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Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Flayn. Well, not a princess, as she was not the daughter of a King. And Flayn was not truthfully her name, but rather the alias chosen to perfect her disguise. Nor did she did not have a palace, per se. The townhouse deep in the heart of Garreg Mach campus only stood two stories tall.
But our beautiful whatever-she-was-who-is-currently-called-Flayn was not to be deterred! After all, she may as well be Flayn. She may well have lived in a palace, as their townhouse boasted the modern amenities - plumbing, air conditioning, fiber optic internet.
And who, but a princess, could have found her heart so perfectly enraptured by the most princely of Swing Dance instructors? In truth, Ferdinand must have been the handsomest of students at Garreg Mach University. Flayn loved the sound of his name: Ferdinand. It flowed like a song on her tongue. It emerged confidently, like his hold when he led the dance. It always seemed to fit: “May I have this dance, Ferdinand? You smell delicious, Ferdinand. Ferdinand, what is your opinion on love at first sight?”
And Flayn could not have asked for a more magical night as tonight. The scene unfolded in the splendid Great Hall, its benches and tables pushed to the walls so the assembly of students had room to form into two circles. The outer circle for the students who would lead and the inner circle for those who would follow. A small bluetooth speaker sat on a chair in the middle, flooding the room with Billy Porter.
Flayn had only just ventured into this world of 1920’s dance fads, now in a time when these dances were a nostalgic throwback rather than “all the rage with today’s youths.” Flayn recognized them from a hundred years ago, but she had not been out to dance then. She should not, truthfully, be out dancing now.
But being here let Flayn feel as though she had not lost a hundred years, and she could pretend for a lovely evening every Tuesday to simply be another young person, practicing her triple step.
What a precious feeling. And what an exquisite way to meet her true love.
Flayn could only assume no subject was more splendid than Ferdinand; his tanned face beautifully framed by such a gentle cascade of clementine hair. She loved watching him tie it messily out of his way at the beginning of class, stray strands always brushing the side of his gentle cheek.
Oh how her heart stopped in horror, when Flayn had stepped on his foot? She bemoaned that she lacked the talent to equal her enthusiasm. And what had this most exceptional of dance instructors said? Ferdinand had grinned reassuringly, and said, “What is talent, but enthusiasm and steadfast practice?”
Such a radiant creature, aglow with kindness and optimism.
But tonight, tonight he had given her the greatest gift. After class, he approached her, breathless and flushed from dance. “Flayn,” he said in his perfect, musical voice. “If you ever want more practice, I am always happy to help an eager student.”
And he took her phone and entered his phone number . Right there in her contacts: “Ferdinand (Swing Club).”
Such glorious digits could summon him from nearly anywhere in the world! Such power, Flayn scarce knew how to use it. According to the internet, however, one must not text too soon. Perhaps tomorrow?
If asked, Flayn would admit she knew the dream was just a dream. She was not a princess, nor Ferdinand a prince. Saints did not date university students, no matter how handsome. And relatives of Seteth did not date anyone , given his strict rules. She only managed to come to the Swing Club because Seteth had other responsibilities for two hours every Tuesday, giving her a chance to escape. Even if not for him, however, the Agarthans always lurked just in the shadows - determined to threaten her peace.
But was it so terrible, to enjoy such a brilliant light in the doldrums of day to day life? To drink in the words of encouragement that Ferdinand freely offered?
What harm was there in daydreaming?
Ferdinand would learn the harm, however, long after he bid goodnight to the mysterious but charming Flayn at the end of the Beginners class. It would take until the hour drew late, after the social dance, and after the Intermediate class.
“I must get going,” Dorothea, his co-instructor, waved him goodnight.
“Of course! Get home safe,” Ferdinand insisted, pushing his sleeves over his forearms. As Dorothea typically set up for class, he typically cleaned up.
Dorothea stepped out of the hall, heels clicking on cobblestone in the still of night. The passengers of the unmarked white van watched her walk. Dorothea watched them closely from the edge of her eye. Still, they did nothing, and so Dorothea disappeared.
She was not the target, after all.
The target, a young man with his mind a hundred miles away, swept through the Great Hall, humming love songs as he rearranged tables and benches. His body breezed through the familiar steps while his mind lingered on the woman with the sweetest of smiles and the greenest of hair.
While Ferdinand’s dream woman danced wistfully in the shadows and dust of the great hall, the real woman sat hardly a mile from where he stood now. A mere 5 minute walk (if taken at Ferdinand’s brisk pace), rather than spiralling unreachable somewhere in the heavens above.
So instead, he considered at great depth how beautifully Flayn spoke; as though she were an ancient, fantastical being rather than a bubbly student with the most joyful of smiles. He could scarcely believe he had somehow captured such an ethereal being in his mobile phone contacts!
It was only a matter of time, Ferdinand knew, before the ethereal creature stole away with his heart.
And it was only a matter of time, though Ferdinand did not yet know, before the crew in black hiding in the back of the unmarked van would steal away the rest of him.
A new morning came. Therefore, according to the internet, Flayn could text “Ferdinand (Swing Club)” without the least bit of embarrassment! She carefully typed “I wish you the most marvelous of mornings!!”
After all, her research suggested one exclamation point might do, three were simply too many, but two conveyed the right degree of enthusiasm.
Was it strange he had not written back? At least he had not read it either - being left on read was, according to Flayn’s studies, “The Absolute WORST.”
Seteth burst through the door, and Flayn hid her phone.
“Flayn,” Seteth ordered. Her heart chilled - did he know? “Double check the locks on the windows.”
“Of course.” Flayn hurried through each of the small rooms of their townhouse. Yes, locked, and yes, padlocked. Flayn would simply not mention the one in the back room, where she had broken the padlock to allow her to unlock it and leave.
Flayn hurried back to the entryway. “What is going on, what is happening?”
Seteth rested back against the door, as though to save them both from the uncertain world. “A student went missing from campus last night.”
Flayn chilled. “Oh no, that is terrible,” she murmured. Her desperate heart turned at the thought the Agarthans had, somehow, found them. “Do you suspect…”
“No,” Seteth sighed. “They believe it was a diplomatic incident. The student's father is the Prime Minister.”
The ensuing silence brought neither relief nor comfort.
The worry crowded Seteth’s brow. “Thank the Goddess you are never on campus.”
Flayn laughed awkwardly.
“Catherine assures me the campus police are looking thoroughly for him. Another student saw an unmarked white van shortly before it likely happened,” Seteth rubbed his temples. “He was abducted after a 1920’s Charleston lesson, of all things!”
Flayn could not halt her gasp. “Who was it?”
Seteth examined her closely.
“I know I would not know this student, but it’s just… so very tragic,” Flayn insisted. “I can only hope that it would give me some comfort to know the poor student’s name.”
Seteth smiled gently. “You are as soft hearted as ever, Flayn.” He moved from the door, sitting beside her. “I have heard he’s a good student, though his father is somewhat… debatable in his politics. His name is Ferdinand von Ae-”
Flayn's gasp of pure horror could not be quelled. “Not Ferdinand!”
Seteth’s brow furrowed. Flayn lacked the experience to lie easily to Seteth, nor did she truly wish she excelled on this matter. However, with his strict scrutiny narrowed directly on her, Flayn did not know what else to do.
“What a horrible…” Flayn swallowed, struggling for an excuse. “… What a horribly handsome, kind-sounding name for someone to be kidnapped.”
“Flayn,” Seteth’s tone hinted that he was, indeed, not convinced in the least by that.
“Yes, brother?” She avoided his eyes.
Seteth sighed, long-suffering and impatient. “Have you been reading those magazines again?”
Oh thank the heavens. Of course Flayn had been reading the gossip magazines again. Though, she had not noticed “Ferdinand (Swing Club)” in them. She certainly would have remembered him, for his warm eyes and generous-
“Flayn,” Seteth interrupted.
“I am most sorry,” Flayn threw herself before Seteth. Perhaps by confessing to the lesser crime, she could yet escape? “I had a moment of weakness! I borrowed your card and I ordered the gossip magazine! I so desperately craved to know more of the world.”
Seteth’s worry faded to weariness. “This is precisely the reason why we must refrain from connections with mortals. They are so very temporary…” He looked mournfully through their coffee table.
Flayn could not dispel the lingering guilt. Was it suggestive that Ferdinand had been abducted leaving Swing Club? Could there be any possibility she had been seen attending, or observed dancing with Ferdinand? Such a soft, new, and tender thing... but could it be her admiration had been so obvious that even the Agarthans knew?
Across the city in an abandoned warehouse, our handsome prince - or princely swing dance instructor - awoke, hands and feet tied to a chair. As Ferdinand’s eyes adjusted to the darker environment, likely through some disarming drug, his first thought was: “Oh dear. Not again.”
This kidnapping found him in an oddly large prison, with a great many entry points to monitor. Typically once captors got their hands on the son of the Prime Minister, they sequestered him in the smallest possible space. A walk-in closet with a cot, for instance, or perhaps a basement containing a toilet but - curiously - no sink. It stood to reason that fewer entry points to guard and fewer opportunities for the prisoner to overhear would be preferable. However, Ferdinand could easily tell the large, echoey space was a warehouse of some kind, windows blocked with wooden boards.
Perhaps this was his captor’s first kidnapping?
His eyes focused on a woman in a black cloak of all things. She wore a mask, similar to old time plague doctors. Unbeknownst to Ferdinand, she was Kronya, one of the long-lived Agarthans living beneath the Earth.
Ferdinand however thought she must simply be a renaissance faire enthusiast.
“Don’t worry,” Kronya whispered darkly. “We have no intention to hurt you. Why, if you play your cards right…”
“Ah, yes. I am familiar,” Ferdinand brightened. “Is this the usual ransom?”
Kronya paused. “...Usual ransom?”
“Certainly!” Ferdinand smiled. “If I remain quiet, if I do not make trouble, and if I do what I am told, you will simply give me back after the ransom is delivered, correct?”
Kronya had never expected the conversation to unfold like this. “Yeah, that’s… just about right,” she eventually said.
Ferdinand grinned. “Very well! Fear not - you are not the first person to kidnap the Prime Minister’s oldest son. I will be on my very best behavior.”
Kronya glanced up to a captor behind Ferdinand. He also wore robes with a similar mask, though it is not as though Ferdinand would have any knowledge of who Thales was or his significance.
“The Prime Minister’s son?” Thales frowned behind his mask.
“Why yes,” Ferdinand tried to turn, but Thales turned his face roughly forward. Unbothered, Ferdinand looked earnestly to Kronya. “I had assumed that was the purpose of this. Why else would you have me for ransom?”
“This is more like… bait,” Kronya mused.
Ferdinand paled. “Oh. Oh dear.” He swallowed. “You must know, then, that my father is, well, he is rather protective of me-”
Kronya mistook Ferdinand’s concern as fear as a desperate attempt to bluff them into releasing him. “I thought you were going to be good?” she snapped.
“Yes, yes, I simply wished to warn you!” Ferdinand insisted. “Oh no, do you have my phone?”
“That’s enough.” Thales swiftly placed a gag. A subpar gag, should Ferdinand be honest. He had been gagged by far more pleasant fabrics.
Ferdinand tried as he could to explain through the gag that, since his second kidnapping, Duke Aegir had kept a fairly tight curfew. If Ferdinand’s phone GPS had not returned to his dorm room before 10:00 pm EST, Duke Aegir would have called. If Ferdinand had not answered, then his father would have already alerted his people.
Not the “authorities,” per se. Duke Aegir’s people were significantly more efficient, given their leniency on the laws.
“Be good,” Thales snapped shortly. He boxed the back of Ferdinand’s head.
“Watch him,” Kronya commanded to their hired hench. “We need to keep moving.”
Another man walked up. He wore jeans, a flannel, and a ski mask. He sat where the woman had sat, her voice disappearing from the warehouse.
“So you’re, uh, a politician's kid?” the henchman asked, awkwardly untying the gag.
Ferdinand tried not to scowl from the taste of the fabric. It would be impolite, after all, to imply their facilities tasted rancid. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir.” Ferdinand smiled. “What may I call you?”
“Glock,” the henchman replied. Probably due in no small part to the weapon holstered over his shoulder.
“Pleased to meet you, Glock. I apologize I cannot shake your hand!”
“Oh, right!” Glock quickly untied Ferdinand’s binds. In truth, the warehouse was full of people who could easily swarm and incapacitate a university student if needed, so they were more for making a first impression. “I’ll be makin’ sure you’re comfortable while we wait,” Glock explained. “You need somethin?”
Ferdinand rubbed his wrists gently. “My mouth is dry. You do not happen to have tea?”
Glock shrugged. “Regular or decaf?”
Ferdinand shuddered. “Regular, if you would.”
This was shaping up to be Ferdinand's worst kidnapping in a while.
Meanwhile, our intrepid heroine fretted in her townhouse. The news of Ferdinand’s kidnapping ignited the internet. However, each article read much the same: “The Prime Minister’s son is missing, we will update as we know more.” Worse, each included a flattering picture of his easy smile while he wore myriad suits and sweater vests.
It felt too suspicious that it would be from Swing Club.
Flayn wanted to trust that Catherine and the Seiros campus police would find him, and that no harm had come to him. But the frenzy of her mind and jittering heart would not allow her peace.
Flayn had few options for distraction. She had already attempted to read, to no avail. She had meditated - twice! - and felt not the least bit more at ease.
Perhaps SwollRaphaelAlliance’s latest vlog on muscle-makery could draw her fevered mind away. SwollRaphaelAlliance had the friendly smile of a gentle older brother and the bod of a superhero. Each episode boasted upbeat encouragement and tips to get stronger; and Flayn would need her strength.
Today in his intro, SwollRaphaelAlliance took a moment to face his camera, speaking warmly. “Remember, it’s okay if you’re not strong yet. Everyone has to get stronger.” He flexed his bicep with a booming laugh. “These muscles didn’t come from nowhere!” Earnestly, he leaned forward. “Best advice I can give to ya? Give everything you got a good ‘RRRRRGH.’”
Such a primal growl escaped the host, face briefly contorted with raw determination.
Flayn drew her breath, roaring with all her might. “RAAAH!”
“That’s it!” SwollRaphaelAlliance said to the invisible viewer. “Just like that!”
“But why?” Flayn bemoaned to the stream content posted a week ago. “How will it make me stronger?”
SwollRaphaelAlliance laughed. “It brings up the strength from the bottom of your belly, where all your food lives!” SwollRaphaelAlliance explained patiently. “And make sure ya eat too!”
Hark! Flayn's phone chimed in notification. Her heart soared. Frantically, she paused SwollRaphaelAlliance, frantically unlocking her screen. Yes, it said, “Ferdinand (Swing Club)!” Swiftly, she opened the text:
“hey meet up at the riverside? near the old shipyard?”
Hairs prickled on Flayn’s arm. She could scarcely imagine such an exceptional, well-spoken man not using appropriate capitalization in a text message. He spoke like a prince in a storybook, not like the villains of memes who carelessly wrote “new phone who dis.”
Still, Flayn knew there were many rules of text etiquette she did not know, as she did not have many people to text. Cautiously, she tapped out her reply: “What time should I meet you?”
She hit send before the terror could stop her. What if it was his kidnappers, pleased at tricking her? Or if Ferdinand himself read her message, and she had so coldly picked her words?
She did not know which would be worse.
Mercifully, the reply came nearly immediately: “anytimes gud ill c u soon.”
Flayn’s spine chilled. This could not be Ferdinand. Ferdinand never used contractions.
Resolve shivered through her skin. She looked at her paused Smart TV. SwollRaphaelAlliance stood with his hands on his hips, grinning ear to ear with a reassuring thumbs’ up.
“SwollRaphaelAlliance, give me courage,” she whispered.
Flayn drew all of the air she could fit in her lungs. She filled her chest, her belly, and the deepest part of her core, where the food goes. She called on her most true self - perhaps SwollFlaynPrincess? And she opened her mouth, and gave the greatest cry she could. “RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
The captors had prepared a shipping container for Ferdinand, with a cot, minimal snacks, and one exit where Ferdinand could see no fewer than eight other guards milling about.
For it’s disorganization, this was a fairly large operation, Ferdinand mused.
“Bathroom’s right there, got a fridge.” Glock waved to the renaissance faire enthusiasts and the routine hired hands alike. Motioning for Ferdinand to enter, Glock grinned. “Make yerself at home.”
Ferdinand helped himself to some water. Unsoftened, likely unfiltered as well. Perhaps his stomach would feel that later; however, it was a small price to pay for sufficient hydration in captivity.
By now, Duke Aegir likely had his office transformed into a command center. Had the kidnappers reached out to him? Or had Ferdinand simply vanished as far as his father was concerned?
Either way, his father most certainly worried.
Ferdinand felt a pang of guilt, however. For his thoughts were not with his worried father, but on the woman with eyes like sea glass and a laugh as bright as the morning sun. He had hoped today might be the day to solve some of the mystery of his strange and lovely Flayn.
Whether to fill the silence, or because Glock had noticed Ferdinand’s unrest, he propped up his feet and asked conversationally, “So, what’s a kid like you up to?”
“Oh!” Ferdinand welcomed the distraction. He typically had a great many activities to occupy his mind, and this idleness did nothing for his frantic heart. “I play polo, as well as dressage.”
Glock nodded pensively. “Is that like wearing dresses in clubs?”
“No, that is the exceptional art of drag! Quite different.” Ferdinand tapped his chin, as he struggled to bring the entirety of dressage into words. “I suppose dressage is most simply described as horseback riding with a particular elegance, as a display of unity between the horse and rider.”
“Neat,” Glock smiled. “So kind of like dancing with your horse?”
Ferdinand of course knew that horse dancing was its own discipline, with an impressive pool of talent achieving the highest degrees of equine excellence. For the purposes of this conversation, he simply said, “Similar! Perhaps halfway between dancing with your horse and a three-legged race?”
“Huh,” Glock nodded thoughtfully. It made absolutely no sense, and yet complete sense. “Learn something new every day, yeah?” Glock chuckled to himself. “Went to a traveling cat circus once. Lady there taught cats how to play instruments.”
Ferdinand smiled in disbelief. “Did she really?”
And Glock, whose many nods carried such an array of feelings, nodded with the utmost of admiration. “Darndest thing I ever saw.”
“Indeed! I hope I am able to see it someday,” Ferdinand replied with pure sincerity of heart. “Well, other than those activities, I do instruct the university Swing Club every Tuesday and Thursday. Though-” Ferdinand paused to laugh. “I suppose you may already know, since that was when you abducted me!”
“Surprised me to hear that,” Glock admitted. “Can’t believe they’ve got a school club for swingers.”
Ferdinand laughed brightly. “No, the 1920’s style of dancing. There are a great many styles, such as the Charleston, Jitterbug, Lindy Hop. I teach East Coast Swing for the university club.”
Glock nodded, considering this closely. “How about that! Gotta be fun.”
Ferdinand knew Glock’s reaction hardly welcomed further discussion on the matter. Still, Ferdinand excitedly explained, “I adore it. We teach both beginners and intermediate students, and tIt brings me such pride and tremendous joy to see the difference that simple practice makes.”
Heaviness, however, found Ferdinand’s heart. For it had only been yesterday when he professed the same sentiment to Flayn.
In a moment of boldness, he had greeted her by saying, “It is always wonderful to see you here.”
Flayn had gleamed with the loveliest surprise. “I did not think I came often enough to be recognized,” she had exclaimed, equally humble and well-spoken.
Ferdinand had been so surprised by the assertion he had laughed. “But of course! Your radiant smile and expression of pure joy are easy enough to remember,” he insisted.
Flayn had smiled with all the light of the sun, moon, and stars combined. Ferdinand could only hope her little stumble following came from both of their hearts skipping its beat, rather than negligence on his part as a lead.
She recaptured her footing, leaning into the support of his hold. “It is very generous of you to dance with beginners,” she had smiled apologetically. “ I imagine with your skill, it must be frustrating.”
In that moment, it had been so easy to say it: “Not at all! I adore seeing the difference that simple practice makes.”
That had been when he took the leap and exchanged numbers with Flayn. Last night, before this most intrusive and disorganized kidnapping disrupted what could have been an evening of giddy dreams and his heart stopping at any phone notification.
“Glock,” Ferdinand began nervously. “I have an… embarrassing request.”
Glock raised his eyebrow. “Didn’tcha just go to the bathroom?”
“Oh no, it is nothing like that.” Ferdinand of course appreciated Glock going above and beyond in making Ferdinand feel welcome during his kidnapping. Ferdinand knew the expectations of him as an involuntary guest were to remain still, not make noise, and ask for as little as possible.
Although, Ferdinand reasoned, would it be worth making a request if it could relieve the boredom in his mind and the unrest in his heart at the same time?
Ferdinand summoned up his confidence, to mask the nerves in his heart and soul. “Would it be too much trouble for you to check my phone for a text?”
Glock immediately grew suspicious. This was not his first time watching the hostage, and that was the oldest trick in the book. “Hey now. I ain’t doing nothin' like that. You ain’t gettin’ your phone from me by playin’ nice.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it!” Ferdinand insisted with all of the earnestness in his heart. The blush rushed to his cheeks. “You see, just before I was abducted, I… I had given my phone number to the most incredible woman.” Ferdinand realized his fingers drummed on his thighs, so he quickly folded his hands. “I am simply beside myself wondering if she shared my interest and texted me.”
Glock searched Ferdinand’s eyes. When the young man had been tied to the chair and told he was kidnapped, he barely batted an eye. Now, thinking about whether or not the cute girl had texted him, he seemed much more agitated. Weird? Yup. But Glock had been around long enough to know the difference between “Honest Weird” and “Sneaky Weird.” Glock nodded slowly. “A’ight, here’s what I’m gonna do,” he said, gesturing with his gun. “You’re gonna take a seat and not move a muscle. The rest of the gang in the warehouse is gonna keep an eye on you.” he nodded sternly. “I’ll see what I can do about lookin’ at your phone.”
Ferdinand beamed. “My deepest gratitude, Glock!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Glock allowed a bit of a smile. He whispered to someone, and disappeared deeper into the warehouse.
It took a while. Ferdinand struggled to remain still, and not allow the jitters to jiggle his foot or drum his fingers. Finally, Glock returned. “Ya got one message,” Glock took his seat. “You can move again.”
“Much obliged!” Ferdinand leaned forward fervently. “Who was it?”
“Ya put ‘er in as ‘Flayn (Swing Club),’” Glock said. “Sound about right?”
Praise the Goddess and all of the Saints! Ferdinand’s heart skipped. “What did she say?”
Glock’s lips curved in a smile. “She wished ya the most marvelous of mornings.”
The Most Marvelous of Mornings? Ferdinand smiled breathlessly. “How wonderful.” He dropped back onto his cot. It felt so rude, to leave such an earnest appeal trapped on read. Ferdinand would have to apologize profusely to make amends.
“Glock,” Ferdinand asked pensively. “Once I have been released, do you suppose it would it be too forward to reply ‘Your text truly gave me courage while I was held hostage?’”
If Glock had ever doubted if it was “Honest Weird,” well, he had no lingering doubts after that. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout puppy love,” Glock waved his hands with a smile. He nodded contemplatively, saying as though to himself, “I really hope they don’t hafta kill her.”
Ferdinand’s heart stopped. He sat up swiftly. “Wh-what?”
“Nothin, nothin.” Glock cleared his throat. “Hey, you, uh, need to eat?”
“Why ever would they kill her?” Ferdinand gasped. “She is the gentlest of creatures! She is enthusiasm, she is joy, she is beauty!”
Glock quickly waved his hands. “Look, they ain’t said nothin’ about killin’ her. I guess she has rare blood, and they need some.”
Ferdinand truthfully had not heard of that as a reason to kidnap someone. “Is she AB negative?”
“They didn’t tell me.” Glock shrugged. “But hey, the more I think of it, seems like if you need rare blood, worst thing you could do is kill ‘em, right? Cause we’re just makin’ blood all the time. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“That is true,” Ferdinand murmured, heartened. Though, he could not help but fear that Flayn could be doomed to a heartless captivity.
Meanwhile, confined in a different sort of captivity, our not-exactly-a-princess's plan had worked to perfection. Once Flayn unleashed her roar, Seteth burst from the office, demanding to know everything.
Now, however, came the difficulty. “You have been going outside?” Seteth fumed.
“I longed to see others, to dance, to enjoy the company of people my age!” Flayn protested with all the longing in her whole heart.
“It is far too dangerous! These are the consequences of such horrible actions!” Seteth cried - as though Flayn had cold-heartedly lured a mortal to death at sea, rather than making optimistic and well-spoken small talk. “We have to leave, we have to leave immediately.”
“No!” Flayn gasped in horror. “We must find him, we must!”
“That is out of the question, Flayn!” Seteth stammered. “After my emergency meeting, we will pack our bags and start anew.”
Flayn stamped her foot, summoning up all her strength. “I am responsible for his current predicament, We must give our aid! I cannot bear the thought of him enduring torture on my behalf!”
But Seteth saw her appeal as a child's petulant ramblings. “Flayn, this is precisely why we cannot get involved with mortals! There is too much at stake! If our enemies can acquire your blood, there is no telling what devastation will befall humanity!”
Flayn choked back the swelling tears. Again, she bid SwollRaphaelAlliance for strength. May she bear herself like the glowing, jacked vlogger. “With your help, I believe we can both rescue him and avoid that devastation,” Flayn commanded.
But Seteth did not see a glowing, jacked woman rallying her strength. He saw a girl refusing to wake up to the cold truths Seteth had been forced to learn long ago.
Seteth shook his head. “I cannot. I simply cannot.”
And equally so, SwollFlaynPrincess could not abide by that.
Ferdinand could not tell if this cup of noodles truly tasted of nothing, or if terror and anxiety tainted it. It did not help that Glock had stepped away with a handful of the hired hands, leaving those unsettling renaissance faire enthusiasts behind.
Glock returned, and he seemed fidgety. He whispered something to the anachronistic masqueraders, and they stood down. Glock must have noticed Ferdinand’s unrest as he sat across from him. “How do ya like it?”
“I must apologize, I am struggling to enjoy it,” Ferdinand confessed.
Glock was not in the least bit surprised. It was a cup of noodles that someone had in the back of their pantry for Saints knew how long.
Ferdinand took the silence as a sign he had offended his captor. He mustered up cheer. “I am entirely grateful for it! It tastes better than I had assumed!” Though, with his chopsticks, he plucked a small blob from the bed of noodles. “However, is this bloated brown cube intended to be beef?”
Glock scratched the back of his neck. “Hah, yeah.”
Ferdinand frowned. “Well, I simply do not believe it is.”
“Don’t think anyone does, kid.”
They fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the bosses discussing urgent kidnapping business in an atrium with fabulous acoustics.
“She hasn’t responded to the text,” the man Ferdinand would not have known as Thales snapped.
“Worse - she left us on read,” Kronya’s voice carried personal offense. “Was our bait not good enough?”
“It can’t be that,” a third party, Solon, insisted. “I thoroughly researched all of the texting practices of young people. It’s beyond a doubt that we sent exactly the right message. Our tone remained interested without sounding desperate.”
Thales growled in the back of his throat. “Cichol must be protecting her. We need to get him out of the way.”
Ferdinand recognized the name for the Saint. Ferdinand assumed it was a code name, in case they were overheard. Which proved prudent, as Ferdinand certainly had overheard.
The three paused. Solon broke it, his voice like a snake. “It’s a gamble, but this is the last piece we need in place. It could be another hundred years before we find them.”
The man snapped his fingers. Though the hired hands in their jeans and ski masks remained, the renaissance faire enthusiasts swiftly followed the other two.
Glock swallowed. Had he been eavesdropping too? “These guys are nuts.”
Ferdinand nodded. “They seem more intense than the usual fare.”
Glock had masked his nerves long enough. The moment they were free of those creeps, Glock buried his face in his hands. “They talk about gettin’ some kid’s blood, and illegal blood magic, and just…” Looking back up, Glock hissed. “Look, You don’t become muscle for hire without letting go of some moral scruples, y’know?”
“I imagine,” Ferdinand replied earnestly, as it indeed made perfect sense.
“But man, I guess I thought there was some kinda line!” Glock checked over his shoulder, as though to confirm the cloaked ones were well and truly gone. “You know what they did when Skid parked the van too close?”
Ferdinand furrowed his brow. “Did they issue a stern rebuttal, then provide adequate support to ensure success the next time?”
“Those freaks took out his heart and sent him to some dark realm-!” Glock said, aghast.
“Excessive,” Ferdinand frowned gravely. “That is simply poor leadership.”
“Right? You get it!” Glock nodded in disbelief. “We’re independent contractors, ya know? Just dock our pay. Y’ain’t gotta bring out the forbidden dark magic of our ancestors.”
“We are in agreement,” Ferdinand insisted. “My father is similarly excessive in his discipline. Certainly, I understand the necessity of being seen as an authority figure. However, instilling fear into your subordinates destroys any hope of genuine loyalty.”
“Instillin’ fear?” Glock repeated, confused. “I thought he was a Prime Minister. That sounds like a mob boss.”
Ferdinand drew in a long breath. “Yes, well, my father has a decidedly different view of leadership than I do.” He flipped a lock of hair from his face mournfully. “After I inherit my position as Prime Minister, I have laid plans to collaborate with a few… well-connected friends.”
Which, Glock obviously understood to mean criminal connections and not horse dancing connections.
“We will peacefully dismantle this corrupt structure, and once again follow the righteous path.”
“Well ain’t that somethin’,” Glock murmured. He considered it thoughtfully. “Good luck and all that.”
Meanwhile, our princess had been cruelly abandoned to a different sort of prison, while Seteth attended an emergency staff meeting.
“We will speak once I get back!” Seteth had said, locking the door behind him.
SwollFlaynPrincess most certainly would not wait for Seteth to get back. Why would she, when she already had a cloth rope, a broken padlock, and a flawless roar?
She scarcely let the door close behind him before she began out the window.
Once her practical, patent leather shoes hit the ground of the alley, Flayn hesitated. Where was it again, that Ferdinand had texted her to meet him? Flayn had been too shocked by the circumstances and the poor grammar to remember.
She fumbled with her phone to investigate, hands shaking from the intensity of her resolve. However, that would have to wait. Flayn heard an angry shout from Garreg Mach's town Square.
Flayn dashed to the head of an alley for a better vantage point. There, she surveyed Seteth, paused before a group in black who blocked his way. Even from afar, Flayn could tell that they were scoundrels from their beak-like masks.
“So you deny it?” Solon smirked at Seteth, as though pleased to have “caught” him in a lie.
“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Seteth insisted.
Oh no. The Agarthans. The Agarthans had come for Seteth. “Stand down!” Flayn shouted, bursting from the alley. Her voice sounded tiny, like a feeble little girl.
Seteth did not need a little girl. Ferdinand did not need a little girl. Flayn had to find the strength, she had to find SwollFlaynPrincess. “Rrrrrr,” she strained, reaching into her deepest core. “ARGH!”
The sound frustratingly fell short.
The fiend, who Flayn would not have known as Solon, wove sinister strands of poisonous magic. Such dark magic Flayn knew it too well. A threatening light flashed in the courtyard, and Seteth dropped to his knees.
Flayn drew all of the air she could fit in her lungs. She filled her chest, her belly, and the deepest part of her core, deeper yet than any muscle, bone, or tissue dwelled, far beyond where any food had ever been. She called on her truest self - truer than even SwollFlaynPrincess. And she opened her mouth, and gave the greatest cry she could: “RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
And then, Flayn realized, she was no princess. She had no king for a father, nor a palace in their townhouse.
When her cry shuddered from building to building, echoing out of her chest, Flayn’s truest self stirred. The self Flayn barely remembered, still and lost to the dust of antiquity.
The slumbering dragon awoke.
Flayn’s phone clattered to the cobblestone as her hands ballooned into talons. Flayn’s legs elongated, and her body swelled until Seteth and the Agarthans all faded to mere bugs beneath her. Brilliant scales reflected such radiance, that even in the dark of the night Flayn felt engulfed in such a burst of beautiful light.
Flayn could only marvel at how something could feel equally familiar and strange.
Dragon Flayn, meanwhile, had certainly gained the Agarthans’ attention.
“H-how?” Seteth gaped. He was, in equal measure, proud of Flayn for connecting with that long buried part of herself, and absolutely beside himself with fury. He clutched his side, stumbling behind her. “You must return home at once!”
But Dragon Flayn would not return home without achieving what she set out to do. She rolled her newly mighty shoulders, towering over the humble homes of the Garreg Mach township. “Once again I say: Stand down now, and you will be spared.”
Solon glared up to her, skin like death. “All the more blood for us to take”
A good number of his followers, however, dropped their weapons and ran.
The shrill song of banshees seemed to linger on Solon’s sly fingers. With a cruel smile, he launched the anguished souls towards Flayn.
The crest of Cethleann flashed in the night, reflecting the atrocity from her armor.
Dragon Flayn in return gripped Solon in her teeth, hurling him carelessly a few buildings over. To the remaining Agarthans she growled, “Where is Ferdinand?”
“You’ll never get it out of us,” they hissed, still poised for attack.
Flayn did not imagine she would enjoy torture particularly much. Even Dragon Flayn heartily preferred to avoid the situation entirely. “Brother,” she rumbled down to Seteth. “Check my text messages.”
“Text messages?” Seteth found Flayn’s phone on the cobblestones. One could only imagine his horror at seeing “Ferdinand (Swing Club)” in Flayn’s phone.
“They have a school endorsed club for swingers?” Seteth raved.
While Flayn usually would love to emphasize that Swing Club focused on exploring the joyful array of dances from the 1920’s, Dragon Flayn had a mission. And Dragon Flayn would not be diverted.
“Where did Ferdinand say to meet?” she urged.
Seteth gasped. “You were going to meet a boy in a shipyard on the riverfront?” he snapped, face reddening in fury.
Dragon Flayn scarcely noticed. “Thank you!” Her great maw opened, spilling forth such an overwhelming light that the Agarthans disintegrated where they stood.
Seteth's features froze as he realized what Flayn intended to do. “No, Flayn, no, come back-”
“Fare well, brother!” And with a burst of her effervescent wings, Flayn soared into the skies.
The warehouse flurried with activity the instant Thales and Kronya warped back in. “Be on your guard,” Kronya ordered their stunned backup. “Our mark approaches.” Kronya rallied the renaissance faire enthusiasts and hired hands alike, while Thales stalked off.
Ferdinand swallowed. Such a mobilization could hardly be for a sweet woman still finessing her Charleston.
“Stand down now, and you will be spared,” a deep voice shook through the warehouse. Unaware of the possibility his beloved may in fact be a dragon, Ferdinand assumed the voice originated from a PA system, by his captors responding to Duke Aegir’s veritable army poised for rescue.
Ferdinand drew in a breath. “Oh dear.”
Glock straightened. His easy manner sharpened into that of a professional. “Alright kid, I got a place to keep you safe from the action.”
“No, Glock.” Ferdinand stood earnestly. “When my father’s men arrive, there will be quite a lot of gunfire.”
“Look, kid,” Glock glanced awkwardly. “I got a job to do.”
The screaming started. Ferdinand assumed the roar he heard was the roar of bullets, perhaps amplified by the extreme acoustics.
Ferdinand shook his head resolutely. “My father’s people are very effective. I am far safer than you are.”
Then, Kronya’s piercing shriek as she sailed through the wooden boards over a window, presumably into the depths of the bay.
Ferdinand heard the rumbles, and wondered if somehow his father had acquired tanks. It would be out of the standard kidnapping rescue plan. However, if Ferdinand’s captors had been too inconsiderate to text his father any updates, anything could happen.
“But… kid…” Glock felt conflicted. As a professional, he should follow through on his job. As someone who enjoyed this kid’s company, he wouldn’t feel right leaving him to whatever terrors unfolded. Sure, the tremors shaking through the floor also shook his resolve. But it wasn’t in Glock’s nature to run.
“You must trust me, friend.” Ferdinand insisted. “You should not stay here.”
Glock nodded slowly. Solemnly, he handed Ferdinand his namesake: a GLOCK 17 semi-automatic pistol. “I got more,” Glock shrugged awkwardly. “Take care, kiddo.”
“My deepest gratitude, Glock,” Ferdinand murmured, accepting it somberly. “Take care. And please-” Ferdinand stuck out his hand for a shake. “Find me on LinkedIn.”
Glock had only just reached to shake Ferdinand’s hand, when a soft green light engulfed the kid. Before either of them could say a word, Ferdinand vanished in a brilliant flash of green light.
Weird? Sure. But Glock figured that was about right for this particular job.
Flayn had issued her warning. True to her word, those who ran were spared. Those who did not?
Dragon Flayn could handle them.
And handle them Dragon Flayn did. From the mighty sweeps of her claws, the furious blasts of her magic, and her terrible jaws, she carved her way through.
Eventually, stillness. Either everyone had retreated, or gulped down to where the food and the Agarthans went.
It became quickly clear, however, that Dragon Flayn, while mighty, could not easily navigate such a space. With bittersweet regret, Flayn decided she did not need to be a dragon at this moment. Nor did she need to feel herself a princess, swoll or otherwise.
For now, just Flayn would do.
She returned to her smaller self, suddenly feeling the expansiveness of the warehouse, the stickiness of the blood, and the longing in her soul. She wished she could call for Ferdinand, but hidden Agarthans could emerge to assail her human form.
Instead, Flayn crept deeper in, silent but for the deafening beat of her heart.
Then she saw him. Stunning clementine waves, a brilliant light in this steel prison. Now, Flayn did not know this lurking henchman was named Glock, or that he had offered cups of noodles and regular tea to her beloved. All she saw was that her poor Ferdinand remained trapped.
Still imprisoned, because he had recklessly given her his phone number - the digits which could summon him from anywhere in the world.
In that moment, the truth shone clear and bright. A spell, buried inside, like a long-forgotten truth waiting to be remembered. Flayn cast her rescue, summoning Ferdinand swiftly in a burst of gentle green light.
And thus, Flayn and Ferdinand arrived face to face for the first time since swapping numbers. They each stared, stunned and thrilled to be gazing at the other.
Each desperately wished their reunion could have been in a field of wildflowers, rather than this industrial tomb filled with blood and bodies.
“Why hello!” Ferdinand breathed. He had no trouble recognizing her shining eyes, like sea glass in the early morning, no matter how much blood had stained her hair, skin, or clothes. And make no mistake - there was quite a lot of blood.
“I am so very sorry that you have been kidnapped,” Flayn exclaimed.
Ferdinand laughed. “It is no worry.”
“These despicable people have been after my blood for so many years, you see,” Flayn continued.
“That is… perhaps out of the norm,” Ferdinand observed, making conversation.
It came as some surprise when the mysterious and diminutive Flayn replied, “You would be surprised. It is a pretty common…” Flayn however realized she tread dangerously close to revealing secrets. Secrets of herself, secrets of her blood, and secrets of how utterly magnificent she found Ferdinand. “That is neither here nor there.”
Ferdinand’s brow furrowed with concern. “I hope they did not take it!”
Flayn had met his gorgeous eyes and entirely forgotten everything. “Take what?”
“Your blood.” Ferdinand discreetly scanned her over. It seemed extremely unlikely to Ferdinand a woman could find herself so entirely bathed in blood with none of it belonging to her. Which, of course, was true. For a woman who could become a dragon, however, it proved surprisingly simple. “You are positively soaked, you poor creature.”
“Oh!” Flayn smiled dreamily. “Do not worry. None of this is mine.”
“Praise the Saints,” he whispered, smiling with relief. Then, he gasped. “Oh! Where are my manners?” He offered up his sweater vest, leaving him in a light blue button-up shirt as bright as the sky on a clear day.
“I must not soil such a fine sweater!” Flayn protested, examining her damp, sticky hands. “And furthermore, I am not cold!”
“But perhaps you would prefer it if your face and hands were…” Ferdinand sought for a polite way to say “drenched in viscera.” Unfortunately, etiquette had not yet mastered how to politely indicate someone had spinach in their teeth without embarrassment, and this situation far surpassed that.
“Oh, how silly of me!” Flayn accepted his sweater, wiping her hands before pressing it to her face. How troublesome, that the scent of blood overpowered the delightful scent of Ferdinand. At least she still caught hints of juniper and honeysuckle.
Once finished, she thanked him, murmuring, “I appreciate it, though I have ruined your sweater.”
“Fear not.” He pushed up his sleeves, grasping her hands. The extraordinarily expensive and extraordinarily bloody sweater tumbled to the ground, forgotten. “It is a small price to pay, to see your face and hold your hands.”
Flayn’s heart soared higher than it had even as a dragon.
Perhaps had Flayn not been so sticky with the blood of her enemies, and Ferdinand had not been so edgy that his father’s people may yet find them, they could have gazed into each other’s eyes for a lifetime.
But Flayn knew she must keep her focus. Future hand holding depended on them both returning to safety. “Let us be on our way!” she squeezed his warm hands.
Ferdinand revived from his reverie. “Of course!”
The sharp eyed may note that Solon challenged Dragon Flayn in the courtyard by their town home, and Kronya in the warehouse. As the two lovers ducked into the night, making their way to Aegir manor on foot, they came upon one remaining problem: Thales.
“I have you now, Cethleann.” Thales smirked coldly, Death dancing on his fingertips.
Ferdinand glanced to Flayn. “Cethleann? As in the Saint?”
And the woman, often called Flayn, sometimes SwollFlaynPrincess, other times “Flayn (Swing Club),” and yet others Dragon Flayn, replied: “My true name.” To Thales, her gentle voice commanded, “I cannot allow you to continue misusing such wonderful creatures as humans!”
Thales smirked. Before him stood the girl, and not the dragon. “This ludicrous performance ends now.”
In a moment of reckless valor, Ferdinand took a shot from his pistol. It clipped Thales in the shoulder, stuttering his spell.
Glaring, Thales hissed, “Do you truly believe that is sufficient to stop me?”
“Did you think I would do nothing?” Ferdinand demanded.
Truthfully, Ferdinand had only considered so far ahead as to decide action was better than inaction. He had not realized that, in effect, he had given Flayn the gift of a few spare moments to call upon Excalibur.
Thales learned that matter quickly when the spell threw him to the ground. Rage boiled Thales's blood. “I will have you, Child of the Goddess!”
But by the time he stood, he stood in the shadow of Dragon Flayn.
Ferdinand staggered back, clutching his pistol. “You are a surprise!”
“There is so much I wish I could tell you.” Dragon Flayn's voice held the mournfulness of one very long lived. “The time is never right.”
“Perhaps over tea, when this is all over?” Ferdinand called up to the awe-inspiring dragon. When Ferdinand noticed from the corner of his eye that Thales regaining his footing, Ferdinand diverted from his overtures long enough to fire another bullet into Thales.
“Oh, yes!” Dragon Flayn grinned her jagged teeth. As Thales stood again, she took an absent swipe at him.
“You are a mere child,” Thales growled, evading. "You will not best me!"
Dragon Flayn did not appreciate either the insult nor the interruption one bit. “As you are incapable of compassion, I will end this now,” she roared.
And again, the unrelenting light burst from Flayn’s mouth. It engulfed Thales, dissolving him thread by thread in the flood of pure, holy light.
When the dust settled, Dragon Flayn quietly returned to Flayn, her mighty form replaced by the diminutive green haired woman with eyes like sea glass.
Ferdinand jogged to reach her.
“I am, in fact, Cethleann,” Flayn confessed nervously. She returned her hands to his, staring at her feet. “I know that it is perhaps dishonest of me to have hidden my identity. And I have put you in great danger by my doing so.” Mournfully, she sighed. “I hope that does not change how you see me.”
“Oh, Cethleann,” Ferdinand smiled deliriously. “I thought you were exceptional then, and I think you are exceptional now!”
Flayn beamed with the light of the sun, moon and stars. “I feel the same!”
Such a splendid euphoria blossomed within each. Whether drawn together by sublime destiny or immutable laws of attraction, their eyes fluttered closed to share the sweetest, gentlest kiss either of them could have imagined.
Even the strong scent of blood and the remaining streaks upon Flayn’s face could not detract from so exquisite a moment.
Then, they heard the roar of a dragon.
“FLAYN?” the unmistakable voice of Seteth reverberated through the night.
Flayn grinned happily. “He has also reconnected with his dragon!”
“Oh!” Ferdinand returned her smile cautiously. “Is that good?”
“It illuminates my heart!” Flayn's smile swelled from the gentlest reaches of her soul. Then, she clasped Ferdinand’s hand earnestly. “Now quickly, we must run away.”
“P-pardon?” Ferdinand started when Flayn tugged him forward.
“He is still my overprotective father,” Flayn explained, looking back over her shoulder. “Just now… he is also a dragon.”
The implications gradually chilled Ferdinand’s mind. “Oh dear.”
“Precisely!” Flayn grinned. “Please, go home! I will lead him away.”
Ferdinand’s face fell. “If you must! Just promise me two things.”
“Anything,” Flayn glowed, breathless from exertion and joy.
“First, that you will have a most marvelous evening.”
Flayn beamed. “You read my message!”
Ferdinand’s smile glowed as bright as the blush on his cheeks. “And that you must text me as soon as you are able!”
“Of course, my dear Ferdinand!” And with that, she roared from her core, extending once more into majestic the dragon of light. She swept high into the sky, high enough to ensure Seteth’s notice.
And below, Ferdinand’s heart reeled. Not just because he ran for his life to escape Flayn’s overprotective dragon father. No, his heart reeled because such an incredible woman had just called him “My dear Ferdinand.”
The night sky welcomed Flayn, its cool air gliding over her scales. The dizzying openness after their cramped townhouse thrilled her.
Had Flayn always been able to fly?
Seteth rose above the buildings, his dragon features set in fatherly fury. “Go home immediately.”
Flayn took a leisurely sweep over the riverfront, gliding towards the Cathedral of Seiros. “I do not think I will,” she sang back.
Seteth’s disappointed groan rippled through the night. “You will proceed home, and to your room. We can talk about it further there.”
Instead, Flayn fluttered to a gentle rest atop the bell tower of the Church of Seiros. “I will not, father .” She straightened her spine, spreading her wings from her perch. “I will not because I am a dragon. And as I am a dragon, I will not fit in my room. So you will listen to me here.”
Seteth landed on the roof below, pacing restlessly. “This will draw too much attention-!”
“I have given my situation some thought,” Dragon Flayn said. “Now that I am a dragon, I am not easily kidnapped!”
“The Agarthans will stop at nothing to achieve their goal,” Seteth insisted. “You are no safer now.”
“Do the Agarthans come for Uncle Indech?” Dragon Flayn challenged.
“That is different, his crest is not so rare!”
“And what of Uncle Macuil?” Dragon Flayn continued. “Is his crest not thought to be lost? Do you see Agarthans braving the harsh deserts to find him?”
Seteth had not seen any such thing. He also did not enjoy this line of thinking. Lacking a well-formed rebuttal, he instead tried another avenue. “It is my obligation as your father to ensure you are safe!”
Here, perched upon the cathedral, Flayn felt safer than she had in some time. Little girls hidden away in towers lest they be stolen away felt fragile. But how many dared come for a dragon?
“I am willing to negotiate,” Dragon Flayn announced.
Seteth gasped, his mighty maw hanging open in utter shock. “There is no room for negotiation-!”
Dragon Flayn paid him no mind. “I will be allowed to text my boyfriend.”
“Boyfr- WHAT?” Seteth’s roar rang through the night.
“And you must be kind to him,” Flayn urged. “As he is crafted with such sweet kindness, overflowing like nectar from his stalwart heart!”
“Did you not hear me?” Seteth growled desperately. “His father is of the most questionable character-”
Dragon Flayn snorted, a burst of dangerous light glowing from her nostrils. “Fortunate, then, that I am not wooed by his father!” Flayn sighed again, gentle sparks glowing on her scales. “Fear not, for Ferdinand is the most perfect of gentlemen.”
Seteth tossed his mighty head in agitation. “I cannot allow this..!”
And again, Dragon Flayn paid him no mind. “I shall be allowed to attend school organized events on campus, within reason.”
“But Flayn-”
“INCLUDING,” Dragon Flayn persisted, “Both of the biweekly Swing Dance lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that I may continue to grow as a dancer.” Her mighty talons imitated the delicate hold of East Coast Swing.
Seteth snorted, shaking his head. “You ask too much.”
Dragon Flayn examined her dragon father below, pacing and fretting in terror. She did not wish him suffering, and she did regret that it caused him distress.
However, such regret seemed hardly bothersome when compared with Dragon Flayn’s own suffering.
“If you agree, I will go home. If you do not…” Dragon Flayn once again rolled her mighty shoulders. “Well, do you prefer to face me in combat, father?”
The three Agarthans could only have been considered “in good shape” given that, by all accounts, they should be dead.
Solon, who should never have been able to stand again after being thrown against a building, wiped blood disdainfully from his face. “I can’t believe she escaped.”
Thales, who had narrowly missed being decimated by a stream of light, muttered “How did you fools lose her?”
And Kronya, drenched from the river and picking splinters from her clothes, pointed out, “Hey, at least Solon still has his phone!”
Given the advancements of current technology and geolocation available to even the mortals, however, that would prove problematic.
“HALT.” Catherine, Chief of the Seiros Campus Police, stood with a hero’s relic on her hip and a gun in her hands, flanked by officers appointed by Dean Rhea. Confident and authoritative, she barked, “Relinquish the student’s phone.”
Kronya groaned. “Does everyone have an army?”
“Who was that brat?” Solon rubbed his temples.
Thales, however, drew himself up. “Make no mistake, dog of the apostate. Your miserable life will be cut short.”
The Agarthans did not notice the small red light appear on each of their chests.
A long suffering sigh escaped Catherine, for the owners of the three guns trained on her suspects had promised her a ten minute head start. Rolling her eyes, she ordered. “Everyone, down.”
Three sniper shots, silent and swift.
Catherine stood, rubbing her temples. "I thought you said you were giving me 10 to interrogate them.”
Shamir materialized from the shadows beside Catherine. “I counted to ten, didn’t I?”
“I was there, I heard it,” Jeralt agreed, cocking his rifle as he followed behind.
“Me too,” Byleth agreed. She holstered her rifle, instead approaching the bodies to rifle through their pockets.
“That's not…” Catherine sighed again, but she could not meet Shamir’s eye without a smile. “Alright,” she assented. “But we are going by the book now.”
“Of course,” Byleth called, not pausing her search. “Everything by the book… except for the phone.”
Catherine scoffed. “We need the phone, it’s evidence.”
“About that,” Jeralt shrugged. “Turns out someone else needs it more.”
“Four months salary more,” Byleth piped up. She found the phone in Solon’s pocket. The latest iPhones allegedly can withstand 10 meters of water for up to an hour, but disappointingly, it could not endure one Dragon Flayn hurling it against a modest brownstone. “Aha! Found it.”
Catherine would have preferred not to have this fight - again. And on a weeknight no less. But Catherine was also not one to back down. “You won’t, because it’s evidence. ” She started towards Byleth. “We are not pawning off evidence.”
“Wait.” Shamir casually grasped Catherine’s shoulder. “Word on the street is, some dangerous people want that phone.”
“Dangerous and rich.” Jeralt muttered
Shamir hardly paused. “Seems like it would be in Dean Rhea’s best interest to give such risky individuals what they want, so they don’t come for it themselves.”
“Much safer this way,” Byleth nodded solemnly.
“How about this…” Shamir slips the phone from Byleth. Taking out the SIM card and the SD card, she passed the broken shell to Catherine. With a wink, she said, “For evidence.”
Catherine sighed indulgently. “I really can’t believe you guys.”
“Just making the world a safer place,” Shamir smirked back.
Catherine would have loved to fight the point, but Thales groaned, stirring on the ground. “Are you here to do the dirty work for those filthy Children of the Goddess?” he groaned furiously.
The party shared a confused glance amongst themselves.
“Children of the Goddess?” Jeralt scoffed. “We don’t care about that.”
Shamir cocked a Tommy gun. “We’re just here for a clean-up.”
And they cleaned up the mess as delicately as three tommy guns and a hero’s relic could manage.