Chapter Text
The doors to the council chamber opened with a low, echoing groan.
Scott stepped inside first, expression already sharpening as he took in the room. Shandrea followed close behind, robes whispering against stone. Around the long oak table stood the full weight of the Blue Kingdom’s power.
At the head stood Queen Eloise.
She did not sit.
Silver and sapphire caught the morning light in her crown, casting cold reflections across the chamber’s blue-and-silver banners. That alone silenced the lingering murmurs.
Knights lined one side of the table, Graecie upright and still, Nom steady as stone, Owain already tense, fingers drumming faintly against the pommel at his hip.
Opposite them, near the shadows, stood the rogues, 4C unreadable, gaze lowered but aware of everything; and Mae leaning back slightly, sharp-eyed and alert.
Scott inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”
Eloise’s gaze swept across each of them before settling.
“Scouts returned before dawn,” she said, calm but edged in steel. “Movement was confirmed along the eastern neutral hills.”
Owain straightened immediately. “Red patrol?”
“Not patrol,” Shandrea answered, stepping forward. She placed a rolled parchment on the table and unfurled it with careful precision.
A charcoal sketch faced them all.
A lone armored figure against the horizon.
Scott didn’t need a second glance. “Apokuna.”
The name settled heavily.
Eloise did not deny it. “Observed beyond the Red outer border. Alone.”
A subtle shift moved through the room.
Graecie’s jaw tightened. “Neutral territory isn’t theirs to test.”
“Nor ours,” Scott countered evenly. “Neutral land isn’t a crime.”
“Not yet,” Eloise agreed.
Her eyes shifted, briefly, to 4C.
The rogue gave the slightest nod. Confirmation without words.
“She moved with purpose,” Eloise continued. “Not wandering. Not lost.”
Mae’s fingers tapped lightly against the table edge. “Scouting pattern?”
“Possibly,” Shandrea said. “Or something more personal.”
Owain scoffed. “Red’s highest knight doesn’t take sunrise walks for leisure.”
Nom spoke for the first time, voice grounded. “Whether it was reconnaissance or not, the timing is poor. Their forges burn earlier. Patrol routes have shifted. Something is building.”
Scott crossed his arms. “That doesn’t mean this is the start of it.”
“But it could be,” Graecie said firmly.
Silence stretched.
Eloise moved slowly around the table, measured steps echoing.
“The Red Kingdom strengthens its rotations,” she said. “Supplies shift at irregular hours. And now one of their most capable knights surveys neutral ground before dawn.”
Her gaze hardened.
“I think peace is thinning.”
No one argued that.
Shandrea folded her hands neatly. “We don’t know her intent.”
Scott glanced at her. “But?”
“If Red were testing our vigilance,” she said quietly, “they would send someone competent enough to gauge our response.”
Owain’s expression darkened. “And there is no one more competent.”
The implication lingered.
Eloise returned to the head of the table.
“We will not escalate blindly,” she said. “But we will not be unprepared.”
Her gaze moved with deliberate precision.
“Graecie. Nom. Adjust patrol rotations along the eastern hills. Quietly.”
Both knights nodded.
“Owain. Ready a rapid response unit. It remains inside the walls unless I give the word.”
A tight nod. Contained energy.
“Scott. Coordinate with Shandrea. Reinforce outer wards, layered, not visible.”
“It will be done,” Shandrea said smoothly.
“And you,” Eloise said softly, eyes shifting once more to the rogues.
4C looked up fully now.
“Discreet observation,” the Queen continued. “No provocation. No contact. If Apokuna crosses neutral ground again.”
Her voice did not rise.
“,I want to know why.”
Mae’s lips curved slightly. Interested.
4C simply inclined their head.
Across the table, tension crystallized into something sharper than suspicion.
Not war.
Not yet.
But every piece on the board had just been moved.
RED KINGDOM
The Red Kingdom did not feel the shift.
Morning unfolded the way it always did, loud, bright, alive.
The forge roared hotter as apprentices pumped the bellows. Stable doors slammed open. Laughter spilled from the lower yard where squires tripped over each other in half-awake drills. Red and gold banners snapped lazily in a wind that carried no warning with it.
No one here had seen a charcoal sketch.
No one here had heard Queen Eloise’s measured voice.
Apokuna crossed the courtyard with steady steps, helm secured, expression composed. A guard at the inner arch straightened.
“Morning, Lady Apokuna.”
“Morning,” she replied.
Nothing more.
No one questioned where she had been before dawn. No one suspected she had stood beyond the hills with silver dew soaking into her knees.
To them, she had simply started early,
As she passed the training yard, Katie waved from across the ring. “You’re on afternoon sparring, right?”
“I am.”
“Good. The new recruits need humbling.”
A faint smirk tugged at Apo’s mouth. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
Katie laughed, already turning back to bark corrections at a struggling squire.
Normal.
Completely normal.
That was the dangerous part.
Apokuna slowed near the archway overlooking the eastern rise, just long enough to let her gaze drift beyond the walls. From here, the hills looked harmless — brushed gold by the climbing sun, flowers reduced to nothing more than soft color in the distance.
"hm,"
The sound barely left her throat, quiet and thoughtful.
The hills looked softer in daylight.
Just rolling grass and distant wind.
Just rolling grass and distant wind.
Apo rested her forearms briefly against the cool stone of the archway, helm tilted slightly as she studied the eastern rise. Nothing moved except the breeze. Apo’s fingers tapped once against the stone, a quiet rhythm only she noticed.
It was, Peaceful.
Too peaceful, maybe — but that was habit talking. Knights were trained to distrust quiet.
A faint exhale left her, fogging briefly against the cool metal of her helm.
She pushed away from the stone.
The morning was already loud — forge roaring, squires shouting, banners snapping in the wind. The Red Kingdom pulsed with life,
“Hey!! Apo~~”
The voice rang out far too close behind her.
Apo jumped.
It was subtle, barely a twitch of her shoulders, a sharp inhale under the helm — but it happened.
Katie grinned like she’d just won a tournament.
“You jumped.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Apo turned slowly, expression already smoothed back into cool composure. “You shouted directly into my blind spot.”
Katie stepped around her, walking backward now just to keep eye contact. “Oh, so now it’s tactical positioning?”
“It always is.”
Katie’s grin widened. “You’re impossible.”
Apo adjusted one of her gauntlets as if that had been the only reason she’d paused at all. “You’re loud.”
“And you’re brooding,” Katie shot back. “Again. What is it this time? Thinking about patrol rotations? Battle formations? The philosophical meaning of grass?”
Apo gave her a flat look through the helm.
Katie laughed. “There it is. That look. Terrifying.”
“I’m glad my suffering amuses you.”
“Oh, it does,” Katie said cheerfully. “Very much.”
They fell into step together toward the training yard. Recruits were already lining up, some trying to look disciplined, others very clearly still waking up.
Apo’s boots sank softly into the damp earth as she walked among the rookies. She didn’t shout, she moved with quiet confidence, adjusting a stance here, suggesting a lighter grip there. Each correction was subtle, precise, and delivered with a calm voice that made the squires nod and try again
A squire stumbled while pivoting. Apo crouched slightly, tilting her head. “Try again,” she said softly, demonstrating the movement herself with careful grace. “Like this. Feel the step, don’t force it.”
The young knight mirrored her, slower, careful, and Apo’s calm nod encouraged them without pressure.
Katie shook her head, whispering, “You’re way too nice for your armor.”
Apo glanced at her over her shoulder, faint amusement in her eyes. “Kindness doesn’t mean weakness,” she said lightly, returning to the squire.
Sunlight poured across the training yard, catching on her helm as she moved fluidly among the apprentices. Each correction was a lesson, each word measured, but there was no sharpness, no unnecessary weight. Even when a rookie swung wildly and missed entirely, Apo’s laugh was soft and encouraging. “Good try. Let’s make the next one smoother,”
The rookies relaxed under her guidance, gradually moving with more confidence. Apo stayed calm, present, and patient, the quiet assurance of someone who had been through every mistake and knew how to teach through them.
"you know, Cherri was right about you being a softie underneath~"
Apo paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder at Katie with a faint lift of one brow visible beneath the helm. Her lips twitched, just barely, betraying the smallest hint of amusement.
“she told you that?…” she said carefully, voice calm, even, but the faintest lift at the corner of her lips betrayed a flicker of amusement.
Katie’s grin widened, stepping a little closer as she leaned on the hilt of her practice sword. “Oh, yeah! Right after you patched her up last week. I didn’t believe it at first, armor, brooding, the whole ‘never let anyone see a crack’ thing, but then…” She waggled her eyebrows. “…yep. Softie.”
Apo let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, shaking her head. “I see. So the princess has been gossiping about me behind my back.”
Katie laughed, a warm, teasing sound that carried across the yard. “Gossip? Hardly. I’d call it… informative intelligence gathering.”
Apo’s eyes flicked toward the rookies, still awkwardly practicing swings, before returning to Katie. Her lips curved into the faintest smirk beneath the helm. “Informative, huh?"
Katie’s grin widened at that, clearly pleased to have drawn any reaction at all. “Absolutely. And it’s valuable intel! You might be all broody armor and steel to the world, but I know better now.”
Apo tilted her head slightly, letting the sunlight catch the edges of her helm. “I’m honored that my reputation precedes me,” she said dryly, though the subtle rise of one corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
Katie stepped back, swinging her practice sword lightly through the air. “You know, if you ever let that soft side show—just a little—you’d probably make the rookies adore you even more.”
“Adoration is unnecessary,” Apo replied, crouching to adjust a squire’s stance. “Respect is sufficient. Loyalty is preferable.”
Katie’s eyes sparkled as she circled around Apo. “You’re so rigid! Even your kindness has rules.”
Apo straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair back into their helm. “Discipline is not rigidity. It is structure. It allows the soft things to exist without danger.” Apo’s voice softened just slightly, almost lost in the morning wind. “Soft things are rare. They must be protected, even if no one notices.”
Katie froze, caught in the rare stillness of Apo’s tone, before a mischievous smile crept back onto her face. “You’re really starting to sound like a storybook hero now. You know that, right?”
Katie shook her head with a laugh. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the one teaching lessons this morning.”
Apo’s lips curved slightly, the faintest acknowledgment of warmth beneath her composure. “Perhaps,” she said, returning her attention to the rookies, “you are learning after all.”
The two of them fell into a rhythm, one teasing, one composed, as the morning sun climbed higher, brushing the Red Kingdom in gold and red. Quiet moments like this were rare, but Apo knew their weight, and she carried them as carefully as her armor.
AFTERNOON
The sun had climbed higher now, painting the training yard in sharper golds and deeper reds. By afternoon, the heat had softened some of the morning dew into a gentle steam that rose from the earth, curling around the boots of the squires as they moved through their drills.
Apo’s gaze swept the yard once more, noting the scattered squires moving under her guidance. The quiet shift of activity after Katie left left the space feeling different—less playful, less chaotic, but heavier somehow. The afternoon sun struck harder now, casting sharp lines along the stone walls and glinting off her helm.
She paused mid-step, letting the movements of the rookies play out without immediate correction. Their forms were improving, subtle, measured- but her mind wasn’t entirely on them. The eastern rise beyond the walls tugged at her attention. The horizon was almost empty, yet something about it prickled her instincts.
A hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword beneath the helm. Not danger, not yet, but reconnaissance, maybe curiosity, perhaps a hint of mischief beyond the neutral hills. Apo’s posture stiffened just enough to signal alertness, and she moved through the yard with quieter authority now, eyes flicking toward the border with careful precision.
The rookies glanced at her occasionally, sensing the change, but continued their drills, trusting in her calm composure. Apo didn’t need to rush, didn’t need to panic, just observe, assess, and prepare. The quiet before movement was often more dangerous than the movement itself.
Her mind lingered briefly on Cherri- No wait those thoughts out- Apo pushed the image away, replacing it with focus, letting duty reclaim the space in her mind.
The eastern rise drew her gaze again, faint movements brushing the horizon like shadows. Not fully defined, not threatening, just peace which always never lasted that long.. Well where else could Apo go to? the community green house that she helped build
The quiet or really a gossip area but-
Her lips twitched faintly beneath the helm.
It wasn’t Tuesday.
Tuesdays were unofficially claimed by the trio — Katie with her loud opinions, Cherri with her dramatic storytelling, and Apo pretending she had only stopped by to “inspect structural integrity” while somehow ending up seated on an overturned crate listening to gossip about half the court.
Today was not Tuesday.
Which meant the greenhouse would be quiet.
Good.
Apo turned smoothly toward the rookies. “Practice forms six and seven,” she called, voice calm but carrying. "I'll be taking my leave now"
A few of the rookies blinked.
Then a chorus of “Yes, ma’am,” followed.
Apo inclined her head once in approval.
“Precision,” she added. “Do not rush the transitions.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they echoed again, more focused this time.
She stepped back from the ring, boots pressing shallow impressions into the packed earth before turning toward the stone path that led inward. The training yard noise swelled briefly behind her, wooden blades striking, uneven footwork scuffing dirt,
Apo did not look back.
If she looked back, she might stay.
The stone path cooled the heat through her boots as she crossed into the inner yard. The forge roared somewhere to her left, apprentices shouting over the bellows. Banners snapped overhead, red and gold catching the afternoon sun.
Normal.
Completely normal.
Still harmless.
Still quiet.
She adjusted the strap at her gauntlet as she walked, movements automatic, grounding. The greenhouse sat near the edge of the inner gardens, modest and sun warmed, glass panes gleaming softly.
Apo pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Warmth folded around her immediately, humid air, the scent of soil, the faint sweetness of budding flowers. The sounds of the courtyard dulled behind the glass, replaced by the quiet hum of contained life.
She exhaled.
Slow.
One gauntlet came off, then the other. She set them carefully on the wooden workbench, fingers flexing once before brushing lightly over a row of herbs.
The leaves bent beneath her touch, cool and resilient. Rosemary first. Then mint. The thyme still stubbornly thriving despite Katie’s generous definition of “a little extra water.” Even though they both knew that Cherri probably watered it earlier that day.
A faint huff of amusement slipped from her as that day’s memories surfaced.
Cherri standing on a crate to reach the higher planters.
Insisting she absolutely knew how much water was “just right.”
Katie loudly declaring that plants could, in fact, drown.
Apo had stood between them, arms crossed, pretending to evaluate soil density while very clearly supervising.
“You’re overwatering,” she had said then.
“I am nurturing,” Cherri had corrected, dramatically.
Katie had leaned in close and stage-whispered, “She’s absolutely overwatering.”
Apo’s lips twitched at the memory.
The thyme had survived anyway.
Her fingers traced lightly along the stem now, brushing a droplet from one small leaf. The scent rose faint and clean under the warmth of the greenhouse air.
Apo straightened slowly, eyes scanning the orderly chaos of the greenhouse. The herbs seemed to pulse gently in the light the noon gave, tiny green waves that reminded her, faintly, of the journey that She and Cherri did to get here. The memory of that journey tugged at her chest
MIDNIGHT
Apo’s fingers lingered on the leaves, brushing dew from the thyme one last time. The greenhouse glowed faintly in the moonlight that filtered through the glass, silver and soft, casting gentle shadows across the orderly chaos of herbs. The scent of earth and mint rose quietly, grounding her as the world outside slept.
She straightened slowly, pulling the straps of her gauntlets just so, feeling the familiar weight of armor settle against her. Even here, in the gentle embrace of midnight, her duty hummed beneath her skin. Protector. Blade. Moon Knight.
The world was quiet, too quiet, and that was part of the danger she lived for. The kingdom shimmered faintly in silver light, untouched by torch or torchlight,
Apo’s shoulders shifted slightly as she walked, the quiet stretching before her like a thin, fragile thread. The wind whispered through the banners, tugging gently at the red and gold, but there was no clatter, no disturbance—no one stirring to question her presence.
They were grateful. Truly grateful. Cherri had never asked where Apo went when the night stretched too long, when duty called her beyond walls, beyond quiet fields, beyond safety. The only question that would ever drift softly from the princess’s lips in the morning would be simple, almost mundane:
"Did you sleep enough last night?"
Apo allowed themselves a small, almost imperceptible smile beneath the helm. That question carried no accusation, no expectation beyond care. They would answer truthfully, of course, maybe, that's not the point tho-
Apo’s path led naturally to Cherri’s house, just as it always did, because they shared a life within these walls, quiet routines threaded between duty and care. The streets were silvered in moonlight, empty except for the soft echo of Apo’s boots against stone, guiding them to the familiar doorway that had become home.
They paused briefly outside, hand brushing the doorframe, listening to the faint rhythm of life within.
Apo allowed themselves the smallest exhale beneath the helm, then lifted the latch, stepping inside quietly. The house smelled faintly of herbs and the lingering warmth of the hearth. Shadows stretched long across the floors, and somewhere, a blanket rustled gently.
Cherri stirred, half-awake, and laying on the couch “Apo?.. Is- Is that you?"
Apo’s lips curved in the faintest smile beneath the helm, the edges softening in the dim glow of the living room.
“Yes,” they replied, voice low, careful not to startle her. “It’s me. Did I wake you?”
A pause. The rustle of blankets shifted as Cherri pushed herself up slightly, peering through the half-darkness, eyes still heavy with sleep. “I… I guess not. Just—didn’t expect you so late.”
Apo stepped further inside, letting the door close softly behind them. The quiet warmth of the house seemed to settle around them, pressing away the chill of the moonlit streets and the weight of the night outside.
"why are you sleeping there? you have a room dont you?" Apo said teasingly
Cherri blinked, rubbing at her eyes, a soft yawn slipping past her lips. “I… didn’t feel like it,” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “The bed upstairs felt… too far.”
Apo’s lips twitched in the faintest smile beneath the helm, the corners softening in the moonlit room. “Too far?” they repeated, voice low and teasing. “The couch isn’t exactly a fortress-"
"Can you carry me up?"
Apo froze for the barest heartbeat, the low moonlight catching the edges of their helm. “Eh?” they echoed, voice careful but tinged with surprise.
Cherri shifted slightly, tugging the blanket around her shoulders. “You heard me,” she said, voice soft but firm, a sleepy little challenge in her tone. “Carry me up. I… I don’t want to walk. The stairs are… far. And dark. And scary.”
Apo’s lips twitched again, caught somewhere between exasperation, amusement, and something warmer that didn’t often get expressed aloud. “You really expect me to…?”
Cherri tilted her head, one eye still half-closed, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. “I do,” she said simply, voice almost purring with quiet confidence. "AND you're my knight!"
Apo blinked, the corners of their eyes softening beneath the helm. “Ah,” they said slowly, letting the weight of her words settle. “I… suppose that changes things.”
Cherri snuggled slightly closer, her grin widening despite the drowsiness. “Of course it does. Knights don’t leave their princess in danger,,, or on the couch, apparently.”
Apo let out a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle, bending at the knees with careful precision. “Very well,” they murmured, lifting her gently. “If this is my duty… I shall carry you, Your Highness.”
Cherri let out a soft, content sigh, resting against Apo’s chest. “See? I knew you’d understand. No one else would be patient enough.”
Apo’s steps were steady, measured, each one deliberate up the staircase. “Patience is part of the job description,” they said lightly, voice low. “Along with vigilance, strategy… and apparently carrying sleepy princesses.”
Cherri laughed quietly, the sound warm and soft in the stillness of the house. “You really are the best,” she murmured, eyes drifting closed as Apo continued their careful ascent.
"You are a very strange princess" Apo said
Cherri let out a soft, sleepy chuckle, the kind that made the quiet of the night feel warmer. “Strange? Me?” she murmured, voice thick with drowsiness and mischief. “I prefer… unforgettable.”
Apo’s lips twitched beneath the helm, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “Unforgettable, yes… and recklessly so,” they replied lightly, adjusting their hold to keep her steady. “It’s part of why I’m always on guard.”
Cherri nuzzled slightly closer, letting out a soft sigh. “Good… I like keeping my knight alert.”
Apo shook their head softly, a warmth creeping into their tone. “You truly are a very strange princess,” they repeated, gentler this time, the teasing folding into something like quiet affection.
Cherri murmured a tiny, satisfied sound in response, already drifting back toward sleep, and Apo carried her the rest of the way with steady, careful steps,
THE MOON IN THE FEILDS
4C leaned against the rough bark, eyes narrowing as the faint light of dawn spread across the field. The grass was still heavy with dew, each blade catching silver like scattered sparks. From this vantage point, the Red Kingdom’s walls were visible in the distance, the banners snapping lazily in the morning breeze.
Their cloak fluttered lightly in the wind, masking most of their form. Quiet, still, deliberate—the kind of presence that went unnoticed unless you were trained to see it. 4C’s gaze lingered past the borders, sweeping the neutral hills, scanning for movement.
A faint rustle in the underbrush caught their attention. Not a patrol, not a scout something smaller, lighter, more deliberate.
A soft, almost inaudible exhale left them. “So, it begins,” 4C murmured, voice low and measured, more to themselves than anyone else.
From their perch, the silhouette of a figure moving among the distant flowers caught their eye. The movements were precise, cautious but unmistakable. A bunny?
“Pfft—seriously? You can’t tell the difference between a bunny and a human being,” Nom teased from nearby, smirking.
MORNING IN THE BLUEST KINGDOM
Meanwhile, in the Blue Kingdom, the morning council was settling into uneasy silence. The parchment sketches, reports, and whispered rumours had done little to ease the tension.
“So… she wasn’t there?” Queen Eloise murmured to herself, voice low, almost lost among the polished wooden panels of the meeting room.
Scott shifted in his chair, expression tightening. “we will still prepare as if she will appear again. Observation only, no provocation. Measured responses.”
Mae’s fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood. “Measured, yes. But precise. If she moves again, we need to know why, immediately.”
Owain leaned forward, jaw firm. “Red’s highest knight doesn’t cross neutral ground without purpose. Whatever she’s doing… it’s probably deliberate.”
Eloise’s gaze swept the room, landing briefly on each member of her council. “We remain patient,” she said, voice soft but edged with steel. “But we will not be unprepared.”
The room fell silent, the weight of unspoken strategy pressing down. Outside, the Blue Kingdom’s walls gleamed in the morning sun, calm, orderly, unaware that Apokuna’s unseen steps beyond the neutral hills had already shifted the balance of attention, Did she really have a reason was the big question.
