Chapter Text
Bernkastel wasn't a frequent visitor to the Golden Land. It wasn't that she wasn't allowed in, of course. The Witch of Miracles was much too broad of a concept to completely bar from an entire domain, and Lord Battler wasn't the type to bear grudges for thousands of years anyway. But she was, and so she still held a personal distaste for Beatrice and a creation largely of her design. Still, eternity is a long time, and it's not like Bernkastel was limited to only being in a single place at once.
So, sometimes, she would show up to the island of gold and illusion. The girl would engage in a mystery story contest with Battler and Beato (she was a fun sparring partner, they were forced to admit), or make small talk about herself and teach the inhabitants empiricist epistemology (with Bern, these were the same thing), or bring an interesting fragment to peek at (sometimes, "interesting" meant "painful to look at in a novel way" - again, it's Bern we're talking about here) as a gift.
This time, she wanted to discuss Beatrice's gameboard and repeatedly made remarks about the details of the past tragedy.
"But Bern," Battler insisted, "it's an unsightly and tiring topic. The island was cursed by fate, we know that much."
Bernkastel gave at Battler the calm and cold expression she wore most of the time. "You have every reason to say so, Endless Sorcerer. Hmm. In the world of Ange, a miracle occurred, and still led to an unsightly conclusion. That is your line of thinking here, isn't it?"
"Yes. That. But also, now that you realize the entire situation, it should be clear there was no escape. And therefore no point to even dwell on it."
"Understood. However, Battler, surely you realize... That is my line to say."
"Eh?"
"It is my role, as fate's executioner, as the Witch of Miracles, to proclaim that a miracle can never occur."
Battler sighed. "Of course, of course. Sorry to steal your thunder, ihihihi! Go on then. We have long accepted it."
Beatrice, who was of course standing by Battler's side, just looked at Bern with a tired expression. She didn't dare remind her of an evisceration she have conducted in the 7th game.
"No."
Beato raised eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'no', hoooh? Didn't you say as much at the time?"
"Not quite. I searched through millions of fragments and failed to find a satisfying miracle for you because of your own nature, that much is true. But I have borrowed certain assumptions from your nature in my search. With additional perspective, new fragments can be spun. With some assumptions discarded, a possibility of such a miracle cannot be denied absolutely."
"Well, Bern, I'm intrigued," Battler said. "And terrified. You do have a nasty sense of humor."
"Your sister have ensured that I no longer have any power to force you into frahments unwillingly. But if you are willing to lend me your gameboard once more, I think it would be interesting to spin a fragment with a different sort of a miracle."
"Battler," Beato said. "No. Let's not. We know Bernkastel too well by now."
"Yeah, Bernkastel, you are too much of a reaper, sorry," Battler concurred.
"I shall guarantee that my intention is of curiosity, here, and though your reactions may be positive or negative or mixed or differ from one another, and though this would again be a dissection of sorts, torture isn't a goal of mine, today.
"Beato? What do you say?"
"...Ha. Hahahahaha! This sounds like a complicated decision for the glorious Territory Lord! As your mere wife, I am free from needing to take these kinds of responsibilities!"
"Well, then." Battler sighed. "I'm just... all about those second chances." Mild sarcasm and uncertainty laced his voice. "Am I not? Yeah... Let's see it, Witch of Miracles."
"Good. I'll need your gameboard. And some dried plum tea, naturally."
Battler snapped his fingers, summoning a swarm of golden butterflies.