Louis grunted as he threw the spear; hurling it at the corrupted rider atop the rotted pegasus that Prince Alcryst had skewered with arrows. It finally fell, pegasus following shortly after, falling into the bejewelled pools surrounding the throne room.

"Two more from the East!" Etie yelled above the sloshing and clashing of water and metal.

"One!" Fogado corrected her, as his target careened into a pillar and clattered into the ground.

"Armoured units, form a barrier around the entrance!" The Dragon bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Archers, with me! Clanne, Boucheron, you too!"

Boucheron huffed, collecting himself after throwing a corrupted off a nearby balustrade. He surged forth through the waves of infantry gathering at the doorway, to stop at Louis and hold his shoulder.

"You got my back, I got yours." He said, using what spare energy he could to flash a reassuring smile at Louis. "Hold steady."

Louis smirked. "I always do."


The Divine Dragon had formally invited Fogado, whom they now knew was a prince, and Crown Princess Timerra to the Somniel. In celebration, everyone was forming little welcoming gifts. The Firenese royalty asked their retainers for aid in preparing foods for a morning tea that, Céline in particular, wished to host.

So, while Céline was busy drafting a menu and pairing it with teas, she asked Louis to start picking peaches from the orchard.

Peaches were best matched with a bright and flowery early harvest tea. He suspected that Céline would like to use this chance to share one of her favourite Firenese specialties to their new allies. So that left the question of the menu. Would she want to bake a dessert with the fruits too, or would she rather leave the fruit fresh as a representation of the bounty of the Somniel? And what of the savouries –

"Louis!"

He looked back into the doorway, seeing Boucheron bounding up from behind him to catch up. "Would you like a hand?"

It had been a couple of days since Boucheron's injury, and thankfully there were no signs of residual damage.

Louis tutted, "So long as you give me your left one."

Boucheron rolled his eyes, before clapping Louis on the back with said hand. "Hilarious."

"I can be."

As the men exited to the Orchard, the breeze whisked through the trees and all shades of green danced above them. With the Somniel so high in the clouds, the sunshine was soft. And the scent of ripe peach was almost intoxicating.

Louis resisted the impulse to bite the first peach he plucked, and instead dutifully placed it in his basket.

"These things taste better every time I try one." Boucheron mused, one hand on a basket at his hip and the other hand beholding a bitten peach.

'Seems his impulses are more readily sated.' Louis thought, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Boucheron grinned, a drop of nectar racing down his chin. "Come on now, isn't it our duty to ensure that our charges and their guests get only the best?" He clutched the peach to his heart, as if taking a vow. "It's our job to taste test. It's a selfless task, I tell you."

"What nonsense you spout." Louis chuckled. "Why the theatrics and excuses when we are just as free to eat these as they are?"

He shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. "It made you laugh, didn't it?"

Louis rolled his eyes, a toothy grin betraying his feigned annoyance, plucking a new fruit. "I suppose I shan't argue with such wisdom."

He smiled back as he took a bite.


Louis bit his lip.

If Louis were not serving actual divinity itself; he would curse the Divines at how frequently he and his comrades were thrust into battle upon battle with new horrors and never-before seen feats of magic that made them discard whatever plans and tactics they had.

Quite honestly, even considering that, he might just curse their name anyway.

The power of an Emblem was surely at hand, judging by the sheer scale of water magic at play. Entire walls were composed not of stone, but of ice. Whoever wielded it did so wildly, casting walls haphazardly and splitting both the army and the enemy into pockets with the miasma enclosing them.

He hoped that the others faced fairer odds than he had.

Despite his wheezing from the miasma, Louis was indignant enough to make up for any lost strength. He skewered the skull of this last corrupted clear through to the ice behind it. The disquieting gasping of the enemy aside… the relief may as well have been a breath of fresh air.

But that was soon interrupted by a ping off of his back plate.

'The damned archer!'

What a fool he was. Whether he was addled by the miasma, or by the misplaced confidence in the thickness of his armour, it hardly mattered now. Any higher, and that arrow would have pierced his neck.

He ducked down, disregarding his lance to be behind his shield – The earlier strike from which should have already disabled that other corrupted beyond movement, beyond fighting… Of course, such inhuman beasts would never be that easy to kill.

Adrenaline renewed him, as he braced himself behind the shield and reached for the spear laced against his side.

The archer, its torso caved in, took a staggered step forth, reaching for its quiver –

Before the wall of ice behind it collapsed, a flurry of debris crushing it.

"Louis!"

He looked up from the body to see Boucheron running towards him, followed by a lick of flame and an echo of Céline's cheers.

Boucheron nearly crashed into him, before his hand grasped Louis by the wrist – "Are you hurt?"

Louis movements and thoughts stuttered. Boucheron's face was a mess of soot and sweat, and his expression –

But Louis' gaze was drawn from Boucheron, as Céline clambered over the ice, and Etie followed.

Etie watched the Princess regain her composure and walk towards Louis, ensuring she was away, before she looked down upon the gurgling corpse. She stomped on the corrupted's head. Its moaning was finally over.

Boucheron let go, which drew Louis' attention back.

"Thank you." Louis sighed, taking the moment to hang his head. Exhausted, but "I'm okay."

He thought he heard Boucheron sigh too.

"Drink." Boucheron said sternly, after whipping out some green tonic from his pack. His eyebrows furrowed together, and eyes were dark from the shadows crawling up the ice.

Louis had not the patience nor effort left in him to dwell on it all. He swilled the bitter liquid in two gulps.

"We do not know if a general antitoxic does much to relieve miasma inhalation, but it is our first resort." Princess Céline said hastily, her brow also knit. "I'm just so glad we got to you."

Other than the sticky tonic coating his throat, he felt nothing happen. He instead tried to focus on breathing, and ignore the crackling he felt in his lungs.

"We cannot tarry." She said softly. "I apologise."

Louis stretched, taking the moment to try and reset himself as best as he could. "Of course."

He strengthened his grip on his shield, hauling it up again. He intended to face his charge with a refreshed gaze, an attempt to reassure her that he was ready and as able as ever –

But realised that he was instead facing Boucheron – who's face lightened in relief.


"Ah hah! Wait right there!"

Louis had been shaken from his reverie, snapping his gaze back to the stairwell where he caught sight of Boucheron running back up the stairs from which he just came.

Looking back at his tea, he shook his head gently, fondly. A smile just faintly gracing his lips.

While at war, there was scarcely time for tea.

Ah, but it was not from lack of trying! It had grown into quite the joke between them. But by now, the cancellations grew so numerous and frequent, others had started to comment on the affair too.

A week ago: Prince Alfred requested Louis' aid with training his aim with spears and javelins. Boucheron, knowing how long this was likely to drag on, said farewell to him and Alfred with "We'll have tea another time, eh friend?"

Three days ago: The Divine Dragon interrupted the men as they walked towards the café. He was needing them and their charges to attend a tactics meeting. Louis agreed, and said to Boucheron "Another time, then?"

Why, even yesterday. Céline specifically apologised for "intruding on teatime again", but she required help rebinding a tome. And unfortunately, weapon repairs took priority in these times. Louis sighed dramatically, "One day, dear friend. One day we shall have tea." Boucheron chuckled as Céline apologised a hundred times over, and Louis tried to assure her he was not actually so put out by the delay.

Boucheron huffed, having returned from his jog to fetch whatever this bundle of fabric was in his hands. He placed it on the table and sat in the chair beside Louis, facing out towards the plaza and pool as he was.

"It's been so long I had nearly forgotten where I'd put everything." Boucheron said. "I've been meaning to return your handkerchief anyway."

"Is that what this was about?" Louis said, relaxing back in his chair, "Here I was thinking you wanted the joy of my company."

"That too." Boucheron waved dismissively, grin growing on his face, before returning to the task of untying the seemingly Gordian Knot he had made in the kerchief. "Anyway, those Solmic villagers we rescued a while back, remember when they let us rest in the village before heading to the capital? They served this drink made from a lemon and sugar cane."

"Lemon?" Louis furrowed his brow. "What might that be?"

"Here!" Boucheron said, finally producing a yellow ball from the bundle. "It's a fruit that grows near the borders of Solm. It kind of looks like an orange, doesn't it?"

The pitted surface did indeed match an orange.

"Here," Boucheron said, reaching for a knife as he smiled. "Let me cut you some. Have a taste while I make the drink."

He offered Louis a slice, which he took gingerly. The flesh seemed similar, too. And what a pleasant scent! As he put the fruit in his mouth –

"Bou –" he spluttered, the sour sting of the juice making him gag unexpectedly and reach for a napkin, "You!"

Boucheron guffawed, his barely contained smile finally bursting into pure joy at Louis' misfortune.

Louis' eyes watered and he retched into the napkin. "You dastard," he coughed, a tear trickling down his face as he grinned despite the awful sting of the fruit. He slapped at Boucheron's shoulder haphazardly, "What was that about?"

"Fogado and the villagers tricked me too." He said, leaning on the table and beaming. "I must say, much funnier from the other side."

Louis ungraciously chugged his tea and swished it in his mouth. At least this sort of astringency was expected. Boucheron clapped him on the back.

"They don't really eat these on their own. It's more of an ingredient." He said, drawing his hands back to squeeze the lemon into a glass of water. "It's not quite a juice, it's a flavour they add to water. Then they add sugar cane to cancel out that sourness. We only have sugar crystals, but, it's roughly the same effect."

He delicately gathered the handkerchief. Louis only just saw the loose sugar sitting at the bottom – a rare commodity at this time – and tipped it into the glass. And he began stirring it.

Boucheron failed to wipe the smile off his face. "They called it lemonade. It was delicious – you can trust me on this one."

Louis cocked his eyebrow at him.

Boucheron rolled his eyes. He bought the glass to his mouth, and drank.

"Ah." He sighed, placing it before louis. "It's not the same. But still quite nice. Have some?"

Louis did not break his stare. He grasped the drink and sipped.

It was still undeniably tart, but had indeed mellowed with the sugar. The fragrance was appealing… However, it still made his mouth pucker.

Boucheron shrugged. "Not everyone's… cup of tea, I suppose."

Louis refused to dignify that with a laugh. But he did smirk.

"Anyway." Boucheron said, folding the handkerchief. "It's about time I –"

"Keep it." Louis interrupted him.

"Oh?" Boucheron paused, his quarter turn half done.

Louis was also surprised. "I have a few. I will not miss one." He said, trying to convince himself that was the reason he suggested it.

Boucheron decided to not argue, and pocketed it. "If you say so."

Louis tried to shift from the unsaid question. And instead said "So help me, if you bring it back with another weird fruit hidden away in there, I shan't have it."

"Fine, fine." Boucheron grinned as he relaxed back in his seat, drink in hand.


After so long fighting these creatures… their worst fear was confirmed.

The corrupted were people.

Watching those damnable Hounds retreat, riding on top of the ashes and gore of the now disintegrating… people. The Holy Army was distraught with unease and revulsion, worse than had occurred even after their first encounter with the Corrupted.

The Divine Dragon and Princess Ivy had convinced and compelled the other leaders that the army should advance. But while this was logical move forward, all could see that Divine One fought to contain his disgust at the revelation and struggle to stay steadfast, and the Princess' firm and sure words distracted most from her eyes – glossy with tears that she refused to let fall.

Louis swallowed the bile that crept up this throat. He grit his teeth, hauling himself up from the ground.

Trying to leave dreadful thoughts behind. Trying to ignore the guts and hair in his boots. Trying to…

There were a few… misshapen Corrupted this time. Smaller.

He tore his gaze away from the corpses.

"Louis." Boucheron whispered softly.

Louis looked behind him. Infantry were gathering themselves sombrely. And Boucheron…

Boucheron knelt in the dirt and viscera. A hand axe was sticking out of the shoulder and neck of another dead Corrupted crumped by his feet.

They both knew it was vital to recover as much equipment as they could from each battle. One axe was worth its weight in gold, and countless more gold in resources required to make one.

"It's so obvious." He said, his voice strained. Tears rolling down his cheeks. "They look so human."

Louis walked to stand beside him.

Boucheron's back shuddered with gasping breaths. He choked back a sob. "Divines…"

Louis unbuckled his gauntlet, and slowly reached down towards Boucheron's shoulder. He jumped at the touch, but made no argument. He just cried, quietly.

Louis wanted to say something.

But found himself staring at the corpse.