Chapter 59: draudillon's grumpy, sorry mira
Middle Fire Month, 18th Day, 600AGG
"Sun's hasn't set yet," Jirs Ars shaded their eyes as the town of Ur'draga finally came into sight. "Got here faster than expected."
"I couldn't tell," Dhartha snarked, waving to one of the rangers lazily watching them from afar. "Really bright and all, but yeah, thanks for telling me the sun was still up."
"With how that Swordstalker almost got the jump on you, I'd almost thought you were blind," Jirs smoothly retorted. "Shouldn't gnolls have better senses?"
"This one here isn't your ordinary gnoll!" he thumped his chest.
"So you're bragging about being an inferior gnoll?"
"You—! Tch," Dhartha clicked his tongue and turned his head. "A muscle brain like you wouldn't understand the true value of my skills."
"I understand the value," Jirs huffed in exasperation. "Selling goods instead of hauling off everything that isn't nailed to the ground is just strange for a gnoll."
"There are plenty of civilized gnolls. Your Republic simply isn't home to most of them."
"Maybe," they were now in the town proper. At first glance, there wasn't much different from when they last visited—with the exception of a few new buildings—but nothing to indicate the residents of Ur'draga were aware of the Mac'tal incurring on their territory. "Find lodgings, grab some actual food, and prep for tomorrow?"
"Yup. Let's get to it," Dhartha took the lead. "The Mossy Haven, here we come!"
They didn't get too far before being accosted by a trio of tigermen. Given their impressive physiques and the equipment they bore, it was plain to see that they were warrior clansmen in charge of keeping order in the town.
"Merchant. And your… bodyguard."
Disdain rolled off the Kshatra in waves. The clan administering Ur'draga were familiar with him and Jirs, though the latter's low status never ceased to rankle them. It made certain tasks more troublesome, but a fight hadn't broken out.
Yet.
"Friends!" Dhartha welcomingly spread his arms, hoping to defuse the tension. "How do you fare? You wouldn't believe the critters we ran into on our way here—"
"Mac'tal," Kshatra Ghrik'sa grimly interrupted. "We know. To tell you the truth, we were surprised to see you here."
"My buddy here is packing plenty of oomph," he slapped Jirs's arm. The nacatl shot him an unimpressed look and sighed. "Only a few Swordstalkers anyhow! Clan Ur planning on doing anything about this?"
"There's been some restructuring," Ghrik'sa gave a vague response. Restructuring… definitely referred to the massacre at Kruurat people had been whispering about. "Worry not. We've stationed more of our own here to train the residents of this town."
"Great," Dhartha boldly tip-toed and patted the Tiger Zoastia's shoulder. "Wouldn't want to be out trading and get caught by those spiders, eh?"
"Reasonable concerns. Keep an eye out for any strange activities, and we'll leave you and him to your business," Ghrik'sa and his subordinates left one last glare of disgust directed at the nacatl before parting ways with the pair.
"Good job holding yourself back, Jirs," Dhartha sarcastically praised his bodyguard. "I knew that took a lot of effort."
"Are you kidding me?" They raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Picking a fight in the middle of town would get me killed in under three minutes."
"Eh?! You've neglected your path!"
"Rather, it's because they adhered to theirs better," he and Jirs navigated through the familiar streets of Ur'draga, approaching the main inn in all its leafy and mossy glory. "Hurry up and check us in. I'll go stock up on provisions."
"Don't get scammed!" Dhartha yelled after the nacatl. His bodyguard raised a thumbs up. "Or killed!"
The gnoll grinned as the thumbs up quickly shifted into a rude gesture. "Never gets old, I swear to the gods."
Dhartha entered the inn and yelled at the beastman napping behind the counter. "Oi! You have a customer, slacker!"
"Dhartha?" Silindi, the proprietor of The Mossy Haven, groaned as she stretched and worked out the cricks in her body. "Back so soon from the east?"
"You betcha," he plopped a handful of coins in front of the tigerwoman. "Jirs and I will be sticking around for a bit. Got any rooms free?"
"Do I have any rooms free, he asks," Silindi tiredly chuckled while making notes in her record book. "Better question is: do I have any rooms occupied?"
"Oof, you haven't thought about moving?"
"Where would I move to?" Silindi put the coins away and handed him a key. "Room oh-twenty-two. Tell me if you need anything else."
"Nope, that should be it—actually, is that Armat around? I've got some materials I'd like him to process," He would be able to sell the Chimera parts for more that way.
"Rek'cils is probably busy getting his brains fucked out again," the tigerwoman curled back up on her bench. "Check on him later."
Dhartha decided to leave it at that. Clearly, the innkeeper had no more desire to continue the conversation.
Key in hand, the gnoll headed to his room underground. He typically disliked subterranean spaces, but this place was an exception.
"Whew…" Dhartha dumped his luggage and flopped onto the large, flat, but most importantly, soft cushion that took the preeminent spot in the room. "Humans really went and made a whole mess of things, huh?"
For the human kingdom to have suddenly turned the tides against the Vahasi Republic was beyond strange. The gap in power between the two entities precluded any underdog comeback story. Hell, the only reason it took so long for the Republic to conquer three major cities was thanks to all the internal jockeying on the Council.
'They were receiving backup from nations further west,' he recalled the stories of angels and paladins alighting themselves upon unsuspecting warbands with the swiftness and ferocity of lightning. 'But then… why didn't they bring out this mysterious powerhouse earlier? Does the damage benefit them somehow? A third-party interfering seems more plausible.'
During his time in the Ruk Kingdom and Vilimandrati Commonwealth he had heard tales of logic-defying beings descending from beyond the veil of the world every century or so. Were recent events because of this Tremor? As ridiculous as it sounded, Dhartha could not help but think there was some validity to the hypothesis.
"A 'Deva…' " He stared up at the stone ceiling. "Unlucky doesn't even begin to cover it."
For a god to be dropped on the side of the humans right when the Council managed to set aside a few of their quarrels and make some more headway was laughably unfortunate. Although Dhartha supposed he couldn't attribute it all to luck; the humans ought to be commended for forming whatever pact they did in such a short time.
'At least they haven't decided to exterminate the Republic. Small mercies.'
Thankfully, the knocking at the door kicked the moodiness right out of him.
"That was fast," Dhartha allowed Jirs in and promptly returned to the bed after the nacatl handed them a few skewers of… Ironhide Boar meat. Nice. "Anything interesting happen?"
"Don't eat on the bed," Jirs scowled and shoved him off the cushion with their foot. "Gods, why do you have to be such a slob?"
"I'm getting up, I'm getting up!" Dhartha yelped in pain as the nacatl started jabbing their toe claw into his gut. "Sheesh!"
"Food prices haven't been going up," Jirs casually switched the topic, uncaring of the pain they had inflicted upon him. "Except goods foreign to this region, but that's not really a surprise."
"No humanoid flesh, I'm guessing?"
"Ur'draga rarely peddled those in the first place," Jirs ripped a chunk off their skewer. "That's the sort of indulgence you'd find in Ur'lathla—ahhh, why the hell am I explaining this to you?"
"Yeah, but there was always some. Explains why Ghrik'sa was being a big ol' grump."
A dearth of human flesh and an excess of beastmen-eating spiders. Oh, the tragedy!
"Well, there's none now," the nacatl got started on a second skewer. "People at the markets say runners from Kruurat had Clan Ur recall all of it. Humanoid slaves too."
"Fuuu…" Selling his current stock of humanoid flesh was dangerous then. "No biggie. We weren't going to get a humanoid anyways."
"Wouldn't have to get a new one at all if you were more careful," Jirs grumbled and sat down next to where he laid.
"You're the one who blew them up."
"Plus the Wyvern," the nacatl added. "And my arm, so shouldn't you be a bit more grateful that you have a diligent bodyguard?"
"It's what you're paid to do," Dhartha groused. "Healing your arm is cheaper than a new slave."
"Tch."
"Whatever. We'll check out what Ulanxic has to offer tomorrow," the gnoll closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
"Idiot," Jirs looked down at the snoring gnoll and shook his head in exasperation. In spite of the easygoing attitude they affected, he had spent too much time with Dhartha to be fooled by their feigned nonchalance.
Something big was coming, something that drove the subtle pulse of uneasiness in his stomach whispering for him to run.
'Run to where?' Jirs shut his own eyes. No good; his agitation prevented him from resting. "Fuck it. Definitely heading back home after this trip."
The nacatl could only hope that it wasn't too late.
"What an unpleasant trap," Tsaindorcus exited the maze and tossed the decomposing Quagoa corpses into a pile. "Effective though."
Essence was transmuted into flames, a searing heat that incinerated the victims of the Runesmith King's trial. Some might have called it a frivolous use of Wild Magic, but leaving the bodies behind so carelessly could only cause problems in the future.
Tsaindorcus gazed into the mesmerizing fire, his way forward halted by a flash of hesitation.
Why did he traverse the Trials of Feoh Berkana when he could have easily teleported into the city's heart? There was no time for silly indulgences and yet…
'Am I afraid of what I'll find? Scared of seeing what my inaction has wrought?' Tsaindorcus somberly thought, ripping his eyes away from the ashes. "Enough of this; do what you have set out to accomplish."
He walked out of the tunnel, into the cavern where the ancient dwarven capital stood and was met with a view he expected but foolishly wished was anything but.
'That entire district…' Of course the dwarves hadn't repaired it after the Demon Gods were vanquished. How could they when Frost Dragons and Quagoa forced them out to claim the city for themselves? 'Forget about the ruins for a bit—what about the Royal Palace and Merchant's Guild?'
A cursory scan told him that the two largest buildings of Feoh Berkana were occupied, and though there were no lights burning in their depths, it was a simple matter for him to pick up on signs of life even from this distance. Given the personality of White Dragons, they were probably living in the palace while the Quagoa had to settle for second best.
"No response?" Tsaindorcus hadn't fashioned any concealment for himself. Either the Frost Dragons didn't care or they couldn't detect him from this far. 'No wards or watchmen either. Hm, but the Quagoa would have informed them, no? Suddenly being surprised by an outsider dragon would bring retribution down on their heads.'
Careless, Tsaindorcus thought, already forming a poor opinion of whoever ruled here. It was disappointingly careless of them. Certainly, Frost Giants were unlikely to probe the underground, but one should always be cautious regardless of how assured they were in their safety.
He strolled towards the Royal Palace, taking in the abandoned streets that radiated out from the center of Feoh Berkana. The damage of two centuries prior had been limited to that ruined district—most everything else was left untouched.
"Still staying inside?" Tsaindorcus muttered to himself as he stopped before the ceremonial gates of the palace. Dragons were prone to their theatrics, he supposed.
"Then, please excuse me," the Platinum Dragon Lord pushed open the set of smaller doors built beside the massive ones. On the other side lay a spacious hallway, tall enough for dragons to comfortably move around, and at the end of said hall sat a magnificent Golden Throne.
The throne of the Runesmith King, ruler of the Dwarf Kingdom underneath the Azerlisias.
It was not his bygone friend who sat on the throne. There were no courtiers performing errands, no children playfully running around, no proclamations thundering forth and filling the hall with a tangible spirit of deserved pride.
No, it was a large White Dragon who lay coiled around the Golden Throne—surrounded by mounds of treasure, three female dragons, and the natural stench of evil that typically accompanied his chromatic cousins.
"Hmph," the Frost Dragon disdainfully snorted. "Brave of you to intrude upon my domain, interloper. Speak your piece, drop all of your valuables, and leave. You're lucky I'm in a good mood today."
"Mm, thank you for your graciousness," it seemed a scuffle was unavoidable. "But you'll have to forgive this ignorant one for not knowing your name."
"I, the White Dragon Lord Olasird'arc Haylilyal, ruler of the Azerlisia Mountains—"
"What about the Frost Giants?" Tsaindorcus innocently asked to the amazement of the other four dragons.
"You—ha! To think somebody as foolish as you could sneak in here," Olasird'arc shook his head in incredulity. "I've changed my mind; this will be your grave."
The Platinum Dragon Lord dispassionately watched as wintry winds gathered in the maw of the Frost Dragon: a blizzard condensed and weaponized in the purest form of draconic might. He was being careless by allowing an attack to land, but nullifying someone's efforts was the fastest way to demonstrate a gap in power.
An earth-shaking roar rang throughout the throne room, the chilling breath attack bursting forth and enveloping Tsaindorcus in its freezing embrace. Weaker beings would have immediately succumbed to the supernatural cold that froze blood where it ran and the very air itself into ice.
For him though, it amounted to little more than a stiff breeze. 'His breath covered the whole length of the hall. The Dragon Lord title isn't completely undeserved then.'
"Dump his corpse outside—you're still alive?" Olasird'arc's eyes boggled at the sight of the unharmed 'human.' "No, no, it must be the work of magic. Very well. You'll wish that had killed you, human!"
Olasird'arc uncurled themselves and pounced at Tsaindorcus, their claws seeking to crush the Platinum Dragon Lord. "Die!"
'I've dallied enough,' he held back a sigh and forced open the White Dragon Lord's grip. It seemed there was no need to prepare essence in the case of an unexpected ability. "It's unwise to act so rashly towards an unknown element, Haylilyal."
"Just who are—" The nascent Dragon Lord and their female companions found themselves at a loss for words as they stared up into the teal-green eyes of the colossal platinum dragon who only moments prior had been a puny human. "… you?"
"Olasird'arc Haylilyal," his severe voice was like thunder rumbling in the heart of the palace. "I have questions to ask of you."
"Pl-Platinum scales?" The White Dragon Lord seemed too shocked to properly reply. "Tsaindorcus Vaision from the Council State? Why are you here?!"
"What are your designs for the Dwarf Kingdom?" He ignored Olasird'arc's question.
"You barge into my domain and ask me what I'm doing?" The White Dragon Lord's fear was slowly being replaced by a simmering indignation. "Have I wronged you in some way? Have I infringed upon your belongings? Is your only reason for being here honestly because of those dwarves?"
"I'll answer yours if you answer mine," Tsaindorcus patiently waited. His sense of urgency was vanishing now that he was aware of the extent of their strength.
"… To conquer them and rule over a Draconic Empire."
"I'm afraid someone already has you beat in that department," He mumbled under his breath. "An ambitious goal. Now, to address your concerns, I have formed a pact with the Dwarf Kingdom. The bulk of this pact includes relocating you and your brood."
"What?!"
"It's unreasonable of me, I know. I would like to avoid further violence, so if you leave peacefully I'll ensure all of you are safely relocated to a similar environment where you can thrive."
"Absurd! Absolutely absurd!" Olasird'arc raged. The Platinum Dragon Lord felt mildly ashamed on his cousin's behalf—someone who had centuries of life experience shouldn't conduct themselves in such an embarrassing manner. "You can't expect me to sacrifice all that I've set in motion here because of some, some pact you made out of nowhere!"
"Heed my words," Tsaindorcus's voice shook the Royal Palace. The commotion had called over some spectators; from his peripherals, he could see the White Dragon Lord's children peeking their heads in. "Yes, it is unfair. Yes, it is unfortunate. You can rant and rave all you like, but that doesn't change the reality of your situation."
A mist of frozen air escaped through the gaps of his mouth, trace residues colder than the Frost Dragon's breath attack. "Will you take this chance to leave in dignity, or will you choose to not leave at all, Olasird'arc Haylilyal?"
"K-Kuh…!"
"Do not make a choice you'll regret," Tsaindorcus softened his voice. "My aim is not to rob you of your wealth and lives. A truly exceptional Dragon Lord can establish an empire no matter where they soar, no?"
"Hmph, of course," Olasird'arc puffed out their chest. Really, how could a centuries old dragon be so simple?
"Then it would be wiser for you to come along with me. If that isn't enough incentive, I'll allow you to select a single treasure from the vault behind you."
"Impossible," Olasird'arc dismissed the offer. "Those gates cannot be broken through conventional means."
Tsaindorcus called forth his soul, extending metaphorical tendrils of essence towards the ancient dwarven vault. Whatever enchantments had been instilled into the Treasury were powerful relative to most everything else he'd seen in this region, but…
Not strong enough.
He silently apologized to the Runesmith King and disabled—ripped apart was a better way to phrase what he had done—the protective enchantments. All present watched the gates ponderously creak open, revealing a truly titanic trove of treasures.
"Incredible…" Olasird'arc muttered, filthy greed gleaming in his eyes: greed reflected by the other Frost Dragons. "To think the dwarves had hidden away all of this…"
Yes, it was an impressive hoard, but what good was it when you were dead and your people unable to access it?
Gazing at the piles of gold and relics that seemed to glimmer even in the absence of light, Tsaindorcus felt nothing but a sense of loss.
"Pick one," he smothered his grief and motioned at the vault's interior. Spitting on his friend's legacy was a small price to pay in order to preserve the rest of it while maintaining his neutrality. "But only one."
Olasird'arc gleefully dove into the heaps of wealth, sniffing about for the item of greatest value before eventually calling his concubines over to assist him. Dragons had a nose for valuables, but the dwarven treasury proved to be a considerable amount to sift through.
Tsaindorcus watched them from the sidelines, heart heavy with shame, and wondered if he had made the right decision. Giving away possessions he did not possess—to people who oppressed the true owners.
Just… a few more sins to add onto a mountain of them.
Boring.
Borrrring.
Mira Calventa was absolutely and utterly bored.
Guard duty had always been dull, but the existence of angels made her feel obsolete. What was the point of being there if more suitable people—ahem, summons were more suitable for the job?
"Having a flexible judgment," Mira glared at the Cherubim Gatekeeper. Dumb thing didn't even bother looking at her: its visored gaze fixed down the length of the hallway. "Is what the queen said. You look pretty flexible to me."
It didn't speak, of course. Yuriko's angels never did. To this day, she wasn't sure if it was a matter of capability or principle.
Well, mute or not, it was still her guard duty buddy!
"How does it feel floating there all day?" She bumped the Gatekeeper's plated abdomen. "Don't you want to do something else?"
Dead silent.
"Let's go out for a flight, you and me," Mira leaned against the four-winged angel and fluttered her eyelashes. "This is the part where you nod and whisk me away from the big bad dragon—"
"Mira?"
"Woah!" She leapt away from the Gatekeeper and brushed herself off. Geez, thank the gods it wasn't the Dragon Lord who stepped out the doors. "Who are you?!"
The Lady of Wings, Yuriko Hanami, let out a painfully forced laugh. "It's only been a week. Also, what were you doing with the summon—"
"A week's a long time, you know!" Mira quickly brushed over the issue. The castle staff would never let her hear the end of it if they knew. "Kittens forget their litter-boxes in a week, so you should be grateful I still remember your name."
In truth, she had no clue whether her statement was correct or not, but the dubious factoid accomplished her goal of distracting the angel.
"Thanks?" Yuriko took a moment to think as they scratched their head, the weird magic item that always floated around them shifting to make room for their arm. "Is that really true? I never had a cat, so I didn't know there was something like that…"
"Swear on my parents' names," she didn't know their names, so telling maybe-falsehoods under such an oath had to be fine. Hell, the only reason she had a surname was thanks to the guy who'd picked her off the streets. "Nevermind, no it's not. I was lying. Don't believe people so easily."
"Ah," Yuriko blinked a few times and seemed to blank out until Mira waved her hand in front of their face. "I, uh—right. Sorry."
"Long as you remember. Hey, you good? Maybe a lil bit of trouble in paradise?"
"Wh-What?"
"You look all bothered and distracted," she swirled her finger around in the air. The first time she saw the angel leave the queen's bedroom, and they were all mopey—of course she was going to assume something happened between the two. "I was thinking it might be problems with your love life."
"No!" Yuriko forcefully denied, startling both themselves and Mira with their vehemence. "Draudillon's been awesome; it's me who needs to—Wait, how do you know about that?"
"Everybody in the castle knows," Mira smugly answered. Aaaand then she was reminded of Martin cleaning out the entire betting pool. 'Eh, I can always place new wagers.'
"I-If they know, is that bad?" The angel worriedly asked. Eh? Did they think some crazy person was going to complain about Queen Oriculus's relationship? "I didn't want to run around telling everyone 'cause I was worried it'll bother her, and ohmygodwhatifshegetsmad—"
"You two will be fiiine," Mira nudged Yuriko in the side. What was up with them? "Seriously, stop worrying so much. Now, since it's not Her Majesty, what's the problem?"
"Um, I…I'm not comfortable talking about it right now," Yuriko clasped her hands together.
"You told the queen though, didn't you?" The guardmage faked a hurt expression. "I see how it is… you don't want to talk to me anymore because you've got her, huh?"
"It's not like that!" The angel's lips trembled. "Mira, please—"
"I'm messing with you," she hurriedly backtracked, feeling a twinge of guilt in her chest. "You don't have to tell me; I was just joking, you see!"
But it still hurt, knowing that they didn't feel comfortable enough to confide in her.
"… it wasn't funny."
"Erm," Mira stuck out her hand. "Sorry?"
Yuriko wordlessly shook her hand, and the two—three if one were to count the Gatekeeper—fell into a strange silence.
"I bought presents," the angel shuffled their feet, suddenly breaking the tense atmosphere. "From a shop in the Beastman Country."
"Okay," she stared at them expectantly. "Um, are they for somebody else? No pressure, but since you brought it up…?"
"R-Right," Yuriko jolted and stuck a hand into the mysterious purple mini-portal containing all their worldly and otherworldly possessions. Out her hand went, and in it a polearm whose blade ended with a wickedly curved hook. "So this is a Crescent Asp."
'Oooh, that's one hell of a spear,' Mira balanced the silvery lethal weapon in her hands and appraised it as best she could. 'Definitely not something your average spellcaster and blacksmith could make around these parts.'
"And this is a Sri-Shri—" The angel fumbled over their words as they shoved a golden pavise towards her. "A Srivasta-something!"
"Wow, these were all from the beastmen, you say?" She whistled. To her knowledge, demihumans typically had a harder time producing accomplished spellcasters, so the fact she was holding two powerful relics from a random shop spoke wonders about their arcane facilities.
"Those and some scrolls—ack," Yuriko accidentally dropped a pile of the rolled up spell-storing parchment on the ground and bent down to pick them up. "Sh-Shoot, one sec…"
"Oh, I'm a rogue, so I could actually use those," Mira pointed at the scrolls. "The shield and spear are a no-go though!"
It was a shame having to reject presents of such value, but never let it be said that the guardmage didn't have the kingdom's best interests at heart!
"Makes sense," Yuriko's shoulders slumped as they stuffed the magic items back into the mini-portal while Mira squirreled the scrolls away inside the deep pockets of her cloak. "Should've thought of that—"
"You could just give them to people who can use them like Vicente and Agustin, right? Bet they'll love getting this sorta stuff from their 'Goddess.' Oh, and make sure to get them appraised first because I barely have a clue on what they do."
"Whatever," the angel half-heartedly grumbled. "But thanks. I guess I'll get all the items checked out later."
"Mmmhm," Mira admired the make of the scrolls. "And the queen gets even better stuff than this?"
"I don't think she would want presents from…" Yuriko self-consciously gestured at the space where the rift had once been. "Y'know, the beastmen."
"I think she'd like anything you give her," wasn't as if Queen Oriculus or any citizen of the Draconic Kingdom could complain with how much care the angel lavished upon them. "She keeps glancing at you when you're hanging around her, did you know that?"
Unless something had changed in the week she hadn't seen them, but if they returned from traveling just to spend every night in the queen's apartment—ohoho!
"… really?" Argh, an angel shouldn't be so, so unguarded.
"For real," Mira nodded with all the solemnity she could muster, which was to say, not a lot. "I'm one of her guards, aren't I? Trust me on this."
"I still have a hard time believing you're actually a guard."
"You better! Even if it's the Lady of Wings, I'll bravely confront them if it means protecting Her Majesty!" She made a ridiculous pose reminiscent of the more overaffected fighting scenes in the less snobby plays. "Evildoers shall not pass!"
"But I was just in there," Yuriko tilted their head and leaned against the wall. "Does that mean you're gonna get fired?"
"Uh, erm, don't tell anybody," Mira put a finger up to her mouth while loudly whispering. "I'm not sure I'll be able to find another job where I can slack off this much."
"That's not something you should be saying to other people…"
"It's a symbol of my trust in you, oh Lady of Wings," the guardmage relished in the angel's wince. "Or does Your Holiness mean to say that she requires a greater display of devotion?"
"…"
"Okay, okay, I'll drop it," Mira let the brief respite stretch on for a few seconds. "Your Holiness."
"Ha…"
It was at times like these that the guardmage wished the hallway had different decorations. Queen Oriculus wasn't austere per say—one only had to look at her throne hall or bedroom—but when you were posted in the same spot for gods-know how long, everything appeared stale.
Almost everything, Mira thought as she side-eyed the quiet angel. 'Ergh, this feels pretty dang awkward. She was definitely more talkative before, but asking makes her look all sad and sulky.'
"Hey, Mira?"
"Yeeeeas?" She turned her head towards Yuriko. The angel's voice was soft, a dulcet tone that ran at odds with the current mood.
"Thanks for being my friend."
"Huh?!" It was a statement that came out of nowhere: one the guardmage hadn't been prepared for. Even Mira, someone who could rightfully boast to have the honor of casually conversing with the 'Goddess,' felt the declaration to be a bit undeserved. "That's my line, you know?!"
"Pfft," Yuriko cracked a small smile that outshone all the lights in the night sky, even the stars in that shoulder-orb of theirs. "Well, thanks anyways. Without you, Draudillon, everybody else… I don't think I would've gotten this far."
Their words weren't particularly life-changing, nor did they convey eloquence cultivated over years of practice, but the sincerity underlying every syllable was enough to suffuse Mira with a warmth no chill could chase away.
Really, being able to say something that embarrassing while completely meaning it was incredibly unfair.
"Queen Oriculus didn't stand a chance."
"W-Wha—?"
"Show me how you do it!" Mira grabbed the flustered angel's hands and directed an intense gaze at their widened eyes.
"Mira, what are you talking about—"
"Listen, there's this girl I'm kind of interested in, and well, I don't know what I'm doing?" The guardmage pleaded. "I'm just asking for a crumb of advice from my venerable master."
"Venerable master—Mira, Draudillon's the first person I've ever been with like this," Yuriko shook her head. "I don't have the sort of experience you're looking for."
"That's one more than me," Mira paused for a beat. "Guys don't count."
"Shouldn't you have a better idea then? Besides, you were the one giving me advice, remember?"
"It's… it's different!" Mira waved her hands about in frustration. "I don't know how to do the kind of charm you show off all the time."
"I'm not charming anybody," Yuriko frowned.
"Not the magical kind," Mira crossed her arms. "The 'normal' charm you strut around with all day!"
"I didn't mean the magical kind, a-and you're just making stuff up!" The angel covered their face with their hands. "Go ask Martin; he's married!"
"Traitor, you know exactly how he's going to respond—!" She was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. Doors leading to Queen Oriculus's chambers.
"Can you keep it down, Mira?" The baggy-eyed Dragon Queen glared at her. "Gods, what time is it even?"
"Sorry for waking you up," Yuriko shifted from feet to feet, fingers intertwined behind their back: her expression the very image of pitifulness. "I should've been more quiet—"
"Mm, it's not you who needs to apologize," Queen Oriculus's eyes softened before hardening again as they were redirected towards Mira. "You know, since you're so energetic, you can take part in General Ergast's and Lord Aliund's training on top of your regular duties."
"Wha—this is favoritism!"
"Yuriko," Queen Oriculus ignored her. "Mira's supposed to be on duty right now. As you can see, she gets distracted rather easily, so could you wait until her shift is over?"
"Um, okay. But I think it's a little unfair to dump more work on her when I was the one who started the talk…"
"If you truly believe it's unreasonable, I'll retract the order," ugh, what was this atmosphere? What was this feeling of being a third-wheel? Go stare at each other in the bedroom, not out in the hallway! "Though I must say: the experience could only prove beneficial for both the kingdom and herself. It would be a poor showing from a Royal Guard to rely on you when the time comes to dispense their duties, no?"
"Oh," Yuriko apologetically glanced at Mira. "That makes sense. Should I go train with her too?"
"No," Queen Oriculus tugged the angel back inside the bedroom with a boldness that Mira knew the draconic royal would've never displayed in front of others had they not been sleep deprived. "The type of training useful for her is different from what might be helpful to you."
"A-Ah, Drau—" The door slammed shut in the guardmage's face.
"Wait," she took a step forward only for the Cherubim Gatekeeper to block the door. Mira slumped to the ground and futilely thumped the floor with her fists. "No no no, nooo!"
"Quiet!"
'Goodbye again… my free time…'
