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Rhea watches Bilyana from across the opposite side of the ballroom, transfixed on her solitary figure. They are surrounded by students and staff alike decked out in their finest linen, either swaying to the music or watching the imperial princess and kingdom prince lead by dazzling example, dominating the spotlight on the dance floor with their respective partners. She smiles, warmed by the festivities that energize the air, cherubic faces flushed crimson.
Mother looks so beautiful, so lonely even while wearing another's skin. She wishes she could gather the courage to cross the distance and sweep her away, far, far away into the night. Dancing beneath the stars like they used to, they would sing lullabies of old and forget the time.
A shadow flits between the crowd, and Rhea breaks from her reverie, unease squeezing at her chest. She watches the Riegan boy snatch her mother's hand, his smile more blinding than the golden chandelier lights overhead. She narrows her eyes, a frown etched onto her once peaceful expression.
Riegan… He resembles the original bearer of his name in crest only. The space between their eyes, the cleft of their chin, the color of their irises, their body language, his swagger, his glare, they might as well be born from different strains of ancestry. Yet their blood runs thick with their taint and sin, for a child who hails from an eastern country of barbarians that worship the stolen god of Morfis bears the blood of a bandit. Barbarian, bandit, interloper, murderer, they are heathens all the same.
She glimpsed their resemblance when she watched Claude enter the fray on Gronder Field during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion astride a handsome white steed, splendorous in his golden threads and polished armor that catch the sunlight, unleashing arrows from his sheath faster than shooting stars. Her breath caught in her throat then, shaken by the spectre. He inherited his keen eye and his keener nose for trouble, always spotting potential ambushes from miles away. Riegan's presence by the Fell King's side served as one of the main contributing factors to the longevity of the war, for he had been Nemesis's most reliable and swiftest scout. She sacrificed a quarter of her army to march into Sreng territory, fanning the flames of a false rumor that Sothis left a divine weapon for her children in the case of an insurrection from humanity to lure Riegan out, weaponing his curiosity against him, claiming his life within a fortnight by employing a unit of Brigid assassins.
In the past, Riegan had proven himself to be the most dangerous man in existence, for without his cunning and superior stealth Nemesis would never have lasted a year eluding her vengeful pursuit. She can see a shadow of his intellect and arrogance in his descendant now, yet unlike the rest of the "heroic" Elites, Nemesis sired no children. There were rumors that the ruthless conqueror favored the company of men, and Riegan had been his lover, his closest confidant.
Although Bilyana may not be his flesh and blood, she wields the Sword of the Creator, a power she borrowed (a power he once stole from her mother's resting place) to protect her students (to empower his brethren with the bones of her slaughtered Nabatean siblings). They share the same cutting intensity in their cold, glassy eyes, wear the same emotionless expression that masks their demonic spirit for battle.
She witnesses the cruel echo of history once more, a thousand years later.
The Almyran boy pulls Mother into his embrace, guiding the physical vessel known as Bilyana to follow his lead. Once a bumbling newborn in the realm of nobility, Claude redeems the memory of his clumsy footwork with practiced grace. Laughter dances in his eyes every time she performs a misstep, his smile softening once they settle into a comfortable rhythm. The song changes into the next set, a famous ballad revered for its Fhirdiad composition, and their eyes connect, arms relaxing as they ease into what little space that exists between them.
Round and round, they spin in a slow circle, "one two three, one two three~ you're such a great dancer, Seiri" her mother had smiled, nuzzling her head, whispering in her ear and squeezing her close, just like he does now, tarnishing the precious memory and stealing the heat from her cold fury.
How dare he lay his filthy hands all over Mother, clinging to her, monopolizing her, seducing her with his roguish charm. She reciprocates his fondness with a rare smile of her own, and an insidious, bitter emotion festers in her heart. What she would give for Mother to look at her like that. Until the day the Goddess returns to regain her memory, taking her rightful place among her children, Rhea must endure watching him be her favorite, hoarding all of her affection.