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The call of a night raven rings in the night air, the only sound from the Earth up to the lonely moon, climbing higher into the deep blue of the sky above. No stars show their shining faces tonight, leaving the hazy pupil of midnight searching for companionship in a vast expanse of the dark. The silver light of the heavens seems like a spotlight that casts its sorrowful gaze onto a solitary princess, who stands on the edge of a harsh cliff.
The wind ripples gently through the golden waves of Prinzessin Fischl’s hair, floating around her face ethereally. The light gleams on her pale skin, making her almost glow with the essence of the moon. It all looks otherworldly, and rightfully so, for the great Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort is indeed descended from the royalty of Immernachtreich, and is a being of another universe. That is simply the truth of her existence. Her name is Fischl, and none other.
And yet, her found identity seems to be an issue to others. To her parents, who called her instead by her deceased name, and to the kids her age, who ridiculed her manner and speech. Even now, after she has carved her own identity and given life to the Prinzessin, doubt and disbelief cross the eyes of those who see her. They think of her childish, insane, deceitful, whatever disrespectful descriptions one could aim toward the Prinzessin. What can’t they see about her? What is so difficult to believe?
Many have preached to her that identities are not set in stone. People can change, names can change, occupations can change, whole lives can change. So, why could Fischl not abandon the life she led with her previous name, and be the person she wants to be? And if she could, why could she not be accepted?
Are there any who would understand?
Oz landed at her side, folding his sparking violet wings. Oz always understood, but only because Oz was her. He was a piece of Fischl’s own soul, given the spark of life and a voice to aid her. In the end, he knew her anguish because he was born from it. No human who walked this Earth would, of their own free will, respect who Fischl was without doubts clouding their mind. No one would see her as Prinzessin Fischl. They would only see a girl who never grew up. The thought made Fischl terribly sad. Her chest panged with loneliness so intense, she thought an eclipse of grief must have blotted out the beautiful full moon of her heart. Would Fischl always be alone, with no companion but her own despairing soul, as she wandered the Earth in exile from humankind?
“Will I ever have a place to call home?” Fischl whispered, feeling a teardrop force its way through her one exposed eye and roll down her stricken face. Her raven said nothing, for he knew that she did not expect an answer. She was asking the air, the sky, the archons, and Celestia itself, as if in a prayer. "Bless me with rest, acceptance, and eyes free of judgement. Guide me to where I may be loved."
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The next morning, Prinzessin Fischl awoke not on the cliffside, but beside an extinguished bonfire. She swiftly sat up, fearing she had been taken hostage but bandits or monsters, but she was unbound. In fact, with a quick glance at her surroundings, she deduced that she was in an adventurer’s camp.
“Who….” she said aloud, trying to gain control of her consciousness.
“Well, hello, your majesty!”
The enthusiastic voice greeting her after such a lonely night spent grieving… like a pebble breaking the surface of a still pond, and Fischl felt her soul begin to ripple.
“Greetings, adventurer,” Fischl said, turning to face a young man with sparkling eyes of green. “You are... the one they call Bennett, are you not?”
“Yup!” Bennett bowed in a somewhat clumsy manner. Fischl had heard the stories of the infamous unlucky adventurer… “It’s an honor to be in your presence, Prinzessin der Verurteilung.” Oddly enough, his voice did not seem mocking, nor were his respectful yet joyous greetings forced. Such kindness radiated from this messy-haired, slightly unkempt, and uncoordinated boy that Fischl was slightly taken aback.
“Excessive formalities may be forgone in this setting,” Fischl declared. “After all, we are allied under the guild whence we both belong.”
“She means to say that you can just call her Fischl,” Oz said, landing beside her.
“May the blessed morning rays shine brilliantly upon you in good grace, Oz.”
“Good morning to you, too, mein Fraulein. I apologize for the sudden change of location. Bennett and his friend came across you sleeping on the cliffside, and I asked for them to move you to a safer place for fear that monsters would sneak up on you.”
“Friend?” she inquired, momentarily forgetting her decorum for curiosity.
As if in response to Fischl’s query, a rustling noise came from the meager tent pitched by the fire. She turned her head to gaze at the wild head of silver hair emerging from the draped cloth over the entrance. She watched as a boy the same age as her and Bennett slid out in rumpled clothes, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Fischl is quite certain she’s never seen him before. He looks weather-worn and rugged for his age, bearing scars that crisscross his stomach, arms, and even his face. He had a wild look to his dark eyes, a rich and deep crimson like the color of blood.
“....”
“...”
“Ah! Right! Fischl, this is my best friend and brave adventuring companion, Razor!” Bennet nodded in the direction of the boy. “Razor, this is the incredible Princess from another world, Fischl von…”
“I am Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort, and I hail from the land of Immernachtreich!” Fischl said dramatically, curtsying.
Razor tilted his head and looked at her in confusion. “Razor…. Not understand.” His voice was slightly raspy. Fischl noted his grammatical error, but did not comment for politeness.
Oz spoke up. “You can just call her Fischl. Forgive the Fraulein’s complicated manner of speaking.”
Bennett laughed. “Well, I’d expect just as much from a Princess like you, Fischl!”
Oz swiveled his head to look at Bennett inquisitively. “Where are you learning so much about the Prinzessin, lad?”
“Well, she’s famous in the Adventurer’s guild for her conquests! In fact, I’d say she’s a real hero for all she’s done.”
Fischl’s heart softened at the boy’s kind words, and the sparkling admiration in his eyes. Razor, for his part, sleepily took some meat out of a pack and lit a fire to cook it.
“Archons, do you intend to feast on flesh at this hour?” Fischl said, startled.
“Meat? This early?” Oz translated.
Razor gave them an queer look, as though they were the ones being strange. “With wolf pack, eat meat all the time. Mornings… no different.”
“Wolf pack?”
It was this that started the conversation that led to Fischl’s decision. She didn’t know how it all happened, really. The two boys told her, through Razor’s halting language and Bennett’s fast-paced speaking, that Razor had been raised since infanthood by a wolf pack in the wild. His first encounter with humans had been with the adventurer’s guild, and the wolves eventually had him begin traveling with the guild to gain a better understanding of his human side. He’d joined Bennett’s adventure team, which had been only Bennett at that point. Apparently, very few in the guild were willing to travel with Bennett, because bad luck followed him everywhere. (Fischl knew that, of course. Tales of monster attacks, robberies, landslides, sudden storms, and everything of the like tended to happen to those who stepped foot outside Mondstant with the adventurer.) Razor joining Bennett’s group had apparently been very good for the both of them, as nobody else would take in the wolf-like boy, and Bennett had been all alone up until that point.
Through this conversation, Fischl came to the conclusion that these two boys were outcasts from society, branded as misfits by the general populace. What a cruel fate. Fischl felt pity bubble up in her stomach for these two boys, who treated her so familiarly that she couldn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t feel right at home with them. It took some time before Fischl realized, with a start, that they were just like her. That they had needed each other for the same reasons she needed a place to belong. That they had probably once felt the same aching sadness she experienced last night, a precursor to the empty loneliness of a solitary outsider. She stared at them in wonder.
“Anyways, Prinzessin-" Bennett began, "I mean, Fischl- me and Razor are currently on a journey to Cape Oath to investigate some nasty rumors. I’m sure you have your own guild work to do, being the rising star adventurer, so-”
“I could come along,” Fischl said hurriedly, briefly forgoing her propriety. “I mean- I had recently concluded a quest when you discovered me in my slumber- that is to say- I was on my way back to the guild anyway, and am therefore currently unoccupied with work,” she managed to say, cursing herself for a sudden bout of bashfulness.
Oz chuckled to himself in amusement. “She’s not busy right now. Can we come along with you two?” he asked the two boys.
A second passed. Two.
“Well, of course!” Bennett said enthusiastically, pumping his fist in the air. “We’d love to have you come along!”
“Good company,” Razor added, offering her a piece of burnt meat.
Fischl breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t even sure why she’d been nervous in the first place.
And, just like that, the Prinzessin found her home. It wasn’t the home of silk and pearls and extravagance that she had in her books, but a home of campfire songs and star-bound gazes and adventure under the sun. Fischl is thankful, for the archons have finally led her to kindred spirits with whom she can be her own self.