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Chapter Text

"The weak are those who cling to hope, and die with it. The strong are those who cling to life, and survive."

(by the First Emperor Vollachia, before the Great Calamity)

Chapter 1: Crimson Afterglow

Hope.

Hope meant many things. It took on many forms.

For some, hope was a trivial thing. A merchant might hope to find someone interested in buying an expensive item, or a desk worker might hope for a day off to spend with relatives.

For some, hope was grand. An emperor would hope to rule over the entire world, or a great general would hope to go down in history with fame and renown.

Hope was what kept people going. It gave them purpose, motivation, and helped them reach their goals.

Hope was what everyone clung to in times of need. When the night seemed endless or a challenge insurmountable, people held onto hope as best they could and trudged on through.

For a certain man, a lowly officer in service to a majestic empress-to-be, hope lay on the battlefield, dead like the woman he had sworn to serve until his last breath.

Off in the distance, explosions still rocked the forest. Here and there, a scream pierced the deafening silence, resonating and echoing until it died out. Corpses, torn and mutilated and burned and maimed, littered the area as far as the eye could see, their blood seeping into the roots underneath the scorched dirt.

He took a step, forcing his body to keep moving. To stay still was to give up, and to give up was to die.

But, had he not given up already?

All was lost. Everything he had dedicated his life for, the cause he had bled and killed for, had gone up in flames, turned to ashes by that detestable brat's Yang Sword.

Another step, and something under his torn boot squelched, seeped in through the cracks in his footwear. In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to look down.

Of course, what lay beneath him had once been one of his comrades, bearing the emblem of House Godwin on that mangled uniform's breast pocket. The body had been cleaved apart in so many pieces that it was hard to call it a body at this point. It was difficult to even identify if…they had even been human or not.

He forced himself to look upward, blinking away the tears that obscured his vision. The forest around him rippled with the battle's aftershocks. A yell pierced the air, a guttural cry for vengeance, and was cut short as a vile wail marked that warrior's end.

Curse them! Curse them all! Agony and misery upon Houses Abellux and Benedict! If those dogs had known their place…

How did it even come to this?

It was only yesterday that victory was in Lady Godwin's grasp, and the Crystal Palace all but flew her flag. This was a clean-up, tying up some loose ends before their victorious march on Lupugana itself. This was what Drizen Vollachia had intended, glory to him. This was what he had expected since the day the Selection Ceremony began, and those despicable rats had just…just…!

It was supposed to be a day of revelry, not of mourning…

Everything was so cold, and so hot…did he have a fever? That cut on his forehead was barely even noticeable, but it was bleeding an awful lot.

What did he even have left? What would he say to his father and mother? Would they welcome him?

Why did he survive, when he had nothing? It was even more merciful to stumble across that butcher, the Blue Lightning, and let him put an end to this.

How? How had he even made it here? Had the strings of fate dragged him to this dreadful place so he could meet his inglorious end, or so he could live on with this appalling memory haunting him forever?

A root snagged his foot, and he fell face-first on the dirt. It barely hurt, for some reason. There was a sting in his face, though, as he stood, and he noticed his nose was twisted unnaturally. What a shame. He would have taken a broken finger or two over a broken nose. He was quite fond of his face.

If he ever got out of this forest, he wa-

Thwip.

Something struck his back, right between his shoulder blades. It felt like a bee sting, but…numb? It was…hard to explain…

As if…he could not feel anything…

Without warning, his knees gave way, and he fell once more, this time on his back. Whatever had lodged itself below his nape dug itself even deeper, but it did not hurt. Nothing hurt.

Above him, the canopy of trees blocked out the sunlight, but a single ray fell on him. What a coincidence. What luck…

One of the tree branches moved, and a figure hopped down from one branch to another, then repeated that until it landed on the ground, a meter or two behind him.

When the figure approached, he recognized the hated emblem of House Abellux on its shoulder. That was all he could see, for some reason. His vision was getting blurry. On its right hand, the figure carried a long stick of sorts. It was like…a tube. A…a fuyika, was it? Fukiya?

"Tough luck, Godwin dreg." A woman's voice. Muffled. Why was his hearing not working either? "Give your 'empress' my regards, rat."

He saw the figure raise its boot, and as it came do-

The battle for the Abellux Domain would, in the coming years, be given many names.

The facts of the battle were thus: in an attempt to bring the Emperor Selection Ceremony to a close, Lamia Godwin led a charge against her half-brother and greatest rival, Vincent Abellux, with the aid of Prisca Benedict.

When the battle ended, the Ceremony continued, but House Godwin would be put out of the running forever.

Some claimed that Lamia turned tail and fled, disappearing to live peacefully in shame, or maybe to plot her return in secret. Some claimed that, when faced with insurmountable odds, she surrendered and was executed, or held captive, or maybe she never surrendered at all, and instead turned her Yang Sword upon herself to spare her House the shame of seeing its leader in chains.

House Abellux's soldiers had clear orders. They were to make an example of House Godwin, so that none may threaten the future Emperor of Vollachia. As such, of those who fought on the losing side, few escaped with their lives. Those that did not were used as a warning against any who might try their hand against the soon-to-be Vincent Vollachia.

A few officers, those of the highest rank, were spared under the condition that they join House Abellux. Officers of lower rank were not given the opportunity, and were slain outright.

By the time the battle was over, hours after it began, the forest ran red with blood. All in the Empire, from Glarasia to Chaosflame, understood the cost of crossing Vincent Abellux and his henchmen.

Not that it would amount to much, though that would come to be known in its own time…

It was in that very forest, however, that the future of the Empire - of the world - changed forever, when the threads of fate were woven by the Observers on high.

The first thread was a lowly officer without a cause, delivered on a silver platter to his tormentors, to the very men and women who destroyed what he cared for.

The second thread was a great strategist, a man who could outsmart almost anyone in the Empire, who saw the great importance of taking a risk and going against his master.

The third thread was a mercenary, one whose employer wound up losing, and whose very life was threatened in what was supposed to be an easy job.

The fourth thread was a young Spirit-Eater, overflowing with loyalty and wracked by guilt, who served House Benedict since childhood and would betray it for its own good.

The fifth thread, the final thread, would fall into place without the Observers' influence, woven by someone else, a power that they could not match.

That last thread would be the most influential, the one to bring all the others together, and its actions would change history forever.

That thread was…

It was hot.

It was so hot.

He was sweating. His clothes felt like they were sticking to him, and they were all moist. His black hair was damp and uncomfortable. What little sunlight broke through the dense mantle of leaves high in the air, atop the trees, felt hot enough to leave burn marks.

What had happened?

Japan usually had a nice weather in November. At most, it would get a little warm, but nothing more. And now, suddenly, it was…hot. And it was humid. And it was filled with trees. And…it was so silent.

Nothing stirred. The tree leaves above swayed gently in the wind, letting some sunlight filter through, but the soft breeze was the only sound he could hear. It felt nice, and it was welcome in this searing heat, but the silence was unnerving. It was scary.

Where was everyone?

Where?

Where was his m-

"ABELLUX FILTH! YOU'LL PA-"

A shrill scream pierced the silence, and then ended as abruptly as it began.

Slowly, steadily, he backed up until he felt himself hit a tree. Where was he? What was going on?

In his panic, he did not hear the footsteps approaching him until a figure stood in front of him.

Whatever it was, it was not human. Its skin was a dark red patchwork of scales. Its fingers ended in long black claws. Its face was elongated and reptilian, like a dinosaur's, with sharp fangs, and its whole body was covered in splotches of red. The thing was like a small red Godzilla dressed in an orange coat, and carrying…something on its back. Judging by the sharp end, it was likely a spear.

As he looked up at the creature, it grimaced, showing off its rows of teeth. A strange sound came from its throat, and it took him a moment to recognize it as laughter. In a raspy deep voice, the creature spoke, "Well~, this is most unusual~. What brings a chil~d to a warzone l~ike this?" It wet its lips with a forked tongue, hissing quietly. "And you have no uniform, do you now? To which House do you bel~ong, boy?"

"Um…uh-mm…"

"Tsss, does that mean you don't know?" The creature narrowed its eyes and tilted its head. "How strange, indeed. Who're you with, then? Who brought you here?" A pause. "The Gairahal~ Tropics are no pl~ace for a chil~d."

"B-b-but, I don't…I…I'm l-lost…"

"L~ost? And you just wandered into the biggest battl~e in the worl~d? Tsss, I shoul~d find your parents and g-"

For a heartbeat, it seemed as if all sound had vanished from a world, and in the next, it returned at full force. A deafening blast shook the ground and turned the world white for an instant, then ripped through the silence like a lightning strike. A few rays of sunlight beamed down on him as the trees above wobbled in the ensuing shockwave. He pushed himself against the tree behind him, curling up in fear, while the reptilian creature in front of him just tilted its head in confusion.

With a sharp inhale, the giant lizard hissed, "Well~, this has been l~ovel~y, but it seems not all~ of L~amia's manservants understood their…situation. A tragedy, what happened today, but oh well~." It lowered its voice, as if to whisper, but spoke loudly enough for him to hear. "I do bel~ieve Miss Benedict woul~d benefit from my services…tsss, how annoying. I'll~ have to work with that dog. Better than the L~ightning, I suppose…"

It muttered something to itself and turned around, facing away from him. Nothing of note lay in that direction, or in any direction, for that matter. It was all just trees, a forest as far as the eye could see.

"Tsss, al~right, boy," the lizard sighed, raising its head. "Best of l~uck. My future job is call~ing, and who am I to refuse?" It began walking forward, away from him, then turned to look at him from the corner of its eye and sneered, but did not stop. "If you get out of here, l~ook for me in L~upugana. Perhaps we'll~ meet under better circumstances then."

Another explosion tore through the relative quiet, making the world tremble, and by the time it came to an end, the lizard was nowhere to be seen.

Blue was Cecilus's color.

It had always been that way, for as long as he could remember. His first sword had been blue, his hair was blue, his clothes were blue, his sandals were blue, his eyes were blue, his father's hair was blue, and so on and so forth.

Blue was his color, which meant that he was a little irritated at the fact that his perfectly-blue clothes had been practically dyed red by all those House Godwin soldiers he cut down. Seriously, how hard was it to show a little decency and not bleed all over the guy who just slashed them in half? Rude!

And now, when he got back to the manor, he would have to put his whole outfit to wash! Chisha was a neat guy, but sometimes his desire to keep the Abellux manor clean bordered on obsession, and he had his eyes on Cecilus ever since the latter accidentally toppled a priceless vase in the manor's dining room during a fight. Seriously, they were blaming him! Him! And not the assassin who broke in through a window and left a trail of glass and blood all over the right wing's ground floor hallway!

To top it all off, Vincent had said this might be the last major battle of the Selection Ceremony, which meant that someone would soon claim the throne. All fine by Cecilus, really, as he did not care much who reigned in the Empire, but an end to the Ceremony meant a period of peace! Peace meant sitting around doing nothing! And where was the fun in that!? Was he destined to become some lame office worker like Chisha!? The horror!

"Is that because you don't know how to write?"

"I'm perfectly capable of writing! And reading, too! How do you think the world's star actor reads his own script!?"

"With…with your eyes, dumbass."

"Well, duh! How else!?"

"Hm. Do you accept criticism?"

"Nope! This conversation's over!"

Cecilus had been assigned a most-important task during the battle: to wipe out Godwin's Pruning Corps, her most powerful soldiers and personal bodyguards. He succeeded without breaking a sweat, of course, but now he was left with the much-less-riveting task of hunting down any survivors who might try to make a run for it. In Vincent's exact words: "The less you clean up now, the more my venerable self will have to dispose of later, and that would not bode well for you."

Putting the very vague threat aside for a moment, that honestly sounded awesome! Maybe His Majesty did not like fighting but Cecilus did! He could and would handle these measly ruffians today and tomorrow and whenever they might show up! Like his favorite motto said: "Why do today what you can leave for tomorrow?"

Nonetheless, he was stuck with this horrid assignment! All he had to do was walk around the Tropics for a while and look for anyone with an orange uniform! At least they could give him some entertainment, right!? Maybe put some traps in the forest so he could have a little challenge or something…

Right now, his only real challenge was not yawning or passing out from boredom. Oh, that, and trying to make small talk with his co-worker, the Spirit Eater.

Cecilus barely knew Arakiya, to be fair. He knew of her title, that she served Prisca, and that she currently felt like, quote, "Someone fished her out from the bottom of the Great Cascade" because she - true to her name - devoured a part of the Great Spirit Muspel.

It did not much bother Cecilus that this girl his age almost committed deicide, but some others seemed to take it as a big deal, so…whatever.

What did bother Cecilus was the girl's gloom-and-doom personality. She was still recovering from her gamble with Muspel, that much he understood, but that was still no reason for her to act like…like some lost puppy! She had spent the better part of the last two hours sulking and pouting and giving terse one-word answers to any attempt at conversation he began. Only rarely did she genuinely interact with him, and even then, it was only to insult him! Seriously, if she was not the only living person he could see for blocks around, he would have walked away! There were few in the world who would scoff at the signature Segmunt charisma!

When he pointed that out to her, however, the Spirit Eater only replied by whispering, "Careful not to fall off your ego and die."

The Blue Lightning smirked. That jab hurt - he was the humblest guy around! - but that was probably the longest sentence she had spoken in the past few hours! Progress!

"Haha! I'm very careful when it comes to that!" he boasted, puffing his chest out. Of course he was! He was the most careful guy around, too! Well…maybe Vincent had him beat in that regard. "After all, when people tell me to break a leg, I'm sure they don't mean it literally, ha!"

"I do." Arakiya's tone was completely flat, as if she were commenting on the color of the sky. "I mean it literally."

With a fake gasp of pain, the swordsman clutched his heart with both hands and winced. "Ouch! You wound me, lil' doggie! Were I not destined for greatness, I would've quit acting by now! So much hate for such a modest rising star!"

For the first time, Arakiya turned to look him in the eye and showed an iota of emotion, twisting her mouth in a disgusted sneer. She seemed on the verge of speaking, but kept quiet, merely shaking her head in disbelief.

Cecilus crossed his arms and kept walking alongside her, wearing an exaggerated pout on his face that he hoped would convey the full extent of his hurt. She did not show any reaction to it.

Suddenly, the Spirit Eater froze, narrowing her eyes. She lifted that strange three-pronged wand she carried and pointed it at a random tree. For a few seconds, she stared at it, unmoving, and showing as little emotion as she had shown earlier. Cecilus put a hand to his chin in thought and was about to make a snarky comment when he heard leaves rustle in the direction of the tree.

"I surrender!" came a shrill voice behind the tree trunk. Its owner emerged carefully, a young, petite woman in her middle teens wearing the orange uniform of House Godwin. Her furry ears and whiskers marked her as some sort of feline demi-human, and a very scared one at that. She seemed to be barely holding herself together, and teetering on the brink of a full emotional breakdown. Cecilus supposed that her wound, a gash along her right arm that left it hanging by a scrap of skin, played a role in that.

Arakiya held her wand pointed at the surrendering soldier, her face blank enough to have been put as the picture under "stoic" in the dictionary.

"I'm sorry," the soldier half-sobbed, raising her good arm. A lone tear slid down her face and fell on the forest's ground below. "I surrender. Please. I'm sorry, I didn't…they told me to come here! They would have killed me if I refused!" She let out an anguished cry and fell on her knees, looking up at them. "You…you're not after me! I'm just a soldier! My officer, his name is…he's a First-Class Soldier! Criff Montier! I'm sorry! I didn't…if I'd known…!"

Cecilus scratched his head. "Gee, doggie, this girl's down on her luck. I'm kinda surprised she's even in the Godwin army, y'know?"

That comment made the soldier's face go pale. "No! You don't understand! I'm…I am an officer! I was in c-charge of uni-niforms! A logistics officer, they called me! I ov-versaw th-the uniform inspections fo-for a few squads! I'm not who you're-you are after!"

"Bo~ring," he whistled. "Uniforms? That's a death sentence! Death by boredom! Who gets excited about looking at a couple old clothes, huh? And here I'd thought we'd found someone worth our time…"

Arakiya drew her wand back, and her expression did not change one bit as she called forth a horizontal blade of invisible air and sent it forward. The Blue Lightning turned away as it cut cleanly through the soldier's neck and the tree behind her, vanishing afterward.

As the soldier's corpse fell on the ground, Cecilus raised an eyebrow. "Did you re~ally have to do that? I mean, I'm not complaining, but you could've given it a bit of flair. It's super depressing to just kill someone like that."

"'Flair?'" The younger girl looked insulted that he had even suggested that. "You save your 'flair' for yourself, Cecilus Segmunt. Some of us take our jobs seriously."

Without waiting for him, she resumed walking forward, stepping over the recently-deceased, headless soldier and the forming pool of blood under her. Cecilus followed close behind, side-stepping the cadaver so as to not get blood on his sandals. Why did he have to get paired up with the one person in the whole world who stood as his opposite!?

And yet, as she walked away, he smiled triumphantly at the fact that she had said his name for the first time.

Chisha was probably having the worst day of his life, but it was a business day, and he could not call in sick…or wounded.

His numerous titles and magnificent intellect made him a crucial part of any plan Vincent Abellux drew up, so the Emperor-to-be could hardly afford his best advisor a day off, even if the other man deserved it after being run through the chest and turned white as an egg. Still, letting the man take such injuries was a slip-up on Vincent's behalf, and he owned up to his mistakes like a sensible man, so he allowed for this meeting to take place in the makeshift medical tent where his soldiers were recovering.

Chisha, as an officer and a Second-Class General, received finer accommodations, which included a very thin curtain to give some privacy and access to exactly one painkiller, which did not help much given that the man probably had his liver up his throat and looked like somebody replaced all his blood with paint.

Holding a conversation with such a grievously wounded man was already difficult, but it was made even harder by the incessant groans of pain coming from throughout the tent. There were almost three dozen people in tents like this one, and about a dozen of them in this one specifically, all of them injured so badly that the healers argued they would not survive a trip back to the Abellux manor. If it had been up to Vincent, he would have put all his healers to work on getting Chisha back up, even if it meant leaving the others to bleed out, but someone had talked him out of that idea.

Well…he always did have a soft spot for his sister, so he supposed he could grant her request this one time.

As the Abellux heir sat on a very uncomfortable stool beside his advisor's blood-stained bed, he gave a cursory glance around the "room." It was really just the back end of the tent, and it contained little more than a bed, a stool, and a chest with a myriad of medicinal herbs and potions atop it. Vincent had heard rumors of healing magic potent enough to make lethal wounds become a thing of the past, though most rumors placed that magic in Lugnica, far from his reach.

For a couple seconds, he held his gaze on the sleeping Chisha, who barely stirred. Such healing magic would have come in very handy at a time like this, but only a handful of powerful healers existed in Vollachia. It was said healing magic required a care for life, which was hard to find in the Empire. What a pain…

Still, Vincent had already set a plan in motion. If he was successful, he would secure the throne and the Empire in one fell swoop. All he needed was to get word from the Imperial Hand agents in Lugnica. Any day now…

On the bed, Chisha groaned and opened his eyes with noticeable effort. It took him a moment to come to his senses, but once he did, he sighed wearily and crossed his hands over his chest. The General's black uniform did a decent enough job at concealing just how much blood he had lost.

Despite his injuries, Chisha managed a weak smile, which soon vanished when he began coughing. As soon as he was done, he spoke, "I must say…I believed Your Highness would be…preoccupied with other matters…especially with our recent victory, no?"

"You have heard of it," Vincent stated. He was not surprised. So many soldiers in one spot, and all it would take was one of them to start a rumor. Thankfully, this rumor in particular was true. "Lamia Godwin is dead, and among the prisoners is her advisor, Berstetz Fondalfon."

"Sir Fondalfon is wise." Despite his hoarse voice, Chisha sounded enthusiastic. "He surely…knows better than to…fight in the name of petty revenge. I must say…I look forward to our talks." That much was to be expected. In the past months, Berstetz had proven Chisha's equal more than once, and if it had not been for a select few key figures like Cecilus, the outcome of this battle might have been radically different.

Shaking his head, Vincent leveled his tone as he said, "Fondalfon is a footnote, at the moment. Manesque will surely go into hiding without Lamia's support."

"Yes, yes…Palladio Manesque, the Evil Eye. He can hardly…stand up to us…Your Highness. Let me call upon…our Shinobis…or perhaps our friends in the…Hand."

That got the Emperor-to-be's attention, and he finally gave a minuscule smile. Chisha knew very well that the Imperial Hand, the Emperor's assassins and spies, were forbidden from participating in the Selection Ceremony, and he would never have mentioned them…unless…

"Why, Your Highness," the wounded man nodded, "By the time…we get to Lord Manesque's estate…he'll be long gone to Lugnica, I fear. We'd have more luck…looking for him…in the Fourtour Plains." Chisha's smile returned, and his pale face seemed lit up with delight, despite his weakness. "I must say…I'm sure a certain…Argyle will tell us…Your Highness."

This was it. At last, the Empire knew the path toward its future. Healing magic would soon become one of its most powerful tools, and it would only be part of an ever-expanding arsenal. Drizen Vollachia had been a fool for the most part, and Vincent would have been ashamed to call the man his father, but the old man's fixation on war granted him the drive to do whatever the Empire needed whenever it was needed.

Such as infiltrating a web of spies into Lugnica. A web of spies that, now, had given him the name and location of the person who would grant the Empire its latest weapon.

Chisha laughed softly, his voice low and gravelly, but Vincent was not laughing. This was no laughing matter.

His agents had their target. Now, it was time for the more difficult part.

They would not fail.

"Alright, now I'm thinking of a number between one and ten!"

"Seven."

"Again!? That's the fourth time in a row!"

"Then pick a different number, nitwit."

Cecilus bent down and picked up a rock. It was shaped like an egg, and white, which was pretty interesting. Not many people in Vollachia owned egg rocks. That was neat. "Huh? D'you say something?"

He heard Arakiya groan, a couple steps behind him. With a grin, he turned and tossed the egg rock at her, and she burned it to ash before it got within arm's length of her. The embers flew away, scattered in the soft breeze, and Cecilus's smile vanished. There went his egg rock, his only source of joy in this forest.

Two hours and a half. That was how much of his life he had wasted looking for survivors in the forest. It was depressing! He could have been doing literally anything else, but no, he had to be here, in the middle of nowhere, doing something he did not even enjoy!

In the past two hours and a half, they only found three survivors from Godwin's army. Two of those were sniveling soldiers who begged for mercy and swore to never ever go against Vincent again. He was not interested in those, and he paid little heed when the Spirit Eater disposed of them.

One of those, however, had been a six-armed giant! Cecilus had recognized the Pruning Corps emblem on his chest. It made sense, after all, to assign one of Vollachia's toughest demi-human species as a bodyguard. The giant had been an officer, a Third-Class General! They had found him sitting cross-legged in the middle of the forest, and Cecilus had tried his hardest to convince him to leave. The Pruning Corps had proven no match for the Blue Lightning, but maybe with a few more years under his belt, this General could have grown into an opponent worth dueling!

Safe to say, Arakiya squashed those hopes by beheading him like the rest, claiming that it was her princess's orders.

That officer had been the only ray of hope Cecilus had found in the entire Gairahal Tropics. The egg rock counted as half a ray, at best, and Arakiya had done away with both!

In the distance, Cecilus spotted a figure approaching, and he grinned once again. Maybe this time, the little doggie would not ruin his chance at having some fun. She did seem ready to do just that, narrowing her eyes and lifting her wand toward the stranger.

Both of them turned out to be mistaken in their assumptions, however. The newcomer was a tall woman, clad in the night-black uniform of House Abellux. She was carrying a motionless blonde man with a small dart on his back. The woman, well into her middle years, bowed slightly when she recognized them, and muttered something about glory and Vincent before passing them. Cecilus frowned, disappointed, and kept walking, but Arakiya remained frozen. She tilted her head to the side, scowled, and looked toward her left. There was nothing there but trees.

"Wha~t's up?" he chuckled, taking a step toward her. "Find something interesting? Please? I think we could do with something interesting to pass the time, do you?"

"Quiet." The Spirit Eater pursed her lips, staring intently at the vast expanse of nothingness ahead of her. "Someone's…crying?"

"Yeah! Me! From boredom! Gee, you couldn't find anything worth our time!?"

A tiny flame appeared at the end of his ponytail, scorching his hair for a few seconds before vanishing. "I told you to be quiet," Arakiya spat. "Let me listen."

He was quiet, and he could still hear nothing. Arakiya, on the other hand, did seem very intent on whatever she was hearing. So much so, in fact, that she began walking toward it. Whatever, he thought. As long as something worth his time came out of this, he would not complain. Not that some crybaby would be worth his time.

He followed Arakiya - lagging a few steps behind - and after almost a minute of walking, he heard a faint cry in the distance. The Spirit Eater gripped her wand tightly and shook her head. "Lizardman footsteps," she pointed out. "House Godwin had a lizardman mercenary."

Cecilus looked at the ground, noticed the footsteps, and chuckled. That mercenary had been one of Godwin's finest. Maybe he would be worth the Blue Lightning's time.

They followed the crying to a particular tree that looked just like all the others in the Tropics. At its base was a child, most likely only a few years younger than Cecilus himself. His black hair was all ruffled and messy, and if his eyes were not so mean-looking and teary, he might have passed as Vincent's younger brother. Vincent never cried. Cecilus suspected the man was born with that permanent frown on his face.

What stood out the most, however, was the boy's outfit: a vibrant multicolored shirt with short orange pants. His shoes were also strange, and very different from what anyone in Vollachia would ever wear. Overall, it seemed to be a noble's attire, but it was unlike anything Cecilus had seen before, and it seemed made from a different material than any he had ever seen. It sure did not resemble his kimono at all.

To his right, the Spirit Eater pointed her wand at the kid, who whimpered and scurried backward until he hit the tree trunk behind him. Cecilus looked between the strange boy and Arakiya, then reached out and stole the dog-girl's wand, shoving it into his belt, beside his swords. The boy turned his gaze toward him, his eyes filled with fear. Arakiya just glared at him and extended her hand.

"Segmunt." Her tone was sharper than her wind blades. "Give me the wand, Segmunt." She stepped toward him and tried to take the wand from his belt, but he sidestepped and easily avoided her. "It doesn't belong to you, give it back. I'm not chasing you. Hand it over."

"Now, now," Vollachia's strongest half-sang, taking another step backwards to stay out of his companion's reach, "I can't just give you this back, lil' doggie!" He lowered his voice a bit. "See, every time we come across somebody with a speck of orange on their clothes, you cut their heads off before I can properly introduce myself. How am I supposed to be the world's lead actor if you kill my audience?"

"This child is hardly your audien-"

"But he could be, right? Right!? And besides, why would Lamia even bring a kid to a battlefield, huh?"

Arakiya seemed to stare into his soul. "Same reason they brought us."

"You're kidding!" He pointed to the sniveling child and gave a disbelieving laugh. "You think he's on our level!? Wow, that explains why House Benedict is the weakest of them all…"

"This is no laughing matter. You don't know why he's here, and you don't know what he can do. Give me my wand."

Cecilus yawned as he dodged her once again, walking toward the sniveling kid by the tree. He stretched his arm and grabbed the kid by the back of his shirt, effortlessly lifting him up to his feet. "We~ll, Vincent asked me to bring him anyone of importance alive, and I certainly think some crybaby in the middle of a warzone counts as someone of importance."

"You think?"

"There's a first time for everything, lil' doggie!" With a chuckle, the Blue Lightning began walking in the direction he presumed the Abellux Domain was. "You'll have to ask Vincent for your wand, by the way!"

He felt the boy struggle in his grip. "H-hey!" he cried out, fighting in vain against Vollachia's strongest. "Where are y-you going!? Where are you taking me!? Let me go! I want m-my dad!" He put up a futile attempt at digging his heels in the dirt, but Cecilus kept going like nothing, his smirk growing wider every moment.

"Listen, kid," Cecilus half-laughed, "If your dad came here, he's probably dead! Condolences! Now, why don't we get you somewhere that's not a boring old forest?"

"Segmunt," came Arakiya's razor-sharp voice. "Segmunt."

"What!? Aren't you coming!? And I told you already, you'll get your wand back later!"

There was a moment of silence, and Cecilus had taken more than a dozen steps before Arakiya hissed, "You're going the wrong way."

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see the dog-girl pointing to her left. His smile did not falter as he retraced his steps and set off toward the Abellux Domain, but heading the right way this time.

After a few seconds, he heard Arakiya start walking behind him.

He was scared.

There was no shame in admitting it. He was truly afraid of this place, of these people!

He was in his home, he had to be! This had to be a very bad dream! Or some sort of poor joke!

The blue guy had dragged him here, literally! And now he was stuck in a weird medieval carriage with some half-asleep man. There were lots of mean-looking people around, and most of them were not human! There were some like that lizard creature from earlier!

But the worst was that girl! The one with the wand! She kept glaring at him like he had done something wrong! The blue guy had been covered in something, though he refused to believe it was blood, but it was the girl with the wand who really terrified him.

"Kid," came a tired voice, and he turned to look at the half-asleep with whom he shared this…carriage thing. The man was slender, almost wiry, and his head was adorned with the brightest yellow hair that he had ever seen. His brown eyes were half-lidded, which made him look asleep, and his long nose was bent at a weird angle. A thick layer of something - probably blood, but he did not want to admit it - was splattered across his entire face and even on his muddy orange uniform. One of his black boots was missing, and the one he still had bore a large tear across its left side.

The man's eyes, although mostly closed, seemed to be looking at him.

"Hey, kid," he repeated in a high-pitched yet hoarse voice. "This…you shouldn't…how are you here?"

"I…I don't know," he admitted. It was true, but the man did not seem to believe him. "I was…I wasn't here earlier, but…"

"War is…no place for children…you need…to…get back…parents…"

"I want to! B-but, how!?"

The man laughed, and halfway through, his chuckles became sobs. "They…wouldn't hurt you…no…let you go…unlike…me…kill me…"

He felt his face blanch. "Huh!? But, what did you do!? Who are they!?"

"They're the winners," the man sighed. "I lost…and they didn't…"

There was silence. He tried to understand the situation, the fact that this man would die for "losing," but…

"My parents…wouldn't be proud…me…"

A lone tear slid down the man's face, splashing onto his pumpkin-colored coat. With another sigh, he closed his eyes.

"Hey! You two!"

A woman stepped into sight, standing outside the carriage and flanked by two men with swords. She wore a red uniform, and her face was fixed into a scowl. That was what he tried to focus on, and not the fact that she only had one eye. Not like a pirate, no: she only had one eye, right in the center of her face, above her nose.

"Alright, you two blemishes," she spat with almost inhuman anger. "You're the only prisoners so far, so I have to deal with you. What're your names?"

The orange man mumbled something, cleared his throat, and said, "Criff…Criff Montier…First-Class Soldier…if you're goin'...to hang me or worse…do it now, Abellux flea."

"Did I give you permission to speak, fuckwad?" She bit her lip, and he laughed softly. "It's always the same with you spineless Godwin rats. If it was up to me, I'd throw you a knife and let you end it yourself, but I don't give out the orders here."

"Same difference…it's a knife or…the gallows…"

"Hm, no, word has it you're due for the chopping block. It's fun, or so I've heard. No prisoner's ever complained about it."

The man chuckled drily, and the one-eyed woman turned her malicious gaze toward him.

"And you, kid?" she inquired mirthlessly. "I got nothin' on you. The fuck's a kid doing in the Gairahal Tropics anyway? Daddy bring you 'long and leave you for dead?"

"N-no, I-"

"Shut it. I just need your name. Sir Gold will figure out what to do with you later."

He hesitated. This was the very definition of "stranger danger," but then again, everyone here was a stranger, and all of them were putting him in danger.

"Name, kid?" she repeated.

"Subaru. Natsuki Subaru."

"Gee, what a fuckin' name, eh? What're you, Kararagian? How'd you even spell your name anyway? Doesn't sound like anythin' else I heard."

He felt a blush form on his face. "Yo-you must have! It's Subaru! Like the stars!"

The orange man muttered, "Stars don't have names, boy."

"Sure they do!" he retorted. "Of course they do! It's Subaru! Like…like the Pleiades!"

He looked at the woman's face and watched her eye grow wide. The two men escorting her exchanged glances as well. Subaru thought he heard someone mention a tower.

"I'll be back," the woman promised in a grim tone, turning around and leaving with her guards.

Subaru let out a breath he did not know he had been holding as she vanished from sight, and almost jumped when the orange man asked, "Like the Pleiades?"

"Yeah!" The boy tried his best to look confident, and failed. "Like the stars, you know?"

"No one goes around…naming the Pleiades," Criff said, opening his eyes fully for the first time. He seemed to look straight through Subaru. "Only fools do that…fools…and those with too…much knowledge on their hands…"

He leaned forward, and Subaru tried to move backwards but found himself trapped by the carriage.

"I'm getting out of here…Pleiades…and you're going…to help me," the blonde man proclaimed. "We'll call it…mutually beneficial…"

A grin formed on his face, baring his bloodied teeth.

"After all…neither of us wants…to die…right?"

Chapter Text

"Not all lies are worth the effort needed to make them seem convincing."

(by Imperial Hand Spymaster Talil Lunzow, ~340 After Calamity)

Chapter 2: A Sheep Amongst Wolves

Cecilus had studied the blade, mastered it, even.

He knew how to deftly wield any sort of sword that he got his hands on. Sure, katanas were his favorite, and this one he currently wielded - inconspicuous as it may be - was among his most prized possessions, solely for being a gift from Rowan, but he could still handle just about any weapon so long as it was at least fifty percent blade and had a handle or a hilt or whatever.

He took pride in being the best swordsman in Vollachia, maybe even the world, though he would only claim the latter once he truly confirmed Reid Astrea was dead. In his experience, the grander the legend, the more likely the subject was still alive and kicking. So long as the Sword Saint was around, Cecilus was fine with being in second place.

That did not mean he planned to stay there though.

It was his responsibility, his duty, to rise to the very top, no matter the cost. He was born to achieve the Heavenly Sword, the pinnacle of swordsmanship, and become the strongest person alive. He was the world's rising star, its lead actor, and he was going to be the only one at the top.

Everyone else could fight for second place, like he had.

Getting to the top was a life's work, though, and despite being the fastest man alive, he had to climb the ranks slowly. That was fine. He could be patient.

Which was why he was currently sitting on a rock, drawing on the dirt with his sword.

His drawing was almost finished when a voice behind him spoke, "Princess said to keep an eye on you."

Cecilus did not exactly jump because that would be undignified but he did turn around in surprise as the Spirit Eater glared at him. It was unsurprising that she found him, given that any soldier nearby could have given her directions, but she also appeared to despise him, and that was reason enough for Cecilus to assume that they would never meet again. "Heya, lil' doggie! Your princess didn't come with you?"

"She told me, 'Keep an eye on that clown my brother hired.' I took that to mean…she was referring to you." She turned her gaze to the drawing in the dirt, and a flicker of confusion flashed across her face, followed swiftly by pure scorn. "What…is that?"

The Blue Lightning scratched his head. "Well, yours truly took some artistic liberties, you see!" His trademark smirk formed on his lips. "Of course, I don't mean to be a critic here - far from it, I only mean the best! - but you won't draw a crowd if you don't learn to smile a little! I suppose those garments help, but clothes don't give an actor their charm, you know?"

Arakiya looked at the drawing, then back at him, then back at the drawing. Her expression remained the same. "What are you even talking about?"

Raising an eyebrow, he gestured at her. "You mean you don't see it? You can hardly go up on stage and deliver your lines all…all gloomy, like you!" He snorted. "I mean, you can, but the audience's not gonna love you!"

Furrowing her brow, the Spirit Eater stared into his soul and quietly inquired, "Is that supposed…to be me?"

"That's right!" came the blue-haired youth's response as he snapped his fingers. "I think that smile suits you much better! Don't you agree?"

The drawing hardly resembled Arakiya at all, aside from the droopy ears, especially since the poorly-drawn Spirit Eater displayed a joyous smile not unlike the Blue Lightning's own. If Cecilus had not outright confirmed it, hardly anyone would have guessed his…masterpiece was inspired by Prisca Benedict's most loyal enforcer.

Said enforcer glowered at him with an unreadable expression, and Cecilus found himself half-glad that she did not have her wand at the moment. Not that he would have shied away from a fight - quite the opposite - but he wanted to preserve his work of art for as long as possible, and she held enough power to obliterate it in the blink of an eye.

His grin grew wider as he realized that his art was safe from any reprisal, and he opened his mouth to make a smug comment about it just as the ground below him exploded upward, raining dirt and rocks upon him. He was unharmed, of course, but he got some dirt in his mouth, and that sucked!

While he was spitting out dirt and trying to rid himself of its taste, Arakiya took a couple steps backwards and crossed her arms. Her expression never changed.

A couple seconds later, Cecilus realized his beautiful art piece had been reduced to a crater in the ground.

"'Like the Pleiades?'"

Chisha's tone was frigid, and sharp enough to slice cleanly through anything, including that fool woman who brought him this report. What was the meaning of this? Was it some terrible joke in poor taste? Who, in their right mind, reported to their superior such an unbelievable tale?

That was what it had to be. There was no other explanation. Certainly, the report could not be true.

First-Class Soldier Taitus, the cyclops woman who had come in here to inform him of this, seemed on the verge of passing out from fear. It was only the fact that other soldiers would think her weak that kept her from displaying her terror. Chisha would hardly punish her for this - he did not believe in slapping sense into people - but his fellow officers did not share this particular opinion. Had Taitus brought the report to anyone other than him, she might have found herself with her reputation more than ruined.

"I am reporting the facts as they were…given to me, General," she stated, taking a deep breath. It was a good response. "The boy said those exact words. Montier - the soldier - showed as much surprise as anyone else there. I doubt there's a connection between the two of them."

Chisha sighed. For all his cunning, he was finding it hard to keep his cool in such a situation and not send the woman off with a warning to never come to him with such a story again. "Montier…is not the focus of this…conversation. I must say, I am…skeptical of your claim, First-Class Soldier. Everyone here…knows how far…House Godwin is willing to go for a single…victory. This might as well be…a ruse to divert our attention."

"I am aware…General. It is due to Godwin's cleverness that we can't discard the possibility of this being real. This is too pathetic to be fabricated! What do they gain by having a child lie to us?"

Pursing his lips, the famed Chisha Gold gave a weak nod. "Bring them here. Both the boy…and Montier. I would like to question them…and find the truth myself."

The cyclops bowed and swiftly left his presence, walking as fast as she could without running.

This situation was truly…perplexing.

Today was doubtlessly a day of celebration for House Abellux. Lamia Godwin, their greatest obstacle on the path to the Crystal Palace, was dead, turned into ashes by the Yang Sword's might. Her top advisors and commanders had either been captured or killed, save for one lucky lizardman who was still being hunted down, and her army was broken. Tonight, House Abellux and its allies would feast.

But before that, there was the small matter of cleaning up, and House Godwin had left quite the mess. Now, an even bigger mess had landed on his lap, one that might just grow too big to handle…for him and for everyone else.

Taitus, for all her loyalty, did not know how deep this particular pond was. She had thrown the word "Pleiades" around like it was nothing, and now it was his responsibility to ensure that nothing terrible came out of it.

There were rumors surrounding the Pleiades Watchtower, and the Great Sage. Rumors that dated back to before the Great Calamity, and the First Emperor Vollachia. Very few knew the truth - Chisha not among them - and that made the situation all the more perilous. If, if, Godwin had hidden a child connected to the Great Sage in their manor without him - or anyone else, for that matter - finding out about it, that was cause for alarm. If said child's connections ran deep, that was cause enough for more than alarm.

As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps the boy was better off in the dark. Should his identity come to light, all enemies of the future Emperor would rush toward him, and that would leave Chisha with the biggest mess the Sacred Vollachian Empire had ever seen.

There was no room for error, here. He was walking a tightrope above a horde of mabeasts. The most negligible lapse in judgment would turn him and the entirety of House Abellux into little more than a footnote in the history books.

And yet, if by some miracle handed down to him by the Observers, he managed to cross that tightrope successfully without bringing ruin to his liege…

His thinking was cut short as Taitus pulled back the curtain that separated his part of the tent from the rest and stepped through after bowing. Behind her came a man and a child.

Criff Montier was not what Chisha expected, but then again, he did not have much of an image in his mind as to what the man should look like. He was only a couple years older than Chisha himself, at most, with a scrap of youth in his face, hidden behind a mask of dried blood that had cascaded down from a large gash on his forehead. Given a bath and time to recover, he might have come across as handsome, but his too-bright curly yellow hair gave Chisha the impression that the other man was wearing a fluffy egg yolk on his head, and his crooked nose seemed his most noticeable facial feature.

The boy, on the other hand, was every bit the enigma he had envisioned. His hair was black, much like Vincent's, with a few spikes at the front. His clothes were the strangest Chisha had ever laid eyes on, and bore runes in a language he could not understand. The boy, although clearly afraid, gave him a challenging scowl. That was going to be a problem. Chisha could hardly afford to let the boy go off and pick a fight with Cecilus, or Arakiya, or literally anyone else. He knew for a fact that most Vollachian Generals had no qualms with sending a child to an early grave.

"Leave us," he commanded, and Taitus obeyed in a heartbeat, vanishing the way she came as if she had never even been there. "I must say, you're not quite…what I expected."

Montier crossed his arms. "I wasn't expecting House Abellux's best…urgh, best tactician to be a bedridden clown." His expression showed discomfort.

"Do you find yourself…alright, sir Montier? Perhaps…you would benefit from…recovering a while longer."

"One of yours…urgh, hit me with a dart. I'm still waking up from that."

"My condolences." Taking a deep breath, the General continued, "I had you…brought here to discuss an important topic. Namely, one you must be familiar with." He turned to the young boy. "You…more than him, I presume."

The boy took a step back and looked down at the floor.

Before Chisha could press him further, Montier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Urgh…so, I guess the secret's out, then. What a mess…I'm guessing we'll be brought…urgh, before Lord Abellux, too."

Chisha smiled softly. "I would not waste His Highness's…time with rumors and tall tales. I must say, that's really all…your story is to me at the moment. I would like for you to change my mind." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And I would quite like…to hear from the boy as well."

There was silence for a few seconds until the boy realized he was supposed to speak. "Um, my name is, it's Natsuki Subaru, mister…sir. I, um, I was, erm, Miss Lamia's personal…assistant?"

"Ah," Montier interrupted, licking his lips nervously. "That is…urgh, a more affectionate way of saying…"

Chisha raised an eyebrow. "Of saying…?"

A pause. "Of saying…well, how about we get onto a more…urgh, important topic? Namely, the Pleaides."

"Indeed," Chisha nodded, motioning with his hand for the boy to continue. "Try not to…leave anything out."

"Yes, sir, um…I was from a country to the east, when…Miss Lamia found me. Mister Montier is…em, was, my superior, and he…um, tried to get me away from the batt-"

"I am not interested…in the battle, young…Subaru, was it? Tell me more of this 'country to the east,' please."

"There are…um, a lot more things there. Like, there's cars, and phones, an-"

"I must say, I am…unfortunately not acquainted with…these terms. Would you kindly explain them to me?"

Subaru looked up, but avoided meeting Chisha's gaze. "Well…uh, phones are…these thingies that you can use to…speak to people far away."

"Like conversation mirrors," Montier added unhelpfully.

The boy went on. "And cars are…vehicles, and you get in them, and drive them, and they take you really far, really fast, and there's a lot of types of them."

"They do not need animals to pull them," came the First-Class Soldier's voice. "Is that not…urgh, fascinating?"

Chisha raised his hand, ordering them both to stop. "A child's imagination is a wonderful thing…sir Montier. All you have convinced me of…is that the child is very creative."

"General Gold, I-"

"You, Montier, are an enemy of House Abellux. Subaru will be spared any punishment, I'm sure…but you remain a hostile combatant."

He looked into the soldier's eyes, watched countless emotions pass through his face. Closing his eyes, Criff took a deep breath and mumbled, "Stars…"

"What?"

Subaru looked up at him, clearly confused, but Criff continued, "The boy…he reads the stars…I've seen him do it. Urgh, did you think House Godwin was bestowed divine luck?" He gave a dry and forced chuckle. "He is…was…Lady Lamia's greatest asset, and biggest secret."

"Is that so?" A frown formed on the General's face. "Why, then I'm sure sir Fondalfon will be more than…glad to confirm such a claim."

"Indeed, General. I'm sure…he will."

The General inhaled, held his breath for a moment, and exhaled. "I must say, I doubt…you will deny my suspicions. Perhaps you are telling the truth…and I intend to find out…but I doubt it. You may leave."

Upon hearing those final words, the soldier bit his lip and patted Subaru on the back, motioning for the boy to follow him, and walked away.

"A 'Stargazer?'"

Subaru looked up at Criff with confusion and fear plastered all over his face. His eyes shone with tears. With his hair and clothes in disarray, he looked as much of a mess on the outside as he probably was on the inside.

Criff had to remind himself once again that the boy was a temporary necessity. After all, he would not consider adopting strange children found in forests to be an enjoyable hobby.

"Stargazers are a myth," he responded, adding a tad of a bite to his words. "There's little proof they're even real." You're going to act like one, though. And you best keep those bastards entertained. After all, the more eyes were watching the supposed Stargazer, the fewer there would be to look after Criff himself.

It was a genius plan. All he needed was a bit of time and money…and cooperation from his newfound accomplice.

The boy scratched his head and sniffled, looking to the outside of the carriage they were being held in. "But then…how am I one?"

Holding back a sigh, the blond man explained, "Stargazers…'read' the stars, whatever that means." He waved his hand with a scoff. "Some claim they can, uh, read the future as well. To me, it's all a bunch of crap…but - as it stands - it's our only way out of here."

It's MY only way out of here, the First-Class Soldier mused to himself. Better make some friends among these filth, kid. You'll be with them forever.

"So…" Subaru's voice was low, as if he was afraid to get in trouble. "How can I…help?"

That's better. "Keep up this whole…thing you've got now. The scared face and all. This Chisha prick will be one step behind us the whole time…as soon as he can walk. Very few people aside from him would keep an eye out for either of us. You play the mystical prophet and I'll play…your caretaker." A smile formed on his lips. A smile for his freedom. "We'll slip away from under their gazes together."

The kid's eyes widened in amazement, and Criff almost laughed. The start was the roughest part. As soon as he was out of this carriage, it would be as easy as selling a leaf to a Kararagian.

His enthusiasm fell apart when he recalled Chisha's words. "Ah…there is a small problem…"

"What is it?" Subaru asked. His innocent expression made Criff almost feel bad about what he was planning. Almost.

"Berstetz Fondalfon."

"Bersten…huh?"

Criff frowned. Such disrespect in one so young. "Lord Fondalfon is…was Lady Godwin's top advisor. He is a captive, much like us. I do not know if he will aid our plan…especially since he knows nothing of it."

Subaru looked at him with the dumbest stare Criff had ever seen on another living being. "But…if mister Fudelphone doesn't know about us, how can he help?"

"That's precisely the issue: I…don't think he will." A smile formed on the soldier's lips despite the situation. "Most likely scenario's that I get executed anyway, and you get…well, I don't know what they'll do to you."

There was silence for a few seconds as he pondered the realization that his life might as well be over now. In the next few minutes, someone would come get him and drag him to the chopping block, so that he could feel the headsman's blade for the short instant it took to behead him.

He was dead either way.

He would die a liar, ensnared by his own desperate scheme. No revenge would be carried out by his hand, no shield of fate would form between him and his executioners. Salvation was beyond his reach. Survival, as it stood, was a grander dream than any other he could hope for.

Criff had never been a religious man, but at this moment, a silent prayer was all he could give to hope for the best.

Chisha was getting some much-deserved rest when the soldiers escorted their prisoner to where he lay.

There was a slight shuffling noise as someone pulled the only stool in the room close to the General's bed. Once that was over, he opened his eyes at last and - enduring the almost-blinding pain - turned his neck to meet the newcomer's gaze.

Berstetz Fondalfon was, in almost every way, Chisha's complete opposite. It was as if the General were looking into a dark mirror of himself. The man was old, with a mellow appearance, and dressed in a rather simple long orange robe. His bushy mustache, when added to his habit of keeping his eyes almost closed all the time, made him come across as a sweet grandfather. The only thing they shared was their white hair, though that was something Chisha himself had recently acquired.

Since the start of the Emperor Selection Ceremony, Chisha had found himself constantly at odds with Lamia Godwin and her army, who seemed to know his every move before he even thought about it. The mastermind behind such strategies was none other than Berstetz, and the General had gained respect for his senior counterpart.

A part of him wondered if the sentiment was mutual.

Recent revelations - or, rather, rumors - sowed doubts within his mind that Berstetz had been as cunning as he had first appeared. Now was the time to dispel said rumors…or, in the worst case, confirm them.

"Thank you for accommodating my requests," Godwin's advisor spoke in a soft voice. His tone, directed at Chisha, was akin to that of a father speaking to his estranged child. "I wish to offer you congratulations, first and foremost. Your victory is…well-earned. I would bow, but my bones are hardly what they used to be. I fear if I do so…well, I may never stand straight again."

"It is good to find you…in such humor." Chisha regarded the man carefully. No one should be so…jovial after their master's death. Either he was up to something, or Chisha had greatly overestimated his loyalty to House Godwin. Both could prove troublesome. "As for your requests…they were nothing out of the ordinary. His Highness…has authorized me to…grant you anything within my power, save for your freedom or death. That…is up to you."

Berstetz brought a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. "Dear me, I fear this talk of death makes me quite nervous. It is true, I am beyond my prime, but that is no thing to tell an oldster like myself." His lips curled up ever-so-slightly. Anyone other than Chisha might have missed it. "And this 'freedom' you speak of, well…even paradise can be a prison, if one is not allowed to leave."

The pale General allowed himself a smile, though he was far from pleased. "Lord Fondalfon, surely you don't…compare our Empire to a prison. Our offer to you would make it…quite the opposite…if you would take it, that is."

"I cannot help but be skeptical of your intentions, General Gold." The old man stopped, coughed into his hand, and continued. "Hours ago, you would have been content to see my head on a pike. Now, you wish to grant me more power than any, save the Emperor and a select few. Such offers are most often bait, with hooks that kill whoever falls for it."

"His Highness prefers to see…the good in people, despite any…grudges he may be advised to hold toward them. Your role as Lamia Godwin's advisor…can be easily overlooked. Both the Emperor-to-be and I would…hate to see your wisdom discarded in favor of pride."

"How odd. Were you in my position, General Gold, would you take such an offer?"

"I would not…trust Lady Lamia to keep such a promise."

Berstetz chuckled drily. "I cannot trust you, either. I can respect you, and acknowledge that you have bested me and my liege, but that does not signify trust."

"I must say, I understand," Chisha nodded. "That doesn't mean I am not…disappointed, to say the least. Shall I…give you more time to think about it?"

There was silence after that. Berstetz did move in the slightest. Chisha was beginning to think the man had died sitting like that when he spoke his reply.

"That will not be necessary, General," the old man proclaimed. "I have reached a decision. Consider me at House Abellux's command."

Chisha felt a massive weight leave him, and he let out a breath he had not known he was holding. He imagined that, despite his horrid injuries, his skin would have regained its color.

Berstetz sat defeated, with a frown on his face. He was the very image of subservience, willing to bend the knee to those who had bested him.

In a calm tone, the General said, "This is a great relief. I have…the utmost confidence in your abilities, Lord Fondalfon. The Empire will be…in your capable hands…as soon as we clear up one final issue."

As expected, Berstetz did not show any reaction to the sudden revelation. "If it is something I can assist you wit-"

"I believe it is." Crossing his hands over his chest, and careful to avoid placing them where he had been run through by the Spirit-Eater's wand, Chisha spoke, "I would like to inquire as to a Stargazer in your former liege's service."

"Only the young believe in Stargazers," he responded. "Lady Godwin did. I did not."

"Hmph…protecting your former master is…for naught. She's gone, and you no longer…serve her."

"I say this not out of loyalty to her, or out of hatred to you, but out of ignorance: I do not believe Lady Godwin ever had access to a Stargazer's wisdom. In my years serving her, I never came across one with such a gift."

Chisha almost burst into joyous laughter, until the old man finished.

"Though…it would not be entirely impossible for House Godwin to have possessed such an individual."

There was a faint smile on Berstetz's face. The General raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but ended up coughing violently.

"I understand your doubts," the old man clarified, "but I held the belief that Lady Godwin had a powerful source of information even before you asked that." His smile grew a tad as he stroked his chin. "Indeed, I had my suspicions. I must thank you for reinforcing them."

Once he regained the ability to speak, Chisha inquired, "But…did you not say that, to your knowledge…there was no Stargazer affiliated with…your liege?"

A nod. "I did, indeed, but Lady Godwin never did share everything with me. I was aware of about seventy percent of what she planned, and ten percent I figured out myself. It is a far cry from what I could do in my youth." As if reminiscing, the prisoner shook his head. "Nonetheless, I am glad to see someone else shares my misgivings."

"This is all based on…speculation and circumstantial evidence." Without thinking, the General tried to stand and was forced back onto the bed by his wound. Clutching his chest, he managed to croak, "You are either…lying…or misinformed…"

"Lying? Goodness, no. I would not do such a thing to the man who so graciously spared my life. I am merely providing my own opinion. I believe the Emperor would appreciate it if I did not hold things back from him."

Chisha caught his breath and looked at the old man in disbelief. This was terrible. Awful. Abysmal. This was what he had feared from the beginning.

Berstetz stood, dusting off his robe. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, General?"

Licking his lips, the wounded man shook his head. "That…will be all. Thank you for…your time. You have left me matters to…ponder."

He turned his head to look at the priso-, no, he had another title now.

"Thank you for…sharing this information with us…Prime Minister Fondalfon."

With a kind, fatherly smile, the future Prime Minister of the Sacred Vollachian Empire said, "Please, call me Berstetz."

"Consider yourself lucky that you're worth more to me alive than dead, dog."

"Ah! Your Excellency! It's all a misunderstanding! I can explain, I can!"

Arakiya would have smiled at the sight before her if the person getting scolded had been anyone other than Cecilus Segmunt. As it stood, she could hardly glance at him without feeling the urge to throw him against the nearest wall. She wondered what sound that would make…

The situation currently unfolding was already far from the ordinary, even for those of House Abellux. Usually, as far as she knew, it was Chisha Gold who kept the Blue Lightning in line, who served as the brain to his brawn. Unfortunately, with the other man gravely injured, the young swordsman was left to wreak havoc as he pleased.

Or so he had thought.

Clearly, he had been sorely mistaken, for now he was being held by the ear by none other Drizen Vollachia's son, Vincent Abellux.

"Your Excellency!" the azure pest cried, weakly struggling against his superior's grasp. "I can explain! This was her fault! You know I can't do mag-, eep!"

The strongest warrior in the Empire yelped when Vincent pulled on his ear, scowling as usual. "Not accepting blame is the mark of a coward. And here I thought you'd had cowardice beaten out of you. Or were you too stupid to have any in the first place?"

Arakiya glared at them, finding both irritating individuals in their own right. She could barely stand the brainless Blue Lightning, but she had her own qualms against his liege as well. Vincent Abellux was not a man to be trifled with in any way, and even those in his good graces had a mysterious way of ending up with the short end of the stick all the time. In many cases, that meant going under without a grave.

She hardly approved of anyone who placed their lives on the shoulders a nitwit like Cecilus Segmunt, but she approved of the Abellux patriarch even less given his close relationship with Arakiya's master. A relationship which, in her eyes, was bound to end in bloodshed.

It was precisely that bloodshed that she sought to avoid…even if it meant making a deal with a man as untrustworthy as Vincent.

Cecilus squealed again when his master pulled on his ear and reprimanded him. "Pressing matters call for my attention, and that contemptible Chisha finds himself indisposed, so I shall leave your punishment in the hands of your father."

"Anything but that!" The swordsman seemed to be on the verge of tears, but his pleading was in vain.

Vincent turned his gaze away, out a window, to the edges of the camp surrounding them, where a fire raged through the Gairahal Tropics. Countless soldiers were occupied trying to contain it, and the few mages available were trying their best. Here, from the Abellux manor, the full scope of the wildfire was hard to gauge.

While yes, the fire was Arakiya's direct fault, she started it by accident, and only after Cecilus provoked her one too many times.

It had been far from ideal when Vincent invited them to his family's mansion for a post-battle chat, regarding what lay ahead. Despite having made a deal with him, one she was sure she would come to loathe in the very near future, Arakiya was far from elated when she found herself in the very heart of his territory, surrounded on all sides by his army, bolstered by the force of nine or so other cowardly royals. Few would raise a hand against the Spirit-Eater, but direct conflict was not the only way to kill someone, especially when the killer held the advantage of being in his own domain.

Every hallway in the Abellux manor could hide a dozen lethal tricks conjured by some devious assassin, and every object, even the innocuous portraits of the now-deceased Abellux family, appeared as deadly as a poisoned blade pointed straight at her master's heart.

Speaking of…

"You hold your jester on a tight leash, brother."

Arakiya's master, an ever-resplendent girl clad in crimson and sitting to her left, gave a chuckle upon making that comment. Her fiery hair, something she inherited from the previous Emperor, was tied back into a ponytail, and her scarlet eyes, the Imperial shade of red, shone with delight. She could not have been any older than the Spirit-Eater, and yet, her demeanor was the complete opposite.

The young girl, in her early teens, lounged on her half-brother's couch as if she was already Empress. At first sight, one might believe her to be a reflection of the man sitting across from her, but that was an insulting assumption to make. She had all of her brother's strengths, with none of his flaws.

The girl was the one and only Prisca Benedict, one of the former Emperor's youngest children, and Arakiya's master.

A rare smile appeared on Vincent's face when she made her comment, and he countered with, "What ironic wording. I thought that would apply more to you, sister, given who you keep as company."

"I tire of your ambiguous comments. If you have any remarks to make about those in mine employ, make them and be done with it."

"Impatient as ever. It is nothing short of miraculous that Lamia survived so long when she was always provoking your anger."

"That cur had some use, and she outlived it. That situation is one you are all too familiar with, no?"

Vincent scoffed, subtly turning his gaze to Arakiya, who looked away in disgust, though not at him. There was pride in his voice as he spoke, "I sincerely hope you're not thinking of putting me in such a situation, sister. We both know who would triumph, and it would grant me no pleasure to know I was there at your end." He waved his free hand dismissively. "Unlike our dear Lamia, I have no interest in watching fools die, entertaining as it may be."

"And yet, you surround yourself with such fools," the crimson princess retorted. "Mineself will not judge you for employing such jesters, but you cannot possibly expect a clown to provide anything besides entertainment."

"Wise as ever, Prisca. You might just stand a chance in this Ceremony after all."

Prica laughed, and Arakiya looked back at her master's brother to see his gaze was still on her. That smile on his face had taken on another meaning. It was no longer a joyous smile.

It was a threatening one, and aimed at her.

Subaru was terrified.

At this point, he was getting used to being terrified. It had been about three hours or so since he - somehow - came to find himself in this place that people called "the Empire" or "Vollachia," and he was starting to doubt that it was either an awful nightmare or some terrible prank.

It did not help that only one person in the past three hours seemed to genuinely care for him, despite having only known him for such a short time. Criff was very weird, but he said he wanted to get Subaru back home, so at least that was more than anyone else had done thus far.

Subaru just wanted to leave this place. It was scary, and weird, and super humid, and everyone had a mean look on all the time. He was very aware of the concept of "stranger danger," but in this case, where he did not know anyone, he would have to count on any shred of help he could get.

Ever since the meeting with that man on the bed - Chisha, apparently - Subaru had been thinking about the whole situation. He was in the middle of a forest, and it was really hot, and everyone was dressed like they came out of some stereotypical isekai anime, and at least half the people he had seen were bleeding. All evidence pointed to him being utterly and hopelessly lost in some unfamiliar land, with his arrival here still shrouded in mystery, which meant he stood little chance of getting back home unaided.

But there was one thing these "Vollachians" were not counting on: there was more to Natsuki Subaru than one could see at a first glance. Where others saw an eleven-year-old, probably on the brink of sobbing and messy from trudging through the forest, he saw something more, he had something more. There was a power within Subaru that no one, not even Criff, could possibly count on.

It was hope!

He had hope! He knew he was going to get out of here, and get back to his parents, and that he would be at school this time tomorrow, because there was one undeniable truth in the universe: Subaru was his father's son, and anything Natsuki Kenichi could do, Subaru could as well, and Kenichi could do anything.

Subaru was more scared than he had ever been in his life, but he knew there was a way out of this, and he knew he would find it. Before his parents even knew he was missing, he would be back like nothing ever happened. Dream, prank, or reality, this whole Empire was going to be nothing more than a bad memory.

He had to be strong, he had to hold onto hope, or he would just break down where he stood. He had to be as strong as he could be, because he was Kenichi's son, and because he could not afford to break down into tears now.

And yet, when he was brought before the bedridden man once again, his strength seemed to fail him, as if vanishing into mist.

Chisha - if that was even his name - scared him more than everyone else. He was whiter than an egg, with hair the color of bone, and a torn black coat that was held together by stained bandages over his chest. Most of the time, he seemed to just…lay there, not even listening to what was said, or looking at anyone.

Subaru was allowed to sit on the only stool present, and Criff stood next to him, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. His grip was loose, and he was almost shaking. It was easy to forget that Criff also had a family to go back to.

In a shaky voice, Criff inquired, "So? Were we…uh, what did…Lord Fondalfon say?"

"I will get to that…in a moment," came Chisha's hoarse reply. He did not even open his eyes, yet he sighed and continued, "You have…been lying to me from the beginning. Perhaps…you will find it in your heart…to be forthcoming, now."

Criff remained completely still for a moment, then shook his head. "I have been nothing but honest with you…General. Has Lord Fondalfon…confirmed my claim?"

"He has not."

In the blink of an eye, Criff lost all composure, gripping Subaru hard enough to hurt him and gesturing angrily at the pale man in front of him. "That can't be! That's utterly impo-"

Raising a hand, the General silenced him with a simple wave and a dirty look. "I have no way to…confirm your statement's veracity. Before me stand…either a Stargazer and his handler…or a duo of frauds. For the latter, I might…have you both killed and made examples of."

Before he could continue, the General was wracked by a coughing fit, and Criff stepped away from him warily.

"You two are…mysteries," Chisha continued once he could speak again. "You two…are forcing my hand. None of your other…comrades have told me what…I need to know, so I am forced to…do this."

Subaru took a deep breath, and heard Criff whisper something about falling together, before Chisha finished his claim.

"By killing you…I risk a potential asset. I must say…I would rather keep you alive and…under scrutiny than…have you beheaded. Consider this my first…and final mercy."

"What's that mean?" Subaru asked.

"I will…send you off to a noble of your choosing…so that you may…find residence in their home," Chisha responded, his lips drawing thin. "As I remain…unconvinced of your…truthfulness, I will expect evidence. How old are you, child?"

Subaru did not respond for a moment, but when everyone stared at him, he relented and said, "Eleven."

"How long before…you turn twelve?"

"Um…five months…I think?"

Raising his chin, the pale man said, "Very well. Until a week after…that day, you will be…allowed to remain with any noble of your choosing…so long as they accept to host you. After that…you will prove to me that you are…a Stargazer." He opened his eyes at last, and there was anger in them as he said, "Should you fail…the consequences will be severe…for both of you."

Criff's voice took a disbelieving tone. "You're…letting us go?"

"Quite on the contrary…I am putting a leash on you. I will…know when you eat, drink…sleep, or even talk. You best not seek to…deceive me, or trick me in…any way. Prove the truth behind…your claims and…there may be rewards beyond your dreams."

Subaru could not help but smile, and Criff gave a deep sigh of relief. "Thank you, General," the soldier said. "You won't regret this. You won't."

"I would hope not. Who will…take you in, mister Montier?"

Criff looked at Subaru, then back at Chisha. He could all but see the gears in his head turning. The soldier had not expected this, and now he was in a perilous spot.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and spoke, in a nervous tone, "I would like to choose…the High Count Gaoran Peixit, as our host."

Chapter Text

"Nobility is a game, much like Shatranj, only that there are no winnners. There are only those who lose less than the others."

(by First-Class General Erzula Blaith, ~400 After Calamity)

Chapter 3: Imperial Blue-Bloods

"That's your third loss, Gaoran."

High Count Gaoran Peixit stroked his beard, thoroughly examining the Shatranj board on the table in front of him. There were a few moves he could pull off, and if he sacrificed a few pieces…

His opponent sighed. "Stalemate. Move that rukh and I'll take your shah next. Take my ferz, if you want, but it won't change the outcome."

Gaoran did just that, and the man sitting across from him defeated him in the very next move.

"Oh, well," the other man chuckled, "if it's any consolation, you brought down half my pieces. Were this a real battle, I would've been hurting for months from such a costly victory." He spread his hands and gave a sympathetic shrug.

Stretching his neck, Gaoran reached for the elegant bottle of wine on the table, but pulled his hand away as his companion gave a quiet "tsk" and grabbed it himself.

"Please, old friend, you're the one hosting me. At least let me serve you in this way, negligible as it may be."

With an amused exhale, the High Count pushed his empty glass toward the other man and spoke, "I would not expect you to serve others, Vigo. Have you had a change of heart lately?"

Vigo looked him in the eyes, widening that devious smirk he always had plastered on his aged face. There was no hostility in his eyes, or in his body language, or in his words, but Gaoran had known him since Vigo's spontaneous rise to power more than three decades ago, and he knew better than to let his guard down around the seemingly-harmless man.

They were of similar age, and of equal rank, but they could not be more different. There was a sense of unbridled ambition in Vigo's behavior, and that betrayed more than any hostility ever would.

Beneath that wise man's visage lay a wolf leashed to the Emperor.

"My, my, Gaoran, now don't you go calling me soft!" His hearty laugh was an attempt to defuse the tension. An excellent one, but not genuine. "Drink your wine, old man, so that we can finally broach the real reason for my visit. Oh, don't give me that look. Did you think I rode here for a game of Shatranj? I'd sooner play against Lady Dracroy, and she's worse than you!"

"'Tis odd you do not drink," the High Count remarked once his glass was full. "What excuse do you have for that now?" He took a sip and leaned back on his chair, keeping his gaze on his fellow nobleman.

Vigo brought his hand down to his waist and retrieved a canteen, which he then shook lightly. The sound of liquid swirling within was prevalent in the quiet room. "Why, I've not the stomach for such a refined drink. Only those with more polished tastes can enjoy such things. You know I would much prefer the taste of water, or a glass of the cheapest swill some seedy bar can offer."

The two men chuckled, and Gaoran drank from his glass before asking, "Are you going to enlighten me as to the purpose of your visit?"

"Right, yes," Vigo responded. "I'm so forgetful, you know. Erzula always says I'd forget to dress myself if she wasn't around, but that's just mean. How does she think I live when she's off in Lupugana, or Glarasia, while I'm stuck in the manor?" Leaning forward, he scratched the back of his head while frowning thoughtfully. "Sometimes, she can be as demanding as Drizen was, and proud enough to match."

"Vigo. Your reason for coming?"

"Oh? Ah, yes, yes, right." He clapped his hands joyously. "I want to ask a favor of you, Gaoran. A tiny favor. It will hurt you no more than a pinprick would, and in the end, would help you more than you could imagine." His smirk was beaming now, as if he truly believed what he said.

Gaoran wet his lips. Whenever Vigo wanted a favor, it meant trouble. "What does this favor entail?"

Still grinning, Vigo put his feet on the table and casually - in the same tone that he would ask about the weather - said, "Retract your support for Lamia Godwin."

"No," was Gaoran's immediate response.

"Come, now, Gaoran. Face the truth. Ride with the wind, not against it." He snapped his fingers. "There's a saying in Mezoreia, you know? I'm sure you've heard it. 'Courage is climbing a mountain…'"

The High Count shook his head. "'...and idiocy is thinking you can glide your way down.' Unfortunately, old friend, I am quite comfortable at the base of the mountain, while you teeter on the brink at its peak."

"You're the 'White-Cloud General', Gaoran. You should realize that the flow of battle's turning against you. No one will blame you for picking the losing side, so long as you come to your senses before their inevitable defeat."

"Do you think Vincent Abellux is so powerful that his victory is assured? He is alone now, while Lady Godwin has the support of Lord Manesque, Lady Benedict, and Barthroy Fitts's band of cowards."

Holding up three fingers, Vigo countered, "Manesque is the lowest of the low, Benedict is a little girl with enough soldiers to count on one hand, and Fitts's group would rather hide than fight." He whistled and continued, "Merry band you've got there, old friend. House Abellux will hang them from the gates of Lupugana, and you with them, if you disregard my offer. I've not the stomach to see your corpse every time I visit the Crystal Palace."

"And if that does not happen? Lady Godwin is most unkind to traitors."

"What reason does Godwin have to learn of this? The most effective knife is the one left unseen, no?"

There was silence as Gaoran looked into his guest's violet eyes, trying to guess what the other man was thinking.

Unfortunately, Vollachian nobles knew better than to reveal their secrets.

"I enjoyed your visit, Vigo," the High Count spoke with finality. "We will play Shatranj again next time you stop by."

For the first time that Gaoran had seen, Vigo's smile vanished.

Now, the other High Count frowned as he stood and bowed his head.

"Take my deal, Gaoran…or there won't be a next time."

"Gaoran Peixit, the Lord of the Cumulus."

"Lord of the…huh?"

Criff winced as he pressed the gauze to his forehead. The white fabric had turned red. Unsurprising, given how he had basically split his forehead open. It barely hurt now, thanks to that "potion" the House Abellux medics had given him, but he could hardly visit the High Count with his face covered in blood and his uniform in tatters.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked Subaru, who - in turn - looked at the floor. Criff bit his lip. Turning this kid into a distraction was going to be more trouble than it first seemed. "High Count Peixit is a renowned general, but he's past war now. He says politics make for a far deadlier battlefield than any other. Pfah! I'd like to see him here…" He pulled the gauze away from his head, inspected it, and threw it on the floor. It was completely red.

As he went to grab another roll of gauze, only to find there was none remaining, Subaru chimed in. "Um…and mister Peixit can help?"

Criff clutched his head. "I would hope so. He pledged his support to House Godwin, and he's unlikely to change his heart so suddenly." Given the Count had probably not even received the news yet, it was as safe a bet as any he could make at the moment. "He rules over the quaint town of Faradar, and his reach extends to the Great Cascade. We'll need to watch out, though; last I heard of him, there was trouble on his borders."

Subaru looked at him with a confused expression. Of course, Imperial politics were too difficult for a child like him to understand. That made his job so much harder. No one could truly comprehend the intricate games the High Nobles played - not even them, in some cases - but everyone knew that getting caught in those intricate schemes was an easy way to wind up as nothing more than a viciously mauled corpse in some dark alleyway.

The Montier family was perfectly content with staying on the sidelines, observing, and reaping what rewards it could find. Only one man of their blood had been plagued by delusions of grandeur, but he was long dead now, and his reward for such an idiotic endeavor was being forgotten by the world, with his identity purged from the Imperial records.

Still, Criff had to admit that the prospect of being a great General had crossed his mind more than once, and his comrades in Godwin's army had stoked the flames of passion with their promises of a greater Vollachia bound under their Lady's rule. It was difficult to remain stoic when everyone around him cheered at the prospect of Lugnica going up in flames, with the Imperial flag hoisted to fly over its capital's skies.

That passion was long gone now. It took him to that massacre and ripped everything from him, and he was surprised, despite having been warned that this would happen. If his family ever learned of this…

Forcing a smile, Criff shook his head. They would never learn, at least not from him. And he would never again be led astray by his zeal.

No, he would never be led astray again. From this day forth, he would prove his worth, not as an impassioned soul fanning the blaze of revenge, but as a silent turncoat. A wolf in sheep's clothing could do more harm than an entire pack.

Unknowingly, he clenched his fists, ignoring the concerned and fearful look Subaru gave him when the boy noticed.

But he was not so lost in thought as to ignore the boy. This child was, after all, his greatest tool, his only tool, and Criff would see to it that he was put to good use. So, with a kind smile, he shook his head and resumed his rambling about the High Count Peixit. How tragic, that the boy was doomed and he was not.

Still…if the boy died…

Well, there were always more tools out there, ripe for the taking.

"Curse that brainless fool."

Looking out of his carriage's window to the gently rolling landscape, the High Count Vigo Qisuni muttered those words with venom in his tone.

Still, it was not the landscape he was looking at, but his own reflection. Indeed, he had done his best to appear presentable, and he felt entitled to at least enjoy the fruits of his effort, as negligible as that effort was.

Vigo was, by no means, an intimidating man. His body had - despite his best efforts - withered with age, and as he entered his sixties, he felt the passing of time more acutely than he had before. It was true he exaggerated his weakness, but in the Empire, no one ever took off their masks, and he was no exception.

No one who lay eyes on the High Count would believe him to be any threat. Instead, they would see a graceful and humble elder, who was all-too-happy to busy himself with the bureaucratic dealings of his territory and its subjects. His thin body and colorless hair added to that impression, and he always ensured that his violet eyes hid his schemes.

His face, with its sunken cheeks and taut skin, was the only unsettling aspect of his appearance. It resembled a skull too closely for his liking, which was why he grew out his hair and tied it in a bun. Skulls may be bald, but Vigo Qisuni was not.

A soft voice interrupted his silent musing. "Lord Count Peixit is a great man, Handler, though I fear his age is beginning to show."

The man sitting across from Vigo seemed to be his reflection, a more youthful version of him. It would be wrong to call him a youngster, as he was in his forties, but that was what Vigo referred to him as, given he had never been given the younger man's real name. All the High Count had was his alias: "Omen."

Omen held a caring smile on his face at all times - very good, smiles were the best masks after all - which, combined with his well-groomed, clean appearance, and noticeable muscle, gave him a sort of fatherly look. That was all too well, given Omen was a Third-Class General. Vigo believed that those in power should always treat their underlings like their own children. It was a good mindset to cultivate.

However, Omen's tender looks served another purpose. They were his mask, concealing from the world his true role as an agent of the Imperial Hand, the group of fanatical cut-throats who jumped and croaked when the Emperor said "frog."

Vigo winced slightly. That was unfair to young Omen, given Vigo was not just his superior as a High Count, but also as a commander of the Hand. Yes, perhaps "cut-throats" was too harsh a word. Vigo himself preferred the term "enforcer." He certainly had enforced no small number of Emperor Drizen's commands, from the ordinary to the downright macabre.

"A great man indeed, Omen," he nodded. "Among the greatest. Perhaps, not greater than myself, but that's still up for debate. How regrettable that age makes fools of us all. Unfortunate indeed. Gaoran has clearly lost the core of what makes us living beings: he has no will to live, clearly."

Omen raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "I was not aware the Lord Count had given up on life. Has anything driven him to such a point?"

"Yes, my friend. Age."

"I thank the Emperor, then, that my hair is yet to lose its color. I could hardly stand to live, were my hair white as a cloud and my eyes dull as mud."

"A good sentiment, that. Endeavor to die soon, so your corpse will remain youthful in its casket. Ah, but don't get maimed too much. We want to see you, not a tangled mess of organs."

With a chuckle, Omen nodded slowly. "I expect you at my funeral, Handler, and if you're not there, I'll return and force you to attend."

Vigo laughed as he replied, "It flatters me that you think I'll outlive you."

"Why, 'course you will, Handler. None doubt your skill." Omen covered his smile with his hand as he added, "Only two ways for you to die: old age or displeasing the Emperor."

"A comfortable bed or the sweet gallows…what a choice. Promise you'll speak to the Emperor if it's the latter: I'd like a chance at Ginunhive over being executed like that."

"All this talk about death is souring the mood, don't you think?"

"When you're a High Count, it's always death and politics in every conversation." He raised two fingers. "That is the Empire's second maxim. Remember it, for when you think about becoming a lord yourself."

The younger man sighed wearily. "I will never be brave enough for politics, Handler."

Vigo crossed his legs and shrugged before reaching into his coat's breast pocket and retrieving a small black trinket made of wood. It had a rectangular shape, with its top caved in diagonally.

Holding it out to his companion, the High Count asked, "You brave enough for Shatranj?"

Being one of the Emperor's sons was exhausting.

It entailed a chance to, one day, rule over the Empire, but that chance came in a package that also included more assassination attempts than one person should ever experience, a treacherous family filled to the brim with conceited buffoons, and a small-scale civil war.

It also included a very neat fire sword, but that was of little consolation to him.

In this case, he was truly outmatched. The only victory he had snatched from the jaws of this horrendous defeat was that his personal army remained mostly intact, having suffered fewer losses than any other group in the Tropics.

And…that was it. There was no other good news today, given that Lamia's whole plan fell apart like a pile of ashes - which, might he add, was what the great "Poison Princess" had become. Still, though he had never truly liked that foul woman, he at least tolerated her more than that damnable Prisca, what with her too-good-for-you attitude and sharp tongue. At least Lamia pretended to be nice once in a while.

He always hated Prisca.

And today, if everything had gone according to plan, Prisca would have been nothing more than a very-noticeable crater on the ground, along with that filthy schemer Vincent and their attendants. As fate would have it, now he was the one in danger of becoming little more than embers on the wind as Prisca and her Redmongers cheered for their victory.

With a loud exhale, he looked around the convoy, his convoy. Every soldier here would gladly throw their lives on the line to see him seated upon the throne, and he loved them for that, as much as he wished that he had any masterminds like Berstetz Fondalfon or great warriors like that Spirit-Eater at his command. Their loyalty was all he asked, and they more than provided it.

As he sat alone within his carriage and looked out the windows at the surrounding army that stood as his shield, he grasped an eye-shaped amulet that hung from his neck. It was smaller than his hand, so he handled it carefully as he opened it. Inside was a thin lock of fiery orange hair, and he scowled as he put his thumb over it.

I wish you had died, Prisca.

He took a breath to steady himself, and with great displeasure, he pressed his thumb to the lock of hair.

"You really are no more than filth."

His voice was silent, for he never spoke: his mind did. This "conversation," if it could even be called that, was a long-range interaction via telepathy, courtesy of his power as an Evil Eye.

"You can hear me, Prisca," he spat without opening his mouth. "What do you even gain from this? You know he will never let you live."

No response.

"You really are self-absorbed, Prisca. Too stupid to see beyond your cursed childish whims. If only your mother had never given birth to you."

No response. He was growing tired of speaking to himself, even if he was not really talking. His vitriolic rant would have left him flushed with rage if he had been speaking to the subject of his hatred in person. Still, he knew better than to try such a thing where that Empress wannabe could easily kill him for it, and he had no intentions of getting close to her when she had already promised to lop off his head personally.

"What did he even promise you for this? Are you that stupid to think Vincent will just…what? Pat your head, have some tea with you, and let you go? He never will. Damn you! You sentenced us to death out of petty spite!"

"How aggravating. Mineself thought I would never have to hear your bothersome voice again."

He almost gasped audibly at hearing his half-sister's response. "Damn you! I wish the Yang Sword had burned you to death! It would be more dignity than you deserve!"

"'Tis more dignity than a leashed dog like you deserves, though I suppose I may humor you as you perish. Do give mine regards to Lamia."

"You little-"

Suddenly, he winced as his ears popped. Prisca had cut the line.

Biting his lip, he turned the amulet upside-down, letting the lock of hair fall on the floor. So, she had the gall to leave him hanging like that, huh? To cut his own telepathic line? To condemn him and leave him like that!?

She would learn. Yes, she would, even if he had to be the one to teach her. He was the Emperor's son as much as she was the Emperor's daughter.

When they next met, he would ensure he took more than just a lock of her hair. He would scorch her to death personally, just as she promised to do the same to him.

He would do it because he was her elder, her superior in every regard. Because he was fit to rule in the eyes of the Yang Sword. Because he was the Emperor's son.

And, if nothing else, he would do it because he absolutely, truly, completely, and utterly, despised Prisca Benedict.

For the first time since Lamia's death, Palladio Manesque smiled as those thoughts crossed his mind.

"...but nine years ago, the High Count Peixit retired from the Imperial Army, claiming that he wanted to tend to his land, and now he's embroiled in a land dispute with his neighbor, High Count Qisuni, who…are you even listening?"

Subaru stared at Criff with a blank expression. He had unknowingly committed the grave mistake of asking the blonde man about this "High Count" they were going to see soon, since Subaru knew nothing about him, and Criff took the opportunity to display his knowledge. Now, Subaru knew Gaoran Peixit's entire life, or at least as much as he could remember from the mind-numbingly boring lecture, which - he might add - was not meant to be delivered as the two of them sat on the back of a carriage surrounded by a dozen guards.

Criff sneered. "You're not listening! You're not even taking notes!"

"I'm listening!" Subaru responded, crossing his arms. "And I don't have anything to take notes with!"

"Sure, let me just ask the Redmongers to lend us a paper and a quill," Criff hissed. "If you can't write it down, pay attention! I'm trying to help you here!"

Tilting his head, he asked the soldier, "Who're the 'Redmongers?'"

The man's eyes widened. "You…how? The Redmongers are Prisca Benedict's soldiers, those guys all in red, duh. They're pitiful, really. Any House in the Empire could beat them easily." As he finished, he smiled proudly and waved his hand.

Subaru pointed at him. "Then how come you lost?"

In an instant, Criff's face turned as crimson as the Redmongers' uniforms. "Shut up! What would some kid like you even know about that!? Pfah! As insufferable as that Benedict cur!"

The older man closed his eyes as he began to articulate with his hands wildly, ranting about this "Benedict" person. Subaru sat quietly as he talked on and on, then looked out of the carriage and paled.

"Mister Criff…" he muttered.

"What do you want!?" the soldier yelled. "I was trying to teach you something, but no~, you just ignored me. This is why I never joined House Benedict! Dealing with children like you is a pain, especially when they're all so self-entitled!"

He must have noticed Subaru's expression, because he closed his mouth and looked outside of the carriage…and his eyes widened in horror.

Standing there, just a few steps from them, was that girl with the silver hair and scant clothing. Her hand held that weird branch thing, and she remained stoic as she looked at them both. Somehow, that was scarier than seeing her angry.

Criff gave a shaky smile. "No chance you…didn't hear me, right?"

"No," the girl answered flatly.

"Great," he sighed. "At least I won't have to listen to that Chisha bastard anymore…"

The girl retained her completely uninterested expression and stayed silent until Criff scooted away from her. When he settled down as far as he could get from the entrance to the carriage, the girl turned to Subaru and said, "The princess wants to see you."

Subaru looked at Criff who - very unhelpfully - motioned for him to go, discreetly mouthing "hurry up" as he flattened his palm and slid it horizontally across his neck. That certainly did not motivate Subaru to go along with this, but he had no choice.

And so, he stepped off the carriage and looked around. They were in the outskirts of some camp, and everywhere he looked, there were soldiers in either red or black uniforms. A great number of them were not human, with some having either strangely-colored skin or some other subtle changes while others were downright animalistic, resembling a variety of creatures. Fortunately, that red-scaled lizard from the forest was not here.

By the time Subaru stopped looking around, the girl had already begun walking away, and he ran behind her to catch up. Once he stood at her side, the two of them walked in silence for a few seconds until Subaru asked, "Um…who's the princess?"

"She's the princess," the girl responded in her monotone voice.

"Oh…she's the princess of this…Empire?"

"That's correct."

Subaru made a mental note of that. Criff had mentioned once or twice that he worked for a woman who had been set to inherit the throne as well. "What's her name?"

The girl did not miss a beat as she replied, "Prisca Benedict."

Immediately, memories of Criff's hatred toward that name passed through Subaru's mind. He did not particularly know anyone here, but Criff was a good person, and if this Prisca had earned his ire, then…maybe it would be best to at least be wary of her.

The girl led him through the camp toward a great manor in the distance, which had been gravely damaged. Any red-clad soldiers they passed wasted no time in bowing to her, though she paid them no heed and continued onward.

Subaru looked up. The sky was darkening, and dusk was not far. He would most likely sleep in that carriage, unless Chisha gave him better accommodations.

Out of nowhere, the girl froze beside him, tightening her grip on her branch. She narrowed her eyes for an instant and pushed Subaru away so fast that it took him a second to realize what had happened. In the very same breath, she swung her branch in a vertical arc, stopping a bucketful of water mid-air before condensing it into an orb that hovered just in front of her.

"Heya, lil' doggie! Your only friend in this magnificent world has arrived, and with refreshments!"

The "attacker" gave her a beaming grin as he held up a metallic bucket. He was a young boy, probably just a year older than Subaru himself, with dark blue hair and a silver kimono. It took Subaru a moment, but he recognized the boy as the bloodied swordsman who dragged him to the camp in the forest. After all, there could not exist another person in this world with such a mischievous smile. Perhaps, it was for the best that there was only one such person: the world might not have been able to handle more than that.

The girl, for once, changed her expression, frowning as she floated the orb of water into the boy's bucket.

"Ah!" the boy exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. "Right! I forgot this thing was full! Good thing I didn't spill it on you, ha!" With that, he pulled the bucket back and swung it at her again. The water hovered in the air for an instant before suddenly changing direction and splashing all over the blue menace, who just kept smiling and chuckled, "You know I can get more, right?"

"You better not," the girl threatened with actual emotion in her voice. "Leave, Cecilus Segmunt."

"Aw, don't be like that!" Cecilus tilted his head and rapped his temple with his knuckles. "If I leave, I'm coming back with another bucket."

"Why do you even have a bucket?"

"Oh, well…His Excellency said I had to help put out that forest fire…"

Cecilus pouted and Subaru could see the girl's lip twitch upward ever-so-slightly. The very next second, however, the cerulean trickster turned to look at Subaru, and his smile widened. "Heya! It's that crybaby from the forest!"

Subaru felt his cheeks redden. "I'm not a crybaby! And you're the one covered in water!"

"Of course I am! Do you know how hot it gets out here? This is really refreshing! I can get you a bucket too, if you want!"

The girl flicked her branch and warned, "Cecilus…"

Cecilus paid no heed to her as he bowed to Subaru and, with unrestrained enthusiasm, proclaimed, "Well, I need to introduce myself!" Before Subaru realized it, Cecilus was standing right in front of him, shaking his hand. "I'm Cecilus Segmunt, no thanks to the lil' doggie ruining that part of my debut! I'm this world's rising star, the protagonist of every story there is to tell! My name will be synonymous with excellence! Just like Reid Astrea himself, I'll rise to the very top of this world and win over the hearts of everyone in it!" He let go of Subaru's hand and quickly twirled in place, spraying water everywhere. "But fret not! I'll let you and the lil' doggie have the front-row seats, so make sure to bring roses for the curtain call!"

He froze and struck a pose, putting both hands on his hips and turning his face sideways so fast that his ponytail hit him in the nose.

After a few seconds of silence, he raised an eyebrow and said, "Well…this is where you give your introduction!"

"What?" Subaru pointed at himself. "Do I HAVE to!?"

"Would you prefer I call you 'crybaby' forever!?"

Terrified by the prospect of such a fate, Subaru put one hand to his waist and raised the other to point at the sky. "I-I'm Natsuki Subaru! Son of Natsuki Kenichi!"

"You're both insufferable," the silver-haired girl muttered.

Cecilus, meanwhile, just laughed and said, "I've never heard a name like yours, Nachuki Shubawu! Where you from!?"

"Ah…it's this place to the east. Japan? I don't think you've heard of it."

Somehow, that response was enough to - apparently - shock the silver-haired girl, as her eyes widened. Cecilus, however, laughed with clear amazement and grabbed him by the shoulders. "That's fantastic! You're Lugnican!? I've never seen a Lugnican in my life! Do all of you have such weird eyes!? Is it true you guys lost a war against a snake!? Is the Divine Dragon really as big as they say!?"

"You're Lugnican?" the girl asked, her tone as cold as when she addressed Cecilus.

"No!" Subaru immediately clarified. He noticed a few of the soldiers nearby were giving them…giving him…odd looks. "I don't know what you're talking about! I'm from Japan, not…wherever you're talking about!"

Cecilus tilted his head. "Huh? Everyone knows there's no country further east than the Kingdom of Lugnica! I mean, that's what His Excellency and mister Rowan said!" He pointed at the girl with his thumb and added, "Even those who don't know how to read a map know that!"

"You can't read maps, Cecilus," she replied.

"Huh, what!? Who told you that!?"

"Master Vincent."

"No way! I thought he was on MY side! Was he really this play's antagonist all along!?"

Subaru watched their back-and-forth bickering as he thought about what Cecilus had let slip. The "Kingdom of Lugnica," huh? And it was the land farthest to the east? That meant there was probably an ocean or something beyond it. If this was like some fantasy anime - which it undoubtedly was - they might even be on a floating island!

But that meant little to him. Sure, it would be super cool if he got to see a flying island while he was here, but he did not plan to stick around in this Empire, or this world for that matter, any longer than he had to. If there was a way into this fantasy world, there had to be a way out.

"Excuse me," he said, raising his hand right in the middle of one of Cecilus's impassioned speeches. "Erm, if the Kingdom is the farthest land to the east…what's beyond it?"

"The Great Cascade!" the blue teen answered. "They say it's su~per high up! And you never stop falling down! One day I'll get to the bottom of it! That's something the Sword Saint could never do, you know!?"

The girl merely uttered, "I support you on that endeavor."

Subaru spoke up before Cecilus could start another speech. "So…what's beyond that?"

"Nothing," the girl replied.

"Yep!" Cecilus continued. "There's nothing after that! Someone…ate it a while ago! Dunno how, but they did!"

Oh.

Someone ate a part of the world? That was…not good.

Just as Subaru opened his mouth to ask another question - now was as good a time as any to learn about his situation - a new voice pierced the air, one voice filled with pride, that said, "Mineself thought his ignorance would be amusing, but even the lowliest jester could top such a display."

The speaker was a young girl not quite into her teens yet, who held a closed fan. She stepped up to them with an air of absolute confidence that made Subaru immediately tell her apart from the others he had seen thus far. Cecilus was easily self-absorbed, but this girl was leagues above him in that regard, judging by the smirk she was giving Subaru.

The silver-haired girl lowered her head and quietly walked over to stand beside the newcomer as Cecilus waved at them both. "Heya, young lady! Come to witness my mythical feats once more!? I'd be down to demonstrate with the lil' doggie like last time!"

"Oh," the new girl said, narrowing her eyes at Cecilus. "Brother's dog is here as well." She pointed at the older boy with her fan. "Mineself has no interest in hearing your jabbering, even if my dear brother does. Go irritate him. You are most suited to that task."

Cecilus pursed his lips as his smile vanished. "You're mean, young lady!"

"Princess," the silver-haired girl muttered, pouting. "I'm sorry for the delay."

In response, the princess - no, Prisca Benedict - flicked her servant's forehead. "Has mineself broached that subject, Arakiya?"

"No, princess…"

"Indeed, so you are not to worry about it." Prisca turned to Subaru, and he flinched involuntarily. "As for you…perhaps mine dear brother will find your obtuseness endearing. He does seem to surround himself with such clowns." With that comment, Cecilus pouted. "Yet, you lack any outstanding quality to differentiate yourself from the common rabble, aside from your appearance. If brother wishes to employ another fool, he has better candidates than you."

Subaru stammered for a moment, caught off-guard by her sudden onslaught of insults. "W-what?"

"Hmph. And not even a retort. There may be hope for you yet, but mineself expected more from such an enigma." She shook her head, seemingly disappointed. "Perhaps you shall prove entertaining when next we meet."

She did not even wait for Subaru's response before turning and leaving, with Arakiya close behind.

As Subaru tried to process what just happened, Cecilus sang, "We~ll, I still have a forest fire to put out, so…see ya 'round, Nagumi Suaru!"

With that, he disappeared, leaving Subaru all alone.

As the sun vanished over the horizon, Count Bluhart lit a candle on his desk.

Pushing up his glasses, he looked over the few remaining papers in front of him. Given his territory's location between Ladrima and Picoutatte, along the Vollachian border, he had an endless stream of messages to review from his counterpart in the Empire, along with a great variety of appeals to him by his citizens.

As far as Lugnican noblemen went, Nolan Bluhart was the very definition of ordinary.

All that would mark him in a crowd was his aquamarine hair and eyes, as he was a man of slightly-below-average stature who was neither thin nor large, and was not muscular enough to be called well-built but also not cursed with stick-like limbs.

Still, he never found himself praying to the Divine Dragon for anything, despite his adherence to the Church's strictures. The first lesson he ever learned as a Count was that, thanks to his distance from the Lugnican capital, he would never be called upon for counsel on important matters aside those concerning Vollachia. That was alright. No point getting tangled up in what the Council of Wisemen did not deem fit to include him in.

He was a Count, and that was the end of it. Besides, being in the middle of the social ladder was not that terrible.

Squinting as he held up a letter, his next paper to go over, Nolan gave a faint sigh. The sender was a close friend of his, Katrien Coesant, who quite enjoyed gossip. She was, much as he loathed to say it, his only source of information in the Lugnican capital. The city could catch fire and he would never learn about it unless the Council told him.

He read the letter carefully, grinning at some of the woman's uncouth remarks about the rest of the nobility. There was little of note going on, she claimed. Apparently, Morgan Frantz of the Dragon Kingdom Newsletter ran a very nasty article on Gwain Merette - who was rightfully called "The Faker" - that resulted in the former having a bottle thrown at him and the latter getting reprimanded by Margrave Mathers himself. Odd. Nolan thought the Margrave better suited to entertaining at parties, not politics, but that was all well and fine. No point getting up in arms over a man who lived across the nation.

Next came some reports from Vollachia, passed by his counterpart in the Empire. He distrusted the reports, naturally, since no Imperial would ever tell the truth to a Kingdom nobleman like himself, but he and his counterpart cooperated in hopes of preventing friction between the countries. Everything flowed smoothly, so they were clearly doing a good job.

There was a Newsletter article about the Karsten family, the Bluharts' ancient rivals. To be precise, they were rivals in the yell-and-call-each-other-names way, not the more Imperial rip-your-throat-out-and-use-your-skull-as-a-cup way. It was all politics, really. The Karstens were too conservative, too stuck to the Kingdom's past, to see what the Bluharts saw: that Lugnica needed change if it wished to grow and assert its power. Power, Nolan often said, was determined by one's ability to thrive without external aid.

The article proved to be boring drivel, typical of the Newsletter. It was always the same with them. "Is Duke Karsten building an army? Is Duke Karsten stepping down? Is Duke Karsten secretly Vollachian?" Who cared? Clearly, though, the masses ate it all up, because the article had a small note attached to it by one of the Bluhart employees clarifying that the "news" had been "slightly edited" in the name of "clarifying some unsubstantiated claims" after repeated insistence that the article was no more than "substandard garbage" by the Karstens' Guard-Captain and head of security, some man named Kolwin.

As a self-respecting nobleman, Nolan chuckled and threw the article to the trash, where it belonged. Picking up the second-to-last document on his desk, he grimaced. It was a letter from the Council.

Opening it with the utmost care, Nolan inspected its contents as if it were a summons for his own trial. Thankfully, it was nothing so grave. The Council was calling a meeting with His Majesty, Randohal Lugnica, and a few select nobles to discuss…"future relations with the Sacred Vollachian Empire and its Emperor."

That was definitely strange, but it was no cause for alarm. If there was war on the horizon, Nolan would be the first to know, since he would be the first besieged by the Empire's army.

The meeting was set to happen in a week, so he set to drafting up what he would request from his employees while he was gone.

As he wrote his instructions on a few pieces of paper, the final document on his desk, a letter bearing the Empire's Swordwolf sigil, sat undisturbed, waiting, as the Lugnican blue-blood scribbled away.

When the moon rose in the Vollachian sky, a visitor came to Criff's carriage.

Criff would have shooed her away, if she had not brought with her two plates of actual food.

He eyed her warily as she set the plates down, one in front of him and another in front of Subaru. After the boy returned from his impromptu kidnapping by Prisca Benedict's executioner, he explained all that happened. Criff believed it. Prisca was known for being fickle and cruel like that. He did make a note to himself to be more wary of any Redmongers that came his way.

The visitor, however, was clad in House Abellux's black uniform. She was a dark, plump woman with a motherly air about her. She reminded Criff of his own mother, but he pushed that thought away.

"Well, I've lost a bet," she said once she was done with the plates. Criff was shocked that they contained actual food and not army rations. "And here I thought this 'kid' everyone kept talkin' about was just a tall tale. Battle fatigue's a tough mistress, ya know?"

Subaru barely waited before picking up the plate and digging into his food, a delicious-looking piece of steak. The woman had brought utensils, but Criff had the suspicion that Subaru would have devoured the food with his own hands if she had not brought the silverware.

"What's your name?" he asked, picking up his plate but not touching the food. "Why're you here? If Chisha poisoned this food, he'll have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of us." At the mention of poison, Subaru stiffened and looked at him with wide eyes.

The woman laughed. "Please. If General Gold wanted you dead, I'd wring your necks with me own hands. Dishes are his courtesy. First and final gift, he called 'em."

"You haven't answered my questions."

"First-Class Soldier Gia Sleis, one of General Gold's secretaries. I'm your driver to High Count Peixit's doorstep, yeah? You'll have seen a finer carriage driver in your life, I'm sure, but me? I get you there fast. Tomorrow sunrise, you'll be chatting the High Count's ear off, and I'll be back at my desk."

Criff looked down at his plate. That sleeping dart had left him with an appetite fit for a mabeast. "You'll just kill us on the way. Dump our bodies in som-"

"Od, man," she interrupted him. "Are all Godwin men this grim? Let the kid eat and leave your thoughts to fester, if you're going to be that gloomy. C'mon, eat your dish, 'fore I beat you with it."

He did as he was told, and once he swallowed the first bite, he said, "It's cold."

Gia glared daggers at him. "'Course it is. I walked from the manor, no thanks to whoever left you out here. Suppose it's more comfortable than the manor's basement, though. Less torture devices."

She grinned widely and waved her hand when Subaru gave a small squeak at her comment.

"Nah, nah, no torture devices, I promise," she clarified. "Might be a few in other rooms, but not in the basement, no. Now, eat up! Sooner you're done, sooner you'll see the High Count!"

She walked away laughing, heading toward the front of the carriage.

Criff met Subaru's gaze, and the boy looked down at his half-eaten steak. "I don't think I'm that hungry anymore…"

"Eat it, kid," he ordered, cutting another piece. "You never know when you'll get your next good meal. Besides…Abellux is paying for this. Consider it our little way of rebelling against him."

As Criff bit the cold meat, Subaru asked him, "Is it always like this?"

Still biting, Criff smiled and replied, "Welcome to the Empire."

Chapter Text

"Look high, to the clouds, and to what lies beyond. Our Empire stretches to the very stars."

(by the First Emperor Vollachia, after the Great Calamity)

Chapter 4: Above the White Clouds

The Peixit domain was a magnificent sight.

The High Count's manor, an ornate blue-white pentagonal building with five stories, sat beside a tower-like structure three stories tall, which opened up at its peak into four square platforms. Less than a block from the manor lay a variety of flat-roofed rectangular buildings, spreading out in five lines and decreasing in size the farther they got from the manor. All of it bore a star-like pattern, with the manor and the tower at the center.

To say Subaru was amazed was an understatement.

"Stop staring like an imbecile." Criff's tone was chastising, but it was clear to see he was as captivated by the High Count's land as Subaru was, if not more. "Compared to Lady Godwin's domain, this is a slum. Hmph…at least it beats the Abellux domain."

He rubbed his eyes - neither of them had gotten much sleep, but for different reasons - and turned to Subaru with a smile.

"Alright," he spoke in a kind voice. "We're almost there, so what do you say we refresh a bit on common etiquette? After all, you've not had the pleasure of working under Lady Godwin. Etiquette was second nature to her."

Subaru nodded. "His name is Gaoran…Pey…pay…p…"

Criff nodded. "Peixit. Close enough. If you forget his family name, use his first name." He raised a finger. "How will you address his title?"

There was a pause as Subaru thought about it. "Hm…Lord…Lord Count?"

"That works, yes. Saying 'Lord High Count' is only appropriate in formal gatherings, which would need someone else of the same rank or higher. I'm glad to see that not everything I taught you has gone ignored."

Subaru huffed and crossed his arms. "I pay attention, you know!"

With a laugh, the soldier asked, "Oh? Then tell me, what town or city is under Lord Count Peixit's jurisdiction?"

"Erm…Far…a…Fara…dawn?"

"Faradar. Do you remember why it's so important?"

"The eye people?"

Criff nodded, though he grimaced a bit. "Yes…the 'eye people,' or the Evil Eye Tribe to be precise. They're nigh extinct, so don't worry about running into any of 'em during our stay." Strangely enough, he made a dry washing motion with his hands. "Can't say I'll miss those freaks."

For a moment, Subaru wanted to ask about the man's apparent disdain for the Evil Eyes, but Criff bounced back almost immediately.

"Another question," he said. "You need to be as prepared as can be. What is the High Count's title? There's two answers for this one."

"Hm…was it…General…? Something…Cloud General?"

"'White-Cloud General.' I suppose that's much easier to remember than 'Lord of the Cumulus.'"

Before he could continue his pop quiz on the Vollachian aristocracy, a voice came from the driver's seat, through a small window. "Fifteen minutes out!" True to her word, Gia Sleis had gotten them to the Peixit domain as fast as she could. "Best have your best suits on, yeah? Don't want the High Count seein' you like ya just escaped the butcher!"

"You have yourself to blame for my appearance," Criff retorted with a snarl. "When I find whoever put that dart in my back…" His words trailed off, but his anger was obvious. Under normal circumstances, Criff would have been passably attractive, but caked in mud and dried blood, with a torn uniform and a crooked nose that had just barely been "mended" with a piece of gauze wrapped around his head, he looked more like a zombie than anything else.

Gia chortled, clearly not intent in accepting his charge. "I'd say whoever that was did ya a favor. Godwin's uniform is unholy, yeah! Awful downright, even. Who walks into battle dressed like an orange? Apart from you, 'course! Ha!"

Suddenly, the sun seemed to vanish from the sky for a heartbeat. Once it returned, as if it had never gone, Criff scowled and peeked out of the carriage as best he could without falling. He motioned for Subaru to remain inside as he scanned the sky.

"Lookit that!" came Gia's laugh. "The High Count's rollin' out his best to greet us, yeah!? Let's not disappoint!"

Criff yelled something that sounded like a curse, but Subaru did not quite catch the words. "Damn! What's that Sky Rider doing here!?" He kept looking around, as if scared that the shadow would come get him. "The Riders don't usually leave the capital, much less to come visit this rickety old place!"

"Maybe he's out sightseein', yeah!? And sit down before ya fall out, because I'm not coming back for you!"

As if spurred by her words, the carriage lurched forward, throwing Criff backward. He hit the floor on his back and yelped, reaching to touch his nose for a moment. Subaru stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand, and Criff looked at him with indignation. "It's not funny!"

"It is!" he answered, chuckling.

"Whatever!" He got up carefully, holding onto his seat for dear life. "This damn woman's going to give the High Count what's left of us!"

Again, the carriage jerked forward, but neither of them fell this time. Gia's cackle cut through the silence that followed. "Aw! Thought I'd get you with that the second time!"

"Curse you! You're trying to kill us!"

"Me? I'd never!"

He got up from his seat to argue, and the carriage jumped again, forcing him back down as he yelled, "Gah! You and your flimsy carriage! You'll be the death of me!"

The carriage continued onward, with its driver's malicious snickering joined by Subaru's laughter, and the Peixit domain grew ever larger in the distance.

Palladio Manesque, son of Drizen Vollachia, stood over his map, tracing it with his fingers.

Despite his lofty title, Palladio did not resemble in any way the Imperial heir he was by birth. He was an unusually tall man with long smoke-colored hair that fell down past his shoulders in a curly mess. As a young man in his mid-twenties, he retained a touch of youth most evident in the proud gleam one could find within his bright yellow eyes. A turquoise silk scarf was wrapped around his neck, a gift from his mother.

Much like his half-siblings, Palladio appreciated the finer things in life that wealth could grant him. His high-necked, long-sleeved azure coat was one of these finer things, and it sat among his most prized possessions. Its front was decorated with an asymmetrical pattern of golden lines that ran down the coat's arms as well. The pattern was nonsensical to him, but Berstetz Fondalfon once revealed to him that it was an ancient script, seemingly forgotten by the world, from around the First Emperor's time. No one would have been able to decipher what it said in any case. Not that he particularly cared.

What Palladio prized most, however, was the pure-gold amulet he carried tucked into his scarf. Its eye-like shape betrayed his Evil Eye blood, a fact he would much rather keep secret, which was why he hid the amulet as best he could. He would never get rid of it, however: it was the only gift his father had ever given him.

Now, he clutched the amulet tightly, wishing he had his father's cunning, or his mother's ruthlessness. Either one would have served him greatly now. He should have inherited more than a sword and a one-in-twenty chance to become Emperor, but fate was cruel, and the Observers loved mocking him.

Yet now, as he could picture their laughter above him - taunting him, pushing him toward a fight he could not win - the Emperor's son found a solution to his problems. Raising his hand, he beckoned his second-in-command, a petite woman with a doll-like complexion and almost colorless skin, to come closer. She shuffled to his side, staring at the map with pitch-black eyes that showed no emotion and never blinked.

With his finger on the map, right above Faradar, Palladio asked, "And what's this?"

"That is the High Count Peixit's domain," the woman uttered. "He was allied with House Godwin."

"He rules over Faradar? What is he?"

"Huh? He is human, if that is what you refer to."

Palladio's eyes widened, and he slammed his fist against the map. "A human lording over Faradar!? Insulting! I should teach him the error of his ways, by force if necessary!"

"Esteemed Lord," the woman responded in an emotionless voice, "our fighting capabilities were greatly damaged in our last battle. We cannot challenge a High Count."

"Indeed, which is why we won't fight. The High Count must be a reasonable man, I presume, to hold such a station, so we will get him on our side! There'll be plenty of chances to get rid of him on the road to Lupugana."

"That makes no sense. Do you have any idea what you are doing, Esteemed Lord?"

"And what does that matter!? Can you come up with anything better!?"

She crossed her arms and stared into his soul. "Easily."

"Well!" he hissed. "How tragic, then, that I'm the Emperor's son! Order the men to set course for Peixit's land. I wish to speak with him."

For what seemed like minutes, the two looked at one another in silence. Palladio licked his lips nervously. He had heard that her species was servile to whoever proved themselves superior to them, but that did not guarantee absolute loyalty. Had his right hand decided to betray him at last?

After almost a minute in silence, when neither of them moved, Palladio felt the heat of the Yang Sword's grip in his right hand. Better safe than sorry, after all.

"Very well," she said at last. "I will inform them."

The instant she turned her back to him, Palladio let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. The Yang Sword's heat died away, and he resumed looking at the map.

It was time to pay that High Count a visit.

The Peixit manor was massive up close.

It would have dwarfed anyone who stood too close, so - naturally - Subaru felt like an ant next to a mountain. If the sun had been behind the manor, its shadow would have extended for blocks.

The front was almost identical to the rest of the manor, with just a set of large doors atop some stairs to denote that this was the main entrance. Everything seemed conspicuously quiet, as if no one had lived here for years.

Gia stopped the carriage a few steps from the staircase, and Criff and Subaru got out as she remained sitting down on the driver's seat. For the first time, Subaru noticed the horse pulling the carriage. It was covered head-to-hoof in black-red armor, to the point that it looked more like a robot than an animal.

"You two!" Gia called out loudly enough to be heard across the Count's entire domain. "Remember! If the Lord Count doesn't agree to host ya, I'll take you back to Lord Abellux and General Gold! Do let me know if he agrees, yeah!? I can't read his mind!"

Criff pushed Subaru along gently, muttering to himself, "I'll take anything over another carriage ride with that demon…"

Before they got five steps from the carriage, however, the giant doors opened, and a group of four figures emerged, walking in a line.

Two figures, the ones at the edges, were decked in white-gray armor, with spiked helmets that covered their faces under a thin veil of chainmail. The front of the helmets, right above their foreheads, had a small carving of a wolf's head. Both carried short swords at their hips, but one carried a bow in his hands while the other held a spear.

The third individual, standing to the right of the spearman, was an elderly woman in a plain white-gray outfit, similar to that of a maid, that had two red feathers, one on each shoulder. She appeared to analyze them carefully, as her gaze switched between the two of them.

To her right was the unmistakable High Count. Although Subaru had never seen a High Count before, this man looked every bit the part. He was taller than everyone present, and as wide as two men. His face seemed frozen in a thoughtful glower, as his brow furrowed and he held a hand to his bearded chin. Unlike the other three people beside him, he wore regal clothing: a white coat unbuttoned slightly and adorned with the drawing of a silver dragon over his chest.

With a booming voice that sounded amplified by a megaphone, the High Count bellowed, "Would it surprise you to know you're not the first trespassers to try coming in through my front door? Though I would scold your idiocy at coming like this, I must applaud your courage. Most come here with a small army."

Raising his hands, Criff replied, "I fear you're mistaken, Lord Count Peixit. My name is Criff Montier, a First-Class Soldier of House Godwin."

Gaoran motioned with his hand for his entourage to stop, and they froze atop the stairs while he descended alone. "Hm. Now that I see you better, that is a Godwin uniform, is it not? And a rather dirty one, while that Abellux lady on the carriage hasn't a spot of mud on her clothes."

"I can explain, Lord Count." He softly patted Subaru's shoulder. "Just yesterday, Lady Godwin and eleven other Houses besieged the Abellux domain. We…"

As Criff trailed off and went silent, the High Count stopped in his tracks about three steps from where they stood. He eyed the two of them carefully. "You…?"

The First-Class Soldier brought a hand to his broken nose and froze up for a moment before shaking his head. "Betrayal, Lord Count. Ten of those Houses betrayed Lady Godwin! Her reward for her mercy toward them was a knife in the back, and not even a common grave!"

"Then…she is…?" The High Count's tan skin turned pale and his eyes widened, though he barely moved at all.

"Yes…Lord Count. Only two survived…and you're looking at them."

Gaoran gave no reaction, but he looked behind him to where his entourage stood, too far away to hear this conversation. "Is that so? I suppose I shall learn about it soon enough. Until then…what can I do for you?"

Criff lowered his voice to a whisper. "This boy with me, he was Lady Godwin's Stargazer. It's a long story, and I know how it sounds, but you have to believe me. We need a place to stay, and you've always stood with House Godwin. Please. We have no one else to turn to."

For the first time, the High Count lowered his hand from his mouth and smiled kindly. "It's the least I can do, no? Come, then. Ceyda will help you get settled."

Sighing with relief, Criff extended his hand, but the High Count did not take it. Instead, the older man stepped past him, toward the carriage, and began talking with Gia. Criff bit his lip and gently pushed Subaru toward the stairs, saying, "Come on. The sooner we're in there, the sooner we'll get some rest."

Subaru agreed. After spending a whole day cooped up in that carriage and under guard, the offer of having a real room to himself was too tempting to pass up. It would also be his first step toward getting back home, of course. He was already behind schedule on that, but better late than never.

The High Count's residence was just a temporary stop, after all. The Empire as a whole was just a temporary roadblock in his journey home.

Subaru would never call it his home, no matter how long he spent in it.

It was too easy.

Criff was as naturally trusting as any other Vollachian - which was to say, not much - but he knew it was an undisputed fact that High Counts did not just offer to shelter whoever came to their doors with sad tales and bloodied uniforms. Even the one person who was willing to do such a thing made up for it with her attitude and scorching conviction, typical among the High Nobility. There was a reason she was the "Lady Incandescent," a moniker she earned by burning her father to death…or so the rumor went.

It was common in the Empire to doubt the intentions of anyone who so much as glanced at you, because carelessness led to death. The High Nobles knew this, because their whole lives were based around deceit and manipulation. Sure, Gaoran Peixit had risen to nobility through military service, but he was the White-Cloud General, legendary for snatching victory from the skies. He was one of Vollachia's most highly-decorated military officers, not some Lugnican priest with a bleeding heart!

In the Empire, stepping into someone's home was a significant thing. It revealed many things about the visitor, depending on what connection said visitor had with their host. Criff knew Gaoran by hearsay, and by stepping into his home, he was putting his life in the High Count's hands…and he was still unaware what the other man's intentions were.

After all, their shared loyalty to a dead woman was hardly a significant enough connection to build trust between them.

Subaru was taking this new development in stride. He hardly seemed to worry about what the High Count's intentions were as Ceyda, Gaoran's head maid, led them to their rooms. Poor child was too naive to realize the intricacies behind every act, opting to take them at face value. That would get him killed someday.

Thus, it was Criff's job to keep his eyes open, paying as much attention as possible to every detail that could serve as a clue to the High Count's plans. There was a saying in his hometown made for situations like these: "When speaking to a superior, always know more than they tell you, and let slip less than they expect."

As Ceyda and the guards escorted them inside, Criff looked around the manor quickly, so as to not hint at what he was looking for, while paying attention to every detail he could find. The manor's inside was a soft blue, like the clear sky, and the first room at the entrance split in three: there were hallways to both sides and a stairway to the next floor.

Above the stairway was an elegant painting - displayed proudly above an elegant halberd - depicting the High Count Gaoran Peixit himself, though noticeably younger than he was now. Behind him, a great white sky dragon gazed into the distance. In the painting, Gaoran still had his amiable smile and wheat-colored hair, but his face was significantly more youthful and…alive, in a way. Almost brimming with muted enthusiasm. His clothing gave a clue as to what had the young Gaoran so excited. It was an Imperial Army uniform, though one with significant modifications. It was white, for one, and it had a billowing gray cape behind it. A lustrous golden pin depicting a dragon at the end of a spear shone on his chest.

For once in his life, Criff was thankful to the First Emperor Vollachia for the fact that his duty in House Godwin's army was inspecting uniforms, because he recognized Gaoran's attire as that of the Imperial Commodore, master of the Emperor's Sky Riders.

The maid led them down the left hallway, and Criff was mildly surprised at the lack of decorations there. Apart from a few vases, paintings, weapons, and pieces of armor, the hallway was bare. On the left wall were several windows, facing the outside. It was still early in the morning, but the sun could not be seen from here. So, the manor faced west. That was good to know.

Criff was lost in his thoughts, so he almost jumped in fright when the maid, Ceyda, spoke up. "We are almost there."

"The Lord Count's home is most impressive. I suppose he must be very proud," he responded, taking care to analyze her reaction.

Ceyda was around the same age as the High Count, a fact easily noticed. Her fluffy hair was colorless from age, and her face was wrinkled, but what stood out the most was her sharp teeth when she smiled at his question. For the first time, Criff noticed the two sharp black horns just slightly poking out of her hair. "You are not as sly as you believe yourself to be, soldier," she laughed, causing the two guards at their sides to look at each other and frown. "Lord Peixit is your humble host, and you will treat him with honor, not suspicion."

He grinned as best he could, under the circumstances. "I am thankful to the Lord Count for helping us in these circumstances, but please understand that I have reason to doubt such hospitality."

"Such is the way of the Vollachian Empire. Ours is the only nation in which a man will not drink tea for fear it will be poisoned."

"Would you rather be served a chunk of ice, like in Gusteko, or charged separately for the tea and the cup, like in Kararagi?"

With a half-sneer, she answered, "I would much rather drink my tea." As Criff began to respond, she cut him off and said, "We are here, honored guests. Kindly refrain from causing the Lord Count any undue trouble."

Ceyda pointed at two identical doors, each leading to a separate room, and looked back at him with a hint of amusement and expectation. For a second, Criff wondered what she was waiting for. When he realized it, he sighed and muttered, "Thank you."

"What a polite young man," she snickered. "I was expecting you to promise not to cause trouble, but that works as well. Enjoy your stay."

She offered her hand, but Criff hesitated to take it. It was unlikely that she would try to attack him here, but the possibility existed all the same. In the end, he shook her hand, biting his lip as she nicked his wrist with her sharp reptile-like nails. He silently cursed himself for not having noticed her fingernails earlier.

"Behave," the head maid whispered. "Lest you want me to correct your behavior forcefully."

Letting go of his hand, Ceyda stepped past him, accompanied by the two guards, as Criff rubbed his wrist.

"How far out are we?"

"Esteemed Lord, you asked that minutes ago."

"Oh, forgive me, Lutka, for not having heard you the first time! How far out are we!?"

Palladio almost shivered as Lutka's pitch-black eyes locked with his. Her permanently-emotionless face, combined with her doll-like complexion, were more fitting on a deranged killer than on someone as subservient and fragile-looking as Lutka, but that was what made her so unsettling to look at. Well, she was pretty enough aside from that murderer's face, but Palladio tried to maintain eye contact with whoever he spoke to. Eyes were windows to the soul, and he was adept at figuring out what lay behind such windows.

When it came to Lutka, however, he could never decipher her thoughts.

After what seemed like minutes, she responded, "We are still hours away, and will most likely not arrive before sunset."

Sitting down beside her in the driver's seat of his personal carriage, Palladio sighed and shook his head. "That's no good. If we're caught camping in the middle of nowh-"

"Esteemed Lord, strategy is not your strong suit. Leave the worrying to me."

"Eh!? What are you implying!?"

"I imply nothing. It is a known fact."

Staring at her, mouth agape, Palladio stammered, "Y-you insolent…! I'll take your head for this!"

Lutka continued speaking as if she had not heard him. "By the best estimate, we may be able to reach your domain before sunrise tomorrow. By the worst, we will be caught before that, and forced into a battle we cannot win."

"A grim predicament," the Imperial heir murmured. "Rest assured, however, that I have a way to secure our victory." A self-satisfied smirk grew on his face, and he nodded to himself thoughtfully.

The doll woman remained silent for an awfully long time before saying, "I am sure you do, Esteemed Lord."

He laughed joyfully. "Indeed! Now, you may take back your earlier statement. I am not so cruel as to deny an underling a chance at redemption."

"I stand by it, Esteemed Lord."

"W-wha!? I'll kill you!"

She shook her head calmly. "You will do no such thing, Esteemed Lord."

"And how would you know that, underling?" the Emperor's son asked with a threatening tone in his voice.

Lutka responded as if she were talking about what color the clouds were. "Because I know you, Esteemed Lord."

Palladio's eyes widened, and he found himself unable to respond. To avoid the risk of mumbling some incomprehensible comeback, he looked away and kept his mouth shut.

The Observers must have been laughing at him.

Sitting in his study, Gaoran frowned as he inspected the letter in his hands.

That Abellux woman who brought the two strangers to his home had given it to him, claiming it was from her superior and concerned Gaoran directly. He scrutinized every millimeter of the envelope, but found nothing of note. It bore the House Abellux emblem on its stamp, unbroken still, which he compared to one from a letter he had received months ago prompting him to ally himself to them for the Emperor Selection Ceremony. The seals matched.

He analyzed the envelope once again, turning it each and every way, holding it up to the sunlight, and a thousand other methods he could think of. As a General, he had learned to tell a forged letter from a real one. Luckily, he still remembered how to do that.

What concerned him, however, was that this letter seemed real.

The moment he smoothed the letter against the desk with his palm for the tenth time or so, Ceyda took it from his hands and used one of her nails to cut the seal as cleanly as possible. "Was that too hard for you, Gaoran?"

"You sound impatient," he responded, earning a chuckle from his head maid.

"Of course I am." She handed him the letter and crossed her arms. "I do not like that soldier one bit. At best, he works for Abellux, or Qisuni. At worst…"

Gaoran nodded. "You fear he might be Imperial Hand?"

The maid shrugged. "Do you consider Vigo to be above such tricks?"

"He most definitely is not. We both know the lengths he will go to."

"And yet, you let two potential spies into your home."

Pulling out the letter from its envelope, Gaoran clicked his tongue. "The child intrigues me. If he is knowingly involved in this affair, he may be the most dangerous of them all."

Ceyda narrowed her eyes. "I wish I could disagree, but I know how dangerous some of them can be. Blue Lightning and Spirit-Eater, for example."

He made a sound of assent and opened the letter. The handwriting matched the one from his other letter, at least on the surface. He began to read.

"To the High Count Gaoran Peixit,"

"May this missive reach you hastily, for there is news to be shared. House Godwin has been destroyed in battle, and Lamia Godwin is dead. We cannot offer you condolences, so allow us to offer you an opportunity."

"By now, your association with House Godwin is no secret to us. It is no exaggeration to say your life hands in the balance now that Godwin is no more. However, House Abellux will overlook your actions during the Ceremony in return for your cooperation in a sensitive matter."

"Two individuals, Criff Montier and Subaru Natsuki, have requested to be hosted by you for the next five months, after which they will be brought to Lupugana. Treat them as you would treat valued guests, and when their time is up, House Abellux will honor its promise to you."

"Do not fail, High Count. Your Emperor is counting on you."

Silently, he reread the letter again. And again. And again.

After going over it countless times, he handed the letter to Ceyda, who skimmed it. "They appear to be putting some effort into this deception, if it is one," she commented.

Gaoran pinched the bridge of his nose. "Abellux will lie about anything and spend as much as necessary to cover it up."

"If need be, I am willing to dispose of our guests."

"No, no, leave them be," he commanded, stroking his beard. "Getting rid of them would only provoke Abellux into coming up with a new plan. Let them feel confident in this one, and we can take them by surprise."

Although she appeared opposed to the plan, the head maid asked, "And for how long will we keep up this false impression?"

"Until they make their move. We will deal with them in due time."

Ceyda did not respond, opting to return the letter to him in silence. As he took it, Gaoran considered his course of action. Those two "guests" in his home were most likely Abellux agents, and if he eliminated them, Abellux would retaliate in some other way, one he would not see coming. It would be for the best if he held off for the moment and lulled his opponents into a false sense of safety. Two spies would hardly be a memorable loss for House Abellux, but if he caught their spymaster, they would be hurting for months.

Yes, that was the plan. He would root out these enemy agents and eradicate them in one fell swoop. With a single strike, he would cripple House Abellux's covert operations.

Carefully, he folded the letter and locked it away in his desk drawer.

It was not every day that Nolan Bluhart received a direct visit from anyone of lesser status than him.

That sounds wrong…

To put it bluntly, he was a rather lonely man, with only his staff for company. His younger brother was off somewhere, and his only visitors were nobles who had some business on his land and needed to consult him about it. Usually, said nobles outranked him. It really scared him when he had to puff his chest out and act all proud in front of his Imperial counterpart, an imposing High Countess who could have used his ribs as toothpicks if she wanted to, and it bored him half to death when he had to explain to some Lugnican Duke that no, they could not just come into his land and do whatever they wanted, because this was Bluhart land and the Bluharts were the only ones standing between a Vollachian private army and the rest of Lugnica.

Technically, it was just him and his private army, but until his brother came to his senses, he would have to uphold the Bluharts' ancient duty as best he could by himself.

It was a monotonous life, which was why Nolan was so surprised to see that some person he had never heard of before had requested an audience with him. His secretary said the petitioner was a merchant from this territory, which was not unusual. Lugnicans living by the Vollachian border often chose to become soldiers and fight or merchants and flee. Nolan would not judge them for that.

Besides, the petitioner could have been an unhinged criminal out for blood and he still would have accepted to speak with them. It was not as if the Count had anything better to do, apart from sifting through documents for hours.

He took one last look at himself. As was the Bluhart way, he dressed to impress, opting for a fine yellow coat with scarlet engravings along the chest, depicting the Divine Dragon. A bit awkward to wear, given his belief that the Dragon held Lugnica back from its truest potential, but who was he to complain about fashion?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into his manor's main hall.

The servants curtsied as they saw him, resuming their work as soon as he nodded at them. The main hall was a rather large and elegant corridor, and servants were present here at all times of the day. It required constant maintenance due to all the paintings and artifacts displayed there.

At the end of the main hall was the front entrance to the manor, which was surrounded by a small but cozy waiting area with a few couches and chairs. It had been a long time since Nolan saw anyone use them, but now, two people sat on them. They stood when he approached.

The first, a man in his mid twenties, gave him a small nod and a guileless smile. His copper hair and sharp chin made him look like one of those elegant warriors from the books, but his rather plain clothes - with just a hint of extravagance, as denoted by their high quality - marked him as one of the lower class.

To his right, a young girl who could not have been a day over sixteen bowed to Nolan before stammering some incomprehensible greeting. She shared the man's copper hair, but that was where the resemblance ended.

Seeing how the girl was still bowing, Nolan chuckled and spoke, "Get up, come now. No need to treat me like some deity. We're too far south to play at being Gustekans."

She did as he asked, but still avoided looking at him. Her brother - at least, Nolan thought the man was her brother - slapped her back and said, "Thank you for takin' the time to see us, Count."

"Please," the Count interrupted, "Nolan is just fine. I'd prefer not to be reminded of the mountain of paperwork on my desk right now."

"Sure thin'...Nolan!"

Nolan crossed his fingers. "So, which one of you is Heiko?"

The man raised his hand. "That'd be me. This is my sister, er…I'll let her introduce herself."

The girl looked at the floor and muttered something. Nolan was about to ask her to repeat herself when she said, "I…I'm Linneke, sir."

"A pleasure to meet you both. What can I do for you two upstanding Bluhart citizens?"

Heiko's smile fell as he rubbed the back of his head. "This is…probably ol' news to you by now, but…somebody stole a shipment bound to Vollachia a while ago, in Barielle territory."

It was old news indeed. The incident had happened over two weeks ago by now. "Indeed. Has there been any development on that case? Anything I should be made aware of?" Such a topic was a strange thing to bring up, which caused Nolan to frown as he looked at the two visitors.

"There's…news about it," was Heiko's reply. The merchant nudged his sister with his elbow, and she glared at him.

"The shipment was made up of v-various crates of…weaponry," Linneke added, before pausing. There was an awkward silence until Nolan took the hint.

"Who approved sending several crates of weapons to the Vollachian Empire?"

It was Linneke who answered, "That's…the p-problem, sir. It wasn't Baron Leip."

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Nolan spoke, "And so, who was it? Carriages cannot just cross the border without approval from the local noble!" This was a disaster. He was going to have to bring this up with the Council of Wisemen in their next meeting, and that would make for an awful conversation, made even worse if Baron Barielle was there.

"It wasn't the Baron, sir," Heiko repeated. "It was…you."

Silence.

Nolan stared at them, completely stupefied. He waited for either of them to elaborate on that claim, and when neither did so, he cleared his throat and - calmly, mind you - asked, "And what could possibly have taken you to that conclusion?"

Linneke reached into her pocket slowly and retrieved a letter, then handed it to him. He recognized the letter. It was more of a pass than anything else, proving that Count Bluhart had authorized the bearer to cross the border. "T-this was found in the abandoned carriage," she explained.

"They found the carriage?"

"Yes, s-sir…"

"Help me understand this," the Count ordered, pocketing the border pass. "A carriage leaves Barielle lands, filled with weapons. It comes to my land, somehow gets this letter to cross the border, and escapes. There's dozens of weapons loose in Vollachia now, and whoever took them there is still at large." A pause. "Did I get it right? Am I the only one who thinks this is all absolutely insane?"

Linneke stammered, holding up her hands. "W-we aren't accusing you, Count! We wanted to l-let you know!"

On top of that, Heiko added, "As for the thief…someone in the Baron's land described a strange fella who was near the stables during the time o' the theft." He retrieved a thin paper and handed it to Nolan, who looked it over. A wanted poster, depicting a human man with braided hair and a flower-shaped hairpin. What stood out the most was a rather inconspicuous detail: the suspect's eyes had triangular pupils, which pointed downward.

With a sigh, Nolan rubbed his eyes and said, "Look, I know this sounds insane, but please don't breathe a word about this to anyone. I'll bring this information to the Council, and they'll deal with it." He pointed at them with two fingers. "Pay attention. Do not say anything about this to anyone. I'll handle it all."

"Sir Count," Linneke began to say, but he turned around and walked away, his hurried footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent main hall.

He was going to find this triangular-eyed thief and wring his neck personally.

Subaru lay sprawled on his room's bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Gaoran had obviously just stuck him and Criff in the first guest rooms he could find, because this room felt a little claustrophobic. It was only a few meters long and wide. At most, two people could fit in here at once, and they would be pretty cramped. It also had nothing more than a bed, a bookshelf, a closet, and a desk.

It was a very far cry from Subaru's real room, but he could at least sleep normally in it, so that was a point in its favor.

If he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to ignore the mattress's unfamiliar texture, he could almost pretend he was home. He could just almost convince himself that this Empire was just a nightmare.

And yet, he could not escape the Empire that easily.

A knock on the door called his attention, and before he could respond, Criff entered, holding a small pile of books. He looked at Subaru and scowled, placing the books on the desk, beside a quill and a few sheets of paper.

Subaru looked at him, confused. "What's all that for?"

"Seriously?" the soldier retorted. "You don't even know what the Vollachian Empire is. How will you be a Stargazer if you don't even know where you are?"

"I thought that star thing was a lie."

"It is, but we need to make it convincing. Besides…I'm not going to run away with someone who can't tell right from left."

Subaru pouted as Criff chuckled and held up a book. It was all scarlet, with a drawing of a rose in the front cover. What stood out the most was the set of hieroglyphs that resembled Japanese if he squinted and rearranged a few of them. No, scratch that. They looked like Japanese written by an illiterate drunk.

"Do you know what this is?" Criff asked. His expression was completely neutral, but Subaru could tell he was expecting a certain answer.

Which was why he replied proudly by saying, "It's a book."

Criff glared at him, looking as if he was tempted to throw the book at him as hard he could. "Yes. It's a book." He stepped closer to the bed and all but shoved the book in Subaru's face. "Do you know which book it is?"

Putting on his best smile, Subaru muttered, "Erm…"

"Am I not showing you the title?"

"I think so."

"And…?" Criff pointed at the book's title, as if that would settle the matter. When Subaru did not respond, Criff's eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. "No. No, don't you dare tell me you can't read."

Subaru shrugged and stuck his tongue out. "Oops."

For almost half a minute, neither said anything. It was Criff who broke the silence by asking, "W-where do you even come from?"

"Ah! That's easy!" Subaru crossed his arms proudly. "I'm from Japan!"

"That's not a real place!"

"Yes it is! It's to the east!"

The soldier cringed visibly. "You're Lugnican?"

"No! Japanese! I don't know what a Lugnican is!"

Raising a hand, Criff remarked, "You can't read. You know nothing about the world. You claim to be from a land that doesn't exist." He stepped back to the desk. "Either you're a complete idiot, a liar, or from beyond the Great Cascade. I refuse to believe the last one, and if you're any of the first two, I refuse to help you out."

The Great Cascade, huh? Cecilus had mentioned that earlier. "How can you know that Japan isn't beyond the Cascade?"

"Because no one crosses over. Ever. Everyone who claims they're from beyond is looking for attention and lying. Crossing the Cascade is a myth, like Stargazing."

In Criff's defense, Subaru had no recollection of crossing a cascade to get here, but that was the only way he could justify his arrival without outright saying he was summoned from another world. If Criff was not going to believe it, there was no point in arguing.

Still, despite his claims, Criff took the chair from the desk and sat down, before explaining, "This book was the first book I ever read. It's a Vollachian classic, centuries old. It even got adapted into a play." He opened the book and flipped through the pages. For a moment, he looked wistful. "It's called Iris and the King of Thorns. Definitely not something a child like you should be reading, but…never mind."

Slowly, he placed the book at the top of the pile he had brought. "These are all classics," he continued. "The Crimson Castle. The Guillotine of Magrizza. Every Imperial knows these by name, at the least."

He turned back to Subaru, and in a determined tone, said, "One day, you will too."

Grabbing a sheet of paper and the quill from the desk, Criff scribbled something before showing it to Subaru. It was a surprisingly well-drawn map, showing what looked to be four countries. After he put the quill back in its inkwell, Criff pointed to the southernmost country. "This is the Empire. To the west is Kararagi. Up north is Gusteko. The east is Lugnica, though we don't like Lugnica."

"Why not?" Subaru inquired.

"I'll get to that soon. Vollachia has existed for more than a thousand years, but it only became an Empire a few centuries ago." He pointed at the area around the map itself. "Four hundred years ago, there was something called the Great Calamity. A demon known as the Witch of Envy destroyed half the world before being sealed away in the world's easternmost point." Pointing at said point, he continued, "This is it. Augria." Then, he looked away from the map and met Subaru's gaze. "Do you know what's here, in Augria?"

The way he asked that was just a little unsettling. "N-no," Subaru mumbled.

Criff remained quiet for a heartbeat before saying, "Here lies an ancient structure that once belonged to a wise sage. It's called the Pleiades Watchtower." Before Subaru could say anything, he kept going. "Pleiades. Sound familiar? It should, since you just so happen to be named after it, no? That's what you said."

Subaru gave a silent "Oh" as Criff kept talking.

"I genuinely don't care what your reason for saying that is, or if it's even true," he explained. "Now, back onto this. During the Calamity, the newly-formed Empire remained stable…or at least tried to. People from all around the world flocked to the First Emperor's land seeking protection. It's why Vollachia is now the largest nation."

"What was the First Emperor like?"

Criff turned the paper around and drew something with the quill. It was a man with a short beard and hair tied into a bun atop his head. "Records from that era are scarce, but he's reputed to have been the greatest ruler to have ever lived, and not just in Vollachia. Crime was nonexistent under his rule, and the Empire became a beacon of power to which all other nations knelt." He drew something beside the man: a wolf's head with three swords sticking out from it. "The Imperial Swordwolf became synonymous with power, and it still is."

He drew lines under the Emperor, each connecting to a crossed-out circle except one, which led to a crown. "When the First Emperor passed, his children created the Rite of Imperial Selection, more commonly known as the Emperor Selection Ceremony. Every child of the former Emperor fought in a civil war to slay the others, and the winner became the monarch."

"That's awful!" Subaru exclaimed. "How can they do that!?"

"It's only awful if you're on the losing side," Criff responded sadly. "Lamia Godwin, my master…she was one of the former Emperor's children. Prisca Benedict, Vincent Abellux, and a few others…they're all still in the running to become the 77th Emperor. Or Empress. It doesn't matter so long as they don't destroy the Empire as a whole."

Subaru blanched. This was most definitely not what he had expected from such a place. Well, sure, his introduction to the Empire was by getting captured by the two strangest people he had ever met - who were his age! - but he thought it would get better from there! "Are all countries like that?" he asked.

Criff flipped the paper and pointed at the map. "No, they're all rather…I don't know what word to use. But! The Empire is better! Always remember that."

Again, Subaru asked, "How?"

Criff readily began praising the Empire, and his lecture about history went on until they were called for lunch.

The sunset was a sight to behold.

As Gaoran stood outside his manor, he gazed into the west, watching the sun disappear behind the horizon. The sky had a yellowish hue to it, but sometimes, it turned blood-red. It was quite the spectacle.

From the sky came a shrill call, and Gaoran smiled. Just a few moments afterward, a massive reptilian figure landed behind him, and he turned with a smile on his face.

Just as the High Count towered over normal men, his sky dragon towered over him. It was an all-white beauty, with two horns sprouting above its blue eyes. Anyone else would have cowered in fear or begged for mercy, but as a Sky Rider, Gaoran knew this creature like he knew himself.

"You are quite late, Feyron," he chuckled, reaching out to pat the beast's head. It made a sound in response to his comment.

In Vollachia, few individuals mastered the art of Dragon Taming, and fewer still used it on Sky Dragons. They were ferocious and proud, and all except the Dragonkin considered them a nightmare to handle.

Gaoran had first encountered Feyron during a mission to Mezoreia, the City in the Clouds. The two had been much younger back then. Well, Feyron could hardly be called young. He would most likely outlive the High Count, if not felled in battle.

Feyron was unique for his white scales, which earned him and Gaoran fame throughout the Empire. In a land so humid and warm like Vollachia, snow was extremely unusual, and Feyron was the closest they got to ever seeing it. It was through his military knowledge that Gaoran became a General, but he became the White-Cloud General thanks to Feyron's unique appearance…and fierce loyalty.

It would not be a stretch to say the two had become comrades in arms.

"I do not doubt you have done well, Feyron," Gaoran commented, earning a sound of approval from the dragon. Feyron had been absent all day due to a visit by the Commodore, Gaoran's successor as leader of the Sky Riders. He had deemed fit to escort the Commodore back to Lupugana, but his new guests made that impossible, so he asked Feyron to do it by himself.

And yet, as he was musing to himself about the Commodore's most-unusual visit, Feyron's head suddenly perked up, looking into the distance, down the main road that led to the manor.

Gaoran cursed to himself. Feyron had keen senses. It was fully possible he had spotted an incoming threat. After all, it had been Feyron who alerted him to the incoming Abellux carriage earlier that day.

House Peixit's armsmen, its private army, was housed in the five buildings that surrounded the manor. It would only take the slightest disturbance to rouse them into action, if the worst came to pass, but Gaoran was a careful man. He remained as he was, watching in the same direction as his Sky Dragon.

After a minute or so, a few carriages appeared in the distance. Most were plain wagons, likely carrying supplies - or troops - but one of them was a noticeably ornate carriage suited for a noble. It was certainly not Vigo's, since his personal carriage was ridiculous and could be spotted half a world away, while this one was a muted shade of blue and gold, and flew a flag above it.

Once the carriages got a bit closer, Gaoran could make out the emblem on the flag. It was the Swordwolf's head, with its eyes drawn as swirling vortices around a snake-like pupil. Not many would have recognized the odd design choice, but Gaoran did, as ruler of Faradar. It was the Evil Eye sigil, which meant the carriage belonged to none other than the ill-reputed Palladio Manesque.

Lamia Godwin had confided in Gaoran about Palladio's heritage and unique power. She had also gone to great lengths to criticize her half-brother as a craven fool who put on grand shows to hide his inadequacies.

It was, perhaps, time to discover if she had been right.

Feyron growled, and Gaoran shushed him. "Easy, now. Let them come closer. I want to hear them out."

The Sky Dragon was most displeased with his command, but obeyed nonetheless, and the two stood their ground as House Manesque approached.

About two blocks away from the manor, the wagon carriages stopped, and Palladio's continued on by itself. Gaoran nodded. It was a show of trust to leave behind one's own guard and wander alone into possibly-hostile territory.

A minute later, the main carriage arrived at the front entrance to the Peixit manor and stopped. Atop the driver's seat, behind the armored gale horse pushing the carriage, were a man and a woman, who descended as soon as the carriage stopped.

The woman unnerved Gaoran. She was short which, coupled with her pure-white skin, made her look like a living doll, and her pitch-black eyes betrayed as little emotion as her impassive face.

The man, on the other hand, stood as tall as Gaoran himself. He was clad in a long blue coat with golden engravings, and wore a turquoise scarf around his neck. He glanced at Gaoran for a few seconds in pure silence before moving closer with his companion.

"Evening, High Count!" the man spoke, standing proudly with his hands on his hips. "Had a lovely day, I presume?"

Gaoran made no move to approach him, so he raised his voice to respond. "A rather busy day."

"No doubt about that, High Count." He took a few steps toward Gaoran, deciding to stand a few meters from the High Count. "I suppose you have heard of Lamia Godwin's passing?"

Frowning, Gaoran said, "Lies."

"Truths. I was there. Prisca Benedict," the man spat at her name, "cut her down personally, after Lamia was betrayed by everyone in her army. Well…everyone except me."

"I take it, then, that you are…"

The man puffed his chest out and grinned. "Palladio Manesque, the Augur! As heir to Emperor Drizen, I wish to request your aid, Lord Count Peixit!"

Gaoran inspected the Imperial heir. His claims of Lamia Godwin's death would have to be investigated further, but as for now, there was a more pressing matter at hand. "What aid would that be?"

"House Abellux is after me," Palladio explained. "If I return to my domain, I will be besieged and promptly killed. Allow me and my men to take shelter here, and in Faradar, and together we will stand a chance at victory." He clapped his hands together, and a ring of fire surrounded them. "I know my beloved father has already given you all you wish, High Count, but Vincent Abellux is no child of Drizen. He is a coward, and a disgrace to our family. If he reigns, you may well lose everything."

"And if I refuse, you will simply attack me." Gaoran shook his head. "Am I wrong, Lord Manesque?"

"Very. I have less than a hundred troops with me, and your House has almost six times that number. I will not kill myself trying to settle a petty wish for vengeance. Help me or ignore me, but know there will be a price to pay."

The High Count thought on it. He did not need Palladio's aid, so helping him out would be a purely altruistic matter. However, he was Lamia's closest "ally," for lack of a better word. And if he was an Evil Eye, as the rumors said, he might be helpful in deciphering the Abellux plot with that soldier and the black-haired child.

Thus, Gaoran met Palladio's gaze and spoke, "To our partnership."

In return, the Augur nodded and answered, "To the end of Abellux."

Chapter Text

"The bird cannot fly until it leaves its eggshell behind. The Dragon's Covenant will stifle Lugnica until it breathes no more, while we fly free."

(excerpt from a scholarly text during the King of Thorns' reign, ~100 After Calamity)

Chapter 5: Eggshell

As the sun fell into the horizon, Criff held up the sheet of paper and sighed.

Contrary to his expectations, Subaru was proving a fast learner. His only problem was retaining that information. Criff suspected that part had less to do with the boy being stupid and more with him being disinterested. Such behavior was something he was familiar with. After all, it was Criff Montier himself who ran House Godwin's uniform inspections, and he knew how dismissive people could get about his suggestions. That made much sense to him back then. More than once he had stared down demi-humans twice his size who were probably filled to the brim with unspeakable bloodlust as he cited the dress code to them.

That experience made him appreciate those who paid half a mind to what their lessers said. Vollachia was a pyramid, with the Emperor at the capstone and everyone else below, but just like a pyramid, it would crumble if the foundation was removed.

Subaru had to understand that.

"But it makes no sense!" the boy was saying, sitting down on his bed. "Does that mean anything's allowed so long as you're strong? It's a stupid way of thinking!" He crossed his arms and frowned thoughtfully.

Criff pointed at the pyramid he had drawn on the paper. "It's not exactly like that. High Count Peixit is a strong man, and he was a First-Class General less than a decade ago, but not all of the High Nobility are strong. Willpower and cunning matter just as much, even if they're less valued."

"Then why is strength all you talk about!?"

"Strength is made up of several parts." He paused for a second. "Let me think…yes, I know. Even the strongest man to ever live, Reid Astrea, is known to have been noticeably wise. The First Emperor learned much from the Sword Saint and founded the Empire on such lessons. Strength is wasted on a dimwit who can't reason, and the wisest of sages can find himself ignored if he lacks the strength to back his claims. Strength is about getting others to listen to you, and if you can do that without having to knock sense into them, all the better."

Subaru appeared to understand this reasoning. Still, he asked, "Then…why is everyone fighting all the time?"

Quickly, Criff put the sheet of paper he was holding on the desk and grabbed the first one he had drawn on, which depicted a map of the world. "Vollachia is the greatest nation for a reason. Conflict is the father of necessity, and - as a man named Hoshin once said - necessity is the mother of invention." He clicked his tongue. "In fact, the time of the Great Calamity saw many changes to the world, both for better and for worse. The Empire was founded from the turmoil of that time. Lugnica as we know it today was also born from the flames of that destruction."

"Um…why do you talk about Lugnica that way?"

Criff took a moment to draw something beside the map. It was an emblem: two dragons with a sword between them, pointing upward. "This is the Lugnican Crest. Four centuries ago, the dragons were lions. Before that…they were wolves. Vollachia once ruled over the world itself, and Lugnica broke away in rebellion. Vollachia did nothing back then: war with Lugnica presented many problems and was a last resort, so everyone sought negotiation…"

As his voice trailed off, Subaru asked, "It…didn't work?"

"As the stories go," he continued, "the tension between the countries reached a boiling point just a few years before the Great Calamity. Vollachia could not decide whether to strike out and start a war or try to continue negotiations…so the First Emperor made that choice himself. Every bard from here to Gusteko still sings about how he marched into the Crystal Palace and - for the first time in history - summoned the Yang Sword, which he used to execute the previous aristocracy."

When Subaru did not comment, he kept going. "The First Emperor immediately gave the Lugnican king, a man named Farsale, a decision: surrender and accept Vollachian rule or be made an example of." With a grim smile, he added, "Since Lugnica still stands, you can guess how successful that threat was. The Calamity tore the world in half before war could erupt, and when it was over, Farsale made a contract with a dragon to protect his Kingdom. That act of sheer cowardice was enough to foster the hatred that you see today. It is the reason we - the Sacred Vollachian Empire - have to be strong: because someday, that dragon will die, and Lugnica will be paid back for its folly."

Those words leaving his mouth were not his, but deep down, he believed in them. Despite knowing the dangers of being caught up in a fanatical craze, like most of House Godwin had been, he could not help but wish to be alive the day the Empire achieved its greatest victory. That wish came with his nationality. He doubted any Vollachian held any measure of care for the eastern Kingdom, which had for so long laughed in the Empire's face. While he had his reservations about some of the Empire's policies…he did not share such reservations when it came to Lugnica.

The shame those cowards inflicted on Vollachia persisted, no matter how hard everyone tried to deny its existence.

Criff only realized his thoughts had distracted him when he heard a new voice speak up with mocking amusement. "My, my, my…Father would have clapped you on the back and made you a Count for those words alone."

In a moment of panic, Criff did the first thing he could think of: he pointed his sheet of paper at the intruder, hoping to give them a papercut at least. Subaru scooted away from the door quietly.

Said intruder was an almost-unnaturally-tall young man, possibly just a year or two older than Criff himself. His yellow eyes sparkled with malicious glee, and his smirk looked as if he was trying to show off his teeth. What stood out the most was that ridiculously-expensive turquoise scarf around his neck, a sign of wealth and affluence.

Lowering his sheet of paper, Criff's voice took on a cautious tone as he said, "I did not believe we'd be seeing another High Count here." He eyed the man carefully. The newcomer's presence was unsettling. Something about him felt…uncanny.

"'High Count?'" The new man barked a laugh. "You think too highly of me, and too little, as well. I am the Augur, Palladio Manesque! Feel free to bow as deeply as you wish!"

Palladio Manesque!? But that was impossible! The man's territory lay near Ginunhive, on the other side of Vollachia! "H-how are you here, Lord Manesque?"

Palladio's smirk vanished, and he looked offended. "Fool! You should be happy that I am alive, and for the aid I have given dear Lamia! Were you one of my retainers, I would have corrected such behavior forcefully." He scoffed. "Clearly, Lamia let her little toys run around too freely. Did Berstetz teach her nothing? And look at you, all grimy and…stuff! One would think she'd learn to take better care of her men…why, my vassals at least look the part, unlike you."

Criff looked at Subaru, then back at the irate Lord in front of him. "Um…w-what?"

"Hm." Palladio's mouth drew into a thin line. "I waste my breath, talking to you. Perhaps you'll prove more amusing when we all gather for dinner." Just as Criff blinked, the Imperial heir suddenly grabbed him by the cheek. For a second, he said nothing, and then merely commented, "You must've been her cupbearer." With those words, he let Criff go and stepped away.

Only half a minute after Palladio left did Subaru speak up. "He seems mean."

Criff was speechless as he rubbed his cheek. The sheer gall! Did that man have no tact whatsoever!? To even insinuate such a thing…!

He missed Lamia Godwin dearly. She would never have said such a thing! A cupbearer, of all things! Cupbearers were regarded as the lowest among servants! Their entire role was to walk around with drinks and look pretty!

Curse Palladio Manesque!

By the time Gaoran's head maid called for dinner, Palladio was the first to arrive.

He had to give credit where credit was due: Gaoran Peixit ran a tidy household. Palladio's was tidier, naturally, but the High Count was to be commended nonetheless. If the Imperial heir played his cards right, the Count would be rewarded…as a member of the Manesque household.

The dining room on the first floor was a sight to behold. A massive rectangular table dominated the room, with nearly fifty chairs surrounding it. Four crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the room. On one wall, windows allowed the rapidly-vanishing sunlight to seep in, while the other wall displayed two paintings. The first painting was a classic, depicting a regal old man frowning thoughtfully as he stared down the crowd calling for his death. Two executioners pushed him toward a waiting guillotine. That was one of the most famous scenes in The Guillotine of Magrizza.

When Palladio laid eyes on the second picture, however, he simmered with quiet fury. It showed an elegant man in his fifties, bearing a cruel grin. His fiery orange hair was losing its color, but his ruby red eyes shone with evil. A crimson coat sat on his shoulders, unbuttoned and seemingly ignored, giving him a more casual look. That was useless: no one could look into Drizen Vollachia's eyes and see anything other than the scheming madman who had thrown Palladio into this mess.

Gaoran's voice cut through the silence, almost startling Palladio. "Admiring the artwork, Lord Manesque?"

"One could say that," he responded, backing away and taking his seat at one end of the table. "Father…he was not quite fond of paintings. I am."

"Yes. His Excellency was a man of literature, not art." Gaoran sat opposite to the heir, stroking his beard. "Accept my condolences for his passing."

The Evil Eye waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. I accept nothing. Do you forget his death was necessary? A weak old man can't rule Vollachia." Chuckling, he added, "Do you see Berstetz Fondalfon claiming to be Emperor? Precisely."

Gaoran's laugh resonated through the dining room. "You have a point there, Lord Manesque. Is your attendant coming?"

"Lutka prefers to eat alone, and I'll respect that, Lord Count. She and her kin are…not fond of public settings."

"Not the oddest tradition I have encountered. Let her know she is welcome to do as she desires."

Palladio smirked. "Oh, and am I not welcome to do just that as well? Do you feel the need to instruct my retainers on what they can and cannot do?"

Surprisingly enough, the High Count gave little reaction. "Our Empire is founded on the principle of strength, Lord Manesque. Your servants are yours, but this manor is mine, and Lady Godwin's. I have no interest in bowing to you."

Clicking his tongue, the Evil Eye tilted his head. "How curious, that you're so loyal to a corpse." He leaned back and put his feet up on the table. "Between you and that cupbearer, Lamia sure knew how to pick her subordinates."

Before the former Sky Rider could respond, that blonde man with the crooked nose entered, accompanied by that strange-eyed child. "And speaking of," Palladio added, motioning for the two to sit beside him, "here's all that's left of House Godwin, in one grand feast. Fate has been cruel to the whole lot of you, but I promise to be kinder…or at least try!"

The man and the kid sat together at the center of the table, away from either end. Palladio tried to avoid showing his displeasure at that decision.

It seemed the blonde man noticed this, because he cleared his throat and said, "I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that, uh…ahem, we are all pleased Lord Manesque is alright. Especially so following the…situation in Gairahal."

"Not quite alright," Palladio retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Alive, despite what others may wish, but not alright, far from it."

"Surely," the man continued, "you will be alright once you return to your land."

"Ha, is that it? You were in Gairahal, weren't you? What's your name?"

The man swallowed. "Criff Montier. First-Class Soldier."

Criff, eh? Given his disheveled appearance, it was easy to guess he had been involved in the disaster at Gairahal. "Tell me, cupbearer, how many of your friends fell in that battle? Why, I saw the entire Pruning Corps eradicated. Don't go telling me the normal infantry did just fine."

"The only loss that matters is Lady Godwin's," he responded. Clever man, dodging the question like that. Gaoran still held onto the deluded belief that his liege was still alive, but he was a fool. Criff, however…a most entertaining individual.

"I would've expected you to burn with rage, cupbearer. Maybe dear Lamia would have expected that too."

Palladio caught the High Count glancing at Criff discreetly, as if gauging his response. A response that never came, as he changed the subject. "Is this all we'll be talking about?"

The Imperial heir laughed. "Keeping track of current events is most important…but take your pick. Shall we discuss High Count Qisuni, and his blatant connection to House Abellux? Maybe High Countess Dracroy, and her enigmatic trip to Lugnica before her father burned to death by her hand? Would you care to hear about the swirling tempest of rebellion in Chaosflame, which grows every day our Empire is left leaderless?"

There was silence as a few servants entered, delivering their plates to each of the four individuals at the table. Palladio did not judge the food as he brought his feet down from the table. It was just some steak with a boiled egg on the side. The High Count's favorite, if Lamia had been truthful.

He waited until the servants had left before asking, "And who's the boy?"

"No one," Criff replied.

"No one is no one, cupbearer. You would deny the future Emperor information he seeks? Who do you think sits at the head of this table?"

"Way I see it, the Lord Count's at the head." The soldier did not even smile as he added, "If he's at the head, you can guess where you are…Lord Manesque."

Palladio laughed again. To be outwitted like this was entertaining, especially when he got his revenge for it. Oh, Lutka was the only one he would never outwit. She and this Criff would get along spectacularly.

Soon, however, Palladio noticed his laugh was joined in by another. It was the young boy, to whom he turned and asked, "So, child, who are you? Since the cupbearer refuses to say, I'm forced to resort to you for information." Palladio had little love for children, but his conversational partners at this table were limited.

The boy, as expected, responded with a proud grin. "I'm Natsuki Subaru! A Stargazer!"

Palladio's smile did not fall, but it lost its mirth. His voice turned icy as he muttered, "Why…a Stargazer…? How most intriguing!" Clapping his hands, he continued, "And at such a young age! You've found a prodigy, cupbearer! Ha! What great service you've done for the Empire!"

"The Empire…or you?" Criff asked.

"Fool that you are," the Evil Eye answered. "I am the Empire."

Surprisingly, it was Gaoran who interjected. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Lord Manesque. The throne is not yet won."

Palladio held up his boiled egg for a moment, displaying it for the rest to see, before hitting it against the table to crack the shell. In one swift move, he disposed of the shell. "For a bird to fly, it must leave its nest. For a bird to leave its nest, it must leave its egg." He balanced the egg on his index finger. "We can only grow if we're released from our confines…and I would say that no one is freer of confines than I."

When no one responded, he placed the egg on the table and spun it. "Hearken, all of you. Is our Empire not built on conflict? Do we not sit here, today, because our First Emperor believed in the unequivocal truth of this world? The truth that says kingdoms survive not through words, but through actions? That men and women, human or not, decay in the comforts of tranquility but grow in the fires of change?" He stopped the spinning egg with his finger. "We must all break out of our eggshells. I have done so already, and I am the first, the only one left. For that alone, I will win."

They all looked at him, stared at him, so he snickered. "Don't tell me you're all uneducated in history! Tell me, what's there in the world as perfect as destruction? I have lost everything but my life, and for that, I will regain what I lost and more! Everything that can be destroyed can be rebuilt stronger than before." He lifted a finger, and it was immediately surrounded by a small ring of fire. The Yang Sword's might, at his beck and call. "Destruction is majestic. Majestic. It alone is the creator of all things."

He grabbed his utensils and cut a piece of steak, adding, "Please, feel free…I order you to enjoy your meal."

Arakiya was not cunning.

She knew that as well as she knew her own name. It shamed her to admit it, but she was aware she lacked the skill to come up with the devious schemes that defined the Vollachian aristocracy. Lady Prisca always told her that Arakiya wore her heart on her sleeve, and that it was not an issue: after all, the only thing she needed to do was obey.

That was it. All she needed to do was follow orders.

Which was why she found herself tormented by the events of the previous day as Prisca took a seat on one of her manor's luxurious couches. Arakiya stood opposite to her, in front of an ornate chair. She had no desire to sit down, and yet…

"Are you not going to sit?"

Prisca asked her that with a hint of confusion, and Arakiya softly responded, "Not tired." That was not a lie. She felt unbelievably ill after eating part of one of the Four Great Spirits, but she was not tired. Far from it.

She was looking down at the floor, but she could see Prisca frown just slightly out of the corner of her eye. "Is that so? Are you so foolhardy as to refuse yourself some much-needed rest?"

With that gentle chastisement, Arakiya shook her head and sat down. It was a relief to be back home, in the manor, and have a moment of peace. She did need it.

But this would not be her home much longer.

That was what haunted her. The battle had left her exhausted and sick, but there was something more. The deal she had made with Vincent. The knowledge that, if she wished to save Prisca, she would have to destroy her. It was a weight on her shoulders that sickened her far worse than any half-digested Great Spirit ever could.

Arakiya was not cunning. She knew that, and yet she tried her best to figure out a way around this. Her deal was not binding. If she wished, she could go against it and challenge Vincent and that self-satisfied irritating bastard of a "swordsman" he kept around…but what would that accomplish?

Over the years, she had slain dozens of would-be assassins, each and every one seeking to claim Prisca's life. Quite a few of them had tried to challenge her head-on, wielding everything from wands to kitchen knives, and they had all met their end. It was inevitable. They had tried to fight what could not be fought, and struggled uselessly until the end. If they had any sense, they would have laid down their arms and surrendered, or fled.

Arakiya could not flee. Prisca could not flee. They could surrender, and allow Vincent to claim the throne, and carry out his plan to keep his younger sister safe, or they could fight.

Arakiya was not weak. If she fought, alone and unarmed, against every soldier in House Abellux's payroll, she had a chance of winning…but she could not best Cecilus Segmunt. If it came down to a fight between the two, she would lose, as she had already.

Arakiya was not cunning, but she could tell what came next. Once all the other aspirants for the throne were killed, it would be up to her to determine her fate, along with Prisca's. They could not flee, but they could surrender, or die trying to win, like so many others had.

It was not this choice that tore at the Spirit-Eater's heart, it was the fact that she - the tool, the bodyguard, the single-minded warrior - had to make that choice. It was up to her, the girl who merely obeyed orders, to decide her master's fate.

She had no orders to follow, no guide to solve this troubling dilemma. Either Prisca died and she died with her, or Prisca lived and knew that her most trusted subject had turned her back on her, had thought her too weak to win and sentenced her to…whatever came after this.

Arakiya was not cunning. She was a soldier, and good soldiers did not need to be cunning. Good soldiers followed orders and did as instructed…but could she really do that? Could she spend her final moments knowing that she had the chance to save Prisca and did not take it? Would Vincent spare her life out of cruelty, or send her to the grave as a final act of mercy?

Did she care to find out?

Then again, could she go and destroy what her master had done? Could she live with herself, knowing that somewhere out there, Prisca despised her for her cowardice, for her lack of faith, for her betrayal? What good would it even do to live when she could never see Prisca again?

"That face does not suit you." Prisca's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and Arakiya looked up to meet her master's gaze.

"Princess…?"

"You are in mine presence," the scarlet-clad girl explained, "and you were most helpful in that battle. There is no reason for mine servant to look so glum."

Arakiya nodded, rubbing her eyes softly. She had no answer to that remark, and she did not feel like smiling. She decided to just stay quiet.

There was reason enough to be glum. Fate had heaved the responsibility of deciding Prisca's future upon her shoulders, and she was unsure of what to do. What seemed like a simple choice was too great for her to deal with alone.

Yet, some part of her knew what had to be done. For her whole life, Arakiya's only goal, only dream, only desire, was to keep Prisca safe at any cost, no matter who stood in her way. If Prisca's future had to be built atop a pile of corpses, so be it. If Arakiya had to be one of those corpses, so be it.

Arakiya was not cunning, but she was determined. She lived to keep Prisca safe. That was her reason for existing.

If she had to earn her princess's ire and betray her to keep her safe…then so be it.

"To victory!"

A cacophony of cheers arose, drowning out Vigo's exuberant cry. Commoners and nobles, men and women, humans and demi-humans, all gathered around him as he raised his glass to the sky and cheered.

The occasion was obvious.

Just an hour prior, as the sun set in the distance, an emissary had arrived at the Qisuni manor, bearing news of Lamia Godwin's death. Unlike the neighboring High Count Peixit, Lord Qisuni did not doubt the news for a second, and called for his subjects to gather and celebrate.

Now, as he stood atop the stairs in his manor's anteroom and the cheers around him turned into incoherent chanting, Vigo raised his hand to silence them. When it was quiet enough for him to speak, he began, "My brothers and sisters! Sons and daughters of Vollachia! Today marks the beginning of a new era! House Godwin has come and gone, and soon it will be little more than a footnote in the history books!"

Quite a few cheers rose, but they died out rather quickly. "I will admit," the High Count continued, "that public speaking is not one of my strengths." He smiled at that, and some among the crowd chuckled. "Speeches are Erzula's thing, as much as she may despise them, so I'll uh…stick to just outright lying and hoping you all believe me."

Pausing for a few seconds, he scanned the faces in the room. Most of those gathered he recognized by their faces only, but a few had stood by his side for as long as he could remember. Moira, his secretary, who seemed to lack all color except black or white. Pietr, his son, who had exceeded all his expectations. Luzia, his daughter, who he loved despite her rebellious streak.

"So, it's only fitting that I give you a few words in my beloved wife's absence." He cleared his throat. "Today changes everything. What little opposition - if it can even be called that - stands in our path will be swiftly removed. This much I can guarantee you: our fight is not yet over, but it's as good as won. It will be House Qisuni's banner flying over Faradar — over Lupugana! — and none other!"

That earned him excessive applause and cheering. The loss of Faradar was a sore spot for many in House Qisuni, and news that the town's new owner - Gaoran Peixit - had allied himself with Godwin was ill received. Now, they were a source of elation. Vincent Abellux, the Emperor-to-be, was bound to restore Faradar to its rightful owner if its current Lord was a sworn enemy of his.

Besides, it had been Vigo who aided House Abellux since the beginning, going as far as involving the ever-so-cautious Imperial Hand in the Ceremony, something that would earn him far worse than a stern reprimand from the Spymasters if they caught wind of it. Of course, if the Emperor was the one being aided by such a violation of tradition, he was certainly going to take Vigo's side in this matter.

As the cheers died down and gave way to conversation among the guests, Vigo drank from his glass of water — he despised all of those fancy wines the other High Nobles held so dear — and walked away from the sounds of revelry coming from the anteroom.

He strolled through his manor's second-floor hallway, greeting any of the guards who had not attended the celebration. There were quite a few: the Qisuni manor was enormous, and Vigo spared no expense when it came to its security. All of the guards, clad in their violet uniforms with their faces hidden behind their helmets' faceplates, bowed to him lower than necessary, but he paid no heed. Today, he was in a bit of a hurry.

It took him a few minutes to traverse the wide hallways and climb a few winding stairs, but he arrived at his private study with the same energy he had left the anteroom. Good. He could not let old age take his vitality when it had already stripped him of his looks.

As he reached to open the door to his study, the floor creaked behind him, and he grinned. "You've lost your advantage now," he remarked.

A mildly-surprised voice responded, "Did you really set these floorboards to creak on purpose? How shrewd."

He opened the door and turned, coming face-to-face with his monochromatic secretary. Moira stood as tall as him, garbed in a black-and-white robe reminiscent of those Kararagian kinomos, or whatever they were called. Her skin was pale, a rather strange trait to have in Vollachia. Underneath her amber eyes were two small teardrop-shaped tattoos. Vigo never discovered how she came to have them.

"I sure will miss sneaking up on you," she sighed, stepping into the study. She was incredibly out of place, given the room's vibrant colors.

"And I sure won't. You should be spending your time productively, not sneaking up on people. We're tired of your silly games."

Moira grumbled, and he walked into the study before closing the door.

This particular room was one of the few that Vigo himself had not decorated, and it showed. The walls shone in seven different colors, and paintings adorned the walls. The lone desk in the center, which faced the door, was kept tidy. Beautiful purple flowers sat in an elegant vase opposite a neat pile of papers.

Vigo walked over to his chair and sat down, then crossed his arms and said, "Whatever you have to tell me, make it quick."

"Palladio Manesque," she responded. "He has not yet returned home. None know where he is."

"His location is of little concern. Palladio is pathetic. He won't try anything aside from running or hiding."

"Shall I order the agents to change targets?"

"Their time is better spent chasing after rebels and the like. Give the order."

Before he even finished his sentence, she spoke, "There is one more thing: your presence is requested in the Imperial capital. I believe you know who wishes to see you."

Resisting the urge to sigh audibly, Vigo nodded and rubbed his eyes. The Spymasters - well, the one he always met, though he was sure there were several - could ruin his mood in an instant. It was incredibly hard for him to keep his mouth shut when his "superiors" were cocky brats hiding behind magic hoods and playing at being spies.

He grabbed a piece of paper from the pile near his left hand and checked that it was blank. Once that was done, he reached for his quill and began to write. Without looking up, he said, "Tell them I'm a tad busy at the moment. Delay the meeting as much as you can, but don't push too much. The last thing we want is the Cloaks suspecting us of hiding something."

"Given who they are, Lord Count, they surely do not suspect. They know."

Vigo bit his lip and nodded again. The Spymasters were nightmares in human form, somehow omniscient despite everyone's best efforts to keep them in the dark. The more one tried to hide something, the less time it took the Spymasters to discover it.

And, as it just so happened, Vigo Qisuni was hiding something: the fact that he had misappropriated Imperial Hand agents.

Now, how would one misappropriate people? More than that, how would one misappropriate Vollachian spies and assassins who lived their whole lives begging for the Emperor's scraps?

The answer lay in the Emperor Selection Ceremony. Because this was a time in which Vollachia was left leaderless, its future Emperor or Empress battling other contenders, anyone who sought to aid a certain candidate for the throne had the right to do so. High Counts and First-Class Generals did not pledge support often - at least, not publicly - but almost everyone below them played some part in helping some Yang Sword wielder ascend to the throne. It was common for close friends to find themselves on opposing sides of the battlefield as a cruel twist of fate, as part of the Observers' cruel game.

Unfortunately, there was a certain tradition, one adhered to as strongly as if it was law. No Imperial Hand agent of any rank was permitted to participate in the Ceremony. Vigo was a commander of the Imperial Hand, second to the Spymasters in rank, and he had gotten several of his agents involved at Vincent Abellux's request.

A negligible issue, one he hoped would be cleared up by the new Emperor as thanks for his loyalty…but if the Spymasters caught him before the Ceremony ended…

Vigo was Vollachian through and through, but he had no desire to die, not when so many things remained unfinished. He was content with being the first to go, so long as he went with no regrets. So long as he finished everything that needed to be done.

In the Qisuni household, it seemed like there were always new things that needed doing every day, so Vigo was determined to not get himself killed just yet.

Once he finished writing on the paper, he rapped his knuckles against the desk. He read the letter he wrote and handed it to Moira, waving his hand as a silent command for her to deliver it at once.

As she left to fulfill that command, Vigo sighed. This situation was proving more troublesome than anticipated. He needed to see the Ceremony through as soon as possible, but that meant Vincent needed allies.

There it was. Vincent Abellux had strength, but he could not chase down every last miserable peon that aimed for the throne…but there was someone who could. The Sky Riders were renowned for their tracking skills, and there were countless tales of them hunting down unsuspecting rebels and blowing them apart from above the clouds.

A few Riders could find and eliminate every last holdout in a matter of weeks at most, and if those Riders were among the best, they could do it in days. Well…

It just so happened that Gaoran Peixit, Lord of the Cumulus, was considered the greatest Sky Rider alive.

For once, fate took pity on Criff Montier.

The Peixit manor was easy to traverse, given its pentagonal shape. He had a vague idea as to where everything was, having spent a full day in the building, and he knew that the High Count's office - or study, or whatever - was located on the third floor, overlooking the main road. One of the servants had been kind enough to let that slip.

That disastrous dinner had solidified his resolve. Something needed to be done about Palladio Manesque, and Criff knew what that something was. It was a matter of time before that flamboyant bastard brought down the combined might of Benedict and Abellux down on their heads. To him, Criff was just collateral damage.

So be it, then.

If Palladio did not care about Criff, then Criff could not afford to care about Palladio. This was the mindset that came with being Vollachian. Everyone had to look out for themselves. Mercy was a privilege reserved for the strong.

That was why Criff found himself stalking the hallway that held Gaoran's office. Not a single light illuminated the hall, and he had to navigate by moonlight. Thankfully, it meant he could also see that no light came from the office itself. It had to be empty.

It was with the utmost care that he slipped out of the shadows in the corner he had been hiding in. As slowly as he could, he retrieved a dirty fork he had hidden up his sleeve — it was to be his lockpicking tool.

The floorboards creaked ever so slightly underneath him, but he continued undeterred. Once outside the door, he placed one of the fork's tines against the doorknob's lock and fiddled with it. After a few agonizing seconds of his horrible attempt at breaking and entering, he threw the fork to the ground, exasperated. His sister had made lockpicking sound easy!

While he knelt in front of the door, the dirty fork beside him, Criff pondered on his next step. He could either sneak down to the kitchens and steal another utensil to try his luck or return to his room and call it a day. Quickly, he glanced around. The hallway was empty. No harm in trying again, then…

Before he could stand, a soft sigh came from behind him. "Do not say I did not warn you."

The shock prompted Criff to do anything, either turn and fight or try and flee, but both options were lost the moment a hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt, forcefully turned him, and slammed him against the office door. He tried to struggle, but the assailant was far stronger than him, and Criff yelped as a few needle-like points embedded themselves into his neck.

In the hallway's darkness, he could make out a faint outline of his attacker. "Y-you!" he wheezed. "T-the m-ma-aid!"

Ceyda glared at him as she lifted him up with one hand. Even for a demi-human, she was incredibly strong. Criff would have expected her age to weaken her a bit, but if anything, it seemed to make her stronger. "It is a shame I have to do this," she muttered. "The Lord Count will be saddened by your…disappearance."

With all the strength he could gather, Criff swung his leg, aiming the tip of his foot at the maid's ribs. Although his job in Lamia's army had kept him away from the front lines most of the time, he had learned to defend himself all the same. This particular strike was a good one, and if it wor—

It did not work. Criff cursed loudly as his right leg flared up with pain. He was sure his foot was all broken: it felt like someone had dropped a boulder on it. Every nerve in his leg screamed in agony, and he writhed in the maid's grasp as she tightened her hold on his neck, slowly choking him.

"Imbecile," Ceyda hissed. "You would test your feeble strength against a dragonkin?"

Criff ignored her and tried to claw at her forearm. It did not work. It was as if the woman could not bleed. Nothing could pierce her skin. Criff struggled, hitting the maid's arm however he could, trying to wrench himself free of her grip. She was choking him. He could barely breathe. He was dying. Dying.

No. No, no, no, NO! Not after he escaped that battlefield! Not now, in some hallway! Not now and not ever! No! Criff Montier would not die like this, strangled by some maid, not after he had survived Gairahal!

He reached out with his hand, trying to claw at Ceyda's face. When he found he did not reach, he brought both of his hands to her forearm and spat in her eye.

For an instant, the dragonkin recoiled, and in that very same instant Criff pushed her arm upward, freeing himself. So, dragonkin had weak eyes. Good to know.

As he dropped to the floor, he bit back an anguished cry, trying his best to not lean on his right leg. He crouched and retrieved the dirty fork, then swiftly thrust it at Ceyda's face.

She moved away, of course. Criff went on the offensive, trying to stab Ceyda in the eye with her own utensil. Again and again, he swung the fork, pushing the maid against the opposite wall as he tried his best to wound her.

Then, as he flipped the fork to hold it in a reverse grip, Ceyda grabbed his hand and brought it towards her, stretching his arm, before hitting him in the back of the elbow. Criff went down, holding his arm as it hung limp at his side. It was broken.

Ceyda grabbed him by the neck again and sneered, showing off her fangs. They would have fit more on a mabeast than on the elderly maid. "Is this how you treat your hosts? What kind of rabble was Lamia Godwin hiring, if she deemed fit to employ you?"

"T-take that back," he mumbled, weakly fighting back with his remaining arm. "She was more than…you'll ever be."

The maid gave a malicious laugh. "But of course. I would never presume myself to be equal to an Imperial heir." She emphasized the words with disgust. "Of course, I would never die like that either, betrayed and abandoned. Where were you when that happened? In what hole did you hide away?"

She tightened her grip on his neck, choking him slowly, and continued in a lower voice. "Your mistress was just like the rest of those brats. Just a child looking to earn Drizen's approval."

Take it back…

Criff could not speak, could not respond. Ceyda brought him closer, and with a smirk, uttered, "I, for one, am glad she is gone. It was what she deserved. What they all deserve. The true Emperor is here, not playing with that sword in some dingy hideout somewhere."

"That is quite enough, Ceyda."

The new voice boomed through the hallway, and Criff turned to look for its source. From the shadows emerged the High Count, imposing as ever and stroking his beard. He did not look at all concerned about what was transpiring right in front of his office.

Immediately, Ceyda bowed her head in reverence. "He was trying to trespass into your study."

Criff met Gaoran's gaze. The High Count did not look disturbed or shocked by the news. Instead, he held that same thoughtful expression he always had. Trying to decipher what he was thinking was almost impossible.

"Let him go," the White-Cloud General commanded, and Ceyda did as instructed. Criff slumped to the floor, coughing and rubbing his neck with his good arm. The maid loomed over him, poised to strike again if ordered to do so.

Gaoran's voice was devoid of any discernible emotion as he spoke, "Accept my apologies for what just happened, mister Montier. No adherent to House Godwin should be treated in such a way. However, I must ask you to refrain from attempting such…stunts again."

For almost fifteen seconds, Criff did not respond, and not just because he was struggling to breathe after being choked nearly to death. The High Count was going to just…overlook this? Coughing, the beaten soldier began, "L-lord Cou—"

"Your arm is broken." The way Gaoran said it made his injury sound like a minor inconvenience. "I will have someone help you with it, as soon as you return to your room. As for you, Ceyda…we have matters to discuss."

Ceyda bowed again. "If you return to your room," she said, "kindly return that fork to the kitchen. The staff must be worrying that they lost it."

Neither Count nor maid moved as Criff forced himself to his feet and backed away from them quickly. He nervously glanced at both of them, terrified by their calm demeanor. That behavior, that sheer nonchalance…

It was inhuman. No, it was monstrous.

With fear in his soul, Criff turned and ran down the hallway, away from the High Count and the maid.

"Erm, mister Manesque?"

Palladio turned to see who had called his name. It took him a moment to see Subaru, but when he did, he put on that same evil grin he had on during the dinner and brought his pipe away from his lips. That doll-like woman stood to his left. She made for a strange sight, given she was almost half as tall as her master. Then again, Palladio was incredibly tall.

They — and Subaru, for that matter — were at the manor's entrance, atop the stairs that led to the front door. Two rectangular buildings that looked like warehouses stretched for almost a block, aligned with the pentagonal manor's vertices. Criff had mentioned they were probably barracks for the Peixit private army. They now housed Palladio's forces, as part of his agreement with the High Count.

It was night outside, and the stars shone in the sky. That massive tower with the strange platforms at its peak loomed over the manor, its silhouette standing proud as if guarding this domain.

"Look who's here, Lutka," Palladio chuckled. He handed his pipe to the doll woman, Lutka, and she held it for him. "What brings you to my most humble presence, o' great Stargazer? Here to tell my future? I already know it!" He waved his hand, shooing him away. "Now leave me be, flea."

Subaru made sure to stand a few meters away from the man, but made no move to leave. "Mister Manesque…how'd you get that coat?"

The azure coat Palladio wore was incredibly conspicuous, and not just because of its fine regal look. Golden patterns covered its front and sleeves, patterns that…looked oddly familiar to Subaru. If nothing else, they resembled an incredibly butchered version of something in Japanese.

In fact, he could even make out some words here and there, though that was mostly out of speculation. Nothing in the tall man's coat made sense grammatically, but some of it was not mangled beyond recognition.

Upon hearing his question, Palladio laughed mockingly. "You're nowhere near worthy of wearing such a thing! Telling you where I got it would be an insult to both myself and all of this coat's previous owners." Scoffing, he added, "Not even a Sta~rga~zer is fit to wear such a thing, for it is the future Emperor's attire."

"Esteemed Lord," Lutka interrupted, "your attire is missing the Emperor's feathers."

Palladio raised his hand. "You're quickly outliving your usefulness as a jester, Lutka. As Emperor, I will cut down all who fail to prove themselves amusing."

"Do not say such things, Esteemed Lord. You would have to cut yourself down."

"Why, you…!"

The Imperial heir glared at his servant, a ring of fire forming on his raised hand. Before he could do anything else, Subaru spoke up, "Hey! I really need to know where you got that coat, mister. It's important!"

Suddenly, Palladio sliced his hand horizontally, and a gust of wind hit Subaru in the face. It did not hurt, but he covered his face with his hands instinctively, and — once he figured the wind would not hurt him — he lowered his hands.

A small chunk of his raven-black hair hovered in the air for a second before floating quickly to Palladio's hand. He caught it, looked at it, and—

"Leave me be, flea."

The voice was undeniably Palladio's, high-pitched and sounding as if it constantly teetered on the verge of indignation, but the man had not opened his mouth. It was almost like…telepathy.

"How amusing," he spoke normally. "I never grow tired of seeing people's reactions to my little trick."

Subaru stared, mouth agape. He had figured by now that this world had magic, that much was obvious, but this was the first time it affected him directly. There was an odd feeling in the back of his head, like a sixth sense, whenever Palladio spoke through that telepathic link. It felt as if someone was breathing down his neck.

"Leave me be, flea," the man repeated. "Pester that cupbearer instead. I have matters to attend to."

Shaking his head, the young boy responded, "No! Cut that out and answer me!"

Palladio laughed in disbelief, his voice echoing in Subaru's mind and ears. "So, you have more courage than your cupbearer, to stand up to me! You prove your worth! Magnificent!" He clapped his hands, and his voice sounded normal once again. "But…you're all bark, and no bite. A yapping dog isn't worth my time."

With a dramatic flourish, the Emperor's son spread his arms. "This coat, it was my father's. He treasured it, but he never wore it, so I stole it from him. Don't know how he got it, and don't care either." A pause. "Does that answer your question, dog?"

It most certainly did not, but it was enough of a clue. If Palladio was the Emperor's son, that meant the Emperor had somehow gotten that coat. If Subaru could somehow trace the coat back to its origin point, he might discover just who was responsible for writing the Japanese that styled the garment's front. If he found that person, he could find a way home.

Easier said than done! Who knew how many side quests stood between him and this mysterious possibly-Japanese tailor? Besides, if everyone in this Empire was going to be as rude as Palladio, he was going to have a very hard time keeping himself from yelling at them.

"You got your answer," Palladio spoke. "Kindly leave my sight, now."

He stuttered, his train of thought derailed by the ill-mannered Vollachian's interruption. He gave the man a short bow, muttered his thanks, and began to walk away.

"Halt." As he reached the front door, Palladio's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I find your yapping amusing, dog, but that can change very quickly. Endeavor to become a real Stargazer soon, and maybe I'll reconsider my opinion of you. In the meantime, I shall eagerly await to see when you leave your eggshell."

Subaru paused for a moment, then opened the doors and entered the manor.

Chapter Text

"The Evil Eye Tribe? I certainly hold nothing against them. What happened in Faradar was an act of Imperial justice, and nothing more."

(by Emperor Drizen Vollachia, ~350 After Calamity)

Chapter 6: Of Madmen and Monsters

It was a brand new day in High Count Peixit's land, and Criff wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this place as he could.

The events of the previous night were fresh in his mind, made even fresher by the sharp stab of pain he felt in his left arm. He recalled the helpful servant who gave him a leather strap and taught him to make a sling. He also recalled crossing paths with Palladio Manesque, who just pointed at his arm and burst out laughing. Thankfully, that was the last memorable event that night.

So now, it was time for a memorable day.

Biting his lip to stifle a cry, Criff slid off his bed, using his good arm to ensure he did not flop onto the hard floor like a fish out of water. Once that was done, he stretched as best he could and made his way to the closet, which was only a step away. This whole room was awfully small, but it was nothing unusual for a First-Class Soldier like him. He had spent weeks sharing a tent with his comrades in the past. At least this room had a bed.

Still, he was faced with a new challenge: putting on proper attire. As much as it pained him to do so, he would have to ditch the ruined Godwin uniform for today. This occasion called for more…informal clothing. With that in mind, he skimmed through the various clothes the staff had left in his closet the day prior, while he was at dinner. Count Gaoran had clearly not put much effort into this wardrobe, because Criff only had three sets of clothes to work with, of which one was his uniform.

With a sigh, he picked the less-fancy set, which consisted of a blue tunic, white pants, and boots. Far more modest than he expected from one of Vollachia's five High Counts, but it worked. If he got lucky, it would work much better than he expected.

It was a struggle to put on the clothes while keeping his broken arm in the sling. That took him far longer than it should have. Good thing none of his superiors were around to see him flail around like an imbecile, though he almost wished that was the case.

The thought struck him like a dart: if everything had gone as it should have, he would be waking up in the ruins of the Abellux manor by now, preparing to march toward Glarasia, where the Manesque domain lay. After that, it would have been a straight line to Lupugana, and a life of luxury and glory for him.

Instead, here he was, jumping around like a one-legged toad while wrestling with a borrowed tunic, all because a maid broke his arm. Worse, he was leeching off one of the Empire's most influential men while having to endure taunts from Palladio Manesque, the weakest of all Imperial heirs.

By Od, he must be the laughingstock of the Empire. Years from now, someone in this manor was going to write a book about him, and generations would laugh at his misery.

And yet…what were the chances any of them made it out of this? Criff planned on surviving, even if everyone around him had to burn for it, but even that was a far cry. Gaoran, Ceyda, Palladio, even Subaru…if Vincent Abellux won, they would all be names on gravestones, some of them not even that.

He would fight tooth and nail to avoid that future for himself, even if it meant being the only one left to leave flowers on those graves.

Now, though, he had to start. Surviving was a long-term goal, and he needed to begin with small steps. First off, he was going to get as far away from that dragon maid as he possibly could. Then, he was going to run as far away from Vincent Abellux as he possibly could. It was a great plan. The best, even.

By Od, he was going to die. Chisha Gold and his cronies were going to hunt him for sport.

Not today, though. If he was going to meet his end, he would do so after running as far away from it as he possibly could. Chisha and his Abellux lackeys were going to have to turn over every single rock in Vollachia to find him.

But first, he needed to get something from Gaoran's study. It would be a solution to a major problem he faced now. He had tried lockpicking his way into the old bastard's office and wound up with a broken arm, so he would have to try out another tactic.

And for that, he needed to take a trip down to Faradar, home of the Evil Eye Tribe, and the last place in the world he would ever want to visit.

Many would argue that lugging a giant cannon around was a very inefficient way to spend the day, but Vigo vehemently disagreed.

By all accounts, he was an eccentric, but he preferred to think of himself as a progressive thinker. Vollachia bred conflict, conflict bred necessity, necessity bred innovation. This land of war would never survive if its warriors did not have weapons, after all, and while the Governor of Glarasia was in charge of manufacturing said weapons, Vigo took it upon himself to design new ways of dishing out as much destruction as possible upon any unsuspecting fool that opposed him.

He did have a flair for grandeur, though. There was beauty in destruction, so there had to be beauty in its delivery, too.

On this early morning, the troops of House Qisuni were setting up Vigo's favorite weapon for a test. It was a horrid chunk of black and gray metal, bigger than a carriage, with wheels almost as tall as the High Count himself that supported a square base from which protruded the weapon's body, an oversized piece of metal that resembled a wolf's head with its lower jaw missing. Hidden under the upper jaw was a thick cylinder, the main firing mechanism.

For lack of a better name, these machines were simply called "mana cannons," though the former Emperor Drizen had coined the name "wolfheads." Far from creative, but very fitting nonetheless, especially since he had been the one behind the giant wolf aesthetic.

Here, in an open field far from the Qisuni manor, he could observe the wolfhead's might without inhibitions, a chance often denied to him save for extreme circumstances. It took him about two hours, along with help from a carriage and about thirty of his soldiers, but he managed to get the cannon back to its usual testing ground, and he was eager to see it perform.

In the horizon, he could see the mountain range against which his manor was constructed. Faradar — once part of his domain — lay a few hours away, toward the southeast. Guaral was in the opposite direction, and much closer. One day, Vigo hoped to test the wolfheads against Guaral's defensive walls. Not today, though. Someday.

Today, he got to see his favorite weapon's new modifications. They were supposed to have been ready months ago, but with Drizen's passing and the Selection Ceremony, things got too heated to continue production. Vigo had to continue development in secret with a fraction of the staff, but at last, it was finished.

His soldiers stopped the carriage a few meters away from him, and the wolfhead whirred to a stop behind it. The poor ground dragon hauling the cannon collapsed in exhaustion the moment the carriage was detached, making high-pitched whines. The three carriage drivers poked it with their scabbards, but the animal remained on the ground.

Vigo raised a hand, calling the drivers' attention to him. "Leave it alone. It'll drag the wolfhead back, whether it wants to or not."

"Tsk, Diana ground dragons are not easily ordered around," a woman replied. She stood to Vigo's left, wearing a plain burgundy robe and veil that covered her entire body. Only her eyes were visible, but they conveyed her boredom and irritation well enough. "You would do well to recall such a thing, Count. No one bests a Diana ground dragon in a battle of pride, not even you."

Vigo gave her a sidelong glance. He had never met this woman before, but she was part of the Veil, an organization dating back centuries. They had been created by the King of Thorns, or so the rumor went, and were the Vollachian government's magic-research branch. Those in the Veil who could wield magic were granted the training to become sorcerers in service to the Emperor. Those who could not — a vast majority, identified by their uncovered faces— were scholars and all sorts of similar things.

As it was, the Veil was responsible for the creation of the wolfheads, along with their subsequent improvements.

"Do not belittle me in such a way, sorceress," Vigo hissed, turning his gaze back upon the cannon. "Compare me to an animal once more and you'll wish you'd been taught healing magic."

"I rescind my previous statement: clearly, this poor creature is no match for your pride, Lord Count."

Vigo chuckled, though he was beginning to get irritated. "I hear you Veiled like to study everything. How would you like to study Ginunhive? From within, of course."

Nonchalantly, she replied, "An empty threat, from a man who cannot carry it out."

As Vigo was about to respond, one of his soldiers called out, "Lord Count! Preparations are complete! We may fire at your command!"

The troops immediately walked away from the cannon, save for one in heavier armor than the rest. He approached the back of the cannon, turned to Vigo, and bowed.

In turn, Vigo raised his arm. The cannoneer turned back to the wolfhead, examined it for a few moments, and then approached a few strange contraptions resting on a rectangular panel-like structure twice as big as the man's hand. He examined a few cranks and levers before placing his hands on the edges of the panel.

"Shift right, thirty-seven degrees!" Vigo commanded. The cannoneer obeyed and turned a crank to the right. As he did so, the wolfhead turned slowly as its rectangular base remained still. Halfway through the process, Vigo once again called out, "Shift left, sixty-three degrees!" At his command, the cannoneer did as instructed and began pointing the weapon left.

"Why waste time with such useless tests?" the Veiled mage complained. "Fire the thing. I need to record its potential."

Vigo did not spare the woman a glance as he bellowed, "Wolfhead, fire!"

Before the command was even finished, the cannoneer pulled a lever upward, and a deep, earth-shaking rumble came from the wolfhead itself as a blinding ring of light formed at the cannon's opening.

"Have you tested this before?" the High Count inquired scornfully, yet with slight nervousness, as the light ring grew. "It looks…awfully impractical…and a little unsafe, does it not?"

"No," was the sorceress's reply.

Vigo would have asked what exactly she was responding to, but before he could speak, everything went silent.

And then, like a cracking whip, came the world-rending blast.

For Subaru, Faradar was an entirely new world.

Every building was old and wooden, save for a few that had not been weathered away by time. The winding and narrow streets just slightly fit three people standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and they were made even narrower by several stalls that littered every road.

And the stalls! Fruits that looked both familiar — Subaru thought he had spied an apple on one of the stalls — and a few that looked completely alien, books with yellowed pages and some that had never even been cracked open once, rows of weapons lined up alongside columns of clothes, and much, much more.

The traders themselves were the strangest bunch Subaru had ever seen. Only one of them had been human, while the rest almost entirely looked like oversized animals. One seller was a short and white-haired boy with cat-like ears and a tail. He was so short, in fact, that he stood atop a pile of boxes to reach the top of the stall. Subaru wanted to approach him, but Criff pulled him away, muttering, "Kararagians…"

Yet, of all the clearly-inhuman people wandering the streets, it was the most human-like that Criff openly avoided, urging Subaru to do the same. His reluctance was strange, to say the least, but Subaru chalked it up to him being cranky from not getting too much sleep. No one could have slept well with a cast like Criff's on their arm.

When Subaru had asked him about that, the Vollachian had just mumbled something about falling down some stairs at night. Subaru had not bothered to point out that their rooms were on the ground floor.

At the moment, he could not care less about his ill-tempered companion. He was getting to see another world! Sure, he planned to return home, to his world, but that would take a bit of time, so why not explore this world in the meantime? In the worst case scenario, it would give him a few scraps of knowledge that might be useful someday.

Navigating Faradar was a real challenge, since from within, it was a maze. The inhabitants sauntered down its roads with ease, but by the second corner he had turned, Subaru was lost. If he did not have Criff beside him, he would have never found a way out of this village.

And speaking of Criff, something bothered Subaru. "Why did we come here?"

"Again?" the man groaned. "You won't give up asking, won't you?"

"Then tell me!"

"We're going to buy something. That's all."

The prospect of buying something possibly magical, given this world's nature, did excite Subaru, but he wished he knew what exactly had brought them to this town…far from the High Count's agents.

He was smart enough to grasp the obvious cause: something had occurred between Gaoran and Criff, which the latter did not wish to disclose. Further details eluded him at the moment.

Beside Subaru, Criff froze. The young boy looked up at him and found him staring at an old poster, which had been defaced with unreadable runes. The words on the poster were also impossible to understand — curse the writing barrier! — but Subaru could make out the amethyst emblem at its center: a triangle, made up of a sword, a scepter, and a wand.

As if reciting from memory, Criff whispered the words, "Austerity and prosperity."

"Wha?" Subaru inquired, still looking at the poster, which had been stuck to a wooden wall with a sword's blade.

Criff frowned. "I forgot. House Qisuni used to rule this place, until Emperor Drizen kicked them out and gave the land to Peixit."

"House…who?"

"They shouldn't bother us," he explained, though his voice wavered. "We're…uninvolved."

Subaru did not share his companion's…"confidence." From the little he had seen of Vollachia, this House Qisuni was unlikely to be made up of pacifists.

Just as Subaru was about to call Criff out on his misplaced optimism, a mocking voice spoke up behind them. "A~h, off to sightsee, cupbearer?"

With a groan, Subaru turned to find the towering Palladio behind him, smirking as always. That ridiculous turquoise scarf wrapped around his neck contrasted heavily with the informal getup he had put on today. Unfortunately, his strange Japanese coat was nowhere to be seen.

"What do you want?" Criff asked, not even bothering to hide his disdain. "And where's your maid?"

"Oh, her?" Palladio scoffed. "Lutka is everywhere. Keep an eye out, or two…or three." Clapping his hands, he continued, "I am in a rather good mood today. Do you know why, cupbearer?"

"Not interested."

"Because I heard a certain someone pick a fight with Peixit's head maid…and lose." The Imperial heir cackled with glee. "And now, you're running away. Am I right or am I right? Don't answer that. I know which you'll pick."

Before the curly-haired man could stop laughing, Criff grabbed Subaru by the shoulder and began walking away, only stopping when a still-chuckling Palladio called out, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you!"

Both of them stopped, and the Imperial heir said, "That's better. We have things to discuss, cupbearer. Let the boy go off for a while. He is…" Palladio trailed off, before hissing the word, "...uninvolved."

For an instant, Criff gripped Subaru's shoulder with all the strength he could muster, making the boy yelp in pain. "He's going nowhere," was the soldier's reply.

"Hm," Palladio intoned, pretending to think. "I see, I see. Consider this, however: I was making a demand. An order, if you will. Surely, a soldier must be familiar with such a term." He dropped his voice as he added, "Though, given what happened to dear Lamia…I'm not sure she taught you to follow orders properly."

After what seemed like a full minute of silence, Criff let go of Subaru's shoulder, telling him, "Go…do whatever. I'll come get you when we're done."

"Wrong!" Palladio interjected. "I will go get you. We have things to discuss as well…child." He clapped again. "Now go on. Get lost."

Subaru spared a glance at Criff, who was looking completely panicked, but the older man made no comment as he gently pushed Subaru away and turned, walking toward the cruel son of the former Emperor.

By now, Gaoran was getting used to seeing the most unexpected people imaginable show up at his doorstep.

When the Abellux spies had come to his manor, he had been surprised. When Palladio Manesque had appeared, Gaoran had fought hard to hide his confusion.

Yet, now, as a lone carriage bearing the Qisuni sigil came to a stop outside his home, Gaoran merely sighed, anticipating the worst.

Gaoran never looked forward to his comrade's surprise visits. In the decade since he had known Vigo, Gaoran had found him to be an extremely difficult man to predict. Of course, he had expected as much: when Drizen gifted him Faradar as his fief, Gaoran immediately realized that the Qisuni patriarch was going to be displeased at losing his territory.

Faradar had little worth. It was just a farming village in the middle of nowhere, and if it had not been for the mythical Evil Eyes, the town would never have amounted to anything. Still, it had been under Qisuni rule for generations. For the Emperor to just rip that away from them and hand it to a former General who only wanted to retire was more than disgraceful; it was insulting.

In the eleven years since then, Vigo had made it his life's mission to oppose Gaoran's every move. Almost as if he was facing a mirror, the High Count Qisuni — the "Lord Justiciar," as Drizen had called him — locked Gaoran into a stalemate, forcing both of them into an awkward and tenuous peace that endured today.

That was not to say they had not tried to kill each other several times, but at this point, such assassination attempts were more of a pastime than a threat.

From his study's window, the High Count Peixit gazed at the entrance to his home, where his guards had surrounded the unexpected visitor. He watched as the carriage's door opened, and as the visitor stepped out, Gaoran's eyes widened in mild curiosity.

It was a wiry young man, clad in his father's regal amethyst coat, which bore the Qisunis' triangular emblem on its chest. His dark-gray hair, combed back to give him a formal look, told Gaoran everything the High Count needed to know.

The guards below pointed their weapons at the young man, who detached a sword scabbard from his hip and handed it to his carriage's driver. The Chief Armsman, Gaoran's head of security, looked up at the High Count's window, awaiting orders.

Gaoran beckoned for them to let the young man enter.

As soon as the emissary was escorted into the building, Gaoran sat down on his chair, suddenly feeling weary. His sixty-odd years hit him all at once, and he allowed himself a slight rest, at least until he was forced to confront Vigo's right-hand man.

When he had first come to this manor, eleven years ago, Gaoran had expected to find peace, as unlikely as it seemed. The worst he had expected to face was a food shortage or a plague. Those two he knew how to deal with.

Politics were another matter entirely.

For eleven long years, his attention had been turned away from his quiet little residence, and he had been unwittingly thrust into the world of Vollachian politics, where all eyes laid on him. Throughout the years, he had made a few friends. It was thanks to his rank that he had come to meet young Serena Dracroy, who ruled over the beautiful city of Mezoreia, and stern Gustav Morello, who — in eleven years — had probably only spoken a dozen words to him.

He had also run afoul of several others. Vigo was his most persistent adversary, but he was far from the only one. Another High Count, Glamdart Holstoy, did not bother to hide his disdain toward Gaoran, and the Lord of the Cumulus returned the favor. Those two had their hooks in every facet of Vollachian society, and Gaoran ran into obstacles everywhere he turned thanks to their petty meddling.

All Gaoran wanted was some peace and quiet, to live in tranquility away from the perpetual warfare of the Empire. All he asked for was a chance to right a past wrong.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Finally, someone knocked on the door, and Gaoran snapped his fingers loudly as he concentrated on the coming conversation. Vigo's emissary stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and bowed.

"Pietr," Gaoran spoke, his voice much louder than he had anticipated. After clearing his throat, he continued, "Come to share good news? Is your father no longer with us, at last?"

An uncomfortable smile grew on Pietr's still-young face. Despite being Vigo's son and heir apparent, he did not venture into Faradar often, and in Gaoran's view proved to be exponentially more tolerable than his father. "My father is in perfect health, Lord Count. He wishes to surpass that one man…what was his name? Dunkelkenn?"

Gaoran nodded, chuckling softly. "Is it not always the worst of them that live to be so old?" Scratching his beard, he asked, "And what brings you here?"

"I wish to express my condolences." Pietr cleared his throat. "I have been informed of Lady Lamia's death. I believe she would have appreciated your loyalty."

"Nonsense. Lady Godwin yet lives, yes? She will return, sooner or later, and our war will continue." Raising an eyebrow, the High Count pointed out, "And, in this war, we are on opposing sides, young Pietr."

"I wish it weren't so," the young man sighed. "My father holds no enmity towards you, sire, but he has a reputation to uphold. Surely, if you would devote your loyalty to Lord Abellux…"

"Then what? Lord Abellux is known for lining a road with the corpses of his enemies, yet he will show mercy to my retainers? To me?"

"Lord Abellux…can be rather unforgiving. Even then, he understands the value of certain individuals." A pause. "Did you know, Lord Count, that he now employs Berstetz Fondalfon?"

A chill raced up Gaoran's spine at the mention of Lamia's strategist. That old man unnerved Gaoran. Ever since their first meeting, the Lord of the Cumulus had recognized that there was something dangerous about Berstetz. Now he realized what it was. "That…clarifies things. So, that soft-spoken bastard showed his true colors? As expected."

Pietr grimaced. "Ehrm, Lord Count, this change of faction is not an act of betrayal. With Lady Lamia's demise, Lord Fondalfon was captured and given a choice. I believe he has chosen correctly…but will you?"

The question caught him off-guard. "I see," he uttered after a second of hesitation. "Your father failed to convince me, so he sent you in his stead."

"No one sent me. I came of my own volition. Please reconsider your loyalty, sire. Both my father and I wish to resolve this with minimal bloodshed."

"House Qisuni does not shy away from killing. Your father taught me that."

For a few moments, Pietr remained silent. "I have a proposal, Lord Count. My father would have worded it differently, but the crux of the matter is…that we require your aid."

Gaoran did not say anything. This surprise paled in comparison to the unexpected developments that had transpired in his land over the past three days.

"Palladio Manesque," Pietr continued. "We require his location. You can find him, I am sure. If you and your Sky Riders bring Manesque to us…House Qisuni will argue for clemency on your behalf."

Clemency. If the word was foreign to him, then it was completely outside of Vigo's imagination. "Yet, it will not be the end of our conflict."

Pietr frowned. "It could be. You must realize, sire, that you now fight for a dead cause. Lord Abellux could grant you all you wish for, though it's not as if there are any alternatives." The High Count's son gave a weak shrug. "Would you truly give your life for Manesque? Benedict? Only Lord Abellux deserves such sacrifice."

"I am not going to sacrifice myself for any of them," Gaoran retorted. "Now, if that is all you wished to say—"

"That is all," Pietr interrupted. "If you'll excuse me, I cannot stay much longer. There are tasks awaiting me back home." He said nothing for a few seconds, then, quietly, added, "Consider our…my offer, sire. I would not wish death upon you."

With those words, the Qisuni heir left Gaoran's study.

Once his ears stopped ringing, Vigo shot the Veiled mage the nastiest glare he could muster…though he did not put much hatred into it.

The cannon worked.

Sure, it had left him half-deaf for the better part of an hour, and probably gave everyone present permanent hearing damage, but it worked nonetheless. The patch of land that they had designated as a target was now a scorched crater a couple of meters deep.

Wearing a gleeful smile, the High Count turned to the mage beside him and laughed. "This is it! We did it!"

"I did it," the mage corrected, brushing herself off. "Unsurprising, really. Success was guaranteed the moment the Veil stepped in."

Vigo shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear. "None of you 'stepped in.' I paid you to help, and that's what you did. Were it up to the lot of you, this thing would be in some laboratory somewhere, being studied endlessly." He spread his arms, triumph on his face. "But thanks to Qisuni — thanks to me! — it will be where it belongs: on the battlefield!"

For once, the Veiled sorceress sounded confused, maybe even alarmed. "Is that truly wise? Such a weapon must be studied, replicated, preserved for the coming generations. The cannon comes with me, to Lupugana, where it can be further improved upon."

"I think not, witchling." Waving his hand, the skull-faced nobleman commanded his soldiers to prepare the cannon for another test. "Don't look so sad. What did you think would happen? You come here, give me the greatest weapon ever invented, and then want to take it away? That won't do."

Although the mage's face was entirely covered, her eyes conveyed her surprise far better than words ever could. She made a few sounds, trying to say something of substance, then shook her head and proclaimed, "So be it. The Veil will entrust you with such a responsibility…and we will inform the Imperial Hand of this development."

The slightest hint of pure terror struck Vigo like lightning, and he could already picture the scarlet-cloaked Spymasters accusing him of treason. As best he could, he hid his fear with pride as he chuckled, "Tell them all you want. I would pay to see how they respond to you wasting their time."

"You are wading into dangerous territory, Count," the sorceress warned. "This weaponry is not yet fully understood, and it will take years — decades, maybe — to begin producing it in earnest." She narrowed her eyes. "The Veil and the Imperial Hand cannot, in good conscience, grant such power to one single man. Only the Emperor may—"

"Do you see an Emperor, witch?" When she did not respond, Vigo added, "I thought as much. In the Emperor's absence, I will take care of these cannons. It is my right." The mage tried to speak, but he cut her off by saying, "I would advise you not to interfere."

Under normal circumstances, Vigo would have gone to any length to ensure his control over the wolfheads. These were not normal circumstances, however. Subtler tactics were required.

Pretending to be nonchalant about the situation, the High Count spoke, "Of course, I would have no issue with the Veiled examining the cannons, so long as they remained under my supervision. If it would please you and your comrades, you may conduct as many tests as you desire…with my oversight, of course."

The mage pondered on the offer for a moment, as if she really had a choice. "The Veil accepts. A team will be provided to you. This goes without saying, but if any unfortunate fate was to befall them…"

Vigo nodded absently, no longer paying any heed to the witch's threat. The cannons took priority, now.

With them, he could finally bring order to the land of wolves.

Palladio was not from Faradar.

Like many of the Imperial heirs, he had been born in Lupugana. Unlike most of them, however, he had spent many of his early years there, wandering the gargantuan maze-like city under the invisible watch of the Imperial Hand.

Nonetheless, his mother was from Faradar, like a vast majority of the Evil Eye Tribe. Long ago, they had ruled over this stretch of land, leading serene and almost-monastic lives away from the Empire's hectic society. Amidst the war-ravaged land of Vollachia, only the Evil Eyes lived in peace.

That changed more than forty years ago, when one of them got involved with an enemy of the Emperor. That woman, who so foolishly stood beside a man so vile his name was struck from all records, was the catalyst of the Tribe's doom.

And thus, the quaint village that had survived the First Emperor's brutal regime, the Crown Princess's all-consuming rebellion, the King of Thorns's depraved witchcraft, Murkia Vollachia's disastrous experiments, and so much more, had been swept away by the tide that was Drizen Vollachia's vengeance.

"Drizen of the Broken Sword," they had called him, mocking the unusually lenient Emperor for his abundant mercy, his unheard-of benevolence. For a decade, by then, Drizen had done little to show off his power, as most of his predecessors had done. When the Demi-Human War ravaged Lugnica, exposed its weakness, he did not act, and such complacency led to the moniker, among others.

Palladio had not been born yet when the Imperial Hand, with its legions of masked fanatics, along with countless hated shinobis and as many First-Class Generals as the Emperor could call upon, had gathered on the outskirts of the village.

Palladio had not been born yet when the thousands of killers descended upon the Tribe's ancestral home, tearing homes and bodies apart, desecrating the hallowed ground with its worshippers' remains.

Palladio had not been born yet when the Emperor himself, with his head held high, with his most cruel smirk on display, had inspected the still-burning ruins mere hours after the massacre, finishing off the survivors personally.

From that bloody day onward, Drizen wore a new nickname like a badge of honor, for they began to call him the "Scarlet Painter," and not for his unabashed love of art.

It was an insult of the highest degree — an ironic twist of fate woven by the Observers — that this butcher was Palladio's own father. It appalled him that, for more than a decade of his life, he had shared a home with the man who had driven his kind to the precipice of extinction.

Yet, Palladio was glad that, just a few months ago, when the summons from his father reached him in his home, he had responded and attended, for the Evil Eye had been present to witness Drizen, the destroyer, burn to death at last.

Now, with that barbarous man out of the picture, Palladio could begin his real work. He would need the throne for it, but once it was in his possession, he could right his father's wrongs and bring glory to the downtrodden Evil Eye Tribe, whose scattered members had no home to reside in.

Everything had been assured, and Lamia had set herself up to bear the burden as he reaped the rewards, but now she had gone and gotten herself killed…by that odious Prisca, of all people!

Nonetheless, it was too late to back out now. The plan was in motion, and not even its architect could stop it now. Vincent, Prisca, and all the rest who had so foolishly taken up arms would be swept away by the tide that was Palladio's righteous determination. He would savor his victory over Prisca and her pitiful "army" the most, perhaps he would even boast for a while before lopping off her head.

And if it all crashed down on him, buried him beneath his own pride…he would bury them all as well. "Those who rely on swords fall to swords," as the saying went.

To that end, he was in Faradar, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. A human lorded over this place now, but Palladio would resolve that soon enough. He had more pressing matters to resolve, like cleaning up Lamia's mess. Damn that woman, with her poisonous words…

And to accomplish that…

"Our paths converge, cupbearer."

In front of the Imperial heir stood Criff, scowling. The soldier's expression was further darkened by the lack of light in the alleyway where they stood. Palladio could almost feel bad for the other man's situation. Perhaps he would, if this conversation turned out as it had to.

"We have wildly differing goals," Criff responded. His mouth curled upwards in a derisive snarl. "You would fall on a sword if your pride demanded it."

Palladio scoffed. "Is pride not our most important possession? What are we without it?"

"Happy."

"Pfft. Were you Lamia's jester too?" Laughing, he continued, "But we're deviating. Our fates align, and whatever fate befalls me will come after you as well." He snapped his fingers. "Fate itself demands it."

Rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand, Criff sighed and spoke, "How convenient. I suppose fate itself demands I help you in some way? Does it demand my life in exchange for yours?"

"Nothing so brash, I assure you. Fate is often indirect, so we must be its opposite to foil it. Walk to the throne by my side, and we can avenge Lamia together."

"Revenge? That's your trail to walk. I'm not going to get myself killed for a chance at revenge, of all things."

Clicking his tongue, Palladio countered, "If only Father could hear you, what with your pacifism. Let Abellux walk over you just once and he will do so again, and again, and as many times as he wishes." With a smile, he asked, "You would live your entire life under your enemy's boot?"

For the first time that Palladio had seen, Criff's expression darkened. "My revenge," he answered, "would be to live on. It's precisely what Abellux would not want."

Palladio remained silent for a moment, scratching the side of his mouth as he pondered on what to say. "Is it even revenge if your enemy never even finds out? What would you even gain from a life in obscurity?"

"I gain nothing," Criff admitted, crossing his arms and glaring at him. "I also lose nothing. I get to keep my life. That alone is reason enough to tread such a path."

Subtly, the Evil Eye caressed his amulet pendant, considering his options. As it stood, Criff was his most direct connection to Gaoran Peixit, who — in turn — could serve as a rallying force for Lamia's disorganized troops. Once Lutka was finished with her mission, the other heirs would be at Palladio's beck-and-call, and their forces could combine with those of Houses Godwin and Manesque. Such an army would surely cut through any opposition.

Vincent and Prisca, damn them, had secured two rather strong bodyguards, so Palladio would have to rely on a much riskier plan. The more soldiers he could gather before the time came, the better.

But there was one crucial part missing from his plan, one element upon which the entire operation hinged.

Noting his silence, Criff began to move away, back into the street. Without looking at him, Palladio called out, "And that kid of yours? Will he be a coward, too?"

The blonde man stopped for a mere heartbeat, and with clear hesitation spoke, "His future is of no concern to me."

Palladio allowed himself to copy his father's smirk as Criff left.

That statement was the most obvious lie he had ever heard.

Amidst the bustling streets of Faradar, Subaru sat against a wall, thinking to himself.

He had found his way to the town square. In front of him was a large building, most likely the town hall. At the heart of the square stood a dull gray statue, out of place with the wooden architecture, depicting a sword over a vacant throne. A plaque lay at the statue's base, but Subaru could not understand its inscription.

A group of children, almost all of them about Subaru's age, played around the statue, swinging branches and thin sticks of wood at each other like swords. An older boy, in his mid-teens, stood a few steps away, watching with a serious expression.

Subaru himself did not show much expression as he watched the others play, despite the deep melancholy such an image brought him, stirring painful memories of days he remembered vividly back home. He had been gone for less than a week, but already he longed to return to Japan as if he had been gone for decades. Every day he spent in this hellish place was another day his parents spent looking for him, worried out of their minds.

He had to go back soon. He wanted to go back. In another life, he might even have been excited to find himself in such a fantastical world, but he had no desire to spend a second more than necessary here. This was a world of madmen and monsters, not of heroes and legends. Besides…

He had never asked to come here.

Thankfully, he had a lead to getting back, though it was a flimsy lead at best. Palladio's coat had Japanese writing on it, and it had come from the former Emperor, who everyone said was now dead. If Subaru could find someone related to the Emperor, he could start his investigation in earnest.

Palladio himself would be of little help, seeing how he was constantly fluctuating between being overly-pompous or downright-threatening. Criff was hiding things from him and doing his own thing. That only left Gaoran Peixit, who Subaru had not yet interacted with in any meaningful capacity.

Still, the man was a mystery. Subaru knew a slight bit about the Vollachian Empire thanks to Criff, and he knew the High Count was a great leader who had earned his title through military service, but aside from that he knew nothing else. Gaoran himself was also fairly distant, preferring to steer clear of his guests.

Subaru had not even started his investigation and he was already running into trouble.

Without warning, a thin branch landed on the floor at Subaru's feet. He looked up to see a boy his age smiling down at him, holding a branch on his right hand. The boy tapped his branch against his messy mint-green hair and — with a mischievous sparkle in his yellow eyes — asked, "Well? Aren't you going to join in?"

For a few moments, Subaru looked between the boy and the branch with doubt, before shaking his head and saying, "No thanks."

"You don't really look like you're doing anything else," the boy countered with a shrug. "Unless you wanna go back to moping all by yourself."

Subaru was going to respond when his gaze wandered to the sour-faced teen across the town square, who had been watching the children play. Now, the teen was staring at Subaru directly, with a stone-faced expression, as if trying to make him explode with his mind.

"Don't worry about him," the boy said, looking at the teen out of the corner of his eye. "He was born a grump." He chuckled. "Just because he's a bit older, he feels like he has to keep an eye on all of us."

The teen, who was way out of earshot, frowned, somehow hearing what was being said about him. As if trying to look innocuous, he scratched his pale blond hair with a bandaged hand and looked down at the ground.

Sighing, the messy-haired boy spoke, "I can tell you're not from here, and something's bothering you." Tapping his branch to his cheek, the boy proclaimed, "You look like an orphan."

The comment caught Subaru off-guard, and he looked at the boy in shock, who — in turn — waved his free hand and corrected himself. "That came out wrong, didn't it? Sorry. What I meant was, I've seen a few people with the same look before, you know? I guess it's not uncommon in this country."

That final part caught his attention. "Where are you from?"

The boy squatted in front of him and ran a hand through his hair. "Kararagi." He was quick to add, "It's really not as great as it sounds, trust me. If you don't have a coin to your name, then you don't exist there."

Subaru had heard little of Kararagi. His knowledge of the country was limited, and he only knew its name and the fact that it was to the west. "What's it like?"

"Like I said, so long as you have money you should be fine. You can buy anything you want there, but everyone's really shallow and all." The boy grinned, hastily adding, "I don't like insulting people, but some of them are shallow." He snapped his fingers. "Gotta give them credit for a lot of stuff, though. I heard some Vollachian here liked kinomos so much he wasted his entire salary on them!"

Immediately, Subaru made a point to memorize that little tidbit. He remembered the blue-haired swordsman kid who had dragged him into the army camp and had, conveniently, worn a kimono-like attire. Maybe he had some information Subaru could use, as well.

The boy's voice shook Subaru out of his thoughts. "You? Are you Vollachian?"

"Not…really?" Subaru replied, earning a curious look from the boy. "It's a bit…complicated."

"Yeah, I get it," the boy proclaimed, poking Subaru's shoulder with his branch. "Lots of that these days." He paused. "Anyway, you don't seem very busy, so what about a little mock battle with the others? Everyone's all riled up from what happened at Gairahal…wherever that is."

Subaru thought about it, then grabbed the branch in front of him and stood up. The boy smiled approvingly, but Subaru caught that teen with the bandaged hands glaring at him from across the square.

"Don't worry about him," the boy jumped in. "He just looks menacing. I'd know."

Subaru thought about asking him to elaborate but, instead, merely inquired, "What's your name?"

Still grinning, the boy rested his branch against his shoulder and replied, "I'm Tiga."

Chapter Text

"...regarding Manesque: low support overall, with weak private forces...alliance with Godwin troubling, but expected to self-resolve...Godwin will likely not tolerate his presence much longer...regardless recommend an agent be dispatched to House Manesque, as one has been with Peixit...even the weakest contender for the throne can be crafty and dangerous...pre-emptive elimination remains preferred solution..."

(from an Imperial Hand report delivered to Vincent Abellux, ~390 After Calamity)

Chapter 7: To Make a Killing

There was one cardinal rule every criminal in Vollachia soon learned: smugglers were not to be harmed.

The youngest bandits, those who had just begun their careers, scoffed at such an arbitrary stricture. This was Vollachia, the land of wolves, where the weak died and the strong lived. Some cheap smuggler who only knew how to run through the border certainly belonged in the former group.

Thankfully, there were a few bandits smart enough to realize why the rule was put in place. Vollachia, for all its grandeur and majesty, was far from welcoming to foreigners. Goods produced in other nations often remained there, unless sheer luck played a hand in delivering them to the good people of the Empire.

In the isolated Vollachian Empire, smugglers were the only ones who could — or would — cross the borders and come back with cargo worth an emperor's ransom. For the criminal society, for every gang in the Empire, the smugglers were the backbone of civilization.

Of course, there were a few imbeciles who said things like, "Oh, but why should we care about Lugnican weapons? We've got our own, and they're much better!" or "Kararagian chainmail? Who would ever buy armor from those avaricious pigs?"

Lugnican swords, it turned out, could be used to focus magic to a certain extent, like a low-quality wand. Kararagian chainmail could be used to protect against said magic, which Vollachian armor was not accustomed to. For the lucky few who knew how to instinctively channel sufficient mana to be classified as mages, there were few items of greater quality than Gustekan-made tools. Those snow-munchers sure knew how to make magical devices, though that was just about their only redeeming quality.

Vollachian smugglers threaded the line between life and death every day. If too many smuggled goods wound up in the hands of bandits, or the wrong dimwit got hold of a terrible weapon by "coincidence," the smuggler responsible for such a mistake would probably earn a visit from the Imperial Hand and end up tied to rocks at the bottom of the nearest body of water. Au contraire, the smuggler who cozied up to His or Her Excellency a bit too much would find their fellow criminals just as bad as the Emperor's personal killers, if not worse.

Of course, playing both sides had its disadvantages too. Some bigshot on either team might decide that a double agent was too big a risk to let loose and take matters into their own hands.

To put it simply: the life of a smuggler was very dangerous.

As one smuggler in particular finished this tirade, simmering pride on his square face, his demi-human companion sipped her tea and sighed.

He, the smuggler, was an average human man, if slightly more "handsome" — by his own unbiased standards — than the typical Vollachian. His tan skin turned darker still around the three diagonal scars on his face, which resembled those made by a bear's claws. The scar tissue had not yet fully healed, yet the smuggler paid it no heed. His gray eyes, with odd triangular-shaped pupils, were windows to no soul, and hinted only at a heart darker than his night-black garments.

She, the demi-human, was his exact opposite. Slender and graceful, her demi-human heritage was obvious in her sharp bat-like claws and pointed fangs. A colorful sun hat with various mismatched splotches of color covered her short hair and partially obscured her lean face.

After a few seconds of quietly sipping her tea, the demi-human placed her now-empty cup on the table, the sound drowned out by the clamor of the crowded bar around them. As soon as she left the cup alone, the entire room trembled for a couple moments, and once it ended the entire bar cheered.

"Someone out there," she commented, raising a finger, "is getting the beatdown of their life. I'm thinking quite a few broken bones, maybe a lost limb or two." A minuscule smirk formed on her lips. "I appreciate your story, but if you are here to ask for hazard pay, you can expect a similar response."

Tracing a line along the middle scar on his face with his index finger, the smuggler responded, "We're all a little low on funds right now, I get it. Not here to ask for a donation. Not like you have a heart to appeal to."

"Guilty as charged, I fear. Nonetheless, I can scarcely imagine a man of your…priorities coming out here just to sell a few borrowed goods."

"Times are tough," the smuggler shrugged. "That goes for both of us." He leaned in closer to her, ignoring his companion subtly moving away from him. "Rumors are flying, somethin' about kind Miss Godwin finally getting put in the ground. The Ceremony is coming to an end. Who knows what barbaric acts these savages would carry out against the fair maidens of Vollachia? You might not fit in that group, but surely you feel some pity for them?"

She pretended to think about it. "Oh, how tragic, indeed. And who shall save these fair maidens?"

"Well, it'd be myself."

"And who would save them from you?"

"I suppose," the square-faced man guffawed, "that such an honor falls to you!"

Nodding, the demi-human lady added, "It would be an honor indeed. My, I can already hear the news-criers: 'The heroic Lady Stryzga, savior of the downtrodden.'" Tapping her fingers against the wooden table, she asked, "Do you think such a feat would earn me some reward? Nothing grand, of course. A city like this one would do just fine." A pause. "Why, I might just ask for it. No use building from the ground up."

The smuggler held in another laugh, this one more mocking than the last. Stryzga was a pest with a minor case of severe delusions of grandeur, but she was far from foolish. She was envious, though. Every drop of blood in her body burned with resentment, an ailment she sought to cure by reigning over this…wasteland…that intellectuals called "a city-sized outhouse" and imbeciles called "Chaosflame."

To the smuggler, such a petty goal was below his notice. It made no difference to him if the half-bat-woman somehow took over this city or got herself killed while trying. The latter would be a shame, given she was one of his frequent customers, but he would find a new buyer. There was a rather high demand for foreign goods in Vollachia, and he was all too happy to provide to anyone willing to meet his prices.

Nonetheless, despite his lack of concern toward Stryzga, she had her uses. If she was going to end up in a nameless grave somewhere, best she do so after her usefulness ran out, no? If not…then the smuggler would have to disappoint his employer. That simply would not do. She was…a most demanding boss.

To that end, he coughed into his hand to get the bat-woman's attention. "Allow me to be the one that puts pleasantries aside, for now," he spoke, silently scoffing at his business partner's detestable fanged grin. "I recently borrowed some equipment, see? Every day it sits in my carriage is a day I lose out on profit, and this is some very valuable equipment." To accentuate his point, he tapped his left ring finger against the wooden table three times, a common code that indicated a wish for secrecy.

"Unsurprising," she commented, bringing a hand to her chin. "Who was the lender this time?"

"I forgot his name already, so he wasn't very memorable," the smuggler lied. "Some Lugnican big-name with a ridiculous mustache." For added effect, he brought a finger to his lips and pretended to be deep in thought. "Now that I think about it, he looked like you…minus the fangs, of course."

Stryzga made a half-hiss-half-laugh sound and reached out a hand. Without a word, one of the bar's patrons sitting just a few tables away stood, holding a long rolled-up parchment. In the space of a couple seconds, he brought it over, placed it in Stryzga's hand, and returned to his seat, resuming whatever conversation he was having with his companions as if nothing happened.

As the smuggler watched in awe, the bat-woman unfurled the brownish paper, revealing it to be a wanted poster, with his face on it.

"Look at that," the smuggler chuckled, a tinge of fear evident in his voice. "They got my eyes right."

Humming to herself quietly, Stryzga read out the words at the bottom of the paper, beneath the significant monetary reward. "'Under suspicion of grand theft and murder.'"

With a click of his tongue, the smuggler corrected, "It wasn't a murder, the fool girl tripped."

"Tripped and wound up hanging from a tree?"

"Lots of that going 'round these days, you know?"

Stryzga made a sound of assent. "Yes, yes, I am aware. I did not know it happened to Lugnican knights too, but we all have our unlucky days."

"She wasn't a knight by any means, please."

"Ah, yes, my mistake. That does not change the fact that you hanged her from one of Barielle's trees."

The smuggler clicked his tongue, realizing he wound up unintentionally admitting that he knew more than he let on. Stryzga, though, just kept a cool smile, like she was remembering a very funny joke she heard a while back. "You got what you wanted," the smuggler spat, crossing his arms. "It's time for what I want."

The bat wagged her finger. "No, I'm afraid not. In any other case, I'd be glad to get those weapons off your hands, but this time…do you realize the danger that such attention brings?"

"Attention from who? Lugnica? This is hardly their land! What's the point in—"

Before he could finish, the ground trembled once more. A terrifyingly common occurrence, here in Chaosflame.

Once it subsided, he resumed. "—worrying, if they can't even touch you?"

Stryzga shrugged, her damn smile growing on her face. "Of course, of course, but I am not the one in danger. Half of Vollachia is going to decide that your bounty is worth more than your wares, and the other half is going to turn a blind eye for as long as you're Lugnica's face-of-terror."

"What are you proposing, then?"

"A small, almost negligible, tithe."

He paused for a moment, considering it. "How much?"

"Depends on your borrowed goods."

The two looked at each other for a few seconds, neither breaking away or speaking. Around them, the bar's rowdy talk carried on, unaware and unaffected.

Finally, the smuggler broke his silence. "Fifty-three swords," he muttered, "six full sets of armor, a couple wands, and some…trinkets."

Stryzga took a few moments to respond. "Five swords, one wand…and a set of armor."

"You'll run me out of business with that! Why don't you ask for my soul, while you're at it!?"

"Because you've sold it already." She pushed her sunhat upward, revealing her horrific bat-like eyes. Every time, she seemed to look past him. It was like she always knew so much more than him.

He hated her for it.

Stryzga tapped her fingers on the table. "Instead of your soul, how about a trinket? I don't care which. Surprise me."

The smuggler drew his lips into a thin line. "Trinket costs extra. How about you answer a question for me, and I'll waive the fee?"

"Ask away."

Choosing his next words carefully, the square-faced smuggler asked, "Where is Guerre Halfas?"

She looked at her nails and, for the first time, dropped that mocking grin. The glare of disgust that replaced it was even more unsettling. "That old tadpole? Probably drinking himself blind somewhere around here. Killing him would be a mercy, you know."

The smuggler nodded. "I know. I don't plan to kill him."

Stryzga eyed him with hidden curiosity, and the smuggler slid his chair back as he stood from the table. "What's your goal, then?" she inquired, voice low, concealing real curiosity.

"My goal," he replied, smiling, "is to make a killing."

Subaru had thought Japanese summers were hot, but they had nothing on the average Vollachian day.

It had to be a few hours before midday, probably around ten am EST (Earthen Standard Time), but it felt like the sun had taken out a magnifying glass and singled him out with it. He had never been to a desert, but he imagined that it would be like an arctic paradise compared to this oppressive heat.

As Subaru sat down, his back against one of Faradar's many wooden houses, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, sighing in despair when he noticed it did nothing to alleviate the suffocating heat. In the town square in front of him, about a dozen children played around, some pretending to fight with sticks, others chasing each other in what had to be this world's version of tag, and — last yet most definitely least — the glaring teen with the bandaged hands that Tiga had mentioned earlier who looked on from the other side of the square.

The teen still looked like someone had spoon fed him ceramic as a child, but at least he wasn't staring at Subaru as if trying to psychically evaporate him or…something like that. Maybe he was just irritated by the sweltering, torturous temperature. That would make a bit more sense than the ceramic diet.

Who knew, though? Maybe the people of Faradar enjoyed a bit of ceramic every once in a while, as a treat.

A couple of footsteps to his left caught Subaru's attention, and he looked to find Tiga standing there, holding the same branch from earlier against his shoulder. It had snapped in two during a mock duel, but the green-haired boy still held onto it. "You certainly are new to Vollachia," Tiga chuckled, squatting down next to him. "It takes a bit of getting used to."

"Just a bit?"

"Just a bit."

The two shared a laugh. Subaru was starting to prefer Faradar to the rest of Vollachia, from what little he'd seen of it. At least it wasn't a battlefield or a stuffy manor. He had to admit that the quaint village had a certain charm to it.

"Did it take you long to get used to it?" Subaru asked.

Tiga shook his head. "This place is hot, you know, but Kararagi is hot." With his free hand, he mimed a person walking. "You can walk for hours in any direction and only see sand. Besides…" He looked at Subaru with a tiny smile, as if he knew something no one else knew. "Besides, every second grain of sand's already been bought by someone!"

Tiga laughed heartily at his own joke, and Subaru joined in as best he could, mostly to be polite. He wasn't about to look like an idiot in front of his only friend on this side of the "Great Cascade" (or whatever it was called). For all he knew, Tiga was the only good person in this entire country. He didn't feel like looking for friends in a country full of Criffs…or Palladios…

The thought itself was terrifying enough. No world — fantasy or otherwise — could handle a single Palladio. Two of them would be an international emergency. Any more than that, and the world would be in grave danger.

Speaking of…

"Tiga," Subaru said, catching the other boy's attention. "Do you know about Palladio Manesque?" When Tiga didn't respond, he continued, "Tall man? Looks really mean? Sounds like he has a cold when he talks?"

Tiga scratched his head. After a few seconds of thinking, he answered, "Sorry, don't know him. From what you said, doesn't sound like I'd want to meet him." He paused for a moment. "But…if anything, I think I know someone who can help!" Chuckling, he added, "I don't know how reliable she'll be though…and her help comes at a price…"

"Wait, why do you make it sound so shady!?"

"Ha, well…this person is…never mind." He gave Subaru a thumbs up and smiled. "It should be fine to ask her, so long as it's not much of a hassle."

"Who are you talking about?" Subaru asked.

Tiga responded with a shrug, then sighed, "It's a long story. I mean, she doesn't like visitors too much, and she already finds me annoying…but it's no big deal!" Seeing that Subaru was still confused, he chuckled and said, "Have you heard of the Witch of Faradar?"

Subaru shook his head. He knew about the Witch…vaguely. Criff's lecture hadn't been very educational, but Subaru at least understood that everyone in this world feared the Witch. If there were others like her…well, surely that couldn't be good.

"A long time ago," Tiga began, "Faradar was destroyed. For some reason, the Emperor chose to kill everyone in the city." He stopped for a second, waving his hand back and forth, as if clearing the air. "What a crazy thing, right? Anyways, so the whole town got burned down, but when the Emperor's people left, the townspeople found a girl that got buried in the rubble, and she was completely unscathed."

Subaru waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, said, "That's it?"

Tiga brought a finger to his chin. "I mean, kinda? She's still around. Talks to herself, never leaves her house, says she sees hollows…"

It took Subaru a couple seconds to understand the implications of Tiga's statement: the feared Witch of Faradar was a shut-in. Sure, a magical one at that, but a shut-in nonetheless.

Well, it was poetic, in a way: his only lead home was a possibly-evil wizard shut-in. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't living through it.

Just as he was about to press Tiga for more details, a shadow loomed over him. Subaru hardly even needed to look up to realize that he was about to suffer through yet another Vollachian tirade, coming from the one and only…

"Mister Palladio…"

"It's 'Lord' Palladio, sniveling dog," came the tall man's reply, in his distinct nasal voice. "A dog that can't recognize his master has more worth as a carpet than as a hound." The heir's golden eyes narrowed as he noticed Tiga for — seemingly — he first time. "And this? What's with this flea-ridden mutt?" He turned to Subaru, visibly offended and disgusted. "Did you bring in your entire kennel of indigents to desecrate my home!?"

Subaru looked at Tiga, who just shook his head with a disappointed expression, and both sighed in unison, earning a derisive scoff from the insufferable prince. "I'm starting to feel like I should've left earlier," was Tiga's sole contribution to the conversation, which — thankfully — Palladio ignored.

Crossing his arms, the nobleman put his foot on Subaru's knee, a sneer on his face. "I can count on one hand the number of reasons you should be in this town and have five fingers left over, so why don't we work together and find something useful for you to do?" His tone made it less of a question and more of a command, if anything. "And you," he spat, pointing at Tiga, "can certainly find something useful to do. Leave us. Go yap in someone else's ear."

Tiga grinned wider than ever before, and his eyes betrayed a hint of mischief. "I can think of something useful to do, Excellency," he said with a bow, adding a dramatic flair to his voice. "For exam—"

Palladio eyed him for an instant, and before Tiga could finish his sentence, the heir swung his hand diagonally. A diminutive flicker of wind rippled at the prince's fingertips…and vanished immediately. Whatever Tiga was going to say was lost as Palladio's eyes widened and he silently gaped in surprise, before going back to his typical sneer so quickly that Subaru wondered if he hadn't imagined the whole exchange.

"Something wrong, Excellency?" Tiga snickered, standing straight once again.

Palladio's reply was a nervous chuckle with too much false self-confidence sprinkled in. "As if! I merely realized that you are no dog; just a rat. Leave my sight! And if I catch some disease from you…no, just know that, for your own sake, that best not happen!"

With a sympathetic shrug to Subaru, the mint-haired boy turned and stepped away, back to where most of the other children were playing. Only a handful of them seemed to pay any heed to Palladio's unexpected (and unwanted) appearance, save for the teen with the bandaged hands, who's deathly glare could have erased the prince from existence by sheer willpower alone.

Paying no heed to the teen, Palladio shook his head and muttered something about indignation. "Honestly, you lot have no respect," he hissed. "The children I grew up around knew their place, and I rewarded them all for it."

"Because they groveled to you?" Subaru mumbled.

"Well," the heir chuckled, "I did say they knew their place. And don't give me that kicked-puppy look, please, it annoys me to no end." He copied Tiga's shrug. "Really, what's gotten into you all? Do you seriously need a reminder that some of us are born to lead, and the rest to serve?"

"What do you want?"

"To unravel a mystery. Have you ever heard of the Witch of Faradar? Of course not. She was a survivor o—"

"I heard about her."

Palladio stopped and looked him dead in the eyes as Subaru smiled. The heir didn't speak — or blink — for an absurdly long time, before continuing, "—of the Imperial massacre of Faradar. Long story, and I don't care one whit about re-telling it. She's still around here, somewhere, and you are going to find her for me."

Subaru moved his leg to get the prince's foot off it and stood, dusting himself off. "And then?"

"You're going to send her a message, of course. If she demands payment, you pay. If she asks for a sacrifice, you provide one. If she starts talking to hollows and spirits and Envy herself and then tries to maul you like a dog, you let it happen. Clear?"

The idea was far from tempting, but Subaru already knew it was an unavoidable fate. Still, he asked, "And if I refuse?"

"All those things happen, in that order," Palladio explained nonchalantly. "And if you're still alive, don't expect any remuneration from me. The only kindness I'll do you is finding someone willing to end your misery."

"Sweet."

"Really? Just wait. Prove yourself useful and I might even let you meet that rat again. I can hardly let you associate with bad influences like him."

Although Subaru was tempted to point out that Palladio himself was a bad influence, he refrained, for the sake of avoiding another tangent. "And what's the message?"

Palladio leaned down until he was really face-to-face with Subaru, an act that made him curve his back at an almost-perfect right angle. "A measly few years ago, there was a festival in this town. A handful of people there dropped dead; simply stopped breathing on their own. You will ask the Witch for information regarding those deaths, and you will tell me what she says." He pointed to himself. "Me. Me alone. Is that understood?"

"Yeah…understood."

"Splendid. I'll overlook your insolence today, but speak nothing of this mission to anyone. You are only useful as a messenger, and if I have to cut out your tongue…well, you'd be more useful as food for the crops."

Subaru nodded, and Palladio's sneer turned to a grin as he forcefully patted the boy. "Ah," he added, "and give her a little personal message from yours truly.

"Tell her Palladio intends to cleanse Melinda's sin, and asks for her help in doing so."

Chaosflame…was there anyone in the world who didn't love this city?

Sure, it was a warzone, but so was the entire Vollachian Empire. Sure, it was always under watch by the Imperial Army, but they never did anything beyond posing and talking big. Sure, the people here were as likely to stab you as they were to hug you, but that was good for you, a couple stab wounds today toughened your skin, and tomorrow you'd be sword-proof…or something like that!

Chaosflame itself was an enchanting place. The Crimson Lapis Castle in the distance cut an imposingly majestic figure, its spires cutting the sky open, towering over the city like teeth on the horizon. The Crystal Palace in Lupugana itself was a sandcastle compared to it.

And the architecture! Its beautiful buildings of marble and brick and ceramics, with their sloping tiled roofs, dominated every street like Steelfolk giants slumbering along the roads. Even the tallest citizens were gnats compared to them.

Oh, and the people! Not a human in sight! Steelfolk, Weaponkin, Hyenas, Dwarves, and so many more ambled along every street. They jostled and pushed and bickered and, on special occasions, tried to kill each other. Hardly anyone died, though. Thanks to that Lady Mishigure…

On some days, a little bit of death was a good thing. It kept you alive…if it didn't kill you, duh. Sometimes, a life-threatening situation was just the thing to wake up to. It cleared the mind.

Today, this very fine day, was just the perfect day for a little death, and what better way to find it by getting into a bar brawl?

The Yasui tavern was a respectable business, or as respectable as any business could be in Chaosflame. You could tell it was respectable because the barkeep hid a pair of short swords underneath her counter, and one of the two had to be fixed recently when it split in half after a fight. It was far from the only thing split in half that day, sure, but it was the most expensive to fix, which was a real pain.

On this day, this very very fine day, esteemed mercenary Guerre Halfas had but one wish: to start another bar brawl, one with real casualties this time. No more of that "Oh, we should stop, we can't let anyone get seriously hurt" nonsense. This was Vollachia, land of wolves, land of war! Land of really damn cheap inns and even cheaper tavern swill. And — with Drizen as his witness — Guerre could swear no one served better tavern swill than Yasui. Apparently the Kararagians loved it, but they'd chug down sand if it was sold in a golden chalice.

As he stopped at the entrance to the tavern, with the twin doors barring his way, Guerre brought a sharp-nailed finger to his snout, gently rubbing a few scales that got chipped earlier. He hadn't meant to skimp out and not pay the carriage driver that brought him here, but apparently he over-tipped that waiter in Guaral, and now he had a single coin to his name. It wasn't his, but he stole it from the driver, so technically it was!

He clutched the coin in his hand, puffed his chest out, and pushed open the doors, putting on his best grin as he walked into the fine establishment. It was his best grin because it showed off his fangs, and those always spooked a few people. Benefits of being a Snakefolk, and whatnot.

As if that was not enough, he made sure to put his hands behind his back like a real officer and all. The people of Chaosflame hated soldiers, and Guerre was going to do everything he could to look like one. He was one, kind of. He just fought for money instead of principles. Was that so bad?

The one thing he lacked was his spotless orange uniform, tailored for soldiers of House Godwin, but he sold that three carriage stops back, to a bunch of creepy wolf-masked fellows. He got one of the masks in return, but it didn't fit him. Shame.

Still, he was far from sad to lose that uniform. If anyone realized he was on the losing side of this civil war, he'd be hanged at the town square! Or worse…they would put him in prison 'til he paid back his debts! He might as well jump off the Great Cascade at that point.

As he sauntered over to the counter, Guerre held his head high, taking in the stares of his fellow patrons. The barkeep, a yellow-skinned six-armed hulking tower of muscle, narrowed her eyes when she saw him, stealthily reaching for her swords.

That was to be expected. Guerre loved to make a scene, and everywhere he went, he was bound to leave an impression. None could forget meeting a battle-scarred, crimson-scaled, accented Snakefolk like him. The accent was his favorite part, because it was the one he came up with on his own.

"My dear," he began with his hoarse voice, as he put his hands on the counter and looked the barkeep in the eyes, "you have certainl~y gotten tall~er. And yell~ower. Feel~ing al~right? I can take over your job today."

The barkeep's glare could have put a Jiwald spell to shame, and it lasted for all of ten seconds, after which she hissed, "What do you want?"

Guerre chuckled in response, completely missing whatever she said after that question, but her tone implied an insult, so he was fine with not hearing it. Too many of those lately. "This is a tavern. There's a wall~ of drinks behind you, and" — he put down his lone coin on the counter — "now there's your payment. What el~se do I have to do to get a drink?"

She picked up the coin and stared at it, flabbergasted. "This would get you a glass of the cheapest—"

"Fantast—"

"—but you owe fifty-six more of them, so all it will get you is a kick to the teeth."

In response, Guerre winced, though he tried not to let it show too much. He was proud of his teeth, his fangs especially, and he wasn't going to lose them to a barkeep! Not even a barkeep twice his size with four more arms than him and enough strength in each to break apart trees…

Yeah, maybe it was best to pick a fight with someone else. Someone who he could actually have a chance against.

With that in mind, he reached out his hand to recover the coin, but the barkeep took it from him before he could even graze it. He stifled a nervous chuckle and reached for it again, but the barkeep pocketed it before his very eyes, not breaking eye contact for an instant.

Guerre scratched the corner of his mouth. "That was…mine."

"I am aware," the barkeep replied.

Guerre wilted, lowering his head, and whispered, "Can I…have it back?"

The barkeep chose to remain silent and turned to serve some other patron.

Turning away in shame, Guerre scanned the tavern. It was a two-story establishment, with dozens of tables in a semi-circle around the main bar. A large set of stairs led to the second story, where patrons could enjoy longer stays. The ones here on the ground floor usually got kicked out after a half hour.

The upstairs patrons were richer, of course. More coins in Guerre's hands…and in his pocket…and hidden in his canteens. So many places to carry money, and yet, no money to carry! He would fix that soon enough.

As he turned his gaze from the stairs, attempting to look nonchalant — as if he wasn't the poorest man in Vollachia — the Snakefolk spotted a familiar face at the foot of the stairs. It was wrong, like someone had taken it apart and put it back together without a care as to how it previously looked.

That unsettling face belonged to a rugged human man in his forties, with a too-square head and inhuman triangular pupils within his gray eyes. The man was dressed in plain brown garbs, the same color as his skin, pretending to be a common person. The clothes didn't draw attention away from the three diagonal scars that marred his face.

Guerre knew that man. He knew the horrific creature that hid behind his smirk. He knew…that the man was looking at him, and yet he dared not move. How could he? He was staring at the man who had tortured him for years, who had beaten him unconscious almost every night for years, who had come close to flaying him.

The man who had made him fight for his life in that wretched gladiatorial arena.

That monster in human form waved at him, beckoning him to come closer, and Guerre found himself doing the exact opposite. His body moved even as his fear-stricken mind froze, and Guerre found himself back out on the streets of Chaosflame before he even realized it. In a single breath, he made it a block away from the tavern. In the next, he slinked into an alleyway, wishing with all his heart to disappear.

He knew some of his demi-human cousins could change their skin to blend in with their surroundings, but he wasn't included among them. If anything, his blood-red scales made him stand out. In silence, he prayed to his god, that legendary figure of myth that he had chosen to follow in life. A Snakefolk like him, though one who had long surpassed him in every regard. A divine envoy of liberty: the Saving Mother, Libre Fermi.

The beaming sun above Chaosflame barely hid him, and Guerre crouched as best he could behind some crates that had been carelessly left out in the open. They were a godly aid at this moment, and he was going to take all the help he could get.

Every second he spent behind those crates dragged on for an eternity, and Guerre could feel his heartbeat slow as his breath quickened. There was no one in the alley beside him, but he could swear that every swaying shadow was the outline of that brute coming for him.

It felt like the darkness was reaching out to him…again. There was something here with him, and he could not see it. A specter out to haunt him, to mock him, to drag him to the depths of that lake until he breathed no longer. He swore he could feel its hands reaching out and—

A light tap on his shoulder made him scream like he'd been ran through with a spear, and he muttered some gibberish that sounded vaguely like "Don't take me back" for a good while before he realized the mind-numbingly horrifying "specter" was just a knee-height cat demi-human with an insufferably high-pitched voice that sounded like it went up in volume with every word out of her mouth.

"Mister, those're my boxes yer hidin' behind," she drawled, as Guerre stared at her, stupefied, feeling tears of relief well up in his eyes.

He quickly scrambled to his knees, bowing his head. "Please, please!" he muttered. "You have to help me! He's back! He'll take me back! He can't be back! I'm begging you, please!"

The cat-lady just stared at him, perplexed, a hint of pity in her eyes. She didn't understand. She didn't know. She had to! Everyone had to know! Guerre would never go back to that pit of agony, to that nightmare…he couldn't.

And yet, as the cat-lady began to respond, a new voice cut in. One Guerre knew too well. "Forgive my friend here," it said, and Guerre felt a gloved hand rest on his shoulder. "He has been through too much, lately. Some of us…leave a part of ourselves on the battlefield, you know?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," the cat-lady spoke, waving her hand. "Can yer friend get outta 'ere? Gotta business to run 'n' he's in the way."

"My apologies," the voice replied. "We won't bother you any longer, ma'am." The grip on Guerre's shoulder tightened, and he felt like he was about to faint. "Come now, Guerre. We don't want to keep this lady from her job."

Against his own wishes, Guerre allowed himself to be pulled away, unable to even say a word. His body refused to obey him, and though he was easily stronger than his captor, Guerre had long ago accepted the horrid truth that he could not resist. Defiance only brought worse punishments. Defiance only hurt him more.

He didn't even look behind him as the voice spoke again. "You've gotten faster, Guerre. I remember you using it to your advantage, back then." A pause. "Shame you weren't fast enough." The man laughed heartily. "Good for me, though! Can't go back empty-handed. Not again…or Mother…"

Guerre did not miss the fear in his captor's voice, and that terrified him further.

"Nonetheless," the man continued, "I won't fail. We won't fail." With barely any effort, he tossed Guerre against the wall and walked in front of him, squatting to be at eye-level. Guerre saw past the man's triangular pupils, and he knew they were windows to no soul. "Got a proposition for you, Red."

He had heard those words so many times in the past. He knew it was no proposition. It was a command. With grave consequences if he refused.

The man before him smiled gently, as if he hadn't been the architect of Guerre's misery for half a decade.

His name was Calliande. A despicable name, one Guerre was glad to read on a grave many, many years back. A name he was never supposed to hear again.

This unassuming man had, for many years, been a warden at the Ginunhive prison. Many of his prisoners, the ones who cost him money in lost bets or misbehaved, wound up at the bottom of the island's lake.

Calliande had met the same fate. He was supposed to. The creature in front of him should have been a hollow, not…the real monster.

"I know you're listening," Calliande chuckled. "Same deal as always. Do as you're told and you can go on pretending you're a free man." He shrugged. "I'd like to skip that part, but I can't afford to be hasty now. I have a new boss…and she'd hate it if I spoiled her fun."

The only words Guerre managed to croak out were, "How are you alive?" He didn't even put on the accent for that question.

Calliande shook his head. "Told you. New boss. Come on, Red. There's profit to be made. Someone out there needs to have their day ruined, and we're up to the task."

He turned and walked away, not even sparing a glance to the stunned Guerre behind him.

Guerre didn't make a sound as he stood and trailed behind him, genuinely regretting that he didn't get the barkeep to kill him.

Faradar was supposed to be peaceful.

It was a town in the middle of nowhere. To anyone of importance, it was just another name on reports about food and land. Faradar had nothing of interest, and save for the scant few idiots who wandered in every year trying to study the Evil Eye Tribe, it never saw any new faces.

Faradar was the very image of serenity, a shelter in the whirlwind that was Vollachia. It was a refuge. A haven. No one was supposed to upset the peace.

Sometimes, things got out of hand. That festival a few years back, when some people died? That was never supposed to happen. It was an honest mistake, and it was covered up. No one in Faradar wanted the Emperor's men poking around town, not after how they burned it to the ground the last time.

Faradar was as perfect as it could be, but there was work to be done despite that. Someone had to keep the town as a serene, forgettable backwater place. It was a thankless job. At times, it was a dirty job.

Anything to keep the peace.

It was a team effort to keep Faradar safe, and everyone played a part, but none did so with even a semblance of enthusiasm. No one save for young Salum Pristis.

Everyone in the town wanted Faradar to remain forgotten. Some did it because they liked the peace, others because they thought it profitable, a handful because they were on the run. Salum, though, did it for the simplest reason: family.

A lot of them knew. In their eyes, he was the brother of a murderer, and his own family had threatened to destroy the very same peace he now protected. It was why he took this job, why he personally acted to protect Faradar against anyone who would do it harm.

Those like him, they looked at him with pity. Poor Salum, who atones for a sin his sister committed. Poor young Salum, who was — at sixteen — like an infant to the rest, too young to remember that day when Faradar burned. Pity the child who fought for a cause he didn't understand.

He did not miss how they whispered behind his back, saying that he would be so much better off without his sister. They thought her a burden. A girl who couldn't control her power was a danger to the Tribe's secrecy.

It was why they hid her away. They hated her, and that made them fear her. Salum was permitted to visit her, and so was that loud Kararagian boy, Tiga, but that was a privilege. If the Tribe deemed it so, they would be rid of the Pristis siblings once and for all.

So Salum proved himself. He did everything in his power to show them another way. The Tribe elders didn't think highly of him, but they thought of him, and that was good enough. All he needed was one of them to argue in his favor, to show the elders that he, and his sister, could be trusted.

Now, Salum had a mission. A personal mission. One that came not from the elders, but — of all people — from Tiga. Salum barely spared a thought for the boy, but at least he helped out. That, Salum could approve of.

Tiga warned him of a few newcomers, among them a strange boy and an "obvious" noble. Normally, this wouldn't have startled him, but a merchant he knew told him that the newcomers also included a strange maid and a nervous-looking fellow who kept asking about lockpicks. Four newcomers was four too many, and Salum was determined to find out what drew them here.

He appreciated Tiga approaching the boy earlier. He said there was no cause for concern, and Salum felt comfortable knocking the boy down to the bottom of his priorities — and if the boy was really going to visit that "Witch," Spiegel, he was all but dealt with — but that nobleman was the opposite. Salum saw him strike at Tiga, and if he hadn't intervened…

The nobleman was trouble. He was sure of it.

That meant the maid was probably with him, which left the lockpicker. Everything Salum heard made him sound like a fool, so he wasn't a priority.

Now, he was focusing on that nobleman. Very few people of his rank would willingly come to Faradar, which meant he had some very special reason to be here. Was he a friend of Lord Peixit, the ruler of this land? Was he just a rich idiot trying to learn about the Evil Eyes? Or did he have some motive Salum could not yet discern?

Salum left the square shortly after the nobleman, keeping almost half a block away. The nobleman was easy to spot, at least, with that ridiculous turquoise scarf on his neck. He stood out as much as Salum did, which would have made tracking him difficult…if he wasn't as self-centered as every other noble in the Empire, barely sparing a glance to anyone around him.

People on the street paid Salum more attention than they did the nobleman, but most of them knew him well. There would always be a handful of people who thought him a thief or a thug, but he gave them a wide berth. No point arguing with them.

Ahead of him, in one of Faradar's main streets, the nobleman stopped at a shop that Salum recognized. A tailor's store, one that specialized in dyes. What could a noble want there? A disguise? A wig? A new scarf? If it was the last one, Salum would gladly give him the funds and send him on his way.

Salum chose to remain outside the store. It only had one entrance, so the nobleman would come out where Salum could see him. Now, Salum just had to wait.

After a minute or so, Salum spotted another figure leaving the store: a short woman with a maid's uniform, sporting House Peixit's insignia. Her skin was glossy, and even from afar, Salum could make out that the base of her neck seemed to be lined by a circle. Combined with her pitch-black eyes, he had no doubt she was a Woodkin, those rumored distant relatives of the Steelfolk.

She was holding onto a pile of boxes almost as tall as her, balancing them with each step. She waited at the door for a couple seconds until the nobleman exited, holding a box in his hands as well. He sized up her pile of goods and carelessly tossed his box atop the pile, walking away without a care in the world as the maid followed him.

Salum shook his head and followed them.

The sooner they were out of town, the better.

"Someone is trailing us, esteemed lord."

"Yes, Lutka, that's the seventh time you've said that."

Normally, Palladio would have paid no attention to some stranger trailing behind him. He dealt with assassins before, almost as often as he dealt with adoring subjects clamoring to get a glimpse of him. To Palladio, dealing with stalkers was about as normal as buying new clothes.

Sure, maybe it had been a while since anyone "clamored" to get to meet him…but that would change! Once he was Emperor, he would have no shortage of serfs fighting one another to meet him, and he would have no shortage of servants to stand in their way and say "His Excellency is occupied at the moment, kindly wait upon his convenience," while he was off playing Shatranj…or having someone do it in his stead. It was a boring game.

But the throne was about so much more than the prestige! It would give Palladio the power to finally make things right. He could wipe away the stain his father left on history, and usher in the era of the Evil Eyes! His people, no longer hiding like outlaws in the nooks and crannies of the Empire.

With the Tribe's power and the Emperor's influence, they could push through any challenge to his rule, and strengthen Vollachia past what any previous monarch imagined possible.

"Someone is trailing us, esteemed lord."

Palladio nodded in agreement, mumbling, "Yes, Lutka, that's eight times now."

Damn it. Who was following him now? Faradar was barely even on the Vollachian map, so unless Gaoran sent someone to trail him…

A tidbit of forgotten information resurfaced in his mind. Faradar had been the site of a land dispute a few years ago, with a House rival to Gaoran's own. That was typical in Vollachia, old petty noblemen killed each other for specks of dirt more often than not. Maybe the former owner of this town was looking to get it back.

In the worst case scenario, it could be the Imperial Hand. They were supposed to be impartial, always staying out of the Selection Ceremony under threat of death, but that threat only applied if they got caught. The Hand was brutal, but it was also brutally efficient, and if just one of their agents was after Palladio, odds were his enemies would find out things about him not even he knew.

There was little point worrying about it. He had to deal with the threat, of course, but this was Vollachia; everyone spied on everyone. If you didn't have at least four people feeding you information about your enemy, you were fifty steps behind. And now, with the throne at stake, Palladio was sure that—

"Esteemed lord—"

"Lutka, I swear by the First Emperor, if you say we're being followed—"

"—we have reached the end of the town."

Palladio snapped out of his thoughts and looked ahead. As his servant said, the town ended just a few steps away, giving way to the forest. He turned, noting that there was no one on the street anymore, and uttered a "huh" in surprise.

"Are we still being followed?" he asked, which Lutka affirmed with a nod that he barely saw behind her pile of boxes, which teetered to one side before she stabilized it. "It seems our tail doesn't know when to give up. Capture them alive. They'll know something useful."

Lutka assented with a grunt, then stepped toward him. "Hold this, esteemed lord."

Palladio barely had a moment to realize what she was talking about before she thrust the box pile onto him, knocking him off-balance. He fought bravely to keep the pile upright, but one box fell and struck him on the forehead before landing on the dirt below him.

He scoured his brain for the vilest curse he could think of, but Lutka had already vanished. Whatever. If she did her job well enough, he'd look past this insolence. He needed a source of information on Faradar, someone who knew the town well, because what he was looking for here…only very few would know about.

See, not that long ago, someone had killed several innocents with the power of an Evil Eye, compelling them to take their own lives. The incident was covered up…but nothing escaped Palladio Manesque, the Augur.

Someone in Faradar had the power to bend the minds of others to their will, and given by how much the incident was hidden, he suspected the power's owner was still alive, likely in the clutches of the Tribe's elders.

Tsk, now that just would not do.

Palladio Manesque, the Mindbender. It had a nice ring to it. With a little time and planning, he could rule an Empire where no one would even think about defying him. And now, in the short-term…

…he would test that power on his "beloved" half-siblings, and he would take a front-row seat to the glorious deaths of his rivals for the throne.

Deaths brought about by their own hands.

Chapter Text

"For the one with no soul."

(inscription at the base of Eugard Vollachia's statue in the Imperial Capital of Lupugana)

Chapter 8: For Every Rose, a Thorn

"Witch," the word with many meanings.

Ask anyone on the street and they'd likely single out the Witch, she who devoured the world. The fearless — and stupid — would bring up the Witch Cult, the madmen who were never supposed to be mentioned.

To most, a "witch" was just anyone with power beyond their understanding. Did crops suddenly go bad? A witch's doing. That coin you left out on your nightstand is now missing? Whoops, a witch made it fly away.

At some point, it became too ridiculous to entertain. Watch out for that nice lady that sells cheap vegetables, she has to be a witch! And careful around those triplets who look a little too identical, don't you know they're warlocks?

Witch, witch, witch. Every last one of them. Throw a rock into a crowd and you'll hit four witches. Walk into a store and you'll bump into a witch. This witching business was serious, especially if there were so many around.

Thankfully, though, this witching business was very easy. People forgot about a witch that grew vegetables with her mind if they found out about one that could do something even more amazing, like bend metal without touching it. Just like that, there was a new witch-of-the-week, and people could hardly get enough of these "fearsome" and "malevolent" arcane practitioners of the dark arts.

Vollachia had its fair share of witches, but here, in Faradar, there was only one who could flaunt that title — Spiegel, the Evil Eye of Echoes. Even her title was made to intimidate, and she was so proud of herself for coming up with it. Also, alliteration amused her.

Faradar had its fair share of witches over the years, but none matched Spiegel. She remembered being looked at strangely for her miraculous survival when the town was burned decades ago, but that was nothing special. And the other Tribesmen shied away from her, doing their best to avoid her home…although, to be fair, she didn't much like leaving it. Even when she set up a store in the front of her home — going through the trouble of cleaning up and all — very few people came in. That was a real shame, especially after all the trouble she went through to decorate…and Spiegel doubted she would ever have a stroke of genius like the one that came to her when she named the store.

The sign outside read "Be-Witching." She was still waiting for some literary genius to drop by and applaud her for that one.

Now, Spiegel mostly stuck to her store, sometimes dropping by to give the Tribe elders a big scare and talk with some hollows.

Actually, speaking of hollows…

"Sp~ie~gel~," a haunting voice called out from right behind her, almost whispering in her ear. "Sp~ie~gel~," it droned on, and she felt an incredibly faint touch on her shoulder.

"What do you want?" she asked, not bothering to look up from her journal, in which she was drawing a few roses. Spiegel had never been a very artistic woman, but at least her art was passable.

The phantom voice spoke again. "Cli~ent~, afr~aid~, mirr~or~, bre~ak~."

The "witch" nodded absently, smiling ever so slightly. Her hollows did wonders for business, and this one in particular was a particularly efficient little spirit. Sixteen scared customers and counting.

Every good business needed a solid way of promoting itself, and Spiegel's mirror store was no different. Faradar was the most backwater pit in all Vollachia, and selling mirrors was already quite a difficult endeavor. She needed a way to get people interested in her business…so what better way than to send a few spirits to haunt them?

It was no coincidence that most of her mirrors wound up showing horrific, long-dead specters of the past, and after a few such appearances, she had a bit of a following in the little town, strengthening her place as Faradar's one and only true "witch."

Also, sometimes people freaked out when they saw corpses in their mirrors and wound up breaking them. No one else in town sold mirrors…so yet another victory for the witch and her quaint store.

This news of yet another successful haunting put Spiegel in high spirits, and she jotted down the information in her journal. She wasn't afraid of anyone finding it; the last time someone stole her journal, they said it was filled with illegible scribbles. Spiegel had no clue what that meant, but she would not complain if her journal suddenly decided to protect itself from everyone but her. A magical journal was a spectacular tool for a witch to have.

She pointedly overlooked that — sometimes — said journal attempted to speak with her, suddenly writing down what seemed to be instructions on its pages. Following orders from a magic book didn't seem like a good way to pass the time, so she always turned three blind eyes to those mysterious words.

When she was done basking in her small victory over yet another unsuspecting customer, Spiegel glanced up from her journal. Her store was a maze of mirrors, each a different size, all of them — she was proud to admit — reflecting clearly and spectacularly. She cleaned them every night just to show them off, after all.

As her gaze landed on a tall mirror in front of her, she noticed something odd: a speck of crimson, like a bloody cloud hanging over her shoulders. It twisted into itself, as if struggling to take shape, yet a mere heartbeat later, it spoke with a clarity that belied its appearance.

"Hearken, witch," it commanded in a haughty voice Spiegel knew all-too-well. "Thy service is required once more."

Spiegel bowed her head to the amorphous cloud of red. Thanks to her Evil Eye, she could understand — and sometimes command — hollows, but the same went for them, and this one in particular she knew would not tolerate disobedience. She had the scars to prove it. "This one listens," she intoned, almost ritualistically.

The Evil Eye Tribe had long worshiped their own ancestors. They venerated their elders, and the most influential were immortalized with paintings, so they may gaze upon the world even after death. Yet, when these hollows, the souls of the departed, came for aid, most turned away.

Spiegel would not — could not — turn away.

A low hum came from the hollow, but she dared not even think what it could mean. "Mineself notes thy loyalty. Now it must be proven." She awaited the hollow's command, but it remained silent, emitting a faint wheeze-like sound.

"This one will obey," she muttered, hoping the dark specter hadn't turned its attention elsewhere in the middle of their conversation.

A sound like a whip's crack echoed through the store, and the hollow continued, "One of hers is here. A tainted soul, in her grasp…" The hollow broke off, remaining silent for a few moments. "Lead him astray, o' servant mine. He mustn't…uncover us…"

The voice began to fade, but Spiegel attempted to ask one final question. "Excellency…why not kill him?"

The hollow's final words — barely audible — struck her like the vilest insult. "You would…fail…"

The cloud behind her vanished as soon as she blinked, and she was left with a profound loneliness…and a command. No, a commandment.

One of her master's enemies, one of those whose very being had been corrupted by…"her."

Spiegel racked her brain for who that could possibly mean, but in her long service to this invisible creature, she had never figured out the truth. These corrupted entities, however…her master said their souls were withered, torn apart by a power that shouldn't have been theirs.

Every time she met one, they looked…normal. Never in her life could she have expected them to be her master's enemies, but that was probably why she wasn't in charge. Still…she could see the hollows' mark on these people, like dozens of translucent shapes crowding around them.

The hollows despised these people, but her master saw them as true enemies. There was something about them that seemed to unnerve even this particular deathless being.

But her master had ordered her to not kill this one. It was a commandment unlike the previous ones…and she oh so wanted to learn why the great change. It wasn't her place to question, but still…

The door to the store opened, and Spiegel shook herself out of her thoughts upon hearing the doorbell ring. A new customer was here, at last. Surely, her master wouldn't mind if she earned a few coins. Hollows didn't exactly pay very well…if at all.

When she turned to face the door, she found empty air. After a moment of confusion, she looked down, finding at the entrance a young boy, not even into his teens, with pitch-black hair.

The hollows reached out to him, unseen by all save for her, drawn to his tainted soul.

Subaru was rightfully skeptical about talking to someone who called herself a "witch."

Most of the time, that was a pretty clear-cut sign that the person was, in fact, the kind of fellow you wanted to stay very far away from. Nine times out of ten, said witch was likely some horribly-inhuman monster that fed on souls or something. Subaru wasn't keen on gambling his life with a ten-percent chance of winning. It was kind of his only life, and he was very protective of it.

The locals had kindly pointed him to the witch's residence, a house-turned-store with a sign outside that he couldn't even read. He caught at least one villager looking at it and chuckling though, so maybe it was funny. Who knows.

He had two jobs to do, and both were equally important. He would need to ask the witch about Palladio's jacket and its writing — hoping that she had a lead on its origins — while also relaying Palladio's message and finding out about the festival deaths he mentioned.

Come on, he thought to himself. You can do it. You know more about witches than anyone in this country, maybe even in this world! If anyone can negotiate with a practitioner of dark magic, it's Natsuki Subaru, prodigy of the Natsuki family!

Operation: Don't Get Killed By The Witch…begin!

With the most determined stride he could muster, Subaru approached the store's door and opened it, sauntering inside as he puffed out his chest. His quest had brought him here, to the witch's lair, and now he would need to use his wits to find a way home!

The first thing he noticed in the store was the mirrors. Countless mirrors, each spotless, adorned every centimeter of the store. Large mirrors the size of a person hung on the walls, while smaller, handheld ones were lined up on display cases. Each had a sign near it, likely with its price.

At the center, near a small metallic fireplace, was a semi-circular desk, behind which sat…the witch. She was a slender and ancient woman — in her middle years, more or less — with a veil of graying purple hair covering her face, and wearing a scarlet kimono. She froze when he entered, and it took her a moment to look down at him. Once she did, Subaru fought the urge to shiver under the witch's gaze…until she sneered.

"He's the one?" she muttered, loudly enough for Subaru to pick up on.

Subaru remained quiet for a second, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the witch cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Welcome to Be-Witching," she recited as if from memory, "where our prices will haunt you. Hand mirrors up to ten gold coins, and large ones up to fifty." A pause, then, "We take no responsibility for any strange things you might see in the mirrors, and if you have any complaints, bring them up with the store owner before contacting anyone else."

Silence. Subaru was unsure how to respond to a witch merchant, but she spoke up first. "You don't look like you've got money, kid. Scram. You'll scare off my customers."

Subaru frowned and looked around. "Customers?"

"Yeah, funny. Listen, I have a record of seven customers at once, alright? You're not a customer if you don't pay."

He thought about how to proceed for a moment, but when the witch stood from her desk with a sigh, he immediately blurted out, "Palladio Manesque sent me!"

The witch, behind her veil of hair, raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"You don't know him?"

"Kid, I live in Faradar, the place where the news goes to die. The world could end tomorrow and I'd be the last to find out."

That complicated matters. Still, he continued, "Palladio is some royal guy? Tall, sounds like he has a cold? Dresses funny?"

The witch brought a finger to her chin. "Still no clue."

"No one likes him?"

"Oh, that freak? What's he want?"

Subaru allowed himself a diminutive smile, having accomplished one step of his mission. "He says he wants to know about some people that died in a festival."

Out of nowhere, the witch's face twisted into a frown. "Huh? That's ancient news. Everyone knows it was that Me—, wait, no…" She trailed off, looking at a mirror. "I mean, no one knows why it happened. Some bunch of villagers dropped dead from one moment to the next." She shrugged. "I'm really not the best person to ask."

"But you said everyone knew…"

"What? No, I didn't."

Subaru tilted his head and pondered his dilemma. This…was not how he envisioned a battle of wits against a dark mage. "Alright…then, Palladio has a message for you."

"Loose."

"What?"

"Go ahead. Say it."

Silence settled in the store as Subaru began to consider that maybe this "witch" was just…a tiny bit unconventional…

He repeated Palladio's message. "Palladio intends to…cleanse Melinda's sin? Something like that. And he wants your help for it."

That finally got a reaction. "Ah…is that what he said?" The witch faced him, narrowing her eyes and whispering to herself. "If that's what he wants…useful, yes…he could help…"

"Oh, and um—"

"Quiet, boy," she chastised him scornfully. "Can't you see I'm talking here?"

Subaru looked down. "Sorry…"

The witch spoke to herself again, but this time he could not hear her. She sounded like she was in a rather intense argument, but when she looked at him again, a comfortable smile sat on her face. "Tell Palladio I'm with him…and allow me to rescind my previous statement. The murderer is Melty Pristis. She's dangerous, and I don't know where she is…but there's one who knows. A boy with green hair, a Kararagian."

Tiga was friends with a murderer? Huh. Great friend Subaru had there. Still, he refrained from letting the witch know he had met Tiga before, and instead just said, "Is there…anyone else who knows?"

"Her brother, but he'll bash your skull in before ever talking to you, so tough luck there."

Subaru nodded, repeating the words to himself in a whisper. Palladio couldn't complain about this. Finally, he asked, "Also…do you happen to know anything about the Emperor's coat?"

"The who's what?"

"The Emperor's coat. It's kinda blue…and it has these weird golden lines on it?"

"Kid, you're preaching to the snow. I have no clue what you're talking ab—"

"It's ancient writing?" he added, his voice's pitch going higher than he'd have liked.

The witch looked to the ceiling and sighed loudly. "You couldn't start with that? Yeah, I know about ancient writing. I can…" She tilted her head, listening for something. "Yes…I can try to translate it, if you get me the text."

Subaru beamed, and internally laughed as loud as he could. "No, no, I don't need it translated! Do you know anyone who can write it? Or anyone who'd know? Or where it came from? Or—"

"Woah, woah," she silenced him by raising her hands. "Too much, too quick. I hear the Stargazers know about it." She lowered her voice. "The ones in the capital, mind you. The others couldn't tell a rock from a feather."

Stargazers…Subaru was supposed to be one, at any rate. At least he had the "ancient writing" down. "Do you know of any way to contact them? Or…anyone else who can get to them?"

The witch thought about it. "Well…don't let anyone know you heard it from me, but Erzula Blaith — the 'Seventh Color' — has studied Stargazers extensively. Her husband ran this town."

Every word she said, Subaru noted with extreme care. These were far more answers than he had expected, and with so many leads, he was all but guaranteed a way home! All he needed was to get in touch with a "fellow" Stargazer, or with that Erzula woman, and he was probably set!

Before he forgot, though, he asked one final question. "Where did you get that kimono?"

The witch pointed at herself. "This? It's Kararagian. You can get one when the merchants drop by—"

"Really!?"

"—in about two years."

"Oh…"

"Tell me about it. I couldn't even get a purple one. Red is not my color…"

Subaru nodded absentmindedly, then bowed. "Thank you for your help! I appreciate it a lot! Thank you and bye!"

As he turned to leave, the witch spoke up. "Wait. You owe me."

He chuckled nervously and gave her a weak thumbs-up. "Well…you see…I'm not only unemployed, but broke beyond compare…"

"Yeah, yeah," the witch assented. "Just my luck that only the broke ones come into my store…but I don't need money from you." She held up a finger and walked over to her desk, pulling open drawers and rummaging around. After an uncomfortably long silence, she pulled out a thick tree branch adorned with various small gems of differing colors. It was as long as a forearm, and seemed to almost glow. "I'm looking for someone," she explained, walking over to Subaru, "and I would ask your help in finding her."

She handed Subaru the branch, and he looked it over. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like there were faces inside the gems. "Who…are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure," the witch admitted. "Ask around. She's a very dear friend of a friend…and, you see, she's missing."

"Oh, no…"

"Indeed. Now, when you find her, break the branch's gems. All of them, as quickly as you can. That's all you need to do."

"And if I don't find—"

"You will."

Her unsettling grin did not leave much room for debate, so Subaru bowed his head again, muttered his thanks, and walked out, feeling the witch's gaze linger on him.

Lutka's life had been one of service.

Back with her people, most of whom resided in the sprawling Buddheim Jungle, she had been granted the prestigious assignment of protecting the local wildlife, most of which ignored her. Something about her Woodkin heritage gave her that advantage, one she considered wholly natural.

Most of the time, her days were quiet and long. She could not interfere in nature's affairs, and as such merely observed them from afar. Only in the luckiest days did she come across other people — mainly fellow guardians of the jungle, who never so much as looked at her — like those Sudrak huntresses.

Her people and the Sudraks long held animosity toward each other. The Woodkin protected nature, but the Sudraks reveled in killing. Their war for Buddheim often devolved into vengeful murders, rarely seeing any large-scale fighting. Even then, the Sudraks were minor annoyances compared to the various mabeasts that popped out of nowhere. They seemed to multiply faster than anyone could eradicate them, and many of Lutka's kinsmen fell attempting to cull them.

Lutka spent years in that jungle, helping her people defend unquestioned traditions that no one but them valued. In the name of tradition, she had idled away the years doing nothing, ignorant of the world beyond her jungle.

She could remember the day the outside world intruded in Buddheim as if it had happened yesterday. A legion of Imperial soldiers cut their way through the trees, slaughtering everything in their path. The Woodkin fought back, but they were antiquated, predictable. The Empire carved a way through them with ease, driving the few survivors into the depths of the jungle.

Lutka hid with them, and even aided them as they tried to plot a counterattack. But their tactics were old, and their tools ancient. The Woodkin had clung so tightly to tradition that they overlooked the power awaiting them beyond the jungle.

Lutka had seen the Empire's soldiers firsthand, she had slain a few of them, and she admired everything about them. Their armor was new, their weapons cared for, their strategies innovative. The Woodkin were a relic of the past, hidden in Buddheim since the Witch of Envy devoured the world, but the Empire moved on without them. Vollachia had been content to ignore them for centuries, but now its patience had run out, and the Woodkin stood in the Empire's way, refusing to move.

Lutka made a decision, then. She wasn't going to die in the name of tradition. Without any regrets, she led the Empire to her people's encampment. Clad in their crimson armor, wielding their brand-new swords, she erased every trace of the Woodkin from Buddheim Jungle, one slash at a time.

The Empire thanked her for her collaboration, paying her with kind words and congratulations, before immediately ordering her death. She did not begrudge the soldiers that decision. It was the smartest thing to do. Her admiration for the Empire's fancy weapons did not diminish in the slightest as she turned them against the soldiers, cutting their numbers in half before vanishing into the jungle she knew so well.

Vollachia was a whole new world for Lutka, and every new sight brought her a sense of wonder she could hardly imagine back in her tree-dwelling days. Where her days had been monotonous and mind-numbingly dull, now they burst with exciting new opportunities. She hunted down merchant caravans, relishing in the challenge of robbing them blind. She joined with a bandit gang and assaulted a military camp, switching sides in the middle of the battle for fun. Then she got sent to prison…and she escaped — very easily, mind you.

The once-ignorant Woodkin was well on her way to breaking into Ginunhive — having stopped in Glarasia to examine their magnificent weapons and maybe "acquire" a few dishonestly — when she met Palladio Manesque.

Palladio was a fool, which already made him unbearable, but he was also idealistic, which turned him into the exact kind of person Lutka despised. That day, she — and half the population of Glarasia — watched as the Emperor's son used his blade of sunlight to cut a loaf of bread until it was "properly scorched" (in his own words).

That was when Lutka decided: she just had to kill this man.

That same night, after stealing a nice sword that caught her eye, she broke into the inn that was hosting the prince's entourage. A few soldiers with Manesque's azure uniforms stood against her, but they proved inconsequential. Like back in Buddheim, she single-handedly cut a path to her goal.

That night, Palladio Manesque — a young man not even out of his teens — was her target, and she found herself facing him in his room just an hour after ripping through his soldiers. The prince, to his credit, did not beg for his life.

Indeed, he hardly noticed her, instead sitting on his desk and reading some book.

She swooped in to separate his head from his shoulders, but something caught her swords mid-swing. When she stepped back to reassess her foe, she found another Woodkin, one of her people, standing between her and the prince.

Her rival matched her movements perfectly, and Lutka contemplated escaping more than once, but she persisted, fighting against a remnant of her past that she had thought extinct.

She won, of course. Gravely wounded, with amber blood pouring from every cut she'd sustained, Lutka finished off her enemy…and immediately afterwards, she finished off Palladio Manesque, who did not spare her a single glance as she drove a sword through his chest.

It took her a few hours to question why the heir went down so easily, a question that was answered the moment she walked outside Glarasia and found Manesque's soldiers waiting for her, with three identical Palladios laughing among themselves as their army surrounded the beaten Lutka.

One of the soldiers, hidden behind his armor, demanded that she surrender and join them. When she asked why she would ever do that, the soldier merely answered that she could never kill all of them.

Lutka agreed. She had no desire to die after only a few short years of freedom, and House Manesque seemed as good as any.

As the army took her away, the masked soldier from earlier asked her if she would die for him.

She never answered that question, even after realizing the soldier had been Palladio from the beginning.

The wooden houses of Faradar reminded Lutka of her home in the jungle.

She barely paid them any heed, however. There was no reason for her to remember the past she buried. All that mattered was the now.

Leaving her lord behind, she scaled one of Faradar's houses, catching sight of the person tailing her. He was almost a block away, intent on using the roofs to escape as well. Good. That made things easier.

Like a graceful bird of prey, she soared over the streets of the town, skipping from one roof to the next. Few looked up at her, and fewer still understood what they were seeing.

Years of living in Buddheim had taught her techniques that no outside would ever understand. They saw their surroundings as tools, but to Lutka, every splinter of wood was an extension of herself.

Her target ducked into alleys and buildings, changing direction on a whim, keeping her guessing where he would go next. Lutka knew, however. She had experience hunting Sudraks, and compared to them, some low-life from Faradar was as good as caught.

Carefully, she felt for the hidden knives in her sleeves, debating whether or not to wield them. She decided against it. Palladio wanted this person alive, and she could not risk accidentally slipping up and coming back with a corpse. She'd fight unarmed.

Good. That made it more fun.

Her target slipped through a window, and Lutka halted, waiting to see where he would run to. A few seconds passed, and after getting no sight of him, she raced to the building and threw herself through the same window.

Inside, she found a bedroom, decorated sparsely with a few books and notes. A luxurious bed took up most of the room, and Lutka made sure to look underneath it just in case. Next, she pried open the wardrobe, finding just a few old coats and what not. Someone wealthy lived here…or at least as close to wealthy as one could get in Faradar. Anywhere else in the Empire, this would be a poor man's abode.

As she turned to the door, she found it closed tightly, with its lock untouched. So her target didn't use the door…so where could he…

She turned to the wardrobe again, noticing the crucial detail she had overlooked: it had been moved forward, leaving enough space for someone small to cram themselves behind it. In the blink of an eye, she stepped toward it, reaching out to pull the wardrobe aside and catch her target, and—

"El Goa!"

The world turned orange.

Searing whips of fire engulfed Lutka as flame swallowed the room, pushing her out the window with enough force to slam her against the building opposite to it. If her bones weren't made of wood, she would have snapped half of them with that impact, and the other half as soon as she landed on the dirt below with a thump.

When she stood with difficulty, she noted her injuries: a badly scorched right arm — still functional — along with a completely ruined uniform, splinters of wood in her entire body, and — most unfortunate — a missing left sleeve, which meant the three knives she'd hidden there were lost as well.

The splinters wouldn't be an issue. Her whole body was wood, a few more bits of it would hardly inconvenience her. Her fire damage was extensive, though. If that blast caught her any closer to the wardrobe, it would have severed her right arm completely and lit her on fire, which would mean certain death.

Her target was much smarter than she'd given him credit for.

Another thump drew her attention, and she saw her target land in front of her, a curved blade on his hand. He was a young man, likely in his mid-teens, with sand-colored hair and a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce her soul. His skin was dark, eliciting a mild spark of panic in Lutka's mind as she recalled her Sudrak enemies, but the boy wore none of their distinctive tattoos. Indeed, aside from his ridiculous cropped outfit — that she could swear she saw before in some red-light district — what most stood out were his bandaged hands. He was the same height as Lutka, which at least put them on even ground there…quite literally.

Feeling no joy, Lutka chuckled. Her target was smarter than she'd expected…but far from smart enough to flee.

The young man readied his sword, which was longer than his arm, holding its tip to Lutka as a warning. He mumbled something inaudible, and Lutka made no attempt to understand him.

She struck first, propelling herself sideways by kicking the ground, moving out of range of his sword. They were in an alley between two buildings, which meant the man's long blade was a disadvantage. Still, his fire magic — or whatever his first attack had been — was an immense danger.

He swung his blade with precise movements, and she kept her distance, observing. His movements were solid, and his skill decent enough, but he was stiff, clearly unsure of his own skill. He was repeating moves he'd seen in the past, not using his own. A great mistake.

Lutka stepped in and prompted him to swing again. The blade came for her neck — good, no hesitation there — but it was predictable. She slapped the back of her left hand against the sword's flat side, knocking it higher than her head and leaving the man wide open. He tried to move away, but she put her right hand into an open palm and thrust it at the top of his stomach, right below his ribs.

The strike landed, leaving him reeling, gasping for air. Lutka closed the distance, using the same palm to strike at his neck, but he twisted away, escaping by a hair. As she angled herself to attack once more, he brought his hand to her chest in a sweeping motion, chanting, "Goa!"

Lutka was too slow. The fireball struck her right on the left side of her chest, knocking her back with the same potency as the explosion from earlier while cutting clean through her. The man moved away while she clutched at her chest, feeling the fist-sized hole now present there.

It was a good thing Woodkin had no hearts — literally — or she would have been in real trouble. Still…a hole in her chest wasn't something she could shrug off. She'd need a good while to recover from that.

The young man struck with his sword, aiming straight for her neck. A normal sword would have trouble hurting her, given her skin was literally made of wood, but with the man's command of magic, he might be able to cleave right through her.

Now that, she couldn't allow.

As the blade swung toward her in a horizontal arc, Lutka charged in, ducking and striking with her shoulder, knocking the man off-balance for a moment. He stumbled back, immediately working on fixing his posture, but she put her hands together, locking her fingers, and hit his knee sideways, forcing him to spread his legs and lose his posture yet again. The man fell ever-so-slightly, but that proved enough for Lutka to bring her still-locked hands up and strike him on the cheek, stunning him.

In the split-second that followed, she grabbed hold of his hair and — making sure to not accidentally hurt him too much — promptly kneed him in the nose.

That hit landed the man on the floor, and he clutched at his face in pain, dropping his sword. Lutka grabbed hold of it, clutching its handle with her good hand, and stepped over to the young man. Once close enough, she put her foot over his neck and stepped down, not hard enough to kill him…but hard enough to choke him out.

If Palladio had questions for this scum, she'd see that he got to ask them.

The witch's words left Subaru with more questions than answers…but at least he got the answers he was looking for.

Palladio was looking for someone very dangerous, and from what little Subaru knew of the nobleman, he was unlikely to have a good motive for it. If it was up to Subaru, he would have done something to stop it…but what could he even do?

As he walked back to the town square he had been earlier when Palladio sent him on this errand, the thought of stopping him began to grow into a real goal. Palladio had sent him for a reason, so maybe he was trying to stay hidden. If he was so important — as he liked to boast he was — then surely there was someone out there who was opposing him, and maybe he was hiding from them.

Criff and Gaoran didn't seem to get along very well with Palladio, so they might know more. Additionally, Palladio had forced Subaru to be quiet about his "mission," so he clearly didn't want word of it to spread. There had to be something he could use there.

The witch had mentioned Tiga, saying he knew about this person Palladio was looking for. Maybe if Subaru asked Tiga about it…

Yes, that could work. Subaru could ask him, then reveal what he learned from the witch. With his help, Tiga could certainly mess with Palladio's evil plan!

Subaru picked up his pace, walking briskly down the winding labyrinthine streets as his plan solidified. Tiga's knowledge of this town would be invaluable, and if he knew this person Palladio was after, he and Subaru could get to her before Palladio even figured out what they were doing!

It was a master plan worthy of the greatest strategists the world had ever known! Well, the old world, Earth. Subaru wasn't too sure about this world just yet, but hopefully he wouldn't stick around long enough to know!

Besides, he was doing a little bit of good while finding a way out! It was a win-win for everyone involved!

The town square was far closer than he remembered, and Subaru arrived in just a few minutes of walking (quickly, mind you). There were far more people here than he had seen before, mainly adults, most of whom weren't even human.

He couldn't afford to stop and take in the sight, though. He had a mission to undertake!

Pushing through the crowd, he caught snippets of the various conversations that drowned out every other sound in the town.

"...an explosion in the governor's home…"

"...that fool Salum. We all knew he would…"

"...isn't Lord Peixit handling this? Where is he when we need…"

The words held very little meaning to Subaru, who was unerringly focused on his newfound "mission." An explosion? Sure, whatever. Someone else could deal with that. For now, though, Subaru had his sights set on a far grander goal: getting home at last!

…and stopping Palladio from carrying out his evil plan, whatever it may be!

At last, a hand reached out from the crowd and grabbed Subaru by the sleeve. He turned, finding Tiga there, who was looking at him like Subaru had just come back from a refreshing swim in the local sewer.

"Hey, you're back," he chuckled, half-smiling half-grimacing. "Had fun meeting the witch?"

Subaru grinned. "Yeah! And, hey, listen—"

"Good, good," Tiga interjected, nodding vigorously, "and while we're on the topic, have you seen my evil-looking friend anywhere? The guy with the bandaged hands?"

"Uh…no, but I—"

"Shame, shame. Looks like I'm gonna have to find him myself, then. Mind coming with? We'll yell his name at every corner and hope he shows up."

"Sure, I'll help, but you have to—"

Tiga offered a thumbs-up. "Splendid. We'll start right now. C'mon."

Before he could begin to leave, Subaru managed to finally ask, "Do you know anyone called Melty?"

Tiga halted, looking Subaru in the eyes with a suddenly-grave expression. He seemed at a loss for words until he muttered, "Did the witch tell you…?"

Subaru shook his head. "That's not—, listen, Palladio wants to find her. I want to stop him, but I need your help for—"

"My help?" Tiga's eyes widened as if Subaru had told him to go mine for emeralds in a mountain. "I mean, I can try, but Salum is the one you want! I can't hold my own in a fight, and if he found out I was doing all this without checking in with him…" He trailed off, frowning, before looking to the distance. "Is that why you disappeared?" he asked nobody in particular.

Subaru opened his mouth to say more, but Tiga raised his hand to silence him. "Help me find Salum. Now. He'll know what to do…if he isn't doing it already."

With a nod and a thumbs-up, Subaru offered his support, adding a confident, "You can count on me."

Tiga didn't seem to register the words, instead gazing into the distant horizon, with a scowl resting on his face.

Chapter Text

"Fear is the unseen death, deadlier still than any blade, poison, or spell, powerful enough to grip the hearts and minds of the best and brightest, withering them from within until the husk they become resembles what they once feared."

(excerpt from Iris and the King of Thorns, ~100 After Calamity)

Chapter 9: Clair de Soleil

Some people were destined for greatness from the moment they were born.

Palladio Manesque was not one of those people.

Life had always found a way to knock him down, no matter what he tried. Fate itself spurned him, going out of its way to make his life as difficult as possible. If such a thing as "misfortune" could be quantified, Palladio would be the one most afflicted by it in the whole world. Even in the rare moments when luck smiled on him and reached out to help, the whims of chance would turn that around not a heartbeat later.

From birth, Palladio had known he was special. He was an Evil Eye, one of the few blessed with such power as to guide the world forward. Od Laguna — or whatever power truly ran the world — had deemed him fit to carry the blessed inheritance of his clan, a power with which to shape the world to perfection. But it hadn't come free: he was born to a father responsible for driving said Evil Eyes to near-extinction, over one lovestruck renegade's actions. Palladio was born a prince of two kingdoms, but one existed no longer, and the other was slipping from his grasp further and further with each passing day.

His youth was one spent in constant travel, visiting the far-most reaches of the Empire he would one day lead. From the ever-burning forges of Glarasia that crafted the Empire's weapons to the tranquil farms of Mozotto that — along with many others — supplied the Empire's food. If ever such a place existed that he could call his "home," it would be the inside of his carriage, with which he was well-acquainted after years following this nomadic life, yet wherever he went, wherever he stepped, not a single mark of him was left behind. Palladio Manesque, royal scion, faded from memory as if a character from a dream. For most of the world, he might as well have never existed.

Life did not get easier as he aged. On the rare occasions he visited the Crystal Palace for whatever reason, more often than not hiding traitorous thoughts behind his perpetual grin, he had to contend with his wretched, despicable, loathsome, irritating, filthy half-siblings, the very wretches to which he was related by blood but might as well have considered utterly foreign to himself — as though a prince of his stature, heir to all Vollachia, could ever share even a single microscopic drop of blood with earthworms like them!

Lamia? A self-aggrandizing dog drunk on the sound of her own voice. Rommel? Please, what point was there in even mentioning such an underachieving lowlife? Vincent? No more than a moody brat swooning over whatever dull advisor caught his eye now. Barthroy? As if that hedonistic swine would ever reach for anything other than a bottle of wine!

The whole lot of them, animals! Like children playing board games as their parents run nations! Palladio was revolted at the mere thought of sharing ancestry with such…creatures. Oh, yes, a handful of them were passable — maybe a couple or so could find a place in his Empire — but the rest were better off forswearing their birthrights: no point getting killed for the mere delusion that they might, one day, puppet all of Vollachia.

Yet, there was one among those brutes who stood out — even despite Palladio's attempt to pretend otherwise. Where Palladio Manesque was born despite fate's interference, Prisca Benedict was born at fate's behest.

There was a great difference between Prisca and the rest of those half-bloods, great enough to concern Palladio, and he hated that it concerned him so. The fact a motherless runt who hadn't even hit puberty had turned into his greatest enemy infuriated him; the fact said runt barely even knew he existed drove him into a blind fury. It was like tripping over an ant, consistently, and then discovering said ant was completely unfazed.

Every second of Prisca's existence was a second too many. Every action she took came back to haunt Palladio like a vengeful hollow crawling out of its grave. Drizen practically fawned over her as if he was a real father, leaving her gifts and what not, and why? Prisca was a nobody. Her mother, Sandra, was even less of a blotch on the pages of history. The saying went "like mother like daughter," and yet where Sandra was nothing more than Drizen's meek, one-time bed-warmer, her daughter was intent on becoming Palladio's greatest obstacle in his path forward.

In times like these, Palladio recalled the story of Eugard Elcanti, the man he had always longed to imitate. Eugard rose from nothing, overcame a curse that almost ruined his life, and — as a final gift to posterity — rid Vollachia of the traitorous molemen and wolfkin that lurked in the shadows, threatening the Empire's stability. Eugard was a true Emperor, down to the hair, and Palladio was going to follow in his footsteps. Not with a large-scale eradication — that would be so unoriginal — though with the exact opposite.

Where Eugard Elcanti had waved his hand and erased two species from existence, Palladio Manesque would do the same and bring back the Evil Eye Tribe from the precipice of annihilation. A fitting first decree for the prince of both kingdoms.

But now, he had to win the Imperial Selection Ceremony, and with Lamia — insufferable though she was — gone, he could no longer rely on a forward assault to leave his siblings as nothing more than dark ash piles upon the dead ground. He had his back to a wall, and two Yang Swords to his throat. Now, more than ever, was the time for subterfuge, for stealth, for the silent-yet-deadly unseen strike that beheaded kings and paupers alike.

There was someone here, in Faradar, who possessed the power of an Evil Eye in such a capacity as to control the minds of others. Deep down, a small, childish part of him regretted having to turn a fellow Tribesman into a literal weapon, but it was the necessary price to pay. Even Eugard died with regrets — though his surely numbered higher than Palladio's, if it was true he was slain by his own Rose Knights as the people gossiped.

No matter. The power of such an Evil Eye would be more than enough for Palladio to turn the tide. He had three targets to pick from — as much as the idea of controlling Prisca tempted him, it might prove too difficult to execute — and any of them would be more than enough to secure victory. With a mere command, his kinsman would promptly capture the mind of one of these three and immediately win Palladio's war for him. Then, Gaoran Peixit and his fellow Lamia-lackeys would carry him to the throne on the most elegant palanquin their savings could afford, Palladio would pardon them and promise to build Lamia a very elegant statue in her memory, then promptly put that statue away in some storeroom and replace it with his own.

All that stood between him and his oh-so-wonderful mind-controlling "friend" was, well, the fact Palladio had zero clue where to find them. Thankfully, he had someone who did have a clue.

The outskirts of Faradar were sparsely populated. The town had seen a noticeable decline in population lately, and many of its outer houses were simply….abandoned. Some squatters moved in, which did annoy a faithful Tribesman like Palladio, but he was willing to overlook that for now. What mattered was that he found a decently sized, one-story wooden house that was absolutely empty. Well, it was empty, as now it housed Palladio, Lutka, a duo of Manesque officers, and the prisoner boy.

The officers were twins, and Palladio was unashamed to admit he could hardly remember which one was which. They were both the same person, down to the mannerisms: slightly taller than average, with crystal-like skin, bald, and sporting identical glowing eye-sized crystals where their noses should have been. Their names were nigh-impossible to pronounce, so Palladio just referred to them as Glow and Glower, in part due to their tendency to shine while frowning. How did he assign the names? Easy: the first one to talk was Glow, the second one was Glower.

Now, the duo examined the boy who had been following Palladio. He was dark-skinned, with a good physique for a teen his age that spoke of a violent life. Palladio felt it was unnecessary to remove the bandages that concealed the boy's hands: he knew the boy's Evil Eye was hidden beneath one of them. It was something he would've done.

"No grave injuries," said Glow, kneeling to examine the boy, who they had tied to a chair. "Little risk of him dying. Would be…regrettable." He turned to his twin, who stood opposite to him, and uttered something incomprehensible in a song-like language.

Glower turned to Palladio. "Light-Master, this pair can keep the subject alive. Ensure your questions are answered. We excel at it."

Palladio made a show of considering it, though he had already denied the motion. These twins were Glowpeople, said to consume the souls of their victims, and supposedly capable of forcing said souls' memories into the minds of others. Efficient for interrogation, though Palladio preferred to hold such forceful methods in reserve. No point in mind-torture when a simple conversation would suffice.

"Your services are appreciated," Palladio replied, "but not yet necessary. I will see to it he responds." He paused for a moment, then added, "And if he proves uncooperative, you two can do your jobs."

Glow and Glower, in unison, nodded and bowed, before speaking as one. "Shall this pair remain in your presence, Light-Master?"

Palladio snuck a glance at Lutka. She was in a sorry state, her clothes ruined and a hole burned through her chest, but she barely gave any indication it bothered her. After a moment he answered, "Yes, stay here. Keep your eyes on the boy, see to it he does not die — or worse, attempt to silence himself."

The pair gave no response, but returned to their duties as ordered. Palladio glanced at Lutka again and muttered, just so she could hear, "You really left a few scars on this one. If he dies—"

"He will not, Esteemed Lord," Lutka responded forcefully. "Not until you are done with him."

"Hm. For both our sakes, you best be right."

Palladio did not let his worry show, but this was his one chance, his only opportunity, to finally grab hold of fate's reins and steer it where it should go.

No longer would he abide by fate's whims; the world would turn in his favor from now on.

To Subaru, the streets of Faradar were truly a never-ending maze.

The buildings all looked the same, identical wooden monoliths built with the same vision in mind, yet sporting minute differences here and there: some were losing their color, others had bent over time and looked ready to fall, and a handful proudly sported some replacement parts, making up for whatever deficiency had necessitated their installation. From the outside it was impossible to differentiate what each building was used for. Save for the very scarce number of stone buildings scattered haphazardly around the village, each and every single other building resembled its neighbors to an uncanny degree. The trees that were used to create them had surely sported more differences amongst each other than their new forms did.

It was almost possible to imagine this place as some freakishly uniform growth of nature, a one-in-a-million miracle stretch of land constructed as a reflection to itself. Where the Peixit mansion — constructed less than an hour on foot away — seemed a testament to the heights of needlessly-grandiose architecture, with its elegantly-squat pentagonal figure and accompanying tower, Faradar was more a crude and spontaneous creation, which it attempted to conceal with its monotonous design. Entire streets were devoid of any signs of life, yet their neighbors were utterly packed with street markets and shopping crowds. The town square had been full of conversing adults and playing children, yet a single step outside the square would lead Subaru to what looked more like a desolate ghost town from some horror movie.

Even the villagers of Faradar had an uncanny sense of…sameness to them, as if they had all decided to follow some secret agreement to dress the same, look the same, act the same. The handful who stood out only did so minimally: gloves, hats, robes, all the same brown-gray that their compatriots wore — the color itself a distilled blend of depression and dreariness, potent enough to make anyone looking at it for too long feel their will to live sapped by a power far stronger than any Evil Eye. On half a hand could Subaru count the number of people he'd seen who disavowed this rule, excluding Tiga, whose clothes might have once fit a garish circus worker a few sizes bigger than their current owner, a fact obscured by their current state of disrepair and filthiness.

This background did not change as Subaru followed Tiga down each carefully-arranged street, past the cloned houses and identical villagers, into alleyways devoid of light or basic human presence and occupied solely by discarded garbage which some rather-sizeable rats devoured so intently that they were hardly spooked by the two intruders that would normally have disturbed their meal. If anything, Subaru could've sworn one particularly round rat gave him a nasty look as he fell in step behind his newfound friend. He noted the rat's long snout and mean face — and what looked like a rat's version of a smirk — as it struck him that it very much resembled Palladio.

Despite Subaru's efforts to ask Tiga about their destination, the mint-haired boy gave no solid response. He was deeply lost in thought, so much so that he apparently stepped on one unattentive rat's tail, causing it to scurry back into the shadows. Every response he gave was vague and unfinished:

"There's some people who…can help…"

"I know who to go to…"

"Salum always said…"

It was never a complete sentence leaving his mouth, rather a collection of meaningless half-phrases scattered into the silent, uncaring wind. A collage of sounds that when put together could — maybe, possibly, potentially — have revealed some truth yet unknown to Subaru. Had he listed all the things he missed from his home just a half hour ago, he would never have even thought to put a GPS in there.

Still, there was a certain determination to Tiga's gait, however panicked he was. Anyone could notice he was spurred on by pure urgency, a kind of panic or worry that was hard to conceal, yet he kept himself going strong, never swaying from his mysterious path to his mysterious destination. Subaru could guess that whatever awaited them at the end of this walk was going to be able to help…or at least would try to.

It took a few more minutes of alley-walking and rat-dodging until Tiga stopped at last, beside the only building in Faradar that did not resemble the rest. It was an ugly and giant brick-shaped thing, its gray exterior fading from years of erosion into an even more colorless grayish-black interspersed with cracks and hasty repairs of local rock — easy to spot, given the rocks here were a sandy yellow, and their color splattered all over the drab building like the final death throes of an artistic soul that was forced to endure the gloomy village for too long. Or like a paintball barrage aimed haphazardly at the ugly building. That made a bit more sense.

The street this building was on looked like any other, save for the its presence disrupting the row of neatly-identical wooden buildings on its side of the dirt road like a spontaneous growth of gravel around which the rest of Faradar was built, as if attempting to ignore that this hideous structure existed in the same dimension as the rest of the town. The building was obviously man-made though, noticeable by its too-rectangular shape which no natural construction could replicate.

Tiga made a sound in his throat, probably out of disgust at the horrid brick-shaped building, but it snapped Subaru back out of his thoughts. He noticed the improvised wooden door, held together by haphazard repairs made over the years, guarded by a man larger than said door in both width and height, who sported the only colorful attire in all Faradar, some patchwork overalls sewn a thousand times over to fix its wear and tear. The man resembled a caricature more than anything else, with muscles bigger than his head that threatened to rip apart his overalls yet again, and in fact already had done so, seeing as the man's left shoulder was uncovered.

That was when Subaru saw it: an eyeball, about the size of an adult's hand, protruding from the man's bare shoulder. It moved listlessly, wide open, scanning its surroundings with no particular care or worry. In a heartbeat, it turned to Subaru, with its pitch-black sclera and crimson iris practically brimming with an unknown intent. For a fraction of a second, the man took a step forward, hostility evident in his tense posture, until the eye turned to Subaru's side and spotted Tiga.

"You are already a guest here," Muscles spoke, his voice surprisingly weak and faint. He turned his head up, and Subaru stepped back in horror as he registered the blood-red burns that made up what had once been Muscles's face, leaving it a grotesque work of macabre art. His normal eyes, the ones above his nose, were gone, their absence barely obscured by the mop of graying hair that flowed down his face in a poor attempt to conceal the full extent of the damage. "You know our rules," he continued as the shoulder-eye turned to Subaru, "and you know where you stand. The elders do not owe you anything, Tiga, and they owe your pest of an acquaintance" — that was accompanied by a nod toward Subaru — "even less."

Tiga, tiny though he was compared to Muscles's impressive stature, responded without missing a beat. "It's an emergency! There's someone here looking for Melty, and—"

"That is of no concern." The man shrugged, making his dark shoulder-eye blink. "How many have come looking over the years? None have found her, and the few who came close…" He left it unsaid, but in his horrifically-scorched face, Subaru could spot the most diminutive trace of a smile. A particularly threatening one. "The elders will not be disturbed by your fear-mongering."

"Listen to me," Tiga implored, trying to suppress his anxiety, "Salum always deals with these…whatever they are! Doesn't he? This is different. He's been gone for hours, and some noble— what did you say his name was?" he asked Subaru, but before he could respond, continued, "it's not important! There's a nobleman here looking for Melty! Don't you see the problem!?"

It took a moment for Muscles to reply. "We have offered you every courtesy, at the behest of our kinsman, that we may offer to a human," he began, his voice turning each word into a croak. "The elders doubt you. I doubt you. But the young do not remember the Night of Fire, and we do not burden them with such memories." He shook his head. "But those who do not remember may not speak. The elders lived through one nightmare. No matter your plea, they will not live through another."

Subaru couldn't tell much, and silently cursed himself for his lack of knowledge about, well, everything. One thing did stand out to him, though, and before Tiga could say anything else, he interjected with an abrupt "wait!"

Muscles did not move. His dark eye remained frozen, along with the rest of his body, as if he was a statue after all. Tiga, though, turned with clear alarm, his face a mask of confusion and dismay sprinkled with some realization. Just as he opened his mouth, determined to aid his friend debate this humanoid chunk of marble, Subaru realized—

"His name is Palladio," he yelled at the immovable creature guarding the door, "and he's a prince! I think!"

—that the last thing Tiga wanted was for him to speak.

But it was too late. He had already jumped into the argument, and the only thing left to do was see it through. Pressing his advantage, since Muscles had clearly not expected him to speak, he continued, "You have to believe us, this man is evil! You won't just be rid of him so easily!"

Muscles remained frozen for a few seconds, then gave the raspiest sigh any living being had ever given since they evolved vocal chords back at the dawn of creation. The dark eye remained fixed, unblinking, as he said, "It would seem your friend does not understand our situation. Our reasoning." The threatening smile grew wider, so much so that it was now more of a grin. "Our Tribe can stand the loss of a couple kinsmen. Faradar can survive with a couple less people. What matters is" — he clicked his tongue — "secrecy. You see, whoever this Palladio is, or might be, or could ever be, he will have his fill and move on, just like all the rest. But, were we to even prick his finger," he enunciated the word with a hateful hiss, "then for as long as a single soul would tread his path, we would never be safe."

Muscles shook his head again, this time with noticeable sadness, and added, "It took just one foolish girl to cross just one insecure man…and days later thousands of us were dead. We will never repeat that mistake."

There was mourning in his words, and finality in his tone. Anyone could see he didn't like the idea of letting a nobleman run around unchecked, but he liked the alternative even less, and he was unwilling to argue. Tiga stomped his foot, began to say something, but Muscles shut him up by raising his hand.

"Fine!" Tiga yelled, turning to head back the way he had come from. "You're useless, you know! And worse than that, you choose to be useless! You're going to sell out your own people for your peace of mind!?"

"No," responded Muscles. "I'll sell them out for peace."

Tiga replied by storming away, muttering under his breath, and Subaru followed him, sneaking one final glance at the scarred gatekeeper who had so easily crushed their hopes.

It took the boy a while to wake from his slumber, just as Palladio was thinking of relying on forceful methods to awaken him.

He was stunned, momentarily, and noticeably confused, but Palladio could detect some of the boy's more inconspicuous mannerisms, which already spoke volumes. From a fair distance away, partially concealed by the shadows in the room, the prince monitored his captive with as much care as he could muster.

He observed a couple particularly-interesting things:

The boy wasn't panicking, and if he was, he did not display it at all. He fought against his bindings, trying to escape, but his movements were practiced and certain, almost practiced. He tried to scan the room, but Palladio had prepared for that eventuality and blindfolded him.

Unable to break free, or even to see his surroundings, the boy retained his composure. He said nothing and remained still, preferring to avoid wasting any more energy. From the way he slowed his breathing until it was almost imperceptible, Palladio could judge he was trying to listen out for anything useful.

Finally, after a few seconds of silence, the boy twisted his body, kicking his chair forward and scraping it across the floor. Palladio almost jumped at the unexpected commotion, but held back just in time. The boy was trying to draw his captor to him, trying to start things on his terms.

That just wouldn't do.

Palladio remained as he was for a bit longer, leaning against the wooden wall on the other end of the room. For a few minutes, the boy kept trying to make noise, get his attention, but he stopped after a handful of failed attempts. Immediately after, though, he went back to fighting the ropes that held him in place, though he made no progress in that either.

As the boy continued his pathetic attempts at escape, Palladio rehearsed what he might say and do. Should he play the part of the noble heir, a man with a golden opportunity that might just change this boy's life? Or should he try to threaten him into submission, as he had with so many others before? Would hurting the boy work? If so, when and by how much? Opening the interrogation with a beating might sour any potential goodwill (if there ever was such a thing, thought Palladio) the boy could have, but withholding any such punishment would just make him look weak. What should he even do to the boy? Cut off a finger? An ear? An eye? Or something more subtle, like a measly kicking? Or something even stronger, something slow and painful?

Palladio was no stranger to such tactics. He had been both torturer and tortured before, thankfully more so the former, and he had gotten the chance to watch the legendary Imperial Hand at work one time. Masked savages, the lot of them, more animal than human for sure! Their methods had been brutal…yet brutally effective. Palladio had been little more than a runt that day, barely old enough to understand what was happening, but he remembered it as clearly as any other fact of nature. The sky was blue. His name was Palladio. His father was Emperor. The throne would be his. He had witnessed a horrifying torture when he was a child. Wet grass smelled terrible. All these things were indisputable.

He took some time to go over what he knew. Faradar was hiding an Evil Eye with the power to control minds, powerful enough to force several people into taking their own lives (some part of him, buried deep within that wilted husk he called a "soul," felt a pang of envy at not having such a power in his hands). He knew whoever this individual was, they were hidden exceptionally well, potentially aided by the powers that be, or else they would've disappeared ages ago, spirited away in the dead of night by the Imperial Hand to use as a weapon, or by the Veil for their experiments.

It was a possibility they had already acted, and Palladio had simply arrived too late. His saving grace might as well already be locked away in some nameless secret prison, facing torture designed specifically to break them, to coerce their service, or they might already be a frozen corpse in some mad mage's workshop, dissected for further investigation.

Yet, another possibility flourished in Palladio's mind, in sharp contrast to the previous one: what if they were scared? What if the Hand, with its countless omniscient agents, was just afraid to take action? Could this power be so terrifying as to take them under its thrall as well? Could they have already come looking and left empty-handed, unaware of their failure thanks to this power?

That possibility he liked, he adored. It made him smile, kindling for the fire of vengeance in his heart. If that power was so grand in scope, then it wouldn't be wrong to assume he could also use it to subjugate any potential miscreants in the capital as well. Traitorous nobles were the leading cause of death among Vollachian Emperors, and if he, the wise Palladio, could rip out any such threats before they even took root…then he wouldn't just rule the Empire, he would rule its people, and with their hearts and minds dancing to his tune…

…he could field an army of loyalists far greater than anyone could imagine…

…he could enslave the King of Lugnica with a mere command…

…he could secure countless prosperous deals with the Kararagians…

…he could even move north and do away with that Gustekan witchcraft at its source…

…but most of all, he could go to sleep at night with both eyes closed, knowing the world was at his beck and call.

Every hypothetical that crossed his mind made his smile widen, and the more unbelievably outlandish they became, the more Palladio pushed away his common sense, until it was a crying little voice in the back of his mind, begging to be heard. There was no time to listen to its miserable pleas, not when such glory called for him. No, in fact, to even pay it any heed would be to stray from the path, to waste not just time but effort, and worst of all, to doubt.

Palladio had come too far to doubt.

With a mind clouded by his own delusions, he took a step toward the boy, feeling the wood beneath his foot crunch and creak. The boy heard it too, and stopped his thrashing instantly. By the time Palladio took his second step, the boy was back to his normal composure, as if he was still asleep. For what it was worth, Palladio was kind of glad for the creaky floorboards. It added a certain theatric touch to the situation, perfect for his rise to the center stage.

He chose to begin with a tried-and-true interrogation technique: "Do you know why you're here?"

The boy gave no response for a few seconds, before he finally recognized silence would get him nowhere. "I don't."

"That answer doesn't satisfy me," the heir chuckled, "given how you tried to stalk — then assassinate! — my servant."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Feigning ignorance won't save you. Do you know what will? Telling me your name."

"I don't-"

"Finish that sentence and things will go very badly for you," Palladio warned, keeping his voice as level as he could. "You know things, I'm sure, and you're going to tell me what those things are. Because I'm in a good mood, you can start with anything you want, like your name, or your family, or even your favorite color—"

"Purple."

"—which I do not care about, but go ahead anyway. See? You do know things after all. Maybe you can start talking, now."

Silence. "We're in Faradar."

"Mhm."

"And in a house."

"That's correct."

More silence. "Who are you?"

Palladio thought about it. Would his name be of any use to the interrogation? Maybe his reputation as an Evil Eye had reached here, the heartland of the Tribe, which meant he could exert some power by just identifying himself. If not, then he would just look the fool, and potentially give an enemy valuable information.

The boy did not even stir.

"You may call me…Rafel Costau," he proclaimed, rolling the initials for added effect.

The boy did not even stir. "Gustekan?"

Fuck, Palladio thought, that's definitely a Gustekan name. "Of that heritage, yes. Pardochian, in fact."

"What brings a Gustekan to our village?"

"You're not the one asking questions, here."

"I seem to be."

Palladio responded not with words, but with a simple act, one he had practiced many times before: he drew his arm back, letting it hang loosely at his side for a fraction of a second, before whipping it forward and cleanly slapping the boy on the face. It was satisfying, and kind of spiritually fulfilling, actually. He liked the sound it made.

That helped him understand why Drizen had such a fondness for the practice, but he banished the thought. He would have time to reflect on his father later, when he sat upon his throne.

The boy, to his credit, didn't express anything at the mighty slap. Frustrated, but trying to conceal it, Palladio knelt to be at eye-level with the boy and muttered, "Let me make a few things clear. I am the one asking questions here, and you are the one answering them. I am in a position to take your life — and more — if you push me. I am accompanied by a group of trained soldiers who can, at a single command, reenact every horrible story you've heard from the Night of Fire and even come up with a few new ones. Lastly, and you best remember it, I am the heir of the proud Castau family from Gusteko, and I can make things very luxurious for you if you cooperate, just as I can turn this shithole of a town into the next great church to the Holy King if you do not."

After letting that linger for a few seconds, Palladio asked, "Are we clear?"

"Yes," came the reply.

"Splendid. Now, you may begin with your name, and from there we will speak about your place here."

"My name—"

Palladio held his breath.

"—is not something you'll get out of me."

Without even thinking about it, he delivered another slap to the boy, the second of many, and the weakest of all punishments he would deliver during the interrogation.

Faradar remained as confusing as ever, but Subaru felt like he was beginning to discover some patterns in its construction.

Although the streets all looked the same, he felt a sort of "sixth sense" guide him ever-so-slightly, as if after navigating the countless similar alleyways he could almost map out the rest of the city. Worryingly, he also noticed that more and more of the town's streets were empty, even the few that were lined with outdoor market stalls and indoor stores. Something was driving the people of Faradar into their homes, and Subaru hoped he wouldn't find out what it was.

Tiga led him again, his guide to this alien place, though this time his mutterings had turned into angry — though coherent — sentences. "How useless can they be!?" he was asking no one in particular as he hurried down an empty road, turning right to squeeze between wooden buildings yet again. "No, how cruel can they be!? It's insane, right? I mean, they know how important this is, they promised to help us out, and this is all they do!?"

Subaru followed dutifully, again unaware of their ultimate destination, but this time he spared a few words every time Tiga quieted down. The first time he had done so, Tiga had to prod him a few times for his agreement until he resumed his angry spiel, so Subaru was prepared for any break in the "conversation" to provide his words of encouragement, like right now, as he unhelpfully added, "Yeah, that sucks."

"I know, right!?" Tiga exclaimed, motioning his disbelief with his hands. "I mean, do you know how much I've done for them!? Salum even joined their little…whatever it is! They drag him to secret meetings and he always comes back bloody and now that we need something from them, it's too much to ask!?" He stepped over something in the ground, and Subaru did the same before noticing that it was a person, a woman lying face-down in the dirt.

Subaru let out a yell of surprise, but Tiga just turned to look and shrugged. "That happens, sometimes," he explained nonchalantly.

"What!?" Subaru pointed at the woman, whose face was completely hidden from sight. "You've seen this before!? It's a corpse!"

"No, I don't think so," the mint-haired boy said. "She probably just had too much to drink. She'll be fine…the elders don't mind helping out with such things." His words were laced with some disdain, but they sounded mostly…disappointed, as if he was more so let-down by the situation than anything else.

The not-corpse remained very still, but when Subaru gave her a cursory glance, she showed no injuries, and there was no conspicuous pool of blood underneath her or stench of death coming from her. Subaru figured Tiga was probably right, even if mostly because he much preferred to think the woman was just passed out instead of dead.

Tiga kept moving, leaving the not-corpse behind, and Subaru followed after him yet again. He was more subdued this time, no longer rambling about how angry he was, but he still talked to himself, as if he was some wise detective working a particularly-challenging case.

"So the elders are scared of this guy, because he's noble," Tiga uttered, occasionally rubbing his chin to appear deep in thought, "but he's also more than that. Wasn't this guy a prince or something?" He shook his head. "They've never gotten like this before…what did he mean by 'peace?' They can't expect this guy to just walk away…can they?"

They reached the end of the alleyway, and stepped out into one of the few crowded streets in all of Faradar. A small mob of villagers moved about with a slightly-worried air, sneaking furtive glances at each other and keeping their distance even as they were gathered around the few manned market stalls. Subaru recognized the short cat-person he had seen earlier at one of the stalls, hopelessly outnumbered by clients who were more interested in looking busy than buying anything.

Without paying the crowd any heed, Tiga walked down the street, towards what Subaru recognized as the outskirts of the town, all the while continuing his discussion with himself. "Salum better not have gotten himself into any trouble. If he went after this guy, he probably did it without the elders knowing. That must be why they're fine with throwing him away…but what about Melty? She's done nothing wrong…why…?"

All Subaru knew about this "Melty" was that she murdered some people, so he was more than happy to keep his mouth shut and let Tiga ramble on by himself. Better than the alternative of jumping in with nothing useful to add.

The two boys' trek took them past the scarce group of villagers and toward the edges of the town, where the buildings grew increasingly newer — and increasingly more abandoned. It was clear that Faradar suffered from, quite literally, growing faster than its populace could keep up with. The village had become too large to fully occupy, and the new construction was just…forgotten about, left vacant for new villagers to occupy — in the rare case that anyone moved in, and not out.

Subaru quite literally smelled their destination before he saw it. A wooden house slightly larger than the rest, smoldering with its top floor burnt to ashes and a whole wall missing. Surprisingly, no one had come to the wreck. Maybe the villagers were more interested in preserving their own peace than in investigating.

Tiga paused a few steps from the building, where he and Subaru could look into the ruined structure's interior. From up close, the signs of its violently fiery demise were impossible to miss: one side of the uppermost floor had been completely disintegrated into little more than scorch marks and still-burning splinters, while the two sides directly connected to that one had been whipped by the fire enough to crack them apart and leave the roof on the verge of caving in. A big chunk of wood that looked like a wardrobe rested on the floor…outside of the building, in the middle of the road…or, well, half of it was. The half that wasn't completely incinerated, that is. Fragments of drab gray clothing laid near it, haphazardly scattered over the entire road.

It looked as if someone had set off a small-scale nuclear bomb in there, and Subaru took a moment to admire the sheer destructive power of whatever angry god had decided to wield the full power of the sun against this one house in particular. For what it was worth, Subaru could understand — maybe even respect — the villagers' decision to stay as far(adar) from this house as they could.

The house's complete and utter annihilation aside, Subaru noticed Tiga scurrying off to the nearest alley, where the ruined house faced an identical-yet-not-so-ruined house. Following his friend — as the alternative was to stay and watch the burning wardrobe — Subaru saw him crouch at the entrance to the alley, inspecting the ground. Subaru moved closer, peered over Tiga's shoulder to find—

—honey?

A patch of red honey — which, admittedly, looked quite similar to a bloodstain, though noticeably more syrupy — covered the ground and some of the wall as well. Coal-black patches of clothing, heavily burnt yet retaining a vestige of their original blue color, vibrant enough to distinguish from the wardrobe clothing's dull gray. It almost looked like…a maid's uniform, though it was hard to tell with the burns.

Tiga's face contorted into a perplexed frown. It was plain to see that he was having as much trouble piecing the clues together as Subaru was, maybe even more. He kept glancing between the torn bits of clothing and the honey patch, but he said nothing.

Subaru wracked his brain for answers. Where had he seen anything like this? That patch of crimson honey couldn't be something he had seen before…but its color reminded him of that freakishly-human snake that he met in the forest not that long ago, before Criff roped him into this whole debacle. The house, well, he had never been to Faradar before today, but it looked like any other house here. But the maid's uniform…

Something about it spoke to him, calling for his attention. There had to be some memory in the depths of his mind, waiting to be recalled, that told him more about the uniform. Was it related to that old lady who worked for Gaoran? It could be, but her clothes were blue and white like the sky, not this deep oceanic azure. Azure. Where had he—

Palladio.

The name struck him like a brick to the head. Palladio's coat was this very same color, and that doll-like woman who accompanied him wore clothes like these. The azure blue had faded a bit from the burning, but it wasn't too far gone to identify. This was, unmistakably, one of Palladio's uniforms, most likely belonging to his pale servant.

The red honey remained a mystery…but it could be answered later. No need to rush when professional detective Natsuki Subaru was on the scene.

Since Tiga still had not spoken up, Subaru tapped him on the shoulder. "I think I know who this belongs to," he said, pointing to the torn clothes. "That Palladio guy, he goes everywhere with this lady that dresses like a maid. The colors fit."

"Are you sure?" Tiga raised an eyebrow, but gave a low hum as he pondered the possibility. "I've never seen anything like this…but it does make sense…" He pointed to the red honey, then moved his finger down toward the alley entrance and into the street. "I don't know if you can see it, but the blood goes that way."

"It's honey," Subaru corrected him.

"I don't care what it is," Tiga replied, barely concealing the fact that he did indeed care. "It goes toward the outskirts of town. Someone was probably injured and then headed that way."

"We could follow it…"

"Without Salum? Yeah, right! That guy can take on a castle with his hands and win, I can't even break a twig…even with you helping out!" He made a motion with his hands to imitate snapping a twig and failing. "If we run into any trouble—"

"—then we'll head back!" Subaru finished. "We won't do any good standing around here!" For a moment, he suggested going to find Criff, wherever he might be, but that man was even likelier to run away from this situation than either of them.

Tiga considered his words for a while, clearly conflicted over the decision. His eyes kept darting back and forth between the patch of honey, the outskirts, and something in the horizon beyond them. He opened his mouth, began to say something, then…

He nodded.

Blood.

Palladio was no stranger to blood. He preferred to keep it as far from himself as possible, but in Vollachia, it was a rather difficult endeavor. There were a couple of times when, despite his best attempts to prevent it from happening, he just had to wind up getting bloody, for one reason or another. More than once, it was his own blood getting on his luxurious clothes, which certainly made it even harder to avoid, and it made getting at least two identical copies of each getup completely vital.

Just this one time, Palladio had no access to his vast wardrobe of spare clothes. His personal carriage only contained three different outfits: one for informal use, one for formal use, and one very elegant — and very costly! — emperor's suit which should have been saved for his ascension…but he just couldn't resist trying it on a few dozen times beforehand. It certainly fit him.

Of course, thanks to that dark cloud of misfortune trailing after him every waking moment of his life, this very day when Palladio had no other clothes to wear was the very same day that he got his whole informal outfit bloodied, head to toe. It was noticeable, too, so no chance of washing it off discreetly or even trying to hide it with even redder colors on other parts of his getup. His beautiful shirt, once an elegant purple, now bore crimson splotches all over, and his elegant red pants…well, they weren't very ruined, but the bloodstains made it look like he had a very unfortunate incident, so they would have to be changed as well.

One important thing remained unbloodied: his scarf. Just the thought of getting it dirty upset him, and he took it off to cradle it in his arms. That scarf was an heirloom…a very important one. The only possession of his mother's that remained. It had been bloodied once before, just that one time right before he plucked it from her corpse with his own two hands. Its turquoise color, once vibrant, was fading, slowly but surely. One day it would be gone entirely, and Palladio's memory of its color would be the only thing left.

"Esteemed lord—"

Palladio tasted the blood in his mouth at that exact moment. He did not turn to face Lutka, did not see the unusual frown on her face, and his raw, maimed lips formed no retort, just this once. A drop of blood slipped down his chin and landed on the dirt beneath his feet, missing the scarf by a hair.

He liked to believe he paid no heed to what others said of him. Pathetic Palladio, the forgotten, the miserable, the tool. To the world at large, would he ever be anything more than a woefully-grotesque inhuman tumor that attached itself to the last person to sway him with promises of power? They didn't care about the details. They were so pitifully ignorant of his grand scheme that he would have felt bad for them, if they were even worth his time. He would never give backwater filth like these Faradar parasites a first thought, let alone a second.

His father had done it once before. Had stood at the head of the army that razed this village to the ground. Had personally ripped children from their parents and burnt their whole families from youngest to oldest, delighting in their agonized pleading.

Would Vollachia…would the world…really miss this place?

Would they miss…any place? Or would they do as they had before and sit back to watch the sacred flames engulf thousands of innocents, then swoop in to warm their hands on the charred remains?

There was only one way to know for sure.

"Esteemed lord," Lutka's voice called out again, and this time he spared her an irritated glance. "Your appearance does not befit an emperor."

He gave a half-hearted groan. "You should see the other guy. His appearance does not befit him either."

"It is done?"

"Yes."

The word felt foreign in his mouth, an intruder amidst the iron taste of blood, but it rang so…hollow. This wasn't what victory was supposed to taste like. It tasted like a five-plate feast in the Crystal Palace, like a breath of fresh air from its tallest spire, like a delighted cackle upon seeing the rows of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of souls at his disposal.

He didn't look like he had won, either. The red on him should've come from the cloak on his shoulders, from the reflected sunlight of his Yang Sword, not from the disgusting veins of a rat he was ashamed to share ancestry with. Victory looked like Palladio Manesque, the Emperor, grinning from atop the Wolf Throne, not like Palladio Manesque, the incapable, stone-faced in the middle of a dirt road.

"If our work is done," Lutka spoke, "then we should be on our way. Your weapon awaits you, Esteemed Lord."

"Our?"

He let the single word hang in the air.

"That seems like a rather peculiar word for you to use, Lutka," the prince continued, calmly wrapping his scarf around his neck yet again. "Especially since I did not see you in there, ripping teeth and eyelids with your hands. Perhaps you should re-evaluate your choice of words."

Palladio barely registered the words he said, but when Lutka did not respond, he finally turned to her, putting on the best imitation he could muster of his usual smile.

Lutka was still a mess. That fight with the boy had left her in a sorry state, with her uniform in tatters and a fist-sized hole punched straight through her chest. Palladio had, with his usual benevolence, found a woman with similar…proportions to his loyal servant and knocked her out cold with a flick of his wrist and a helping of wind magic, then promptly appropriated her coat…and the tiny bag of coins in her pocket. Lutka had not commented on the gifted coat, but she certainly put it on, even if it just made her look all the more like the vermin that infested this place.

He hated it. He hated this place. He hated the freaks who lived here. He hated the dimwitted bastard who ruled this place. He hated that inbred harlot he once called "sister," and he hated his other "sister" even more, the petulant insect who put him in this situation to begin with. He hated his moody and loudmouthed half-brother, and that insufferably pretentious peasant he had taken on as an advisor. He hated his father. He hated Vollachia.

On one hand could he count the number of things he did not hate. It was a surprisingly short list, with himself at the very top. He rarely ever updated that list, mainly because there were few things to truly like in this rotting husk of an empire.

Lutka bowed her head. "I await your instruction, then…."

Palladio's fake grin widened, and he fished for something in his chest pocket. "You know Lutka," he began, "this has been a very productive, mutually-beneficial partnership, wouldn't you agree?"

He took a step toward her, and noticed how her body tensed, slipping into a subtle combat stance. "I would agree, yes," she answered with hidden unease.

The prince got what he was looking for in his pocket and casually held it out in front of Lutka's eyes. It was a finger, still dripping blood, and — most importantly — it wasn't Palladio's.

"It's good that we can agree, then. I will certainly find a need for your services even in the future. After all…"

Lutka's eyes met his.

"I do need someone to keep my wits sharp."

"Then it seems my job is not yet over…Excellency."

Palladio smiled, genuinely, and added another thing to his very short list.

The trail of honey led Subaru and Tiga to the very outskirts of Faradar.

There were no more identical buildings here, no more spontaneously-appearing crowds of gray-clad people. No market stalls lined the dirt road, and no store signs beckoned eager customers into homely stores where they could purchase handcrafted goods of all kinds.

The buildings here practically shone when compared to the ones nearer to the town's center. They were basically new, probably just a few years old. Here and there, they varied from the others, like being two stories tall instead of just one, or even having some land around them fenced off for private use. To the villagers, these might as well be mansions.

But it was a ghost town.

Not a single villager found their way to this place. It lay beyond the town's limits, past the blocks of empty houses, an unseen, yet always present, purgatory. A stretch of territory that technically belonged to the town, but which everyone willingly ignored.

Tiga didn't talk much as they made their way here, following the "honey," but he mentioned that this area was really abandoned. If the last place they'd gone to was merely empty, then this one was even more so. It didn't just lack inhabitants, it repelled them. Some psychic disturbance in reality twisted this luxurious (by Faradar standards) neighborhood into an exclusion zone.

The cause?

"Superstition," Tiga had explained with a shrug when Subaru asked for more information. "It went against tradition. Mister Peixit tried to draw some people in, get them to stay, but the town wanted nothing to do with them." He claimed to have come to Faradar after the forbidden district was, well, forbidden, and thus had never been around for the villagers' uproar against it.

To Subaru, it had sounded like a bunch of nonsense. "But there's so few people," he had pointed out, "and this place is so…new. Why wouldn't anyone come here?"

"You might not have noticed, but Faradar is…a place beyond the Cascade. Nothing, and no one, comes here willingly."

"But wouldn't that change if more people moved in? It could be a real…no, sorry, not real, a bigger town! Then a city!"

With a shake of his head, Tiga had just replied, "That's right…and nobody here wants that." That ended the conversation, and Subaru didn't bring it up again.

It still bothered him, in some illogical way. Why wouldn't Faradar want to grow? It seemed as if everything they complained about was because of their tiny village — the lack of people, news, trade, and basically everything else — but they weren't willing to fix it. Why?

The thought was still in his mind as they reached the end of the trail. It led them to one of the new houses, a one-story wooden building with a small patch of land enclosed within a white fence. The house itself had been painted white too, in stark contrast to the other houses, which all still retained their wood's brown color. No doubt its builders had gone to great lengths to make it appealing to any interested customers.

From afar, it looked like one of those houses Subaru had seen on tv a few times, whenever some history program came up. If anyone in this world had a camera, this house would no doubt be made into the poster child of all small town abodes, probably advertised with a sweet bonus, like a 100% guarantee that absolutely nothing of note would ever happen to it, given its location.

They both stopped a fair distance away, pausing to eye the house for any potential discrepancies. Tiga had even prepared by taking a few deep breaths and muttering "I really wish Salum were the one doing this" as Subaru cracked his knuckles. For what it was worth, he could agree with that sentiment. Salum, or even Muscles, would be some very nice backup to have for this situation.

When the two boys finished their overly-theatrical warmups, Subaru motioned for Tiga to come a bit closer, then said, "Look, we need to prepare for anything."

"Like what?" came Tiga's response. "Angry, potentially dangerous noblemen?"

"Something along those lines. Look, this Palladio guy, he's always going around with a really scary-looking short lady. He also has this…thing, some magic trick, where he can cut things with his hand."

"Wind magic, sounds like. Got it. Salum says the best way to avoid it is to keep moving."

"That's—wait, why does your friend know how to dodge magic?"

"We have a lot of free time."

Subaru thought about it for a moment, then nodded. Tiga joined in too, nodding a bit more enthusiastically. "Alright," Subaru continued, "so we should be prepared for that. If anything happens in there…we should split up. In the worst case, we can meet back up where that shoulder-eye man was."

"The Center of Imperial Administration," Tiga elaborated. "That works. It's a bit far, but there's no safer place in Faradar." He paused for a moment, then added, "If we can't go there, then the town square should work. The people here…they may not be the most welcoming, but even they won't tolerate some stranger trying to hurt two children."

"And if we have to fight, for any reason…remember to aim for the weak spots!"

Tiga's nod was deathly serious as he replied, "Like the groin, precisely. Salum said something like that too."

With every mention of this Salum guy, Subaru kept wishing he would show up and deal with the situation on his own, but in his absence, it would fall to them…for better or worse.

Before they set out, Subaru held up his closed hand, turned into a fist. Tiga looked at him with confusion for a moment, before Subaru explained, "It's a fist bump! You're supposed to do it back!"

Tiga gave it a moment of thought, then held up his fist as well. He did not, in fact, bump Subaru's fist, but the thought was what really mattered. They'd have time to perfect it later.

Their brotherhood established with this act of loyalty, the two of them approached the house warily. No doubt some great evil lurked within, but whether it was Palladio with his annoyingly-nasal voice or his servant with her dead eyes or something altogether new, Subaru was determined to drive it out of the town, and if possible out of the Peixit manor too!

The front door had been left ajar, slightly open inward, and the trail of honey ended right in front of it. Subaru motioned for Tiga to get behind him, then reached for the doorknob and pushed the door in. It gave no whine or creak as it swung.

Inside, two things stood out to Subaru immediately:

First, the house was wholly empty. It looked as if no one had ever even thought to set foot within. Not a single speck of dust drifted through the air, and no drops of mud stained the wooden floorboards. Likewise, no plates sat on the tables, no furniture decorated the rooms, and no human (or otherwise) presence had ever graced this place. It was dead. Even more so than the town. Save for—

Second.

—the corpse.

The boy from earlier, the one called Salum, sat on a chair in the middle of what should have been the kitchen. His whole body was slumped backwards, his head hanging lifelessly out of sight over the chair's backrest. Scarlet blood covered his whole body, flowing unimpeded from the wounds that pierced his skin, and gathering into purple bruises around the ones that didn't. His hands had been tied to the armrests of his chair, and his legs to the chair's legs.

It was a horrible sight to behold, and it stunned Subaru the moment he understood what he was seeing, while Tiga leapt forward with an agonized shriek and immediately began trying to loosen the restraints holding Salum in the chair, muttering incomprehensible words tinged with despair until — after a few seconds with no progress — he turned to Subaru and yelled, "C'mon, help!"

Subaru ran in too, taking the restraint Tiga was working on from the other side. It bound Salum by his wrist, and Subaru could see a plethora of tiny surgical cuts along his arm in-between the bruises. Two of his fingers were bent in ugly angles, and his ring finger…was missing. On his right hand was a burnt patch of skin that looked, eerily, like a ruined eye.

The restraint was easier to untie than expected. Whoever had secured it clearly didn't know what they were doing, and the boys got it loose fast, within a minute of trying. Without wasting a single instant, Tiga moved to the other restraint, and Subaru followed right behind. It was also easy to untie…too easy.

The very moment that the restraint came undone, Salum's hand shot out and grabbed Tiga by his shirt's collar, while his other hand came up to cover his face as he stumbled forward. Subaru stepped back, barely catching a glimpse of Salum's ruined face, just as Tiga took a step closer.

"Late," Salum said with a croak, his voice hoarse and quiet. "You're too late…"

"Now's not the time for you to start making jokes!" Tiga responded, trying to examine Salum as well as he could. "By Hoshin, what happened to you?"

"Tiga…listen. He knew."

"That's impossible!" Tiga spat, shaking his head angrily. "Everything we did…it can't all fall apart now!"

"He's one of us…"

Tiga froze, and Subaru saw the horror on his face clearer than it had ever been, felt it as if it was his own fear. When neither he or Salum continued speaking, Subaru asked, "One of…who?"

"An Evil Eye," Tiga explained, gritting his teeth as Salum let him go and he got to work on the leg restraints. "Is that it…? Is that why the elders didn't want to get involved?"

Salum turned to face Subaru. His left eye, which he mostly covered with his left hand, was completely gone, his mouth was swollen and bloodied, his nose was broken in various places, and his right eye was bruised terribly. He looked more dead than alive by far.

With his free hand, Salum pointed at Subaru. "I remember you…what are you doing here?"
"Uhh," Subaru stammered, "Saving your life? I think?"

"Mine doesn't matter," he retorted with a hiss, which immediately led to a coughing fit. "Go to the shack…you know where it is, Tiga."

Tiga finished up with the first leg restraint and spoke, "Not without you!"

"I can't do anything…but you can still help her."

"No!" He set to untying the final restraint, then stopped to look at Subaru and say, "Don't just stand there!"

Subaru shook off his stupor and approached Salum, kneeling by the chair's leg to loosen the final restraint. With his help, Tiga finished in just a few seconds, and Subaru thought yet again of how uncannily easy this all was.

Something was terribly wrong.

Even though Salum was noticeably older than both Tiga and Subaru, he wasn't yet too big to really carry, so Tiga immediately got under Salum's free arm — the one he wasn't using to hide his missing eye — and did his best to help him get up. Subaru took Salum's other side, but the older boy was reluctant to stop hiding his face, so Subaru did what he could to grab him by the waist and help him stand.

Salum was unsteady on his feet, but he managed to stay upright and even took a few steps with difficulty before the two younger boys had to come assist him, all the while saying, "You're wasting time…go, don't wait any longer—"

"I'm not leaving you," Tiga interrupted. "You know how mad Melty's gonna get when she sees you like this…besides…"

"Besides…?"

"You're much better at taking hits than I am, so for all our sakes, come with us, damnit!"

Step-by-step, ignoring Salum's pained groans and hisses, the two boys assisted him in leaving the house, coming back to the world beyond the doorway—

—the world of sunlight.

It was a long walk to the shack.

Salum staggered most of the way there, grumbling about how they should have left him behind, but he kept his pace relatively well, even if Tiga was the one doing most of the work for that. Unfortunately, it was undeniable that he would slow them down, and even with his best efforts to keep walking as fast as he could in light of the current emergency, the trip took them about an hour.

It was a mostly silent walk. Salum was hardly in the mood to talk, Tiga was too focused on holding up someone a fair bit bigger than him, and Subaru was not exactly looking to bombard them with questions at such a time. There would be plenty of time to talk later.

The walk took them beyond Faradar, into the wilderness nearby. Unbelievably-tall trees massed together in dense crowds that obstructed every last bit of light coming from above. Once in a while, a wild animal would move out of their way, all of them too small to really see properly.

This place felt like the set for a horror movie. Dozens of thick intertwining branches crossed each other aboveground, making the path bumpy and unsteady, and even once forcing them to circle a particularly dense patch of ground that was too difficult to cross. The birds' songs accompanied them, growing louder and more varied as they entered deeper into the jungle.

Just what is this place?

Subaru wasn't entirely clueless about this situation, but he still had trouble wrapping his head around everything that had transpired in the past few hours. Even ignoring the absurdity of this brand-new world, in just two days he had gone from being caught in the middle of a war to trying to foil a psycho's plans for…what even was he trying to do? Was Palladio after world domination or something? Was he just having a bad day and taking it out on a bunch of kids?

Despite his doubts, Subaru was determined to push on. There was danger ahead, yes, but there was always danger. Was making a potentially-insane magic guy angry — potentially vengeful — a good idea? Well, not exactly, but when the alternative was to sit back and wait for him to finish being evil, then it wasn't really a difficult choice to make. Tiga was counting on him, and given Salum's injuries, Subaru was certain there was no line Palladio wouldn't cross to secure his goal.

It didn't matter what goal that was, because there was no question that it was far from good, and Subaru wasn't going to stand by and let him do as he pleased…even if he had to put himself in harm's way to accomplish that.

The shack — if it could even be called that — was the last place Subaru expected to find in the middle of the jungle, but it was the perfect hiding spot. An hour deep into the forest, in the middle of Nowhere, Vollachia, was a tiny little wooden house unlike the ones in Faradar, sitting on the shore of a beautifully clear lake. Sunlight shone down on the open meadow, with the sun at its zenith in the clear sky, and illuminated the whole area with a resplendent — if a bit hot — glow.

The landscape was serene, sublime, and for a moment Subaru wished he had some way to save a picture of it, if only to appreciate its beauty once he wasn't being threatened by a madman, but he put that thought aside, instead concentrating on accompanying Salum and Tiga to the shack.

From up close, said shack hardly deserved its name. It was in a sorry state for sure, but it was a sizable one-story home, with a couple of rooms that Subaru could barely see through the boarded windows. A cellar door outside was poorly hidden beneath some foliage, and locked with a brand-new, still-shining lock. The front door looked flimsy, like it might collapse at any moment, but Subaru could just barely spot the gleaming metal of the keyhole and knob, also new.

As soon as they approached, Salum broke free from Tiga's grasp, climbing the three-step stairs of the front porch to reach the door, against which he slumped the moment he was able to do so. With his right hand, he knocked on the door in a pattern: one-three—pause—five—pause—two.

Tiga followed after him, beckoning Subaru to do the same, but stopped a step away from Salum. It took a moment for the door's lock to unfasten from within, then another, then another, until it finally opened just a bit. Subaru just barely noticed an amber eye peek through the opening before its owner gasped loudly and threw open the door.

Salum stepped in, pushing the door open fully, and Tiga went after him, quickly repeating, "Mel! It's alright! I promise, it's all fine!"

Once Subaru approached the open door, following after Tiga, he saw the shack's inhabitant, the mythical monster that had brought them into this situation to begin with. She was a young girl, probably even younger than him, with long dark purple hair that reached her knees, braided into two identical tails. An expression of puzzled dismay distorted her face, just barely hidden behind her hands, which she had brought to her mouth in shock.

She was wearing the usual drab gray robe-like clothing that all villagers here wore, but aside from obviously being tailored to a much younger girl, it was more…modern. Instead of the typical monk-like garments so many others wore, her getup seemed much more like a normal — if flowy — shirt and long pants. Contrary to Subaru's expectations, her clothes were hardly dirty or old, and she looked as if she'd gotten them from the store just days ago.

Finally, on the back of her right hand was an eyeball, pitch-black with a crimson iris, wide open as if amazed, and staring directly at Subaru.

There was barely any time to process what came next. Tiga closed the door, putting on all three shiny locks, as the girl — Melty — came over to Salum, who sat on the ground with clear difficulty. Salum said something too low to make out, which sounded reassuring enough, and Melty replied in a shrill voice, "Against a mabeast!?"

Tiga chimed in. "Look, Mel, this isn't anything new. We prepared for this, right?" He came back from the door, pointed to Subaru, and helpfully added, "This guy, he's been helping us, don't worry about him." Then, after a grave pause, as if sensing that an explanation was owed, he finally said, "Someone's found you."

Defying the laws of physics, Melty grew even more surprised. "How!? You said—"

"He's one of us," Salum explained, voice grim and quiet. "A nobleman, by his behavior."

"Palladio Manesque," Subaru added, to which Salum nodded.

Tiga jumped into the conversation as he moved around the room, collecting odd knicknacks here and there. "Who he is doesn't really matter! Look, we all knew something like this could happen, it came very close to happening before already!" He reached a small drawer, which he opened, examined for a second, then closed. "What matters is that we're here before him. We're here to get you out, Mel."

"Where?" Melty asked, her face already turning pale. "And what do we do with…everything!? We were supposed to be safe here!"

Subaru approached one of the windows and looked through the tiny opening between the wooden boards. Something moved in the jungle, but he couldn't make it out. "Hey, Tiga! Something just moved!"

"Probably a galewind," he answered, "nothing to worry about, they come close sometimes."

"There hasn't been a galewind in months!" Melty cried out. "Tiga! What's out there!? What did you—what did I do?"

Salum turned to look at Subaru, past him, through the window, though at his distance he couldn't make anything out. "But he…the elders told him…how to…"

"Tiga!"

"Melty, listen to me!" Tiga yelled, his voice astonishingly loud in the small room. "Mel…you made a mistake. That's all…but some people can't let that go, you know…and that's not your fault."

Melty just shook her head, looking like she was on the verge of tears. "It's all…always…"

Tiga walked over to her, standing right in front of her, and spoke, "Mel…don't you remember? All this…everything…it's all going to be a bad memory, you know. Faradar won't define you."

Subaru got away from the window, then approached the still-sitting Salum. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Of course," Tiga answered, pointing to another room. "I think there's some food we hid over there, under the bed, in a wooden box. Get it…please."

Subaru obeyed, slightly thankful to leave behind the admittedly-awkward situation unfolding between the other three, even if he did feel bad for the poor girl, mostly for being the unlucky soul who caught Palladio's notice.

The next room over was a small bedroom, almost entirely devoid of any furniture. A handful of wooden trunks, a single drawer, and a small bed, which was in disarray. Subaru reached down below the bed, pulling out a small wooden box, which he opened to check. A solid amount of fruits and vegetables lay arranged neatly within, enough for one person to eat for a couple of days.

With urgency, Subaru recovered the box and set to returning to the main room, but something caught his eye. A boarded-up window looked out directly into the lake, and Subaru could swear that, for just a moment, a shadow crossed past it, blocking out the faint sunlight coming through.

As soon as he returned to the others, finding Salum still on the floor and Tiga hugging a slightly-calmer Melty, he set the box down by the front door, then said, "Hey, Tiga."

Tiga turned to look at him, clearly nervous, if slightly composed. "What is it?"

"That thing you said sometimes comes out here—"

"Galewind horses."

"—do they usually…come super close to the shack? Close enough to block the windows?"

Melty snuck a glance at him, and Tiga opened his mouth to respond—

A knock.

The room went deathly quiet. Salum managed to stand, putting himself between the door and Melty, as Tiga slowly moved her away from the sole entrance to the shack. Subaru got behind Salum, looking for anything that might be of use if a fight were to break out.

A shadow loomed over the window, near the door. It bent and a pair of gleaming yellow eyes looked through the minuscule opening between the wooden boards, squinting. The eyes passed over Salum, over Subaru, and settled on Melty at last.

The shadow moved away, and at that moment, another knock.

"It should hardly surprise my venerable self to find this pack of vermin here," came Palladio's grating voice, muffled by the door. "It's almost as if fate puts you in my way, if only so I can finally rid the world of your pestilence." He paused, then tried the doorknob, and when the door failed to open, added, "So, you're not as idiotic as you look, good. One of you may yet prove your worth: open this door."

Tiga moved Melty over to the opposite side of the room, as far from the door as possible, right under another boarded-up window, which he immediately set to work opening as quietly as he could. The doorknob rattled again, this time with a thump against the door, which caused its hinges to creak.

"My venerable self will not ask again," Palladio threatened, and Salum stepped away from the door, assuming an elegant — if imperfect, owing to his injuries — fighting stance.

Subaru looked at Tiga, who merely gave him a silent, worried look. Things were looking grim, and the top priority, at least to Tiga, was getting Melty out safe. If Subaru wanted to stop Palladio, that was what he needed to do as well.

"Natsuki Subaru." It took the black-haired boy a moment to realize it was Palladio's shrill voice calling his name. "The Stargazer," that same voice added with scorn. "It hardly takes magical powers to see the situation you are in, does it? Not that it is of any consolation to you…given you have never been a Stargazer to begin with. As for your friends, I believe I have already been acquainted with dear Salum Pristis over there, in the middle of the room, and that Kararagian vermin by the window…but do tell, who is that young lady with you?"

Salum was the one to answer. "You hide your identity…you hide from your enemies…even now, you hide behind that door! Call us vermin if you wish…but those words will comfort your craven heart as little as the stolen title of 'prince' you carry!"

In Subaru's estimation, this would have at once been met by a stunned silence or even a furious outburst on Palladio's behalf, but now the heir just cackled. "Defiant in the face of death? How truly Vollachian…and how utterly USELESS!"

The following instant, not a heartbeat later, a blinding light with the intensity of a thousand suns burned through the door. Subaru, along with everyone in the shack, brought his hands to his eyes, trying to cover his vision as best he could, to no avail. The light burned itself into a sharp blade, and in the blink of an eye, carved through the wooden door as if it never existed.

Splinters rained over the entire shack, and Subaru felt a prick of pain as one hit him in the arm, drawing blood. The blinding light faded, still present, though not as intense, transforming into a long, elegant, graceful…blade.

Palladio Manesque, the Augur, prince of Vollachia, stepped into the room as if he owned it. His long smoke-colored hair, usually messy, fell around his face, a mask of death that did not conceal his ever-present mocking smirk. His face, neck, and most of his torso were all coated in dried blood, splotches of scarlet paint that — despite his pathetically slender appearance — gave him the air of a seasoned killer. Around his head, wrapped like a bandana, was his usual turquoise scarf, flowing freely behind him. From his neck hung a golden pendant, with the shape of an open eye, which had been marred by blood.

Entering with a self-assured gait that exuded confidence, Palladio raised his right arm, and the blinding light coalesced around it as a ring of fire formed at his fingertips. From it emerged a crimson hilt, which was then accompanied by a surprisingly massive blood-red sword, more than half as long as Palladio was tall.

There, on Palladio's throat, sat a pitch-black eyeball with a bloody iris, as large as a man's fist.

"I must commend you, all of you," he proclaimed, raising his blade to rest against his shoulder, so tall it scratched and burned the ceiling. "It is so rare I get a chance to wipe out this many troublemakers in one fell swoop, so I extend my sincerest gratitude." With his free hand, he pointed at Melty, and chuckled, "Since your guest has neglected to introduce herself, perhaps I shall give her a new name…but for now, we may just refer to her as 'Imperial Property.'"

Tiga shouted something, and Melty turned toward the other room just as Salum struck out, launching himself with surprising agility toward Palladio, his hands balled into fists, his speed astonishing given the circumstances, and just a hair's distance from Palladio—

—Salum's arm came off.

Blood sprayed through the air, three young, high-pitched shrieks echoed in the shack, and Salum stumbled back, holding the bloodied stump where his arm had been. For a breath, shock was plain on his face, just as Palladio's smirk widened, before Salum took another step toward his foe.

Palladio brought the blade down.

It barely scratched Salum, just faintly grazed his chest, but in the following instant, his whole body went up in fire, a shower of embers spreading through the whole room. His cries of agony were almost drowned out by Melty's screams of horror, and the pillar of flame that was Salum twisted, contorted, inhumanly so, before taking one final step toward the bloody prince.

He never reached Palladio, and the boy known as Salum Pristis fell on the floor, still burning, turned into a cruelly macabre distortion of the human body. Palladio spared him no glance of pity or hate as he stepped over the charred corpse and approached Subaru.

"You," he spoke with emphasized disdain. "I wish I could see that cupbearer now. He took you in just to avoid trouble, didn't he? Oh, how sad, then, that his little yapping pet has brought him only more pain."

"You're a monster," Subaru spat, metaphorically and literally, trying and failing to conceal his trembling. "You…could never be a prince. You're just the tyrant that abandons the weak and helpless!"

"Oh, oh, how tragic! It took you this long to FIGURE THAT OUT!?"

For once, Palladio's face twisted into a visage of unthinking blind rage, his three eyes openly glaring at Subaru.

"Do you even realize how much of my life this has taken me!?" he yelled, drawing closer as the blade dragged on the floor behind him. "Two. Days! Two fucking DAYS! I have lived twenty-four years in this Empire, and I'll reign over it for a hundred more, and this little expedition to roll around in the mud with you squalid vermin will be nothing more than a memory, if even that!

"YOU are nothing, Natsuki Subaru! You will be NOTHING! Not even a grave or remains to your name! And your friend, if he steps out of line, will be the same, and then the rest of Faradar will follow! The Evil Eye Tribe's prince has come calling, understand!?"

Subaru took a step back, and Palladio responded by raising his sword again.

"I don't pity you," Palladio spat, "or the rest of these dung beetles. You're animals! All of you, what do you do besides eat and sleep!? Livestock is what you are, and don't you all forget it, because there will be no second reminder."

In the blink of an eye, for the tiniest fraction of a second, Subaru saw himself darkly reflected in Palladio's Evil Eye. He was scared.

"He" being Palladio.

"Salum was right, wasn't he?" Subaru spoke. "You could never rule…because you're so afraid!"

The words seemed to barely affect Palladio, but his eyes narrowed, his furious glare faded, his posture shrunk, all imperceptibly so. "Afraid? Do you wish to know fear, boy? Fear is living twenty-four years in hiding, knowing there are killers in every shadow, knives in every hand, all waiting for you to close your eyes and make a mistake. Waiting for you to trust your heart! Fear!? I am Palladio Manesque, descended from the King of Thorns! I have feared before, child, but from this day on…no longer."

His voice smoothed, as if his earlier rage was gone, and he added, almost in a whisper meant only for himself, "And from today on…I am king of both kingdoms."

Tiga gave a strangled yell, and Natsuki Subaru looked up just in time to bear witness to the majestic swing of that odious crimson blade that came down upon him, and in the space of a heartbeat, carved him in half from head to toe, putting an end to his short life.

Chapter Text

"And thus, her quest finished, her justice served, the knight did naught but kneel and weep, where none may see her."

(excerpt from The Rose Knight of Tieros, ~200 After Calamity)

Chapter 10: King of Both Kingdoms

Death claimed Natsuki Subaru faster than he could ever have expected.

It wasn't exactly the kind of death he ever hoped to have, though he also tended to not think about that topic too often. He was young, healthy, full of life: he had no reason to ever think that he would wind up slashed in half by a psychopath with a fire sword, so technically it was improper to say it was in any way related to his expectations…since he had none.

Still, it was…not exactly what he thought it would be. He didn't even have time to cry out, or even to process what happened, as the world around him disappeared. Tiga and Melty and Palladio, all three vanished from sight and mind.

For a moment, Subaru was truly, completely, absolutely, entirely dead.

For just a moment, however. That deafening silence, that all-encompassing darkness, it all vanished in a flash of bright light that gave Subaru chills with the memory of that blade so fresh in his mind. The breeze, once so quiet, roared past his ears with an intensity that he could swear it never possessed before.

An instant later, Subaru regained his consciousness, and immediately surmised he must have been in hell.

Around him were the identical houses of Faradar, lined in their neat rows, wooden peas in a pod of dirt. The sun beat down on him from above with a vengeance, compensating for that momentary blackout that took him before. The wind quieted down.

As if being stuck in Faradar wasn't punishment enough, the moment Subaru's vision returned well enough for him to make out what he saw, he wished that blade had taken his eyes along with his soul just for good measure.

In front of Subaru, with his boot on Subaru's knee — this was when he realized he was sitting on the dirt, against one of the wooden buildings — was his murderer. Still insufferably tall, bearing that obnoxious grin on his face, though now tinged with something like disdain that barely measured up to what Subaru had seen in the shack, and clad in his casual getup, Palladio Manesque looked down on him physically and metaphorically, his crimson sword nowhere to be seen.

That grin, so smug, so full of itself, made Subaru's stomach turn, and cold dread crept up his spine. This had to be hell. Was he doomed to spend an eternity with this insufferable snob? He would sooner ask for some biblical punishment or something. The thought of a lifetime of torture sounded a thousand times more appealing than a single day with the child-murdering prince.

But, then…was this hell? Was Vollachia hell? Had Subaru died days ago and never noticed? Was he fated to spend the rest of his days trapped in this place, where lives had no value?

As Palladio's nasal voice struck his ears, his words unintelligible, Subaru remembered what, to him, had occurred just seconds ago.

"I am king of both kingdoms."

"I am king of both kingdoms."

"I am king of both kingdoms."

Those final words, spoken for Palladio's ears only, haunted him, mocked him. They were a curse, a final insult, and for just a moment, Palladio's glaring mask of hatred came back to his mind.

A bloodstained prince—

—the visage of death—

—burning fury in his hand—

—one strike—

Palladio's words became clear for just a second. "Have you ever heard of the Witch of Faradar? Of cou—"

That voice, like nails on a chalkboard, always so pretentious, made something in Subaru twist, and before he realized it, he was bringing a hand up to his mouth and fighting back the urge to puke all over Palladio's shiny boots, no matter how much the piece of scum deserved it.

On his part, Palladio clearly noticed something was wrong, and took a few steps back as if he just realized this young boy in front of him was radioactive or carrying some deadly illness. His grin finally left, replaced by a scowl that carried just a piece of that hatred from before.

That was when Subaru spotted it: before the heir, air bent itself out of shape, mutilated against its will into a…sort of bubble? It was the same distortion he had seen when Tiga talked back to Palladio, not that long ago, but back then it had lasted only a moment, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

Another memory came to mind.

"Leave me be, flea. Go pester that cupbearer instead."

It had been just last night, when Subaru spoke with Palladio by the front door of the Peixit manor. The prince had used some kind of magic to control the wind, back then, and it looked like a ripple in the very fabric of reality, a wave of wind. It had sheared off a lock of Subaru's hair.

That was his trick. Wind magic.

Palladio stared at him as if considering whether or not it would be safer to approach and poke him with a stick or to wait a good couple meters away. His eyes were narrowed, squinting, as if he was trying to get in Subaru's head…or make him explode with some still-unknown psychic attack.

With that wary look in his eyes, Palladio raised his hand and pointed his index and middle finger toward Subaru, almost in a finger-gun gesture. "I may be overly-charitable here," he began, "but I would like to give you a single chance to explain what exactly is afflicting you, along with whether or not it is going to afflict me soon too. I can assure you that it would not be a desirable outcome for either of us."

Subaru wracked his brain to come up with a suitable response, until he saw the group of children in the distance. It was the same group he had met just a few hours ago, when he had met—

—Tiga.

The mint-haired boy stood there with his friends, very much alright, even looking quite happy. He snuck a few hidden glances at Subaru and Palladio, but otherwise he seemed every bit the lively boy he had been before…the shack…

Not that far away from Tiga was Salum, also more alive than Subaru would have expected. The image of his searing corpse, flayed by the flames, turned into a lump of bones, did nothing but worsen Subaru's desire to retch right then and there, but Salum looked…perfectly fine. His glare could almost put Palladio's to shame, but…he was alive…

Was Subaru dreaming? Was this some twisted version of purgatory that saw fit to put him back in this horrible place instead of taking him home? Was this a slice of heaven? One in which he would be spending eternity puking on Palladio's brand-new boots?

Disbelief and nausea made his voice croak as he spoke to Palladio, muttering, "You…killed me."

The tall man raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained frozen. "I'm beginning to wish I had," was all he said in response.

"No!" Subaru insisted, shaking his head weakly. "You…the shack…I felt it! You killed me! And Salum!"

"By the Emperor," the prince muttered with exaggerated horror, "not Salum…I don't know anyone by that name, nitwit!" He raised his chin, suddenly angry. "Don't tell me you're pretending to be a real Stargazer, now! I'm hardly the one you need to convince with that farce." He brought his guard down, but the wind bubble remained around him. "How pathetic. If you're going to put on such a feeble performance when passing yourself as one of them…, I won't lie about your chances, and you most definitely do not have my sympathies!"

Subaru brought his hand down from his mouth, feeling the nausea subside just a bit. "That's not it! I…I…"

The prince just looked at him with contempt.

"You…said you were…a king." That got Palladio's attention, and his scorn turned into a faint confusion, as if he was thinking where he had heard the term before. Subaru added, "You called yourself a 'king of both kingdoms!'"

That was something Palladio seemingly understood, and though he tried not to show it, the heir's posture went rigid. He did not say anything for a few seconds, until he turned away from Subaru and quietly strode away, leaving him with the simple off-hand comment, "Your words aren't ones I like to hear…pretender."

Subaru merely stared at his killer as the man left him behind, as confused as ever, disappearing into the winding streets of Faradar.

"What a sham…"

Given Faradar's relatively sizable population, at least compared to its size and location, Criff had expected the town to have a decent enough market. His hopes were dashed the moment he first entered Faradar…and they were completely destroyed when he saw there were no real shops in the whole village.

Everything in Faradar had been focused on getting people to survive here, with no real thought put into how they would do just about anything else. Aside from a few rare exceptions, most of which predated Drizen's attack, all of Faradar was just…a bunch of wooden houses. People ran their businesses — small-scale as they may be — from the comfort of their own homes.

By now, Criff had gone to most of the available stores, and basically every single market stall that lined the dirt roads, all in search of one single item, which only got farther and farther away from his grasp with every attempt he made to find it. With how much effort he made to get it, no one could be blamed for thinking it was some mythical artifact of unimaginable power.

In truth, it was nothing more than an ordinary lockpick.

His still-broken arm made Criff painfully aware of his first plan's failure, but he was prepared for a second attempt. Palladio Manesque was too great a threat to him, and to every person in the Peixit manor, to ignore. Sooner, rather than later, he was going to bring them all into the Selection Ceremony, if he hadn't done so already, and then they'd be up against the monsters that ripped apart Lamia's army with scarcely any effort.

The same monsters that put Criff here in the first place…

He was in no hurry to die, no, and if Palladio Manesque was, then that was between him and Muspel. No one should have to cross that beast Abellux employed, not even once…and Criff was going to bloody his hands to keep himself from ever being near that blue demon again.

If Palladio Manesque wanted to run headfirst into his own grave, then let him, but there was no line Criff wouldn't cross to avoid being dragged along.

All he needed to do was ensure the Augur would be forced away…and for that, he needed just one thing: a lockpick. A few moments in Gaoran Peixit's office would be more than enough for him to save everyone here from the vengeful anger of Vincent Abellux. If he played everything right, if the world saw fit to grant him just one small victory, then maybe Manesque and Abellux would take each other out…and Vollachia would be all the better for it.

Criff's plan was hardly a work of genius, but it would suffice. Revenge, sweet though it was, would only doom him further…so he chose to think of this as nothing more than survival.

In the middle of one of Faradar's stall-lined streets, Criff leaned against the wall of one house in particular and eyed the passing villagers. No Evil Eyes that he could spot. Maybe Drizen would take some comfort in that from beyond the grave.

About a dozen stalls, selling everything from food to clothes to entertainment in the form of parlor tricks, and yet not a single person knew where to get a lockpick. A weaker man would've broken down in tears at the thought of spending days, maybe even weeks, continuing such a futile struggle, and — with all honesty — Criff could even feel a diminutive tear welling up in his eye.

Time was of the essence, now more than ever. Every day in Manesque's shadow was a day in sight of the Imperial Hand, a prospect that very few Vollachians could admit they would happily take. He had even planned for the worst-case scenario, the ever-likelier chance that the manor would become hostile territory. A handful of escape routes were available, for now at least…but he had nothing more than the outline of an idea as to how he would make it even a step outside Peixit territory without being torn to shreds by his pursuers.

His only solution to that problem was to bring the boy along…unsavory though that proposition was.

Spending even more time with that sniveling brat was far from what Criff wanted, but the kid was — for the time being — too valuable an asset to risk harming…at least in Abellux's eyes. Just a few days ago, Criff would've laughed at the thought that puppeteering a child's way into the Imperial government would save him. He could barely muster a weak smile now.

But all that was done. No one could turn the wheel of time back, and regrets or guilt would do very little against a gang of trained assassins who saw nothing more than his orange Godwin uniform. Criff Montier would go back to his home, safe and sound, and pretend all this was a bad dream courtesy of his family's terrible ale — which he could proudly say no one else had the stomach to try more than once.

As for Natsuki Subaru…his fate was up to the stars. Criff could do little more than utter a short prayer for the kid, if only so he would prove smart enough to realize that going along with these theatrics was the only choice available.

Before Criff could come up with some alternative plan that would require no lockpicking — or some alternative way to get a damn lockpick in this wasteland — he spotted the casually-dressed Augur approach him, his face twisted into a frown. If only to keep up appearances, Criff spared the prince an unenthusiastic wave…which the man did not return.

"Cupbearer," the heir said by way of greeting. "You don't seem very busy."

The former soldier responded with a lame shrug, which caused his broken arm to sting. "I can't say I'm not busy, either."

"Save your clever words for your dead mistress. We have things to discuss."

"No, I don't believe we do." Criff emphasized his words with a tsk. "We've spoken already. That's enough Manesque for today."

A gust of wind struck Criff's cheek like a slap, and he yelped in pain, then brought his good hand up to rub the injured area. Palladio Manesque just shook his head. "Lamia must not have taught you this, Criff Montier," — his name sounded like a curse in the Augur's mouth — "but we Imperial heirs do not ask, we take, and believe me when I say it will be best for both of us if you cooperate."

An objection rose up in Criff's throat, but he silenced it. Given how many charges of "aiding an enemy of the Emperor" he had amassed already, what harm was one more? Besides…was there really any way he could stand up to Manesque, face-to-face?

Taking his silence for agreement, the tall heir said, "See? That's more like it. I have a few questions for you, so let's start with the easiest: how long have you known Natsuki Subaru?"

This one was easy. It was the first lie Criff had thought of to keep the whole Stargazer facade going. "Since the start of the Ceremony."

"And when did you join the Godwin army?"

"Just about…six months ago?"

The answer satisfied Manesque, at least for now, yet his confusion deepened, evidenced by the imperceptible curl of his lip. "And you were a First-Class Soldier? Who did you lay with to get that promotion?"

A part of Criff bristled at the question, but Manesque raised a hand to prevent him from answering.

"You look angry," he pointed out. "Is this still a painful memory to recollect? My, what am I saying, of course it is…especially since you probably saw your lover die in that battle too."

The truth was the only thing keeping Criff from trying to shut the prince up with his own hands. He had joined the Godwin army six months ago, yes…but he had enlisted a year ago. Although average in every way, his talent for tailoring was of apparent interest to the ones in charge.

Loath though he was to admit it, the rank bestowed upon him was nothing if not ceremonial, a minor award for a disappointingly-middling man like him, whose only contribution to House Godwin was a slightly less-orange uniform and the addition of a tiny chest pocket in front of the soldiers' undershirts.

As such, with the truth on his side, he tried to contain his reaction to Manesque's insults, which the prince did not appreciate, judging by his deepening frown. "Let me move on to another matter, then," he spoke. "How did a cadet like you wind up acquainted with Lamia's very own Stargazer? If I had known it was that easy to get one as a pet, I might have joined my dear sister's army alongside you."

The thought of suffering through military life with Palladio Manesque as his comrade — or worse, his superior — was just enough to make the single tear in Criff's eye streak down his wounded cheek. By Muspel's grace alone, the Augur did not notice it. "I was chosen by Lord Fondalfon," Criff answered, "after a few meetings with him, and one with Lady Godwin herself. I believe the phrase they used was 'trusted expendable.'"

"Meaning?"

"They had some inkling of an idea I wouldn't betray them…and it would be no problem to be rid of me if I ever did."

Finally, Manesque's usual cruel grin appeared on his face. "That does sound so very like her. If only she could see her dear 'expendable' now…reduced to begging for scraps from her least-favorite brother." He snapped his fingers, giving Criff a curious look. "I am going to be honest, cupbearer: I believe you, which is why I am asking these questions. In fact, I just want one more answer…how many times has that brat predicted the future?"

Criff had never met a Stargazer before. His knowledge of their power was even more limited than most, and aside from the well-known fact that they could foresee events yet to happen, he was basically in the blind regarding such strange individuals.

Because of that he had no faith in the lie he prepared just for the occasion in which anyone would ask that exact question.

"Just once," was his answer. "Before we marched on Gairahal…he said one of our own would betray us." He paused, then, for good measure, added, "Lamia thought it would be you."

"Of course she did," was all the prince replied to that. "How curious…I am starting to think, just barely, that your story makes some sense after all. Maybe you were more than just a cupbearer."

The creeping joy Criff felt at those words disappeared immediately when Manesque spoke his next sentence.

"Which, of course…I am going to have to verify." With a wink, he added, "And you are going to help me."

Looking into Manesque's gleaming yellow eyes, a small part of Criff's soul began to doubt if his life was really worth all this trouble.

It was the very-much alive Salum who approached him first.

Subaru was still trying to make sense of the whole situation. What happened back at the shack was no dream, that much he was sure of. It couldn't have been. The putrid smell of Salum's mangled and burning corpse, the terrifying sight of a blood-soaked Palladio looming over everyone else with his sword at hand, the deafening cries of horror coming from those lucky enough to have avoided the prince's wrath…

It was all far too real. He was certain of it. But that last thing he saw—

—the majestic swing of that odious crimson blade—

—it had absolutely killed him.

There was no other way to put it. That sword had slashed him in half, and that should have been the last he ever saw of Palladio…or of anyone, for that matter.

So how was he alive?

A few possibilities came to mind.

It had been an awfully real glimpse into the future. This one made little sense, particularly since things were already changing from the supposed "vision's" future.

Someone in the town had some sort of power capable of making Subaru hallucinate everything. Alternatively, they had the power to turn time backwards.

In some way, at some point, in his eleven years of life, Subaru had acquired the power to go back in time after his death. Hard to prove, since this was his first time dying.

In any other circumstances, his bet would normally have been on possibility number two, yet that raised the question of who in Faradar held that power. Most likely an Evil Eye…but which? There were likely dozens, if not hundreds, of them in the village, and Subaru had no way of knowing which of them — if any — had used such magic on him.

His likeliest culprit was the Witch, that woman with the mirror store, but given she had been part of the hallucination/time-loop/fake future/whatever this was, he had his doubts. Possibility two was likely off the table.

Possibility one fared no better. If Subaru proclaiming himself a Stargazer had been enough to bestow him their power…well, that likely went against a couple basic magic rules! How many people would abuse such an exploit!? And on the off-chance he somehow was a Stargazer…what were the odds he would be forced into this situation with Criff in the first place!?

That left possibility three…which Subaru really had no strong counter to. It did raise one big question, however: at what point did he acquire such a power? He felt no different from normal even now, and aside from the stress of Vollachia and the ever-present sense of soul-devouring dread that clawed at him whenever he thought of home, he felt like he always had, and to his recollection he had never used such a power willingly.

There was really only one way for him to find out, and it involved…dying again.

Subaru chose to put aside his search for an answer. It probably wouldn't matter. It wasn't like he went around looking for delirious noblemen to provoke into murdering him…so whatever this had been would likely be of no use in the future if he could help it.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed Salum approach him until the older boy cleared his throat loudly — Subaru guessed this wasn't the first time he did so — and caught his attention. Up close, Salum looked more like an intimidating thug than a teenager not even five years older than Subaru himself. It was easy to forget he probably hadn't been born with that perpetual expression that made it look like he ate ceramic for breakfast.

When Salum said nothing for a few seconds, Subaru opened up with a very casual, definitely-not-amazed, "You…are alive!"

"I should hope so," was the teenager's reply. His expression never changed. Who knew how long he had practiced it in front of the mirror for occasions like this one? "What did you say to the nobleman?"

"It's a long story…but do you remember ever going to that shack? The one by the lake? I was there with you!"

"No."

"But—"

"No." This time Salum's voice hardened. He displayed no clear emotions, and if anything he looked bored all the time, but now he was a completely blank slate. "Answer my question."

Subaru shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his hand. "I swear you were there with me! And Tiga! You were all…cut up and stuff! Bleeding and all that…then Palladio…killed you."

"Is this 'Palladio' that nobleman?"

Subaru nodded.

"When did this happen?"

For a moment, Subaru debated on how to respond. "I think…it hasn't happened yet…"

Salum stomped his foot. "I have no interest in riddles. Answer clearly."

"I'm trying to! Look…you were in that house, the one near the edge of the town! Tiga and I…we dragged you out…you took us to the shack! I…saw that girl in there…"

A new voice cut in, filled with overly-enthusiastic cheer. "Whoa-ho, hey, Subaru, buddy! I don't think I remember that either!"

Tiga just barely reached up to Salum's shoulder, and the two couldn't have been any more different, but now, for the first time that Subaru had seen, the two shared a strange look in their eyes, one that Tiga hid behind his friendly smile. He was obviously just as confused as Salum was…maybe even as confused as Subaru was…but he was also cautious.

Subaru took a few seconds to think of his next words. "Look…I know you guys are hiding a girl in that shack—"

"There is no shack," Salum's dry and emotionless voice interjected.

"—and I get that you don't want to, you know, talk about it—"

"Buddy, are you accusing us of trafficking people?" Tiga's joyously interrupted.

Subaru raised his hands, asking for quiet. "—but I'm with you on this! That tall guy, with the scarf? He's looking for that girl too…he wants her for something." His voice cracked a bit as he added, "I mean, come on! Don't you…remember? We went there all together! We…I…got…"

The words, which came so easily earlier, sounded alien to his ears as he forced them through his trembling throat, the reality of what he was saying finally sinking in.

"I…got killed—"

That was when the world froze over.

The gentle gushing wind, the lazy clouds strolling above in their domain, the cheering children playing with one another in the square…even Tiga and Salum, their expressions complete opposites to one another. It all…stopped.

No sound, no scent, nothing but the sight of a colorless, odorless, soundless world completely encapsulating Subaru within a bubble of nothingness. His whole body went numb, unable to even tremble as it had before.

Reality, frozen in this unimaginable purgatory, mocked him from beyond its veil, calling out for him to rejoin it. Subaru waited, but this one second, this one moment, stretched into the horizon of infinity. Nothing changed.

He did not tremble, but fear overtook him. A powerful, all-encompassing fear. It slithered up his spine, grabbed him by the nape, and whispered one thing in his ear, one phrase, one command:

"Don't be scared of me."

It wasn't a familiar voice that spoke those words. It was one Subaru had never heard before, sounding distant, melancholic. He tried to force himself to speak, to say something, anything that might break him out of this frozen hell, but his mouth wouldn't move.

"Don't be scared of me." The words were a curse.

A sharp, excruciating, blinding pain ripped through Subaru's small body. Every single nerve in his entire body shot out a warning so powerful it would have crippled him if he could move, left him keeled-over in agony under any other circumstances. Every thought in his mind was telling him to get away, to run away, to flee as far and as fast as he could from the phantom voice that caught him in its grasp.

From his chest emerged a cloud of darkness, passing through him as if he was never even there. It floated, coalesced into a black hand, the color of a starless night. Five sharp-clawed fingers reached up to his face.

Subaru would have closed his eyes in terror if he could have.

The hand reached his face…and in a moment of quiet, it cupped his cheek, gently stroking it. The words resounded in his ear again, whispered, deafeningly-loud in this void, "Don't be scared of me."

It all vanished.

The hand, the void, the pain. In a moment of sudden shock, Subaru realized it was all…gone. The wind, the clouds, the children, all went back to normal. The phantom voice left him alone with its pleading words.

Immediately, he fell down sideways on the floor, clutching his chest, barely registering Tiga's presence kneeling beside him, doing what he could to examine Subaru for any injuries. The pain was no longer ripping him apart from the inside, but he was terrified, so, so, terrified of that phantom voice and its ridiculous request.

He managed to look up just in time to notice a new person had come: a large man, so large his overalls were close to bursting at the seams, with his left shoulder uncovered, a huge pitch-black eye proudly displayed on it, looking around aimlessly.

Muscles, who looked noticeably out of breath, spoke something to Salum, who had stepped away, still eyeing Subaru with caution and suspicion. Their conversation lasted very little, and Muscles walked — limped, rather — away with Salum in tow.

"No," Subaru managed to weakly protest, raising an uncontrollable-trembling hand to point at the pair of Evil Eyes. Tiga said something he couldn't hear, but Subaru fought back his terror to say again, "No…stop them…don't let them…go…"

Tiga's smile disappeared as he turned to look for his friend, who was no longer there.

The Center of Imperial Administration was once the cornerstone of Faradar.

These Centers were spread around most Vollachian cities, overseen by the Imperial government itself. They were stamps of approval, in a way: if the city was deemed worthy of the Emperor's attention, even for just a moment, one of these Centers would be erected from which the Emperor's legions of clerks and scribes could maintain contact with the capital, Lupugana. Each Center, no matter its size or staffing, did its part in connecting every piece of the Empire to the others.

Faradar's Center was once the beating heart of the city. Dozens of Evil Eyes willingly offered their services to the soulless behemoth that was the Imperial Administration, cataloging and communicating reports on things like population numbers, crop harvests, crime statistics, local ordinances, and even public sentiment regarding various topics. With the Center's daily operations, the Emperor was able to monitor Faradar as easily as if he was there in person.

It came as a surprise, then, that it was the first place to be completely destroyed in the Night of Fire.

The Imperial Hand provided most of the butchers that bloodied their hands that night, with the rest being an assortment of Imperial Army elites, Ginunhive pardonees, Drizen's own Crystal Guard, and even a few Veil agents who wouldn't pass up the opportunity to document this historic event…and do some dissections. Hundreds of deadly fanatics, trained since infancy to carry out the Emperor's will, descended onto the village, and the dirt roads of Faradar were awash with crimson blood.

The Center was utterly annihilated, its dozens of employees trapped inside as the flame of retribution reduced them all to nothing more than petrifying howls of torturous agony that spread far and wide. Most of the Tribe's leaders perished then and there, before Faradar was ever aware of the calamity that would befall it not even a minute later; a loss that would haunt them even four decades later.

As a final insult, since the mass-murder and complete eradication of an entire demi-human species wasn't enough, Drizen ordered the Center closed for the rest of his reign, cutting off the town from the rest of Vollachia. Everything the villagers took for granted — news, merchants, letters, and even the occasional government aid — disappeared overnight. The great tree that was Faradar had been felled, burned, and pulled out by the roots.

Still, the village survived. That fact made Palladio prouder than anything else.

The Evil Eyes had faced the worst Drizen had to offer, turned into pariahs in their own home, then isolated from the entire world, and still they thrived. Piece-by-piece, they rebuilt their glory up from nothing. Maybe one day, in the distant future, they would be in a position to enact revenge for what was done to them.

The distant future, however, was too far away. Palladio lived in the now, and by the time this Selection Ceremony was finished, he would be at the apex of the Empire, free to mete out punishment to all who played even a minuscule role in that tragic affair. The Tribe had done its part. All that remained was for it to pledge loyalty to him, and from the moment Palladio took the throne to the moment he breathed his last, the Evil Eyes would rule without opposition.

And if the Tribe refused to pledge, well…Palladio couldn't permit them any funny ideas. He would just have to do away with the old and found a new Tribe, starting with him. In a way, that option appealed to him even more. With the current Tribe, he could be a king. With the new one, he would be a god.

But godhood had its own challenges, and Palladio would sort them out later. Now was the time to act, and to rid himself of the pests in his way.

What should've been a short trek through the village turned into a rather long walk as Palladio got himself lost a handful of times, leading to unbearably-embarrassing conversations with Criff, who seemed to know his way around better than even him. It was disgraceful for Palladio to not even know the layout of his people's home, but he bore the displeasure for now. He would know Faradar like the back of his hand before the day was through…no matter how many times he had to get lost in its winding streets.

Still, his objective was completed the moment the Center's ugly brick-like structure came into sight. Criff looked uneasy the whole walk, but he seemed suddenly alert the moment he realized their destination. Even with his broken arm and nose, he carried himself more like a soldier than like the beaten and cowering rat he was pretending to be. Palladio could somewhat respect that. Perhaps he would wind up with his very own cupbearer before the day was through, provided he could rid the man of his admittedly-perturbing obsession with Lamia.

Mustering as much confidence as he could afford with his vast wealth, Palladio puffed his chest out and raised his chin, standing proud and tall, as he approached the Center's door. It was an ugly door, perfect for the ugly building it was attached to, wooden and haphazardly repaired over the years. In front of it stood an Evil Eye with freakishly-large muscles and — despite his attempts at obscuring it — no face save for a mouth and a patchwork of burnt scar tissue.

The Evil Eye — both the organ and the man — turned toward Palladio as he approached. He waited for Palladio to speak first, and thus Palladio obliged. "Lovely home you've made for yourselves here," he began, trying his best to make his grin look friendly. "Perfect place to settle down, plant a few crops, tend to the garden…and die of boredom."

"We have no quarrel with you, Lord Manesque," the man spoke, raising a large hand. "I would advise you to do whatever you have come here to do and leave Faradar alone."

"My, that's no way to speak to an heir of the Empire, now is it? You may speak to your carrots and your hunting dogs in such a way, but I would like to believe myself worthy of more respect. I shall allow you one chance to rectify this and step aside."

The man did not budge. "Lord Manesque, we are honored to know one of ours is on his way to the throne, and even more so that you have honored us with your presence, but we are not part of the Empire any longer. Kindly keep us out of your schemes."

Palladio turned for a moment to look at Criff, savoring the cringing expression the blond man had on his face, before looking at the muscular Evil Eye again and proclaiming, "How disappointing that I have to do this the hard way."

With a flick of his wrist, faster than the man or Criff could follow, a gust of wind with the force of a raging mabeast smacked the Evil Eye right in the middle of his chest, perfectly beneath his ribcage. He fell to his knees, gasping, and Palladio let out a little chuckle at the ridiculous image of such a man struck down with such ease.

His way to the Center now clear, Palladio approached the door, stopping right behind the Evil Eye gatekeeper. Pressing his thumb against his middle finger, Palladio flicked the man right in the back of his neck, and delivered another wind strike that knocked him to the floor. It wasn't enough to kill him…probably.

He watched Criff step over the unconscious man warily, looking afraid…of him. Unfortunate. That just wouldn't do. Wearing his best smile, he said, "Wipe that cowardly look off your face, cupbearer. Behold how this giant was so easily put down, and remember it." He reached a hand out to Criff, offering a handshake, but the soldier just eyed him with suspicion.

Without breaking his smile, Palladio stepped closer to him, and in the blink of an eye grabbed Criff by the front of his shirt. Thanks to Palladio's height, he was a good head taller than Criff, and relished in the simple pleasure of looking down — literally — on those who displeased him.

"I fear we may have gotten off to a bad start, Criff Montier," the heir whispered, uttering Criff's name like a vile curse. "Let this be my re-introduction, yes? Let this be all you need to know about me: you're either out of my way or in it. For the former, there can be anything they desire. For the latter…just look at our fallen acquaintance over here."

Criff did as instructed, trying to avoid looking Palladio in the eye, so the prince grabbed him by the neck and forced him to do so, adding quietly, "You can make the choice, cupbearer, to entrust your future to me. Believe me when I say…it is safer in my hands than in yours."

He let go of Criff, and in one single fluid move, raised his arm up high, calling forth the burning hilt of the Yang Sword, before swinging it down against the wooden door, slicing through it as if slicing air. The door fell to the floor as nothing more than burning wreckage, and Palladio let go of his trusted blade, letting it vanish into…wherever it went when not in use. He had only wielded the Yang Sword for a short while, since Drizen's death, but he happily gave it a spot in his Very Short List of Things He Loved, right along his scarf.

The sword gone from his hand, Palladio walked through the doorway, making a show of how he dusted himself off as he looked around the inside of the Center. It was a massive building, three stories tall, with two spiral staircases on the front corners. Neat rows of chairs and desks had been arranged along the ground floor, making the place look more like an army barracks than any administrative office Palladio had ever been to — which, thanks to his title, was a lot — and gave it a slipshod improvised feel. Everything inside looked old, to say the least, and some of the decorations — paintings, tapestries, furniture, and all of that — looked like it came from before the Great Calamity itself. The decorations themselves were mismatched, clearly picked at random, but they did the hard work of making the Center look lived-in.

Everything else gave the opposite impression. The walls, the stairs, and even the floor and ceiling, all made of that gray stone, had all cracked under the searing fire of that horrible night. It ripped the building apart at its foundation, and with little resources to fix it, the townsfolk had resorted to using some local stone that was a dull yellow. Everything that had come after the Night of Fire looked new, if a bit garish. Everything else looked like the rotting bones of the building's corpse.

Around the various tables sat a fair number of Evil Eyes, all proudly displaying their third eyes, as if daring anyone who stepped in to just try and insult them. They seemed to be arranged around the room by order of seniority, with most of them grouped up by age. The most important table lay at the center of the room, surrounded by the eldest in the Tribe, most of them survivors of the Night of Fire itself and proudly displaying the scars they gained from it, their skins ruined with burn tissue that never fully healed. A fair number of them lacked a limb or two.

Several of the Evil Eyes looked at him, their expressions all in the range between disbelief and anger. More than a few tried to stand and confront him, a couple even got out of their chairs, but they stayed near their tables. Palladio knew it was fear that kept them back — fear of the elders, of him — and he relished the feeling. It was nice to be the fearsome one for a change.

The elders in the middle barely spared him a glance, and Palladio stopped just out of arm's length from their table. There were empty chairs around it, three in total, but five elders sat on the rest, trying their best to pretend he didn't exist.

Palladio thought about how to make the most out of this limited interaction. It was clear the Evil Eyes of Faradar wanted little to do with him, but he wouldn't take their silence as a final answer. He needed to get them talking for as long as he could, make them cede to his demands…and finally, pledge allegiance to House Manesque.

He rounded the table until he found a vacant spot, almost perfectly in the middle of the elders, then raised his hand and called for the Yang Sword. It materialized in his palm as always, its comforting warmth a gentle reminder of its presence, then, and as a few Evil Eyes gasped in shock, he turned it into a reverse grip, then stabbed the sword of sunlight into the wooden table, its blade so long that it pierced the stone floor beneath.

The elders looked at the Yang Sword with utter hatred. Good. Better that than complete ignorance. With a dramatic flair, Palladio spun around to address the other Evil Eyes, the younger generations, a couple of which were younger still than him. "Forty years ago, was it? And yet it feels like yesterday. Our proud people, we who survived exile in Gusteko, oppression in Lugunica, slavery in Kararagi…finally broken under the might of Vollachia."

"You have no right!" one called out, a man ten years older than Palladio, whose peers tried to hold him back. "You speak of it like you feel for us, but you bear that bloodred stain of destruction, the same your father wielded against us!"

Criff looked like he would rather be dead than present for this meeting, but Palladio continued, "And with it in my hand, I have carved out a future for the Evil Eye Tribe, laid the foundation for an Empire with our kin at its pinnacle. This sword is a tool. My father was unimaginative, insecure…in it, he saw nothing more than a flimsy way to mend his reputation." To emphasize his point, he beckoned the nearest table, one full of Evil Eyes his own age, to stand. They remained seated. "You must know my name by now. Palladio Manesque. My father was Drizen, the Scarlet Painter, the man some of you might remember seeing here on that night, personally culling our brethren.

"I know of our kind's plight, and since I was old enough to speak, I have made my intentions for our revival clear. Even when Drizen himself stood in my way, I never wavered, never veered off-path from my holy mission. Now, Drizen is dead, and I stand before you as one of the last remaining heirs to the throne. Power on an unimaginable scale is right at my fingertips, siblings…and I would like nothing more than to share it with you, who so rightfully deserve it."

At last, one of the elders, a gruff woman with barely any voice in her throat, spoke up. "Your benevolence honors us, but do not treat us as fools. We know you wish for something in return."

Palladio's grin never wavered as he cleared his throat, then snapped his fingers. "Just knowing our Tribe is back to what it once was would be enough payment…but unfortunately, I find myself in a dire situation." He pointed to Criff, who physically recoiled at the sudden attention. "This man here is one of the few allies I have left. He has braved great danger to accompany me here, knowing it would put his life in peril." Those words made the former soldier eye the entrance, where the burning door had stopped smoldering.

Without missing a beat, Palladio continued, "But I know we are few. Let none say Palladio Manesque knows not the value of a life. Had I come here to beg for measly footsoldiers, I would've better spent my time watching the clouds pass by. I am here to ask for your allegiance, not as martyrs, but as heralds of a new age. You will never have to leave Faradar, and no danger will come to you as long as I breathe."

"Honeyed words," another elder interrupted, "do not honest words make. You still try to deceive us, Lord Manesque."

"Forget the deceiving!" cried the man from before, whose comrades had given up attempting to silence. "He dares to come here and parade like we can just forget what his father did!? We should have exiled him from our town, not granted him an audience!"

Before Palladio could continue, another Evil Eye, a woman near his age, replied, "And what would that have accomplished? We're barely getting by now, always on the verge of starvation, our numbers dropping every day…why are we pretending like staying here would gain us anything other than a slow death?"

A new voice jumped in, though Palladio couldn't discern from where in the room. "You wretched Vindicator! If you want to spout that rebellious drivel—"

At that, the gathered Tribesmen erupted into chaos, hurling accusations and curses at one another. The prince watched with glee as those who had so eagerly stood against him now turned on their own comrades.

"—isn't going to get us anything! We'll be forgotten—"

"—has the Empire done for us? Our town is peaceful and—"

"—there's no other choice!—"

"—we'll die out there!—"

"—we're dying here already!—"

One voice in particular, soft and low, spoke to Palladio. "Are you proud of this?"

He faced the elder woman, the one with barely any voice, and smirked. "Why should I be proud? They did this to themselves. You did this to yourselves. It seems to me like the Tribe is in need of new leadership."

"What are your demands?" asked a new elder, a dark-skinned woman with no hair on her head.

Finally, Palladio thought, mentally sneering at the bickering crowd. It was about time.

"Let me begin with the simplest: I want every record you might have of Stargazers."

He noticed the way Criff tensed up. The elders looked more confused than anything. One tried to touch the Yang Sword, but wisely refrained from doing so.

"I don't need to explain myself, I hope," Palladio added, smoothing out his shirt. My demand is clear. Get me those records, or tell me where I may find them. As for you," he said, looking at Criff, "what did I say about that cowardly look? I believe what you told me earlier…but I will believe these records even more."

The bald woman was the one who answered, "They are on the top floor. One of our archivists may show you where."

"Delightful! That was easy, see? As for my second demand—"

A particularly loud voice yelled over the others amidst the chaos. "—YOU MIGHT AS WELL JOIN THE IMPERIALS THEN!—"

Palladio shook his head. "My, how nasty. Maybe my first gift to you will be teaching everyone present some court etiquette."

"Your second demand," the honeyed-words elder, a small man with a sagging face, spoke.

"I want the murderer who killed our brethren at the solstice festival."

The honeyed-words elder motioned for another Tribesman, a young teen, to come to him and whispered something about "fetching Kelain" in his ear before sending him away from the Center, as the bald woman elder said, "I fear that is impossible. The murderer has faced the Tribe's justice."

"Is that so? How unfortunate…that you choose to lie even now. Do you think me dumb enough to not check beforehand?" Palladio had, in fact, not checked beforehand, but the elders' concerned expressions told him that this bluff had worked. "If you fail me now, our deal will be only one-third done. That hardly qualifies for what I promised you, now does it?"

"It is no lie," the whispering elder replied. "The murderer has been exiled from here. We know nothing of her, not even if she lives still."

"You must surely know her name, or will you tell me she had none?"

The honeyed-words elder was the one who responded. "It was…Melty Pristis."

Palladio gave a mock bow in gratitude. "Thank you. Now, all that remains is one final detail. I hope we are able to see to it without issue."

"Which is?" asked the bald elder.

"Your pledge of loyalty to me. It will be good enough, given I can hardly ask all these ruffians," — his words were backed by a chair that went flying across the room — "and I trust you will lead them onto the right path. My path."

The honeyed-words elder frowned. "What does this pledge entail?"

"Loyalty to me, Palladio Manesque, until my death. Service in my Empire, under administrative or strategic positions that I will deem fit to grant you. The re-establishment of this Center and subsequent growth of Faradar. The occasional military conscription whenever necessary."

"You would turn us into your private army," the whispering elder hissed.

"I have one already," he responded, "and believe me when I say I have no desire to employ any of you in my army, but a few promising candidates may arise in time."

The five elders exchanged glances, and the fifth one, one who had until now not spoken, was the one to deliver their verdict. She was an old woman, older than the others, and she answered Palladio's request with a simple shake of her head.

The honeyed-words elder was the one who explained their decision. "Lord Manesque, you are a Tribesman in every aspect of the word. We are glad to call you our brother, but you misunderstand the very basic truth that your ancestors followed."

Palladio's smile remained frozen in his face. "Enlighten me, then."

"The Evil Eye Tribe is sworn to no master, banner, or cause. It exists unto itself, enduring all the hardships of the world solely because it must. The Tribe has no grand design to accomplish. Revenge, power, even prosperity…all are irrelevant to our kin. We survive, through better and worse, so we may last forever."

In the first wise move Palladio had ever seen from him, Criff stepped away from the table until he was far enough away to avoid any potential friendly fire. Palladio, in turn, merely clapped. "Honeyed words indeed, good sir. Allow me to ask, then…what you describe, how is it any different from withering away? What makes our Tribe a proud and strong creature, and not a sick and frail husk?"

The elder gave a faint smile. "It is the wisdom of age that allows us to see it that way."

"No, you doddering bastard," Palladio spat, "it is your idiocy. Still, that is answer enough by itself. Allow me to express my gratitude to you for your steadfast devotion to the Tribe, and my condolences for what I must do."

Even before he finished, the elder closest to him, the silent one, moved away quickly. Not quickly enough, however. Palladio swung his arm, wind magic rippled through the cacophony of insults, and in an instant, an unseen blade of air cut through the woman's head right below her nose, and she fell on the ground, dead before she even hit the stone floor. The blade continued on, cutting another Tribesman's arm before dissipating against the stone wall.

In a second, the room devolved into a battle. Criff slipped away to the nearest stair as stealthily as he could, ignored by everyone present. The honeyed-words elder struck at Palladio with an old hand, but staggered back as his leathery skin went up in flames, courtesy of the Yang Sword's protective aura, ever-present around Palladio's lean body. The Evil Eyes all around the room began attacking one another, a few even fled, though a couple came at Palladio with intent to kill.

His wind magic — and the Yang Sword's barrier-flame — proved enough to keep them away, at least for a few moments. That was all Palladio needed. As one Tribesman attempted to escape the Center, he was put down by a small figure half his size that delivered a flurry of unarmed strikes to his torso with such brutality that Palladio could swear he heard the fool's bones snap through the deafening pandemonium.

The figure immediately moved to the nearest Evil Eye and struck him down with another couple blows, moving faster than anyone present could keep track of, switching to another target even before the current one hit the ground.

From this distance, Palladio could identify the figure's short hair, styled much like his own, and her House Manesque servant's uniform. He hardly needed to see Lutka's pitch-black eyes to recognize her, even in the chaos of this battle. It was good to see she'd known when to jump in.

Palladio turned to the whispering elder, and in one smooth motion grabbed hold of the Yang Sword from the table, swinging it at the nearest assailant, the bald elder who was stupid enough to get too close to him. The crimson blade cleaved through her chest all the way through, leaving her bisected body to scream its death throes as the flames consumed it.

The Augur kept his mocking smirk as he cheerfully asked, "Looks like I don't even need an army, now does it?"

It took Subaru what felt like a short eternity to get the crippling fear out of his system.

Whatever that thing, that demon with the dark hand, had been, one thing was clear to him: no matter how much it pleaded, he would not stop being afraid of it. He wanted to stay as far away from that creature as he possibly could, and if getting back home to Japan would free him of this stalking shadow, he would do just about anything to see it done.

Despite his attempts at convincing Tiga to go with Salum, the mint-haired boy remained by his side, his expression one of concern — though Subaru couldn't tell if it was for him or because of him. He spent his time recovering and trying to think how to pick his words carefully enough for Tiga to understand he meant no harm to him or that girl in the shack. Convincing Salum would be an entirely different problem…which Subaru would be more than glad to tackle once he ensured the teenager survived.

Subaru had very little knowledge of Faradar — or Vollachia as a whole — but he could put the pieces together well enough. Last time, in the previous…"loop," Salum went alone and got himself caught by Palladio somehow, which led Palladio to the shack. He had said Palladio knew about the shack without needing to question him…so then, why was he captured in the first place?

The memory of last night came back to Subaru.

"Leave me be, flea."

Palladio had spoken to him telepathically, and he only did so after shearing off a lock of Subaru's hair. Back in the previous loop, Salum had lost a finger…the only part of his body he was straight-up missing. Was it far-fetched to assume Palladio's telepathy had some connection to that? Had he made Salum assume the worst only so he would lead him to the shack?

It could very easily just be a conspiracy theory dreamed up in this delirious state of perpetual fear, but Subaru was convinced of it, even if it meant Palladio would be a far greater adversary than he had anticipated. Maybe the pompous madman wasn't all talk, after all.

That just meant Subaru would have to double his effort to take him down.

Did he have to do this? Maybe not. Maybe Palladio's greed would drive him headfirst into a situation he wouldn't escape from, and that'd be that, but Subaru could not — would not — let a psychopath like him roam free and unchecked. It might not be his fight now, but he was going to finish it nonetheless.

Tiga had remained by his side as he laid on the ground and recovered from the shock of that haunting encounter with the Shadow. He had no better way to describe it still, nothing better to name it, but he wouldn't stick around for long enough to actually need to name it. He was going home the second he had the chance to do so.

Subaru couldn't tell how long it had been since the Shadow's appearance, though it felt like a long time, a fact that was backed up by his realization that the playing children in the square had mostly left, and a small crowd formed to mingle, with several villagers carrying food in their hands. It was probably lunch time.

With a small effort, Subaru managed to turn himself face-down and get on his knees, surprising Tiga, who moved away to give him space and immediately afterwards said, "Whoa, hey! You're looking better already! What's the matter, buddy? Did you see a hollow?"

Subaru managed a weak laugh, then answered, "I wish it was just that."

In response, Tiga laughed half-heartedly, clearly still concerned. He waited for Subaru to stand up completely, then asked, "So, hey…what exactly were you talking about back then?"

This was it. Time for Subaru to pull out all the stops. If he failed to convince Tiga to ally with him, then this would all go from bad to worse. "Tiga…"

"Yeah?"

"I am…a Stargazer."

Tiga's response to that was surprisingly disappointing. "Huh. That sounds…great? Does that mean you can see the future and stuff?"

"Uh…yeah, basically!"

With a confused nod, Tiga muttered, "I see…so, uh, tell me something then…what'd I have for breakfast?"

Subaru was taken aback by the question. "I can't see the past! You're already getting it all confused!"

"Hey, you're right! Man, you must really be a Stargazer! I doubt they'd hire people who couldn't answer such a simple question."

"That's not the point!" He balled his fists, shaking them in the air between him and Tiga. "Look, I can tell this is probably really weird for you! I'm some guy you just met and now I'm rambling about your friend in the shack and all that, but you have to trust me when I say I'm on your side!"

"Really? Alright."

"I mean it—wait, 'alright?' That's it?"

Tiga shrugged, not looking bothered in the slightest by his own sudden change of heart. "I can't exactly say I trust you, but if you're lyin', then I'll just ask Salum to deal with you." He paused, then quickly added, "And of course…I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Wait, wait! That's all it took to convince you!? I had a whole speech prepared!"

"Eh, believe me, I've been here a couple of years and a Stargazer's not the strangest thing we've seen around. Besides…I'm just a humble child, ain't I? It's not like my trust matters all that much."

"I'll take your word for it then!" Subaru finally smiled and pumped his fist in the air. "Alright! Now, next step of the plan: get Salum on our side!"

Tiga grimaced. "Yeah~, good luck with that one. Only reason I got on his good side was because someone else came along that he could be suspicious of…so I guess I can thank you for that."

"What!? Don't just throw me under the bus like that, man!"

Laughing, Tiga waved his hands as if to clear the air. "Look, that guy who came to get Salum, I know where he usually stays. Salum will probably be with him."

Subaru tried his hardest to remember what Tiga — the previous Tiga — had said in the last loop. "The, uh…Central Administration?"

"Close enough," the other boy replied happily, before bringing a finger to his chin. "You seem to know a bit about our dear town…is that just Stargazer stuff?"

"You could chalk it up to that."

"Amazing…how do I get hired to be one of you guys? I've got some business experience if that's useful…did you know the easiest way to bump up your profits is to cut your wages?"

"Whoa…"

"I know." Tiga nodded again, this time with a smug smile on his face. "There's more wisdom where that came from."

Subaru waved a hand to prevent him from saying anything further. "We can save it for later! Right now, I need you to guide me to where Salum is, alright?"

Tiga eyed him with a strange look, then finally shrugged, cheerfully commenting, "Sure thing, but it'll be your funeral, buddy."

He didn't know how accurate that statement was.

Clearing out the Center was faster than Palladio expected, and in just a couple of minutes, he was standing alone in the middle of the blood-stained floor, spotless.

Around sixty corpses laid on the ground near him, most of them burnt to charcoal-colored husks. Not much of a pretty sight, and the stench was almost unbearable, but Palladio could stand it for a little bit. He had Lutka finish up any stragglers just to be sure. After today, the Evil Eye Tribe would never recover. Fine by him.

A new age awaited Palladio, heralded by a Tribe of his own making, yet one small, obnoxious, disgusting, and — worst of all — concerning obstacle stood in his way: Natsuki Subaru.

Palladio prided himself on being a good judge of character. He could often understand people with barely any interaction necessary. There were few occasions in which he was off the mark, but even then not by much. That made Natsuki Subaru all the more worrisome. Palladio was completely sure the boy was no Stargazer…so how had he known all that nonsense he spat in their last conversation?

It had been Palladio himself who came up with that title, "King of Both Kingdoms," and he had never uttered it since coming to Faradar, or even near his half-siblings. There was absolutely no way that the boy would know of it…so how could he?

Palladio sat on the honeyed-words elder's chair, resting his feet up on the still-scorched wooden table, as he flicked through the pages of a thick tome. Criff sat opposite to him, trying his best to ignore the massacre around him, his eyes glossy with…what? Tears? It didn't matter.

Lutka stood behind Criff, arms crossed. Even with the former soldier sitting, she was just barely taller than him.

Adding a bit of flair to his page-flicking, Palladio stopped and pointed to a drawing on the page, which depicted a hooded individual beneath a pattern of stars that took on the shape of the Vollachian emblem, the swordwolf. "Now, see," he spoke, clicking his tongue, "this is all just speculation and superstition…but it seems to agree with what you told me."

Criff mumbled something incoherent.

"Now, now, don't grumble," the Augur instructed him. "It ruins your whole look, you know. Still, I have a couple questions to ask you. Just need to…check some things, you understand?"

No response.

"I'm impressed, you know. It's not a lie any backwater farmer could come up with, and I could see it working on just about anyone else…but you had the bad luck of running into the Augur. I haven't gotten that title for no reason."

Again, Criff mumbled something, but this time Palladio made out a single word, "Tailor."

"What was that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, Criff answered with a clear voice. "I was…a tailor. Still am."

"Oh, good. I've been looking for someone to attach a couple feathers to my Emperor's cloak."

Palladio chuckled at that, but Criff remained as he was.

The prince sighed. "Come on, now. Did you think victory was clean? Bloodless? Nice? I can promise you Lamia's done this before more than once. You just had the luxury to be far enough away that you didn't have to see it." He leaned forward, trying to look Criff in the eyes. "You're a soldier for a reason. I'm a prince for a reason. We must both perfect our craft through this kind of…unpleasantness."

"They were your people," Criff muttered.

"Emphasis on 'were,'" was the Augur's reply. "Let me tell you one simple fact: I have never met any of these buffoons before. In fact, I spent more time with my dear and beloved brother Vincent than any of these vermin. Do you think that would stay my blade if Vincent was here with us now?"

When Criff remained silent, Palladio continued.

"Ah, cupbearer, you are so like the Rose Knight. They say, when she visited the town of Tieros, she found all she wished for. She abandoned the town to continue her mission, and only once she accomplished it, did she realize how much she wished she had never left." He shook his head with clear disapproval. "You are one lucky man…and all it took was a single unlucky day for you to realize that fate's whims are unreliable."

Lowering his head, Criff responded, "Just last week…I had everything. My friends were laughing by a campfire about how horrible our rations were. One of them grabbed the uniform I was mending and threw it into the fire." He gave a despondent sigh. "It belonged to a member of the Pruning Corps, who gave us all a good scolding when she found out she would have to go to battle without it."

A long pause.

"I saw her again, that day," Criff stammered. "What was left of her. She was one of those…what are they called? The horse-people? It doesn't matter. She was taller than three of you, and when I found her…they'd only left half of her behind. She's still there, I wager."

Palladio recognized the look in Criff's eyes. It was the haunting trauma of unprocessed loss, the belief that maybe, just maybe, he should have died alongside the others, and so Palladio spoke, "When I was a child, I barely knew my father. Drizen was a very busy man — understandably so — and so it was just my mother and I, living peacefully in Lupugana. I would walk past paintings and statues of Drizen Vollachia and my mother would say, 'Look, that will be you soon.'" He cleared his throat, and his smile dropped. "One night…I killed her. I have no other way of describing what happened then, but I regretted it for the rest of my life. Do you know why?"

"Because you're a family-murdering freak?"

"Partly so. It was because my father took me in. I lived in the Crystal Palace for years, in Drizen's shadow. I learned, from him, how he destroyed everything that my mother had lived for. How he had done the same to many others. There are many people I despise in this world, living or dead — Prisca is easily atop that list — but I have never hated anyone as much as I hated Drizen Vollachia. My greatest joy is having been there the day he finally did the world a favor and killed himself, and I will relive that moment in my dreams until the day I die as well.

"Let me make this clear, Criff Montier. I have nothing against you. I have — had — nothing against dear Lamia. In a few ways, she was my favorite sibling. However…I cannot stand those who mire themselves in their own misfortune. Your life will not wait for you to escape your memories. I won't wait either."

Before he could continue speaking, a voice cried out from the door. Palladio did not even look to see who it was, and instead just rolled his three eyes.

"Lutka," he said, "it would seem some rude people wish to interrupt my conversation here."

Lutka nodded, her face as impassive as ever.

"Teach them some manners."

Even after surviving the Shadow's psychic attack as well as he had, Subaru needed some help walking.

Tiga was more than happy to oblige. After a few failed attempts, he figured out the best way to help Subaru out was by just putting his arm across Subaru's shoulder and walking in tandem with him. It took some impressive coordination to prevent Subaru from falling face-first into the dirt, but they made it work.

In their walk to the Center of Imperial Administration — a name so nice, Subaru just had to say it twice — he talked a bit with Tiga, trying to figure out more about the boy. "You said you were…what was it? Kararara…you know!"

Chuckling, Tiga corrected him, "Kararagian! Don't really remember much about that place…Faradar's nicer in every way. Only thing I miss would be their accent."

"Really?" asked Subaru, disbelieving. "Nothing else?"

"What? Everything they have winds up here, eventually. Only thing that never caught on was the accent! And it's so fun too…what a shame." He seemed to think about it for a moment, then, with a sleazy drawl to his voice, he said, "Ah coulda tried ta make it work, ya know, but there ain't much 'nterest innit!"

Subaru physically recoiled at the alien language. "Please…never speak that way again."

"Hey, wouldja look at that," the other boy grinned, "it's powerful enough to beat a Stargazer! Kararagi reigns supreme, as ever!"

"Don't start with that!" Subaru protested as his friend laughed. "Anyway…what was it like?"

"Well…hot. Did I mention that before? I don't think I can really explain how hot it was." He made a show of wiping his forehead with his sleeve and sighing. "It's also not very nice. Sure, you can say the same for Vollachia…but in Kararagi, you'd get snatched up the moment you were out of sight. If it wasn't for my friends in the troupe…I'd rather not think about what that would have been like."

"You were in a circus?" Pausing a moment, he added, "No, that makes sense. It explains your sense of fashion…"

"Hey! I'll have you know this was once the finest low-cost troupe member attire in all Kararagi! We even got it at a nice discount."

"That just makes it sound even sleazier!"

"Not at all! It's called 'financial responsibility.'" Tiga looked as smug as ever as he said that. "Give me a bit of time and I'll be doubling Faradar's profits before you can say 'holy coin!'"

"Double of zero is still zero!"

"Well, true, but it sounds nicer! Besides…that just means I can't make things any worse!"

Twisted though it was, Subaru found it hard to argue with his friend's logic. Outmatched by Tiga's financial skills, he chose to switch to a slightly-heavier topic. "Tiga…who's Melty?"

The sudden question made Tiga halt, and Subaru almost lost his balance until his friend finally caught him. "You just keep asking, huh?" was Tiga's response. "You know if I tell you…it'll be even worse for both of us. Salum will make sure of it."

"I'll talk him out of it," Subaru promised, though he had no idea how he would do that, and secretly began to estimate how many deaths that ceramic-eating teen would give him.

"Seriously," Tiga said. "I'm warning you, buddy. I'd hate to lose a perfectly-good Stargazer to such a stupid thing…"

"I'll be fine. Foresight powers, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess." He looked around, and seeing they were in yet-another completely empty road, he quietly explained, "A few years ago, just after I got here…there was a festival to commemorate the harvest. Everyone gathered to play some games and sing and eat as much as they could stuff in their mouths. The elders were present for it, and they were helping out, talking to the lucky few who they liked enough. Even the Witch, Spiegel, was there.

"During one game…some people suddenly dropped dead. They stopped breathing all of a sudden. When everyone regained their senses, they pointed fingers to the Witch. They accused her of all sorts of things. For a moment, it was like they were going to start killing each other over it…until Melty stepped in. She was just a kid — even younger than us — and she said she was the one who did it. It was an accident. Her Evil Eye was out of control, and she had never used it before."

Tiga slumped as he finished speaking. "Everyone thinks she's dead. The elders might as well have killed her, then and there. Do you know who saved her?"

"Salum?"

"He tried. He really, really, did. I tried, too. But we were children, and the elders didn't care. It was Spiegel who saved her. She argued with the elders for hours, threatened violence…in the end, they settled for sending her away. Far enough that she could never hurt anyone again, but where she could be watched."

Subaru interrupted, "The shack."

"It wasn't exactly the nicest place they could find," Tiga elaborated. "Salum and I, we try to fix it up every once in a while. They say it was the residence of Faradar's previous ruler, an evil mage who dressed in six colors and made people disappear." He managed a weak smile as he added, "It's easy to see why they picked it."

The story explained quite a lot. Subaru had barely seen Melty, and under the circumstances of their meeting, he could hardly say he knew her, but after what he had heard…

"Something on your mind?" Tiga spoke up.

Subaru shook his head. "When this is all over…I'll get that girl to come back."

"Good luck with that! You'd have to get past the elders…"

Just as he said that, Tiga's voice trailed off. Subaru looked ahead, where the Center's ugly brick-like shape dominated the empty street. There was smoke coming out of the building's entrance.

A couple of people stood by the entrance, on the street outside. Subaru immediately recognized Palladio, thanks to his height, but the others took him a moment. The short woman beside Palladio was clearly his maid, the one that never left his side. In front of Palladio knelt Criff, recognizable with his too-yellow hair, looking defeated. Next to him, in front of the maid, sat Salum, relaxed, as if this was a daily occasion for him.

Near the door, where Subaru had seen him the last time he came to this horrible place, was Muscles. He was slumped against the building at an extremely disturbing angle, his head turned all the way around. A sharp bone jutted out from his neck.

"The Stargazer and his flea-ridden friend!" cried Palladio with perturbing joy. "We were just talking about you! Come on over, don't be so shy. We have things to talk about."

Tiga took a step back, then turned to Subaru with panic. "You didn't warn me about this!"

"I didn't expect it!" was Subaru's response.

The mint-haired boy squeezed Subaru's shoulder, gritting his teeth. "You're…one terrible Stargazer, you know? Help me get Salum out of there."

Subaru was immediately thinking of how he could do just that, and Palladio's voice rang out again, "Oh, were you two so immersed in conversation that you didn't hear me? I said: STEP CLOSER! I suggest you obey!"

Doing as instructed was the wisest move for now, and Subaru moved toward the twisted gathering, Tiga alongside him. He knew Palladio was a coward, afraid of him in particular. Maybe he could use that. Get him on the back foot. Buy time for Salum to…do anything.

"That's far enough," Palladio ordered when they were a good ten steps away. The prince looked at Tiga. "I never got your name, you know."

"It's Tiga—"

"I don't recall asking for it, either," he interrupted, raising a hand. "Now, as for you." He pointed to Subaru, who merely glared at him. "I've been having a nice discussion with your friend here, as you can see. He's a very agreeable fellow, very kind…but also very dishonest. I would like to know, boy, if you are dishonest as well."

Subaru let go of Tiga's shoulder, answering, "I'm not."

"Surprising!" Palladio remarked. "Tell me, how long have you been in Lamia Godwin's service?"

Thankfully, this was one of the things Criff had gone over with him as they first decided on their ruse. "Four years."

"Yes, that's right," the Augur clapped, turning to the kneeling Criff. "And that's what you said, too. Is it true, cupbearer?"

Criff opened his mouth, and the moment he uttered that damning "No," Subaru could swear his vision began to swim.

Palladio looked ecstatic. "Hm, it seems we have a contradiction here. Should I believe my good friend Criff, or that yapping dog I can't stand. What do you think, Lutka?"

"I think you are correct in describing yourself as 'yapping,' Esteemed Lord."

The prince pinched his nose. "Sharp as ever, but unhelpful. I guess that leaves me no choice. Tell me, Natsuki Subaru" — the name Subaru carried, one that brought him joy, sounded more like a slur in Palladio's voice — "are you a real Stargazer?"

"I am!"

"Of course you are. There's no other explanation for it. Which means that either the cupbearer is lying, or he got so fathomably lucky—"

"Unfathomably," Lutka corrected him.

"—unfathomably lucky that he made up a complete fabrication about rescuing my sister's pet Stargazer…only to have it be real," Palladio finished. With his hand outstretched, he turned his palm up, and Subaru saw that blinding light from the shack, coalescing into the hilt of that wretched crimson blade. The sight of it alone made Subaru's knees weak, and he trembled despite himself.

Palladio was still grinning.

"Tell me, you twisted spawn of the heavens," he commanded, "which is the truth, and which is the lie."

Subaru fought to maintain his composure, trying his best to put on a menacing look. "The second. I am a Stargazer."

Criff finally looked at him, and Subaru saw that the man had been crying, his eyes red and his expression pained. For a moment, Subaru believed that the man was truly and genuinely regretful of what he had done.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Criff was silenced by Palladio's crimson blade, which came down in the blink of an eye and lopped off Criff's head from his shoulders. Tiga screamed, and Subaru took a step back as his mouth fell open in horror. Criff's corpse, like Salum's in the shack, went up in flames, but his head remained intact, frozen with a pleading, tearful look.

"Oh, cupbearer," Palladio lamented, sounding almost…sad. "How I wish things had turned out any other way. Alas…now you can be with your mistress." Looking over at Subaru, he added, "Unfortunately for you, I have chosen to believe that you are telling the truth. That means your friend here lied to me. That means…you, Natsuki Subaru, are a threat to me."

Salum made a move, trying to stand, and the maid — Lutka — quickly kneed him in the head, dazing him and putting him down.

"It's almost a shame," Palladio continued, walking closer, stepping over Criff's still-burning corpse, over his pleading head. "I'm not one of fate's lackeys, but I do dislike meddling with those who are. This time, however, I must make an exception."

"I…I don't fear you," Subaru managed to say. "You're afraid of me…because you can't control me! Because you're just that cowardly! You fear everyone!"

Palladio snickered. "My, my…I hate perceptive brats like you."

"Do it!" Subaru dared him, putting as much confidence as he could into the statement. "Just try to kill me, like you did before! I'll make sure you lose…in this life or the next!"

Palladio drew his blade backwards, and proudly proclaimed, "Then I shall have to kill you, in this life and the next."

The blade swung, and it missed Subaru. He fell to his side, realizing what had happened just as Tiga, fell to the ground screaming in pain, engulfed in the white fire that had consumed Criff's body.

"How pathetic!" Palladio cried out. "You wasteful maggot. Let me give you what you wish for!"

He tried to raise his blade, clearly intent on stabbing it down on Tiga's chest, but a loud voice ripped through the street, "EL GOA!"

From where Salum lay on the ground came a massive jet of fire, concentrated into a lance of unimaginable power, that just barely missed Palladio…though not entirely. Palladio's entire right arm, the one holding that crimson blade, vanished from the shoulder down, and the prince let loose a pained howl that, in its own horrible way, gave Subaru much pleasure.

He looked over to Salum just in time to see him get grabbed by the head by Lutka, who mercilessly twisted his neck sideways until it faced the wrong way.

Salum dropped dead on the floor.

Subaru tried to scamper away, but Palladio chased him down, his crimson blade gone from his hand — from existence. His entire right side was on fire, and he furiously grasped his burning scarf before throwing it onto the dirt. There was a mad rage in his eyes that Subaru was sure would haunt him forever.

"YOU PUSTULE OF DISEASE!" the prince yelled, raising his left arm. "FATE WON'T SAVE YOU!"

Subaru raised his hand in a futile attempt at self-defense as the wind-blade that rippled from Palladio's hand cut straight through his ribcage, then his heart, then his spine, and finally claimed his life.