. And albeit all the blood, grime and filth on his body which covered him in a thin layer, he was all right. Crikey, when was the last time he had a bath?
She hurriedly ran outside her own Bedroom – and tripped on her dress in her haste, landing heavily on her face. She ended up with an abrasion on her cheek as she decided, Screw it! and teleported to the Kitchen, her heart aflutter as she remembered the second important thing for this day.
The bread.
In a flustered haze, she sat down heavily on her stool, the deep blush on her cheeks still burning like a brand… and was suddenly knocked over as her frightened little son leapt into her blindly.
Scared out of his wits, poor Oliver rushed out of his hiding place, dashing madly and flailing away with his chubby little arms at what he thought was an intruder. He had been hiding out under the stool for so long, and a sudden, bursting sound brought him alert, if not afraid. Dammit, I should be out there helping Mama… he thought to himself wildy. It should have been the enemy running away in fear, not me! But… but I'll get killed… alright, never mind, the enemy's come inside our house! I'll show the enemy how a Luma deals with foes-
In a flash he was scooped up by something. He struggled hard to free himself from the strong thing's grasp. The thing resisted hard, and suddenly… the gentlest pair of hands came down upon his head. They gripped him firmly at first, then then gradually began stroking him on his forehead. He relaxed for a while, allowing the hands to stroke him, thinking they were Mama's hands. That's when he saw and felt a strange difference.
They were slick and covered in blood. And now, it was all over him.
He leapt out of the intruder's grasp, and an intense fear overtook him completely and drove him out, out, out… into the warm daylight. He looked for yet another safe place… The Bedroom! Yes, that was it!
He rushed ahead into the Bedroom, spurred on by his intense fear. He leapt hurriedly onto the bed, and landed smack onto a pile of armor covered in yet more blood, which subsequently awoke, groaning and cussing quite loudly.
"Ah, damnit! Gerroffame! My chest's burnin'! It's… burnin'…." Then he fell back into the bed, sighing and he recognized the voice and the armor as Sir Stranger, and he began to calm down considerably… albeit… he suddenly realized he was now practically bathed in blood from the stranger on the bed. He began to roll around in his mother's sheets desperately, hoping to just get the sticky, disgusting blood off already -
Then suddenly, a burst of blue dust erupted in the foot of the bed, and a tall woman in a crimson-stained white-and-red evening gown materialized out of it. Her hands were covered in the same sticky red substance on his forehead and on Sir Stranger. And then the connections hit him like a pile of bricks. Oh.
All the fear left him as he, now thoroughly cowed, took refuge in his mother's worried hands. All of a sudden, he felt… nothing. As if the fear had drained away and taken all his other emotion with it. His limbs began to shake and tears spilled from his eyes as his mother consoled and soothed him with words – words he could not comprehend.
He tried to speak, but as he even just to attempt to articulate a sentence… he could not. What was this feeling…? It's certainly not fear… It's… different…
He wondered slowly, immovable, out to the world, until weariness overcame him for good. What is… wrong with.. me?
After all her attempts to console her poor, stricken child and realizing what had happened, Rosalina shed some tears of her own. Indirectly speaking, it was her who had traumatized her own child. Ugh… shouldn't have barged in so quickly, and I should have cleaned myself of this terrible blood. Now my poor Oliver's… potential… has been stunted somewhat.
She straightened, tired of it all. Again, many terrible things had happened in such a short span of time, and now she was wondering whether to expect something good in the next few days. If I even survived them.
She looked at the bloody mess of an anomaly on her bed and began questioning herself. Was all of this really worth it? Were all the Lumas lost really worth this… this powerful being playing as a pathetic, chivalrous, overzealous knight?
Then, thinking about how she couldn't have put up a fight against the psychopathic blue oaf who murdered nearly her entire brood – herself included - she smiled for a phantom of a moment. Of course it was worth it. We'll bring them all back, one time or another. And we shall live past tomorrow. Though this might be harder done than said.
She gave herself an even broader grin as she set her child down on one of the large pillows next to the stricken knight, began caressing him, and feeling content as his eyes began to grow dimmer, smaller, and smaller still, until he fell asleep. For the first time in the crisis, she had gotten over the stress and negativity she felt by sheer determination… and something more, she reckoned.
These dark times would soon be brighter.
A sudden movement on the bed's fabrics jolted her back into reality. She turned, and saw the knight stir again. He tried to sit up, but fell back and almost passed out again, if it weren't for the Lady of the Stars neatly warping beside him and catching his upper body... tenderly. Like a caring, worried mother… or probably something else.
Gah. I'll leave it at that, then…
"Are you alright, sir? You seem to be quite feeble… Here, take my hand…" A gauntleted hand leapt readily into her outstretched limb, making her wince with a few edges that had scored her palm, albeit not deeply enough to wound her. "The yellow flask… in my belt… give it to me, quick…" was the gaunt reply.
In a trice the strange flask, although with a bit of green now showing through its' surface, was in the hands of the Lady of the Stars, who quickly upended it onto the poor knight, not entirely sure what to do with it. Instantly, a change came upon the knight. The yellow essence was suctioned through the slits of his helm, and soon after that he got off the bed stood up, vitality coursing through him again as he took the drained Estus Flask from the hands of the Lady in one swift movement. "Ahh, that's the stuff. Thanks awfully… I'll try to guard some more - "
"Rest, sir," was the firm response of the Lady, "you won't function well without it, especially after injury."
"But what of our enemies? Surely I cannot allow them to strike while I lie resting, and– " the knight began.
"They are gone as of the moment. And for now, I will have to suffice. Replenish yourself while you can, ok? I wouldn't want to get overrun and have you faltering amidst battle." She stood, making her way to the entryway. "Am I clear, sir?"
The knight thought for a few moments. "Alright, madam. But I'll be quick about it so I can relieve you, eh?"
Rosalina's expression softened. "Very good. I shall have to cleanse myself, and prepare breakfast for myself and my child."
The knight, somewhat begrudgingly, laid back down on the bed, and mumbling to the Darkmoon Knightess, started to fall into a sleepy stupor again. "She clearly knows I'm fully healed; thus, she wants me out of the way. Does she hate me now or something?"
It isn't that, the sword replied gently, she just doesn't want you strolling into her bathroom while she's buck naked, I think. So in her point of view she's hitting two birds with one stone – doing you some kindness and maintaining her dignity all the same. Take that with a grain of salt or something.
"I see. Eh, that's… illuminating. Thanks. Be back in a bit…" the knight mumbled on as the Darkness of sleep overtook him.
Lord Gwyndolin, now managing to wreath himself not only in his armor but also an illusion of a floating fog-bank, stared at the obscenely large painting within one of the halls of his family manor. The Painting Guardians stood around him in a ring, wondering apprehensively what exactly brought their master here after so many years of seclusion, and whatever he wanted to do with the painting which he had left untouched for so long, and which had been repeatedly broken into in his absence. Scores of Silver Knights surrounded him, with ten of them – including the two hawk-eyed archers – ready in rank and file.
The Dark Sun spoke out. "After my visit to the Regal Archives, I have confirmed that the object of power – a certain, oft-forgotten miracle – has been locked away in this realm. I have resolved that I shall take the object, as it will be of great use to us in the coming war against the intruder on our rooftop. The ten of you shall accompany me – " he gestured to the Knights in rank and file, " – and the four of you shall assist the Painting Guardians if any attackers might come out or to the painting. You three sentinels… guard the roof where the intruders are. The rest of you, back to your posts."
This settled, the rest of the vanguard – with no small amount of relief – shuffled back to post. The ten chosen knights shuddered, redoubtable as they were. This was a world so treacherous, and they had better kept their wits about them. As one, with the Dark Sun in the lead, they filed silently into the painting, ready to face the very peaceful world within, and it's kind inhabitants.
Dreams would have been quite a rarity for an undead, with all the noisy souls they had jostling in their bosoms. The undead, no exception, blundered around in the soul-filled haze of his subconscious, this time unable to lift a finger in his sleep-filled periphery as thousands of shades blundered around, seeking his power… and yet unable to touch it. In vain they milled around, swarming him, relentlessly attempting to take his essence for themselves. It was ironic… sources of power attempting to take power from the one who fed from them.
Suddenly, the haze of souls parted, and he recognized a familiar, filial presence. His father suddenly appeared in front of him, and spoke. "I bring you the future, son."
Suddenly, a vision enveloped him. The stench of ruin, decay and ash enveloped him. He saw a tall gaunt figure, brazen and burnt by the Flames, with a molten crown upon it's weary head, sitting close by a bonfire, always watching and waiting. Yet more scenes sped to him. Night falling over a still-standing Anor Londo, with a great monstrosity melded with Gwyndolin shifted inside. Another castle with heaps of dead, burning cadavers, with a great giant sitting emptily on his throne, sword in hand. A squalid settlement full of strange witches and Hollows with humungous, snakelike protrusions on their torsos. And a darkened, ruined graveyard filled with Black Knights.
All of a sudden… the images were a blur. A woman, hands held in front of a strange unfinished painting. A large monstrous hunchback flogging himself, his gore spilling into… was that the Lordvessel? A ruined castle, steeped within the dunes of time, with a menacing, red-cloaked figure, turning slowly, noticing him, and reaching out for him with a rough, hollow rasp.
"This is the future I seek to change. A future ruined by the appalling, ruinous cycle of Flame. And your friend has just taken a step to ensure it." This was then followed by a snort of disgust. "Well, what's done is done. But when this all is over… when I live once more and peace is brought to the realms you so speak of… promise me, my son… that you ensure this age of ruin does not come upon our realm. Be wary, be watchful. And since you will be put into a world where they treat you as a being of great power... know which ones to trust and which ones to deceive. Now, wake. We shall place things as they shall be, and we shall rule over all the Abyss… Together."
As the images faded, and the all-encompassing brightness of the Sun streamed mercilessly into his eyes, he could only wonder one thing.
How…?
And then he woke up, confused. He hopped out of the bed quickly, noting the grime and gore he had left on the sheets, and the little being festooned among them. Damn, someone's going to be scared out of his wits when he wakes.
Good day to you, sir. How did sleeping fare for you? Sensing something insidous on the bosom of the knight who was still stuttering out an unclear answer about some Humanities, she had misgivings of her own and decided to put matters aside. Sorry I asked. I sense something you'd like to keep under wraps.
"Perceptive, I'll give you that." He crept out of the bedroom quietly, resolving to keep these visions to himself for now. "Present matters are... well, more pressing."
He set about looking for his friend the lady. Well, looks like there's been a lull in the fighting, the knightess murmured, because there's hardly any foe on the roof right now. Or am I wrong?
"Well, you're halfway there," returned the knight as he pointed out the Sentinel behind the roof stairs. "Anyway, where do you think she'd be?"
Why are you asking me? You know her better, after all… you should… and I haven't had enough time to concern myself with her routine.
"Touche. Well, let's start rooting around her food stores first. She should get peckish after this morning's scuffle."
Told you you'd know better. The knightess returned triumphantly, in a jeering mood once more. Silently, patiently bearing her tirade, blushing furiously and smiling a bit, the knight clambered up the giant steps of the terrace leading to his destination, and entered freely and of his own will into the Kitchen. He soon beheld a recently bathed, gore-free Rosalina, who was busy kneading the bread. She was dressed in a shirt, jeans and and careworn sneakers, which all the while made her look more bizarre to the hapless knight. However, her hair was still a tad bit moist, and was wrapped into a towel. Save for the huge patch on the right side of her face, which glistened brightly.
This time, though, the knight managed to shove away the attraction and nervousness he felt, and spoke firmly. "What shall I do next, m'lady?"
Startled, Rosalina looked up and answered hurriedly. "Oh, uh, it's you, well, uh, before you go off to guard again… uh, you might have to wash yourself behind your ears first, if you don't mind my choice of words, sir. Please." Such was her request, as she gradually came to realize that the knight spoke some strange form of Middle English, and wondered how the two of them managed to understand each other so fluently, with their choices of language and whatnot.
Possibly some strange magic around these parts, or some other convoluted reason… tch, never mind it if things are getting themselves simple for us. At least he speaks in a common tongue, or an old version of it. This will soon get confusing once he reaches the Mansion. But we'll sort that out… She sighed inwardly. If he doesn't kill him.
"You've got layers of dirt on you," she continued, "and not only can I smell them, you might get infected and either get horribly ill, which will tax my magic, or die, which will drive you insane, as you have claimed will happen, and become a threat to me. I cannot accept either of those outcomes."
After a few moments' worth of embarrassed pondering (and some jeering from the Knightess) the knight agreed. "Uh… all right, though if it's just dribbling buckets water on me I won't accept to such squalid terms. It'll make me reek worse, I assure you." The knight replied, drawing himself up to his full height indignantly. "And what's this infected thing you speak of?"
"Infected… it's when, er, toxin enters your bloodstream and damages your, um, innards due to… eh… this thing called… bacteria… in the dirt." replied the Lady, trying to speak as simply as she could manage, and definitely not sure if the undead could understand. When he nodded – though it might had been a sign that he could hardly understand but wanted things over with – she sighed in relief. "Well, I can assure you it won't be just dribbling water over you, sir." The Lady replied warmly, taking his hand gently, leading him outside. "Come with me and I'll show you…"
Elsewhere, Rosalina's absence was starting to make yet more people knit their brows with worry.
Apart from Master Hand, Fox gradually started to become alarmed as most of the next day passed without Rosalina or her Lumas walking around the halls or getting jeered at by Bowser & Co. Much to his chagrin, Master Hand was right about Rosalina's lack of punctuality, and the circumstances that surrounded it. Yet more unsettling for him was being unable to fight one of the most tenacious combatants in the mansion anymore – apart from the rest, of course – since she was right below him on the current tier, and fought him fiercely. Not only that, but most of the high-tiered people shared his latter sentiments as well… or at least enjoyed pummeling her, and sometimes getting beaten too. That Rosalina was full of surprises.
Man, what a drag… he thought to himself as he walked around the hallways, quite impatient for her arrival.
"Hey there Fox. What's with that face? You look as down as Pittoo today!"
He chuckled drily as a grinning Palutena rounded the corner of the corridor jauntily. "Yo, y'all aren't worried one of your close friends hasn't arrived yet?"
"Nah, not really. She can take care of herself; I've seen her before. Maybe she might've just found something important – like her parent's dead bodies or something."
"Well, you don't have to make it sound that morbid, though." He returned, still worried, as the Goddess of Light chuckled warmly at his unnerved expression. "But ain't it a curious little situation?"
"Really, though. I am starting to get worried. We could start a search… Send our scouts out. Draw the lines, find out where she went, and where she might have gone if she isn't there. But right now, Fox… Let's give her a grace period. Say, tomorrow. And besides that, let's eat. It' almost noontime and I'm starving." Palutena giggled, walking off towards a staircase leading to the cafeteria. "Let's get there before Kirby does, and swallows up the entire menu."
"Well, thanks for the timely reminder. Why's Dark Pit down, anyways?" returned Fox, relieved they'd be doing something about Rosalina.
"The lack of desserts is bothering him and Pit. I mean, come on." Palutena sniffed in sheer disdain. "Of all the easy ways we could get desserts, not to mention just conjuring it from thin air, Master Hand seems… rather strict upon treats. Wants to just… buy them every now and then, to limit our portions, or something like that. And aside from that, there's Rosa and her cookies, all gone. Yup… this is getting quite serious."
It was also worrying Kirby – not only did he miss one of his friends from outer space, he was also yearning for more of her savoury little pastries, cookies and tarts, which she made every Friday. But Meta Knight and King Dedede reassured him constantly that she would return. Now these two were also worried, as Rosalina was not only a purveyor of pastries, but also of great power and knowledge to the budding Star Warrior that they protected, and admittedly, couldn't easily put up with.
And let's not forget the main Mario cast. They tutted about her absence, they tutted about how their cast would be incomplete without her, they tutted about all the events they would have to cope with her away. But secretly, they were glad they had more chances to shine, now that she was away along with her immense capabilities. And gladdest of all was Bowser. The only ones truly worried about her were Mario, Peach, and of course, Luigi.
It bothered the latter one so much he hardly slept, and later that night the other two joined him on the rooftop to gaze incessantly at the stars, hoping to catch even just a glimmer of the Comet Observatory streaking across the sky towards them. They missed her soothing presence, her wisdom, and her sweets. But most of all, they cared deeply for someone who they knew as an introvert yearning for companionship… and someone who would need their company too, in their point of view.
Regretfully, they would have to wait for her a bit longer.
"Well, this sure is no ordinary bath."
That was the Chosen Undead's word after gazing at the Fountain's elaborate, yet very outlandish design. Ornate tiles forming a dome, with water continuously spilling out through two holes cut into the sides of the building, and all of it floating out of reach. He wondered how they're reach it when a sudden tugging sensation enveloped him, and he went flying, coming to a rest just outside, miraculously landing on his feet. The interior was as bizarre as the façade – a round trench of lightly-colored tiles filled with a stream of water pouring out from a crevice in the wall, surrounded by a platform of raised tiles. He wasn't really sure what to make of the water spilling away outside, which of course was a big waste in everyone's opinion. He also wasn't sure where the water came from, or how much of it was there in wherever it came from, or whatever substance or magic would be in the water…
But he decided not to bother himself with all the little details this time. He looked at Rosalina, hesitant, until she nodded her approval, and said "Go in, armor and all if that's what works for you. I'll be tending to the bread and my child for the moment, so you can have your privacy. Just don't get out of that place buck naked, alright? I can't accept that," she replied, stifling another attack of juvenile giggles. "When you're done I'll probably be in my Bedroom at that point. Then I'll tell you what to do next, ok?"
"Alright. Fare thee well…" he replied jovially as she walked out and he started unfastening his armor.
Reassured, yet still wary that the strange clear liquid pretending to be water might dissolve him – was that the word? – on contact, he gingerly stepped into the water, and laid down under the limpid water's surface – and found it was quite lukewarm and comfortable. When the water had seeped through his accoutrements thoroughly, he took them off, scrubbed the dirt off them, and left them to dry on the platform.
If Rosalina were there, she'd be in for quite the sight of her life. A toned, healthy figure, with long jagged scars running down his back, chest and left arm… scars which being reborn could not heal… scars he most oftentimes forgot about. Aside from that, his body was nondescript, tanned slightly and scarred – strangely unhealed by his Curse. He had a tan not because he took his armor off at times; it was his constant exposure to miracles which did the trick. And of course there was his face. A craggy face with a sharp nose, a crown of short, blond hair and piercing, coal-black hawk-eyes which beheld the world clearly. He sighed as he began to scrub himself clean under the running water. But the crowning feature of his being was a patch of round Darkness with its' edges enflamed, which was the brand of his curse, etched on his right temple for all the world to see.
He decided, as he'd finished scrubbing the grit and dirt off him, to squat down below the refreshing water and remain there, cleaning his armor and other effects, for nigh over an hour. Cleaning myself has never been this damn relaxing… and it should take damn long too.
He squatted under the flow of water, closed his eyes and thought halcyon thoughts as the stream cleansed him… Blissfully unaware of the intense scrutiny placed upon him.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, a sudden, silent noise caught his attention.
He strained his ears. The murmuring continued, frenzied as ever, and then he realized what it was – Knightess in the damned armor pile, watching him and giggling in a very obnoxious and juvenile manner.
Fuck – he swore, catching himself and his language – how long have you been watching me, you bloody pervert?!
Oi, sir! You seem pretty small – I mean, tall! Though honestly, you're pretty much attractive, but not in THAT aspect-
The knight was beside himself at this point. He hurriedly took the giggling Knightess and stuffed her down into his hammerspace. Careless old me… he growled, the fury dying down as quickly as it had flared up, should set myself a list of things to do when I cleanse myself.
After five more minutes of bathing, his skin began to wrinkle, and he decided it was time to exit the bath. He wrung his clothes dry and began putting his clothes on, berating himself for compromising his modesty. He drew his blade balefully.
I'll repeat myself. You're quite handsome, although again, you're small on that account –
"Shut it on that account, will you?!" The knight shot back, his voice equally full of venom and mirth.
Alright, alright. Anyways, feeling better? Or cleaner, at least?
"Cleaner than you mind will be now… hey, what's that new noise I hear? Sounds like…"
Recognition dawned upon the Knightess. Like my Lord chanting a spell! Hurry up with your dressing! I've heard him do that before, and who knows what he might be up to this time!
The two Silver Knight Archers, along with the rest of their troop, sat around the Painted World's solitary Bonfire, forlorn and enraged in equal counts.
It had all happened so fast. Everything went so well – swordsmen in front, archers and the Lord at the back, and they took efficient care of all the rabble. The Lord then started walking up a winding set of stairs where the Vow of Silence was, and they gratefully shot the Crow Demons out of his way. And he repaid them by ostracizing them due to "the offences and blasphemy you committed upon a God!" Or, to be more specific, their petty, derisive humor… which he could have just shrugged off.
"Looks like you was right, matey. The fucker sure has a short temper." The second archer spat into the fire.
"Well, 's fine, matey, so long as we get to stick him with our damned greatarrows when we get back. Damn, it'll be a pleasure." The first knight returned in an angry drawl.
"If we get back, that is." murmured a swordsman from the back.
They had tried to go back the easy way, but they realized two things – they could not warp, like the undead could, and worse, their Lord – curse him! – had goaded them into using the Bonfire. And so they were trapped within this horrifying, forbidden world, and so the only way out was through. And damn, it sure would take them a long time, with the Undead Dragon and scores of ravenous undead blocking the way – and all stronger too, all thanks to the rekindled Flames.
So, as they marshaled themselves to make the push to the end of the painted world, they fought off their overwhelming despair, and as one platoon, took up their accoutrements and began the perilous march to freedom.
Meanwhile, Rosalina had just finished kneading the bread. Of course, she had washed her hands beforehand, with some water from the Fountain, rendering her food free of the blood which used to stain it. With a sigh of satisfaction, she covered the bowl of the bread with a towel, and sat down on her stool, feeling washed out.
Then she stood, resolute. She had her child to comfort and protect… maybe even dote on. She walked towards her Bedroom, not particularly hurrying – now wanting to keep her power ready until the next untoward incident.
She entered her bedroom, and saw her child awake, a tiny trembling mass under the coverlet of her bed. She called him out gently. "Oliver? Are you there? It's me, Mama… and I'm really sorry about all that blood… it got all over me as I was fixing Stranger… ok? Are you ok?"
She lifted the coverlet to behold her frightened little son staring back at her with tearful, wide eyes. Lovingly, gently, she eased the poor little Luma out of his hiding place and held him tight. "Mama's here… and I assure you you'll be fine…"
Oliver merely whimpered back in reply, and then he started weeping again. "Mama, I was so scared… that we might get killed… and when you got it, I… I thought you were the enemy… especially due to all the blood…"
"Hush, now. It's alright. Mama's got no blood on her anymore, see? You'll be alright… and again, sorry…"
"I-I-it's ok… but Mama… promise me… that there'll be less blood in the future… ok…?" Oliver stuttered out, and finally started hugging back. "Please."
Rosalina felt heavily weighed down by this simple request from her child, the dilemma of having to reassure her child with a lie or let him face the cold hard truth. She turned the choice over in her mind.
"Well, child, I'm not really sure I can do that, but I'll try…"
"But… but Mama, why can't you? Isn't it that easy? You're pretty strong after all! You have lots of magic, you can lift things… and… and you managed to…" He shuddered, thinking hard about what he was going to say next. "You managed to… to kill a giant easily… and – "
He was astonished. Mama didn't get angry at all. Or sad. She just hugged him tighter, smiled and said, "Well, sorry about that. We just have to do terrible things to survive… and sometimes we have to go over the top and actually kill someone… and that was just a taste of what's to come, I'm afraid. We'll have to get past this huge problem now, and if it means we have to fight and slay, we have to, ok? And we'll get back the mansion once we get more power stars, and that's probably going to happen soon thanks to our friend the Stranger. Ok?"
"S-sure, mama…" Oliver replied, with the determination growing within him once more "a-and when the time comes I'll be ready for it. I'll fight alongside you!"
"That's the spirit, my child!" returned a much-relieved Rosalina. She'd been expecting something worse… another runaway like Zach, even. "Well, let's get to the Kitchen, the bread'll be done now."
They got there in a jiffy, but not teleporting this time around. The Lady of the Stars walked briskly, wanting to save up her magics for the great events which might soon happen, being under siege and whatnot. She quickly proofed the bread, cut it into twelve.
"Well that's it! All done and-"
Suddenly a insidious, overpowering force cut the next words from her mouth, leaving her unable to speak. What was more, she felt something in her veins run cold and stop, leaving her… utterly powerless. She risked a glance outside, and her horrors were confirmed – the shield was down, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Her magic - her most prized power, which she depended on greatly - was gone from her. And there wasn't anything she could do about it.
And then the siege began anew, and with a vengeance.