I was about to look for the best way to leave when the youngest daughter exclaimed:

'Now is a perfect time to search for our brother! We're almost all present and…'

'No, Al', the eldest brother interrupted. 'He is not our brother anymore. I thought the matter was clear decades ago.'

'He did grow up all over Ivalice just like the rest of us! How can you brush aside all that we had so abruptly?'

'Because he decided so all by himself. Any other question?'

The lady lowered her head, and was visibly holding sobs back.

'Your brother is probably dead', the man added.

'He's not! He lives and you know it!' his sister screamed.

'It matters little. Should he be alive now, it would mean he can be held accountable for our parents' and Phalara's court ruling, that made us lose our venerable mother to prison. Which is really the same as being dead.'

The threat immediately made the lady go back to a detached terrified posture, on her wheelchair.

'Don't be… so harsh with Al', the youngest son quietly said.

'She needs to face the truth at some point', the eldest answered.

'I will never stop believing he lives', she insisted, though as quietly as her young brother. 'And one day, I'll find him. And we'll fly again on an airship. My legs were taken but he'll be my wings. We'll be free from all the ill deeds you all forced upon him.'

There was a brief silence.

'Ah, I wish I could fly an airship myself!' the drug addict sighed. 'But the cabin crew attached me to a chair, last time that I tried.'

'You just behave as our leader now, don't you?' the Uhlan lady suddenly told her eldest brother.

'Are you assuming I should have told Al that Al was a respectable brother we'd still welcome with open arms?' he replied, crossing his arms.

'That is not what I meant, Al. The Grand Patron has spoken. But she is not in this world anymore. Al, you are not the only candidate to her succession in this room.'

He sighed in turn:

'We already agreed we'd have this discussion after our father passes away.'

'Are you two not forgetting somebody else?' Albert suddenly jumped. 'My dear sister Alvina should be part of it, too. She's had both body and mindset for this role, ever since she was young. Her domination is absolute. She is the perfect woman for all situations!'

'Your wife probably won't be happy to hear this', Alaric commented with a smile.

'Al is alive, but in no position to fight anymore', said his drug-loving sister in a saddened tone.

'She still is the eldest. Older than you, Alan', Albert added, facing his eldest brother.

'We're no Murenas to appoint whoever was born first', Alan replied.

On one hand, he lacked self-confidence. But on the other, he bore an outstanding sense of responsibility. Regardless of their story together, he felt concerned and his dry tone was hiding waves of reassurance for his younger siblings.

'If you vote for Al', the youngest daughter said, and my whole armor shook at realizing how House Feynis was choosing their piercing-strength-holder heir, 'I am not part of this family anymore. I will leave all of you, just like my brother did. Al will forever be my sister, but she destroyed my brother's life and is paying for her crimes ever since, and so am I. Let us keep her distant'.

'That brother of yours probably killed more people than Al. No matter how many years he lived after his faithless departure, he must have committed countless crimes to be able to escape our watch', Alaric said.

'Thanks, Al', Alan gratefully put.

Once again, the sad lady looked at the ground, and I decided to go to her. I could make a mistake, for there were apparently four daughters in total, and one of them was absent. But out of the three in front of me, she was the only one I dared to walk to.

'Lady Aline?'

At that moment, I saw her grey eyes become wider. Wider and wider, with growing emotion, like a rejuvenation pond. They were the biggest eyes I had ever seen. Her whole face turned from old and tired to refreshed. Her bright skin turned red, and her lips stretched into a holy smile.

'Yes, Gabranth?'

So it was her. I was about to begin my sentence with 'my commander' when I thought at all I had just heard. I gasped and added, leaning forward:

'The man who sends me here pays his respects to you, my Lady.'

As soon as I stood straight, all her siblings were joyously moving:

'A man? That's his commander. He must be our age.'

'Do you think it's a Judge Magister?'

'I don't know which unit has enough time to waste to send someone here…'

'At least he heard of you, Al!'

'You didn't tell us you pay a visit to the Military Akademy in your free time!'

'It's never too late to remarry, Al. Legs are overrated!'

Lady Aline kept her head down, completely immune to the agitation. She felt neither happy, nor annoyed. Eventually, she raised her tired face at me and said:

'Thank you for telling me. He sounds like a gentleman who likes to combine business with amusement. I pray you keep working with him for a long time.'

Her face features quickly turned strict, and I understood that was my time to leave. I looked at them all, bowed and made my way back to Archades. Zargabaath? Amusement? Probably, but theirs was eight times bigger.

When I arrived at the Judge Magister's door the next day, I briefly reported which members of House Feynis I had found, and how happy Lord Alaric was to learn of his company's failure. Zargabaath couldn't help letting out a laugh at that moment. I also informed him the new heir would be either Alan, the Uhlan-shaped lady, or the missing one named Alvina, and that the election would take place after the father's death – the official leader being the deceased mother.

'My Lord', I requested, 'there is something unusual I have learnt. You made it appear as if the Mighties did not follow the country's laws – I have never encountered in court work a single offense perpetrated by someone bearing one of those names – because their bodies did not follow nature's laws. Yet three members of House Feynis were put to jail for a long time, one of them being none other than the leader. How could that be possible? Who emitted the judgement?'

Zargabaath looked more tired than ever. I decided to overstep my position:

'If Your Honor does not tell me, I shall check myself in the special military archives of the Second. I know this floor by heart thanks to Nastia, and the key to that drawer can be given to dömavänner according to Article 17 of the 688 annex to our rules and regulations.'

He should have felt outraged. He should have been unhinged. By all means, he should have felt even more tired, dealing with the insubordinate dömavän that I was. However, after a few seconds thinking, he declared with a tiny smile:

'The Judge was me. It is never easy dealing with Mighties, but I used the necessary years and network to make it happen, for the safety of our society. You will be able to read all the special archives after the new year. Now please, tell me about Al.'

He probably thought my confused face was gratitude, but when he saw it lasting, his brain came back to the nickname he used, and he clarified:

'Sorry. Aline.'

I described her conduct and indignant takes, and, innocently, went on with her physical appearance. But as soon as I uttered the word "wheelchair", his grey eyes scarily widened, his face got distorted, his hand shivered, and I understood he wanted to remain alone.

Pisces was the last month of the year. According to Vitu – whom I was seeing much less since his wedding –'s Magister, I would be able to leaf through the Archadian army's secrets in a handful of weeks. Lord Larsa was sick – he often was – and the nurses had said he had to isolate even more when it happened during warm season.

Therefore, under the pale sun of the end of the year 697, I was taking a few paces in the Imperial Capital. The weather was as oppressing as the one in Argyll. My mother was waiting for me in the late afternoon, and I had a few hours ahead of me to browse the new items on display in adventurers' stores, the market gardener, and the bookstores.

I was about to reach the end of the Molberry main street, when the corner of my eye noticed a young woman carrying a heavy backpack. Certainly a well conforming student aspiring to an Akademy's final contest. As I was passing her by, she simply fell to the ground.

I rushed down to help, and saw the lady's arms covering the bag's content, that fell with her on the street. The first thing she pushed back inside was… a sword. An old blade that looked like dark rust, but had golden lines. In which world was a sword appropriate equipment for a lady student? I helped her pack the rest; and expected her to stand up, but she didn't.

Was she injured?

I looked around us – all the passers-by were completely ignoring the scene. The youngest among them, when walking at our level, hissed some curse words at her without even looking. I was familiar with the Archadian accent, but not yet with the delicious variety of their vocabulary. The young lady was looking at her backpack, all shaking.

'Can I help?'

She turned to me as if I was one of the harassers. Her face was something between round and square, with plump cheeks, and had the darkest complexion among all the Archadians I had known. She had thick worry-positioned eyebrows, and giant brown eyes that were tearing up as I was waiting for her answer.

'It's my back', she simply said, not even daring to speak out loud.

'Come with me. I might have something. Can you stand?' I asked.

And, as she was completely lost, I took the initiative to carry the bag with one shoulder – it was definitely heavy – and present the other hand to its owner. She blinked her cute eyes, sniffed, and used my arm to stand.

Now, what was I supposed to do?

I was in charge of a random Archadian lady for the next minutes, and had to devise a way for her to move without pain until she reaches her initial destination.

'It's my back. It hurts', she repeated.

"I heard the first time", I exasperatingly thought. How old was that student…?

With the arm carrying the bag, I moved apart some artificial bushes that were as lush as my burden's dark brown hair, and arrived at an empty bench. The area was rather silent, for a central town location. Bushes were surrounding it on all edges, and no one could see us from the outside. I carefully made her lie down on the bench, as I would do to a wounded soldier on a battlefield, and she instantly screamed.

'Ah! It hurts! It hurts so much! I cannot put anything in contact with my back, I am very sorry!'

I sighed and turned her around. She was not… the exact definition of lightweight. Her clothes were nothing like the regular Archadian ones. She was wearing… light breeches covered by a long beige dress, and a cape. As the latter was slit, I could see that the thighs – which size and musculature greatly intrigued me – were surrounded by a sash. A sword had its usual place there.

'Better?' I asked. 'Wait, I will show you what I meant.'

I had spoken in a gentle quiet voice, hoping she would understand that my help could not be given if panicked intruders intervene.

'Oh… Oh… Thank you', she eventually said in the same tone.

I let out a sigh of relief and took out a flask from my own tiny bag.

'Look', I said, waving it before her nose. 'It's a Viera unguent. If you agree, I shall spread some on your back, and it will stop hurting you for a while. At least, it works for me and my colleagues.'

'Oh! Such a thing exists? Please try it on me. You have my thanks!'

Her enthusiasm, her cute face, her inferiority complex, did not match the adult Archadian Hume student she was supposed to be. On second thought, her accent was not the typical one from Archades. Not at all. It had an Ordalian vibe. Was she Rozarrian? It didn't matter in my decision to help, anyway.

'Well, can you…'

And then I stopped.

I could foresee every war strategy, every social phenomenon and every legal loophole, but I hadn't been able to anticipate the fact that a woman had to undress before a massage.