Chapter 51: hi mom dad
Middle Fire Month, 12th Day, 600 AGG
"Gork, you idiot!" The goblin in question dropped the misshapen plank of wood he was carrying as Chief Grun yelled at him. "You cut all these wrong! And why were you cutting them anyways?! Leave the craftsmanship to Stum!"
Gork wasn't able to answer Chief's complaints. He was too busy howling in pain at his bruised foot, hopping up and down on the other while Chief stared in exasperation.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
"I swear…" Chief Grun rubbed his forehead with a groan before laying a hand over Gork's foot. "『Light Healing』."
"Ow—wow!" Gork stopped his screeching and excitedly rubbed his healed foot. "Thanks Chief!"
"Yes, yes," Chief's chest sank with a great exhale. "Gork, why don't you go feed the Worgs? Leave the uh, complicated things to the others."
"Okay Chief!" Gork did that salute thingy he saw the humans do all the time. They had set up a base—or their own village—nearby the goblins' for 'exercises,' but always refused to stay with him and his fellow goblins despite their invitations.
That said, they were still happy to send people every now and then to train them in things that Gork didn't really understand: like the robed human who taught Chief about all sorts of weird human stuff.
"Feed, feed, feed!" He merrily sang to himself while carrying a bucket full of entrails to the Worg den on the outskirts of the village. "Here! You eat and be big!"
Gork dumped the innards in front of the den's entrance and hurriedly scampered off. He had absolute faith that Wings' guardian would protect them from harm, but Worgs were scary.
Gork shivered at the thought of the wolf-like monsters chewing on him instead of the guts they were given. But it was still fun! Although now that he was done, he should… Chief didn't tell him anything else.
Determined to make himself useful and not-bored, the goblin ran to the center of the village, head turning to and fro looking for Chief and—
"Wings!" Gork slacked his gaping mouth at the angel—the humans said she was an angel, and they knew about all sorts of things Gork and Chief didn't—as he sprinted up to them: completely unaware of his fellows who had elected to hang back instead. "Wings, Wings, Wings!"
"Who?" The angel spun around with widened eyes. "Oh! Gorp, how are you doing?"
"I'm Gork," he reminded Wings. It wasn't surprising that she would forget; the humans who said she saved their kingdom or whatever—he didn't know what that meant—also had a hard time telling the goblins apart. "Got to feed Worgs! Wanna watch?"
"Um…" The angel looked oddly nervous. Maybe it was some angel-way of showing excitement. The other humans seemed to dislike watching the Worgs get fed; but Wings was the nicest, so she'd probably be different and want to watch with him! "That's, um, that's nice! I'm just here to hang around for a bit, but maybe you could show me the Worgs next time?"
"Hrmm!" Gork nodded with the confident understanding of one who understood nothing. "Okay! Where Wings hanging out?"
"Here," Wings motioned at the two stones the village had been built around. "Y'know, talking for a bit and… yeah."
"Okay!"
Wings stared at him. Gork stared back.
Before Gork could ask why she was staring, the angel sighed and rubbed his hairless head. "Fine, you can stay."
Gork didn't know why Wings said he could stay, but since she did, he shrugged and approached the stones alongside the angel.
They halted before the two big rocks. Gork expectantly looked up at Wings who seemed to be struggling with the 'talking' she said she was going to do.
He sure hoped Chief wouldn't yell at him because Wings took too long…
"Sorry for not coming by more often," Wings finally spoke and apologized to the stones, not to Gork. It made sense: the stones must be very important if Wings had bothered to place her guardians there in the first place. "I was busy—no, that's a lie. I just… didn't wanna think about it. I'm sorry."
Gork was astounded. Were the rocks so important that even Wings felt bad for not worshiping them?
"Is that wrong? To kinda forget about you guys?" She talked as if Gork wasn't there at all. "Even before I came to this world, when I was busy with officework and stuff, I still thought about you and Dad a lot. Now… there's whole days where I don't think about… y'know."
The angel shifted her weight from foot to foot while staring at the ground. Gork looked where she was looking and scratched his head in confusion. First, he had learned that even Wings had parents—although he supposed that wasn't too surprising: most people he met did—and now they were dead somehow.
"So um, I have a girlfriend! Someone who wants to put up with me, could you believe it?" Wings awkwardly laughed to herself. "You've already met, actually! We weren't dating, uh, courting back then though."
A pale, slender digit traced the roughly etched name on one of the stones. "I don't think I told you guys her name last time." Wings lowered her arm and let it fall limply to her side. "Draudillon Oriculus. It's a really nice name, don't you think?"
Despite his immense curiosity, Gork refrained from touching the etchings. Were they making Wings sad? Would he be sad if he touched them too?
"She's like, super put together," Wings continued without waiting for the monuments to respond. "But there was this one time I caught her and Martin arguing over something, and she just had her tongue stuck out like—like this!"
Wings stuck out her tongue and squeezed her eyes closed before opening again with a small giggle. Gork happily clapped from the side. Laughing was good!
To his dismay, the laughter came to a pitiful halt as sadness overcame Wings again. It was confusing. Did thinking about her dead parents make her sad? Then why did she want the village and her summons to keep the rocks clean and safe?
"I guess you two would be pretty surprised. I never… got a chance to, to tell you," she began sniffling and wiping her eyes again. "U-Ugh, sorry, I—was scared back then, but now I'll n-never get to."
Wings covered her mouth with a hand in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that bled through.
"Mom… Dad… if you saw me now, would you still recognize me?" Choked words escaped from between the angel's fingers. "M-My voice doesn't even sound the same anymore. And I, I've done a lot of, I've—!"
She leaned against the big stones, clenched fists and arms propping her trembling form against the gravemarkers.
"Maybe it's good you can't see me anymore," the angel bitterly mumbled. "I'm just a… I dunno."
Wings bit her bottom lip, pressing her forehead against one of the monoliths—her eyes shut tight as she let out little sobs that filled the goblin with an unexplainable sense of pity.
He frantically shook his head. Pitying Wings was definitely disrespectful! Chief would get mad if he knew, and Gork didn't want to get stuck with dumping all the waste for a whole week again.
And so he waited, and waited, and waited until the angel's crying faded into the background as boredom overtook his mind. He almost shouted about how bored he was, but Chief would get angry at that too.
"Sooo," Gork kicked the tufts of grass growing around the twin rocks, unwilling to bear the boring silence any longer. "Wanna see Worgs?"
"H-Haha," Wings turned her head and cracked a small smile that reminded Gork of the tired ones Chief wore all the time before they met the angel's summon and settled down. "Might as well. Where are they?"
"Follow!"
He knew she was the nicest!
"Message from Re-Estize, Your Majesty," Jircniv accepted the letter from the courier and carefully unfolded it. All materials sent to him underwent a strict screening process, so he wasn't particularly concerned over the possibility of the letter being trapped. In all honesty, if someone from Re-Estize managed to sneak a trap from under his security's notice, he deserved it. "By your leave."
The Emperor of Baharuth regally nodded and dismissed the messenger. "No name, huh?"
"It must be from their Third Princess then, Your Majesty," his trusted secretary, Lounge Vermillion, commented. "If it's more progress on flushing out Eight Fingers, then I'll have to contact the generals in charge of that operation."
"Hm. No, it's pretty standard—expected of her I'd say. She's pleading for an end to the war and is even willing to offer herself up as a hostage."
Jircniv couldn't say he was surprised, but then why did he feel so uneasy? This much was consistent, predictable even, from Re-Estize's vaunted Golden Princess. Was he paranoid?
Of course he was. He wouldn't have become Emperor if he wasn't.
'But perhaps I'm being overly cautious,' Jircniv sank into a deep contemplation. 'All her actions are directed towards improving the wellbeing of Re-Estize's populace. Even our collaboration in dismantling Eight Fingers could be seen as supporting that goal.'
The only things that drew suspicion was how willing she was to work with the Empire and her inability to implement any of her suggested reforms. He could overlook the latter: Re-Estize nobility were averse to investing in new innovations and generally ran around like a headless chicken… until now. The former—
'E-Rantel and its surroundings are ours. This is a good opportunity to put an end to hostilities for the time being. Some sort of hostage exchange…' Going any further than this would put an incredible strain on their economy. From here, he could leverage the considerable influence of the Empire's mercantile might and ensnare Re-Estize over an extended period. 'The western regions might end up forming closer ties with the Holy Kingdom though… no matter. They're under too much pressure to take significant advantage of the situation. I doubt Argland will intervene either; they wouldn't want to border the Theocracy.'
—He could ignore the former for now. Figure out what she was up to at his leisure while reaping the benefits of such a suggestion.
"We'll oblige her then," Jircniv made up his mind. "Do we have any suitable people to trade?"
"It shouldn't be too difficult to find one, Your Majesty," Loune wrote in his notebook. "I'll have a list ready by tomorrow."
"Excellent. Anything else?"
"General Ray successfully repelled the siege on E-Rantel. Ah, and Lord Paradyne has returned from his campaign in the Malithwood as well."
"I've heard. We can go ahead and bestow the land to Ray—talent should be rewarded after all," Jircniv furrowed his brow. "As for Gramps… he said he was going to head back and finish 'cleaning' up."
The wizened archmage visited almost a week ago in equipment that covered all of his skin: mask, robe, gloves, everything. Gramps mentioned being hit by the ritual the demihumans of Malithwood had been preparing: resulting in his appearance becoming unseemly.
'Odd how it's a kind of curse even he can't dispel. Something along the lines of Rockbruise's affliction?' Gramps taught him that there were many types of unknown magics scattered in the world; this incident could very well be counted among those mysterious phenomena. 'His supposedly cursed appearance aside, he seemed fine. A little giddy even.'
Jircniv banished the doubts from his mind. Gramps was Gramps. They hadn't changed.
'Haaa… This war has taken more of a toll on my nerves than I thought it would. That, Gramps, and foreign affairs—speaking of which…'
"Have we received a reply from that damn hag yet?" Jircniv frowned. He had agreed to a meeting for the sake of discussing a variety of issues, but with the Lady of Wings backing the Dragon Queen it was beginning to feel more and more like it'll turn into a projection of power followed by a series of demands he wouldn't be able to refuse.
"Not yet, Your Majesty," Loune double-checked his notebook. "They're preparing for a festival, so I presume Queen Oriculus will invite an Empire delegation to that and tag on your meeting afterwards. Or maybe beforehand, but it'll be around that time either way."
"Tch," the news was somewhat pleasant to hear. At least it'll give him sufficient time to wrap up the more critical issues before jumping into the dragon's—or was it angels' now?—den. "A festival at this time… it's Dragonflame isn't it? So we have another month and a half or so."
"Your Majesty is correct," Loune inclined his head. "Although I must say, finding out the contents of their guest list might be trickier now."
"Don't bother," Jircniv dismissively waved his hand. "It's hardly worth the risk in that case."
"I'll refrain from doing so then, Your Majesty," Loune bowed. "If that's all, I'll take my leave as well."
"Go ahead. And call Unglaus in while you're at it."
"At once, Your Majesty," Loune Vermilion opened the door to his study, allowed the roguish sword master in, and bowed once more to him before departing.
"Brain Unglaus," the sword master with blue-dyed hair stoically matched his gaze. Jircniv didn't hate that: the man had long since proven his strength in the Grand Arena. "You've been waiting for a while."
"It's no big deal, Your Majesty," Unglaus lowered his head. "A little waiting's never killed anyone."
The man that was now the newest member of his Four Imperial Knights.
"So why do you want to go to the Draconic Kingdom so badly?"
"Guildmaster Iorga, of Oriculo's Adventurer's Guild!" Agustin, the Captain of her Royal Guard announced to the occupants of the throne room.
"Your Majesty," Lasicar Iorga strode in and fell to a knee several meters from the throne, barely faltering at her adult appearance. "May your reign be long and prosperous!"
Draudillon and her courtiers all appraised the genuflecting Adventurer. As a rule, her Royal Court harbored a general sentiment of dislike towards Adventurers for their mercenary attitudes—they were essentially mercenaries after all—but Lasicar had stubbornly remained and dispensed his responsibilities even in the face of the beastmen hordes.
"Raise your head, Guildmaster Iorga," Draudillon addressed the gray-haired veteran. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, but I suppose you aren't here just to sight see."
Lasicar peeked at the Gatekeepers floating beside her from the edge of his vision. This was his first time attending her Court in a while, wasn't it?
Not that she could blame him. The branch of the Adventurer's Guild he presided over had plenty of problems of its own without going into detail about the other branches throughout the kingdom. Before, the imminent threat of annihilation and enslavement drove away or killed the majority of the Draconic Kingdom's Adventurers. Now, the prospect of angels replacing their traditional roles proved to be another tremendous obstacle for the Guild to deal with.
"As expected of Your Majesty," Lasicar closed his eyes, seemingly regathering his nerves, and opened them with a renewed sharpness. "Before I begin, allow me to thank you for leading the kingdom through this long war."
Draudillon nodded for him to continue. She didn't have any great love for the Adventurer's Guild as an institution, but there were a multitude of people who made an honest living under its aegis.
The grizzled Guildmaster slightly relaxed. "With that said, I wish to ask Your Majesty what your plans are for the Guild going forward. Many Adventurers have already migrated to the City States and Empire… I apologize for my incompetence, but there's just not many jobs for them to take anymore."
She noted that he made no mention of the angels, although it wasn't hard to tell that he was referring to the summons. Angels now killed hostile monsters, protected transport convoys and merchant caravans, and many other miscellaneous services at much more economical prices than what Adventurers could afford to accept. Of course, there were still things angels couldn't do that specialized Adventurers were better suited for, but the organization as a whole had lost much of its original relevance under the angels' watch.
'The birth pains of a new era…' Draudillon thought to herself. Not having to rely on glorified mercenaries was a hazy dream she occasionally fantasized about—Cerabrate and his preferences played a small role in that, she admitted —but back then she'd never thought the kingdom would actually ever get to this point or any point at all for that matter. "How are the rates on retrieval quests?"
"Not great, Your Majesty," Lasicar grimaced. "People are beginning to use… alternative escort services to help with navigating difficult terrain."
"Well deserved," a courtier murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to avoid her attention. Before she could reprimand the fool, Martin shot them an unimpressed look that promptly shut them up.
"I see," Draudillon took the interruption in stride and shifted her focus back to the Guildmaster. "In that case, I have a proposal for the Guild."
"A proposal, Your Majesty?" Lasicar didn't seem very confused—more resigned than anything.
"I'm willing to offer advisory positions to Guild members who are open to taking long-term contracts that'll require them to answer directly to the Crown."
"For the military, I presume."
"Indeed," Draudillon's approval of the man went up another notch. "Although, you're probably concerned about the rule regarding inter-human conflicts, correct?"
Because Humanity was a weak race in a world filled with beings that were naturally stronger from birth, it was necessary for the Adventurer's Guild—Humanity's first line of defense against monstrous threats—to be able to cooperate without worrying about politics. It made sense: she could only imagine how much worse the beastmen raids and incursions could've been if Adventurers were busy mucking around in human-on-human wars in addition to everything else they dealt with.
In the end, it really came down to the limitations of humanoids when it came to raw power.
'Yuriko mentioned how the power gap between humanoids and demihumans closed at higher levels, but…' Most humans just couldn't reach those higher levels which resulted in demihumans and heteromorphs almost always staying ahead when it came to combat.
"Yes, there is that…" Lasicar fell into deep thought. "Then, Your Majesty understands that this would be setting a dangerous precedent?"
More than a few courtiers grumbled in low tones at the Guildmaster's carefully phrased warning.
"They won't be coerced into taking these roles," Draudillon tapped her armrest. "If it creates issues with your colleagues, we can always dissociate this initiative with the Guild, but that doesn't solve your problems, does it?"
"Perhaps not, Your Majesty," the Guildmaster hesitated. "But war is a completely different beast than extermination requests."
"I've no desire to wage war on the domains that lay west of us, nor do I intend to further indulge in some campaign of conquest eastwards," the dragon queen's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. "These changes, and the others that will follow it, are for the express purpose of self-defense. As a resident of the Draconic Kingdom yourself, I hope you can understand the need for this. We can't stake everything on the angels."
It wasn't fair to Yuriko if she allowed them to bear the burden of providing security for the entire kingdom without lifting a finger to help.
"I would not dare question Your Majesty's word," Lasicar immediately responded. "I'll… communicate your mandate to my peers and the Adventurers of Oriculo, but I can't promise anything."
"Your best is good enough," for now, Draudillon added to herself. There was no need to rush, especially when a revamp of the military this thorough would likely take years to bear any significant fruit. "I believe that answers your question, Guildmaster."
"Yes! Thank you, Your Majesty!" Lasicar stood up, respectfully bowed, and walked out the hall with a firmness in his legs that wasn't there before.
"Your Majesty," two men, Marquis Aliund and Altamara, stepped out from the side and knelt before the throne. "We do not mean to question your decisions, but trusting Adventurers with training future divisions of our military is a little…"
"It won't be all at once. We'll be creating a few small trial divisions first and see where to go from there," Draudillon reassured the Minister of Defense and the northerner. "The kingdom won't be rushing this."
"Of course, but…" Altamara butted in before Aliund could continue his line of inquiry. "Adventurers, Your Majesty. Base mercenaries can't be trusted with something so critical."
"I'm of the opinion they'll prefer earning their keep through the safety of teaching rather than risking their lives against man-eating demihumans," Draudillon dryly shut down his rebuttal. "Besides, the ones who balk at being tethered to the kingdom won't accept this offer anyways."
"As long as we aren't relying on them in our times of need then," Marquis Aliund muttered. "Since Your Majesty is set on this, should we coordinate with the Guild at our discretion?"
"That would be appreciated, yes," a noblewoman approached her as Marquis Aliund and Altamara returned to their places. "Countess Avila."
"Your Majesty, I was wondering if we're allowed to employ the angels for fieldwork in the same way they are in Caldevera and Almersia."
"What will your peasants do if the angels take over their roles? It's not a simple matter to uproot one's life and switch to an entirely different vocation."
"I've taken that into account," Avila replied. "It's true that many of them would be replaced, but the angels can generate a truly staggering surplus of foodstuffs given the opportunity. As for the peasants, wouldn't it be better for the development of my—the kingdom's lands if they were eventually able to direct their energies to activities beyond mere farming? Of course, I'm not expecting them to transition immediately, but the sooner we start, the more time we'll have to explore these other options at our leisure."
"... It seems you've put plenty of thought into this."
"I dare not waste Her Majesty's time," the Countess lowered her head. "If Your Majesty is so inclined, I can have a formal document sent by the end of next week."
"Then I'll reserve judgment until I read over it," Draudillon felt a bit uneasy about the possibility of displacing so many people, but Countess Avila did have a point; not taking advantage of the angels' superior stamina was a waste, especially as repairs concluded in the old beastmen occupied areas.
"You have my gratitude, Your Majesty," Avila curtsied one last time and went back to where she had been standing.
'Alright,' Draudillon glanced at the members of her Court: all of them itching to ask questions and propose requests of their own. 'I need to be more careful about taking extended breaks in the future if this is the kind of backlog that forms.'
Well, there was nothing to be done about it, at least not now—
"Your Majesty! Surely you can't be asking me to hire beastmen!"
"Your Majesty. I've received word from members of Re-Estize's Merchant Guild asking for permission to set up an office in my territory. I wanted to ask for more angels to staff this new location, if that's at all acceptable."
"Your Majesty? Will you be sparing a portion of the budget towards propping up the Magician's Guild? They've been quite understaffed for a while."
And like that, the rest of the day passed in such a fashion—answering and sorting through petitions in addition to getting a general idea of the kingdom's present state.
"That's all of them, right?" Her lips were formed into a childish frown, and her eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion as she reclined in her throne with a loud sigh. "No last minute meeting scrambling to deal with a beastmen raid?"
"Your Majesty is as amusing as ever," Martin dryly admonished. "No. No last minute meetings. Although I wouldn't be shocked if the beastmen came running because the angels ended up destabilizing their country."
"They'll be fine," a pit formed in her stomach as the image of an anguished angel flashed in her mind. "The Beastman Country is a massive land controlled by a sizable number of clans despite their ruling Council: many of whom we left untouched. Terrible joke, by the way."
"No less terrible than Your Majesty's," the Prime Minister shrugged. "Regarding the festival…"
"I'm working on it," Draudillon huffed and began counting off her fingers. "Licenses for vendors, writing invitations, organizing security, sourcing food, seating arrangements, decorations… all of this and more by the end of next month."
"It's possible. We've faced greater difficulties after all—"
"I promised Yuriko I wouldn't work late," the dragon queen halfheartedly stuck out her tongue at the unimpressed nobleman.
"Can't you ask Lady Yuriko to make an exception?" Martin pinched his brow in exasperation. "This is a 'big deal' as they would say, Your Majesty."
"Haven't I already done enough to her?"
"... Understood, Your Majesty. I'll take my leave then."
Draudillon didn't respond, face buried in a hand as Martin exited the hall. Only once her guards closed the door behind him did she begin muttering to herself. "Ahhh… Fuck."
Not that she was complaining in any way, but the Draconic Kingdom really wasn't in a position to properly handle vassalization of the Beastman Country on top of its own persisting problems.
'Hopefully Varush and the remaining Viziers can keep the other Clans in line in the meanwhile,' She rose from the throne, Gatekeepers trailing behind on the way to her bedroom. 'Sun's already set…'
Once inside, Draudillon fell face first onto the bed and released her breath in a long exhalation of exhaustion. Laying here felt wrong in the same way taking any sort of break did, but she gave her word, and she'd be damned if she broke it.
While she was considering all of this, the familiar sight of empty space being torn apart by a purple rift appeared in the periphery of her vision.
'She's back,' the dragon queen pushed herself off the covers with renewed vigor. 'It's still early—no, this would be considered late. Doesn't matter. She's back.'
"Yuriko, welcome—" Draudillon approached them but wrinkled her nose and stopped mid-step as the scent of wet dog drifted throughout the room. "You smell… interesting."
"Wh-Wh-Wha—" Yuriko's face burst out in full flush while her hand fumbled around in her Item Box. "Sorry, I, I, um!" She finally pulled out the multipurpose tool she'd been rummaging for. "『Clean』!"
The atrocious aroma vanished and gave way to the angel's usual fragrance. "Where did you go?"
"Goblins," Yuriko answered in a small voice. "They wanted me to look at some of their Worgs, and um, I forgot to clean up."
'Why go there of all places—oh. Her parents.'
Draudillon was glad she didn't say that out loud. It wouldn't do to pressure them into telling her.
"Your hair's still a mess though," she redirected the conversation to a lighter topic. "Did you let the Worgs play around in it?"
"Is it that bad?" Yuriko grimaced and brushed her hair to the front. "Erm, it only looks a little bit messy—"
"Sit here," Draudillon led them to her vanity and pushed them down onto the stool in front of it. "Give me a moment."
"So what are we…?" She rummaged around for a spare comb while the angel fidgeted.
"It's more relaxing when someone else brushes your hair for you, right?" To be fair, being placed at the mercies of her attendants' scrutinizing attention wasn't ever a relaxing experience. Gods, the last time she'd felt 'relaxed' when someone did that was… decades ago. 'Don't think about it. Not a good time.'
"I guess," Yuriko averted her eyes from the mirror. "Th-Thanks, and uh, sorry for the bother."
"It's no bother at all," Draudillon finally found a spare comb in the mess that was her drawer. "Well, I'll get started then."
She stood behind them and lifted the golden length, unable to tear her eyes away from Yuriko's exposed nape.
Now that her hands were holding the angel's long, pale-blonde hair, why did it feel so difficult to begin? She only had to brush it; there was nothing challenging about the task.
'This feels strangely intimate,' Draudillon absentmindedly trailed her hand down their tresses. 'For something so simple… Maybe because it's her specifically?'
"Um, Draudillon?" Yuriko slightly turned their head to face her. "Is everything okay?"
"Y-Yes," Yuriko's words snapped her out of her trance. "I'm fine. So, Worgs aside, did you have a nice time?"
"It was, alright. Sorta," Yuriko quickly moved on. "Mostly I kinda felt bad for not doing anything the entire day. Y'know, like everyone else is doing their best, and I'm well… yeah."
"The important thing is learning to separate work from your free time," Draudillon gently ran the comb through her beloved's mussed hair. "Of course, I'm not saying it isn't easy for you, but at a certain point you'll feel like you're always working. Always busy. Does that make sense, Yuriko?"
It was hypocritical for her of all people to be saying that, but just because it wasn't possible for her to separate her personal life and work didn't mean it had to be the same for Yuriko.
"Maybe?" The angel quietly replied with a small degree of hesitation. "It's just well, if it's so easy for me, then shouldn't I be willing to do it all the time? Like," they vaguely waved their hand around. "I say a word and 'bam!' Problem fixed—"
Yuriko cut herself off and stared forlornly at her feet.
"You did your best," Draudillon murmured. "I doubt even Lady Rockbruise could find your efforts lacking. Not everybody can be saved."
"Yeah, but—" A small upset sound escaped the angel's mouth. "It's not just that, it's…"
"I understand," she set the comb back down on the vanity's surface. "You feel like there's a lot resting on your shoulders—and there is, I won't insult you by trying to downplay that—but for every responsibility you bear, there's equally as many people who are willing to lend their assistance."
"Sounds like something I told you before…"
"Huh?" For the life of her, Draudillon couldn't recall hearing that from Yuriko. Maybe she was preoccupied when they did? Drunk? 'Shameful.'
"I-It's nothing," the angel nervously swallowed, pushed back a stray strand of hair, and gave a smile that was so forced it made her heart hurt. "Don't w-worry about it!"
Of course, Draudillon knew that wasn't everything plaguing the angel's conscience. How couldn't she when they told her just yesterday?
"Okay," she knew all of this, but she didn't know what else to say. "If, well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm… I'm here."
'It's not the sort of wound that heals in a day,' sometimes, it never healed at all. 'What else can I do but offer my support? What is that even worth?'
"I know," Yuriko leaned back against the dragon queen's stomach. "A-And I'll try."
Draudillon hoped they would.
She really did.
