Chapter Uploaded: 17-07-23.
Potential Triggers — physical assault, trauma.
CHAPTER XXVII
Orlegsceaft
(Sacrificial Sphere)
XXVII • CMI Hidesdæg of Ærra Geola. Pæþ of Wisdom
(The 27th Day Preceding Yuletide, Worker's Day, 901)
The Path of Wisdom
She has been a fool to run away.
Sprinting down an alleyway, Natsuki almost tumbles as she trips over an unexpected step. On her tail are a group of undead who—although rotten and ghastly—are surprisingly nimble. Coming face-to-face with a dead end, Natsuki whirls around as they dart towards her.
A shambling corpse staggers at Natsuki with a bec de corbeau. This weapon is a terrifying poleaxe consisting of a hammer, bec—a beaked-blade—and upper spike. In length Natsuki calculates it to be around five feet.
Without something such as a shield or buckler, there's no chance she'll be getting near this—unless… Natsuki quickly checks the locations of the other Slaves who lumber towards her. One of them looks almost totally decomposed; nary a shred of skin left. Neither is it armed.
Can she potentially push it into the one with the poleaxe? She might have the chance to—
—a corpse somehow creeps up on her, wildly swinging its mace.
Bolting forward, she unconsciously swerves her upper body away from its morning star. Spinning around to confront it, she is quickly set upon by the other corpses.
This is bad. Why hadn't she stayed put with Shizuru?!
Drawing her sabre, Natsuki aims its tip towards the poleaxed Slave then to the one with the mace. She needs to remember what Shizuru has taught her. But how can she when she's getting ganged up on like this?!
Alas for Natsuki, for she hasn't the time to internally argue with herself.
Pure carnage reigns supreme as two more Slaves leap from the rooftops. Not having expected them, Natsuki jolts backwards. The brick wall behind her which they have leapt from collapses, causing the ground to rumble.
Before she can comprehend anything, golden chains plunge from out of this newfangled chasm. It is then that these fateful chains quiver within the air like a withered grand oak. Akin to the crackle of thunder, these chains twist and spiral inwards on themselves. As sacred as the heathen heavens, the oaken chains propel towards the oblivious Slaves. Their pointed ends impale the undead, ripping into their bodies and launching them skywards.
An onslaught of fell blood paints the cobblestones; the bodies hanging like a mass execution.
'What's…' Natsuki takes a step backwards, her boot's heel pressing into blackened blood. She watches astoundedly as the chains rip the corpses apart—guts, bone and marrow flying to and fro. 'This isn't happening.' She insists as the Golden Chains of Fate slam the cadavers to the floor, its grip unlatching.
Another pace back is taken as Natsuki is unable to remove her gaze from the befouled sight. She does not notice the blood upon her cheek which flew from a corpse. Nor does she realise serpentine gold crawling through the cracks of cobblestone.
As these chains slowly wrap around Natsuki's ankles, she panics.
Incomprehensibly comes next, but it is not of a vision, but a haunting elegy. It whispers within Natsuki's psyche, the burial hymn plunging within her subconsciousness.
Enslaved within the Chains of Fate
The golden serpents shall fly high
Like Yoreful Witches they soar the skies
Forever smiting down unworthy foe
Betwixt the ashen roots they sail
Devouring the Light of the World
Unto you the truth is witnessed
Of primaeval magicks foretold
Thus, for a split second she realises: She is soul-maddened.
Henceforth, the chains drag Natsuki into the chasm.
All that is left are the broken carcasses; their bloodied presence a foreboding and grisly tale.
ᚦᛇᚱ ᚻᛁᛏ ᚾᚢ ᚷᛖᚾ ᛚᛁᚠᚪᚦ ᚻᛖᚩ ᚻᚹᛁᛚᛖ ᚹᛇᛋ ᛋᚪᚹᚩᛚᚹᛖᛞᚪᚾ
Rushed beneath the earth, she was soul-maddened for a while.
Painstakingly, her senses return to her but the surrounding darkness does not ebb away.
Lurching onto her back, Natsuki's vision sways as hundreds of thousands of glimmering lights sparkle above. They scale along horseshoe arches, travelling into the far distance where immoral dimness awaits.
W-where… Where is she?
Natsuki tries sitting up, but a stabbing agony quickly paralyses her. Gasping, her hands dart to her damp stomach, eyes widening in fright.
W-what? H-has her old death wound opened up? H-her leg too… something else is wrong.
She—groaning, the pain keeps Natsuki pinned.
'I-I need to move.' But where? Skywards she peers, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. There is a pitch-black hole decorated with broken brick and rotted timber. This space looks to be half a foot in diameter. It's much too narrow to climb into and too high to reach anyway.
'I-I've been swallowed up by the earth?' Did those chains drag her inside?
There isn't a hint of light nor a breeze coming from it either.
She is sealed underground.
Breathlessly whimpering, a pulsing migraine accompanies the terrible ache within her jaw. H-had she hit her head during the fall? How far had she even fallen?
Again the Wælcyrge tries pulling herself up by scrambling onto her side. Alas, Natsuki instead comes face to face with an inanimate skeleton scrambled on the floor. Hurling upwards and lunging away, Natsuki cries out; her head hitting the brittle wall. Groaning she cups her skull within her hands, bending down.
Dozens of black stars bombard Natsuki's vision as pain flashes through her entire being.
T-this… This is impossible.
"You shall fall into impossibility…" Her slurred sentence rebounds on itself, an echo whispering back at her terrifyingly. Natsuki can only pull her dazed sight towards the tunnel. As she does so, the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Monstrous shadows flicker across corpse-walls even though the light is dim. Hundreds—if not thousands—of skeletons are piled upon each other. They are nailed, roped and stacked against the tunnel walls—and even the ceiling?
S-she's—she has somehow fallen… into the Old Catacombs, the dreadful realisation encompasses Natsuki.
Can these skeletons awaken?
The apprehension within Natsuki starts increasing tenfold into panic, and she swallows tightly.
The chains too, where have they gone? The paranoia to their unknown location fries her nerves. She is unsure whether their disappearance is a good or bad thing.
Behind her by the rubble she had collapsed upon, is a rusted gate as well. Frantically she drags herself up—through the pain and all—and wavers on her feet. Leaning against the wall, the Wælcyrge remains still for a long pause.
Sick… She feels queasy.
Worse, it's too dark! Natsuki curses beneath her breath, arms covering her stomach in helpless respite. Eventually, she limps forward and grasps the gate firmly. Trying to tempt it open, this task fails miserably. Locked.
"F-fuck." She rasps, crumpling to her knees as a heaving cough floors her.
On top of it all, she is falling ill. A fever? Fatigue? Breathlessness… Lifting her hand, she sighs coarsely, the taste of blood upon her lips. Then again… her mouth stings—had she cut it on the way down? Or is it her lip again? What if… it is her stomach…?
Resting her forehead against a chilled bar, Natsuki remains slumped.
'Ah… Shizuru…What am I going to do?' Natsuki wonders bitterly, thinking back to their time spent together as Ánhere and Arcewælcyrge. 'Do I regret not telling you that I think I love you? That I want us to… to take the plunge…'
A broken sob spills from Natsuki as everything comes crashing down. Her fears, desires, emotions, confusion, anger and pain mix together into a mælstrom. What good is her existence if she cannot even die with Shizuru?
She's… she is nothing… she… does not deserve to…
Lightly banging her head against the bars, it is then that someone infeasible speaks.
"Natsuki, come to me."
Fearfully, the Wælcyrge turns her head towards the foreboding hellscape tunnel.
Tokiha Mai stands there, looking just as she did during their previous lifetime except now wearing a Meister uniform. I-t… it suits her flawlessly.
"M-Mai…" Natsuki whispers. "Am I dying? Is that why I see you?" Is she a ghost?
But the Fire Stirring Ruby does not answer her, instead fading into nothingness.
Staring into the void, Natsuki's lips quiver.
So… it's like that.
Sucking in a breath, Natsuki clambers back onto her feet and angrily wipes her eyes. 'How can I follow you if you disappear?' Hands clenching against the gate's bars, she tests her right leg. Pain shoots up her calf, but it is manageable.
She needs to press forward.
Thus, she does so, turning to face the haunting Old Catacombs.
As the time passes through her limping trek, Natsuki begins feeling more nervous.
This tunnel is seemingly endless. These decayed skeletons are more so. They're ever prevalent; their eyeless stares chilling Natsuki to the bone.
Eventually, Natsuki comes to an impasse.
The tunnel has forked into two, however there is a horrific problem.
The rightwards route leads to submerged stairs—Gods' know what that befouled substance is. Natsuki scowls at it, disgusted, trying not to gag. Wavering closer towards the water, she makes another grotesque discovery. Bones and… and whatever that is… bobs within the black recesses.
Meanwhile… leftwards has completely caved in.
"Fucking shit!" Natsuki curses aloud, another raw cough fleeting. Her voice echoes within this desolate tunnel which may become her forsaken tomb. 'Are you serious?!' She's not—she's….s-she's not… going in there! Yet… she has to.
Who knows how deep those stairs go, let alone how flooded that section is.
Panicked and breathless, Natsuki's mind careens with scenarios; the next far worse than the former.
Any competent swimmer such as herself knows the danger of swimming in uncharted waters. She has no idea what's down there and can very well get trapped. The "water" itself is likely infested with malady as well. But again the realisation became stale within Natsuki's psyche—she's got no choice.
Suddenly, Natsuki's spine runs cold as her ears twitch. Something—or someone—is down here with her again.
The sound of something hollow hitting stone resounds in the black tunnel. Those are footfalls.
Natsuki glares down this route, tensions high, fear escalating and frozen in place. Then, within the darkness it arrives.
A tattered skeleton no less than six foot tall hobbles towards her; empty sockets glowing azure. A golden crown is set upon its head, the thing ragged and ruined from blighted age.
Sliding against the wall, a generational phobia wrecks her mind. The fear is ancient—a vague trace of evidence that her ancestors mayhaps dealt with similarities. H-how? The instinct fires alarm bells within her paranoid mind, disoriented by the foreign déjà vu.
Standard husks are trouble enough, but this? Somehow an exsanguinated skeleton is triggering every intuition Natsuki holds dear.
Whirling around, Natsuki plunges within the foetid waters.
She cannot see anything!
The terror, abhorrence and dismay barrage Natsuki senselessly as the claustrophobia pins her on all sides. They tear at her within the decayed, pulsating water. Mind swelling with anxiety, she frantically touches along the tunnel walls, totally blind.
Is there no exit at all! Maybe this end caved in too?!
The threat of demise is imminent.
Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two… twenty-three…
Lungs burning and her chest tightening, she is on the cusp of hopelessness. This is when her hand suddenly slides along what feels like a bevelled edge. T-that's like a step—hyper-fixating, she gives her legs one last kick towards it.
Thirty-three… thirty-four…
Inexplicably, through the blurry environment, she then spots a golden aura. It flanks into two, guiding her forward. Her torso uncomfortably presses up against multiple steps and she breaks out of the water.
Spluttering and heaving for breath, Natsuki drags herself out of the freezing, ghastly water.
She stays here for a time, unable to fathom how she has managed to escape that. That light as well—had that been the chains, or something else?
I-Is this really happening? It can't be! But… Natsuki peers down the new tunnel. Why… are there torch scones lit down here?
"Fuck." She cusses breathlessly, the adrenaline starting to dissipate with the flow of pain returning.
Oh, she… "Shizuru." She needs to get out of here. Wiping her mouth of the repulsive water, the blood tarnishing her jaw is smeared.
Pulling up her gaze, she looks to the convenient torches: Though she can't help but worry why they are. Who in the Gods' names would be insane enough to scurry around here willingly?!
This question intensifies as Natsuki cautiously hauls herself up again. Wrapping her arms around herself, the injured Wælcyrge quivers from the chill. 'I'm going to get more ill…' Her clothes are wet through; the frigidness clinging like a wanton lover, like… ah…
'No! Think. Calm down. There is a way out of here.'
Is there…?
This… this is just awful.
Natsuki's next approach is a circular arch engraved with the Old Tongue's runes.
What is this place?
She hesitantly studies one of the columns and pinpoints Remus letters: Wyndlósma Bánsele, port oþ Wælheall…?
"This is the portal to Wælheall, Windbloom's Bonehouse."
Natsuki spins around, her hand reaching for her sabre's hilt. But… nothing's here? Her eyes fly for every possible hiding spot within this tunnel. No one. Not Mai. Neither stacked skeletons. Yet… the distorted, disembodied voice continues:
"You can hear me. Wælcyrge Kruger—listen, you must…"
'Must what?'
When the voice does not return, Natsuki's concern grows greater. Who had that been?! Paranoia rising, Natsuki becomes fraught with further hesitation. What will happen if she moves under this archway? Or, as the voice described it, portal?
Looking to the other side, there is an empty shell of… nothingness? There are no torches there—just rough limestone—yet the light emits?
Something is deathly wrong about this.
"—we also went—"
"Hello?!" Natsuki raggedly calls out to the voice, bond waning once more.
Again, nothing.
Abruptly, her fight or flight instincts kick in upon the gushing of water down the tunnel. The skeleton is—She does not wait to find out if it has somehow swam after her. Leaping past the column, she flings herself into the empty room. What awaits her however, is anything but desolation.
Now, unexplainably, Natsuki finds herself within a gigantic subterranean cavern.
How had—
Bygone images plunge within Natsuki's head. It is the most foulest of things: Of someone—something—placing an orb down onto a pronged pedestal. Mystifyingly, green sparkles erupt from it, engulfing the entity and disintegrating it. The scene then changes, depicting wandering skeletons. But they do not approach this orb—instead falling apart.
"The Schwartz Stone of Tell Aswad." Natsuki whispers, the name invading her head without warning.
An unbearable pain enshrouds her mind, causing her to crumple to her knees, her sabre bouncing across tiles. W-what has… A pained groan releases from Natsuki. What's h-appening?
I-It is just like when she had touched the Heart of Vigour in Arcewælcyrge Graceburt's tomb. That had also given her visions, but of Grimmsyll. But here she has not touched a thing!
The pain increases tenfold, her ears ringing as suddenly, right in her mind's eye, the pronged pedestal materialises. The ghostly orb swirls with such disgusting images of unfathomable mentions. Yet sometimes, the simplest of things were shown to Natsuki.
W-wait… is this orb showing her Wælcyrgan deaths?
Within her head—through inexplicable agony—forgotten memories are witnessed. They are all deaths within the first person perspective. Some are slumbered demises, while others are brutal and traumatic. She sees executions, death within the battlefield, of Wælcyrgan performing in the Lists, o-f… of such…
"Stop." She demands, cupping her aching temples. The migraine is getting worse!
Her heart races, resonating within her head.
"The one they call the Lord of Frenzy, is a fake."
A masculine yet incomprehensibly feminine voice whispers at her.
"He is here. You must seek after the Schwartz Stone through thy Anchor and drepan him."
'To strike, kill, or overcome…' Natsuki monologues, feeling her Anchor heat with Ardour. But who is this disembodied voice? Can she trust it? Then, something unfathomable clicks within her mind—the voices which have stalked her… "Y-you have guided me here."
"Of sorrow and longing, I am deprived of sleep. I, for myself, will declare that I was a Wælcyrge. With my sorrow renewed, I, over the bounding waves along frost-thawed seas, will travel. Behold! How I often endured… alas, for the Wælcyrge."
Is this mad prophecy implying that it is her or them? She does not know.
Grasping her scarlet-glowing Anchor, Natsuki closes her eyes. Within her mind she imagines the blackened orb with its swirling death. A flash behind her eyes commences, drawing her deeper inside the grand cavern.
To the enormous cliffedge she steps, uneasily peering down into the stygian abyss.
Astonishingly, glimmers of sparkling lights then transcend into reality. They rise from the subterrestrial mountain, lighting a path among monumental branches.
Wait, branches? Skywards Natsuki views, bearing witness to a great ash tree suspended on the cavern roof. Stalactites of yore hang, either entangling with Grimmsyll's avatar or accompanied by spiritual wisps.
"You know of me as the Grimmsyll Sage."
'Wait, Miyú?' An emerald glow ruptures from the ground beneath Natsuki's feet. Stepping back, Natsuki is amazed as the Schwartz Stone materialises before her very eyes.
"I am neither her nor mineself."
What? Natsuki's palm is inches from touching the dark entrails of death from the orb. She looks towards her side, for a stranger now joins her. He is of her height and dons the finest chainmail, a messy grey beard enveloping his face. "I have many names." His half-sight remains locked on Natsuki's, one of wise green, the other a ghostly grey. "I am the Allfather of Wælhael: Blind, Chieftain Grim, Wanderer, Vodin, the Terrible One, the Lord of Frenzy, the Queer One, Miyú… Woden."
A true God of this realm stands before her.
Natsuki bears witness as his form transitions into that of a man who looks oddly like herself. He extends his hand to her: "You are my Wælcyrge of Wyrd, the Blæc Columne."
"A-ah?" Natsuki moves away from both the orb and Woden, her Anchor flickering with charged energy.
"Thanks to your Arcewælcyrge's actions, the usurper's death finally unsealed my true form. Mineself is full of regret that I could not tell you before. But now, with my sacrificial Ardour, unto you, I can give you the power to survive." He pushes forward, seizing her hand delicately with wartorn fingers. "The usurper who stole my identity was called the Obsidian Lord. Like you, he comes from realms afar. He thinks of himself as Gástgærd's creator—naught is he, for he instead butchered this world."
The moment Woden touches Natsuki, a boundless calm swarms her. Now all the Wælcyrge of Wyrd can do is listen to the great Grimmsyll Sage.
"He raped the Dark Whisperer and took her into himself, as with Wyrmgærd's Princess. Those two women are now free—having joined one with Wælhael. He, who controls the cycle of death, must be slain by your hand within Wælhael." Towards his chest Woden guides Natsuki's hand.
Astounded, Natsuki watches as her hand eases through mail, padding and flesh. Tis alike to when Miyú gifted her insight into the Old Tongue, except now… she is he. Their next endeavour is as confusing as the last, for Woden offers her his heart.
Not metaphorically—but physically so.
Quickly covering the beating organ in both hands, Natsuki stoops, staring at him stupefied.
"Without my heart, I, as the last Wyndlósman God, can pass on. You must consume it and atone something precious indeed." Encompassing his hands around Natsuki's, he eases the thrumming heart through Natsuki's chest.
A thousand incomprehensible answers drench Natsuki's psyche: From the First Arcewælcyrge Mosse, the Dark Whisperer shattering Grimmsyll's Heart, to the Golden Millennium. Through this sacrificial rite, Natsuki, as the Blæc Columne at last understands her purpose.
"Thou, as the Wælcyrge of Wyrd, must defeat the Keys of Grimmsyll. Then you must take the Schwartz Stone to Tell Aswad. Only then will Gástgærd be swept by Luminary Light and sealed from the other realms."
Coming to, Natsuki looks around, realising that she is now alone.
"But you didn't tell me how to use the Schwartz Stone…" Or is it, in reality, in order to know that, she must also sacrifice something, like Woden said?
"I, who is tempted by Fate within the madness of chained gold, is drenched in Luminary Light: My ghostly eye keeping guard…" Woden's heart is of pure Light, and those golden chains… Natsuki turns around. Across the cavern Reito Dài Altay stands forth.
"I should have killed that bitch while I had the chance." The faux Lord of Frenzy spits; physique battered, bloodied and tarnished. It looks as though he had just escaped the Battle of Guadeloupe.
"But you—you will do."
An eerie tension escalates as Reito storms forward with ominous chains materialising around him.
Those chains—Natsuki grasps the Schwartz Stone and a billow of black Ardour pours zenith. All goes mute as Reito screams, leaping towards her. Before Natsuki can understand what is happening, a volley of fire discharges from above. The flames lay waste to Reito who rips an agonised scream, twisting and turning haphazardly.
"He is not finished yet!"
Like Woden appearing by her side, this time, it is Mai.
The fire-wielder whips her arms into an incantation, jets of fire spewing from her fingertips. "Your sword—it's on the floor there!"
Kicking into action, the Wælcyrge launches towards the knotted sabre, leaping over Reito who pounces for her. Landing heavily on her wounded leg, she releases a pained sigh, swiping the weapon from the tiled floor. Alas… the enraged, fiery Obsidian Lord grapples her waist.
"Try killing me now, Tokiha!" Reito squarks maniacally at Mai who stops in her tracks. "Come any closer and I'll rip her apart!" The golden chains begin interweaving around the spacious cavern like a monumental snake. "You, Princess Mai, will never amount to anything! Anythi—"
A punch square in the throat silences Reito, sending him careening onto his back.
Heaving, Natsuki towers over him, arcing her sabre overhead.
"Natsuki, don't!"
Mai's scream falls on deaf ears as Natsuki's blade flies skywards then clatters on the floor once more. Natsuki staggers paces back, unable to process what has just happened. Sight halved and bloodied, her surroundings sway sickeningly.
Reito, who is filled with sadistic laughter, starts transforming until his entire figure is black. The shimmering lights are sucked towards him, being pulverised like a heavenly mystery. To Mai her focus now lies on; a gleaming beacon within this desolate hellscape.
Reito Dài Altay, the usurper from Wyrmgæard, has halved her sight.
The False God gets to his feet, a grisly dagger within his hold, its blade gore-stained. He approaches the Wælcyrge who collapses to her knees, kneeling before her and seizing her jaw. "Like every other time—" He whispers, fingertips digging into her bloodied cheeks. The fire fries his skin until the bone is visible. "—You shall be mine."
Revolting flashbacks from displaced memories purposefully forgotten cascade within Natsuki's psyche. They were of a time within Wyrmgærd. This monster tried to—and is once again—attempting to—"Get the fuck off of me!" She growls venomously as the charred fake paws at her trousers.
The hatred, spite and rage dulls her mind, the deathly wisps encircling them and the golden chains.
"You will be mine…!" A desperate cry rasps from Reito as Mai lumbers on over. Seizing his head from behind, she wrenches him backwards.
"Use the Schwartz Stone on him! Now!"
Frantically Natsuki obeys, slamming the misty orb against the monster's chest.
An emerald light forms the size of a pin-prick within the Stone's centre: Next comes chaos. A silent explosion of glimmering green floods the subterranean cavern, blinding both women.
As the eye-watering brilliance concludes, Reito's body is seen disintegrating—strands of green flying zenith.
Heaving, what has happened slowly pieces together in Natsuki's shattering mindset. W-what's… What's happened? S-she… "O-oh…" She crumples forward, covering her gorging eye with her palm.
"N-Natsuki." Mai delicately keeps the Wælcyrge from collapsing. The adrenaline has completely dispersed from Natsuki, hasn't it? "Natsuki." She repeats herself, cupping her cheeks.
The blade had sliced vertically from Natsuki's brow, through her eye to the cheekbone. Smoothing her staining thumb along it, she's almost floored by Natsuki dead-weighting her.
This is bad.
After this entire time of trying to reach Natsuki—any Natsuki—this happens! Mai wishes she had more time to explain herself. But it is clear if she doesn't get Natsuki out of Wælhael, she will die.
Struggling up to her feet, she shuffles them to Natsuki's sabre, reaching for the sword knot. "Natsuki." She raises her voice so the half-conscious woman warrants her a glance. "I am going to Anchor you out of here, okay?" She forces a smile as she tugs out the Anchor of Revolution from beneath her uniform.
Mai's… a Wælcyrge…?
"But I… wanted…"
ᛁᚳ ᚠᚢᛚᛚᚪᚾ ᚹᛁᚱᛞ ᚱᚪᛞ ᚹᚩᚠᚠᚢᛝ ᛒᛖᚾᛞ ᛁᚾ ᚷᚩᛚᛞ ᛋᚳᛁᚪᚾ ᛋᛁ ᚷᛖᚾ ᛒᛖᛋᚹᛁᛚᛚᚪᚾ ᚻᚹᚩᚾᚾᛖ ᛚᛖᚩᚻᛏᚠᛇᛏ ᚹᛁᛋᚳᚪᚾ ᚷᚪᛋᛏᛚᛁᚳ ᚻᚩᛚ ᚹᚪᚱᚢ
I, who is tempted by Fate within the madness of chained gold, is drenched in Luminary Light: My ghostly eye keeping guard.
As the glorious blazing light subsides, the ebbing pain returns like nightmares incarnate. Flashes of agony almost bring Natsuki to her knees as a terrifying pressure crushes her skull. Simultaneously, a barrage of incomprehensibility, half-sight and terror plough through her mind, for preceding her is impossibility.
Ragged and heaving, Natsuki wavers on the spot, vainly trying to blink through the blood. I-It's hopeless, everything is so—a dry retching interrupts her mindset. Crashing knees-first against the defiled harrowed ground, Natsuki saves herself with her hands.
All around her, bits of gore lie strewn everyplace along cobblestones. The blood seeps within the cracks, flowing akin to veins. Corpses—both natural and paranormal—lay stacked at nearby palisade stakes. The cadavers are charred, rotten and slashed making her realise where she is.
T-this—is this the Wall? It is clear to Natsuki there has been a great battle here. This is far worse than she has witnessed before.
As her paranoia escalates greatly, from this cursed slaughter point, her gaze sweeps the stationed battlements. There are people here after all? She hadn't even n…noticed… Panicked and dissipated, she releases one final bout of energy to find her Arcewælcyrge.
W-where is she? Natsuki clambers back to her feet, searching the fuzzy crowd for any signs at all. Where is her Arcewælcyrge?!
Upon the moment she lays sight upon Shizuru from beneath the archway, a mystifying fulfilment swallows her.
'There… there she is… Mai, I can…—'
The unsettling suspicion from before returns, creeping inside like serpentine demons—that something has followed her. Whirling around, Natsuki arcs her blade at the crowned, shambling body. It is flung backwards by the slash; its corpse-bile and blackened blood spilling erratically.
Gaspingly, Natsuki drops her sabre. S-she… she needs Shizuru—
Above on the Wall yells of confusion and strife now ricochet distortedly. It is almost like they hadn't been aware of Natsuki's presence up until now.
Nocked arrows soar past her to then impale the royal undead until it crumples to the floor.
Natsuki, disoriented from everything imaginable, looks to the Wall astounded. D-did… did they think she is also a Sla—and like that, all her reserved energy simply vanishes.
Succumbing to her injuries, the lone Wælcyrge topples rearwards. Slamming to the floor, her head faces the Wall. The Schwartz Stone that has been within her grip, now clanging to the floor. It reverberates sickly within Natsuki's head like a drum. It rolls somewhere towards the palisades—out of sight, out of mind.
Yet… as Natsuki stares up at the bloodied horizon, a slow realisation forms.
She can hardly hear a thing, and Gods'! Gods', the pain and the stench…! Ah, at least… she made it… o-out… to see…
"N-Na—ki!"
Uh? She furrows her brow with desperate concentration, trying to hear. She had ever so vaguely heard her name declared—the voice brittle and forlorn. Is that… Shizuru? S-she sounds so broken?
"Shizuru!" Rila calls after the Arcewælcyrge, making chase after her. Just as Viola slips past the gatehouse, the Royal Commander seizes her wrist. "Shizuru, wait! That might not even be her!"
This could be a trap!
Alas, Viola does not listen.
Tearing out of Rila's hold, Viola stumbles to Natsuki's side within the Square's centre.
Blood, guts, bile and Gods' knows what is covering Natsuki. "W-what happened to you?" She whispers, feeling completely hopeless. Inches from touching Natsuki, she suddenly relents.
'What if I hurt her further?!' She furiously rebukes herself aghast, her throat constricting terribly. "Natsuki?" She dares to call, but receives null an answer. "Nats—"
"Shizuru!" Rila snatches her shoulder. "This might not be her! It mi—"
"—Make sense this instant!" Viola snaps at her, twisting around partially on her knees. "Of course this is Natsuki! Who else would she be?!" Her voice strains until it cracks. Clenching her teeth, she turns back to Natsuki frantically, her lips quivering.
She has to move her, she decides. But how?
"Bring the surgeons." She breathes.
"Shizuru, you are no—"
"Do as I say, Mariposa!" The Arcewælcyrge snarls, causing her Anchor to glow mystifyingly. A terse Ardour sweeps between them, the surrounding atmosphere becoming increasingly stale. "Send for the surgeons!"
The Royal Commander unnaturally stands as though under a spell.
Understanding the situation, the dread within Viola heightens tenfold. "N-no, d-do not do that!" The Ardour within her Anchor swiftly dies.
Delivering a stressed gasp, Rila's body unclenched from the Heart of Manipulation's command.
W-what has just happened?
To add to the chaotic confusion, Yukino is the next to plunge through the gatehouse.
Hurrying to her knees, she delicately rests her fingertips against Natsuki's breastbone. "Natsuki? Natsuki, can you hear me?" She inspects the bloodied Wælcyrge quickly, trying to identify signs of awareness, consciousness—anything!
It's no use! Viola watches on distraughtly, not noticing that Rila's guiding her upwards and away. But wait! "She's—Natsuki will be alright, y-yes?" She whispers almost incoherently, unable to move her eyes from Natsuki's battered body.
However… Yukino is no surgeon.
"I said she needs a surgeon!" Viola struggles within Rila's hold, her adrenaline alone overpowering the ranger. "Unhand me this instant, Mariposa!"
"Fighting is not going to save her, Shizuru! We can't cover this up again like with Anh! Not in front of an entire army, let alone a city!" Rila hisses within the desperate Arcewælcyrge's ear, enraging her further. 'By the Gods', Anh, your Ánhere is a monster!' Thrown off of Viola, she calls for the aid of her agents. "Seize the Arcewælcyrge!"
"You would not dare!" Viola seethes at her as three cloaked men swoop in and apprehend her.
The hatred, vexation, panic—it's all too much! Viola fights against the men who surprisingly struggle to pin her down. "Y-you shall save her, else I will hang and quarter you, Mariposa!" She growls vehemently, her anger hardly disguised. "Y-you… you are… wasting time…" She gasps, the energy dispersing from her. "P-please…" She sinks to her knees. "Please…"
She cannot do this. Not again.
The dirt, mud and blood all mesh together disgustingly upon these diseased cobblestones. It sickeningly stains her trousers—but honestly, honestly! Viola does not care. She cannot. How can she? Natsuki is—
"S-Shi…zu…"
"N-Natsuki?!"
Wrenching from the mens grasp, she edges towards her mortally wounded former Ánhere. T-this is all far too similar to…to… then. To when she had lost Natsuki in both her remembered existences, to when… "N-Natsuki?" She judiciously takes Natsuki's imbrued cheeks into her hands.
"I—I got to… got to s-see you again…" Natsuki grins albeit, her blood-caked lips quivering. "I know now… I-I…"
'I what…?' The question repeats hysterically within Viola's mind as Natsuki starts falling unconscious. 'I what?!' She desperately pleads. "N-Natsuki, what are you saying?! Speak to me!" She can't leave her like this! Not again! Not… again… Viola's hands skirt Natsuki's shoulders, the weight of the world against her back.
Around them, the Army looks on dolefully from their stations.
All is quiet at the Wall; only the resounding echo from ravens crying upon the rooftops. They excitedly hop to and fro on the slate shingles, bickering ceaselessly. One corvid swoops down to land on the royal corpse, pecking into shrived, yellowed skin.
"Shizuru…" Yukino eases close to the Arcewælcyrge, murmuring softly to her. "I think she has—"
A hawking choke tears from Natsuki unexpectedly. The group can only watch on as the injured Wælcyrge coughs up blood before crumpling again.
Something sinister changes within the Arcewælcyrge at that moment. Something deadly wrong.
Silently, Viola painstakingly scoops Natsuki up, cradling her protectively.
"S-Shizuru… Yukino repeats nervously, trying to get her attention. "Take her to the hospital, I beg of you—"
"—I am not taking her to that bedlam hellscape!" That "hospital" is nothing but an asylum. She refuses to take Natsuki there. "I will only ask this once more. Where are the surgeons?" Her voice is horrifically calm and her expression stone-faced.
'…Oh, Natsuki… What has happened to you? I will protect you… no one will interfere.'
Absolutely no one will.
'No… one…'
"A-Arcewælcyrge Viola?" A timid man shows himself by the gatehouse beside the cloaked rangers.
Instantaneously, Viola's mood alters upon recognising him.
"You were Arcewælcyrge Lu's personal surgeon, yes? Your name is Doctor Cardinal."
"Y-you know me, Arcewælcyrge?"
"She revolutionised your surgery with medical safety, that is correct?"
Sakomizu wearily nods, feeling incredibly anxious within this woman's presence.
He has heard about the Arcewælcyrge over the years—of the stories. They have all been awe-inspiring, mystifying and terrifying, but somehow those stories underestimate her in person. H-he—Viola scares the life out of him! "T-the surgery is this way."
"Then by all means." Viola says, her tone flat as she begins tailing the aproned man.
Her former Ánhere is gasping for air and her face is red raw with lacerations. She also has a dire fever and… a sliced eye. Not realising she has stopped, Viola remains stooped beneath the gatehouse's door. She ignores the silent Army around her who are trying to avoid her ire.
Her stomach as well… a pool of blood is discolouring her shirt.
Releasing the breath she did not know she had been holding, Viola hurries after Sakomizu. 'What happened to you, Natsuki?' She pleads this question twofold. 'No, Natsuki, you cannot d—'—she stalls her mind before that can conclude her fear.
Every individual watches them from and around the Wall. Their sullenness intensifies the atmosphere drastically, immensely cautious within Viola's presence.
Soon, Sakomizu guides her to a discreet building across Saint Monica's Street.
"Please place her on the table inside, Arcewælcyrge." The surgeon says, hastefully unlocking the heavy oaken door. It creaks open obnoxiously, alerting a group inside. "Do you know what her injuries are?"
"I…I think her eye is gone." She stresses, easing Natsuki onto the table as gently as possible. "Her face is wounded—lacerations. A fever, maybe rashes—"
"Arcewælcyrge…" A meek woman interjects softly. "Please, we will take care of her. You must ho—" Those scarlet eyes glare into her very soul, making her panic. "P-please—"
"Follow the rules which my Arcewælcyrge set." Viola warns, her voice dangerously soft. "Do not use that butchered nonsense of the Four Humours. Neither shall you use bloodletting for "impure blood" nor will you poison her with quicksilver."
"Arcew—"
"You shall not cauterise those lacerations, or smear the wounds with animal intestines. You will administer cold poultices, not boiling oils. If you fail and practise these fell techniques, I shall have your entire organisation executed."
Thus, the Arcewælcyrge concludes her dire threat and quietly excuses herself, leaving the room in brittle contemplation.
ᛖᚪᛚᚪ ᚠᛇᛚᛖ ᛋᛖᚩ ᚳᚩᛚᚢᛘᚾᛖ ᛒᛚᛇᚳ
Alas, for the beloved Black Column.
I • CMI Monandæg of Æftera Geola
(The 1st Day After Yuletide, Moon's Day, 901)
Five Days Since Natsuki's Soul-Madness
"This is the third time this afternoon." Chie sits herself down beside Rila next to the fire. "You'd think the Arcewælcyrge would just live in that room,"
"Do not give Shizuru any ideas with that mouth of yours." The Royal Commander sighs, scooting over to loosen Chie's sling. "She already has the surgeons petrified for their own lives."
"My lips are sealed." Chie smiles, making the elder scoff disbelievingly. "Besides… is it surprising?" Across the crowded room, they spy Viola enter—ever distant and pale. "I saw how their relationship started, I'm amazed Natsuki didn't just crawl up and die." She chuckles, rolling her shoulder delicately as Rila removes the sling entirely.
"Whatever for?"
"Oh, please! You've known Shizuru longer than us all here!"
That depends entirely on which Shizuru they're referencing… Rila passes Chie a beseeching look, crossing her leg atop the other. "When Arcewælcyrge Lu was still alive. She was an entirely different woman back then."
"Exactly!"
Ugh, the Knight-Commander cannot take the hint, can she? Tossing the sling at her, Rila lifts from her chair. "Don't hurt your arm. I'm going to speak with her." Dismissing herself, the Royal Commander silently moves through the noisy communal area.
"Arcewælcyrge, you're tired." Yukino presses as Viola halts by the exit, a drink in hand. "Surely you should r—"
"—Yukino, it is fine, really." The exhausted Arcewælcyrge insists but hasn't the spirit to fight. However, before she's able to leave, Rila intercepts her. "Rila, not now."
"That is no way to treat your elder." Swinging an arm around Viola's shoulder, she nods to Yukino and budges the door open with her side. Now within the snowy Square, she brings them down Saint Monica's Street. "I thought we could talk for a while. About everything and nothing."
"…Everything and nothing." Viola muses aloud, taking a slow sip of her drink—mead, in actuality. "...I have nothing to say."
"We both know that this is a lie."
This comment bristles Viola who clenches her teeth behind her lips. She would appreciate being left well alone. Everyone else except some Officials have not. "It was different when Anh died."
"Was it?"
This woman—seriously. Biting her lip, Viola restrains herself from snapping angrily. Alas, she flashes back to her Heart of Manipulation briefly controlling Rila's movement. Halting, she brushes her fingertips along her brow, trying to purge the thought.
That had been within the moment—an understandable mistake. Or had it? Deep down the Arcewælcyrge knows she will do it again, even if it is deemed unhonourable. '...Honour, valour, chivalry. What a needless mess.'
Viola stares at the cobblestones beneath her feet. The snow has transformed into a disappointing slush; the weather having waned considerably.
"Shizuru, what do you want to do?"
She turns to face Rila who is further down the street; tired scarlets soon descending back to cobblestone. 'What do I want to do?' She mulls, rubbing her eyes in frustration. 'What do I not want to do?' She smiles wryly, draining the rest of her mead in one fell swoop. "Nothing with you." She twists on the spot, returning back towards the surgery.
"Shizuru!" Rila calls to her in disappointment.
The Arcewælcyrge ignores the Royal Commander who jogs to her side.
"Please, just look after yourself. If not for me, for Na—"
"—Do not test my patience, Mariposa." Viola snaps at her, thrusting her tankard into the woman's grip. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to return to my Ánhere's side."
The Royal Commander can only stand there slack-jawed, watching Viola depart.
Soon, to her word, Viola mutely enters the surgery.
No one is inside; only the examination table greeting her. Sighing, she turns to the side door, opening it discreetly. Within is another table surrounded by old chairs. One of the surgeon's is seated at the far end, lounged against the table asleep.
"I have returned."
"Mh-hm…?" The man peers upwards then gets up in a panic. "A-Arcewæl—"
Viola lifts her hand. "How is she?"
"T-the fever is dying down." Heading for the door behind him, he motions her to follow. They walk down a claustrophobic corridor decorated with plain plaster. Reaching midway down this doored corridor, they reach one pinned with a sign. It reads Wælcyrge Kruger. "Please notify me if you need anything." He tells her, returning the way he came.
Shutting the door silently, Viola anxiously stares at the lone bed within this room. Natsuki lies motionless within it, a simplistic but genius feather stuck to her nose. As silly as it may seem, it actually tracks her breathing. It quivers gently, giving Viola momentary relief.
"...Natsuki." She sits down in the chair beside her bed. "What on Earl happened to you?"
Prior to their examination, she had not known the extent of Natsuki's injuries. They are much worse than was first led to believe.
Lacerations along her right calf and face…
The death wound having reopened in her abdomen…
A head injury from blunt trauma…
Not to mention, a blinded eye…
It is a miracle that Natsuki is even breathing.
On top of that, her poor Ánhere has a fever.
Touching along Natsuki's arm which is above the sheets, Viola sighs a defeated breath. "Why did you run ahead, you silly fool?" It still dismays Viola—she should have stopped Natsuki before she had ended up in Gods' know where.
It's oh so obscene. One moment Natsuki goes missing, then they're overrun by Slaves. By the time they had cleared them out, more had somehow broken through the undercroft. Then… as though their lost Gods had heard her prayers, Natsuki had returned.
In the blink of an eye, Natsuki had appeared before the Wall, very nearly becoming their next target.
It is like she was teleported.
Grasping Natsuki's hand, she smooths her digits along it, tracing visible green veins. Upon her next thought, this movement halts. '...I will never forget your scared look as you were going to say… something. What were you going to tell me, Natsuki?'
'Gods' above!' What was she going to confess?! "You knew what, Natsuki? What do you know? What did you want to tell me?" Isn't this all just awful? Gently squeezing her former Ánhere's hand, Viola shakes her head. Sadly, her pleading falls on deaf ears, making her release Natsuki's limb.
She can only imagine what Natsuki was going to tell her: The scenarios range from the tragic, absurd to the romantic. If only it was the latter... Nevertheless, Viola sits there awkwardly, unsure what to do.
A knock at the door unsettles her from her inner turmoil. "Yes?"
"It is Sakomizu. It is time to change Wælcyrge Kruger's dressings."
Hadn't she only been here moments? Perhaps she has been stuck within her own dismay for so long she had lost track of reality. Releasing a breath to steel herself, Viola rises from the chair. Opening the door for the lead surgeon, two more follow after the bearded man. These are two women who are carrying water basins and medical tools.
"Her bedding must be changed once her bandages have been applied. Do we have your permission to follow through with this, Arcewælcyrge?"
"I will do it myself."
He nods mutely, hoping to not irritate the guarded woman. After all, he would be brainless to get between a Wælcyrge and her Ánhere. Former or not. Sakomizu turns to his two aides, motioning them to place the items on the bed's nightstand.
With this, they leave, the Arcewælcyrge left alone once more.
Whilst they are medical professionals, Viola does not want them seeing Natsuki's body anymore. This is for two reasons: One, Natsuki would be mortified if she knew about this, and two, Viola's own selfishness.
'Perhaps I do experience jealousy?' She frowns at the possibility, still unable to ascertain the feeling. Or is it her possessiveness? Isn't this another form of envy, however? Oh, she has not a clue and it exhausts her to keep caring.
All she wishes is for Natsuki to awaken.
But now, for Natsuki…
Rising from her perch, Viola pulls back the blankets so they reach Natsuki's waist.
She's been fitted with a new tunic, her shirt having been ravaged by the blood and tearing. 'It suits her.' Viola thinks, loosening the clothing's cords at her chest. Next are the sleeve cords, the fabric having been hunched up to bare her forearms. 'Masculine clothing befits her well indeed.'
If Natsuki wore ankled trousers she would look like a true swordmaster or blacksmith.
Viola's hands remain on an arm's cords; getting lost within her dismay again.
'Will Natsuki have the desire or mental fortitude to live? She has been a Wælcyrge for less than a year and has already lost so much.' Oh, Natsuki… Viola squeezes her eyes shut, palming her face in semblance of calming down. She had promised herself she would not cry again.
Forcing back the tears, she instead begins painstakingly removing the tunic from Natsuki's body. Along her naked torso are cuts and bruises, but nothing deadly. From her chest to navel, Viola's weary eyes travel, until landing upon the old death wound. It has been neatly restitched and looked to be healing nicely.
The wrenching guilt however, still remains heavy within Viola's heart.
She cannot believe that she had murdered Natsuki in a past life.
Whether by accident or not, it is still irrefutably evil to Viola. She had killed her love in frenzied blood because she had lost control for a second. What if it happens again? She suspects she shall not have another chance. Thus… the reasoning behind her distancing herself recently. Alas, thanks to Natsuki's insistence, she has opened up more.
…If—no, when Natsuki awakens, she will tell her these thoughts.
Eventually all that is left is the examination of Natsuki's eye.
Soaking the wash cloth within the clean water basin, Viola eases over Natsuki's side. Delicately she unfurls the bandages, breath catching upon the sight. This is the first time she is seeing it.
A stitched laceration from the eyebrow cuts down into the eye and ends at the cheekbone. It is inflamed and hot to the touch, but emits no smell nor pus. It is starting to infect, isn't it? Viola worries mildly, touching along skin but never the sutures nor injury.
'What happened to her?!' The lament pierces Viola's mind for the ten-billionth time.
Nevertheless… She should prevent it from worsening.
Twisting around within her seat, she reaches for the soap and works it into the cloth. Next she spins back around, gently patting over the wound.
As she works, she thinks: 'Sakomizu said that due to the eye injury, the stitches should remain in place for longer.' How long does an eye take to heal? She hasn't any idea, honestly.
With the area dabbed, she washes the soap away and pats it dry.
She looks at the stained bandages within her lap.
'Will Natsuki regain her sight, or is there too much damage?' The human body is an incredible thing, and perhaps with Spirit Mend—'What am I thinking?' She closes her eyes to calm herself. In lieu of this, her nerves flare at the possibility that Natsuki may never recover. Earl… Earl! 'If she does come to, she may be so unwell that—'
"Oh." Viola shakes her head in spite of it all, fingers threading around the stained bandages. The dressing remains within her lap; tired scarlets staring at the dark blood. 'I would be a fool to believe Natsuki will be fine when she wakes.'
She… She dreads to imagine how serious it will be once Natsuki is conscious. Would this filthy bandage become sentimental to her like Anh's torn clothing? Viola prays that this isn't the case. No. She throws it aside on the nightstand, instead leaning her elbows into her thighs.
Here she cups her face within her hands, totally and utterly exhausted beyond imagination.
It's obvious she should sleep, but she does not want to leave Natsuki's side.
What would happen if Natsuki wakes up alone? 'Confused… delirious… pained…'
Perhaps a little like herself.
Or mayhaps much more alike than she had originally deemed.
"Oh, it is just awful, Natsuki.' She allows an arm to drop, her full weight now against one hand. Viola watches through her hair as Natsuki's chest rises then falls. Her former Ánhere's breathing is shallow and fevered, while raven locks stick to clammy skin.
Unable to remove her eyes from Natsuki's bare torso, Viola muses: 'Though, even when she is ill, Natsuki truly is beautiful.' Upon the invasive thought Viola frowns, rubbing her brow.
She should wash more sweat from Natsuki's body and cloth her before these infernal cravings surpass her.
Soon the Wælcyrge is redressed and Viola has moved onto the bandages. Gingerly she eases Natsuki's head up, wrapping the bandages around her skull to cover her eye. Once done, it is securely knotted, but Viola is hesitant to release her head.
It is strange, isn't it?
The vaguest feeling entered her heart, the emotion feeling heavy and brittle. She cannot identify it but realises it is not a new experience. Is this contemplation, loneliness or something else entirely? She feels as though she is depressed or mournful. Though it is unclear whether she can correctly pinpoint those emotions in the first place.
Is it longing? Sorrow? …Spitefulness?
Natsuki as well, she finds it hard to analyse her feelings, doesn't she?
Placing Natsuki's head back down into the pillows, she gets up.
The Arcewælcyrge needs to bathe… sleep… anything to put her mind at ease.
To perhaps push Natsuki's circumstances from her mind without guilt for a time…
As impossible as that is.
II • CMI Wigesdæg of Æftera Geola
(The 2nd Day After Yuletide, Warrior's Day, 901)
Six Days Since Natsuki's Soul-Madness
"The Royal Commander's agents have revealed that there are three bandit bands ransacking trade caravans." Viola discloses to the Palace Officials and Hauscarlas. "Thanks to months of widespread disease and war, they have taken advantage. This abhorrent crime shall not be tolerated."
"What do you suggest?" The Knight-Commander asks, finally out of her sling and armoured appropriately. "Thanks to the recent Arles Guard strike, we're down on significant numbers."
"Which is why I also propose conducting the Lists within the Wind capital." Viola turns to a hooded agent within the corner who passes her a letter. Opening it, she uses it as reference. "With it we can determine the usefulness of future soldiers within the Fyrd. However, we must first gather the Lords and Ladies of the counties to organise it. This is because they will offer us peasants—and for the first time, slaves. Via King Bruce II's Fyrd Act, there is a fine for refusal to conscript. This amount reaches one-thousand shillings depending on wealth and can follow with the seizing of land."
"Why would they offer their slaves? They are free labour for the nobility." Sarah muses, sitting beside Chie who nods in agreement.
"Through coin. We will buy slaves off of them and give those slaves a chance to experience better circumstances." Viola smiles at the Knight-Captain's look of surprise. "The nobles are greedy and fickle. Because of this, I also recommend that we have potential officers perform in the Lists. This will cancel out the risk of nepotism within the nobility. It shall also give the lower classes the ability to succeed rather than remaining underneath their sire's heel."
Of course, this will mean drama from the upper class, but Viola could care less. "The Freefold Tax shall also be reestablished—more commonly known as the Three-Knotted Obligation." Sweeping her gaze across the room, the Arcewælcyrge spots no signs of disapproval. At least not yet. "Citing King Bruce II, the Freefold Tax is of utmost importance. Without the repair of transportation networks, maintaining fortifications and serving in the Fyrd, the Kingdom shall fall.
"Upon the seizure of land, folkland will become temporarily forfeit and will be dissolved into loanland for the Fyrd."
Now this does spark controversy. The Captain of the Guard, Haruka Armitage is the first to stand, followed by Chie and Sarah.
"This is unacceptable!" Haruka insists. "My family sacrificed—"
"—Queen Mashiro I united the Kingdom. As reward she created the Land Charter, giving folkland to her generals. Those generals are all from nobility—names I am sure you all know well." Viola snaps, silencing the entire room. "The Hallard, Armitage and Gallagher households sacrificed much. However, this was a long time ago." She continues on, firing the three nobles pointed looks. "That does not mean corruption, nepotism and crime will be tolerated because you're from the Founding Families."
The three sit, only being given uncomfortable glances from her lower class Officials and Hauscarlas. "More importantly…" Viola realigns their meeting. "...Once the Fyrd has been created, a Witan will be established and a new Monarch will be crowned. Unfortunately, as of yet, we have found no surviving heirs from the Weaver Household. This may mean we will have to go further down the family tree. Or, if this plan fails, conduct an elective Lists; the winner gaining the Crown."
There is also the possibility they could simply adjust the Monarchy. Their Sovereign is no longer the Servant of the Gods. What is stopping them from finding a new heir at all? They could even have multiple Sovereigns crowned if they so wish.
But, this is for the future.
Later during the meeting, a messenger arrives. They recognise him as the unkempt bilingual rider they had sent to Florence.
"A-Arcewælcyrge, a letter from Queen Rosalie." He almost stumbles over, swiftly apologising profusely. "S-sorry, I'm exhausted."
"Thank you. Agent, go and take this messenger to the communal quarters."
Taking the letter from its cylindrical container, Viola unseals it and reads. This is—"Grand Chevalier." She summons Fiar Grosse to her side, handing her the letter which is in two languages: Wind and Florentine. "The reason for Florence's silence was due to the undead. They too have suffered greatly from it and have only recently recovered enough to communicate." She hushes within Fiar's ear.
The armoured Grand Chevalier nods, taking the letter from her. "Messenger." She stops the man from departing who turns to her. "When did you leave Florence? How up to date is this letter?"
"I arrived in Florence on the 27th but the undead crisis held me up. This letter was ready by the 29th. I wasn't able to leave until the 31st."
The Grand Chevalier nods, allowing him to leave. "Their crisis is almost identical to ours." Fiar murmurs to Viola, shifting closer to her so the Arcewælcyrge can see. "Their catacombs and cemeteries were overwhelmed within days. But on top of that…"
Viola eases closer, reading the section in Wind. To her horror, she spots a name appearing multiple times. "Altain scouting parties." She breathes, meeting the older woman's eyes. "Are these parties perhaps acquainted with Reito Daí Altay?"
"It is hard to say, though Florence has always been wary of Altay."
Perhaps they can use this to their advantage.
It is after the meeting when Viola can finally take a breather. Sitting down at the table, she touches along her brow.
Somehow she had managed to head the meeting without losing focus. Unfortunately, now that she is alone with her mind, everything is encroaching on her once more.
It has been six days since Natsuki fell unconscious. How much longer will it be? One day? Three days? Weeks, months? Pulling her sleeve up, she looks to the bracelet that has become both a blessing and a curse. 'Will Natsuki never again awaken? Am I doomed to be alone forever?' She strokes along the warmed iron crescent, sighing.
Just as she's about to go insane, Viola is interrupted by the sound of the door. She looks up, but much to her chagrin, it is both Chie and Rila.
"You see Rila, she is here!" Chie declares, carrying two tankards within her hands.
The Royal Commander follows closely after, also bringing a tankard.
"I have already said—"
"—That you don't want to speak with us, yeah, yeah." Chie interrupts, though cracks a smile as she sets down the drinks. "You may not want us, but that exchange is not mutual."
'I have been cornered.' Viola throws them a defeated look before her mental transgressions can boil over.
Chie offers the Arcewælcyrge her drink by sliding the tankard across the table.
"...What is this?"
"It is warm milk." Rila says. "We have noticed you have been drinking a fair amount of alcohol."
Viola wrinkles her nose at the drink, but nevertheless picks up the tankard. She gazes into the pearly contents, falling silent. Even if her friends mean well, she cannot help but feel astonishingly annoyed by such a thing. 'This is unacceptable, why am I starting to feel so angry about this?' Why on Earl is receiving help so rage-inducing?
The Royal Commander unflinchingly watches as Viola's tankard shakes within her grip. It is then thrust onto the table—the milk almost sloshing outwards. Still Rila does not respond, while meanwhile Chie almost stands from her seat. She raises a hand for Chie to stop, who sits back down, puzzled.
"I—" Viola props a hand to her brow, leaning heavily into the table. "I do not know how to feel anymore."
It's all just so pathetic. One moment she is clinging onto desperation, the next she is seemingly fine. It had been the same when Anh had died. Viola had naught an idea how to adapt to the loss of her Arcewælcyrge. Worse, she now might lose her Natsuki.
How can reality be so cruel as to do this? Their relationship had improved drastically! Now…?
Chie uncomfortably looks to Rila, having never seen the Arcewælcyrge this depressed before. "Rila—" Before she can complete her sentence, the Royal Command rises from her seat and rounds the table.
"Shizuru." Rila cups her shoulder to then drag her into an embrace. "...It is alright, it is just us here. None of the others will know a thing."
How will this help her situation?! Viola's mind echoes the question repeatedly; the accursed thing rebounding on her psyche like a drum. 'She has no idea. Rila's never lost anyone like I have!' Yet… does she know this? The Royal Commander is private indeed.
But alas, this does not stop the stubborn Arcewælcyrge.
"S-stop." Viola stammers, shoving Rila from her who stumbles a step back. "Stop…" She resounds, her voice greatly softer than before. So much that it's a whisper upon her lips. "I do not want either of your help." Taking the tankard, she drinks deeply until the entire contents is gone. With this, she sets it down, throws them both a stare, and stands.
"You shall not follow me."
Wistfully, the Palace Officials do not; a heavy air within the room as the Arcewælcyrge leaves.
Meanwhile, in the Domus Augusti, Remus
This morning a heatwave is baking the Imperator's royal estate. The famous Domus Augusti is constructed almost entirely of marble: A grand feat, for Remus does not have ample supply of this metamorphic rock.
Currently, the Imperator himself, Sergius Augustus Tiberius is bathing within his balneae chamber. Sat on the edge of the pool, the nude blond has an arm slung behind him. His free hand, meanwhile, clasps a goblet which he rises as an argent-cloaked woman enters. "Ah, Akane, my daughter!" Setting his Lutetice Anser down upon the tray beside him, he quizzes: "Have you dealt with those two prisoners who were discovered on our border?"
"Yes, Imperator." Akane does not move from the door.
"Come now—there is no need for such titles in private."
From beneath her hood, Akane forces a small smile. "I was informed by the Praefectus Praetorio, Charles Guinel Roy, that the Lemura Crisis has ended. Dux Bel Glan also has the funding to begin the expedition to Chaldea."
"At last." Twisting around, Sergius snaps his fingers towards two slave girls. "Fetch my clothes." Once the slaves scurry away, he returns his attention back to Akane. "As for yourself, you shall join me in the journey to Castle Duranius."
The agent casts a surprised look, however quickly turns her head as Sergius stands from the water. "Duranius? That is the abandoned castle on our western border, isn't it?"
"Yes." The Imperator says as one of the slaves returns, drying him. "We have much ahead of us if we are to expand the Empire.
Story Context
ᚦᛇᛋ ᛖᚪᛚᛞ ᛏᚢᛝᛖ — "Þæs Eald Tunge" (The Old Tongue). This is Ancient Wind which still uses the old alphabet.
The Amydde Tonge — "The Middle Tongue". This is what Wind once looked like once the Remus' alphabet was adopted.
The Modern Tongue — What the Wind language looks like today.
Elegies and long poems were common in Medieaval-English storytelling. Some of the most famous are Beowulf, the Wanderer, the Seafarer, Deor, the Canterbury Tales and the Faerie Queene.
Fyrd — a regionalised army consisting of nobles and freemen. Failure to be conscripted would bring a penalty of around 120/- (120 shillings exactly). Slaves did not take part in this as they were property of landlords (Barons, Dukes, etc).
The Freefold Tax or the Three-Knotted Obligation — Under royal law, it was England's duty to maintain roads, bridges and fortifications and serve in the military (Fyrd). It is also called the Trinoda Necessita, potentially being based on Roman principles left by the Romano-British.
Folkland, Loanland and Land Charters — During the Norman Invasion (1066), England was unified into a single Kingdom by William I (Conqueror). As compensation, he rewarded all of his high ranking soldiers their own land through Charters. This came in the form of folkland, which under ancient law, only the Sovereign can dismantle. This means that theoretically, Viola, as the highest ranking Official, can liquify a folkland and transform it into loanland. This law is where a Sovereign can take temporary ownership of folkland, hence, for Fyrd.
Witan — A high council which would eventually evolve into the Privy Council.
Domus Augusti — This is directly based on Imperator Augustus' royal household in Rome, Italy. A "domus" consists of a large townhouse—essentially a mansion. Sergius Augustus Tiberius is, for anyone who has forgotten, Sergei August Taiki. I had fun Romanising his name.