Chapter 14: End of a Pleasant Dream
(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)
You know, I should have known that this shit would happen again. I'm not sure how long it's been since I fell asleep, but…well, I can't have been asleep for all that long, yeah?
I'm staring at the same blank black void that I did the last time I was subjected to this mental torture. I shiver as memories of previous encounters with…with…them…here…flood into my mind. I had hoped that I wouldn't see this sight again today. It's…they've…been haunting ever since…yeah. You guys know when.
I had gotten my hopes up when the usual dread didn't manifest itself when I curled into my bedroll today.
Unfortunately, that was not to be.
I sigh deeply, letting all of the air leave my lungs before I inhale again.
I sit down, accepting my fate. My heart isn't even beating hard anymore; I've endured this torture too many times. Of course, if my mind works like I expect it to, it's the perfect time to switch things up. I don't…maybe have another one of my late friends come and torture me? If I recall correctly, Antonii was dismembered…maybe some 6-armed freak will show up and start chopping me up into pieces?
Ugh. Let's not give my mind any ideas. It's already imaginative enough without my consciousness helping it out.
I sit there for a while, doing nothing. I feel like sleeping. Even trapped within my own consciousness, I'm tired. Why? I have no idea. Of course, the moment I even think about dozing off, the reality of my situation hits me like a truck, waking me back up…again.
Gods damn it. Gods damn it all.
I lay down on the cool, smooth surface of…whatever this is. I rap my knuckles against the floor for a moment, trying to figure that question out. I get…inconclusive answers. Feels like glass…but is also…slightly soft? Concerningly soft, actually. What the hell is this material, anyway.
"I haven't got a clue either," A very familiar chuckle—mine—makes me look up at the person from which those words came from.
"Terentius," I note without much emotion in my voice. "Wonderful. You're joining in?"
"On what?"
"On the whole torturing me thing," I frown when I realise that Terentius's face hasn't changed at all. We might have good insight, but our deception is just about crap. He's not lying. "Huh. Colour me surprised."
"About what?"
"No, nevermind. I suppose having you here is better than the alternative."
"I…this…" He sighs. "Alright then. Sounds like something serious, but you're not going to say anything about it, so I won't pry. You should probably fix that habit of yours."
"Would you like to be—ugh—the pot or kettle in this situation?" I grunt as I sit up.
"Pot. I dislike the noise that kettles make," Terentius shrugs, playing along with my joke. We stare at each other for a moment before we devolve into snickering. What, we both have incredibly terrible senses of humour.
"Ah…what brings you here?" I regain my composure a moment later. "It's not like you to be so…direct."
"That is…true. I…wanted to sate my curiosity. About this world in particular."
"Hmmm…shoot away," I shrug. "I've got nothing better to do."
"Not scared I'll use this knowledge in some terrible way?"
"You wouldn't do that. You are a principled person," I scoff. "Unless, of course, I have completely misjudged your character."
He doesn't respond to my prodding.
"What's the Regina like?"
"You mean the Exalt."
"What's the difference? She has not been chosen by the people nor a senate. She's even worse than the Optimates…Illa tyrannis est."
"She is beloved by the people."
"But not selected by the people."
"Have we ever done the same thing? Most of the votes were cast by the patricians anyway."
"I…" Terentius sighs. "Still, such a position does not sit well with me."
"I understand. As for your original question," I scratch my chin. "The current Exalt…hmmm…she is an optimistic pacifist. Not a naive one…but…still a pacifist nonetheless."
I let Terentius gather his thoughts a little before I continue.
"Please. Continue."
"As you could probably tell from the lack of soldiers…well, anywhere, along with the fact that we've had to travel to a neighbouring nation in order to secure an alliance to…well, get soldiers…she's completely dismantled Ylisse's armed forces. Only a handful of knights and pegasus knights remain; they number less than one thousand combined."
"That sounds incredibly dumb."
"To us, perhaps, but you have to remember that there are not the legions of the damned and unclean that we had to deal with back home."
"These 'Risen' sound awfully like the walking dead."
"Yes, but they are just now dealing with them. There are no demons, no dragons any longer, no hydras, no chimerae, no other beast that could threaten their way of life. If they're able to keep international conflict at a minimum…then there truly is no need for armed forces at our scale."
"But they can't," I wince as Terentius finds the massive hole in my logic. "You know they can't. That…Plegia, was it? Plegia is knocking at the door, and yet they are impassive. Why?"
"Because they are afraid. Afraid of making the same mistakes. They learned from their last war, where they devastated an entire nation for no concrete rationale. They wish to not make the same mistake again."
"Pfft. A lion scared of its own roar. How pathetic. An army serves more purposes than just the invasion of other countries."
"We both know that. They…don't."
"Then it is a failure on their part. The more I learn about this nation, the less I like it. No martial prowess, no sense of duty, no sense of public good. And Gods above, the amount of aristocratic trash that seems to contaminate every single institution. Despicable."
"As if Rome wasn't the same."
"Through the army, a pauper man earns his purpose. Is that not what we strived for? Nobilitas is earned, not inherited. Confirm your greatness in the present or lose it forever."
"Those are ideals, not truths."
"Is it not better to have perfect ideals and not reach them than to have corrupted ideals that are reached? Is it not the essence of a Roman to constantly improve, take what works and leave what doesn't?"
"I can't…say anything otherwise. But there are…more difficult matters about Ylisse than just that. It is…hard to explain. I shall do my best when they appear, but not all is as well as it appears."
"I understand. Some things are better experienced rather than explained. However…I still do not see this…Exalt…doing her duty as the head of the nation," Terentius spits out the word 'Exalt' with such vigour, I wonder if he's won any spitting competitions before. "Her failings are quite evident; should things devolve, it is her head that must be held responsible."
I cringe inwardly. He's…not wrong, exactly. It is Emmeryn's fault that Ylisse got invaded; if she had put her foot down against Gangrel long ago, he wouldn't be in a position to make demands. However, it's never good to look like a warmongerer, and that's exactly what Ylisse looked like after the reign of Emmeryn's father…nevermind the insane economic damaged caused by conscripting 20 per cent of your population to try and genocide an entire third of a continent. He…probably sees these things as acceptable losses, though… Gods, it's hard to explain the good parts of pacifism to a militarist.
Well, he's not a militarist. He's just….Roman. Which makes him a militarist by proxy.
"I would advise you to wait. Understand, comprehend. Don't do anything rash."
"I can't do anything, remember? Being stuck here and all."
"…I still have short-term memory, Terentius. I know what you can do if I manage to knock myself out."
"I…fine, that's a fair point. Still…you need to do something about this situation. If I remember correctly, you said something about a war coming up. I doubt this Plegia is going to bring less than a thousand men, especially if they're invading."
"I know. I will," I nod with a sigh. "This whole situation does make me rather uncomfortable. Knowing that a storm is coming, and yet neglecting your levees…idiotic."
"Levee? What's a levee?" I roll my eyes as Terentius mutters under his breath. It appears I've caught his curiosity elsewhere…and now probably have to explain to him how flood management works for the next hour and a half.
Honestly? Beats having a cockroach climb up my ass for the ninth time. Brrr…
I hate mornings. This fact should be self-evident.
Thankfully, due to a lack of insect-based torture last night, I hate this morning slightly less. You might expect me to like mornings more because of what happens in my dreams, but it always makes mornings worse. I would much rather be awake, of course…
But when my head hurts like nobody's business…it takes some wind out of the enthusiasm.
It's morning, which means—
Squawk. [Good morning, Master]
"…stop calling me that."
Squawk. [You know why I cannot do that. Now, today is the day we shall return to the city.]
"…how the hell did you fit so many words into a fucking squawk. Also, we've been over this. Talk to me telepathically."
Squawk.
"What's that…? I don't speak hawk."
Squawk!
"What?"
A silence follows and I finally open my eyes to see the golden eagle on his perch, looking very mad at me.
[I must say, Master, that you are quite the bird-driver.] A deep masculine voice not too dissimilar to the voice of a stereotypical butler suddenly rings around my mind.
I remind him that I've told him on multiple occasions to speak telepathically. He only mutters something about him being an eagle and not a hawk, and how much it hurt him that I called him the wrong kind of bird.
I…forgot that he was an eagle. Oops. They look all the same to me anyway. Save your breath, Ornithologists. I'm not a bird person. I just think they look cool.
"Whatever. Say what you will," I sigh, sitting up. "Today is…"
[I believe the first functional prototype of the mobile light cannon is ready for testing today.]
Right. That. See, I've decided that having just a flamethrower on Randy is not useful enough, so I'm putting a small autoloading cannon on him as well. I know you can't actually have more than one weapon on a single Eldritch Cannon platform, but fuck those rules, this is reality. If I can fit more than one gun on a platform, I can have more than one gun on a single platform.
So, I'm trying to do just that. The autoloading part was quite easy—a bag of holding filled with 45mm shells is enough to keep that thing topped off for nearly 50 minutes of constant firing. Way, way more than enough. Getting it to actually fit on Randy…was a more difficult task. I ended up giving up and just expanded Randy's base to be able to fit everything…which meant completely remaking…basically all of him, sans the optical and weapon systems.
"Yeah, you're right about that," I yawn. "Fetch Randy for me, will you?"
[Master. You can summon him here with a snap of your fingers.]
"So?"
[There is…forgive me. I shall fetch him at once.]
And with a glare, Vespi flies off.
Of course, that doesn't mean his mental link with me is affected in any way; that kind of thing usually goes through solid matter as if it was not there, and this link is not an exception.
[Master, I did want to ask…why did you name your most powerful weapons platform after a Rimworld storyteller? I believe it to be better if you had named him after something…more powerful. Another Emperor, perhaps?]
I grit my teeth in annoyance. How the hell does Vespi even know about Rimworld? Seriously!?
"Fuck off. I'm naming any other weapons platform I make Cassandra Classic and Phoebe Chillax just to fuck with you. Plus, what other Emperors could I even use?"
[You make…a good point, Master. Marcus Aurelius and Aurelian are out for obvious reasons. Trajan and Hadrian, perhaps? Or maybe Titus and Domitian.]
"Titus sounds too much like tits, I would never use Trajan's name, he's too important, and Domitian sounds dumb. Hadrian is nice though. I do have a soft spot for Claudius and Tiberius, though. Hmmm…I'll probably name that prototype tracked mobility device I'm planning on testing after Tiberius."
[A curious decision, Master. Any particular reason?]
"Hello, Command and Conquer?"
[I…do not understand.]
"Tiberius—Tiberium. What else do you not understand?"
[How that…nevermind, Master.]
"You…hey, Vespi…?"
[Yes? How may I be of service?]
"How do you even know what Rimworld and Command and Conquer are? I've never told you about these games. Hells, how do you even know about the fact that these are games!? You specifically said 'Rimworld Storyteller' instead of 'Rimworld Character' or something similar."
[...]
"Vespi!"
[Master, I have found Randy. He is currently approaching your location.]
"Answer the damn question, Vespasian! You can't just—and the connection just dropped," I groan as I feel the mental connection between me and my bird-like artificial construct abruptly end. He's probably flown out of the 150 metre range that our mental connection allows for. Asshole.
Sighing and still having many questions swirling around in my mind, I decide to put that mind to work. I get dressed…which is a rather simple affair. We're out of Ferox, and with that, the strange cold snap in the middle of summer disappeared with it, allowing me to transition into a convenient state of dress. That is, toga, tunic, and short pants. Not those long-ass togas that senators liked to wear, normal worker's togas. I still haven't gotten used to just wearing a toga and not having underwear, despite Terentius's pestering about me not being a true Roman, which explains the pants.
Changing into all of this takes around five minutes, which is a far cry from the half-hour plus that it takes to change into clothing able to shield you from the worst parts of the cold.
Stretching out my arms, I climb out of the magical hole that contains all of my furnishings and carefully refold the magical device back into a square piece of cloth. I brew myself a cup of tea as I brush my teeth. It's quite a fast little magical kettle, so by the time my morning hygiene routine is over, the tea is poured and ready. Thank myself for making myself this little automatic tea kettle. Best result of a sleepless week I've ever had.
I slowly sip the tea, letting the flowery aroma permanent my nose and mind. Such aromas usually didn't have much of an effect on me, but I still like the smell enough to value it. Why I do use essential oils, they mask the putrid smell of burnt rubber and machining oil quite well.
By the time I'm done with the pot of tea, Randy's finally arrived…from wherever he is when he's not burning people to death. Well, he's probably been here a while, considering his exasperated and annoyed expression, but I don't have the energy to really care about that.
"Why hello there, Randy. Ready to get that cannon mounted?"
He gives a slow affirmative.
I give him a small smile.
"Well, that's great. The sun's not quite up yet, so we have some time before people start waking up. Want to do everything outside?"
I chuckle as Randy gives an affirmation laced with relief. He really hates the wall of tools, huh?
(Robin)
I find myself in a blank space. Well, blank enough, anyway. It's…a void, with nothing in it. It's quite similar to that…one nightmare I had before. The one where I saw Terence getting stabbed with a lance.
That memory sends a jolt of unease down my spin. Something about this place just…isn't right. Something about this place…feels evil. Unnatural. Miasmic.
I don't know why or how I got here. It's…probably another nightmare, but—
Nightmare…? Silly little human. This is no nightmare…
A deep voice permeates through my mind. I can't tell where it's coming from; it's almost as if it's emanating from within my mind.
"W—Who are you!?"
Do you…truly not remember? Gahahahaha! Good! Good! Even better! You are alone, little human. All…alone!
"You haven't answered my question! W—Who are you!"
Now now…little human. That is for you to see.
Suddenly, cracks start to appear under my footsteps. Light shines through those bright white cracks, filling the dark void with some semblance of light. Above me, a pair of bright purple eyes light up.
How useless…do you truly understand how utterly worthless you are?
"W—What!?"
So blind, so slow. What did that Prince ever see in you? Disappointing.
"What are you talking about?"
See for yourself.
The cracks widen and widen, splintering the dark void around me.
It doesn't take long before the flow below me gives way, and I—
Light. Bright light. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but…isn't this…wait, didn't we—
"Robin? Are you alright? We can't have our tactician blanking out right now," Kellam's voice snaps me to the situation at hand.
We're…we're back at the Feroxi arena. W—Why? How!? It…It must be that voice's doing! There is no other rationale for—
An arrow wizzes past my head. The sound of it slamming against Kellam's armour snaps me out of my stupor. Almost by instinct, I raise my hand and feel the power of a thunder spell coalesce around my hand as power rushes from the tome in my other hand. The offending archer quickly gets a thunder spell to the stomach.
"Phew! Nice hit, Robin," Kellam grins. Or at least I think he grins. Can't tell for obvious reasons.
Right. I should focus on staying alive and fighting. Illusion or not, getting hit by a sword will probably still hurt a lot.
Noticing a knight get uncomfortably close, I pull out my sword. The familiar sound of my bronze blade against its scabbard further calms my nerves.
The man's lance shoots forwards, attempting to skewer me. I take a slight step to the right and grab the man's lance before he can pull it back. I see a flash of surprise appear on his face before I bring the pommel of my sword down onto his head.
A sickening crack and a trail of blood accompanies my strike. An instant later, a flash of silver smashes into the man's side, and he goes down.
I take a step back and take a deep breath.
Considering where we are in terms of arena placement, this should be around when…
"Frederick! Peel off! We need you on this side! Chrom, where the hell are you! Kellam, go to the right side; Terence won't be able to help Frederick on that side."
"U—Um, Robin?" Kellam coughs politely. "Chrom's fighting Marth right now. I doubt he can help you."
"Huh!? Shouldn't he be here with me?"
"What? Didn't you say that Chrom should fight Marth? Considering that he's the best duelist out of all of us?"
I blink in surprise, almost getting an arrow in the face. Well, that's…actually true. I had come up with that, before Terence demanded that he faced Marth with some vigour. That's…strange. So, that means that Chrom is facing Marth, Kellam and I are here with—yup, there's Vaike. Frederick and Terence are handling the other side.
"Nevermind then. Take out these knights, and then we go help Chrom. Vaike, on your right!" I respond to Kellam after I've forced the archer to tap out after being hit with a triplet of thunder spells to the chest. I notice that Vaike is getting a bit too tunnel-visioned against one single opponent, forgetting that he's fighting a battle, not a duel. I warn him in time for him to deal with the knight coming at him from his right, dispatching the overeager man with a quick hit to the back of his helmet.
The tide of battle slowly turns in our favour. With two of their frontline gone, I'm able to slip into a more supportive role, covering Kellam and Vaike as they put more pressure on what's left of their frontline. Well, I think I'm covering Kellam. I still can't see anything trace of the man, except for the occasional unexplainable flashes of silver.
I calm my breathing. With the immediate danger to my life dealt with, I am much more comfortable with thinking and planning more. Terence tells me to think on my feet, but that still feels a bit unnatural for me right. Though, it doesn't think Terence himself can do that. He's currently getting berated by Frederick for…something. Not sure what.
I spare a glance at Chrom's duel…and it's really not going so well. Chrom seems to be really struggling against Marth's sheer speed. I swear, it seems like that man is just teleporting. That's how good his footwork is. I mean, just look at that move! That's basically—
Oh no.
Chrom, he's—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
A piercing scream stops all movement in the arena.
I stare in shock as…as I realise that Marth's sword has thrust through Chrom's body, its tip glinting with a crimson sheen as it catches the light in a wicked way. I numbly realise that it was Marth that screamed, not…not Lissa or…me, like I expected.
"Chrom!" I hear Terence cry out, half in disbelief, and half in…is that exasperation I hear? He starts to run towards the slumped figure of our leader. Marth is putting his hands over face and mask, and doesn't seem to have moved since he stabbed Chrom in the back.
I realise, too late, that Terence's cry had motivated both sides into action. An arrow narrowly misses my face. However, Terence himself hasn't noticed yet, and he's not looking—
A javelin slams into the back of his neck, and his body goes slack. It's…it's scary how quickly a man can die.
The world goes still.
Do you see, little human?
The voice chuckles in my mind.
Do you see what happens if they had listened to you?
What…what is this…how…?
How pitiably adorable. How do you think that farseer knew to keep you away from the planning table?
That's…that's not true! He couldn't…he didn't…he couldn't have…
Oh, but he did. He saw many…he experienced many. How many times did he have to die to your incompetence before he lost trust in you?
What? W—What do you mean?
I hear the voice chuckle. The frozen world seems to turn into mist as his laughter grows.
Do you wish to see, then? Has your curiosity finally extended to this point? I shall show you. I shall show you your failure every time.
The visage before me peels away to reveal another scene. It's…still in the same arena, but this time…one of the pillars had collapsed. The reason for that is unclear, but the aftermath of the event is quite obvious. Whoever had been caught under it when it fell must have been killed, instantly.
My heart catches in my throat when I realise that I can find neither Terence nor Chrom.
Do you see? Your friend is as incompetent as you, and thought it to be a personal failing. He unleashed his full arsenal, and this is the aftermath. What utter foolishness…why blame yourself when the culprit is right in front of you?
"N—No…this can't…how do you…?"
Every death, he experienced it fully. Every death, he felt the pain. Every vision was a reality for him. How many times do you think he failed?
"He can't have…not many! He's not such—"
Ah, silly human. Remember, he was not at fault. You were. How long did—
The scene shifts again. This time, I see more clearly how Terence was killed, an axe to the face. His expression is still one of surprise and grim determination mixed together in equal amounts. No going from the latter to the former, but a tempered superposition of the two.
—you think he took to find out? Let me show you—
The scene morphs into another frozen moment in time displaying Terence's death. This time, he seems to have died by a lance to the gut.
—How long it took.
A kaleidoscope of different memories and scenes flash before my eyes. I can't remember all of them; there are far too many. But…the one connecting theme is death. Gruesome death. Axe splitting the skull. Arrows protruding out of the back. Decapitation. Immolation.
I…I can no longer remember any details. It's as if my mind has shut off. It no longer wants to see or remember those gruesome scenes.
"Robin?" I turn around, started, to the sound of Terence's voice. I wished I hadn't. Standing in the murk is Terence, yes, but a mutilated, corrupted, and deathly version of him. His skin is more akin to a Risen's skin than that of a living being. One of his silver eyes is gone, replaced by an orb of gold. His hands have been replaced by mechanical substitutes; his right hand is a rusted bronze while his left is a tarnished silver. So many cuts and lacerations are on his body, it sickens me. His face is curled up into a haunting expression.
"T—Terence…I…hello…" I inhale hard.
"Greetings to you," He chuckles and smiles sickeningly. "I just…wanted to ask you some questions about your inabilities."
"W—What?"
"Don't you see your own failings? Can you not tell that there is no future for you? There is always going to be death on your hands. We can not change the future. Why did you do this to me, Robin?"
Purple miasma spews from his mouth as his eyes turn crimson. His already Risen-like skin cracks and peels, his arms are outstretched as he stumbles towards me. However…his eyes are…
"You are a failure. You are worthless. I wished I never met you." He grabs my throat. The cold metal is firm and unforgiving as I desperately claw at it, hoping to free myself.
"You deserve to be cast off. There is no—" I feel the pressure on my throat increase. I knew Terence is strong, but I never expected to realise that while he's choking me! Please, let go! I—I understand!
With one last pulse of strength, my vision goes black.
When I come too again, I find myself in my bedroll, drenched in sweat, panting hard.
(n/a)
Terentius shudders as he feels Robin's soul leave this damned place. With a hiss, he mentally constricts the mana that he was still in control of. Blackish-purple mist oozes out of his body and slowly form into a hooded figure behind him.
"Grima," He states in a low, dangerous voice. "Never use me like that again."
The provokes a fit of high-pitched laughter from the fell dragon.
"Farseer…you are much too defiant for your own good," Grima closes her hand, and a vine of purple lashes out at Terentius's body, creating a new streak of crimson across his skin.
The artificer hisses in pain, though still stands proud.
Grima, seemingly impressed, however how minutely, walks up to him with a grin on her face.
"Though…that shows your soul is not as broken as I'd feared. Good. I still have a use for you yet."
"I could kill you, right here, right now, Grima," Terentius snaps his fingers, a tiny ball of bright orange appearing in between his thumb and pointer finger.
"You could…but I won't let you," The Fell One chuckles, snapping her own fingers in return. A sudden shackle of pitch black clamps itself on the Farseer's neck. A chain of crimson brings his neck towards the ground, forcing the formerly-dead man to take a knee.
He tries his best to resist, but the power of the Fell Dragon's magic is too strong for him, and the [Fireball] in his hands is dissipated with a wave of Grima's hand.
"What…do you want from me?" He grits his teeth.
"Oh, that is simple, my dear Equus. You understand your current situation, no?"
"Y—You've made me into a Deadlord. Number seven."
"Indeed. It has taken me…far, far too long to bind your soul back into your body. You are…quite the defiant bug, aren't you?"
"Seriously? You're asking me this as if you don't already know? I have been fucking with your—" The Farseer grunts in pain as a tendril of black slashes his across his face, cutting another bloody groove into his skin.
"Ha…how I will enjoy breaking you. But that is something for another time. Now, we must dispose of some pesky problems. I am weak. You know this. I am far weaker than I ought to be."
"And why exactly are you telling me this? Shouldn't I be the last person you should share this information with?"
Grima grins manically. Terentius winces as Grima's face lights up in a perverted version of Robin's smile.
"Because you can do nothing about it! Gahahaha…truely, inaction must be the worst kind of torture for your kind."
Terentius doesn't dignify Grima with a response.
"You will help me."
"Piss off—guh!"
"That was not a request. That was an order. Replenish my power. Find a way to create more of your kind."
"I would—gah! There is no—ngh! I…will…never…sub…submit…to…" Wave after wave of power rushes through Terentius, ripping flesh from his bones and boiling whatever blood remained in his dead body. A dim crimson light slowly appears in his eyes, before his heavy panting has stopped.
"Hmmm…it appears that his soul has simply stopped interfacing with his body. A neat trick…but it makes your compliance easier. Come, my thrall. Do my bidding."
"Y—Yes…Lord…Grima…"
(Robin)
It turned out that trying to go back to sleep after a terrifying nightmare is rather hard, so I just decided that I would wake up early today. It was a little unfortunate that I had to wake up when it was still dark outside, but it wasn't all too bad.
Sumia had introduced me to her rather expansive collection of books while we waited for the tournament in Khantuurbaliq, and I'm…I'm rather embarrassed to admit that I've been hooked on some of them. Some. Not all of them. I definitely haven't been secretly buying every volume of the 'Mad Tales of a Bloodthirsty Falcon Knight' that I see. And only succeeding in getting eleven volumes. Out of thirty-seven. They're not even in order…
Anyhow, I pick up volume three and start reading from the leaf that I've been using as a bookmark. Look, I just picked up what I can find around me when I'm done reading to use as a bookmark, alright? Don't judge me.
I get quite…uh…invested in the book.
I don't realise that the candle I've been using as my only source of light has burned well past its half-way point. Plus, I faintly recall Terence telling me that using only candlelight for long periods of time was really bad for your eyes. And…I'm kinda hungry. I should probably go get something to eat. Having lost the leaf that I used as a bookmark before, I rip a piece of paper from my desk into a rectangular strip and use that as a bookmark.
Stepping outside…I realise it's still dark. Great. Nobody is awake yet, and I'm starting to feel like something is gnawing at my stomach from the inside. That's just great. Should I risk making my own food? The last time I tried that I somehow burned pudding and Terence sat me down in a small room and just stared at me for half an hour. It was…rather confusing.
Before I can make a decision, however, I hear the sound of someone talking in the distance. Considering the fact that they don't seem to be hiding the fact that they're talking I can assume that they're a fellow shepherd; if they weren't supposed to be here, they wouldn't be so loud.
Frowning, I start to walk over to where the voice is coming from. I'm too far away to hear distinct words, but it does seem masculine in tone and rather relaxed—if a bit even-tempered. The voice takes me some ways away from camp. Not so far as to be out of sight of our small tent village, but far enough away that one can't reasonably tell who it is or what they're doing. Plus, it's rather dark, which makes visual identification that much harder.
As I get closer, I hear—
"Huh. That went a lot better than I expected. Try the APCBC, Randy."
Ah. That'll be Terence, then. That would explain how I was able to hear him from all the way in camp; he has a loud and easily recognisable voice.
I hear a rather loud bang afterwards, though, and shudder in response. Not too long after a plume of dirt followed by a bright flash of yellow-red shoot up from the ground.
"Phew! That was…uh…rather unexpected. How much explosive filler are in the APCBC shells? 31 grams!? That's…a little overkill, I think. If it gets through a person's armour, no matter how much explosive we put inside of it, I think they're dead. Also, that's not the explosive power of 31 grams of TNT—oh, it's enriched Nitro…? Wait, why the hell are we using Enriched Nitro? I told you to get rid of it!" I hear Terence growl in anger. ¨Why? Are you really asking me why I should get rid of Enriched Nitroglycerin? It has more than twice the explosive power than TNT while being basically as stable as standard Nitroglycerin. What's more, you can't even stabilise the damn thing like you can with Cordite. It's literally too good of an explosive to be used, you dumb bird!"
I'm not sure who or what Terence is talking to, or if this is just another case of Terence talking to himself. Getting closer, however, I realise that it's…a mix of the two. Terence is standing in the field with Randy by his side and that golden bird pet that he keeps for some reason on one of his shoulders. Randy seems to have gotten a little bigger, and the spout that sprayed fire either removed or moved somewhere else. In its place sits a large metal tube with a contraption at one end that I can't make heads or tails of, and two sheets of metal angled backwards protecting that mechanism while still allowing that tube to move up and down, which I see Randy do.
Terence is angrily yelling at the bird with an immensely angry expression on his face. The bird, like all birds, just looks smug.
"Oh, you're doing this with me now. Mehercule, shut the fuck up! I don't need any of your sass right now! You're going to blow us up! Vespi, I swear to Jupiter, if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to tear out your auditory modulator. Do you understand me? Yes? Yes? Good," The bird, presumably named Vespi, flies off.
Terence sighs deeply. He takes a moment before raising his head. He takes a double take when he realises I've been here the whole time.
"Robin…I…didn't see you there."
"Um…you seemed to be occupied with…" I make a gesture with my hands as I lack the words to describe…whatever this is.
"Right. Sorry about that…ha…that bird can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Makes me wonder what the reason I made him was," He shakes his head. "Still…do you need anything, Robin? It's not like you to be up so early in the morning."
"Ah…um…I didn't sleep very well last night."
"I…can see that. You haven't even bothered to put your hair up today. Nightmares too?"
"Y—Yeah. Wasn't the most pleasant night," I sigh, a little embarrassed. I then frown. "Wait, nightmares too? What do you mean too?"
"I think this is the first time I've seen you with your hair down," Terence chuckles. He snaps his fingers and Randy disappears into a shower of golden sparks. He walks up to me.
"Hey, you haven't answered my question yet—" I cut my demand for an answer short as Terence shakes his head and makes a motion with his hand. It's obvious that he's not going to tell me, and I doubt I can get any information out of him. "—plus, you've literally seen me sleeping before. I sure wasn't wearing any clothes when you barged into my tent, much less tying my hair up."
At least he has the good manners to look embarrassed.
"Might I remind you that I could not see a single thing?" His voice is quiet.
"That doesn't make it much better, does it?"
"No…" He sighs. "No it doesn't. Moving on swiftly, I've finished with what tests I'm able to right now. Are you out here taking a walk…or…?"
"No, I uh…wanted to find you. To ask a question."
"Well, you've found me. Shoot."
"What?"
"Ask me the question."
"Oh. Um," A sudden surge of embarrassment shoots through my body as I realise just what exactly I'm asking Terence to do. It's…well, a little shameful. Oh well. I'm too hungry for shame at this point. "I was wondering if you could make me something to eat? Um…I'm not too confident in my skill to go into the kitchen by myself, and I'm…really hungry."
Terence blinks.
"Well, I won't say no, but…" He frowns, thinking about something. "How about this. I'm…slightly worried about you starving tto death because you can't cook something, so I'm going to teach you how to make some really simple dishes."
"Really? Starving to death?"
"Robin, you burned pudding. Pudding. Literally just sugar and flour. I still don't understand how you managed to start that kitchen fire. Look into my eyes and tell me that you won't destroy a kitchen by yourself."
"I…I won't…destroy…" I bite my lip. Terence is giving me a look that just makes me want to shrink away and hide in a hole. "Ok…fine…"
"Alright, good. There's some stale bread in the supply cart that Vaike didn't want to waste and I have some eggs, so we're going to be making some Poor Knights."
"What?"
"Fried Bread with Eggs. Come on."
We made our way to the supply wagon that Flavia graciously granted us when we departed from Khantuurbaliq to make sure we wouldn't starve on the way back. Terence started to dig around the bread section of the wagon, looking for that stale bread he was talking about earlier. I joined in, finding a loaf of rather stiff bread which I present to Terence. He laughs and pulls out a brick. Rather, I thought it was a brick, but it turns out it was just an incredibly stale loaf of bread.
He says that the loaf I found was still edible…which is certainly a statement, but that Poor Knights needed a piece of bread that was practically inedible for the 'full experience'. I'm…not sure how that even makes any sense.
We make our way to the cooking tent. Terence somehow managed to summon a whole bag full of eggs and placed it onto the countertop. He frowns at the small mobile stove that Frederick had set up yesterday morning.
"That…is not nearly big enough," He sighs. "I'll need to use my own…Robin, put on your apron before we start. Don't want butter or eggs to stain our clothes."
I dutifully comply. The female shepherds have this system in which every person has their own customised apron that is personalised. For example, Miriel has a grey apron with the words 'Caramelization Expert' printed onto it while Sumia has a pink-and-green apron with floral patterns and the words 'Mother of All Pies' on it. For me, it's a purple apron that matches my coat with a scale and the words 'It's Time to Flip the Scales!' on it. A joke after I yelled 'It's Time to Tip the Scales!' during a fight against some bandits.
Turning back to Terence, I find him suddenly wearing a grey apron…Miriel's grey apron.
"What?" He raises his eyebrows in confusion.
"Um…you know that's Miriel's, right?" I ask.
He sighs.
"Yes I know. I asked her about this the last time Lissa dragged me in here on mess duty. We came to the agreement that she would allow me to borrow her apron for the length of time that it took for Maribelle to convince the people who make these to make me one, if I could answer half of the questions she had me," Terence closes his eyes and shudders. "Six hours of my life…I will never get them back…uegh."
"Oh…I see…that sounds…like a really weird situation."
"Tell me about it," He snorts. "I have half a mind to just make my own apron that says 'Veni, Vidi, Coxi' on it. But no…Lissa said I have to conform to the 'standard' that everyone else had. This isn't even fireproof, it's literally worse than my handkerchief!"
Terence mutters something at himself before placing the piece of bread on the counter and handing me a knife.
"Cut that into 27 pieces, please. Removing the ends, of course. Don't make them too thin, else the eggs won't have anywhere to go," He says as he grunts, removing a small metal box from his infinitely storing bag. "I'm going to set up the stove here…"
I shrug and get to cutting. The knife is much, much sharper than I remember it being. Did…someone sharpen this thing? About halfway through the cutting, a sudden blast of heat sucks all of the moisture out of the room. I hear Terence say not to worry about it, so I continue to cut the bread.
By the time I'm done, that small little metal box had turned into a metal cylinder with a disc of metal suspended over the top. At the top end of the cylinder there were a bunch of little small holes formed up in concentric holes that spat a bright orange flame, heating the metal disc.
"What…is that?"
"My portable stove. It's a tad bit bigger; I reckon we can fit around nine pieces of bread there to cook at a time." He chuckles. "Though, we'd still have to do three batches."
"Huh? Three?"
"Yeah, we have thirteen people, and at two pieces a person we need 26 pieces. Simple math."
"Terence, we have 12 people."
"Robin, have you forgotten about Lon'qu already? Weren't you and Lissa slobbering over his abs at the party?" He shoots me an inquisitive stare.
I feel a heat rushing to my cheeks.
"T—That was a mistake. A big, drunken mistake. And we're making this for everyone?"
"Yeah? Frederick's already awake and there's no way he hasn't already woken Chrom up. Also, I somehow recall a certain person saying that they wouldn't make any mistakes while drunk."
"T—That wasn't me!"
"Hmmm…whatever you say," He shrugs with a devious smile as he cracks a half dozen eggs and separates the whites from the yolk before he starts whisking them. "We start by making the egg bath for the bread. Different people prefer their Poor Knights at a different saturation with eggs, and though I prefer them a bit more moist, I know that Chrom likes them a bit dryer, so I'm going with six eggs. Once again, there are savoury and sweet versions…everyone likes the sweet version even though I'm partial to the savoury one, so we're making the sweet one."
He sprinkles a good helping of sugar into the bowl.
He takes a while to finish whisking the eggs, milk, and sugar together for the egg bath. During that time, I asked about what the stove was, and he dove into a minutes-long explanation of how the stove worked. I caught a couple of words like 'methane' and 'modified rocket engine', though most of the specifics still elude me. He looked very passionate talking about it, though, and he made himself laugh many times during it.
"What you want to do now is let the bread soak. I usually soak for around five minutes, but we have a lot of bread and we're not trying to make them moist, so we're sticking to two minutes for now," He smiles as he places the bowl on the table, looking rather proud of himself. Whether it was for explaining the stove or for making this egg bath, I'm not certain.
I nod and start placing the bread into the egg bath, following Terence's example.
After a while, we take the bread out. I wanted to immediately place them onto the hot metal plate, but Terence shot me an exasperated look.
"We have to melt butter there first. We don't want the bread to stick."
I placed a stick of butter onto the hotplate and Terence's eyes nearly shot out of his head.
"If you just put butter by itself it'll burn! Oil, Oil, where is my damn—here it is!" Terence quickly adds a large helping of olive oil onto the hotplate.
"S—Sorry…"
"No, it's alright. I…didn't mean to snap like that," He sighs. "I've just…Jugen's burned down three tents already; I forget that you're not doing this on purpose."
Terence starts to transfer the soaked pieces of bread over to the hot plate. They make a satisfying sizzling sound when they hit the metal, though flinging bits of hot oil and butter everywhere. One lands on my wrist and I hiss with pain, but I see Terence touch the hotplate without so much as a flinch. How.
"Now, we don't want one side to burn while the other side is still raw, so we have to flip the pieces after one side is done cooking. You'll know when they're done when—there!" He takes a spatula and flips one of the pieces over. "They'll stop bubbling when the side is cooked. You want minimal blackening but good browning. Looks like I was a bit late; there's way too much black on there."
I see only a couple specks of burnt egg-liquid on the top of the flipped piece as Terence methodically starts to flip the pieces of toast over. I'm certain I can't achieve the same result as he can. I stew on this a little.
"Hey Robin? You can make the side dish, right?"
"We're making a side dish!?"
"Of course! You think two pieces of bread can feed Stahl?"
"That's…yeah, that's fair. What's the side dish?"
"Yoghurt. Uh, two parts yoghurt—it's in that cabinet over there—and one part honey—it's in the [Bag of Holding]. Toss some dried cranberries on there too. They're also in the bag; you'll know them when you see them."
"Um…are you sure I can make that?"
"It's literally just mixing three ingredients together in a bowl."
"A—Alright."
I gulp and find the ingredients I'm looking for…though trying to find the honey and dried cranberries in that infernal bag of his was a pain. I swear, I took out nearly an entire warehouse full of spices before I found the honey.
"Alright…I think this is done…" I sigh as Terence nods approvingly, plating the rest of the Poor Knights.
"Robin!?" I hear a voice from outside the tent that makes me jump a little. Terence holds my shoulder and looks at me with an amused expression, stopping the bowl of yoghurt from spilling. "Are you…in the kitchen?"
"Yeah? Lissa?"
"Um…are you sure you're alright in there alone? Do you…need any help?"
"No, I'm fine. Uh, Terence is with me. We're making…what are they called again…?"
"Poor Knights," Terence answers for me as he finishes plating. He ushers me over to plate the yoghurt.
"Ah! Terence, um…alright, I'll leave you all to it."
"Lissa, mind if you gathered everyone for breakfast? I'm certain that everyone is awake now due to Frederick, and I'd hate for us to start with half of us on an empty stomach."
"Yes! Alright! I'll go get everyone!" Lisssa runs off.
"Is there something happening today?" I ask, confused as to why anyone other than Terence and Frederick would be up this early, only to shrink back as Terence smiles wickedly. "Um…Terence…?"
"No, it's nothing. Get ready, though. There is no way that Frederick isn't forcing you to join in on Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour."
What.
"What."
I stop moving and stand there, staring at Terence.
"Oh shit, you really don't know. Gahahaha! Have fun!"
"What—No, get back here you—!"
(Terence)
Surprisingly, I'm still able to beat Frederick in the 5 kilometre run again, despite being out of shape for a soldier after two months of little training. Well, I think it's 5 kilometres, I'm not certain. They don't use metric here for obvious reasons.
It honestly wasn't all too terrible, despite what others have stated about this nearly-universally hated hour, and I enjoyed it. For once. I'm not a gym bro, and certainly had issues with staying fit, but I wasn't someone like Jonathan who refused to even consider exercise. Well, Jonathan also had a chronic undereating problem, so he's excused.
I had not expected Robin to be awake this early, though it did mean I had extra help with breakfast. I'm…going to elect not to inform her that today was actually Lissa's day on mess duty, and that she's just inadvertently bought me a favour from Lissa. The Ylissean princess is really bad at waking up early enough to make any sort of meal, which translates to having the rest of us on mess duty having to make up for her.
Hehe. I know exactly what I'm doing to cash this favour in.
The 'hour' of Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour is a bit disingenuous. It should take the average person an hour to complete everything without being pushed too hard…if the average person is Frederick. Terentius finished far ahead of that time, of course, but I doubt I would be able to even make the 1 hour mark, nevermind be able to complete it in 38 minutes, realise that only Frederick and I have finished, play a round of card, get bored with playing cards after I demolished him five times in a row, decided to wrestle—in which I got absolutely stomped—and then run another five kilometres. And we still managed to beat Chrom.
Frederick jogs up to the tree we've been using as the start-slash finish line. His tone has…mellowed a little bit since we first met. We're on speaking terms, even if those speaking terms are still professional, not friendly.
Then again, there are only probably three people in the Shepherds as a whole who I think I have 'friendly' relations with and-slash-or can call my friends—Robin, Kellam, and Lissa—and that's not an insubstantial amount by design.
"Beat you again," I chuckle as Frederick touches the tree with a snort. "Water?"
"Thank you," Frederick raises an eyebrow as I pour a glass of water from a [Decanter of Endless Water] and hand it to him. "What…exactly is that?"
"Decanter of Endless Water. Does what it says on the tin," I shrug.
"On the tin? There is no tin label on the glass."
"I mean—right, no canning yet. It does what it says in the name."
"It has endless water?"
"Yeah. Well, not entirely limitless, but close enough that it doesn't matter," I shrug. "Great item for when you're stuck in the desert or somewhere without freshwater."
"I can see that," Frederick nods, taking a sip.
A beat of silence extends between us for a moment before Frederick coughs into his fist.
"I…had not expected you to be such a good runner," He notes.
"It hasn't been that long since I've left hell," I chuckle. "This is nothing compared to the near-daily trips we used to make. Plus, I've been trained how to move fast across a long distance of time. The Proconsul was a bit of a slave-driver, after all."
"Still, I had expected you to be far more impassive when it came to exercise; something more like your friend, Robin, would have been expected."
I wince in sympathy at the mention of Robin's name. The poor girl was not ready at all for the intense physical strain that Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour entailed. She had basically tapped out during the 300 push-up section and barely was able to finish the curl-up section before Frederick herded us to the running portion.
I lost her around the five-minute mark of the run as Robin's silhouette disappeared behind a large rise in the ground. I passed her…around the two-thirds mark? I'm not sure; I was too busy trying to stay ahead of a spriting Vaike who somehow found a reserve of energy when he realised I was going to lap him.
I perk my head as I realise that Chrom's approaching. His breathing is heavy and a sheen of sweat is lathered over nearly every part of his skin that is exposed. His dark blue tunic is…not supposed to be that blue.
"Haa…ha…Hey…Frederick…Terence…gaah…" Chrom trudges up the small hill up to the tree. "Naga…damn it…"
"Water?" I raise an eyebrow as Chrom nearly collapses onto the group, only saving himself from flattening against the dirt by converting that collapse into a flop to a sitting position. "You look…bad."
"Y—Yeah…" Chrom takes the water and gulps down half of the entire glass in one mouthful before promptly pouring the rest over his head. "Ha…that feels…much better. How are you two…not even a little bit…winded…"
"Practice."
"Pain."
Frederick and my responses don't differ all too much from each other. It gives a bit more insight as to the circumstances that got us to where we are, individually, though pain and practice aren't much different. I would have liked practising running for my life while not being actively chased by a bunch of angry harpies while trying to do CPR on a thoroughly unalive Jugen.
"You…two…are…just…the worst," Chrom sighs. "Ha…Terence, thanks…for the water. Got any more?"
I refill his glass, though he looks as confused as Frederick was when the amount of water in the decanter doesn't seem to go down by much. Chrom doesn't question it, however, unlike Frederick; perhaps he's more used to my magical items, especially after I showed him my Magical Tinkering back at Southtown.
"That decanter is very useful," Frederick notes again with a raised eyebrow. "Though you did mention that it had functionally infinite water. What exactly does that mean?"
"Oh, it's because this decanter has two rather big limitations that prevent it from being truly infinite water," I start to explain with a hum. It feels rather natural for me to do this, for some reason. "See, the way that this decanter makes water is by turning ambient mana in the air into water through a rather complicated process that I'd rather not get into. Anyway, it's similar in theory to ice magic—even if not a lot of people here practise it."
I take a moment to breathe before continuing.
"Due to this method, there are two ways to stop this magic from working. The first is if the ambient mana runs so low that it's impossible for the Locke process to work. You would have to find a place that either has an Anti-magic Zone placed upon it or some other process has sucked all of the mana out of the ground. Quite difficult to encounter otherwise," I wince as I realised that out of the five times I've tried to use this specific decanter, three of those times had one of the two reasons why it would work due to insufficient mana supplies.
"As for the second way, it's to overwhelm the O4 circuit in the mana absorption module. The amount of water needed to be produced would be immense, but it's possible. I've done it before, though the auto-repair system that I put into all of my magic items quickly fixed it up the day after. It did generate enough water to make an entire geyser that flowed for a good two hours," I chuckle. "So yes, it's completely possible, but it's rather difficult. In day-to-day use, it won't run out of water."
The explanation seems to have flown over the heads of both Frederick and Chrom. I realise this with a sigh before adding that Miriel would probably be able to explain the basics of magic better. Chrom mutters something about being embarrassingly bad at magic, but I elect not to notice.
We make some small talk as we wait for the rest of the shepherds to finish their run. Vaike and Sully come next, being neck to neck. The two hotheads look just about ready to fall over, with sheer stubbornness keeping them upright. They barrel straight past Chrom who was trying to welcome and slam into the tree, almost at the same time. I say almost because they immediately got into a fight about who got there first and forced me to referee it. Why they didn't ask Chrom or Frederick I have no idea.
After a few moments of measurements, I was able to conclude—with a massive margin of error, mind you—that Sully won.
I promptly ducked as Vaike swung a branch he found…somewhere at me.
The next to arrive is Kellam. Not surprising. That hefty armour that he usually wears doesn't slow that man down at all, and this run is done without armour on. Well, Frederick challenged me to a run with armour on, which I took and won. Take that, Fredrickson! That's my prize, by the way—being able to call him Fredrickson for an entire day.
Stahl had, unsurprisingly, the geometric average of everyone's time. I'm not…surprised, but I am enthused about the possibilities of this.
Sumia took a bit longer to get back, but she did so with good time. Under an hour! It took practically everything she had, but still, better than the other more…lax people. Ahem, Lissa. And Robin.
Surprisingly, Lon'qu took a while to complete the 5 kilometres. You'd expect someone like him to be fast. Apperatenly, he's only fast for the first 500 or so metres, and then his speed falls off a cliff. Poor dude looked like he was going to die from heat stroke. Well, he did have early onset heatstroke, so I had to dump a good dozen litres of cold water on him before I was comfortable with him walking away. He looked…rather uncomfortable when the water was being dumped on him, though he looked a lot less like an overcooked lobster when all was said and told.
Miriel, having paced herself rather well, wasn't all too tired, though her times suffered a bit.
"And now we just have to wait for Lissa and Robin," I note to Kellam with a chuckle as Miriel starts to pick Chrom and Frederick's brain for the things I've said about the Decanter, which she's stolen off my hands for 'study'. It's…fine, I have like four of those things. You find those things everywhere, and it takes like half a day for any decent artificer to make anyway.
"I'm surprised that Robin's doing this poorly," Kellam shrugs. "Though I'm just as surprised that you did so well."
"What can I say…death is usually a good motivator to keep fit," I laugh cynically. "Just imagining a horde of harpies on my ass was enough to keep the pain away."
"I have no idea what a harpy is, but that sound terrifying."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. There was this time that—and that's Robin and Lissa," I note, nodding towards the silhouette of the two ladies finally rising above the small depression immediately in front of the hill that the tree is on.
Lissa and Robin pant and struggle up the hill. For some reason, Robin's decided that wearing that coat would have no bearing on her ability to run and is currently wearing it…hood and all. A small tingle of danger shoots up my spine; Grima looks exactly like that. I quickly and quietly kill that feeling with extreme prejudice. Robin is not Grima, no matter what my body may tell me.
"Gah…ha…ha…C—Chrom! Help me!" Lissa whines while Robin mutters something incomprehensible.
"Sorry Sis, but you'll have to climb up here by yourself," Chrom smiles and gives two thumbs up.
The two girls take their time climbing past the final hurdle. Lissa collapses into a pile at Chrom's feet, refusing to get up, much to Chrom's chagrin. Karma. Meanwhile, Robin stumbles towards me and my glass of water like a zombie.
"Hey Robin. Doing alright."
"Mhurmmm…" She takes the water from my hands and starts to drink in small little sips. "Yuuuhrah."
"What are you even saying…" I sigh. "You should really take the coat off, you know?"
"Dthongt. I…Eiyeee…loink ith…"
"Don't, because you like it?" I raise an eyebrow, repeating what I think I hear back to her. Thankfully, she nods in approval at my translation.
She suddenly starts swaying worryingly on her feet, the water in the glass starting to leap over the sides and slosh over onto the ground.
"R—Robin? Are you sure you're—Robin!" I yelp as she crumples forwards with a groan, slamming against my chest and spilling the water everywhere. I try to peel her off of me and help her stand on her feet, but the moment I touch her skin—
"Gods damn! She's got heatstroke!"
I lie her down as fast as possible and start taking off as many clothes as I possibly can—coat, long pants, jackets under the coat, for some bizarre reason, and a rather thick cloth overshirt. Why she has so many layers I have no idea.
"Lissa, fill a tub with cold water as fast as possible!" I snap at the young princess. "Kellam, help me move her over to that tub. Sumia, keep pouring water from my decanter onto her."
My words seem to move the shepherds who had been shocked into inaction. Frederick goes to help Lissa with the tub and Miriel helps with keeping her cool in the meantime.
It takes just under three minutes for everything to get set and for us to move her over and place her in the tub. I suggested taking everything off—she still had an undershirt and a pair of shorts on—for optimal heat loss, but that was quickly shot down by a rather red-faced Smia and Lissa.
The immediate panic over, the shepherds just kinda stood around before Frederick decided that enough was enough and got everyone to leave, having just Lissa and I watching over Robin. Thankfully, her body temperature has dipped back to an acceptable level, though I'm still a bit cautious letting her out of the danger zone; possible dehydration hasn't been ruled out yet.
Even more concerning is the fact that Robin hasn't woken back up yet.
After a while, Lissa, deciding that me alone is enough to care for her, leaves to…do something. Not sure what.
Seriously, this girl…I can't believe her. It's like thirty degrees outside and she's wearing four layers on top of that massive coat. I just…how. Why? I know for a fact that it's not a cultural thing; Tharja and Henry don't look nearly as horribly hot as Robin's outfit does.
I sigh and turn around. She'll be needing another set of clothes when she wakes up, preferably not ones that fit in more in the wastes of Ferox than the summer meadows of—
"Isn't it time to wake up from this wonderful dream, Farseer? Or rather, Orator?"
I hear Robin's voice say from behind me. No, not Robin's voice….someone…else's.
I stop in my tracks. A spell forms on my fingertips. Just in case. You never know.
"Orator? Really? What kind of title is that? Sounds like a cheap way to not say Dictator," I scoff. "Now, who exactly are you?"
I turn around, hand outstretched and the pinprick of bright orange light pointed right at where the voice is coming from.
I take a deep and quick breath as I realise the voice did come from Robin. I find her stepping out of the tub with a decidedly not Robin-like smile on her face. It's…a magnanimous one, like the smile you'd expect from Emmeryn…
"Dictator…huh…I am as surprised as you are on your word choice, Orator. After all, was it not you who made that position?" I notice that Robin's usual amber eyes have been replaced by two orbs of bright, pupil-less gold.
"What the hell do you mean," I growl. I do a quick mental calculation and conclude that Robin probably won't be able to survive a fireball and quietly switch my [Fireball] spell to a [Dispel Magic] one instead. "I've only been called Farseer by one person—Naga—and nobody else has ever called me that. I've never held any political office, and my short stint as a Propraetor in Hispania lasted barely half a year."
"As humble as always." Not-Robin chuckles. She walks closer to me and puts a finger on my shoulder. "You know…you could be a lot more…assertive. More…proud of yourself—oh dear. You know that spell won't work on me, right?"
I curse and back away as the [Dispel Magic] does not, in fact, work.
"What are you!? Why are you here!?"
"Isn't it obvious? It has been such…a wonderful dream that you've been in, but there are people outside—in the real world—that need you right now, Orator."
"What are you talking about?"
"Have you forgotten so easily? Didn't [ERROR] burn down your laboratory?"
"Wuh—how do you even know that name!? She's from a different—!" I groan as a spike of pain smashes into the top of my head. A vision—a premotion? No, a memory…how…why—
The roaring of a great flame drowns out the cries and wails of those still inside. An Immaculately White dragon circles above, spewing a great spout of flame onto the buildings below. The sky is black and crimson from the smoke and ash rising up in a massive column of putrid black.
Someone cries out for help. A mother cradles her child—burned black by the dragon's wrath—wailing on and on. She had arrived here after her little boy had gotten sick and wouldn't get better. Tuberculosis-induced pneumonia. Completely treatable, if a little dangerous.
Now, that child will never breathe again.
An elderly man rushes back into the burning complex, despite the cries of a young child at his side. The former village elder had been brought here by his son to treat his shattered leg after a tree fell on it. The family had been visiting him when the dragon arrived.
A gout of flame burns away three generations of the same family.
The flame rises and burns ever higher and hotter. The setting sun makes the furiously burning flame ever present.
Do you see your folly, Orator?
I scream in pain as the vision-memory ends.
"W—What…was…that?" I breathlessly ask. "What did you just show me?"
"Do you remember who you are?"
"What are you…talking about?"
"What is your name?"
"My name…is…Terence…"
"What is your title?"
"I have…so…such…thing!"
Robin frowns.
"What is your name?"
"I…Am…ha…ha…Septimus…Terenti—ius…Aqui—i—ilius…Aurelius…"
"What is your title?"
"I have…no…such..title!"
"Septimus Terentius Aquilius Aurelius. What is your title?"
Ah, yes. I…I remember now. I remember what reality looks like. I remember the pain, the torture, and flames of a terrifying reign of narcissistic madmen. I am—
"Orator Septimus Terentius Aquilius, leader of the Liberati, the reformed Agarthans. My wish is to free humanity from the grasp of the dragon, my goal is to dismantle the Church of Seiros and return power to the shivering masses of humanity."
At long last, I open my eyes.
This wishful dream is over.
(Orator Septimus)
I awake to a scene of cerulean. Ah, so they stuck me into the tank again. Not like I'm going to look any pretty with it…but I appreciate the sentiment.
A jarring vibration reverberates within the breathable gel-like substance that makes up the interior of the healing tank. The homogeneous dark blue world that I've awoken to slowly brightens up and becomes more refined as my eyes remember what light looks like. The hydrophobic gel slowly creeps out of my ears and the hissing of the healing tank fills allows me to confirm that I've suffered no hearing damage from the dunk in the tank.
At long last, the tempered glass doors to the tank open and reveal a bright white marble building's interior. I try to take a step forward…and almost fall onto my face. Cursing, I remember that I had lost the nerves in my left leg a while back, and the artificial nerves in said leg took a moment to boot up every time I woke up.
I limp out of the tank and growl. Where did she put my fucking cane…I could have sworn that it was—
"Ah! Good morning, Teacher! It's rare for you to wake up so late. What kept you asleep? Did something happen in the land of dreams?" I feminine voice says warmly to my side. I feel someone push my cane into my hand.
Ah, it's Kronya. She's…changed a lot from what you'd expect from her in-game appearance. For starters, like nearly all Agarthans that I've managed to reform, her skin is a lot more…well, human-like. No longer are they all a pale marble white, even if they are still quite pale. It's rather difficult to emulate the sun's suite of radiation underground, and worse, it's dangerous to one's health even if you did.
She's kept her hair long and in a long ponytail. Those weird geometric tattoos are also not present. I've also managed a fair number of people here to adopt togas, especially the newer generations, and Kronya is one of those.
"A sweet fantasy world," I turn to answer Kronya's question and notice a slight worry in her eyes. "Something wrong, Kronya?"
"Well…" She sighs. "You've been waking later and later now. Thales is…a bit worried about your health."
"By that, she means anxious about your continued wellbeing, Orator," A deep male voice emanates from behind me. "Our mission could not be completed without you. The kingdom of Agartha and the Liberati are relying on you to lead us against the hated Nabateans."
Of course Thales is here. As the gossiping youngsters say, wherever you can find Kronya, you can find Thales.
Purely coincidental, of course. Thales has a vow of celibacy and Kronya's more into me than Thales, which is a bit…terrifying.
Speaking of Thales, he looks much more healthy than he does in the original timeline. His eyes are a much more friendly green than the terrifying pit of white blankness that would usually inhabit his eye sockets, and while his hair has turned white due to his advanced age, his skin is much more of a normal human colour rather than the same colour as his hair. He too is wearing a toga, though he does so out of respect for me as an individual rather than the ideals that the toga brings.
"You underestimate yourself and Cleobulus's abilities far too much," Those two, incidentally, are my two lieutenants. The Consuls to my Orator. "Furthermore, I plan to retire once this war is over. You two are to take over Agartha when that happens. I am far too old to be in politics anymore."
Thales shakes his head in disapproval while Kronya just looks confused at the 'retire'. Seriously, why is everyone so gods damn autocratic here? Has Tarquin the Proud taught you nothing!?
Neither of them goes any further, however, so the subject is dropped.
"Oh, Teacher, I've got good news! Remember that girl that Solon didn't managed to get his grubby hands on before you booted him off of the Fire Emblem project? Uh, that something…gard girl? Can't remember her name. The one that the Emperor made with that Arundel girl."
Thales and I both cringe at the mention of Solon. He can be best described as a…racist son of a whore and a mutt. And that's being nice about it. He even treats his fellow Agarthans like trash, nevermind humans living in worse conditions. His only saving grace, or rather, the only thing from stopping me from cutting him in half for his myriad crimes against humanity, is the fact that he's something of a genius.
Unfortunately, that genius comes at the price of not being able to understand any scientific ethics, and usually ends with a bunch of dead families and a paper basically saying 'didn't work, will try a different, more horrific method' on my desk. Fucking asshat.
"Ah, yes. Hildegard von Hresvelg. The only one left after Solon's decimation of that poor old man's loin fruits. What about her?"
"Edelgard von Hresvelg," I correct Thales. "The name Hildegard hasn't been used since the year of the three emperors, Thales. Plus, it was more common up north in Goneril and Daphnel anyhow. I'm surprised that you didn't know anything about this. You usually know more than I do about current events on the surface."
"I am fairly surprised too, Orator. Though, field command has moved to Cleobulus recently; I need more time here to make sure our little project goes smoothly."
"Are you two done yet…?"
"Yes, yes we are, Kronya…you may continue."
"Right. Ok. So, the last update from Lab 17 was about the R-14 implant going well, right? And the crest stone was able to be incorporated into her bloodstream without conflict with the Crest of Seiros already present?"
"I believe that was on the report, yes," Thales frowns. "What of it? The Crest of Flames didn't manage to manifest itself."
"That's the thing! Bias just reported that the Crest of Flames manifested!"
"What."
"Yeah! She's even gone through the trouble of bringing that Edelgard girl here so that Teacher can finally implant the Matrix!"
"Well, isn't that convenient," I chuckle. "Anything else important this morning that I have to get done, Thales?"
"Nothing as important as this, Orator. We should get going."
||—||
"Woah…she's so skinny…and short too. What are they feeding these Imperials? That diet slop that's been going around recently," That's the first thing that Kronya says as we make our way to the operating room, where Edelgard is currently being held in a healing tank, much like the one I was in…just less advanced.
The tempered glass doors allow us to peer inside of the tank and see the young girl—maybe around ten or eleven years in age—with light brown hair and a thin scar over her neck and heart that would be impossible to see unless you looked for it.
She's short, incredibly so. Kronya's not the tallest person around, even for a lady, and yet she stands heads and shoulders above Edelgard. Part of that is age, yes, but Edelgard is much too short for an eleven-year-old.
"Remember, Kronya, that people on the outside have a much lower standard of living when compared to us here below. There could be a myriad of reasons that this Imperial girl could have had an abnormal development. Perhaps she got sick in youth and that stunted her growth. Perhaps her diet was too carbohydrate heavy and she lacked the proper proteins to grow well. Or perhaps that abominable crest inside of her sucked all of her nutrients away," Thales explains.
"It does not reflect well on oneself to talk of other's plight in such a way, Thales. We are trying to make their lives better, not to belittle them for their circumstances. Bias, give me biometrics and lay her on the table, please."
"Yes, of course. My apologies."
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
A hissing noise once again accompanies the healing tank's opening. A pair of doctors carefully extract Edelgard from the gel and place her on the operating table. A holographic display with her biometric data pops up in the corner of my eye.
Bias gives me the go ahead.
The procedure itself is actually quite simple, really. A quick…easy…procedure…if you count an open-heart surgery as simple and quick.
Well, opening the chest to reach the heart. The matrix does the rest itself.
My adamantine scalpel is able to quickly open up her chest and expose Edelgard's beating heart. I can see the small crest stone of a reduced size snuggled right under her left ventricle. Another doctor—or maybe med student—comes up and holds the incision open while I prepare the Matrix.
The Matrix itself is quite boring—a coil of colourless slightly translucent string-like material. However, pouring some mana into the Matrix makes it light up with an eerie crimson glow. I guide the matrix to the open incision and into Edelgard's heart.
Upon contact with the crest stone embedded in her heart, the Matrix lights up with a clear blue light that shines so brightly that it temporarily outshines the massive spotlight that we've been using to see the insides of Edelgard's body cavity.
I quickly order the incision to be closed, and a [Cure Wounds] spell ensures that the place of entry is nothing more than a thin pale line on her skin, barely noticeable even if you were to look for it.
"Bias, watch the Ichor."
Ichor—also known as the blood of the gods—is the primary material that allows me to cast spells from the other world, and the Matrix is the only way for a body to naturally generate it. It's a…rather weird little thing, but most importantly for this project, due to how the nature of the magic works, it requires approval from the current god of the world to use.
Unfortunately for us, Sothis is very dead. Bummer.
We've found a loophole, which is to implant someone with the Crest of Flames…which is what Project Fire Emblem was all about. Solon was just…very partial to killing as many people as physically possible to achieve that goal.
"6.1 percent and rising," Is the response from the experienced Gremory. "All biometrics are stable sans her heart rate—it's risen to 114 bpm already."
"Good. Watch the Ichor percentage. I'll shut off mana insertion at 72 percent," I bite the inside of my cheek. That heart rate is a bit…concerning. "Kronya, prep the defib. We're probably not going to need it…but just in case."
Kronya nods and rushes to a corner of the room where the defibrillator is stored.
"17.4 percent Ichor in blood!" Bias reports. "BPM approaching 135!"
The room gets a bit nervous.
"39.2 percent Ichor! 155 BPM!"
"Orator, perhaps we should…"
"Wait. Let it run its course," I bite the inside of my cheek again. "Don't panic."
The medical tech nods and goes back to his station.
"41.9 percent! 181 BPM!"
"Orator!" A different doctor speaks up. "She's going to die at this rate! The Ichor doesn't provide her with enough oxygen; her heart's going to tear itself apart trying to oxygenate her body!"
"Hold. Not yet…" I tweak the amount of mana I'm giving the Matrix with a wince. I forget that not everyone's body is already conditioned to take a Matrix. Hell, some of us were already born with one.
"56.1 percent! 189 BPM!"
"Orator!"
"I know, gods damn it! Hold on!"
"64 percent! 194 BPM!"
"Shut it off, Bias! Shut it off!"
"No! Give her a little more!" I shout back. I do, however, gesture for Kronya to prepare the defibrillator. A little bit more and Edelgard's heart is going to go into VT.
"70 percent—! 198—huh?"
"Huh? What do you mean huh?! Bias!"
"It's…her BPM is dropping without her Ichor levels dropping. I—It's down to 141 now."
I take a small breath of relief while the gathered scientists and doctors are all stunned into silence.
"You can put the Defib away, Kronya."
"A—Are you sure, Orator?" The orange-haired girl blinks.
"Yes, I'm sure. Bias?"
"77 p—percent and 104 BPM."
"O—Oh. I'll…I'll put it away."
The walks back to the corner.
"What. Was. That?" The stunned researcher that was yelling at me to turn it off earlier—Pittacus, I believe—mutters to herself. "Orator…? Did you…Did you know this would happen?"
Her voice is quiet, almost as if she's questioning her own eyes and mind.
"This was the expected outcome. A dangerous one, yes, but not one that was unusual or surprising," I explain. "A cause of necessary concern, yes, but not cause for haste cancellation of the insertion process."
"I…I see…I apologies, Orator, I will never doubt you again!"
"Come on Pittacus, you said that last time, and my answer to that this time around will be the same response," I sigh. "Stop saying that every time I'm right. It's redundant at this point."
"Y—Yes, Orator!"
I sigh again. Pittacus…is a bit of a nutcase, but which scientist isn't? Not any who made any meaningful improvement to humanity, that's who. Compare Tesla to Edison. Tesla was approximately 15% pigeon by volume and probably had multiple pigeon wives, while Edison's only quirk was being a filthy capitalist.
Who gave the most to humanity?
Do I really have to spell it out…?
You know what, I'll do it anyway: N-I-K-O-L-A-space-T-E-S-L-A.
"Um…Orator? What's happening now?" Kronya's back from putting the defibrillator onto the wall. She's pointing at Edelgard's body, which is glowing a faint golden colour. "That doesn't look…healthy."
"Really? I raise what's left of my eyebrow. "Look quite well to me. She's glowing with a golden light, which means she's still of the Good alignment. That's a good start."
I elect to not tell everyone that when I was first exposed to the matrix that I glowed a blackish-purple. It was Dawnbringer who dragged me kicking and screaming into the good alignment from a relatively evil starting point.
"What does that mean…" Kronya whispers to herself, forgetting that my enhanced hearing can very much pick up on what she's saying.
"It means that we're going to be able to trust her to make the right decisions, if we are truthful to her," I respond with a chuckle, causing the orange-haired girl to flinch in surprise.
"H—How—"
"Enhanced hearing, remember?" I tap my left ear.
"R—Right. So…what's next?"
"She's choosing her class right now."
"S—Should we wake her up, then?"
I laugh heartily, causing a couple of the researchers at their monitors to turn their gazes towards me with concern in their eyes.
"She's not consciously choosing, Kronya. The matrix itself is deciding what she is worthy, willing, and able to conform to. It's a subconscious choice, one that needs no input from the cognitive centres of the brain. Don't worry, I've never—"
Suddenly, a symbol burns itself into the air above Edelgard's recently exposed chest. A burning sword inlaid within a radiant sun. I get a sympathetic response from the sword sheathed at my side. The symbol of the Radiant Lady, Helsia.
I chuckle loudly, once again making everyone around me rather concerned about my current state.
Like father, like daughter. Well, Uncle in this sense, I suppose, even if that's not…technically true.
"Bias! Get the poor girl some clothes and send her back to Enbarr. Everyone, we're done here! The saviour of humanity has been created!"
I send a quick word of thanks to Helsia, wherever she is.
(Edelgard von Hraesvelg)
Hubert's nearly back again. That means one of two things: something terrible happened at court, or my uncle is visiting again.
Considering the smile on his face that looks less fake than usual, I'm going to hazard a guess that it's the latter.
"Lady Edelgard?"
"Yes, Hubert? Anything to report?"
"As a matter of fact, I do have something rather…interesting to report on. It appears that our dear uncle Volkhard von Arundel is going to be visiting us sometime soon. It would be best to prepare a…more private meeting with him, especially if we want to discuss more…sensitive formation with him."
"I understand, Hubert. Tell the maids to get my father's old study ready for our use. I believe the rest can be handled by our Uncle's more…esoteric magics."
I was never able to understand or comprehend the way that my quote-on-quote uncle was able to manifest such powerful, strange and nearly divine powers. It was…slightly frightening the things he could do with that wand.
Hubert bows out of the room and goes to get one of the palace's maids. Within a short time, the room is cleaned and tidied, ready to be used.
I am sitting on one of the couches in the room. In front of the desk, for some reason, there are a pair of couches facing each other and separated by a coffee table. I have no idea why or for what reason it's here, but it is, so I'm going to use it.
Hubert is currently setting out some biscuits and tea for the meeting, as he usually does. I sneakily take a butter biscuit when he's not looking. It's the perfect balance of flakey and chewy, and practically melts in my mouth.
It doesn't take long before a butler ushers in a tall figure into the room.
"Lord Arundel has arrived, your excellency," The middle aged butler states with a slight quiver in his voice.
The Duke himself is a sharp man, dressed as impeccably as always, with a well-groomed—if short—beard. His grey eyes are as sharp as an eagle's, and his expression, as usual, is equally as gaunt. He clicks his tongue and glares at the butler.
"I was told…" He says in a low and gravelly voice. "That this would be a private meeting."
"Y—Yes, my lord! That is correct!" The butler quickly replies, a hint of fear in his voice.
"Then why…are you still here?" Duke Arundel hisses. "Scram, before I take that idiotic head off of you!"
"Yes! I apologise!"
The pitter-patter of the stumbling butler hides the small sigh in his voice as he enters and loudly slams the door behind him.
He reaches out one hand, and a spell matrix that neither I nor Hubert can make any sense of appears. Silver letters and characters spring forth from that matrix and coat the walls. After a small finishing chant of "Sic!", the lettering glitters for one last moment before then disappearing.
Seemingly satisfied with his work, Duke Arundel sits down.
Almost in an instant, the scowling old man disappears, and a tired face replaces the gaunt expression previously on his face. His actions and demeanors also seem to turn on a dime, and there is a slight enthusiasm in his actions that no noble would have been allowed to have.
"Augh…I hate acting like that. Isn't in my nature," Even his voice goes up a half octave and the gravel seems to be removed from his throat. "I can't believe just how cruel Arundel was to…basically anyone he met. Iupiter above, why'd I have to choose this idiot to turn into…"
Hearing these words out of that man's mouth is…slightly amusing, I'd have to admit. Arundel had a reputation for being a slavedriver and an abhorrent man, and this just…didn't fit with that.
"You know, you can drop the disguise now, right? Nobody is watching," I sigh with a slight laugh. Knowing I can not surpass him in wit or strength, these couple of moment of him being uncomfortable are the only times I'm reminded that he's still human, even after everything.
"Yeah…I should do that. I feel disgusting in this body," He grunts. Without warning, a shower of golden sparks starts to descend down his body. Wherever it went, the form of Volkhard von Arundel disappeared, and Septimus Terentius appeared.
A head of golden hair and calm light grey eyes stared back at me within an expression of amusement. He's wearing what appears to be a bedsheet but he insists is something called a 'Toga'. Hubert still thinks it looks ridiculous, but I've grown to like it, just a little.
"Still find that spell fascinating, huh, little Edelgard?" He raises an eyebrow as he observes me observe him. A fierce heat suddenly rises to my face as I recoil in embarrassment.
"I—it's not my fault that your magic is so different from everyone elses'! Not even the other Liberati can match your magical prowess, you know!" I cry out loudly, causing the walls to flicker with their silver enchantments for a brief moment. "Their disguises are all so…weird and strange and not lifelike at all! Plus, when you dispel yours, it makes those golden sparks instead of spilling miasma everywhere."
"You didn't have to say that much, you know that, right?" Septimus shakes his head. "Let's move away from that topic and into what we're actually here for…Hubert? You seem…slightly apprehensive about something."
"Ah, yes, I apologies," My retainer shakes his head. "I just…that device you gave me last time is going off right now."
Septimus blinks his eyes before smacking his forehead with his palm.
"Kronya, how many times do I have to tell you not to follow me?" He sighs. "I understand that…no, but that doesn't mean you can follow me…wherever…I don't want to hear that; you're my student, not my fucking child. Oh, that's just bullshit. I'm fairly certain I'd have to protect you if things got heated. Let's not get any ideas here. Fine fine, you can stay. Just…remember that I'm human too; we like to have our own personal space."
He seems to be talking to somebody invisible through that one spell…[Message], I think it was called.
"Septimus…?" Hubert raises an eyebrow.
"Ignore that one signature, it's just Kronya…again," Septimus sighs. "I could've sworn I told her to cut it out, but…ha…nevermind. Let's get to why I'm here."
He snaps his fingers and a small stack of papers appears on the desk.
"Have a read through these reports. We need to begin the purge of the Imperial nobles as well. I'd like your final input on these names before we go through with anything; you know the political situation better than I do," Septimus takes a cup of tea and leans back on the couch, waiting for me and Hubert to finish going through the documents.
I flip through them at a rather rapid pace. These lists match the suggestions that Hubert had proposed some time earlier, with a few adjustments taking the changing political climate into consideration. Though, a couple of names stick out to me.
"Not to doubt you, Uncle, but is killing Duke von Herving and Count Bergliez wise?" I ask with a frown. "They are incredibly experienced statesmen and generals. The Empire would need them for the war against the Church."
"I…would say that the reason you provided is exactly why we need to remove them…" Septimus purses his lips. "Let me explain. We are trying to remove and rebuild the old order…the militaries and administrations of the current nations are inefficient and ineffectual. By removing the old guard and replacing them with Liberati and newly trained staff, we would be able to remedy that problem effectively."
"However," He continues. "I understand that in the short-term, a political and economic crisis will be unavoidable. It is possible for our plans to go ahead without their removal, but it would make the other choices more suspicious."
I nod in understanding.
"Septimus, if I may have a word," Hubert speaks up.
"Of course. What is it that you require?"
"As much as I would love to tear that fat waste of space Duke von Aegir limb from limb, I believe his political death can be caused in more…beneficial ways," He scowls when he says the name of the current Prime Minister. "It appears that talent has skipped a generation instead of dying out in the senior branch of the von Aegir family tree, and the current duke's son Ferdinand has shown himself to be somewhat capable. More importantly, he is a very principled man, unlike his father. I believe we can both flip Ferdinand to our side and demolish Ludwig von Aegir's political standing."
"Devious, I like it," Septimus chuckles at Hubert's suggestion. "Do you have everything you need for this?"
"Of course. I would never propose a plan in front of Her Excellency without that plan being actionable."
I resist an urge to slap my forehead in exasperation. It appears that Uncle Septimus has realised this from my facial expression and shoots me a sympathetic face.
"I expect nothing less," Septimus sighs. "Well, since that's sorted, do either of you have any objections?"
Hubert and I shake our heads.
"That's great. I'll have Lukas purposefully fail his assassinations on von Aegir, von Herving, and Bergliez. Kronya, make yourself useful and start writing this down," He frowns at a blank space in the air. "And tell Lukas to complain to Thales if he gets upset. I don't want to deal with Thales's attack dog."
"Now that the official business is done…we can move on to less…official…business," He clasps his hands together and stares me in the eyes with an intense glare. "So…Edelgard. You're going to the Officer's Academy at the end of the year, correct?"
"Y—yes? Oh, and before I forget, do you have news on Monica? She's been beside herself with worry about whether or not she'd gotten in."
"Monica? Oh, she applied to a couple of Universities in Sanctus Hominis, didn't she? I'm fairly certain she got in; Thales was talking about the difficulties of getting her to said school without alerting the Church to what we're doing. I think we ended up having Monica 'disappear' for a while, with someone replacing her at Garreg Mach," Septimus smiles a little, wickedly. "Now that I think about it…Kronya, how about you fill that spot?"
I frown a little as Uncle looks to his left and starts to seemingly talk to himself.
"Now, Kronya, don't be like that. You are probably the best person for the job, you know?" He chuckles. "Think about it; you act her age, you're one of the people allowed contact with the outside, and you're one of the only people with that privilege that actually care about the people above. It's hard enough finding someone on the street that doesn't look down on—pun not intended—the surface people, and it's even less common within those who we've tested are able to not spill anything to the surface."
"Uncle…?"
"Don't worry, I've won the argument—shut up, I know that you can't say anything about it—and Kronya's going to be taking Monica's spot—disguised as her, of course—and finishing her year. Good luck taking care of Solon, the fucker."
I could have sworn I heard a groan emanating from the place that Septimus is looking at.
"So…back to what we were talking about earlier," Septimus smiles at me. "Are you ready for school life yet, Edelgard?"
I nod in affirmation.
"Good. Try not to think about our plans too much and just be you! You will never get this time in your life back again, so use it well. No man rules alone, and no person exists as an island. Make friends, make allies, and make good relationships. Of course, there's always that person."
"Who's that person?"
"I'm not telling you~ Still, don't think about it too hard. You'll understand in due time. Things are moving at a pace that not even I can control anymore. The time of our war is approaching indeed, and we all have our parts to play," He smiles thinly.
I tighten my hand into a fist at his words.
Yes, that day will come. The Church will fall, and humanity will be free from their grasp. I will see to it.
I must see to it.
(Dorothea Arnault)
When we first fought against the bandits, I thought I would never get used to screaming and the pleas for help.
When we fought against Lonato's rebellion, I thought I would never get used to the smell of burning flesh.
This time around, I really, really don't think I'll be able to get used to hiding behind mysterious knights! Seriously, how is this the fifth time in this battle that I've stood behind this person in this fight!
This fight had started out simple—as simple as a sudden fight can start. We were tasked with protecting the Holy Tomb from a possible incursion from the Western Church, the Western Church showed up, and we're trying to stop them from desecrating the tomb of Saint Seiros.
Of course, that's when things started to get complicated. In the middle of the fight, a massive dude on an even bigger horse showed up, clad in silver armour and holding a massive scythe. He announced himself as the 'Knight of Sorrows' and made it clear to both sides that he was only there to observe. At the very least, his armour and style certainly fit his name; a silver mask with a crying face hides his face while his armour has motifs of sadness and disaster.
The Western Church seemed very surprised by his appearance, but in a bad way. They demanded to know where 'the great deception was' while the Knight just seemed to be confused by their constant questions.
One priest then decided it would be a good idea to attack the Knight with a Nosferatu spell…which led to the priest's stomach being split from nearly a dozen metres away from an incredibly precise scythe through from the Knight that killed the priest instantly.
The knight then calmly trotted up to the priest's dying body, retrieved his scythe, and trotted back to his observation spot.
From then on, as nobody dared to attack him, Linhardt and I have been using him as a sort of shield against the enemy mages; nobody dared to attack him after we realise just how stupid that would be.
Though, he's watching me and me in particular. It's…kinda creepy.
Oh well, might as well make the best of it.
"Liking what you're seeing from up there, huh?" I ask in the flirtiest voice I can manage under the circumstances.
His gaze moves from…somewhere near me to right at my eyes. A shiver goes down my spine as those glowing blue eye sockets gaze at me.
"Are you…trying to…flirt…with me…?" His deep and raspy voice emanates from his masked helmet.
"Well, you do seem to like to watch me," I huff.
"I am merely here to…observe," The knight seems to take a pause to think about something. "I am unsure…what it is I am to observe, however."
"So you find me interesting?"
"Of…course. It is…not every day that…people come up to me…out of their own initiative," He seems to shrug. At least, I think it's a he…for all I know that's a she with an incredibly dry throat. "Is it so…strange…then…that I would observe…the two of…you?"
"I dislike the way you keep saying observe…" Linhardt mutters from besides me.
"Does my…observation…make you…uncomfortable?" The knight says in a quieter voice.
"No, not really," I half lie. His existence makes me uncomfortable, but not his observation itself. Just standing here makes me slightly scared that he'll twirl around his scythe and turn me and Lin into a kebab.
"I…understand."
A sudden and bright flash of light appears right next to me, and Lin and I nearly leap into the Knight of Sorrows. I swear, that knight even chuckled a little when he saw my panic! As the light slowly dissipates, a tall figure shimmers into existence.
Even at a glance, I knew this new figure was important. I mean, nobody wears a full set of golden armour complete with a glowing halo behind their head without having at least a modicum of importance attached to them. And that crimson cap is just…I'm not sure if it makes the armour look better or worse.
At least the metal mask with the imprint of a calm face makes the armour as a whole look more menacing.
Ack, the gaudiness. It burns my eyes.
Wait no, that's just the glowing golden sword that may or may not be on fire that the figure is holding. Man, that thing is bright!
"Knight of Sorrows," This figure's voice is higher than his knight's, though still in the male range. It's smooth and calming, however, unlike the raspy and metallic sound of the knight's. "I must commend you. You have killed only a single person, and you have managed to even shelter some students—even if they were fighters."
"Shelter…not…teacher. They…came to me," The knight shakes his head. His voice gets noticeably tighter now that the golden figure has arrived. Is he…scared of him?
What kind of person is Goldie so that he can possibly frighten the Knight of Sorrows!?
"Still, it shows that the medication is working," The golden figure hums happily.
"So…why are…you here now…? Shall the slaughter…begin?"
"Slaughter? No, the battle is almost over anyway. Byleth should be finding the sword right about…now," My breath catches in my throat as I hear this golden figure say the name of my professor.
My question about this dies in my mouth, however, a split second after he finishes his sentence. It's interrupted by a bright and sickly crimson light emanating from the front of the room. I turn my head and see my professor holding up an ebony sword with a circular hole in the centre of the crossguard. She quickly dispatches the remaining members of the Western Church with it.
"Hmmm…seven seconds late. It appears I'm losing my touch, Sorrows."
"I…do not believe…that. Your predictions…are always…correct," The knight shakes his head, causing his liege (?) to chuckle in amusement.
"Your praise amuses me, Sorrows. You of all people know that I am not infallible. Hmmm…our job here is done. We should return."
"Wait!" I call out as goldie turns his back on me. "I—Is it possible for you to give me your name?"
"Hmmm…I am a bit out of your range, Dorothea Arnault," He laughs. A slight blush that I believe I hid very well escapes onto my cheeks. I didn't mean it like that! "Though, I suppose that I will now need a name. Flame Emperor is a bit…gaudy, and I'm not that flame-inspired…how about Dawnbringer? Yes, you may call me the Dawnbringer."
Dawnbringer bows slightly before he touches the Knight of Sorrow's horse. The two of them shimmer out of existence before a bright flash of light forces me to look away.
Lin mutters something in confusion as professor Byleth runs up to the two of us.
"What was that?" She asks the two of us, worry slightly etching itself onto her usually impassive face.
I shrug. I'm not…quite sure how to describe the past 15 minutes.
(Byleth Eisner)
(And are you certain of this? It seems like a strange question to ask, especially to someone like Hanneman.)
I shake my head in disagreement. It's not just curiosity burning me from the inside, but also the fact that I could have sworn I saw this symbol in the armour and heraldry of that 'Dawnbringer' person that I saw for less than a moment.
(Still…I don't understand. Why are you so infatuated with this symbol? What will you gain from learning more about it?)
I don't know. It just…feels important…almost as if I'm supposed to learn about it. Something…is drawing me to investigate.
I trace my finger on the symbol in the book. It's…a circle with waves radiating from it, with a sword inlaid within it. Something about this symbol feels…different, especially compared with the esoteric and meaningless crests around it. I ask Sothis if she has ever seen it before.
(I…I am unsure. It is certainly not…foreign, but I am…I think…Yawn…it…it makes me…so sleepy to…think about it…)
I remind her not to fall asleep while we're talking about something important.
(I—I know that! I really do! It's just that…mmmm…it's been a really long time! I…I don't know. I recognise it…but I do not have any idea where I recognise it from. I'm sorry, Byleth…I just…)
I shrug and tell her not to worry. I hadn't expected her to know anything, anyway.
I bring the book on crests and all of my burning questions to Hanneman's room. A quiet knock on the door is quickly answered by an enthusiastic greying professor.
"Professor Byleth, my dear! Come on in, come on in! I'm glad you answered my request so soon! I am incredibly grateful! It'll allow me to better calibrate my machine! Haha, apologies for rambling," The cheerful man leads me into the room.
My mouth immediately clamps up, almost by habit, but I force it back open to at least give him a quiet and short greeting.
"Now that we are incredibly sure of your crest, seeing as…well, that," Hanneman gestures towards the Sword of the Creator hanging from my belt. "I was able to better expand and recalibrate my crest machine to better observe and catalogue crests! The Imperial Academy will love this paper! Hahaha! Of course, I intend to share this information with your pupil Linhardt first; the young lad has helped me plenty with this endeavour."
I nod slightly, most of the information passing right over my head.
Hanneman begins the process of preparing the Crest Analyser. Once again, most of the information that he explains to me about the more precise calibration goes over my head. I do notice that he draws a little more blood than last time, though not by much, and once again it does not hurt at all.
Understandable, as I have been cut more severely before and still felt no pain.
(You do know that this is not a good trait to have? You will not be a mercenary forever!)
I ignore Sothis's ignorant words.
(Hey!)
"And…there! Ah! It appears my calculations were correct," Hanneman grins as the crest of flame appears in the purple light emitted by the Crest Analyser. "Absolutely perfect. Ha…I'll get to writing the first report then. Ah, sorry for ignoring you. Anything else that you need from me?"
I blink as Hanneman gives the initiative of the conversation over to me…which isn't something I expected to happen.
"Y—Yes. I…I have one question."
"Of course! Ask away!"
I grab the book from inside of my bag and place it onto the table. The title of the book—A Guide to Crests: Historical and Modern by somebody called Septimus Terentius—seems to catch Hanneman's eye; he wants to say something immediately but seems to think better of it.
I flip to the page that I was reading earlier. It shows the twenty-three different crests and their associated heroes and saints. There are three obvious gaps in this page, however, that being the Crest of the Beast having no associated hero, the Saint Aurelius having no crest—only being linked with a theoretical 'Crest of Aurelius'—and the Crest of Ernest, which just has a big question mark written next to it.
I point towards the symbol under Saint Aurelius.
"I was wondering about this," I state with as much curiosity that I can force into my voice.
(Which isn't a lot, mind you, but I appreciate the effort you've put in! Bravo!)
"Ah yes, one of the two greatest mysteries of the science of crests…the Aurelius Debacle and the Mystery of the Beast," Hanneman says humorously. "It doesn't surprise me that you'd stumble across these two questions so early into your sojourn into crests…especially since you've started with probably the most dense and holistic of the Classical authors, Terentius. I would have personally started with someone like Todbringer or Guillaume, since their works are a bit more comprehensible to rookies."
He continues on.
"Nevertheless, I shall do my best to answer the curiosity on display before me! See, it is accepted knowledge that every crest has a single progenitor, whether that be a saint or one of the 13 heroes. Charon comes from the hero of the same name, and Cethelann comes from the saint with the same name. The two great mysteries come from the two crests that break this rule—the Crest of the Beast and the lack of a Crest of Aurelius," Hanneman seems to have slipped into lecture mode. "The progenitor of the Crest of the Beast has been lost. I don't mean lost like how Noa, Aubin, Timotheos, and Chevalier have been quote-on-quote 'lost', but actually lost lost. We have no idea what the hero of the Crest of the Beast is like, no idea what his name is, no idea what their relic is like. We have nothing."
"The opposite problem presents itself with the Aurelius Debacle. Saint Aurelius was an incredibly influential saint—one could say it was he and not Seiros that built the Empire into the state it is today—and yet he leaves no trace of himself within the world of Crestology. Like Cichol and Lamine, he leaves behind a plethora of Saint's Relics—the mighty lance Solar Sovereign, the hallowed axe Dawnbreaker, and the implacable greatsword Heaven's Solace—and it has been recorded by many a contemporary source that he lived far longer than a normal human ought to. To suggest that he didn't have a crest is preposterous—the fact that his three Saint's Relics do not show their full power to anyone anymore is proof enough against this—but the lack of his crest is equally concerning," Hanneman pauses for a moment to catch his breath. "Did this crest somehow die out? No other Crest had ever done so, and if it could be proven that this line of crests had completely disappeared, it would be immensely concerning to any Crestly House; the fact that minor branches would spontaneous manifest the crest associated with their name should the major branch dwindle up till this point would be known as a strange and unreliable stroke of luck."
"There are a couple of proposed theories to deal with this debacle. The first and most accepted is that the current holder of the Crest of Aurelius does not know that they hold any crest at all. This is also quite probable; unlike Seiros, Macuil, Cichol, or Indech, Aurelius was known to spend most of his time with the lower classes of the Empire, especially the common soldier. It would not surprise me, or most of the scholars who study this specific subject, if the Saintly Crest of Aurelius was granted to the child of a lady spearman who happened to catch the Peoples' Saint's eye. If that was the case, and that family still survives to this day, should they be discovered, I have no doubt that they would be soon elevated to nobility. The Empire treasures its patron saints, after all, and Saint Aurelius is foremost among them," Hanneman chuckles to himself before continuing, laughing at a joke that I don't understand. "A competing theory states that Saint Aurelius never gave out his crest at all. That…would not surprise me either; the sources that we have remaining that talk about Saint Aurelius always seem to talk about how much he hated the crest system. Those two are the most accepted theories…but there are a couple of theories that are…quite out there. One that seemed to have gained traction in the Alliance is that the Crest of the Beast is the Crest of Aurelius, though that theory has so many holes in it I will not give it the time of day that it always seems to demand. For the goddess's sake, we know that the two look completely different! Anyhow, the last theory might be the most contentious one: that Saint Aurelius never had a crest to begin with. This theory has a modicum of evidence behind it, especially from the remaining pages of Saint Aurelius's own journal, but there is simply no evidence to point towards this theory."
"There are some other speculations that we might want to take into consideration when—" A loud but polite knock on the door interrupts Hanneman's ramblings. The knocking manages to shake me out of the trance-like stupor that I had managed to lull myself into while listening to Hanneman's words. "Oh dear. It appears I have a visitor. Apologies, Professor Byleth."
Hanneman goes to open the door. It reveals my white-haired house leader standing rather impatiently at the door.
"Professor Hanneman, I was told that my teacher was—um, excuse my words—I was told that I would be able to find Professor Eisner here in your office," I find the way that Edelgard catches herself and corrects 'My Teacher' to 'Professor Eisner' very cute.
"Of course. She's right here. Is there anything you need her for?"
"Y—Yes, Seteth and Lady Rhea request her presence for this month's mission," Edelgard says while moving her gaze to me. I give her a raised eyebrow which makes her face blush for some reason. I am unsure of what kind of effect I am giving her, but I find it rather amusing to watch her reactions.
(I was not expecting you to be capable of playing around with a young maiden's heart like so!)
"Of course, of course! I should not be keeping the Archbishop waitting like this. I apologise, Professor Byleth, but our conversation must be cut short. I hope you'll have the time to talk to me more; I suggest reading The Nature of Crests by Charles Guillaume or On Crests: A Fodláni Wonder by Heinrich Todbringer. They will be much easier to understand, especially when compared to Terentius."
I nod as a way of acknowledging Hanneman. I am…unsure whether or not I will read those books. They seem interesting, but I have been attempting to properly train my students after my own messy debacle.
I head out with Edelgard tagging along behind me. We walk through the halls a bit. Rhea's office is very close to Hanneman's office, but the two of us seemingly silently decided to take the long way around.
"What…what were the two of you talking about, My Teacher?" Edelgard finally tentatively and quietly breaks the silence. I tap my chin, trying to think of an answer.
Before too long, I made up my mind of what I wanted to say.
"I…we were talking about Saint Aurelius."
"Ah, I see. He is…an interesting character, isn't he?"
I tilt my head in confusion. I know very little about the man himself and only read up on his crest—or rather lack of crest. I tell her as much.
"I…I understand. Perhaps…would you like me to fill you in about him?" Edelgard continues after seeing me nod. "As you most likely already know, Saint Aurelius is one of the 6 major saints of the Church of Seiros, along with Cichol, Macuil, Indech, Cethleann, and Seiros herself. Of the 6 Saint however, Aurelius was probably the closest with the people, and thus, the most popular among the common people. He was known for travelling the lands with a small retinue to cure diseases and perform miracles—giving sight to the blind, turning sewage water into drinkable water, turning barren wasteland into arable farmland, et cetera. The usual saintly actions."
"He was also much more involved with politics than the other Saints, and stuck around far longer within the public eye of the early Empire than any saint. Most of the humanitarian institutions that are still around today such as the Grain Dole and the Land Requisition Act are measures enacted by the political power of the Peoples' Saint. He is so important to the early Empire that his body is interred in Enbarr, instead of his home in what's now County Ordelia. Although—" Edelgard gestures towards the sword at my side. "—seeing as Saint Seiros's tomb contained that instead of her body, I would question the validity of that statement."
I lick the front of my teeth.
"I…have a question, Edelgard."
"You do?"
(Do you now? This is the first time that I have ever…)
I decided to ignore Sothis's ramblings.
"Yes…I do. I have seen the saints' statues and…Saint Aurelius's is always the smallest. Why is that?"
Edelgard winces.
"Well…that gets into the complications around his death. In the dogma of the central church, Saint Aurelius died after being punished by the Goddess through Saint Seiros after he betrayed the principles of the Church. The Southern Church, the branch of the Church of Seiros based in Enbarr, holds in their dogma that Saint Aurelius was martyred by saint Seiros to find the secret of resurrection."
"And which one do you believe?"
"I…" Edelgard frowns. "I believe in the Southern Church. If we are to believe in the message of the church, then why would attempting to develop new medicines contradict the Church's mission to reduce human suffering? It just…doesn't make sense. What about you, My Teacher?"
I simply shrug in response. I don't know enough about politics to comment.
(Cethleann of Adrestia)
"Mmmm…" I yawn as I stretch my arms out. The warm spring sun keeps my body warm despite the thin blanket covering me. I would have asked Father for a thicker blanket, but he would fret for my health if I did so, and so I did not.
I open my eyes slowly. There shouldn't be anything that requires my attention at the present moment…I do not think there is anything I should be doing as I have no official roles within the Church, but I would still love to help out.
"Good morning, Little Cethleann," I hear a deep and calm voice from somewhere to the right of me. It's…calming and familiar. Too familiar.
"Mmmm…Good Morn', Uncle Septimus…" I mutter something out of habit. "Shouldn't you be…with the men…?"
"Well, the war's over isn't it?" I hear that familiar hearty chuckling as my brain slowly then very quickly fits the pieces together. That's— "I doubt I have any men to check in on anymore."
My head turns to the right faster than I could have ever guessed I was able to turn my head. My eyes go wide as I see a face that I haven't seen for so long now.
His eyes are older and more tired than I remember, but those kind grey eyes are the same pair of eyes from my childhood in Enbarr. His hair is longer and more unkempt, grey specks starting to appear in the blond sea of hair as time had passed on, but it is so familiar that I would have not noticed had I not been looking for it. His slight smirk that quickly turns into a bright smile has not changed at all, even after nearly a thousand years.
He's sitting down in a white armchair next to the bed that I was sleeping on, one leg crossed over the other, and a book in one hand that he closed and set down on a small table next to the chair as soon as I made a noise. It's a pose that brought back a thousand memories of a time long ago.
"U—Uncle? Uncle Septimus? I—Is that you?" I shakily sit up, never letting my eyes leave his face. I reach out to touch his face, still convinced that I was stuck in some kind of lucid dream. My fingers find a warm skin underneath them, and I slide them around, to make doubly sure that I am not in some kind of dream. "H—How are you…!?"
"I already lived for three hundred years when you were born. What makes you think I couldn't live for a couple hundred more?" He raises an eyebrow and chuckles.
"B—But…But father said you were dead! That S—Seiros killed you!"
"And what of it?" He shakes his head. My fingers touch something hard and metallic under his skin, and recoil slightly. "I was fairly certain we had all agreed that the only person who stood a chance in hell of actually killing me was Indech and his army of automatons. Are you really that surprised that Seiros wasn't able to kill me?"
"W—What was that?"
"Pardon?"
"T—There! Here! What's…what's that?" I prod at the hard metal underneath Uncle's skin. "What's happened!?"
"I never said I got out unscathed from my fight with Seiros, did I?" He deadpans. "She managed to shatter my skull, and I had to get braces so my skull healed properly. It's a…creative way of utilising the chromium-steel braces we developed for shattered femurs. Then again…"
He holds out his arm. I cover up my mouth as I gasp loudly. There are protrusions of bronze and steel coming out of his arm, replacing parts of his skin with machines and creating a messy patchwork of flesh and metal.
"I am fairly certain I am more machine than human by mass at this point," He sighs with a shake of his head. "Age takes a much greater toll on us mortals than you dragons."
"D—Doesn't it hurt? Having that much metal inside of you…?"
"No, not really," Septimus shrugs. "The flesh around the implant is sore for a while, butt you get used to it after a couple of weeks or so."
"I…I see," I nod slowly, taking a breath.
Now that I am looking closer and with a more analytical eye, I notice much more mechanical augments and implants on his body. There is a small ring of silver around his right eye socket that suggests something mechanical under the skin there. A v-shaped piece of bronze is set over his collarbone…did he somehow break that too? Even his left eye has a sheen that makes me question its origin.
"Is there…any way I can…help? You look to be in pain…"
"Pain? When have I never been in pain?" He chuckles, a little too freely. "I do not think of myself so highly as to demand your help."
"I'm not trying to—ugh! You're so impossible sometimes!" I huff. I know I'm reverting back to the child I was during the war, but I can't help it! "You're not demanding something of me, I want to help you!"
"What's the difference? I'm imposing on you. Come on, Cethleann, you know you're not winning this fight. And I thought you wanted to act more like an adult?"
"I—hmmm…" I pout, but I do drop the subject.
I finally take the time to look around in my current environment. I find myself in a room painted and themed white. Well, not everything is white, there are plenty of items and decorations to break up the white monotony, but the cleanliness is what is the most surprising to me.
"Uncle Septimus…where exactly…are we?" I ask with a curious tone. This isn't anywhere that I've ever been before.
"Hmmm…that question actually has quite the simple answer," He laughs. "This is my home; you are in my guest room. We are in the city that I had helped to build, Sanctus Hominis, the sanctuary of humanity."
I tilt my head in confusion. I have never heard of this place before.
"Come, Cethleann. It behoves us to be up and about by this time. I believe breakfast has already been made, though I would have preferred if I could have cooked for you again. I'll…do that during lunch, if you don't mind."
"N—Not at all! I like you cooking, Uncle, especially since Father's definition of cooking is a little…ambiguous."
I smile as Uncle Septimus's hearty chuckle rings across the room.
||—||
The outside was…not what I expected. The street we emerged onto as we left the house was one of strange blackish material, instead of the familiar cobbles and gravel that I am used to. The houses are all a beautiful white, and each building reached upwards towards the blue sky, extending like trees in a forest, and five times as tall.
People streamed all around us, each going about their own business and at their own pace. A few people recognise Uncle Septimus and give him a quick but reverent greeting, though the majority of people simply go about their day without so much as batting an eye at us.
We walk in the street for a couple of minutes before we reach our destination. Along the way, I saw a number of shops selling a multitude of different items. One small storefront was selling taste-looking meat skewers while another was selling small metal trinkets. One particular shop caught my eye: it sold books. Books…and at a price that would boggle the mind. I asked Uncle why the shop was able to sell books for so cheap; surely the transcribers were paid so little and worked so hard as to make it unprofitable.
Uncle laughed as he explained to me an ingenious device that allowed ink to be pressed into paper, allowing books to be mass produced. What an improvement! I did ask about what happened to the transcribers now rendered useless by this machine, and Uncle replied that they have become the workers who operate this 'printing press'.
Our final destination is a large marble building. I'm…beginning to see a theme here. It..makes sense. Uncle had always had an unhealthy obsession with marble structures.
It turns out this was some kind of fancy restaurant, and he had reserved a room for us within the restaurant. Before long, we were seated at the table and plate upon plate of food began to arrive and were placed on our table.
Well, I shall amend that statement. Placed in front of me. Delicate roasted duck, carefully prepared pastries, and a multitude of seafood dishes were placed in front of me. In contrast, only a small plate of fried bread appeared in front of Uncle.
I…I will admit, it was quite embarrassing when I was three dishes in and only then noticed that Uncle hadn't even started eating yet.
"A—Ah, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"
"There's no need for you to apologise. In my old age, I have lost most of my appetite. Plus, I am quite easy to satisfy; a plate of poor knights is enough to sate me."
"N—No, I didn't know you hadn't started yet…"
"Why does that matter? You and I are different, why should we break bread in the same way?"
"Mmmm…that's true."
We eat in silence for a while. Uncle Septimus finishes first, obviously, and just calmly watches me eat with a thousand-yard stare.
I'm halfway finished with my food when another person enters our room. I was going to ask about the orange haired girl who arrived, but Uncle engaged in conversation first.
"Ha…already, Kronya?" He says in a low, disappointed voice. "I was…under the impression that we had a little more time."
The girl—Kronya—shakes her head.
"Even if…you can guarantee the…nettralitty of your niece, the Senate is still cautious of your decisions…"
"You mean Solon doesn't trust me, and he's managed to threaten enough of the Senate to his side to give me a headache," Uncle states the name 'Solon' with enough vitriol that I recoil slightly in shock.
"I…that is correct," The Kronya girl nods and bows her head. "I apologies, I should have—"
"No, that's enough. I'm guessing Thales is right outside? Wasn't stupid enough to come in while I was in a bad mood but not dumb enough to let Kronya to do this herself, huh?"
I'm surprised when a tall man in a toga suddenly appears in a flash of purple and black.
"That would be correct, Orator."
"H—Hey, what do you mean 'not dumb enough to let Kronya do this herself'?"
"Thales doesn't trust you to do anything, Kronya. I thought we went over this already?"
"Well, that was a century ago!"
"And you've gotten yourself almost killed thrice in that time. I apologise, Orator, for this lame excuse for a student taking up your time."
"Hey!"
"Now now, Thales, that's taking it a bit far," Uncle sighs. Noticing my confusion, he snaps his fingers and summons two chairs to his side in which the two new figures sit in. "Sorry about that, Cethleann. This is Thales, my lieutenant of sorts. He's been keeping things running when I'm more than incapable. This is Kronya, my best student so far. She's taken up the position you used to during the war, for better or for worse."
I nod my head, still not understanding why these people were here with us now. Though, I feel a twinge of comradery with this Kronya; Macuil used to act the same way towards me.
"Kronya, Thales, this is Cethleann, my niece. I understand that both of you have reservations about a drag—sorry, a Nabaetean being here, but you can rest your assumptions at the door; it is only Seiros who has become insane," He continues.
Kronya nods her head at me, but Thales looks as impassive as ever. The resemblance to Macuil is getting stronger.
"Cethleann…I'm going to be frank with you. I…I didn't bring you here just to catch up. I would have done that a long time ago if that was the case," Uncle Septimus says sadly. "Cethleann…Seiros has become insane. Sothis's death…it's affected her too much. She wasn't able to let go, and she's decided that the world should suffer as a result. That's why I had disobeyed the last order she gave me, and that's why I have decided to go against her for the last time in either of our lives."
The intense gaze of Uncle's grey eyes sends shivers down my spine.
"I have decided to rebel against the Church of Seiros. I intend to kill her, or die trying."
"W—Why!? Weren't you two good friends?"
"Do good friends try to kill one another because one of them refused to do the other's bidding? Perhaps when she was a lost girl looking for vengeance for a murdered mother and I was a failed architect looking for a way to repent for mistakes, we could have been friends. But I have moved on, learned from my mistakes, and became devoted to do better. Seiros…still hasn't moved on. She wishes to return to a world that was drowned in blood and became lost forever. And when I told her that to her face…she decided my services were no longer required."
Uncle's lips curl into a vicious snarl.
"And when I was so close to achieving the goal we were both looking for, resurrection—true, unadulterated resurrection—she decided if she wasn't going to be the first and only one to have it, then nobody would," He takes a deep breath, and his tone returns to its normal calm. "I apologise for my tone, Cethleann. I…I have been deeply shaken by Seiros's actions. The excuse that I was able to spin to have you come here was that I am able to convince you and Cichol to leave the church. I understand that my words might not have an effect on you…but please, take a look at what Seiros has become. Any person who wishes for the world to be better is immediately crushed underneath the heel of the Church. Go to the lands of Lonato and see the destruction, the devastation. Go to Goneril and see the pain of the people."
I see a burning in his eyes that makes me…so scared.
(Seteth || Cichol of Adrestia)
The winding hallways are dark and damp, reflecting my mood relatively well.
Two weeks. I hadn't noticed that my daughter—my beloved daughter—had been missing for two whole weeks. The maelstrom that Rhea had stirred up after reports of Septimus being sighted in Faergus territory had taken so much of my time that I hadn't had time to think about, much less check in on, Flayn.
Rhea's obsession with our old and very much deceased friend is slowly edging on the obsessive. It concerns me how much his ghost—and that girl Byleth—take up Rhea's time nowadays. It is most concerning.
Thankfully, it hadn't taken very long before I noticed to track down where Flayn had been taken. Professor Manuela had managed to get a glimpse of the kidnapper and had followed them into the Monastery Town. The trail had gone cold there for a little while, but with some help from—and I cannot believe I am praising her—Professor Byleth, we were able to find the exact location of the culprit and the means of their escape.
That escape turned out to be a rather complex set of tunnels that started in a false wall and slowly wormed its way into the underground. Unfortunately, it did eventually intersect with the series of tunnels that made up the Underground of the monastery, which made me incredibly nervous. Who would even be able to do this? These tunnels are kept a secret for a reason, and yet…
We turn another corner as Byleth walks confidently forwards, following a trail two weeks cold. I cannot believe I can even say this, but I trust her instincts right now. I don't know why, I just…do.
"What…huh?" I hear someone behind me mutter—Dorothea, I believe—as the entire group stops in our tracks. Instead of the dull greys and browns of an ancient tunnel, we are greeted by a chamber of white marble and warm lights. The change is sharp and sudden; I can still see the dark tunnel from whence we came a few steps back, but here…here…
A memory of the laughter of an old friend surfaces for a moment before it is buried once again.
"This is…unexpected," The Hraesvelg girl says in a quiet voice. "I was not aware that the monastery had such a structure underneath it."
"Neither did I," I sigh. "It appears that the Archbishop has been keeping things from me once again…Everyone! Be on your guard!"
I say the part about Seiros in a quiet voice, and nobody seems to have been able to hear me.
We proceed slowly into this strange structure. Caspar and Hubert quench their torches; extraneous light sources are not needed when beads of warm golden light bathe us from spots in the ceiling. The tunnels, narrow and winding before, expand out and become a straight hallway as we proceed deeper into this…strange location.
I have no other words to be able to describe it properly.
"Huh…it's strange…nothing's happened so far," I hear someone mutter from behind me.
"Shush, Caspar! Don't jinx it!"
As soon as someone else hisses those words, I hear a worrying click from underneath me.
"Everyone, be carefu—" I take a small breath as I turn around to warn everyone, only to find a milky screen had appeared behind me, separating me from the rest of the group. A similar screen had appeared in front of me, separating me from Byleth.
I curse my bad luck and grab my axe. My eyes dart around, waiting for a sudden ambush.
That ambush never came. Instead, the lights above me flicker for a moment before I'm seemingly deposited within another chamber.
It too is a room in pure white and with a soft golden light shining down from countless pinpricks in the ceiling, but the corridor narrows in front of me into a T-junction. Right in front of the T-junction sits a man. He's wearing a flowing white cloth, but that is all I can tell from here; his face and most of his torso are hidden behind a thick book.
I grip onto my axe tighter. This man hasn't made any obvious movements that could endanger me, but I still don't feel particularly safe. I've seen just how quickly a trained swordsman is able to cross a gap of this length, doubly so if they hold a crest.
After a few moments of silence, occasionally punctuated by the sound of the man flipping pages in his book.
I frown. This…is a rather strange position to be in. On the one hand, whoever this was, he is most likely related to the kidnapping of Flayn. On the other hand…I have no reason to attack him as he has not done anything provably wrong.
I stew over this predicament that I find myself in for a moment.
I decide, in the end, to use my words rather than my axe to resolve this situation. Rhea has been using force more and more often, and if I resort to the same tactics when I am isolated from the eyes of the church, I would be no better.
"Hello…" I say, rather awkwardly as I have no other way of beginning this conversation. "Pardon my question, but who are you? And what are you doing here in these tunnels…?"
The man looks up from his book to stare at me. His grey eyes are familiar in a way that I can't describe properly…it's…
"Mmmm? Oh, it's you," The man sighs and puts his book down, finally letting me see his face for the first time. That pair of silver eyes, they're—how is he—? "It's been a while, hasn't it, Cichol?"
The words I was about to say get stuck in my throat. I…I…!
"Cichol…Cichol…Iove above, Cichol!" I hear Septimus snap at me from my right.
I turn around to see an exasperated Septimus staring back at me, his grey eyes filled with annoyance.
"Apologies, Septimus. Is there something you need?" I sigh.
"Gods, you can be so out of it sometimes. We're about to go into battle and you're spacing out like some kind of recruit," He clicks his tongue in anger, but I can see the slight smile teasing at the edges of his mouth. "Get your act together, Cichol. We're essential to the plan. It would have been better if you could have turned back into your dragon form, but I understand your reasons. Let's go."
A couple of memories I thought I had buried resurface in a fit of angry melancholy.
The same face that I had seen for the last time nearly a thousand years ago has somehow magically appeared before me once again.
"Septimus…how…?" I manage to sputter out.
"How…what? How am I still alive? How did I get here? How am I still this obnoxiously poignant? All good questions, with differing levels of answerability. Which one do you want me to address first?"
"Why are you here…now? How did you…I…" I am failing to find the words to properly describe my state of mind at the current moment.
"Hmmm? I'm going to answer the latter question first. Surviving Seiros was…rather simple, actually. Get her angry enough and she'll stop thinking rationally. Instead of hunting a person down, she's content with burning down kilometres of land to sate her anger. Makes escaping rather simple when all you have to do is avoid a giant flying dragon," He stands up and stares me straight in my eyes. "Not easy, mind you, simple. I got away intact enough. Lost feeling in my left arm after an exploding tree severed a couple of nerves I wasn't able to repair, but other than that, I got out intact. Sigh. The less said about the people around me, the better."
"As for your first question…why do you think so?"
"You kidnapped Cethleann, didn't you…?" I half snarl. It was an accusation that both my heart and my mind didn't fully support. It seemed rather out of character; I remembered him as being—
"What? Why the hell would I do that? After protecting her for nearing on three hundred years I'd come around and kidnap her? Why the hell would I do that?" Septimus scrunches his face up in confusion and disgust. "I wanted to talk with you. Seemed like one hell of an opportunity, considering that, well, you're all by your lonesome without any pesky mortals like me mucking up things, isn't it?"
He shoots me a slightly accusatory glance.
"Septimus, you should know I'm not like that," I sigh and rub my forehead. "Unlike Macuil and…to an extent, Seiros, I don't consider people like you to be simply mortals…I…Mother hiring you was not a mistake, no matter what Indech and Macuil say. They weren't there went it happened. None of us were, and yet you were. You fought there, and attempted to save lives."
To my surprise, the blond architect sighs deeply with what seems like relief.
"Good…you're still sane. That's…a relief. No idea if that's due to well, this—" He gestures towards my body for some reason. "—or because of something else. Not sure if Cethleann is also safe due to her form as well…that would require blood testing, I believe…if MHC receptors still exist in…no, let's not dwell on that too much."
"What's about Cethleann? And what do you mean?"
"Draconic Degeneration. I'm sure you've at the very least heard me talking about it before," He raises an eyebrow at my confusion. "Really? The degeneration of a dragon's mental state as the years wear on? That entropy comes for us all, even those immortal beings?"
"W—What do you mean? How does this happen?"
"Mmmm…the beginning stages are quite minor and benign. The afflicted will become a little bit more violent, a little bit more furious. As time goes on, they will slowly lose control of first their emotions, then their body, and then their sanity. What's life in the end is a meaningless hunk unable to think or speak that can only destroy," He shakes his head. "As you can probably tell, Seiros's symptoms started…about three centuries back? I haven't gotten a blood sample yet so I can't say for certain."
"Why…exactly are you telling me this? I somehow doubt that you came all this way—out of hiding, even—to tell me that Seiros started degenerating."
"That's… a fair and accurate statement. And yes, that's not what I wanted to discuss with you. However, I must ask this of you: whatever we discuss here stays between the two of us. No tattling to your archbishop about what we're talking about down here."
"I…" I'm reminded of the loud arguments that he and Seiros would have back during the war, especially as Seiros's tendency towards wanton destruction manifested itself. Septimus did an admiral job keeping collateral damage to a minimum, but his role as the moral compass did not endear him to Seiros and vice versa. "I suppose I can do that. Just…just like old days, huh?"
"I am reminded of the saying 'the more things change, the more things stay the same', but I doubt you feel the same," He sighs. "I'll cut to the chase. I'm going to kill Seiros, or Seiros is going to kill me as I try. No two ways about it. I…this is not a decision that I took lightly. She needs to go. You of all people should know the damage that she's doing to Fodlán and how she's dragging us all to oblivion with her incessant drive to resurrect Sothis."
"Hold on. She's trying to do what?"
"You didn't know? Seiros didn't tell you? Huh, I seemed to have less of an effect—never mind. Have you met Byleth yet?"
"Suspicious that you know about a random daughter of a mercenary…but go on…?"
"Oh, Jeralt's not important in this story. I know of her because I have been keeping track of Seiros's progress. To that end, you should know that Sitri's similarities to Seiros doesn't just run skin deep. She's Seiros's daughter in a…strange and sick way. Why else would she be so unstable? Seiros is not Sothis, and the schools of alchemy have not been revealed to her yet," Septimus says some rather disturbing things out loud without even blinking. "And to that end, Byleth is yet again another attempt of Seiros's to resurrect Sothis through creation. She has gotten very close to that goal; Byleth and Sothis's souls have been linked, just not in the way that Seiros has hoped."
"What are you talking about! What is going on here!"
"Hmmm, I believe I have shared too much. I ask of you two things, Cichol."
"I need to—no, I don't. I don't want to know. Ask…ask away, Septimus," A thousand thoughts scream through my head, none of which can condense into speech to be asked.
"The first is to go to the places that Seiros has condemned. See the attempts at making their lives better, and the complete and utter ruthlessness that she has delivered upon them for the sin of…making a better world for their children," He smiles bitterly. "Truly…tragic…would she have done so if I did not champion the people's cause? I digress…the second is…when the time comes, please leave the fighting. It…in all fairness, does not concern you. Choosing either side would mean participating in a war Fodlán has not seen since those dark days. You have someone to take care of…I…would hate to see you fall beside you or to have to kill you with my own two hands."
"I…I shall do the former, but at this time…I…I can't say I won't stand by Seiros. I'm…I'm sorry, old friend, but…"
"I understand. Please, while there are no open hostilities, have Cethleann visit more often. I would love it if you came as well, but…well, I know how much of a workaholic you are. Ah, speaking of, Cethleann's not in the tunnels. I said I would return her at the gate in my letter, and I did so. I have…no idea why you're even down here…"
"Letter?"
"I sent a letter to 'Cichol' and 'Cethleann' a couple of days ago. Cethleann responded, but you never did. She said she would come and visit, so I picked her up two weeks ago," He shrugs.
"What?"
"Oh dear. Did…Did Cethleann not tell you?"
I stay silent, but my face most likely betrays my answer.
"Well, good luck dealing with that," He chuckles. "Don't be too harsh on her."
(Orator Septimus)
Margraviate Gautier is a chilly place. Not…entirely surprising, all things concerned, but still, quite annoying.
Off in the distance is Conand Tower…a mighty…disappointing sight. I was expecting some kind of wizard tower fit for Sauron, but it was just this stone structure that barely extended four stories into the sky. Complete and utter disappointment.
I tap my walking stick-slash-arcane gun onto the ground as I rub my chin.
If you know anything about the story of Three Houses, you know what's going to happen. It's the Verdant Rain Moon, a certain relic has been stolen…
And a particularly brutal tutorial on Demonic Beasts…
Honestly, it's all a waste. Such a waste of human potential…
What am I talking about? Miklan, of course. Who else could I be talking about? Of course, I'm not saving him because he's a noble. I'm saving him because nobody deserved to die that way. Let the soldier die for their lord, and let the lord die for their ideals…but not in that way.
Nobody deserves to die like that. And if I get a competent general in the process, hey, what's not to like about it.
A slightly shaking of the ground announces the birth of a new demonic beast. I look to the girl with reddish-pink hair next to me for confirmation.
Said girl is currently talking with a bird that had recently landed on her finger.
"Yep…it's happened," She shakes her head. I can hear the roar of the beast from here. He's…he's in pain.
"I know, Hapi. Are you sure you want to come with me? You don't have to, you know?"
The young girl looks indecisive. Despite being so young, she's joined the military despite my best efforts to try and lead her away from that path. I suppose some things are just that way; if she can't go to the Officer's Academy in Garreg Mach, she'll go to the Academia Belli instead.
Still, she's risen through the ranks quite quickly. At twenty, she's already earned her officer's commission as a Sergeant First Class and was very quickly assigned to the recon battalion of Special Operations Unit III.
My unit, to be more specific. I'm not sure if she was put into Special Operations as a nod to her ties to me or because of her ability to converse with animals. Honestly, either could be true, and I don't want to dig up those documents.
"I'll be fine, Orator. Let's just get this mission finished."
I shrug.
"Got the backup [Hold Creature] spell scrolls?"
She nods.
"Well then, prepare to warp," I chuckle, snapping my left hand.
A multitude of concentric rectangular doorways spring forth into reality, their content a menagerie of colours that boggle the mind. Ah…the wonderful convenience of a [Dimension Door] spell. Always making life easier.
I frown when I hear a heaving sound from beside me.
"Are you alright, Hapi?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Y—Yes. Just…let's get going. I don't think I can handle…that…any longer."
I look back into the raging kaleidoscope with a laugh. Something so calming for me—a symbol of salvation from a terrifying situation—can elicit such an effect in someone else…
Boggles my mind the kinds of emotions our brains are able to imprint onto such minor things.
I step into the roaring sea of colours and feel my soul being tugged into a thousand directions before reforming. Immediately my mind is beset on all sides with potential threats. Behind me, a massive black creature has risen to its haunches, and in the path of its landing is where I'm standing. Furthermore, I appear to have teleported in the middle of a wrath strike by…
Sigh.
Catherine. Urgh. I really don't want to deal with her right now. Better to just immobilise her and deal with her after we've had our civil conversation with the people who I can actually have a civil conversation with.
Almost instantly, as if my reflex, a pair of massive floating artificial arms shimmer into existence, each limb thicker that the width of an ancient oak tree, each hand the length of two tall men, and their combined length longer than a demonic beast.
Manuum Deorum—The Hands of God. An ingenious archana-mechanical device that I made after my fight with Seiros in order to better compete with her while she was in her draconic state. I actually made six of these so I can go full Budda or Avatar of War Wukong on her, giant ass weapons included, but those are really not necessary right now.
One of the hands slams into the chest of the demonic beast. It struggles for a split second—joints spitting golden sparks—but easily takes the weight and lifts the massive beast up into the air, his rear limbs scrambling to find the solid earth.
Another grabs Cathrine mid-jump, and slams her against the nearest wall. She's not hurt; it wasn't too hard of a through, and I'm fairly certain her smashing against the metal hand did more damage to her than throwing her against the wall did. She's still able to scream profanities at me, so I'm fairly certain she hasn't lost any brain cells from that.
Well, any more brain cells.
Hapi finally shows up, appearing right next to me. She turns around and holds up a scroll with burning purple ink. With a chant of Alligo te!, a mass of purple-pink chains wrap around the demonic beast, suspending it in both space and time. Without the need for one of the arms to holding up the demonic beast to spot it from attacking us, the first arm lets go of the demonic beast and assumes a familiar position half-wrapping itself around Hapi, close enough to protect her, but not so far as to be noticeably protecting her.
A reminder that all of this took place in under half a dozen seconds—Hapi arrived four and a half seconds after I did—so most of the students were rather shocked and surprised by my sudden appearance.
Finally, I let myself take a deep breath and accurately examine my surroundings.
As expected, Byleth and the Black Eagles have been dispatched to deal with Miklan. What surprises me though, is the fact that Lysithea, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix are all here as well.
Byleth, having probably just heard from Sothis in her mind, seems ironically the most confused.
Everyone else is on the spectrum of cautious curiosity to careful preparation. Sans Hubert and Edelgard, of course, who are just confused.
Oh, and Lysithea, who sees the emblem of the Liberati on Hapi's shoulder and immediately pales by three shades.
Everyone seems to look at me, looking to me to do…well anything. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this. Rufus always said I had a penchant for the dramatic, but I hate public speaking. Doesn't mean I'm bad at it…I just…
Hate it. A lot.
Oh well, might as well make it fun for me, right?
"Hmmm…What a surprise… I wasn't expecting the younger Gautier to be here as well. I was…aware that the church would let nepotism solve their problems," I laugh as I turn towards Sylvain. "Sylvain…wasn't it?"
The orange-haired boy seems to flinch as I say his name out loud.
"H—How do you know his name!" It's Ingrid who speaks up. "Who are you…?"
"Interesting…a Daphnel…" I say calmly, playing into the mysterious man who knows too much that I've suddenly decided to portray myself as. "No, not quite. Something feels…ah, that's your crest. Galatea, then? That would make you…Ingrid Brandl Galatea, yes?"
The girl in question looks to have been slapped in the face as I reveal not only her name but also her crest. Shaken, that girl. Shocked and shaken.
"As for your questions…it does not take so long to understand Fodláni politics to know all the crest holders. As for who I am," I shrug. "You may address me as the Orator."
At this point, Cathrine got a little on my nerves, what with her screaming over to my left, so I cast a silent [Silence] spell on her, and quiet returns to my ears.
Seeing as my words have seemingly stunned everyone into silence, I turn towards the demonic beast behind me.
Raising my staff, I summon the third arm and have it raise me up to be level with the demonic beast's head. I lightly tap the silver handle of the staff against the muzzle of the beast. A dull flash of a calm green light flows from my staff and engulfs the beast as I cast [Dispel Curse] on the demonic beast. Slowly and agonisingly, the beast contorts back into the shape of a human—a human with orange hair and a massive scar across his face. Unfortunately, with the [Hold Monster] spell only applying to monsters and humans, gravity quickly sought to do its work and caused Miklan's brutally injured body to start to plummet to the ground. I catch him with a hastily summoned fourth arm and gently set both myself and him onto the ground.
The Lance of Ruin sits in all its disgusting glory on the ground. I pick it up gingerly, illicitly a collective gasp from the up-till-this-point relatively silent peanut gallery.
Immediately, a spike of dull pain slams into my mind. Unlike…well, literally everyone else on this continent, I understand the words that the lance is putting into my mind—
MURDERER! TRAITOR! BUTCHER! PAY FOR YOUR SINS!
—and can respond to lance.
Calm…please, old friend. Calm.
The dragon's name had been Balor, a massive and old dragon who could kill with a single glance. He had been…a friend, like most of the thirteen that had first been turned into the 'Heroes' Weapons'. He had helped me build the gardens and bathhouses in the Red Canyon…and had been the one of the few who actually fought back after Sothis had died.
I run a finger along the upper edge of the blade part of the relic. The pain in my mind recedes somewhat, though the boiling anger and simmering pain still rages around in my mind.
I…I must have truly gone insane. One that must have died is still walking among the living.
I chuckle and sigh deeply.
Not so, Balor. I am still here…still paying for my mistakes.
That cannot be! You are—that is an impossibility! How did you learn my name! How did you learn—
Please, calm down! I am who I say I am! The deeds we have done together—the great gardens that we had built! You loved to plant Marigolds despite Sothis's disapproval of a seeming weed! I am still here, only to make my sins right.
Sins…O' Golden One, you have made no sin to atone for. If you are truly who you say you are, you need not pay for anything. Why…why have you come here?
Do I need an excuse to?
I…no. But why would you? I am but a shadow of my former self, a simple weapon named after my murderer, used only to kill. Why would you come for me?
I…nostalgia, maybe. A longing for what had been lost. And a reminder of what I have to make right.
A…righteous goal. Though…it is not the time, is it? There is still more for you to do. Still more for you to accomplish before we can be set free again.
Yes…that…that is right.
Then go. Leave this ancient one to his pain.
I can't just—
You cannot steal a relic. They would come for you.
I…I know. Then…this is goodbye again, for the third time.
Indeed…
I take a shaky breath as the pain and the voice goes silent once more, allowing me to return to the real world once again. I realise that I've cut myself on the body blade of the relic in my stupor. Hapi looks rather worried, but I ignore her for now. I'll explain later.
I give the Lance of Ruin a quick twirl before staring straight at Sylvain. He seems to not know what to do next, seeing as I've refocused my attention on him. Generally, people seem to not know what to do when I stare at them.
Understandable, honestly.
"Gautier."
"Y—yes?"
"I believe this belongs to you," I grunt, tossing the lance across the room. Sylvain goes to catch it with a yelp, and manages not to impale himself on the incredibly sharp blade. The lance spits out a couple of angry black sparks before calming down and shuddering in that disturbingly organic way that most relics tend to move. "Treat him well."
"H—Him? What are you talking a—about!?"
I elect not to elaborate. Instead, I turn my attention towards Byleth as I send a quick [Message] to Hapi to urge her to heal Miklan, which she does.
"You," I say, raising a pointed finger at her.
"Me," She responds quite plainly. She stares into my eyes with a conviction that is…
Beautiful. Wonderful. Confidence-inducing.
She is not a pawn of the church, not yet. She may be useful yet.
I turn away with a chuckle. No need to give unnecessary information. I give one glance at Lysithea which sends her into a seeming shock. Whoops. I really need to get that girl therapy and give Solon a death sentence. One day. One day…
"Ah…one more thing," I turn my head back to glare at the gathered group of students. "The Abyss holds the answer to the questions you hold. The church as an institution is rotten to the core; the past millennia has been held in their hand."
I put some mana into my eyes so they glow that prophetic gold that I'm told happens whenever I get a vision.
"And for you—Morning Star—Fell Star—Stella Lupi—whatever they call you now…know that your ideals have been perverted by those you called your children. The Golden Eagle's call can be heard at the end of the day; will the beginning of the new day start with Sirius high in the sky, or shall the flames of dawn purge all?"
I give Sothis a couple of cryptic messages that I hope can reignite some of her old memories of me.
With that, and a snap of my fingers, I teleport Hapi, Miklan, and myself away.
At the last second, I hear Byleth ask for answers, but by the time the words reach me, the world around me has transformed into the pine forests of County Ordelia.
(Byleth Eisner)
Ever since that encounter with that Orator person, Sothis has been acting strange. I didn't understand much of what he had said—all I thought was that turning your eyes gold must be a cool party trick.
However…Sothis seemed to be distraught. Well, at the very least, she's changed, and that change also caused me to change…somewhat. I've been brought to the throne room every night now, though she doesn't seem to talk and just stares into space somewhere. I would wake up some time later, after being incredibly bored. I've just used this time to train; I think I've gotten better at using an axe from this training.
Today, however, Sothis is no longer sitting on that uncomfortable-looking stone throne and instead is down here, standing on her own feet, at my level.
"I have remembered," She announces in a quiet voice as I appear in the dreamscape once again.
"Remembered what?"
"What that Orator person was talking about. I…I am the beginning. Of that I am sure. I am the morning, I am Sirius, I am the Wolf Star. But…who is he? And who is the Golden Eagle? What did he mean by the 'Flames of Dawn'? Of these questions…I believe I have found the answer to them. That is why I have brought you here today."
"Oh. Why did you bring me here before?"
"Because I thought you would help me remember!" She huffs, returning to her normal self for a brief behaviour before returning to her stupor. "But you didn't. No matter, I have found everything I need to piece things together. Do you wish to…see?"
I shrug. Sothis takes this as a yes.
The scene around us changes. It's…the same throne room, but more…ostentatious. More decorated. More lived in. A warm light filters through, lighting up the green stones and giving a vibrant atmosphere to the chamber instead of the cold and limited light that usually fills this place.
Sitting upon the throne is…a figure. I can't tell who it is, but Sothis informs me that it is her—these are her memories, and so her own figure is hidden.
Kneeling on the floor is a person currently held by two green-haired people that look…suspiciously like both Sothis and Rhea. His hair is a vibrant gold and his eyes a sparkling silver. He's wearing a rather plain set of segmented armour. A bladeless hilt of a sword is attached to his belt.
"So…? What is a mortal like you doing in my kingdom? I'm surprised you've gotten this far. Indeed, had you not managed to outwit my guards and sneak into here undetected, I would have thrown you out already," I hear the voice of Sothis…only older. It's a weird voice, in all honesty.
The voice of the man on the ground, however, takes me aback. It's—
"Who wouldn't be drawn to the most powerful and most advanced city on the continent? Is it not human nature to seek out that which is better than us? To comprehend and to understand, to make our lives and the lives of our comrades and children better?"
—the Orator's voice. He continues after a quick pause.
"Plus, I wouldn't consider myself the same as other 'mortals.' Believe me, I would love to be put in that category, but I have the constitution of a young dragon and the endurance of a beholder. I don't think I can be considered truly 'human' anymore. Plus—" He chuckles before a flash of blue light enwraps him. "I believe that I am able to hold myself to at the very least the level of your children, O' Mighty Sothis."
When the light disappears, both I and the two other people in the room are quite surprised to find the younger Orator free from the guards' grasp and standing quite nonchalantly in front of the steps to the throne.
"You—"
"Get back—"
The guards' voices are cut short by Sothis's laughter.
"Haha! Not once have I met someone so arrogant and stubborn to appear like this before me. Tell me…what is your name, interesting human who has transcended humanity?"
"Transcend is…a bit of a strong word. Achieved their full potential…sure. Reached a level above the rest of my species…? No," He smiles slightly. "My name is Septimus Terentius Aquilius Aurelius. Pleasure to meet the Goddess of this world."
He bows slightly as he introduces himself.
"I am the Farseer of Lucania, the Golden Eagle, Son of Neptune, among other meaningless titles. I am here to offer my services to you, Morning Star."
The last words that the Farseer says are faint and slightly incoherent, as if the entire scene had suddenly been doused with water. Sothis says something back, but it's lost in the swirling torrents of the memory as the scene switches.
We're now in a newly constructed garden. The Orator—Septimus—is standing next to a massive man with jet-black hair and a small mark in the middle of his forehead. The garden itself is quite obscured and murky, and we can only see the three figures.
"This is it…? I thought it would be more impressive than this," Sothis huffs.
"I apologise, but the space and time given to me made me scrap some of my more…flashy designs. I settled for one that provides a green space and a place for children to play in and for the elderly to take walks in. A place built with purpose, not looks, in mind," Septimus shrugs. "Plus, Balor over here staring over me the entire time didn't make it much easier to do my work."
"Hmph. Those are fair points. Balor, my child, did he try to make it better than just this?"
"Yes, mother. He suggested floating platforms to house vine plants, but I refused."
"And why is that?" Sothis says in a slightly accusatory tone.
"I…he needed to use magic. You said specifically to not to let him use magic before we learned whether or not we could trust him."
"Hmmm…I did say that, didn't I?" Sothis sighs. "Never mind…Septimus, are you able to cast those spells now?"
"Levitate? Yeah?" Septimus says with a shrug. He picks up a rock, makes it glow, and drops it…only for the rock to remain fixed to the position it was in before. "It's easy enough. I wanted to use a hanging-garden-style design but without levitating platforms it's rather hard."
"Well? Get to it, then!"
The scene changes once again.
Septimus has taken his armour off and is showing off his toned stomach. Well, that's what it looked like in the beginning, but upon closer inspection he just seems to be in the middle of a spar with a rather stern-looking green-haired woman.
Septimus is wielding the bladeless golden hilt of a sword—now with a blade of pure light emanating from it. The heat coming off of it in droves can be felt even through Sothis's memories.
The green-haired lady is using a sword and shield. They seem…slightly too big for her, almost as if she just grabbed the closest thing to her size to use in this fight.
Sothis herself is seemingly watching this with great interest; it appears that she had expected the lady to completely destroy Septimus. Instead, not only is Septimus holding his own, but the green-haired lady is even seemingly on the back foot.
"Grah!" The lady grunts as she kicks off with frightening speed again, hoping to strike at Septimus. The Orator-to-be rolls his shoulders in response, seemingly unfazed. He takes a single step to the side as the lady rushes past, and he reaches out and grips onto her shoulder with his free left hand.
With impossible strength, he grabs and throws the woman to the ground, her body hitting the sandy floor with a surprised yelp. The bright blade in his hand quickly snaps to a position right above the woman's neck.
"I…I yield…" She mutters quietly.
"Ha…was that proof enough? If I can defeat you, Seiros, then I can defeat just about anything that can come this way. Isn't that right, Sothis?" Septimus looks back at the black figure, who just nods.
"This…this doesn't mean anything," Seiros (!) spits.
"Enough, Seiros! He has shown himself to be your superior! You can drop it!" Sothis yells out. "You had your chance, and it is now obvious that you cannot defeat him. The challenge is over."
"B—But mother! He's a danger! How—How can you let him—!"
"I said! Enough! You lost, Seiros!"
"Do you have…any proof?" The Orator says in a quiet voice; despite the two green-haired beings yelling at each other, his small voice is like a bucket of cold water on the brewing argument. Both figures turn and look at the Orator with mixed expressions: Seiros with immense hatred and Sothis with…
Well, I don't know. The version of Sothis right next to me seems to be rather melancholic right now.
"Proof of what…?" Seiros hisses. "Proof of what, mongrel!?"
"Proof that I'm…a danger? What have I done to deserve such a label?"
"You—!"
"Please, Seiros. I don't understand why you out of everyone would be the most opposed to me. Aren't the youth supposed to be the most understanding? Yet…" He sighs and looks at the ground. "Balor, Conchobar, Cichol, and even ancient Lugh have begrudgingly allowed me in—not even considering the most ancient of them all, your own mother. I just…don't understand why…"
"You don't need to understand," Seiros snaps back. "You just need to know that you are NOT welcome here!"
"Seiros! That is just—" Sothis growls. "Have you no respect anymore?
"Mother! He can't be allowed here anymore, tainting us with his ideals. This is the only way!" Seiros spits the word 'ideals' out with enough vitriol to make Sothis recoil. "Indeed! I believe it is time! If he shall not bow down to his superiors, then I have no reason to bow to his level."
Seiros's body begins to glow with a haunting white light, as cracks emerge on her body, splitting her physical form apart.
"Seiros, didn't I say that—"
Before Sothis can finish, Seiros has completely changed. A massive…well, dragon, stands where she was standing before. Septimus mutters something that I can make neither heads nor tails of, before tapping his sternum. A full set of incredibly advanced-looking armour springs forth into existence in a shower of golden sparks.
"There is no place for you here, Farseer!" Seiros bellows. "Remove yourself, or you shall be destroyed—"
"Enough!" A second voice echoes through the air, and a moment later, a second dragon smashes into the sandy pit in front of the Orator-to-be, shielding the man with her massive, heavily built-up wings. "That is enough, Seiros!"
Sothis looks on, her face unreadable black as a result of the memory.
"Uathach! Why do you shield him so!?"
"Well, she is the shield dragon—"
"Look at you, Seiros! Look at how pitiful you've become! You think this human could challenge us? Challenge mother's power? Why do you think his tone changes so whenever he is with our mother?"
"A—Actually, I'm fairly certain that I can—" Septimus says in a quiet voice, but is once again cut off by one of the massive dragons.
"What can you say about this!? Love has blinded you, and he has led you astray!"
"L—Love!? What are you going on about!? What kind of world have you been living in!"
"Uathach, this really isn't the time to—"
"Stop it, both of you," Sohis declare with a stern voice. "That is enough from both of you! Seiros, my decision is final, you may leave now! Uathach, this is between Seiros and myself, you need not intervene! Is that clear!"
The two dragons' responses get lost in the murk as the memory dissipates, and we are thrown back into the throne room once more.
"That's…all I could remember. I'm sure that…well, that probably creates more questions than it answers, but…I hope that's…something for you," Sothis says in a small voice next to me.
I have but one question on my mind.
"You're a mother? Who banged you of all people?"
The groan I got from Sothis is delicious.
(Orator Septimus)
Controlling eight separate arms at the same time is…strange. It's a hard feeling to describe, especially with the way that I've managed to get the Manuum Deorum to interface with my mind. Making a control scheme based on neural pathways already present in my mind would have been a pain. Making an analogue pseudo-control scheme would take up at least one hand and make the extra arms kinda moot.
I did the…probably insane method of making this work. I made new neural connections and basically relearned how to use my arms again…times three. Yes, I was fumbling around like a toddler for the better part of six years, but in the end I managed to reconfigure the neurons in my brain to be able to handle the extra inputs and outputs. The arms have literally become a part of my body, for better or worse, and I will probably have to get used to only having two arms to use once the war is over.
Or I could keep them. Would make one hell of a piece of construction equipment. These things have a maximum lift capacity of what, fifteen hundred metric tonnes? They're also not really constrained by things like angle and clearance since they levitate. Huh.
Nah, I'll probably just give them to Kronya when I leave. Man, that's going to be weird. Having to adjust to new limbs is one thing, having to adjust to losing six limbs is going to be a different and much worse preposition.
I'll probably just make another set of smaller arms. It would make life a lot easier and I won't have phantom pains in artificial arms.
Why am I thinking about these things? Well, that's rather simple. Right now, I am standing at the base of one of the mountains within the Oghma Mountain Range. Above me is an ancient castle—nearing a thousand years old. A castle and cathedral that I had helped to build.
A castle and cathedral that I intend on destroying in but a few weeks. The armies of the Liberati are mobilised and ready to unleash the powers of humanity upon a foolish claimant of the throne of the gods. A thousand pieces of artillery are ready to bring down Mars's retribution for chaining his people. A thousand legions, together over a million men and women, are ready to charge the seat of their oppressors, a rifle in each hand and conviction in each heart.
Or that's what Thales has been repeating to me on repeat for the past week and a half. It's been getting annoying. Yes, I've built up the largest military force to step foot on Fodlán, yes, I've managed to industrialise completely unseen from the church and begin the process of building up a scarcity-free society, and yes I've been able to effectively make a stable direct democratic political system from the absolute shithole the old Agarthan system was…but…well, while those were goals in of themselves, in the end they were means to an end.
And this is the end.
One last task. One last duty. One last thing before I can go back to blissful sleep.
I feel the power of mana swirl around me. A spell that became intimately familiar to me in ages past—a spell that saved my life a thousand times over and yet doomed me down this path. [Misty Step]. A green flame enwraps me and for a brief fraction of a section I see the crackling insanity of the Feywild before I am deposited into the location that I had wished to go to.
The Holy Tomb. The former seat of the Goddess.
As expected, Seiros is standing before a kneeling Edelgard in the armour of the Dawnbringer. What is surprising, though very welcome, is the fact that she appears to be incredibly mad; Byleth has thrown her sword aside when ordered to execute Edelgard.
I appear to have arrived at the moment where Hubert would have—the more that things change, the more that things stay the same, huh?
I lock eyes with Seiros, and she goes from furious to surprised to furious again. I almost chuckle despite the air of dread I'm supposed to be giving off right now.
"Y—You. YOU! YOU!" Seiros bellows, her green eyes growing ever wider.
"Me," I shrug before spreading my hands wide. "I live. Surprised? When I said I could take you on and just didn't want to, I was not exaggerating."
"YOU LITTLE—I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHEN YOU FIRST SHOWED YOUR FACE—"
"Might want to be more careful with your words, Rhea," I tut. "After all, we don't want the deceived sheep to know about your past, right? Though, I'm fairly certain that they know something at this point, no? After all, Cethleann and Cichol—oops, Flayn and Seteth, my bad—left some time ago, didn't they?"
I turn my attention to Catherine and the rest of the knights as I say this. They seem to be…confused. No matter.
My words seem to at the very least calm Seiros down enough that she's not trying to actively change into her dragon form anymore. Instead, she pulls out her sword—which she hid…somewhere in that dress—and charges me instead.
Alright, straight-up resorting to violence. I can work with that.
Her first swing comes down fast and hard—insanely so. Reminds me of the Archdemon of Wrath—Satan—when we had to fight him to free Cly Morth.
But not nearly fast enough. Mammon and Leviathan were much faster, and I still managed to fight them…somewhat.
Mammon did punch a hole the size of a grapefruit into my chest when we fought, so there's that. Yes, I did die, but Jugen brought down the entire chamber on him six seconds later and Rufus brought me back, so does it really matter?
One arm manifests itself in reality in front of Seiros. She growls in annoyance and attempts to cut through the new obstacle in her way. Unfortunately for her, it's made from face hardened Adamantite, which is more than capable of standing up to her sword. She yelps in surprise as all of her force and more goes into the metal without so much as a dent. She then smashes face-first into the arm.
She recovers quickly, but not nearly quickly enough. A quick hop with a spell later, Dawnbringer is drawn and the blazing blade slashes in an arc at her neck. She blocks it, of course, but the next few strikes are heavy and destabilise her stance very quickly.
She decides to switch it up and a spell formula suddenly appears in front of her as she backs away. Agnea's Arrow, I think.
My predictions are quickly proven correct a moment later as a massive pillar of blue-white light descends onto my location. I simply shrug. The flame wraps around me, causing waves of agony to—
Suddenly, the spell simply disappears. Six motes of light descend down into my belt, where a [Rod of Absorption] is stored. Damn, a sixth level spell, huh?
I brush off some ash that somehow managed to get onto my shoulder and smile slightly at an increasingly rabid and worried Seiros.
Seeing as the spells have been unlocked, I respond in kind. A triplicate of [Fireball] roar across the short space between the two of us. Three massive explosions follow their impact with the ground, and the very chamber shakes with their power.
Three sixth level fireballs. Very fun.
Seiros, understandably, is still alive. Regrettable.
Seeing as I have an invasion to organise, I decide that I should finish this quickly. Bringing out the absolutely massive weapons that I made for the arms seems…a little overkill, but—oop, nevermind, Seiros has decided that the fireballs hurt too much and is currently in the process of turning into a dragon.
Oh well, no time like the present, huh?
All six hands appear, and in a flash of blue light they are filled with weapons. Two pairs are holding two-handed weapons—a halbert and a glaive—while the other two hold swords. I thought of giving one a ranged weapon but considering the range and the toughness of Seiros's scales I thought better of it.
As her transformation finishes, the halbert swings downward in a silver arc, smashing into the top of her head and smashing her into the ground.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Catherine fighting a reinvigorated Edelgard and an incredibly angry Hubert. Seeing that my backside is sufficiently protected, I refocus my attention on Seiros…who is looking…
Rather worse for wear. Who knew getting your head smashed in by a halbert the length of a four-story building and the weight of a blue whale would hurt a lot, even for a dragon? I've…just realised that I've completely forgotten the actual size of a Nabatean—barely bigger than a demonic beast—and instead prepared to fight and kill an ancient dragon, who individually are much much bigger.
To be fair, I've based everything on Cly Morth, and he's fucking massive, so I blame him.
Each weapon takes their turn smashing into the roaring body of Seiros. Each blow causes more and more crimson blood to be spilled upon this holy tomb.
I do not spot.
Knights have started to rush in. Catherine screams for them to stop me. I pay them no heed; they cannot hurt me.
Seiros attempts to get up. One of the arms with a sword swings at her limbs and slices through one of her front legs, severing it, and partially detaches another. She slams back onto the floor, and a splash of blood goes flying. Some of it lands on my face. I pay it no heed.
I feel a sharp point attempt to worm its way into my skin from behind me. Without even looking back, I snap my fingers and cast a [Hellish Rebuke] spell. A feminine voice screams from behind me. I pay it no heed.
By the fifteen strike of the blade, Seiros has stop trying to run away. By the twentieth, she's stopped moving. By the fifteenth, I can see bone.
I know not of how many of the Church's men I've killed.
I know not of how many holy artefacts I've destroyed.
All I can see in that crimson river of blood are the faces of those who had had their lives cut short by Seiros's madness.
The mother wishing to treat her son's cancer.
The grandson visiting his sick grandfather.
The abused wife getting treatment for her numerous wounds.
The shell-shocked soldier finally returning from the last war.
I know not of how long I stood there.
I know not of how much I had lost.
She is dead. She is dead.
Finally, she is dead.
I fall to my knees. I am dimly aware of Edelgard urging me to get up. I pay it no heed.
The blood pools into a river of red and slowly runs down the floor. I dip my fingers into it and with a shaky hand touch my throat with the stained fingers.
I considered it. Oh, may the gods be my witness, I considered it. I could no longer hear Dawnbringer's voice; had I lost her favour now or long ago? I could no longer hear my own voice. The face that stares back at me is…not mine.
Gods, I really did consider it. But I started seeing other faces in that scarlet murk. The calm smiles of Beira and Cailleach, dragons of ice and snow respectively, who had helped me get settled in a city made for dragons. They had been murdered on that night, and then forgotten.
I saw the face of Balor, the Fissure Dragon, the Earthshaker. My best friend, who I was forced to leave behind. He had been turned into a weapon of pure destruction, harnessing his strength yet leaving his brilliant mind behind.
I saw the face of Cecht, the Protector, the Aegis Dragon, and her calm yet sad face as she sent me away. She had her very skin scraped off from her body and turned into the binding of a tome; her flesh had been rendered into parchment for that tome.
I saw the face of Conchobar, the Crushing Dragon, and the insane training sessions he would force me to participate in. His wisdom and foresight ground to dust as he became nothing but a blunt instrument.
I saw the face of Uathach…gods, Uathach. She was far too attached to me for her own good, and often got into spats with Seiros and Macuil. Her skull was formed into the Aegis shield, and it causes me grief every time I see it.
I knelt there for some time. I am uncertain as to how long. But eventually, I remembered that I had a duty to those people as well, and that my journey did not end just yet. I needed to recover those relics that had been so jealousy coveted by the scum of humanity and restored to their true selves.
Or at the very least, brought to a true rest.
(Septimus Terentius)
"Uathach, dear?" I yell out with a sigh. "We're out of power cores again in the workshop. Can you check if we have any in the back?"
She responds in the affirmative, and I hear the heavy metal doors to the dangerous materials storage open with a loud hiss, even in the relatively isolated and haptically damped workshop.
It had been a…interesting half a decade. With Seiros dead, my primary motivation for the past seven centuries had been fulfilled, which left me…relatively confused as to what I'd be doing for the rest of my magically-lengthed life.
I did think about shutting off my life support or cutting my throat right then and there, but I came to the realisation that the Nabateans who had been turned into relics hadn't truly died yet, and that they could be saved…or so I hoped.
And so, I resigned my post as Orator and had the first consular election in…well, technically ever. Thales and Cleobulus won, which was not a surprise. After that, I went around to the nobles who were nominally on our side—Byleth's direct students—told them the truth of the relics, and then asked them to hand them over.
That had yielded more results than I expected. Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain all gave up their respective relics quite readily, even if Rodrigue took some convincing. By that I mean that Felix straight-up stabbed his father in the gut. Yikes.
That meant I could at least attempt to see if my theory was right or not. The crests of Fraudarius, Daphne, and Gautier corresponded with the Nabateans Uathach, Celtchar, and Balor respectively, which means I should be able to get them out. Even better was the fact that these were the only hero's weapons that correspond to their crest. I'm not sure what happened to Cecht and Taranis, as their corresponding crests—Lamine and Charon respectively—have two corresponding heroes' weapons each.
I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, I suppose.
In the meantime, I've managed to get two other hero's weapons, that being Blutgang and Hrotti, the weapons of Maurice and Timotheos respectively. Blutgang was acquired after killing the raging beast that Mauriced turned into, while Hrotti required a wild-goose chase through half of Adrestia before I just asked Hapi.
Turns out, she had it this whole time. Go figure.
I could have swore that Epidemius had it…but I haven't seen him, Arval, or Shez this entire time. Strange.
Turns out that Weave Magic considers the dragons inside of the hero's weapons to be alive, just cursed to be in that form. This…complicated things and made things a lot simpler. See, if that was the case, all I had to do was dispel the curse, right? And then things would be all hunky-dory again.
Well, that's what a fifth-rate mage from Mauritania would think. See, the strange part of this 'curse' is that it only removes the spirit from the Nabatean's body, and doesn't do anything with the body. Dispelling the curse would just return them to their body…which I have no idea if it still exists. Doing so would just straight-up kill them.
Which…actually makes reviving them so much easier. See, the spell [Resurrection] doesn't work on creatures dead for more than a century, and they've definitely been dead for more than a century. I don't have anything that could cast [True Resurrection], which makes things difficult for me. Killing them by removing a curse keeping them alive and then resurrecting them through their weapons—which are still technically a part of their body, just not their true body—would restore them to their true selves.
I tried it with Balor first; he was old and said he would be fine dying even before he got turned into a lance.
It worked…a little too well. I forgot that the spell cures all ailments, so I accidentally made Balor a youthful person again, which isn't something I expected at the beginning of all of this.
I continued with Cecht and Uathach, which worked equally well. It was around this time that Cichol and Cethlean came to the island to live with us.
Ah, I should probably explain where in the hell we are. This island is a small island, maybe a third the size of Corsica, and the closest island in the Saon Island Chain to Adrestia. While technically a part of Morfis, nobody lives here, and a quiet agreement with the governor of this part of Morfis kept us secret from the rest of Morfis.
All in all, the current population of Nabateans went up from four to nine. Improvement! A 225% population increase!
As expected honestly, Uathach came on to me hard. N—Not that I minded, necessarily, I've always liked her, but it was surprising literally just me that she wanted it this badly. Everyone except for me saw it coming.
Gods damn me to Pluto, am I this dense?
Anyhow, life has been peaceful so far. Taking a break from politics is great for your mental health, who knew? Hells, my hair is coming back. That's saying something.
A few moments later, the door to the workshop opens up and I'm greeted by the sight of my beautiful wife's smile.
Did I mention she's beautiful?
I probably didn't, huh?
I'll say it again.
My wife is very pretty, and I'm not afraid or embarrassed to say it.
She…uh, might be embarrassed to hear it; apparently old age is also considered an ailment, and its 'cure' is to revert everyone's biological and mental age to right after mental maturity.
Which for Dragons, isn't very young at all, but it does make everyone a little—no, a lot—less imposing and dignified.
"Septimus, there doesn't seem to be any power cores left. Didn't you use the last dozen on that chemosynthesis plant a couple days ago?" She frowns. "And how long have you been inside here? It smells like burnt tar and rotting plants."
"That would be the fuel generator in the back. It's turning plants into fuel by burning them at high pressures, which would explain the burnt tar smell and the alchemical oil it spits out smells a lot like a compost pile," I chuckle. "And yeah, I've been in here for nearly seven hours."
"You really need to get out more, you know?" Uathath sighs and pouts a little. "It's getting a little boring without you out here, you know?"
"Alright, alright, I'll come outside. I'm not as young and spry as I used to be, you know?" I laugh as I grab my cane. "Can't believe you settled for something like this."
"Uh huh, this isn't settling," She frowns and crosses her arms. "I like you the way you are. And you know nearly every one of us would give you our blood in a heartbeat."
"Not Morrigan."
"Which is why I said 'almost'. Don't worry about her, she's always been like this. Oh yeah, Cichol managed to catch us a whale, so we're going to be eating in our true forms if that's fine with you."
"That's always fine."
"Mmmm…just letting you know. That time that Cecht almost crushed you gave us all fright. Don't want that to happen again."
"You know, I wouldn't mind if you—"
"Septimus! Cethleann is right there!"
"Huh? Is something the matter, Aunt Uathach?"
"No, nothing's the matter. Your Uncle just doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."
Uathach looks at me pointedly as she says the last sentence.
I could tease her on the 'when' part, but I decide not to. She might seem adverse to PDA, but only the 'P' part of it. 'DA' is completely fine. However, she's a dragon, and if she gets mad or embarrassed, bad things may happen.
Not that I'm not into it, but still. Once again, men absolutely love it when their loved ones can absolutely murder them.
What, it's hot. If the air was constantly 36.8 degrees, you'd be wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
We spend the rest of the afternoon lazing around and playing games. As the sun's last couple of rays dip into the sea, I catch sight of a wyvern out in the west carrying something large underneath itself. Ah, that'll be the whale that Cichol caught.
However, as they get closer, I notice more wyverns behind his. Strange. As a general precaution, I tell everyone to get ready to fight if things get dicey. The head of the snake might be cut, but we still have many enemies within the church.
Uathach makes a poignant point by drawing the Sword of Moralta and stand beside me.
Well, at least that sends a message.
Cichol tosses the dead whale into a field nearby before landing with a crunch. The wyverns behind land and—
"Kronya!? What are you doing here?" I say as the orange-haired girl hops off the first wyvern to arrive.
"Ah…so you two do know each other," Cichol says nonchalantly as he gets off his own wyvern. "It was rather suspicious how much she knew about you, but she did make a compelling argument."
"Nevermind that, Cichol. Kronya, what are you doing here?"
"Um, h—hello, everyone," Kronya seems incredibly nervous as she realises just what kind of place she's landed in. I notice later that Morrigan, having had just about enough of pretending to be a human, turned back into her dragon form and just stared at Kronya the entire time.
Would make anyone scared, in all honesty.
"My name is Kronya Aquilia, student of the Orator. I'm here to um…ask…if you could please come back…" She addresses me directly.
"Of course not," I flatly refuse. "There is no reason for me to go back. My task is done. Everything is settled. Humanity should not be bound by the rule of ancient beings, myself included."
"Plus, he has a life here!" Uathach adds in.
"Well…um…well, I think Byleth would be a better explainer."
"Byleth? Isn't she…I thought she tumbled down a canyon," I frown.
"Hello," The green-haired girl steps off another wyvern. "You're coming back."
"I am not."
"You are."
"Make me."
"Thales and Cheobulus are fighting," She shrugs. "You should probably be stopping that."
"People in politics fight all the time. I don't understand the issue."
"They've started a civil war."
I groan and slap my forehead.
Not this shit again.
Addendum
Latin → English
Regina — Queen
Optimates — A political faction within Roman Politics that sought the protection of their private properties and power at the expense of the people. Famous Optimates include but are not limited to: Pompey Magnus, Cato [both of them], and Sulla.
Illa tyrannis est — [She] is a tyrant
150 Metres — 65.6 Bald Eagles in Wingspan
Veni, Vidi, Coxi — I came, I saw, I cooked; a spoof on Veni, Vidi, Vici, a famous quote from Gaius Julius Caesar that meant 'I came, I saw, I conquered.'
5 kilometres — 45.5 Football Fields long
Orator — Speaker
Dictator — Speaker; Roman military and political position of sole rule in a time of crisis, after which the Dictator would voluntarily step down.
Propraetor — Person with the powers and duties of a Praetor, while not technically holding the post.
Tarquin the Proud — Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, the seventh and last king of Rome before the popular uprising that brought in the Roman Republic.
Sic! — Thus!
Manuum Deorum — The Hands of God.
Alligo te! — I bind you!
Stella Lupi — Star of the Wolf
Crest Name → Nabatean Name
Aubin → Beira
Blaiddyd → Aed
Cethleann → Cethleann
Charon → Taranis
Chevalier → Cailleach
Cichol → Cichol
Daphnel → Celtchar
Dominic → Conchobar
Ernest → Connla
Flames → Sothis
Fraldarius → Uathach
Gautier → Balor
Gloucester → Creidhne
Goneril → Nuada
Indech → Indech
Lamine → Cecht
Macuil → Macuil
Maurice → Setenta
Noa → Aine
Riegan → Grian
Seiros → Seiros
Timotheos → Morrigan
AN: Hello there! Acardia here!
For all of you who are incredibly confused, take a look at the current date. That should explain everything. Don't worry, this isn't canon.
...
34.7k words. Jesus Christ. I think that's the longest chapter I've written for a fanfic, ever. Even in the stuff I refuse to publish. Even within all my writings, I think this is one of my longest—3rd longest, I checked. There's a 36k 'one-shot' that I wrote a while back about...Aydrian and his elder brother Solomon the Usurper. That's original content there, no piggybacking off of other IPs. There's also a massive 44k chapter in the story that everyone shouldn't go and try to find. It sucks. Believe me. It had like 44 views and I deleted it some time ago, so it should be scrubbed. I hope.
The worst part? I had to cut out so many scenes. So many...Partially due to time (I finished writing this 14 minutes before April 1st) and partially due to conciseness.
Don't worry, the actual Chapter 14 is coming out...soon TM. The first half [read: 10k words] of this chapter comes from the actual Chapter 14. I took an entire month to write this, so writing half should take...half a month? Maybe. I don't know.
Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. If people want to see more, I'll probably write more. Maybe. I'll probably do a pseudo-NG+ focusing on Byleth and Rufus with Terence as the primary villain of the story. I had...too much fun writing this haha.
Anyway, review time!
Clutchvm: Hey! Welcome aboard! Snacks are served every 3 weeks to 2 months.
kjkawesome: Well, I think this chapter answers some questions.
Guest(1): Nice Review
Guest(2): Thank you! I've been trying to get better at writing dialogue. I kinda suck at writing anything that's not world-building lmao.
Guest(3): A Self-Insert isn't described by a background, it's a type of literary device. And Self-Inserts aren't bad—Luke Skywalker is George Lukas's self-insert, and Star Wars is great. Was, sorry, was great. Andor is the only interesting Disney addition. Fight me. The person that I've used as an author-insert is probably Aydrian, though not really. I haven't introduced Solomon, who is my actual SI. Anyway, do some reading on different types of literary devices before you start using them. Ciao.
Blumstein: See DM.
Grimmideals: Hello! Welcome on this slightly leaking ship! Unfortunately, one of the personalities has died, but that just means we get to have more flashbacks! Huzzah! As for Laurent, I'm trying to do that kind of treatment with all of the 2nd generation people. Some like Nah and Kjelle have basically no personality, and that makes me...sad. So much potential for storytelling and angst and it's just...not utilised. I mean, if you want me to, I can write some more. I had lost of fun with it.
Anyhow, that's all for a while. Happy April Fools, everyone.
Valete, mihi stutli. Dormito bene.
Acardia out.
