"The bird cannot fly until it leaves its eggshell behind. The Dragon's Covenant will stifle Lugnica until it breathes no more, while we fly free."

(excerpt from a scholarly text during the King of Thorns' reign, ~100 After Calamity)

Chapter 5: Eggshell

As the sun fell into the horizon, Criff held up the sheet of paper and sighed.

Contrary to his expectations, Subaru was proving a fast learner. His only problem was retaining that information. Criff suspected that part had less to do with the boy being stupid and more with him being disinterested. Such behavior was something he was familiar with. After all, it was Criff Montier himself who ran House Godwin's uniform inspections, and he knew how dismissive people could get about his suggestions. That made much sense to him back then. More than once he had stared down demi-humans twice his size who were probably filled to the brim with unspeakable bloodlust as he cited the dress code to them.

That experience made him appreciate those who paid half a mind to what their lessers said. Vollachia was a pyramid, with the Emperor at the capstone and everyone else below, but just like a pyramid, it would crumble if the foundation was removed.

Subaru had to understand that.

"But it makes no sense!" the boy was saying, sitting down on his bed. "Does that mean anything's allowed so long as you're strong? It's a stupid way of thinking!" He crossed his arms and frowned thoughtfully.

Criff pointed at the pyramid he had drawn on the paper. "It's not exactly like that. High Count Peixit is a strong man, and he was a First-Class General less than a decade ago, but not all of the High Nobility are strong. Willpower and cunning matter just as much, even if they're less valued."

"Then why is strength all you talk about!?"

"Strength is made up of several parts." He paused for a second. "Let me think…yes, I know. Even the strongest man to ever live, Reid Astrea, is known to have been noticeably wise. The First Emperor learned much from the Sword Saint and founded the Empire on such lessons. Strength is wasted on a dimwit who can't reason, and the wisest of sages can find himself ignored if he lacks the strength to back his claims. Strength is about getting others to listen to you, and if you can do that without having to knock sense into them, all the better."

Subaru appeared to understand this reasoning. Still, he asked, "Then…why is everyone fighting all the time?"

Quickly, Criff put the sheet of paper he was holding on the desk and grabbed the first one he had drawn on, which depicted a map of the world. "Vollachia is the greatest nation for a reason. Conflict is the father of necessity, and - as a man named Hoshin once said - necessity is the mother of invention." He clicked his tongue. "In fact, the time of the Great Calamity saw many changes to the world, both for better and for worse. The Empire was founded from the turmoil of that time. Lugnica as we know it today was also born from the flames of that destruction."

"Um…why do you talk about Lugnica that way?"

Criff took a moment to draw something beside the map. It was an emblem: two dragons with a sword between them, pointing upward. "This is the Lugnican Crest. Four centuries ago, the dragons were lions. Before that…they were wolves. Vollachia once ruled over the world itself, and Lugnica broke away in rebellion. Vollachia did nothing back then: war with Lugnica presented many problems and was a last resort, so everyone sought negotiation…"

As his voice trailed off, Subaru asked, "It…didn't work?"

"As the stories go," he continued, "the tension between the countries reached a boiling point just a few years before the Great Calamity. Vollachia could not decide whether to strike out and start a war or try to continue negotiations…so the First Emperor made that choice himself. Every bard from here to Gusteko still sings about how he marched into the Crystal Palace and - for the first time in history - summoned the Yang Sword, which he used to execute the previous aristocracy."

When Subaru did not comment, he kept going. "The First Emperor immediately gave the Lugnican king, a man named Farsale, a decision: surrender and accept Vollachian rule or be made an example of." With a grim smile, he added, "Since Lugnica still stands, you can guess how successful that threat was. The Calamity tore the world in half before war could erupt, and when it was over, Farsale made a contract with a dragon to protect his Kingdom. That act of sheer cowardice was enough to foster the hatred that you see today. It is the reason we - the Sacred Vollachian Empire - have to be strong: because someday, that dragon will die, and Lugnica will be paid back for its folly."

Those words leaving his mouth were not his, but deep down, he believed in them. Despite knowing the dangers of being caught up in a fanatical craze, like most of House Godwin had been, he could not help but wish to be alive the day the Empire achieved its greatest victory. That wish came with his nationality. He doubted any Vollachian held any measure of care for the eastern Kingdom, which had for so long laughed in the Empire's face. While he had his reservations about some of the Empire's policies…he did not share such reservations when it came to Lugnica.

The shame those cowards inflicted on Vollachia persisted, no matter how hard everyone tried to deny its existence.

Criff only realized his thoughts had distracted him when he heard a new voice speak up with mocking amusement. "My, my, my…Father would have clapped you on the back and made you a Count for those words alone."

In a moment of panic, Criff did the first thing he could think of: he pointed his sheet of paper at the intruder, hoping to give them a papercut at least. Subaru scooted away from the door quietly.

Said intruder was an almost-unnaturally-tall young man, possibly just a year or two older than Criff himself. His yellow eyes sparkled with malicious glee, and his smirk looked as if he was trying to show off his teeth. What stood out the most was that ridiculously-expensive turquoise scarf around his neck, a sign of wealth and affluence.

Lowering his sheet of paper, Criff's voice took on a cautious tone as he said, "I did not believe we'd be seeing another High Count here." He eyed the man carefully. The newcomer's presence was unsettling. Something about him felt…uncanny.

"'High Count?'" The new man barked a laugh. "You think too highly of me, and too little, as well. I am the Augur, Palladio Manesque! Feel free to bow as deeply as you wish!"

Palladio Manesque!? But that was impossible! The man's territory lay near Ginunhive, on the other side of Vollachia! "H-how are you here, Lord Manesque?"

Palladio's smirk vanished, and he looked offended. "Fool! You should be happy that I am alive, and for the aid I have given dear Lamia! Were you one of my retainers, I would have corrected such behavior forcefully." He scoffed. "Clearly, Lamia let her little toys run around too freely. Did Berstetz teach her nothing? And look at you, all grimy and…stuff! One would think she'd learn to take better care of her men…why, my vassals at least look the part, unlike you."

Criff looked at Subaru, then back at the irate Lord in front of him. "Um…w-what?"

"Hm." Palladio's mouth drew into a thin line. "I waste my breath, talking to you. Perhaps you'll prove more amusing when we all gather for dinner." Just as Criff blinked, the Imperial heir suddenly grabbed him by the cheek. For a second, he said nothing, and then merely commented, "You must've been her cupbearer." With those words, he let Criff go and stepped away.

Only half a minute after Palladio left did Subaru speak up. "He seems mean."

Criff was speechless as he rubbed his cheek. The sheer gall! Did that man have no tact whatsoever!? To even insinuate such a thing…!

He missed Lamia Godwin dearly. She would never have said such a thing! A cupbearer, of all things! Cupbearers were regarded as the lowest among servants! Their entire role was to walk around with drinks and look pretty!

Curse Palladio Manesque!

By the time Gaoran's head maid called for dinner, Palladio was the first to arrive.

He had to give credit where credit was due: Gaoran Peixit ran a tidy household. Palladio's was tidier, naturally, but the High Count was to be commended nonetheless. If the Imperial heir played his cards right, the Count would be rewarded…as a member of the Manesque household.

The dining room on the first floor was a sight to behold. A massive rectangular table dominated the room, with nearly fifty chairs surrounding it. Four crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the room. On one wall, windows allowed the rapidly-vanishing sunlight to seep in, while the other wall displayed two paintings. The first painting was a classic, depicting a regal old man frowning thoughtfully as he stared down the crowd calling for his death. Two executioners pushed him toward a waiting guillotine. That was one of the most famous scenes in The Guillotine of Magrizza.

When Palladio laid eyes on the second picture, however, he simmered with quiet fury. It showed an elegant man in his fifties, bearing a cruel grin. His fiery orange hair was losing its color, but his ruby red eyes shone with evil. A crimson coat sat on his shoulders, unbuttoned and seemingly ignored, giving him a more casual look. That was useless: no one could look into Drizen Vollachia's eyes and see anything other than the scheming madman who had thrown Palladio into this mess.

Gaoran's voice cut through the silence, almost startling Palladio. "Admiring the artwork, Lord Manesque?"

"One could say that," he responded, backing away and taking his seat at one end of the table. "Father…he was not quite fond of paintings. I am."

"Yes. His Excellency was a man of literature, not art." Gaoran sat opposite to the heir, stroking his beard. "Accept my condolences for his passing."

The Evil Eye waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. I accept nothing. Do you forget his death was necessary? A weak old man can't rule Vollachia." Chuckling, he added, "Do you see Berstetz Fondalfon claiming to be Emperor? Precisely."

Gaoran's laugh resonated through the dining room. "You have a point there, Lord Manesque. Is your attendant coming?"

"Lutka prefers to eat alone, and I'll respect that, Lord Count. She and her kin are…not fond of public settings."

"Not the oddest tradition I have encountered. Let her know she is welcome to do as she desires."

Palladio smirked. "Oh, and am I not welcome to do just that as well? Do you feel the need to instruct my retainers on what they can and cannot do?"

Surprisingly enough, the High Count gave little reaction. "Our Empire is founded on the principle of strength, Lord Manesque. Your servants are yours, but this manor is mine, and Lady Godwin's. I have no interest in bowing to you."

Clicking his tongue, the Evil Eye tilted his head. "How curious, that you're so loyal to a corpse." He leaned back and put his feet up on the table. "Between you and that cupbearer, Lamia sure knew how to pick her subordinates."

Before the former Sky Rider could respond, that blonde man with the crooked nose entered, accompanied by that strange-eyed child. "And speaking of," Palladio added, motioning for the two to sit beside him, "here's all that's left of House Godwin, in one grand feast. Fate has been cruel to the whole lot of you, but I promise to be kinder…or at least try!"

The man and the kid sat together at the center of the table, away from either end. Palladio tried to avoid showing his displeasure at that decision.

It seemed the blonde man noticed this, because he cleared his throat and said, "I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that, uh…ahem, we are all pleased Lord Manesque is alright. Especially so following the…situation in Gairahal."

"Not quite alright," Palladio retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Alive, despite what others may wish, but not alright, far from it."

"Surely," the man continued, "you will be alright once you return to your land."

"Ha, is that it? You were in Gairahal, weren't you? What's your name?"

The man swallowed. "Criff Montier. First-Class Soldier."

Criff, eh? Given his disheveled appearance, it was easy to guess he had been involved in the disaster at Gairahal. "Tell me, cupbearer, how many of your friends fell in that battle? Why, I saw the entire Pruning Corps eradicated. Don't go telling me the normal infantry did just fine."

"The only loss that matters is Lady Godwin's," he responded. Clever man, dodging the question like that. Gaoran still held onto the deluded belief that his liege was still alive, but he was a fool. Criff, however…a most entertaining individual.

"I would've expected you to burn with rage, cupbearer. Maybe dear Lamia would have expected that too."

Palladio caught the High Count glancing at Criff discreetly, as if gauging his response. A response that never came, as he changed the subject. "Is this all we'll be talking about?"

The Imperial heir laughed. "Keeping track of current events is most important…but take your pick. Shall we discuss High Count Qisuni, and his blatant connection to House Abellux? Maybe High Countess Dracroy, and her enigmatic trip to Lugnica before her father burned to death by her hand? Would you care to hear about the swirling tempest of rebellion in Chaosflame, which grows every day our Empire is left leaderless?"

There was silence as a few servants entered, delivering their plates to each of the four individuals at the table. Palladio did not judge the food as he brought his feet down from the table. It was just some steak with a boiled egg on the side. The High Count's favorite, if Lamia had been truthful.

He waited until the servants had left before asking, "And who's the boy?"

"No one," Criff replied.

"No one is no one, cupbearer. You would deny the future Emperor information he seeks? Who do you think sits at the head of this table?"

"Way I see it, the Lord Count's at the head." The soldier did not even smile as he added, "If he's at the head, you can guess where you are…Lord Manesque."

Palladio laughed again. To be outwitted like this was entertaining, especially when he got his revenge for it. Oh, Lutka was the only one he would never outwit. She and this Criff would get along spectacularly.

Soon, however, Palladio noticed his laugh was joined in by another. It was the young boy, to whom he turned and asked, "So, child, who are you? Since the cupbearer refuses to say, I'm forced to resort to you for information." Palladio had little love for children, but his conversational partners at this table were limited.

The boy, as expected, responded with a proud grin. "I'm Natsuki Subaru! A Stargazer!"

Palladio's smile did not fall, but it lost its mirth. His voice turned icy as he muttered, "Why…a Stargazer…? How most intriguing!" Clapping his hands, he continued, "And at such a young age! You've found a prodigy, cupbearer! Ha! What great service you've done for the Empire!"

"The Empire…or you?" Criff asked.

"Fool that you are," the Evil Eye answered. "I am the Empire."

Surprisingly, it was Gaoran who interjected. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Lord Manesque. The throne is not yet won."

Palladio held up his boiled egg for a moment, displaying it for the rest to see, before hitting it against the table to crack the shell. In one swift move, he disposed of the shell. "For a bird to fly, it must leave its nest. For a bird to leave its nest, it must leave its egg." He balanced the egg on his index finger. "We can only grow if we're released from our confines…and I would say that no one is freer of confines than I."

When no one responded, he placed the egg on the table and spun it. "Hearken, all of you. Is our Empire not built on conflict? Do we not sit here, today, because our First Emperor believed in the unequivocal truth of this world? The truth that says kingdoms survive not through words, but through actions? That men and women, human or not, decay in the comforts of tranquility but grow in the fires of change?" He stopped the spinning egg with his finger. "We must all break out of our eggshells. I have done so already, and I am the first, the only one left. For that alone, I will win."

They all looked at him, stared at him, so he snickered. "Don't tell me you're all uneducated in history! Tell me, what's there in the world as perfect as destruction? I have lost everything but my life, and for that, I will regain what I lost and more! Everything that can be destroyed can be rebuilt stronger than before." He lifted a finger, and it was immediately surrounded by a small ring of fire. The Yang Sword's might, at his beck and call. "Destruction is majestic. Majestic. It alone is the creator of all things."

He grabbed his utensils and cut a piece of steak, adding, "Please, feel free…I order you to enjoy your meal."

Arakiya was not cunning.

She knew that as well as she knew her own name. It shamed her to admit it, but she was aware she lacked the skill to come up with the devious schemes that defined the Vollachian aristocracy. Lady Prisca always told her that Arakiya wore her heart on her sleeve, and that it was not an issue: after all, the only thing she needed to do was obey.

That was it. All she needed to do was follow orders.

Which was why she found herself tormented by the events of the previous day as Prisca took a seat on one of her manor's luxurious couches. Arakiya stood opposite to her, in front of an ornate chair. She had no desire to sit down, and yet…

"Are you not going to sit?"

Prisca asked her that with a hint of confusion, and Arakiya softly responded, "Not tired." That was not a lie. She felt unbelievably ill after eating part of one of the Four Great Spirits, but she was not tired. Far from it.

She was looking down at the floor, but she could see Prisca frown just slightly out of the corner of her eye. "Is that so? Are you so foolhardy as to refuse yourself some much-needed rest?"

With that gentle chastisement, Arakiya shook her head and sat down. It was a relief to be back home, in the manor, and have a moment of peace. She did need it.

But this would not be her home much longer.

That was what haunted her. The battle had left her exhausted and sick, but there was something more. The deal she had made with Vincent. The knowledge that, if she wished to save Prisca, she would have to destroy her. It was a weight on her shoulders that sickened her far worse than any half-digested Great Spirit ever could.

Arakiya was not cunning. She knew that, and yet she tried her best to figure out a way around this. Her deal was not binding. If she wished, she could go against it and challenge Vincent and that self-satisfied irritating bastard of a "swordsman" he kept around…but what would that accomplish?

Over the years, she had slain dozens of would-be assassins, each and every one seeking to claim Prisca's life. Quite a few of them had tried to challenge her head-on, wielding everything from wands to kitchen knives, and they had all met their end. It was inevitable. They had tried to fight what could not be fought, and struggled uselessly until the end. If they had any sense, they would have laid down their arms and surrendered, or fled.

Arakiya could not flee. Prisca could not flee. They could surrender, and allow Vincent to claim the throne, and carry out his plan to keep his younger sister safe, or they could fight.

Arakiya was not weak. If she fought, alone and unarmed, against every soldier in House Abellux's payroll, she had a chance of winning…but she could not best Cecilus Segmunt. If it came down to a fight between the two, she would lose, as she had already.

Arakiya was not cunning, but she could tell what came next. Once all the other aspirants for the throne were killed, it would be up to her to determine her fate, along with Prisca's. They could not flee, but they could surrender, or die trying to win, like so many others had.

It was not this choice that tore at the Spirit-Eater's heart, it was the fact that she - the tool, the bodyguard, the single-minded warrior - had to make that choice. It was up to her, the girl who merely obeyed orders, to decide her master's fate.

She had no orders to follow, no guide to solve this troubling dilemma. Either Prisca died and she died with her, or Prisca lived and knew that her most trusted subject had turned her back on her, had thought her too weak to win and sentenced her to…whatever came after this.

Arakiya was not cunning. She was a soldier, and good soldiers did not need to be cunning. Good soldiers followed orders and did as instructed…but could she really do that? Could she spend her final moments knowing that she had the chance to save Prisca and did not take it? Would Vincent spare her life out of cruelty, or send her to the grave as a final act of mercy?

Did she care to find out?

Then again, could she go and destroy what her master had done? Could she live with herself, knowing that somewhere out there, Prisca despised her for her cowardice, for her lack of faith, for her betrayal? What good would it even do to live when she could never see Prisca again?

"That face does not suit you." Prisca's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and Arakiya looked up to meet her master's gaze.

"Princess…?"

"You are in mine presence," the scarlet-clad girl explained, "and you were most helpful in that battle. There is no reason for mine servant to look so glum."

Arakiya nodded, rubbing her eyes softly. She had no answer to that remark, and she did not feel like smiling. She decided to just stay quiet.

There was reason enough to be glum. Fate had heaved the responsibility of deciding Prisca's future upon her shoulders, and she was unsure of what to do. What seemed like a simple choice was too great for her to deal with alone.

Yet, some part of her knew what had to be done. For her whole life, Arakiya's only goal, only dream, only desire, was to keep Prisca safe at any cost, no matter who stood in her way. If Prisca's future had to be built atop a pile of corpses, so be it. If Arakiya had to be one of those corpses, so be it.

Arakiya was not cunning, but she was determined. She lived to keep Prisca safe. That was her reason for existing.

If she had to earn her princess's ire and betray her to keep her safe…then so be it.

"To victory!"

A cacophony of cheers arose, drowning out Vigo's exuberant cry. Commoners and nobles, men and women, humans and demi-humans, all gathered around him as he raised his glass to the sky and cheered.

The occasion was obvious.

Just an hour prior, as the sun set in the distance, an emissary had arrived at the Qisuni manor, bearing news of Lamia Godwin's death. Unlike the neighboring High Count Peixit, Lord Qisuni did not doubt the news for a second, and called for his subjects to gather and celebrate.

Now, as he stood atop the stairs in his manor's anteroom and the cheers around him turned into incoherent chanting, Vigo raised his hand to silence them. When it was quiet enough for him to speak, he began, "My brothers and sisters! Sons and daughters of Vollachia! Today marks the beginning of a new era! House Godwin has come and gone, and soon it will be little more than a footnote in the history books!"

Quite a few cheers rose, but they died out rather quickly. "I will admit," the High Count continued, "that public speaking is not one of my strengths." He smiled at that, and some among the crowd chuckled. "Speeches are Erzula's thing, as much as she may despise them, so I'll uh…stick to just outright lying and hoping you all believe me."

Pausing for a few seconds, he scanned the faces in the room. Most of those gathered he recognized by their faces only, but a few had stood by his side for as long as he could remember. Moira, his secretary, who seemed to lack all color except black or white. Pietr, his son, who had exceeded all his expectations. Luzia, his daughter, who he loved despite her rebellious streak.

"So, it's only fitting that I give you a few words in my beloved wife's absence." He cleared his throat. "Today changes everything. What little opposition - if it can even be called that - stands in our path will be swiftly removed. This much I can guarantee you: our fight is not yet over, but it's as good as won. It will be House Qisuni's banner flying over Faradar — over Lupugana! — and none other!"

That earned him excessive applause and cheering. The loss of Faradar was a sore spot for many in House Qisuni, and news that the town's new owner - Gaoran Peixit - had allied himself with Godwin was ill received. Now, they were a source of elation. Vincent Abellux, the Emperor-to-be, was bound to restore Faradar to its rightful owner if its current Lord was a sworn enemy of his.

Besides, it had been Vigo who aided House Abellux since the beginning, going as far as involving the ever-so-cautious Imperial Hand in the Ceremony, something that would earn him far worse than a stern reprimand from the Spymasters if they caught wind of it. Of course, if the Emperor was the one being aided by such a violation of tradition, he was certainly going to take Vigo's side in this matter.

As the cheers died down and gave way to conversation among the guests, Vigo drank from his glass of water — he despised all of those fancy wines the other High Nobles held so dear — and walked away from the sounds of revelry coming from the anteroom.

He strolled through his manor's second-floor hallway, greeting any of the guards who had not attended the celebration. There were quite a few: the Qisuni manor was enormous, and Vigo spared no expense when it came to its security. All of the guards, clad in their violet uniforms with their faces hidden behind their helmets' faceplates, bowed to him lower than necessary, but he paid no heed. Today, he was in a bit of a hurry.

It took him a few minutes to traverse the wide hallways and climb a few winding stairs, but he arrived at his private study with the same energy he had left the anteroom. Good. He could not let old age take his vitality when it had already stripped him of his looks.

As he reached to open the door to his study, the floor creaked behind him, and he grinned. "You've lost your advantage now," he remarked.

A mildly-surprised voice responded, "Did you really set these floorboards to creak on purpose? How shrewd."

He opened the door and turned, coming face-to-face with his monochromatic secretary. Moira stood as tall as him, garbed in a black-and-white robe reminiscent of those Kararagian kinomos, or whatever they were called. Her skin was pale, a rather strange trait to have in Vollachia. Underneath her amber eyes were two small teardrop-shaped tattoos. Vigo never discovered how she came to have them.

"I sure will miss sneaking up on you," she sighed, stepping into the study. She was incredibly out of place, given the room's vibrant colors.

"And I sure won't. You should be spending your time productively, not sneaking up on people. We're tired of your silly games."

Moira grumbled, and he walked into the study before closing the door.

This particular room was one of the few that Vigo himself had not decorated, and it showed. The walls shone in seven different colors, and paintings adorned the walls. The lone desk in the center, which faced the door, was kept tidy. Beautiful purple flowers sat in an elegant vase opposite a neat pile of papers.

Vigo walked over to his chair and sat down, then crossed his arms and said, "Whatever you have to tell me, make it quick."

"Palladio Manesque," she responded. "He has not yet returned home. None know where he is."

"His location is of little concern. Palladio is pathetic. He won't try anything aside from running or hiding."

"Shall I order the agents to change targets?"

"Their time is better spent chasing after rebels and the like. Give the order."

Before he even finished his sentence, she spoke, "There is one more thing: your presence is requested in the Imperial capital. I believe you know who wishes to see you."

Resisting the urge to sigh audibly, Vigo nodded and rubbed his eyes. The Spymasters - well, the one he always met, though he was sure there were several - could ruin his mood in an instant. It was incredibly hard for him to keep his mouth shut when his "superiors" were cocky brats hiding behind magic hoods and playing at being spies.

He grabbed a piece of paper from the pile near his left hand and checked that it was blank. Once that was done, he reached for his quill and began to write. Without looking up, he said, "Tell them I'm a tad busy at the moment. Delay the meeting as much as you can, but don't push too much. The last thing we want is the Cloaks suspecting us of hiding something."

"Given who they are, Lord Count, they surely do not suspect. They know."

Vigo bit his lip and nodded again. The Spymasters were nightmares in human form, somehow omniscient despite everyone's best efforts to keep them in the dark. The more one tried to hide something, the less time it took the Spymasters to discover it.

And, as it just so happened, Vigo Qisuni was hiding something: the fact that he had misappropriated Imperial Hand agents.

Now, how would one misappropriate people? More than that, how would one misappropriate Vollachian spies and assassins who lived their whole lives begging for the Emperor's scraps?

The answer lay in the Emperor Selection Ceremony. Because this was a time in which Vollachia was left leaderless, its future Emperor or Empress battling other contenders, anyone who sought to aid a certain candidate for the throne had the right to do so. High Counts and First-Class Generals did not pledge support often - at least, not publicly - but almost everyone below them played some part in helping some Yang Sword wielder ascend to the throne. It was common for close friends to find themselves on opposing sides of the battlefield as a cruel twist of fate, as part of the Observers' cruel game.

Unfortunately, there was a certain tradition, one adhered to as strongly as if it was law. No Imperial Hand agent of any rank was permitted to participate in the Ceremony. Vigo was a commander of the Imperial Hand, second to the Spymasters in rank, and he had gotten several of his agents involved at Vincent Abellux's request.

A negligible issue, one he hoped would be cleared up by the new Emperor as thanks for his loyalty…but if the Spymasters caught him before the Ceremony ended…

Vigo was Vollachian through and through, but he had no desire to die, not when so many things remained unfinished. He was content with being the first to go, so long as he went with no regrets. So long as he finished everything that needed to be done.

In the Qisuni household, it seemed like there were always new things that needed doing every day, so Vigo was determined to not get himself killed just yet.

Once he finished writing on the paper, he rapped his knuckles against the desk. He read the letter he wrote and handed it to Moira, waving his hand as a silent command for her to deliver it at once.

As she left to fulfill that command, Vigo sighed. This situation was proving more troublesome than anticipated. He needed to see the Ceremony through as soon as possible, but that meant Vincent needed allies.

There it was. Vincent Abellux had strength, but he could not chase down every last miserable peon that aimed for the throne…but there was someone who could. The Sky Riders were renowned for their tracking skills, and there were countless tales of them hunting down unsuspecting rebels and blowing them apart from above the clouds.

A few Riders could find and eliminate every last holdout in a matter of weeks at most, and if those Riders were among the best, they could do it in days. Well…

It just so happened that Gaoran Peixit, Lord of the Cumulus, was considered the greatest Sky Rider alive.

For once, fate took pity on Criff Montier.

The Peixit manor was easy to traverse, given its pentagonal shape. He had a vague idea as to where everything was, having spent a full day in the building, and he knew that the High Count's office - or study, or whatever - was located on the third floor, overlooking the main road. One of the servants had been kind enough to let that slip.

That disastrous dinner had solidified his resolve. Something needed to be done about Palladio Manesque, and Criff knew what that something was. It was a matter of time before that flamboyant bastard brought down the combined might of Benedict and Abellux down on their heads. To him, Criff was just collateral damage.

So be it, then.

If Palladio did not care about Criff, then Criff could not afford to care about Palladio. This was the mindset that came with being Vollachian. Everyone had to look out for themselves. Mercy was a privilege reserved for the strong.

That was why Criff found himself stalking the hallway that held Gaoran's office. Not a single light illuminated the hall, and he had to navigate by moonlight. Thankfully, it meant he could also see that no light came from the office itself. It had to be empty.

It was with the utmost care that he slipped out of the shadows in the corner he had been hiding in. As slowly as he could, he retrieved a dirty fork he had hidden up his sleeve — it was to be his lockpicking tool.

The floorboards creaked ever so slightly underneath him, but he continued undeterred. Once outside the door, he placed one of the fork's tines against the doorknob's lock and fiddled with it. After a few agonizing seconds of his horrible attempt at breaking and entering, he threw the fork to the ground, exasperated. His sister had made lockpicking sound easy!

While he knelt in front of the door, the dirty fork beside him, Criff pondered on his next step. He could either sneak down to the kitchens and steal another utensil to try his luck or return to his room and call it a day. Quickly, he glanced around. The hallway was empty. No harm in trying again, then…

Before he could stand, a soft sigh came from behind him. "Do not say I did not warn you."

The shock prompted Criff to do anything, either turn and fight or try and flee, but both options were lost the moment a hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt, forcefully turned him, and slammed him against the office door. He tried to struggle, but the assailant was far stronger than him, and Criff yelped as a few needle-like points embedded themselves into his neck.

In the hallway's darkness, he could make out a faint outline of his attacker. "Y-you!" he wheezed. "T-the m-ma-aid!"

Ceyda glared at him as she lifted him up with one hand. Even for a demi-human, she was incredibly strong. Criff would have expected her age to weaken her a bit, but if anything, it seemed to make her stronger. "It is a shame I have to do this," she muttered. "The Lord Count will be saddened by your…disappearance."

With all the strength he could gather, Criff swung his leg, aiming the tip of his foot at the maid's ribs. Although his job in Lamia's army had kept him away from the front lines most of the time, he had learned to defend himself all the same. This particular strike was a good one, and if it wor—

It did not work. Criff cursed loudly as his right leg flared up with pain. He was sure his foot was all broken: it felt like someone had dropped a boulder on it. Every nerve in his leg screamed in agony, and he writhed in the maid's grasp as she tightened her hold on his neck, slowly choking him.

"Imbecile," Ceyda hissed. "You would test your feeble strength against a dragonkin?"

Criff ignored her and tried to claw at her forearm. It did not work. It was as if the woman could not bleed. Nothing could pierce her skin. Criff struggled, hitting the maid's arm however he could, trying to wrench himself free of her grip. She was choking him. He could barely breathe. He was dying. Dying.

No. No, no, no, NO! Not after he escaped that battlefield! Not now, in some hallway! Not now and not ever! No! Criff Montier would not die like this, strangled by some maid, not after he had survived Gairahal!

He reached out with his hand, trying to claw at Ceyda's face. When he found he did not reach, he brought both of his hands to her forearm and spat in her eye.

For an instant, the dragonkin recoiled, and in that very same instant Criff pushed her arm upward, freeing himself. So, dragonkin had weak eyes. Good to know.

As he dropped to the floor, he bit back an anguished cry, trying his best to not lean on his right leg. He crouched and retrieved the dirty fork, then swiftly thrust it at Ceyda's face.

She moved away, of course. Criff went on the offensive, trying to stab Ceyda in the eye with her own utensil. Again and again, he swung the fork, pushing the maid against the opposite wall as he tried his best to wound her.

Then, as he flipped the fork to hold it in a reverse grip, Ceyda grabbed his hand and brought it towards her, stretching his arm, before hitting him in the back of the elbow. Criff went down, holding his arm as it hung limp at his side. It was broken.

Ceyda grabbed him by the neck again and sneered, showing off her fangs. They would have fit more on a mabeast than on the elderly maid. "Is this how you treat your hosts? What kind of rabble was Lamia Godwin hiring, if she deemed fit to employ you?"

"T-take that back," he mumbled, weakly fighting back with his remaining arm. "She was more than…you'll ever be."

The maid gave a malicious laugh. "But of course. I would never presume myself to be equal to an Imperial heir." She emphasized the words with disgust. "Of course, I would never die like that either, betrayed and abandoned. Where were you when that happened? In what hole did you hide away?"

She tightened her grip on his neck, choking him slowly, and continued in a lower voice. "Your mistress was just like the rest of those brats. Just a child looking to earn Drizen's approval."

Take it back…

Criff could not speak, could not respond. Ceyda brought him closer, and with a smirk, uttered, "I, for one, am glad she is gone. It was what she deserved. What they all deserve. The true Emperor is here, not playing with that sword in some dingy hideout somewhere."

"That is quite enough, Ceyda."

The new voice boomed through the hallway, and Criff turned to look for its source. From the shadows emerged the High Count, imposing as ever and stroking his beard. He did not look at all concerned about what was transpiring right in front of his office.

Immediately, Ceyda bowed her head in reverence. "He was trying to trespass into your study."

Criff met Gaoran's gaze. The High Count did not look disturbed or shocked by the news. Instead, he held that same thoughtful expression he always had. Trying to decipher what he was thinking was almost impossible.

"Let him go," the White-Cloud General commanded, and Ceyda did as instructed. Criff slumped to the floor, coughing and rubbing his neck with his good arm. The maid loomed over him, poised to strike again if ordered to do so.

Gaoran's voice was devoid of any discernible emotion as he spoke, "Accept my apologies for what just happened, mister Montier. No adherent to House Godwin should be treated in such a way. However, I must ask you to refrain from attempting such…stunts again."

For almost fifteen seconds, Criff did not respond, and not just because he was struggling to breathe after being choked nearly to death. The High Count was going to just…overlook this? Coughing, the beaten soldier began, "L-lord Cou—"

"Your arm is broken." The way Gaoran said it made his injury sound like a minor inconvenience. "I will have someone help you with it, as soon as you return to your room. As for you, Ceyda…we have matters to discuss."

Ceyda bowed again. "If you return to your room," she said, "kindly return that fork to the kitchen. The staff must be worrying that they lost it."

Neither Count nor maid moved as Criff forced himself to his feet and backed away from them quickly. He nervously glanced at both of them, terrified by their calm demeanor. That behavior, that sheer nonchalance…

It was inhuman. No, it was monstrous.

With fear in his soul, Criff turned and ran down the hallway, away from the High Count and the maid.

"Erm, mister Manesque?"

Palladio turned to see who had called his name. It took him a moment to see Subaru, but when he did, he put on that same evil grin he had on during the dinner and brought his pipe away from his lips. That doll-like woman stood to his left. She made for a strange sight, given she was almost half as tall as her master. Then again, Palladio was incredibly tall.

They — and Subaru, for that matter — were at the manor's entrance, atop the stairs that led to the front door. Two rectangular buildings that looked like warehouses stretched for almost a block, aligned with the pentagonal manor's vertices. Criff had mentioned they were probably barracks for the Peixit private army. They now housed Palladio's forces, as part of his agreement with the High Count.

It was night outside, and the stars shone in the sky. That massive tower with the strange platforms at its peak loomed over the manor, its silhouette standing proud as if guarding this domain.

"Look who's here, Lutka," Palladio chuckled. He handed his pipe to the doll woman, Lutka, and she held it for him. "What brings you to my most humble presence, o' great Stargazer? Here to tell my future? I already know it!" He waved his hand, shooing him away. "Now leave me be, flea."

Subaru made sure to stand a few meters away from the man, but made no move to leave. "Mister Manesque…how'd you get that coat?"

The azure coat Palladio wore was incredibly conspicuous, and not just because of its fine regal look. Golden patterns covered its front and sleeves, patterns that…looked oddly familiar to Subaru. If nothing else, they resembled an incredibly butchered version of something in Japanese.

In fact, he could even make out some words here and there, though that was mostly out of speculation. Nothing in the tall man's coat made sense grammatically, but some of it was not mangled beyond recognition.

Upon hearing his question, Palladio laughed mockingly. "You're nowhere near worthy of wearing such a thing! Telling you where I got it would be an insult to both myself and all of this coat's previous owners." Scoffing, he added, "Not even a Sta~rga~zer is fit to wear such a thing, for it is the future Emperor's attire."

"Esteemed Lord," Lutka interrupted, "your attire is missing the Emperor's feathers."

Palladio raised his hand. "You're quickly outliving your usefulness as a jester, Lutka. As Emperor, I will cut down all who fail to prove themselves amusing."

"Do not say such things, Esteemed Lord. You would have to cut yourself down."

"Why, you…!"

The Imperial heir glared at his servant, a ring of fire forming on his raised hand. Before he could do anything else, Subaru spoke up, "Hey! I really need to know where you got that coat, mister. It's important!"

Suddenly, Palladio sliced his hand horizontally, and a gust of wind hit Subaru in the face. It did not hurt, but he covered his face with his hands instinctively, and — once he figured the wind would not hurt him — he lowered his hands.

A small chunk of his raven-black hair hovered in the air for a second before floating quickly to Palladio's hand. He caught it, looked at it, and—

"Leave me be, flea."

The voice was undeniably Palladio's, high-pitched and sounding as if it constantly teetered on the verge of indignation, but the man had not opened his mouth. It was almost like…telepathy.

"How amusing," he spoke normally. "I never grow tired of seeing people's reactions to my little trick."

Subaru stared, mouth agape. He had figured by now that this world had magic, that much was obvious, but this was the first time it affected him directly. There was an odd feeling in the back of his head, like a sixth sense, whenever Palladio spoke through that telepathic link. It felt as if someone was breathing down his neck.

"Leave me be, flea," the man repeated. "Pester that cupbearer instead. I have matters to attend to."

Shaking his head, the young boy responded, "No! Cut that out and answer me!"

Palladio laughed in disbelief, his voice echoing in Subaru's mind and ears. "So, you have more courage than your cupbearer, to stand up to me! You prove your worth! Magnificent!" He clapped his hands, and his voice sounded normal once again. "But…you're all bark, and no bite. A yapping dog isn't worth my time."

With a dramatic flourish, the Emperor's son spread his arms. "This coat, it was my father's. He treasured it, but he never wore it, so I stole it from him. Don't know how he got it, and don't care either." A pause. "Does that answer your question, dog?"

It most certainly did not, but it was enough of a clue. If Palladio was the Emperor's son, that meant the Emperor had somehow gotten that coat. If Subaru could somehow trace the coat back to its origin point, he might discover just who was responsible for writing the Japanese that styled the garment's front. If he found that person, he could find a way home.

Easier said than done! Who knew how many side quests stood between him and this mysterious possibly-Japanese tailor? Besides, if everyone in this Empire was going to be as rude as Palladio, he was going to have a very hard time keeping himself from yelling at them.

"You got your answer," Palladio spoke. "Kindly leave my sight, now."

He stuttered, his train of thought derailed by the ill-mannered Vollachian's interruption. He gave the man a short bow, muttered his thanks, and began to walk away.

"Halt." As he reached the front door, Palladio's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I find your yapping amusing, dog, but that can change very quickly. Endeavor to become a real Stargazer soon, and maybe I'll reconsider my opinion of you. In the meantime, I shall eagerly await to see when you leave your eggshell."

Subaru paused for a moment, then opened the doors and entered the manor.

AN: Yeah, Palladio's wearing a medieval Japanese supreme hoodie and he doesn't realize it.

As for the topic of history: it's a mess. History in R0 is more poorly-kept than a gas station bathroom, and given we know so little about the Great Calamity era, it's really up to interpretation. Of course, the history Criff believes took place is not necessarily the truth, given that the Empire had 400 years or so to manipulate it as needed.