Olberic and Ali occupy two whole beds, which would normally have been for two people each. While Ali was recovering well with some bandages and balm from Alfyn and Ophilia's healing, Alfyn was insistent he rest longer in case there was internal complications. After some sleep juice from Alfyn's concoctions, he's dozing the rest of the night away peacefully.
Olberic, on the other hand, had been through a rather grueling nightmare. That much was obvious. Cyrus and the others found him after defeating Gideon, very pale that they feared for the worst. When they unhooked him from the machines, he was unconscious with shallow breathing, much to their relief. Alfyn hazarded that he must have lost at least a tenth of his blood supply, from some rather disturbing notes and papers they took from Gideon's lab. The apothecary and cleric stabilized him before carrying him out along with the only other survivor of the ordeal. The warrior looks rather haggard as he sleeps a bit more peacefully now at the Quarrycrest inn. Here and there, he murmurs softly in his sleep. He had only cracked open his eyes once as they were exiting the cave with him, and his words were nigh incomprehensible before he blacked out again.
H'aanit was also forced to rest early, particularly by Ophilia. Despite her fatigue and wounds, H'aanit did not want to be confined to bed so soon. However, with Linde and Hägen also giving her disapproving attitudes, the huntress acquiesces to their wills. Gideon had stabbed her rather deeply despite the healing Ophilia and Alfyn performed. The cleric keeps her company, sitting by her bedside in the soft candlelight in the other room Tressa had gotten.
The others were not as inclined to go to bed after the dual ordeals they had been through. Tressa worriedly waited by the Quarrycrest exit to Morlock's manse, waiting for Prim, accompanied by Alfyn after they had Ali asleep. The dancer arrived only a few hours after the thief and merchant returned. Tressa and Alfyn were shocked seeing the blood on Prim's hands. The dancer didn't answer any questions, merely saying she was tired. She didn't look either of them in the eye and merely smiled softly before going to wash off at the inn.
"What a day..." Cyrus sighs, sitting at the local tavern. Even the scholar was a bit short on words as he lays his head down on the wooden table.
The other five travelers are sitting at a table they got to share. Alfyn occasionally leaves the pub to go make trips checking back on the three resting at the inn. The innkeeper eventually just goes to sleep instead of minding him, and Ophilia assures him she can watch over them. It is late, but the tavern master seems to be open to keeping his door open so long as they ordered some grub and grog. They have some water, ale, and dry bread with local nuts to share. Even Alfyn didn't have much of an appetite, though.
Prim and Therion both have a tankard of ale in hand, though they are not so inclined to drink. Even the dancer's moody expression matches the thief's brooding.
"... Well, what happened with you guys?" Tressa asks at last, her hands around a tankard of water, "When even Cyrus, the professor, is too worn out to talk..."
"Uh, well, it's a bit of a …" Alfyn sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Long story. See, we were supposed t' be looking for some missing people... You guys remember those people the miners in tent town mentioned, right?"
"Uh huh..."
"We found the place... it's in the sewers where the river runs under," Alfyn recounts their excursion, "The guy behind it, apparently named Gideon, was... sucking the blood outta people..."
He swallows thickly when he thinks back to that room. Primrose gently rubs his back.
"It was … a bit more insidious than I had hypothesized going into the investigation," Cyrus admits with a sigh, "We had seen the corpse result, but the method was..."
"I-it was like some weird place he had set up... The missing people were holed up like animals and he put them on these weird tables with-with these wires and pipes and... the whole place smelled like blood..." Alfyn purses his lips, "The guy, Gideon, he... he didn't even seem t' care they were people... didn't even blink... Might as well have been a guy cleaning the guts out of some fish he caught..."
Tressa feels a slight chill go down her spine hearing the story. Therion makes a face.
"A-anyway, the guy was also the one who got Ol- uh, Berg, "Alfyn stumbles briefly, "Everyone else was drained out, except for a girl we saved... Lia and Cy really saved us, and we beat the guy... But..."
Here, the apothecary falls a little silent. Therion eyes him from the side and Primrose goes to hold his hand. Cyrus straightens, lifting his head from the table and clearing his throat.
"Do not despair, Alfyn... Even I, a proclaimed pacifist, do not regret killing him."
"You did... You killed him?" Tressa gasps. Therion raises an eyebrow at the bookish man. Primrose looks to the scholar with slight surprise and disbelief.
"Yes, I did... Or, well, I caused it. Regardless, I was the independent variable of his death. I had cast a powerful ice wind spell, fearing for our lives. It pierced his vitals in several parts of his body. He bled out despite Alfyn's well-meant intentions to save him," Cyrus clasps his ale quietly and sips at his own pace, "When we informed a small party to help us investigate, we returned to find he had passed already."
Cyrus probably had not meant to make the kill sound so menial, but it nonetheless made him seem a little off-kilter. He had just killed a man and was describing it as though reading a book. However, granted how Gideon sounded, it was not a loss to the world.
"A-anyway, uh..." Alfyn resumes, "We couldn't get everything, and we needed some new hands. So, we got outta there and then talked to Cy's friend. She pulled some strings, got some help, and followed us to the place. Well, followed Cy, actually, since me and Lia had to help with H'aanit and the girl we got out."
"... You did very well, Alfyn," Primrose rubs the young man's back.
"They are going to resume the investigation on that room and sewers tomorrow," Cyrus sighs, "The entire structure's mystery is what allowed Gideon to conduct his atrocious studies in secret for so long."
"Other than the dead, is everyone alright?"
"Yeah, they'll be fine. H'aanit's tough. Even when the guy was pulling weird magic, she stuck it right to his face. Berg's tough, too. He'll just need some good nutrition to regain his blood... And the girl's alright. She's gonna need to rest a bit, but with some good food, she should be fine too... I just don't wanna think about... how she'll be when she wakes up after what that guy did to her..."
"Don't think about it," Therion says tersely. He knew it was probably Fiona on the apothecary's mind right now.
"O-oh, and we might need to rest a day or two before we leave since there's only so much medicine can do t' make ya better at once, ya know?" Alfyn quickly adds.
"That's right, you all did what you could," Primrose sighs, "But still... that some strange cult was here... We're lucky you all saved Berg."
"I was almost afraid when we stepped into the other room and saw him shackled there, like a martyr…" Cyrus says quietly, "Berg was kept separate from the other prisoners. It was not mere coincidence, either. There were notes Gideon wrote about why he was special and kept aside..."
He looks to the others at the table as he lowers his voice.
"Do you know the story of Olberic Eisenberg, famed knight of the fallen kingdom of Hornburg?"
The thief lets out a sigh and Alfyn looks suddenly to his ale. Primrose doesn't say anything, just watching the scholar. Tressa tilts her head.
"... We know, professor," Primrose says airily after a second. She closes her eyes and leans her chin on her hand.
"What? You knew?" Cyrus blinks in surprise, not expecting such a blasé response.
"... Duh, we traveled with him longer," Therion sighs.
"Uh, I guess the cat's outta the bag?" Alfyn chuckles nervously.
"Ah, so you were keeping this under wraps!"
"Wait, who?" Tressa squints, "That doesn't sound like a familiar name at all."
"Oh, my! You don't know the legends about the Unbending Blade of Hornburg?" Cyrus dramatically gasps.
"Now you've done it..." Therion grumbles.
"Oh dear, ahem. This is simply a gross misunderstanding I must correct," Cyrus clears his throat, "You see, I will have to start from the very beginning perhaps, with the founding of the late kingdom of Hornburg during the tumultuous period, located down in the Highlands region of the continent-"
Luckily, before Therion or Tressa strangled the scholar for rambling, Primrose stops him. The dancer reaches over and daintily presses a finger to the scholar's lips in the middle of his sentence. The gesture confused him more so than surprise, but it accomplished the purpose of getting him to halt his spiel.
"Mm?" He looks to the dancer like a silly deer.
"Do you mind if I deliver a crash course on the subject, professor? I'm no intellectual like you," She smiles sweetly, "And, frankly, it is a bit late. I'm sure we could all use some rest rather than endure a lecture."
"Well, uh, it is... a bit disheartening to hear it as 'enduring' a riveting lecture from me," Cyrus grumbles a little, but seems willing to accept the dancer's wishes, "However, I apologize. I forgot, in the heat of my scholarly passion, that we have indeed passed through a harrowing day and will be requiring the appropriate rest..."
"That's a good scholar," Primrose chuckles, patting Cyrus on the head. The thief and merchant give a sigh of relief and sip their drinks.
"Now then, Tressa," Primrose looks to the merchant girl, "Olberic Eisenberg is the name of a warrior from the kingdom of Hornburg. He was said to have the strength of an entire squadron on his shoulders, and a single cleave of his blade fended off a platoon. When Hornburg fell, he mysteriously disappeared from history. It was largely believed he died along with his liege... But that's not the true case."
"Huh... An old war legend? Those things are just exaggerations, aren't they? I mean, it's still cool that he's a warrior of great strength..." Tressa seems to think a little.
"Well, myths like that make people proud of the ones who defend their nations. Anyway, one way or another, Olberic actually survived the fall of Hornburg. He shed his old identity and took up the name of Berg, becoming a traveling mercenary. We met him in the Highlands and he has been with us since," Primrose concludes the story, gesturing to the thief and apothecary, as well as herself.
"Huh... so... Wait, is there any actual proof?" Tressa points out, "Like, it's a sad story and all, but... I'm not just gonna buy that some guy is a dead war hero among the living."
"Hmm, that is a good question... I had simply gleaned it from Gideon's notes but that is hardly empirical evidence..." Cyrus says in thought.
"...You aren't wrong. Even I only believe it is him based on some small interactions..." Primrose softly smirks, "It doesn't and shouldn't have much bearing on our relationship with him anyways. I think he has put whatever it is behind him mostly."
"Aw, c'mon, Tress! He woulda told ya first if he was a fake, right?" Alfyn chortles at the merchant's skepticism.
"Perhaps I could properly examine his arms and armor, if he still wears that of Hornburgian make... I may not be much of an armory scholar, but I do recognize simple signatures of the old kingdom," Cyrus perks up, "For instance, did you know that Hornburg blades for their generals were actually custom made, rather than standard issued? This contrasts heavily with the merit-based succession of arms from-"
"I guess you have a point, Alf," Tressa thinks to herself, "Well, if he's not having us treat him like royalty, then I don't have a problem. But we should probably ask him how we should, uh, address him, I guess? And, like, tell him that we're all in on his little secret now."
"Indeed, that would be prudent... Anyways," Cyrus continues, "From Gideon's notes, he had a strange hypothesis about the properties of the so-called 'blood of a hero.' It sounded entirely outlandish, I say... but blood magic is beyond my expertise. Even when I laid my eyes upon the horrid rituals he used, I could not grasp them... But I am glad that whatever he wanted to use, er, Berg for did not come to fruition. It would have reduced him to but a husk like those other unfortunates..."
There is slight relief from his words. However, the bad taste remained in their mouths and they all collectively take a swig.
Cyrus now looks to the thief, dancer, and merchant, "So! Whatever happened with you three?"
"Uh..." Tressa glances to the thief and dancer. Therion just sips his ale, not looking at her. Primrose gives an encouraging nod. The merchant girl sighs, "It's a long story like yours..."
"Well, I can't speak for Alfyn, but I am most intrigued," Cyrus holds his tankard, "If you don't mind staying awake a bit more to regale us..."
"Ah, what the hey, I guess I'll have to tell ya," Tressa chuckles smugly, rubbing her nose, "So, basically, I was having some friendly competition with Ali. You guys can talk to him about it when he wakes up. He's the guy with the red bandana."
"She was getting skinned," Therion says under his breath.
"Hey! I'm the one telling the story!" Tressa yells at the thief outing her, "Don't listen to him!"
The dancer chuckles at her indignance. Therion rolls his eye. Lucky for Tressa, neither Cyrus nor Alfyn seem to have fully absorbed what Therion said. The merchant folds her arms and clears her throat to resume.
"So, as I was saying! Ali got himself in some trouble with the local land baron, Morlock. Well, I couldn't just let him alone, so I chased mean ol' Morlock to his manse. You wouldn't believe the fight his guards put up and everything! They had trained falcons and, and, walking lamp things..."
"I believe they are called sentinels," Cyrus interjects, "We employed the use of them in the archives back in Atlasdam. They are classified as utility constructs by the Board of Magical Constructions..."
Cyrus trails off as Therion and Tressa give him a bit of the stink eye. He ceases his rambling after clearing his throat, "Ahem... Forgive me. Continue, Tressa."
"As I was saying," Tressa huffs, "We bust in and his big guy, Omar, is right on top of Ali there. He got beat all black and blue."
"Yeowch... Didn't seem a fair tussle," Alfyn winces, having seen the extent of the merchant's injuries.
"Yeah, Omar was as slimy as Morlock. The two of 'em only cared about the money. Well, no way I was gonna let that slide. So, we fought. I pulled off some awesome wind magic, hehe!" Tressa says with a note of palpable pride, "Blew a buncha guards off their feet!"
"Wait, you're a Gate, too, Tress? Wow, neat!" Alfyn gives her a thumbs up and a grin.
"A wind Gate, hm... Impressive. That is an element I unfortunately cannot control," Cyrus comments, "Statistically, they are a rare variety as well, as anyone who reads the Star Oracle's Index will say. What a fortuitous discovery!"
"Yeah, so we showed them a thing or two," Tressa nods smugly, "Therion and Primrose helped out and... Well, we came back here after we taught them a lesson."
"Wait, then why did Prim come later?" Alfyn looks to the dancer, "And there was all that blood..."
All eyes look to the dancer now. Even Tressa is curious.
"... Morlock is dead," Primrose says in a low voice so only their table can hear.
Silence. It takes them a few moments to absorb what she just said.
"You actually..." Therion says under his breath with exasperation.
"What? But..." Cyrus glances around slightly, "My dear, that is … That man was not just a simple criminal...! Nor are we executors of the law..."
He trails off in his platitude from a look the dancer gives him.
"... We all know the law wouldn't have touched him here," Primrose says softly.
"...She's not wrong about that," Therion mutters, sipping his ale.
"...What are we gonna do if people..." Tressa's mind races as she pictures the absolute chaos as people realize Morlock's death was the end of any local order in Quarrycrest. The miners might turn to thievery with no source of income if they did not leave the Cliftlands. Others might claim the mines for themselves. With no process in place, they would fight over these shares of the land and resources, inadvertently dragging in other parties.
"...There might be a riot..." She whispers, hands clenched at her sides. Alfyn swallows. He was a simple country boy who didn't understand all these politics, but even that was simple enough to know was bad.
A subsequent silence settles over their table. Unexpectedly, it is Therion who speaks up.
"... We should loot the manor while we can."
Alfyn spits out a mouthful of ale.
"W-what?" Tressa hisses, "Can't you think of something else other than stealing for a second?!"
"Whatever are you thinking, dear thief?" Primrose looks quizzically at the thief.
"Wait, I've got it!" Cyrus says in an excited whisper, "If we can amass all the resources while no one is the wiser... then we can distribute it so that there won't be mass chaos...!"
"Distribute it? Cyrus, were you not just saying we do not have stately authority to do such things?" The dancer scoffs.
"Well, yes, but... I happen to have a friend here in Quarrycrest who is rather close with the local culture. Her help will be invaluable to in ensuring that all get their fair share, I'm sure. She is not one to be cheated."
"I-I guess we should help in any way we can?" Tressa says quietly, "It's an idea but … if your friend knows the local turf, we ought to ask her first and tell her what we know."
"Yes, though not at this hour, unfortunately," Cyrus sighs, "She pushed me out of her door the last time I inquired at an odd hour."
"This is a bit more pressing a matter than before, wouldn't you say?" Primrose waves a hand dismissively, "The more time we take, the more likely someone may discover it."
"You have prudence, Primrose," Cyrus scratches his head, "She will, however, be most undoubtedly cross with this news..."
"I guess we aren't sleeping just yet?" Alfyn says with a slight yawn and a tired grin, "Let's finish our drinks and get to, uh, Odette's place, right?"
"No, Alfyn, you should get some rest. You've been working like a dog for the wounded today," Primrose smiles softly, "You should take Therion and Tressa back to the inn with you and check on our guest... I and the scholar will see this person."
"You sure, Prim? You're feeling alright after the battle and all?"
"I am fine," The dancer nods.
"Suits me fine," Therion stands, leaving his empty tankard, "Let's go."
"Ugh, I can't believe I'll have to be using my bedroll in the inn, in the rooms I bought!" Tressa grumbles, rubbing her eyes as she leaves the inn with Alfyn and Therion.
The dancer and scholar are the last ones in the pub. Cyrus takes out a few coins to pay for their drinks before turning to the dancer, "Shall we go then?"
…
Odette had quite the mountain of migraines after all this time in Quarrycrest, truth be told. After she'd left Atlasdam Academy with her grant for field work in arcane records and administration, she never looked back. It was the same year she had received word that the Azelhart manor had been infiltrated, and Geoffrey killed. Hardening her heart, she went to the Cliftlands on the other side of the continent and tried not to think about the man who adopted her and paid for all her academic fees.
It wasn't that she was ungrateful or cowardly. She reasoned that there was nothing she could do for the man. The best she could do in his memory was put the education he paid for to good use.
"Odette, if I should pass... Do not mind me. Do not visit my grave. Go and do what you can while you yet live."
His own words. The last she'd seen him was shortly before Dahlia died after childbirth.
Her initial years in the field were at the Bolderdrop area. It is the only part of the Cliftlands that touches Middlesea, where ships can reasonably reach the xeric lands without going a roundabout route. There, she had helped form an administration corps to manage the newborn seafaring industry. It was far from the most profitable trade in the Cliftlands at the time. However, much had changed these last few years.
As the mines dried up and monsters caused their usual trouble, people seemed to start thinking maybe looking to the sea wasn't a stupid idea. However, the Cliftlands did not have any military means to take more coastal areas for itself. People swarmed Bolderdrop, looking to become the stuff of swarthy legend. They wanted to get on boats out of these dusty lands.
It was around that time that Odette tired of such dealings. She was a scholar, not a businesswoman. After having helped erect the administration, she left tailing the stories of people who flocked in. The downtrodden who came to Bolderdrop often spoke of meager lives further inland.
Her scholarly grant from the Academy was appreciated, but it was only ever enough for herself. No matter how much suffering she saw, she could do nothing for these others in the dry lands.
Ultimately, she decided she would set up in Quarrycrest. Harold had asked her about this decision in a letter from Rippletide. He couldn't understand why a woman would want to stay in such an unstable place. Surely, even Bolderfall was more preferable a place.
She had replied curtly in her own response.
"This is just the best way I know how to do things."
Indeed, she wasn't one to get comfortable. Even when Geoffrey adopted her, she didn't like staying in his manor. The posh life of being waited on as the young lady of the house didn't appeal to her. She was more often eager to be left alone with some stories and playing in the yard. Often, Dahlia chastised her as she cleaned dirt out of her dirty blonde hair.
Odette presently shakes her head.
"At this rate, I'll grow as senile as Cyrus, reminiscing such stories..." She softly chuckles to herself. Her eyes look over the crossed-out pictures on her desk. That out of all the missing people, only one survived from her list... She had to prepare to meet their relevant families and send out the letters.
Why? Because no one else gives a damn, probably...
She sighs and sips the last of her cup of chicory. The sandy silt left at the bottom is bitter.
Having seen that strange place with Cyrus today was a rather scholarly experience. She had to admit that there was something fascinating about the machinery and runes the man named Gideon used. However, neither she nor Cyrus were so loony to think it was alright, considering the body count. It was simply curious.
"... And still more tomorrow..." She sighs again.
There is a sudden knock at the door. It's late, for sure. She hears that annoying scholar's voice again.
"Uhm, Odette? Might we trouble you?" Cyrus asks with as much tact as he can scrape up, "It's something a bit more … uh, we'd simply rather not wait till morning to tell you."
"What in the hells..." Odette opens her door a crack, with the latch still on. She looks out grumpily to see Cyrus with a rather beautiful brunette in a red skirt and cropped top, "Got another girl with you, Cyrus? You never cease to surprise."
"Erm, this is a traveling companion of mine, Primrose."
Odette arches an eyebrow as she looks the dancer over, "... I see."
"Pleasure. I assure you; we don't want to be up any more than necessary either," Primrose walks up to the door and whispers, "It's about Morlock."
"Hm? What about that grubby fat man?"
"He's dead."
Now that grabs her attention. Odette's eyes widen and she looks for any sign of a jest. Seeing none, she sighs, anticipating yet another problem arising. She unlocks the door to let them both into her abode.
"You travel with the most curious of people, Cyrus."
"Oho, they are certainly fascinating people!" Cyrus says with a jolly grin.
"Anyway..." Odette locks her doors now and leans back, facing the two, "What's this about Morlock? He's dead, you say? How? When?"
"Now, now, Odette, we have a perfectly good-"
"Cyrus, since you've entered, you've brought just about anything but pleasant news, sorry to say," Odette shoots him an unamused look as she pinches the space between her eyes, "If there's going to be a riot or something, I need to know so I can prepare now. There are vulnerable people in this town, and I can't really just drop it on them."
"You are a rather involved scholar, hm?" Primrose observes, "Actually, you both are... more so than the bookish types I thought who just observe."
"Knowledge for knowledge's sake is naïve," Odette points a thumb at Cyrus, "Look at this poster child."
"Wha?!" Cyrus balks.
"In the end, we're just trying to do our part," Odette sighs, "I decided that when I left Atlasdam."
"Hm..." Primrose allows her eyes to wander a little towards Odette's cluttered desk and shelves, packed with bound papers, reports, books... hardly any room for portraits, personal effects, or accolades. Her eyes fall upon a conspicuous pennant on the shelf, along with an amulet.
They bear the symbol of the house of Azelhart.
"So, in essence," Cyrus clears his throat, "There was an unfortunate, um... shall we say, skirmish... that resulted in the baron's death..."
Odette narrows her eyes, "Skirmish? Cyrus, are you trying to hide a murder or was his death actually timely... not that it would be unbelievable, given his diet."
"Well, uh..." Cyrus' eyes flicker momentarily to the occupied dancer, "... I cannot lie, it was an untimely one. He was killed."
"And by who? Don't tell me you did it... I already have a hard enough time believing you killed that man in the sewers."
Cyrus doesn't say anything for once and his eyes trail towards the dancer. Odette follows his gaze and she sees Primrose looking at the stuff on her shelf.
"... So, you?" Odette says now with suspicion. She looks the dancer up and down closely. Indeed, now that she is aware, there is something off about her...
The dancer initially seems to ignore her. Then, slowly, she turns to look at the two scholars, "...That's right. I killed Morlock."
Odette lets out a heavy sigh and sets down her cup with a heavy clunk, "...And can I ask whyever in the hells did you do that?"
"He wasn't anyone who deserved to live," Primrose says simply, "Even if you disagree, the dead cannot return."
"Which is precisely why people don't go around just killing people they don't like...!" Odette says through gritted teeth, "Ugh, forget it. I need to move fast. Before his goons take the place or something..."
"Well, we didn't come just to deliver this dour news! So, do not fret, Odette, for we shall lend our aid to help you deal with this aftermath!" Cyrus declares confidently, "You have been more than accommodating for us, after all! We actually thought you might want to redistribute his items to make up for the gap the collapse of his business would-"
"You bet your rambling ass!" Odette snaps at him irritably, "Get your boots ready because we're going right now!"
…
Olberic could swear he was being crucified. As he was hung with his arms apart in the Hornburg capital square, he could feel the cold wind despite the sun beating down on the mountains. His strength was no more. He could not fight his captors.
Down below, in the massive crowd of people, mingling faces and gaping mouths jeer and curse at him. Their hands point with the accusatory tone of their voices. Some fling stones and other trash. Sharp bits pierce his bare skin, and trickles of blood run like rivulets down his skin. Their words hurt far more to the warrior.
"Traitor!"
"Deserter!"
"Why are you alive?!"
"Why couldn't you protect your king?!"
"You should have died!"
There is not a hint of lies to their words. He cannot refute any of them. He can't raise any defenses against their words. How can he say anything against what he knows to be true?
Forgive me... Everyone... My countrymen... My comrades... Brothers in arms... I failed all of you...
King Alfred...
The minister of final rites stands on the podium next to where the beleaguered warrior is due for public execution after having been paraded as a criminal. He's wearing a stuffy outfit that seems too warm for him in this weather. Nonetheless, he adjusts his collar and unfurls his scripture, along with the litany of misdeeds against the condemned. His voice projects and is carried with the crowd, voicing their words all the louder.
"He who allowed Hornburg to fall! He who failed his duties as knight! As the king's guard, he was selected to perform his best and be a shield for our country! This, he has failed!"
"Death! Death!" The crowd chants.
"He who fled his country instead of proudly going with it! He who was ashamed of his own namesake!"
"DEATH! DEATH!"
"He shall be sentenced. Olberic Eisenberg!"
"Death to Eisenberg! Death to Olberic! Olberic the failure! The traitor! Olberic the... Olberic..."
"Olberic!"
The warrior blearily blinks, seeing light that is too bright for his eyes. He winces, feeling strong hands on his shoulders, and soft bedding under him. As his eyes adjust, he sees that familiar head of messy blonde hair and a kind face with a worried voice...
"Olberic, you alright?" Alfyn says, a little breathless.
"Ugh..." Olberic's head swims as his world spins. He saw doubles and triples in the candle light. The face of the cleric comes into view, albeit blurred. Even their voices sounded strangely distant, and darkness threatened to overtake him any second.
"He's not doing too well..." Alfyn says worriedly, "Egads, losing so much blood makes ya a bit light in the head."
"Perhaps I can try my prayer," A lightbulb goes off in Ophilia's head, "I don't know how much else I can help... I'm afraid my healing can't replenish blood so easily."
"Nah, you've done plenty already, Lia," Alfyn gives her a soft smile.
"Gh..." Olberic closes his eyes and his fists clench hard on the sheets, "Al..."
"Ah, Olberic, er, Berg! Either one! You hear me?" Alfyn says eagerly.
"Ngh..." Olberic winces a bit at the loud voice amid his blurry brain.
"Uhm, Mr. Eisenberg, you're safe now," Ophilia says softly, clasping her hands over his, "You're no longer a prisoner down there. You're safe. We're all here... You need rest..."
She murmurs a soft prayer and Olberic's breathing eases just a little. She feels his large, calloused hand release its grip and his body relaxes on the bed.
"...Ophilia... Thank you..." He murmurs softly, drifting off.
Ophilia sighs quietly to herself in relief. She gives Alfyn a gesture to be quiet, placing a finger to her lips.
"You're awesome, Lia," Alfyn whispers and grins, making her blush deeply.
She and Alfyn quietly close the door behind them as they leave Olberic and Ali's room. The rest of them all would be in the room H'aanit is in.
"Ah, I'll probably keep watch. He looked like he was having some mighty night terrors," Alfyn pats Ophilia on the shoulder, "Ya should get some rest. Leave it to me!"
"Are you sure, Alfyn? You've already done so much..."
"Like you should be talking, Lia!" Alfyn chuckles, "Go on. I'm sure H'aanit wants t' see ya!"
Ophilia feels her face heat up at the comment and she briskly mutters "good night" before going to see the huntress.
H'aanit lays in bed, her bandaged wounds exposed to breathe a little. Her toned and lithe body, where the bandages do not cover, peek out. The bleeding had been staunched and Ophilia and Alfyn were able to seal the wound. She unfortunately had the starting of a small fever, according to Alfyn after he came back from the pub. It was to be expected, with battle and injury, that infections would take root. At the moment, she seems to be lightly sleeping, a slight sweat beading her forehead. Upon Ophilia's entry, her eyes open immediately. Linde, who is next to H'aanit on the bed, perks up, and Hägen, who is at the foot of the bed, flicks his ear.
"Ah, sorry..." Ophilia whispers quietly, "Did I wake you... Please, don't mind me. Rest..."
"... Whatten about thou..." H'aanit says softly.
"I'm alright. Ah, your lips look a bit dry..." Ophilia ladles some water they prepared in a bowl to the huntress' lips and she drinks thirstily. Alfyn made sure to steep the water in some herbs so it would stave off a heavy fever.
"...Thanken thee..." H'aanit sighs. She takes one of the cleric's hands in her own, "Aren thou not... fatigued?"
"Uh... n-no, not so much... Haha, I must still be feeling quite the excitement..." Ophilia chuckles lightly and sits down by the huntress' bedside, "But you should certainly rest... You've done a lot today, H'aanit..."
"Oh boy, it feels good to be clean...!" Tressa announces her entry loudly alongside the thief as they enter the room. Linde gives a growl at the merchant girl's insensitivity, making her clam up quick.
"Loudmouth," Therion snickers.
"Sh-shaddap...!" Tressa says in a hushed voice.
"Ah, welcome back you both," Ophilia gives a small smile, "How was the bath?"
"It's decent. Not cleaned the best but... after days on the road and sleeping in tent town, you learn to be grateful...!" Tressa looks to the cleric, "Oh, you didn't bathe yet?"
"No, I... I wanted to make sure the others were comfortable..."
H'aanit blinks tiredly, still holding to Ophilia's hand. The cleric lightly brushes her gloved hand on the huntress' forehead, pushing back strands of hair plastered to her sweaty skin.
"Anyway, it's been a long day. I feel pretty accomplished," Tressa prattles on a bit as she draws up her sleeping bag on the floor, "Ali definitely owes me one now. And once we take on the whole redistribution thing... heck, even my pa can't say I don't know nothin' about the world now!"
"Right..." Therion rolls his eyes. He glances to the cleric, "Where's the famous doctor?"
"Oh, Alfyn? He is tending still to, er, Olberic and the merchant..." Ophilia chuckles lightly, "It is still a rather funny name change."
The three told her the truth about Olberic's identity shortly after they returned from the pub. The cleric was not super knowledgeable about history, so the name of the famous knight is a bit lost on her. However, she had glimpsed Gideon's notes and gotten a slight grasp of the importance, at least. But it was ridiculous to her that he would be subjected to such horrible torture on such things.
"You can probably still call him Berg, honestly," Tressa says as she snuggles under her cover, "He doesn't seem like he'd care."
"Mm... He is a simple man, isn't he. Simple and straightforward," Ophilia nods.
"Too straight sometimes," Therion mutters as he makes himself comfortable leaning against the wall near the door. He tosses a glance at the merchant making herself comfortable, "So are you gonna pay me tonight or tomorrow morning?"
"Ugh, in the morning! Geez," Tressa grumbles, "I thought for sure you'd forget..."
"Oh, if I did, I'd just take it from your purse with added interest," Therion smirks.
"Oh, come now, we don't have to be talking about stealing from one another...!" Ophilia pouts at the thief, "We're comrades, are we not? You both fought side by side..."
Therion eyes her flatly at the word "comrade." The cleric's gaze of indignance is level and steady. The thief scoffs.
"...We're just traveling together. And I wanted to loot the place she was going to. That's all," Therion closes his eyes with a soft sigh.
Tressa mutter something too low to hear and says "Good night!"
Ophilia sighs and refocuses her attention to H'aanit. The huntress is still stubbornly awake, holding onto the cleric's gloved hand. She was silent through the little exchange with the thief and merchant, her eyes remaining on Ophilia.
"... Rest, H'aanit..." Ophilia chuckles softly, "I'll check your wrappings in the morning."
"... It doth putten me at ease... to gazeth upon thee..." H'aanit sighs resignedly and with fatigue in her voice as she slowly closes her eyes. Her hold on Ophilia's hand remains.
Ophilia feels her cheeks warm at that statement.
"...Goodness..." Ophilia mutters quietly to herself as she coils a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She bends down a little, so her lips are just hovering above H'aanit's forehead. She says a small prayer in lieu of what she wanted to do deep down.
"Good night..."
…
Under the cover of night, Odette assembles a small team of trusted workers along with Cyrus and Primrose. The trail to the manse is quiet, just as it was when Primrose returned. Most monsters in the area actually seem to be diurnal, with the nocturnal types being active more within caves than out in the open.
"Cripes, this is unbelievable..." One of the muscled workers wipes his brow as he carries a lantern. He and his buddies try not to stare too much at the dancer, but often gaze for a bit too long to not seem obvious. It couldn't be helped. Aside from Primrose's physical assets, Odette also informed them that she played a part in Morlock's downfall.
"C'mon, we don't have all night... we still have the sewers to inspect at daylight as well," Odette sighs tiredly.
"So, what exactly's the plan again, Ms. Odette?"
"We go and check the place, see if he's really... dead. Then, we find out where his liquid assets are. We won't be able to take the non-liquid items, but this should remove a bulk of the wealth from the danger of thievery," Odette runs a gloved hand through her blonde hair, "We'll need to make a proper system to give out the money bit by bit to the people so they can cushion themselves. At the end of this, I don't think Quarrycrest will stay standing... but at least... if people can pick themselves up and move elsewhere..."
Her words seem to have a stirring effect on the workers. One can see that, despite her clear fatigue and irritation, there is determination and care reflected in her eyes, as bright as the illuminating moon. Primrose's eyes widen a little.
The conviction she spoke with was so true it was enviable.
The dancer thinks back to the Azelhart paraphernalia in her room. It would not be surprising...
Their little ragtag assembly reaches the ruined doors of the manse that Primrose broke when she arrived earlier with Tressa and Therion. There are no bodies of the guards around here. The manor is quiet and dark. It felt strange, like there was a lingering unpleasant aura that repelled anything with sapience.
"Ulp..."
"Hey, you scared, man?"
"A-as if!"
"Quit your jests. Keep a good ear out," Odette raises her own lantern, "It looks peaceful for now, but an empty place is never so simple..."
"Ah, this reminds me of our days sneaking around at night in the Academy," Cyrus gives a nostalgic sigh, "That was a rather interesting mystery, if I do say so myself. We had been commissioned by one of the activity directors of the-"
"Oy, she said to can the jests," One of the workers nudge Cyrus. Primrose giggles.
"Any idea where the vault might be?" Odette looks to the dancer, "You came before, right?"
"We fought in his inner sanctum. But no, I didn't see a vault," Primrose silently remarks to herself that this is Therion's forte.
"We don't have all night to search this big place..." Odette sighs, "Alright, we split into pairs. Move to different floors and the following sectors..."
Odette arranges a rather quick and organized plan on the spot. Cyrus nods along as he gets assigned. Primrose finds herself paired with Odette. The dancer lets Odette lead the way with the lantern, keeping a close eye on the blonde woman.
"... I saw you looking at some of my personal effects back in my house," Odette says curtly, not one to beat around the bush, "So, what do you have to say about it?"
"How straightforward. Charming," Primrose scoffs lightly, "I didn't expect to see Azelhart memorabilia here."
"Oh, so you know it. I was adopted by the head of the Azelhart house... the late Geoffrey," Odette sighs.
Primrose almost trips over her feet. Adopted? She had heard of her father being a patron of promising students in academia who were too poor to afford their own way... but adoption is news to her. She has no recollection of this woman either.
"Adopted? By such a high house? And you're just toiling as a scholar in these dry rocks?" Primrose raises an eyebrow.
"It paid for my education. I'm not going to waste it inheriting political fighting with nobles..." Odette lowers her voice, "And it's not like it's a household name anymore after he died."
"Oh... my condolences," Primrose expertly crafts a façade of surprise and concern, "Have you ever gone to visit them?"
"No," Odette replies simply and no further, "From your questions... what's a dancer doing knowing about the Azelhart family?"
"... They are not as unknown as you would have them sound," Primrose says mysteriously, "I am also one from Noblecourt, despite how my dress may suggest otherwise."
"Huh! I guess people from all walks of life end up just about anywhere after all!" Odette scoffs now, "And now you're a killer."
"You'll be sorely disappointed to learn I don't harbor any regret for what I did here," Primrose gives a catty smile.
"... You seem like that sort of person... A bit like me, honestly," Odette sighs as they pass the halls lit with moonlight streaming in from the windows.
"Hm? Am I supposed to be flattered with such a comparison?"
"It's not a good or bad thing. Take it as you will," Odette eyes her flatly, "I'm the type to charge in stubbornly. Come hell or high water, I will do what I set out to do."
Her description isn't too far off the mark. Not that Primrose would tell her.
"Lookie here..." Odette shines the lantern at a rather conspicuously decorated door, "Alright, something tells me we've struck it. Let's call to the others..."
…
The student body was rather crushed to hear about the departure of a beloved teacher on indefinite sabbatical. Of course, no one was more inconsolable than Therese. Though she did not show it outwardly, the mix of guilt compounded with the loneliness she felt attending the class formerly taught by her eye-candy teacher. No offense to substitute professor Lucia, but her lectures were even less engaging than that of Cyrus.
Therese could feel herself slipping more and more into lapses of inattention. She moved slowly through her day, dragging her feet a bit. Her expression is often blank nowadays, as her head is in the clouds. Some of her thoughts revolve on Cyrus... but a lot of time, it feels to be something else.
This was her fault after all. Now, she had all the time and reason to think about her mistake... and the inadequacy that led to it.
The whole time since Cyrus left, she had not spoken a word to the princess. In fact, she actively avoided crossing paths with Mary. Perhaps she hadn't done enough introspection at all... but Therese resented her distant cousin.
First of all, she's already in line to become ruler of Atlasdam... and she also has to have all these attributes others desire, too? Beauty, prestige... a brain even the professor himself admired! Why... Why does she get everything?
"Miss Therese?"
She jumps out of her daydream. Lucia is looking at her with a dull look of expected disappointment. She spaced out again.
"... Please elucidate to the class the implications of the border treaty with the Mudland tribes in during the developing era under king Rothbart."
"Um..." Therese makes a dumb noise and fumbles slower than usual to flip to her right page of notes. She can hear Lucia sigh and some students in the back snickering.
In other words, she was miserable.
She sighs as she slowly goes to exit class once it was finally over. She had some expectation and elation attending when Cyrus taught. Now, that's all gone.
"Miss Therese," Lucia calls to her, "A moment, if you please."
Therese sighs inwardly as she goes to approach the lectern desk. Cyrus did sometimes give her some after-class talking-to's as well... but Lucia just seems so cold and uncaring in comparison.
"Your attentions seemed elsewhere through all of lecture, Miss Therese," Lucia says as-a-matter-of-factly, "Need I remind you that such behaviors will lead only to ultimate dismissal if they so impact your grades?"
"... No, professor Lucia..." Therese grumbles a little.
"You are one of the Atlasdam nobility. I need not remind you that such a status means we have higher expectations for your academic skill," Lucia says without a tone of difference, "You had best soon rid yourself of any distractions."
"Right... Um..." Therese plucks up the nerve to finally ask, "Professor... when is professor Albright slated to return?"
She notices that Lucia eyes her rather flatly, almost with a glimpse of expectation. The older woman sighs and shrugs after a few moments of thought.
"It is unclear if he will be returning, I'm afraid."
"What?!" Therese can scarcely keep her voice down, "B-but... this sabbatical is just temporary, no? A-and the professor is such a beloved part of the Academy..."
"For now, his leave is indefinite. I don't know of his whereabouts nor what fields he may be studying. In today's dangerous world, however, it is always possible he will not return," Lucia says with coldest indifference to Therese's worry.
"Why did he have to even go..." Therese mumbles, partly to herself out of distress, "No..."
"... Miss Therese, I'm sure that... while he is away," Lucia sighs. She seemed to be having a little trouble putting together anything appropriate to say to Therese after her initial cold rebuke, "He is probably... desiring that you pursue your studies rather than... dwelling on him."
Therese didn't expect any words of encouragement from the woman. Unfortunately, it didn't do much. Lucia clears her throat, "You had best be off then, Miss Therese."
Now feeling even more terrible than before, Therese practically ran home, ignoring her surroundings. She doesn't greet anyone and merely runs up to her room and throws herself onto her bed, dropping all her books on the floor. She buries her face in her pillow and sobs bitterly. Now that she wasn't within the school walls anymore, the tears come freely. She didn't even recall if she had extra cram class today. Screw it, she couldn't care less right now.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Professor..."
She wasn't sure for how long she lay there crying. All she could think about was just how stupid she had been. She had driven away the man she loved in her pursuit of him. Now, whether he be dead or alive, she had no way of knowing... and it was all due to her own impetuous jealousy.
Her stomach might have growled, but she ignored it. There were knocks on the door that she did not answer either. She allowed herself to cry to sleep, eventually even murmuring prayers for Cyrus to return safely.
When the morning cock crowed, Therese was still out of it. At the loud knocking of the maid, she eventually opened one red-tinged eye to see it was light. She had slept like a log after crying it all out last afternoon and night. She looks like a bit of a mess in the mirror.
"Milady, please put a spot of breakfast in your belly! Your ma and pa are worried!" The maid says with her incessant insistence, "Whatever happened, dearie?"
Therese has to give in when her stomach growls. She sighs, "... Coming..."
She hastily washes in her room basin and changes from her wrinkled dress into something seemlier. Without much motivation, she trudges down the steps of her home to the first floor so her maid can clean her room. There is an aroma of breakfast.
It really is convenient being a noble with a home so close to the Academy sometimes. She could run home whenever she just had to get away.
"Dear? Ah, good to see you up," Her father looks up from his plate at the table at her entry.
"Therese! Oh, my dear daughter, whatever possessed you?"
Her mother, ever the worrier, stands from her seat immediately to go and give Therese a hug. Therese just accepts it and nods along.
"I just... had a bad day in school..."
"Bertram, do fix up a plate for Therese as well!" Her father orders the cook.
"Oh, uh, I'm not that hungry..." Therese is caught red-handed in that lie immediately as her stomach lets out a traitorous growl. She sits down with a sigh.
"You look like you need some time off from class... are you alright?" Her mother stands behind her, lightly rubbing her shoulders.
"If you need the day off, I will contact the Ravus and Wyndham chauffeurs to cancel the meeting..."
Therese straightens immediately. She'd forgotten that two of her pen pal girlfriends were coming today. They had planned this get-together for weeks!
"Uh, no, no, I'm fine, really!" She immediately says, "I want to see Noa and Cordelia, really! And we'd been planning for so long..."
"Are you sure you're not too under the weather?" Her mother sighs, "You need to put your health first, what with ongoing classes as it is..."
"No, it's fine, really," Therese gives a nervous chuckle.
"Well, here's to milady's health then," Bertram gives a throaty laugh as he walks in with a breakfast platter of fresh bread and boiled sausage, placing the piping-hot food before Therese, "There's more if you need, milady!"
"T-thank you, Bertram," Therese sighs and sips some tea before blowing on bites of food to eat.
"Well... if you insist..." Her mother sits back down, "I was so worried when you ran in without so much as a hello!"
"Whatever transpired anyway?" Her father looks to her quizzically.
"Oh, uh..." Therese takes a second to decide what she should even divulge, "Well, one of my better professors sort of went on an indefinite sabbatical so... I was feeling rather down about that."
"Oh."
Mother and father look to each other with slight confusion. Her parents would never understand. They look to each other clearly not seeing the issue. Therese just quickly eats her food.
"Well, the Academy surely has a plethora of other great teachers to choose from. We aren't the most well-learned in all of Orsterra for having a bunch of tenured bums," Her father scoffs lightly and picks up his pipe, "And do give my regards to Lady Ravus and Wyndham."
"Right, thanks for the food, Bertram!" Therese hurriedly wipes her lips and gets out of the dining room to get dressed. Given the hour, Noa and Cordelia would be in Atlasdam soon. She had to meet them at that well-renowned café within the crown city center by then. Luckily for her, Cordelia and Noa weren't the posh and snobby types of nobles that usually surrounded her and Mary. She could wear something simple and comfortable, and be ready within minutes.
"Alright, I'm off."
Her chauffeur drops her before the Café Hyacinth. Their outdoor seating on the second-floor balcony is reserved for the three girls. From there, one has a nice view of the surrounding city, with its quaintly cobbled streets and brown and red roofs, as well as the port to Middlesea. This place is a bit pricey for typical students, so they don't have to worry so much about crowds.
Therese's expression brightens seeing a familiar head of blonde hair already at their table.
"Cordelia!"
The young noblewoman turns to meet Therese and smiles warmly. She stands and they share an embrace, "Therese! How good it is to see you!"
"You as well! I see you're without your butler for once? How rare!" Therese grins as she looks around.
"Ah, Heathcote is probably standing outside the place, haha. He insisted on being here actually, but I talked him out of it in the end."
"Ever the vigilant one, isn't he?" Therese giggles, "Noa will be here soon, I hope."
"We can take our time before ordering. We have all day after all," Cordelia smiles, "Ah, it has been too long! When was the last time we all met in person?"
"Oh, maybe... three... no, five years ago. That was during a cotillion, I think?" Therese takes her seat, as does Cordelia, "Noa had to leave early that night."
"She's assured me that won't be the case this time. I'm sure she has been rather eager for some time now," Cordelia chuckles softly.
"I do hope you both are speaking well of me."
The two of them turn their heads to see Noa walk over to their table. Noa Wyndham is a young woman with longer blond hair than Cordelia, with eyes like the ocean. Her complexion is a bit paler, on account of her sickly constitution. She is actually a year older than Cordelia and Therese, but the three of them look around the same age anyway.
"Noa!" Cordelia and Therese exclaim, "Of course all good things. Come on, sit!"
Noa chuckles, "Shall we order some tea first?"
The girls settle down and order some nice, floral tea. When it arrives, they banter and allow it to steep before the server comes to pour it for them, along with a tiered tea tray of small bites.
"So, how are classes? Your letters made it seem rather swell," Noa smells her tea appreciatively, "It must be rather nice, being able to have class with so many people."
"Yes! I remember I wanted to attend the Academy before I became the head of the house..." Cordelia sighs.
"Erm... It's fine but... I don't know..." Therese fidgets a bit, "I've been a bit distracted lately..."
"Oh? Do tell," The other two lean in.
"... Do you both remember the professor I wrote to you about?" Therese whispers timidly.
"Oh, yes, a professor Albright..."
"You sounded like you liked his lectures quite a bit."
"I do, I really do... But he's left on an indefinite sabbatical..."
"Oh..."
Unlike her parents, Noa and Cordelia seemed to understand immediately.
"I wouldn't be able to concentrate that easily if my favorite tutor suddenly left," Noa sighs.
"Me neither... I hope your professor returns soon..." Cordelia sneaks in a small jab, "Before your grades suffer excessively."
"Hmf!" Therese huffs a bit indignantly, "And what about you, Cordelia? Any luck finding a suitor so far?"
"Heathcote won't let me hear the end of it. But I've also got a mountain of other work piled up regarding settling old matters... from years back now..." Cordelia sighs, sounding absolutely drained, "But I have almost settled my parent's estate... I don't know what I'd do without Heathcote."
"Has anyone caught your eye?" Noa looks to Cordelia, "I don't know if you actually have a lot of suitors in the Cliftlands... Father always tells me it's a hard-scrabble place..."
"You are correct. So, I don't have a lot of options either..." Cordelia looks at her tea, "And I don't have all the time in the world to be attending parties looking."
"So, do you have someone in mind, or...?"
"... I can't just marry anyone, you know. I have to maintain the Ravus family through strategic means. So... Even if I do fancy someone, it hardly matters," Cordelia looks out towards the sea a little.
"... In other words, someone did manage to steal your eye?" Noa asks now with a polite giggle. Cordelia looks away and sips her tea as a slight blush tinges her cheeks.
"Even if she did, the whole 'too busy' situation still applies," Therese chuckles herself and picks up a petite tart.
"Oh, but surely you two will be at my birthday this year?" Noa pipes up, "It coincides this year with the Annual Auction my father is holding..."
"Ah, right, the Grandport auction... It has been a while since I last attended," Cordelia thinks for a moment, "Maybe if some of my side affairs are resolved..."
"I'd much prefer to go to that convention... but I think it takes place on a school term," Therese sighs, "Though, at this point... perhaps I should take a break from school."
"Really? But your tuition and everything is paid already, is it not?" Noa looks to Therese, "You could be graduating soon."
"I just don't … have the heart right now and … I feel it would be better than letting my grades slide while I'm in this rut," Therese scratches her head, "It's fine, my family has strong ties to the Academy, after all... Perhaps I'll take a vacation somewhere else."
"Oh? Anywhere in particular?"
"Not yet," Therese shrugs, "I'll have to go submit the paperwork to the school later."
"Other than your birthday, Noa," Cordelia looks to the other blonde, "Have you any exciting plans for anything in the near future? Surely you must also have the same issue with suitors as I..."
Noa's smile dampens here and turns wistful as she looks quietly at her tea, "... With legs as lame as mine..."
"Uh- p-pardon me. I didn't mean to …" Cordelia says hastily.
"It's fine, it's fine..." Noa sighs, "I can't really go anywhere. I've seen a lot of the world through the auction only, and these sorts of rare trips. My father is... very patient and loving. But I know that he probably worries also about what future I can have..."
Therese and Cordelia exchange looks of worry for their friend. Through their letters, they knew of Noa's inner desire to be like a normal person and be able to travel the world. Her father had spent large sums for her medical treatments as it was, but in the end, she was relegated to largely staying at home. There were whispers and rumors about whether she was even fit for marriage since she would likely not bear Lord Wyndham any children...
Therese fretted voicing her own seemingly trivial worries about her crush on a professor and her grades. She was still a viable, noble bachelorette with promising prospects, even if she wasn't in line for the crown. She still had her health and could think about vacations across the continent. But for Noa...
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to rain on today...!" Noa recovers quickly with a smile, "We barely see each other... This should be a happy occasion!"
"R-right...!" Cordelia says quickly, "So! What shall we do while the day is young?"
"Oh! There is a new royal exhibition hall set up today..."
The three young ladies, saddled with their respective expectations and duties, were able to laugh and forget all their worries, for the day at least, with each other's company.
"Hmm... that was just what I needed..."
Therese stretches a bit after bidding farewell to her friends at the end of their fun day together. She hurries home to write up an application to take a break from school. Cordelia and Noa encouraged her to pursue her health, since she could catch up on academics.
"I'll tell mother and father later," She sighs to herself, already dreading their expected reactions. For now, she had to get this to Yvon's office before they closed for the day.
It was outside his office that she hears that strange conversation. Her hand is mere millimeters from the door to knock when she hears:
"That pest Albright is still alive?"
It's after school hours, and no one else is here to hear it. She alone heard that slightly angered expression of surprise. And it's a voice none other than headmaster Yvon's.
"Lucia, that damn assassin..."
Therese feels herself frozen in place. Lucia and the headmaster?
"It seems so... the report came from the ship master of the SSS Tecura, which Albright boarded from the port. The assassin was discovered and killed himself, so we have little to worry about implications, at least."
Lucia's voice is much quieter and reserved compared to Yvon's ire.
"I can't tolerate this kind of blunder again, Lucia. You will have to bring me Albright's head to make up for your failure...!"
"My failure?" Lucia says slightly louder.
There is an awkward pause. Therese feels cold sweat gathering at her neck.
"... Bah. Whatever. Just kill that annoying fly before he becomes a larger sore than he already has been. Since the very first day I took seat after Franklin, he's never given me a single look of respect..." The headmaster growls.
"...I will depart immediately then," Lucia mutters almost inaudibly, "I'm almost certain we will be needing to use your trap in Stonegard."
"...You think he'll go so far?"
"We have to account for all precautions. Albright is not a foolish man, despite his lack of tact. You have been underestimating his intellect, Yvon."
There is a loud crash and Therese shrinks back. Something broke. It didn't sound too heavy, at least.
"... Fine. Do whatever you deem necessary to make it happen. I will also be there, to make sure you're doing what you promise, Lucia."
"If you wish. I will depart first then and find him. When you get my letter on his traveling trajectory, it will be the signal to come... Be prepared should the summons be swift."
There is now a silence and then the soft shuffling of steps. Therese quickly scoots away from the door and hurries around the corner of the hallway, hiding behind a pillar. She peers out to see Lucia open the door from Yvon's and walk out without another word. Despite her indifference face, there is a chill in her wake. Therese can scarcely breathe until Lucia is out of her sight. Slowly, she sinks to the floor, papers scrunched in her hand.
What did I just hear?
Something about the headmaster and Lucia in cahoots to kill Cyrus? But why? What did they want?
Therese knew nothing of the answer to these boggling questions. She takes a few breaths to calm herself down.
Professor Albright... What happened?
Slowly, as she relaxes, she becomes aware that she is holding the paper asking for a break from the school term. And then she gets an idea.
I could... find him. I could find professor Albright... I have to warn him … his life is in danger...!
However, she also had no idea where he was. But it seemed that Lucia and Yvon also did not know. Lucia said she would give Yvon a signal, right? If so, then Therese could also leave and find Cyrus that way, by trailing Yvon. It was a long shot, but she had no other plan at this point, and she desperately wanted to help Cyrus after already having fucked everything up with her petty jealousy. She gently smooths out the crumpled pages and goes to leave the academy quietly. She would submit the papers at the earliest sign of Yvon's own departure...
Professor, please be safe...!