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Chapter Text

Shink!

Anna’s wooden blade clashed with her young lord’s.

The boy, who was about twenty years younger, was easily pushed back by her superior strength. 

He was undeterred as he immediately ran back at her, he jumped and brought his sword down, attempting to recreate a move he had seen his father pull off so many times.

Anna easily dodged out of the way and struck him in the back, knocking him to the ground. She stood over him, blade pressed against his neck, “Another victory for me, Lord Symon.”

Symon grumbled in frustration as Anna threw her sword to the side and helped him stand up. The boy let out a sigh, “Benedict’s advice did seem to help at all…”

“That would be because you stopped following it halfway through.”

“Yeah, because it wasn’t getting me anywhere!”

“It’s all about patience, take notes, it might prove useful when you lead House Wolffort.”

“I know I know… I’ve heard it all before. From Benedict. Everyday.”

Anna gave him an amused look,”You’re only ten, you’ll hear that talk many more times still.”

Symon cast a glance at Anna’s sheathed dagger, “How old was father when he got his first real blade?”

“Like… five or something.”

“And I still don’t have one?”

“...”

“Have I not been making enough progress? Am I… useless…”

“Lord Symon, don’t say such things. You are still young, you still have time. You are making progress, don’t jump to conclusions.”

“R-right, I am sorry. I am just being childish,” he turned away, “I’ll go work on my studies now.”

He could feel Anna’s eyes still on him. The young lord scaled the stairs and headed off to his room. He stopped in front of his father’s room, gazing at the door. He lingered for a moment before ripping his gaze off and retreating to his room.

Upon entering he viewed himself in the mirror. As always, his skin was as pale as his mothers and his dark brown hair resembled his fathers in every way.

Symon flung himself onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling. 

Why am I so useless? Why can’t I do anything right? I’ve been training with Anna for months and am still no closer to beating her!

He groaned as he dug his nails into his scalp, I’ll never be as good as fath-

The sound of a rock hitting the window broke him out of his thoughts. Blinking, he hopped to his feet and walked over to the window. When he didn’t see anything he slowly opened it and glanced out.

All was as it should be.

When he reached up to close the window, a hawk appeared descending at a dangerously quick speed. The rider hopped off and tackled Symon to the ground, “SURPRISE!!!”

The air was knocked out of the young lord's lungs and his vision was blurred. When he came to, a pair of bright blue eyes were eagerly staring back at him.

Symon blinked, not sure if he was seeing this right, “Prince Frani? Why are you here?”

The blond haired boy scrambled off him and cast his messy braid over his shoulder, “I dunno, I was bored and wanted to practice a stunt with my hawk!”

“I… see. And your parents were okay with this?”

“Oh no. Absolutely not. As far as they know, I’m in my room. I also wanted to pay my favorite cousin a visit.”

“I’m going to tell Orlea you said that.”

“W-what no! You can’t! Your sister is terrifying, especially when she’s mad!”

Symon laughed, “Tell you what, if you agree to spar with me, I won’t tell anyone what transpired here.”

Frani drew his sword, “You got a deal!”

Symon shot him a look.

“What’s wrong- Oh, right. You still don’t have a sword. No worries, I brought an extra! Catch!”

The young lord scrambled to catch it, cutting his hand on the blade in the process. He held back a yelp from the pain, and raised the sword, refusing to show weakness.

His cousin didn’t grant him a moment of respite, Frani dashed at Symon with a flurry of attacks the former could barely block.

Exhilarating… Fighting with a real blade is spectacular!

Unfortunately, the battle was cut short by a knock on the door, “Symon? What’s going on in there?”

The boys instantly froze, swords dropping from their hands.

Symon cleared his throat nervously, “N-nothing father! I just dropped… something.”

“Uh, alright. I’m coming in.”

Frani dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed seconds before Symon’s father, Lord Serenoa Wolffort himself, opened the door.

His eyes instantly fell to the swords, “Where did those come from?”

Symon couldn’t bring himself to look into his father’s eyes, let alone lie to him. He instead opted to remain silent, staring at his boots.

Serenoa knelt down, he gently touched Symon’s chin and lifted it to look into his eyes, “I’m not mad Symon, I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

He faltered at that, “W-well I… I dunno, I guess I really wanted a sword of my own…”

“I see. You know, you always could have asked…”

He trailed off as his eyes fell on the cut on Symon’s hand.

The young lord curled his fingers around the cut, “It was just an accident, the blade was sharper than I thought it would be.”

Serenoa rose to his feet and patted his son on the shoulder, “Come, let’s get that hand fixed. Then we can see about that sword.”

Symon gave his father a quick hug, “Thank you, father.”

His father ruffled his hair before walking out of the room, beckoning him to follow. Symon risked a quick glance at his bed before running after Serenoa.

As Serenoa headed back to his room, he stopped to talk to Anna. Symon could make out something about swords as he caught up. He flinched, Please don’t find Prince Frani…

Deep down, he already knew that unless the prince had already left, Anna would certainly catch him.

Regardless, the father and son continued undeterred. Upon arriving in his bedroom, Serenoa held the door open for Symon, closing it behind him.

The older man pulled a first aid kit out from his desk and kneeled beside the younger, “Luckily the cut isn’t that deep, be more careful next time.”

Symon decided to pretend he wasn’t incredibly overjoyed at the words ‘next time.’

There was an awkward silence as Serenoa tended to the wound, a silence that Symon wanted to break, but wasn’t sure how. He tried anyway.

“So. Dragan’s coming home tomorrow, right?”

“Actually, I believe he’s arriving later today.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I wonder how he liked his trip to Aesfrost.”

“Mm. He probably loved it, your brother always has liked exploring new places. Hopefully he didn’t give Lord Svarog too much trouble.”

Symon nodded his agreement as Serenoa finished wrapping the cut. The lord stood up and walked over to the two swords displayed on his wall. He grabbed the lower one and held it out to Symon.

The young lord’s eyes widened, “You’re giving it, to me?”

“Yes. It was the sword I had the day I met your wonderful mother. It’s the sword I had when I became lord of House Wolffort. Now, I want it to be your beginning, as it was mine.”

Symon nodded in fascination as he grabbed the handle and tucked the sheath into his belt.

“Are you going to draw it?”

Symon’s hand returned to the hilt and he slowly withdrew the blade. His eyes widened in fascination as he whispered, “It’s beautiful, I love it! Thank you so much Father!”

Serenoa ruffled his son’s hair, “Just try not to hurt yourself.”

“No promises!”

At that, Serenoa let out a good natured laugh, “What am I going to do with you!”

***

A ship was approaching the dock in front of the Wolffort demesne. On board a young boy yawned, wind at his back. His mostly dark brown fluffy hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. He reached up a hand and ran it along the strike of pink in his hair, the strike that betrayed his Rosellen heritage.

The weather was bright and sunny by the port. The boy shrugged off his cloak to embrace the sunshine.

“You’re so quick to discard my cloak.”

The boy turned around at the sound of the voice, “Oh! Hi Grunkle Svarog! This weather is too nice for a fur cloak.”

Svarog sighed as he picked up the cloak, “Oh Dragan… The fur is mostly around the edges, surely it’s not that warm?”

“Maybe it's the Aesfrost blood in me, but I quite like the cold, I’m going to miss it.”

Svarog ruffled his great nephew’s hair, “I do hope you’ll visit me again.”

“Oh but of course, shouldn’t I be acquainted with the country I’m going to lead one day?”

The response was met with silence.

Dragan frowned, “Did I say something wrong?”

“Hm? Oh no.”

“...”

“It seems we’ve arrived.”

“Oh really I had no idea.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me young man!”

Dragan huffed as he hopped off the barrel he’d been sitting on, “Maybe if you let me help you with that new bomb design, I wouldn’t be so sarcastic!”

“Even with your child logic, you must know that statement didn’t make any sense.”

The young boy giggled as Svarog let out another sigh, “We best go, wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting.”

As the pair walked off the ship, a hawk flew overhead, heading towards Whiteholm Castle with haste. Dragan smirked as he watched the bird, Seems Frani snuck out of the castle again, I wonder if he’ll get caught this time…

Chapter Text

“DADDY!”

Dragan leapt into his father’s arms, hugging his neck. Serenoa wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him into the air, grinning all the while, “Great to have you back Dragan! Were you good for Lord Svarog?”

“...Define good.”

Serenoa raised an eyebrow and glanced at Svarog. The older man shook his head and let out a sigh, “He was good for the most part. The first thing he did was grab a handful of snow and eat it.”

Dragan giggled, noticing Serenoa’s horrified expression he shrugged, “Grunkle Svarog said it was mostly water. I was thirsty.”

The boy’s father let out a sigh, “Oh Dragan, you could have just asked Archduke Svarog for a glass of water.”

“Nah. That would be too much effort.”

Symon, Anna and Decimal arrived downstairs at that point. Dragons eyes widened as he scrambled out of Serenoa’s arms, “DECIMAL!!!”

As the boy hugged Decimal tight, it patted him on the back, “Hello Lord Dragan.”

Anna knelt, “Welcome Archduke Svarog, Lord Dragan.”

The Archduke nodded, “Thank you Anna.” He glanced toward Symon, who was nervously hiding behind Anna, “Ah, hello Symon, how are you.”

“I-I’m well Archduke.”

Dragan huffed as he finally let go of Decimal, “Why do you guys keep calling him that?”

The boy's father chuckled, “Well, it’s a formal thing.”

“Well Grunkle Svarog says he doesn’t care for formalities. And it's not like you’ll die if you call him something else.”

“Force of habit I suppose.”

“Whatever. Where’s mommy?”

“She’s finishing things off in the Rosellen village, then she’ll be joining us along with your sister.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” he glanced at his shoes before looking up at his father, “Daddy, can I participate in the tournament?”

Silence.

Serenoa frowned, “Why? You have very little battle experience.”

“Well actually Grunkle Svarog gave me more combat training and he even gave me an awesome sword!”

“Did he now? Where is this sword?”

Svarog drew a blade from his sheath. It was a good size for someone of his stature, but would no doubt be hard for Dragan to even pick up.

Symon’s eyes widened, there was a look in them that Dragan couldn’t quite comprehend.

Serenoa turned his gaze back to Dragan, “Isn’t it too heavy for you?”

“Nope! Well, a little but Grunkle Svarog taught me how to use it’s weight to my advantage!”

“Good for you but… Are you sure your ready for something like a tournament?”

The young boy huffed as he reached out to grab his father’s hand, “Let’s go to the training grounds and I’ll show you.”

Serenoa exchanged a glance with Svarog, “...Alright, show me what you can do.”

As the group walked toward the training grounds, Dragan continued to regale them with slightly exaggerated tales of his adventures in Aesfrost. Before long, they reached the grounds.

Everyone, aside from Dragan, Serenoa and Decimal, took a seat on the benches overlooking the area. 

Serenoa and Dragan stood facing each other, Decimal was a distance off. The automaton raised ahead, “Take your positions and… FIGHT!”

Dragan wasted no time, with two hands on the blade he gave it a mighty swing which his father was able to dodge. The young boy swung again, starting from the other side this time. Serenoa dodged once more. 

This time, instead of swinging again, Dragan lifted the blade above his head and slammed it into the ground. His feet lifted off the ground from the force, which had caused the earth around them to shake ever so slightly and Serenoa stumbled back. Unfortunately, Dragan couldn’t take advantage of his father’s moment of vulnerability since he was focused on pulling his sword out of the ground.

Serenoa nodded his approval, “Very nice, few things take me by surprise anymore, and of all the things I expected, that was not one of them.”

Dragan’s eyes glowed from the praise as he smiled brightly, before attacking with his blade once more, aiming for the feet this time. Serenoa jumped over it, grinning, he slashing his blade down ward as he began to fall. Dragan held his blade up to block; when the two swords made contact, hawk feathers hit the ground. 

The younger boy pushed against his fathers blade in an attempt to throw him back. Rather than pushing back himself, Serenoa went with it and dropped to his feet in front of his son.

Dragan didn’t let up his attack, he once again slashed from the side, a strike that his father blocked. The older man must have decided it was his turn to attack because he then unleashed a serious of attack. Due to the size of Dragan’s blade (and his lack of size), he managed to keep every strike from hitting him by barely moving his blade.

Satisfied, Serenoa sheathed his blade and turned to the audience, “Any thoughts?”

Dragan turned to look as well, surprised to notice that Erador and Benedict had arrived to watch. Benedict opened his mouth to say something, but Erador immediately interjected, “THE YOUNG LORD WAS AMAZING! I THINK HE MORE THAN EARNED A SPOT IN THE TOURNEY!”

The boy in question glowed at the praise as Serenoa nodded, “Thank you Erador, what’s your opinion Benedict?”

“If I may milord, compared to other children his age his performance was spectacular, but compared to what we will surely see in the tourney, it was hardly noteworthy.”

“I see, and Anna?”

“It would be a good learning experience, there will be healers at the ready, so there is very little risk. I say we should allow it.”

“Archduke Svarog?”

“If I may, I believe he should attend the tourney fighting for Aesfrost.”

“I see, do explain your reasoning.”

“It will show the country he’s destined to lead of his battle prowess, even at a young age.”

Serenoa nodded, “I see, thank you all for your input. We will allow Dragan to fight in the tourney for Aesfrost. Any objections Benedict?”

“No milord. If it’s for Aesfrost, then it shan’t affect our performance.”

“Alright them, the way forward is decided, dismissed!”

Dragan wasted no time in rushing over to his brother, “Symon!”

Symon turned to face the younger, the odd look in his eyes still there, “Oh. Hi Dragan.”

Dragan hugged him around the waste, “It’s wonderful to see you again!”

The older brother’s face shifted to something more akin to… Guilt? He patted the younger on the back, “You to buddy…”

Dragan pulled away, “Is something wrong?”

“Huh? N-no. everything’s fine!”

“If you say so…” the young boy’s eyes fell on the hilts at his brother’s side. Dragan’s eyes widened, “Daddy gave you a sword! Congratulations!”

“T-thanks… Same to you.”

For some reason Symon couldn’t meet his brothers eyes. Dragan was unbothered, he stood on his tiptoes to whisper into Symon’s ear, “Did Frani come by?”

“Yes he did. How did you know?”

“When I was at the port I saw his hawk flying back toward the castle.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Did he get caught?”

Symon shook his head, “No, he had enough sense to leave before Anna had the chance to find him.”

“That’s Frani for ya!”

“Yep. It certainly is. We sparred for about ten seconds in my bedroom.”

“Really sounds like fun! Please, continue!”

As Dragan had hoped, the look in his brother’s eyes was replaced with a more cheerful one as he recalled the events that led up to him getting his own sword. However, he came to an abrupt stop as he say Svarog approaching.

The younger brother waved eagerly, “Hi Grunkle Svarog!”

Svarog smiled, “Hello Dragan, Symon.”

Symon nodded in acknowledgement as Svarog hand Dragan his sword in it’s sheath, “This sheath is designed to be worn like a quiver, when you need to draw the blade it will be on your back instead of at your side.”

Dragan nodded eagerly as he reached out for it, “Cool!”

He turned to his older brother, “Are you fighting in the Tourney?”

“W-well I… Haven’t asked yet.”

“Oh, well, you should!”

“Um, yeah. I will!”

“Okay love you buh-bye,” he waved before running off to who knows where.

***

In the Rosellen village, a young teenage girl cheerfully left her house. Her long pink hair blowing gracefully in the wind. 

She walked through the clearing, waving to the villagers as she went.

“Hello Young Lady Orlaea,” one called, waving.

“Hello good sir, wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“Everyday is a wonderful day in these times Milady!” 

Orlaea nodded her agreement as she continued on her way. She had just reached the entrance to the village when someone jumped off the wall and landed right in front of her.

She took a startled step back, “GAH! UNCLE JERROM!”

Jerrom grinned, “Yeeeeeeeees?”

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR!”

“Making you jump is so much fun!”

Orlaea pulled out her spellbook, “Is that so? Will it still be ‘fun’ when I turn you to ashes?”

His eyes widened, “Um… You’re not serious, are you?”

She grinned, “Flames, heed my-”

“AHHHHH! OKAY POINT TAKEN I’LL STOP I’LL STOP!!!”

“That’s what I thought. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.”

“Um, alright. Wait a minute, where are you going? Aren’t you and Frederica returning to House Wolffort today?”

“Yes, please inform my mother that I went for a quick walk.”

He saluted her, “Yes ma’am!”

Orlaea rolled her eyes, “Your so weird.”

“Thank you ma’am!”

She rolled her eyes once more before heading off into the woods.

The forest had a peaceful feeling as always, a feeling that Orlaea always missed when she visited Wolffort. The birds chirped pleasantly while she continued down to the river. 

The scene she arrived at was not nearly as peacefully as the rest of the forest.

Lying at the shore, half in and half out of the river was the body of a young boy. He looked to be about Orlaea’s age, with strange long white hair. The water around him was red, though Orlaea couldn’t tell where the color was coming from.

She slowly approached his body, jerking back as he lifted his head.

His gaze slowly fell on her, “Ah. I’m still alive. How annoying.”

Orlaea frowned, “What?”

“Oh nothing, now be a good girl and leave me to die.”

She snorted, “Just to annoy you, I’m going to save your life. You’re not welcome.”

“Ah. Everytime,” his head fell back on the ground.

Chapter Text

Orlaea grunted as she threw the boy’s arm around her neck, staggering to her feet. She found herself surprised by how light he was. As a result, she was able to lift him into her arms and carry him.

Guess I’m stronger than I thought.

Orlaea rose to her feet carefully and began to walk back toward the village, she glanced down at the boy, limply held in her arms. He had unruly long white hair and dark skin which reminded her of those from Hyzante. 

What happened to him? 

His arrival itself wasn’t all that surprising. People had a tendency to wash up on the rivers shore all the time, in fact, Orlaea recalled that Ser Maxwell was found on the river’s shore once. However, looking at the boy she couldn’t help wondering what exactly happened; even if it wasn’t any of her business. 

She was startled out of her thoughts as the boy shifted and mumbled something inaudible.

“Hm?”

She wasn’t sure why she expected a response.

“ORLAEA!”

She looked up to see Jerrom running toward her, out of breath.

“Oh, Jerrom, time to leave already? My apologies, I was distracted.”

“I can see that. Who is this li’l fellow?”

“I’m not sure. I found him washed up on the riverbank.”

Jerrom lifted the boy out of Orlaea’s arms with ease, “Wow, does he even have any meat on his bones?”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it! Even I could carry him.”

Their discussion continued on for a while before they arrived back at the village. Orlaea’s mother was waiting for them at the entrance, she looked surprised to see the boy in Jerrom’s arms, “Another one?”

Jerrom nodded, “Yep! Orlaea found this one at the river bank!”

“...Typical. I assume he’s still alive?”

“Yeah, but only barely from the look of things.”

“Well what are you standing around for? Get him to a healer immediately!”

“Ma’am yes ma’am!”

Before he got too far away, Orlaea shouted to him, “JERROM! WAIT A SECOND!”

He turned around, “YES?”

“MAKE SURE TO SUPERVISE HIM AT ALL TIMES! I DON’T TRUST HIM IN A ROOM BY HIMSELF!”

“Ah, very cautious of you! Consider it done, m’lady.”

With that he turned around once more and continued on his way. Frederica looked down at her daughter, “You really think that kid will be able to do anything in his condition?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“Your father’s taught you well. Speaking of which, it’s past time to go.”

“Oh right! Sorry for the wait.”

“No need, you should never apologize for helping someone. Perhaps you meeting him was fate.”

Orlaea shrugged, “I doubt it. Things like this happen all the time.”

One carriage ride later and the mother-daughter pair arrived at the Wolffort demesne. When it came to a stop, the door was opened by Erador, he held out his hand for them, “Good day my ladies, I’m relieved to see you used the carriage this time.”

Orlaea accepted his hand, allowing him to help her out, “We gave my poor father a heart attack last time, figured we’d at least same that for dinner this time.”

“Ah, so do you have shocking news today?” Erador asked as he helped Frederica out.

Frederica smiled, “Perhaps, but I shan’t spoil the surprise!”

“Aye, now you got me real curious milady.”

Orlaea shook her head, “What did she just say? You’ll have to wait!”

“Of course milady, although I have to wonder, when did you get like this? You were so sweet as a child!”

“Yes, well, according to father, I’m still his sweet little girl.”

“But of course, what father wouldn’t say that about his daughter? I’d have to agree with him, though maybe not the sweet part.”

The three let out good-natured laughs as they headed to Wolffort Castle.

Anna and Decimal were waiting just outside for them. The latter saluted while the former took a knee, “Welcome back, Lady Frederica, Lady Orlaea, Erador.”

Frederica curtseyed, “Thank you Anna, Decimal.”

Anna nodded as she stood up and knocked on the door; almost immediately, Dragan rushed out and hugged his sister around the waist, “Orlaea! You’re not dead!”

The girl laughed as she returned the hug, “Of course not! Why would I be?”

“Symon said there was a 50% chance that you wouldn’t show up on time.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that there was a 50% chance I would die, you realize.”

“Huh. I suppose that’s true.”

Dragan released his sister and moved on to hug his mother. At the same time, Serenoa, Symon, Svarog and Benedict came outside. Benedict stood to the side during the reunion, he never seemed to be a fan of stuff like that anyway.

It lasted a minute or two, following the reunion they headed back inside. Right as Orlaea was about to head inside, Symon pulled her to the side, “Sister, can I ask you something?”

Despite being a bit confused, she nodded, “Of course, ask away!”

“Alright. Well you see, Dragan is fighting in the tourney.”

“...What?”

“Dragan is fighting in the tournament. On Aesfrost’s side.”

“And father is okay with this?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… Dumb. But it wasn’t a question.”

He faltered at that, “R-right… I was thinking, I want to participate as well!”

“You do?”

“Yes! I have more combat experience than Dragan and I really want to put it to the test!”

Orlaea sighed, “Well, if you really want to, father’s the one to ask.”

“Do you not want to participate?”

“I’d rather not. I don’t care for gladiatorial pursuits.”

“It’s not like we’re killing each other!”

“No, but they’re fighting to entertain others. I’d rather keep all my secrets, thank you very much.”

Symon kicked a rock, “Alright. I can understand that I suppose. I guess I just want to prove that I can fight.”

“Symon…”

“W-well anyway, there was one more thing. I got my own sword! It was father’s first sword in fact!”

“Wow! That’s wonderful Symon!”

“I know! But also, Prince Frani came by earlier today. He told me that I was his favorite cousin.”

Orlaea pulled out her tome, “Where did that brat go!”

“Uh, Whiteholm Castle, but Orlaea! You can’t kill the Crown Prince!”

“Oh trust me brother I’m very much capable of it. But for the sake of not starting another war, I’ll let him off the hook. Until I see him again.”

“Why do I suddenly have a very bad feeling… Regardless, we should probably catch up to everybody.”

Orlaea took a seat at the table in between her father and Symon. She glanced down at the delicious food the chefs had prepared, and then up at her mother.

Everyone else followed suit, waiting for Frederica’s news.

Frederica stood up as she addressed them, “We’ve finally found a lead.”

The table was stunned silent. 

Benedict was the first to respond, “Are you quite sure my lady? Hysante, Aesfrost and Glennbrook have all been searching for months to no avail!”

“I’m aware, but yesterday I found this,” She tossed a damp journal onto the table before continuing, “While it is mostly illegible now, I found the same symbol on all of the mysterious letters being received across the continent. The symbol with the sheep and the wolf circling the droplet.”

“Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”

Frederica gestured to the book, “See for yourself.”

Wordlessly, Benedict picked up the book and began skimming through it, “By the- It really is in here…” He handed the book to Anna, who then handed it to Serenoa.

The lord of House Wolffort glanced at the page before handing it off to Svarog, “So… If we can figure out who wrote this journal…”

Frederica nodded, “My thoughts exactly. And I think I know just who wrote it.”

Orlaea looked at her mother in surprise, she hadn’t heard about this yet.

Her mother continued, undeterred, “Just today, a boy washed up on the shore. We hadn’t had the chance to properly talk to him yet since he was gravely wounded. I suspect he knew too much and whoever created this symbol sought to dispose of him.”

Svarog frowned, “It… certainly is an idea…”

Benedict nodded along, “It’s worth checking out.”

Questioning the boy about something possibly traumatizing didn’t sit well with Orlaea, just as her father was about to say something she stood up, “May I be excused?”

Her father blinked, “Alright. Dragan, Symon, why don’t you two go get ready for bed as well.”

Symon looked as if he was about to protest, but he decided against it. Orlaea didn’t stick around to see what would happen next. 

She set off to her room, attempting to sort through her thoughts. It was only when she arrived in her room that she realized how tired she was. 

I’ll just… Lay down for a little while…

Her body didn’t agree with her head, as soon as Orlaea touched the bed, she was asleep.

***

in the Rosellen village, the white-haired boy had once again awoken. He sat up, breathing heavily. His eyes immediately darted around the house he was in. His wounds no longer stung and he noted the bandages covering what had been the deeper ones. Head throbbing, he attempted to stand on his feet, an action he regretted almost immediately as he nearly fell over. Thankfully, someone was there to catch him.

“Woah there kiddo! You alright?”

The boy looked up at the man, a Rosellen, he realized. The pink hair was a dead giveaway. He mumbled out a quiet, “Thanks.”

“No problem kiddo! I’m Jerrom by the way, what's your name?”

“... I don’t talk to strangers.”

“That’s a pretty long name, how about I call you ‘don’t,’ it seems pretty fitting!”

The boy glared at him, “Colter.”

“Ah, Colter, nice name kiddo.”

“Why ask my name when you’re just going to call me ‘kiddo’.”

“Because!”

Colter grumbled, deeming this conversation to be a waste of time. He scrambled back onto the bed, “What do you want from me.”

“I just want you to get better!”

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Why?!”

“Because!”

Colter growled, his fangs showing.

“Wow, those are some sharp teeth you got!”

“All the better to bite you with, if you don’t answer the question!”

“What question?”

It took all of Colter’s sanity to keep him from ripping Jerrom to shreds, “If you’re not going to be helpful, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“No!”

Colter buried his face into the pillow and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Chapter Text

Orlaea was dreaming. She knew that for a fact.

Standing in front of her was a woman with her back turned, the woman was Rosellen, the pink hair wasn’t hiding anything. Something about her seemed oddly familiar…

“Hey! Who are you?” Orlaea called out.

She got no response.

She tried again, “WHO ARE YOU?!”

Nothing.

Orlaea stepped closer and reached out, “You’ve got a lot of- huh?” She broke off as her hand went through the Rosellen woman. Orlaea withdrew her hand, “I-it’s just a silly dream. Silly… dream…”

The woman shook her head in disappointment before fading away.

Orlaea blinked, trying to register what just happened, “WAIT! COME BA-

“-ACK,” she screamed, jerking awake. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, though she had no idea why.

Her room was still dark, leading her to assume that the sun had yet to rise. Rubbing her eyes, Orlaea hopped out of bed and made her way out into the hallway. As usual Decimal was patrolling the castle, he had long since proved to be a far more effective watch than any human could be.

The automaton turned to look at her, “Lady Orlaea, why are you still awake?”

She let out a sigh, “I had an odd dream is all. Didn’t feel like trying to go back to bed.”

“I see. Since you are up, I have a letter addressed to you, it is from Mr. Jerrom.”

Orlaea accepted the letter from Decimal and opened it up:

Dear Orlaea, 

The white-haired boy has woken up. I haven’t been able to get much out of him, but apparently his name is ‘Colter’. He seems closed off, but not exactly shy.

I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me very much. No clue why, I’m very lovable! He tried to bite me earlier. It was very rude.

Anyway, he is otherwise recovering well. I might offer to take him outside as soon as he stops trying to rip me into a million pieces. Please visit before I die.

Your favorite uncle,

Jerrom Laesmi

Orlaea snorted as she finished reading, “That man is absolutely ridiculous.” She glanced down at Decimal, “I suppose it’s too late at night for me to leave?”

“Yes, sorry My Lady.”

“No worries I expected as much. Did Father ever go to bed?”

“Yes but, Lady Frederica had to drag him there. I suspect he would have stayed up studying that journal otherwise.”

“And where is the journal?”

“Benedict has it.”

“I see.”

“... If you don’t think you will be able to go back to sleep, I have a wonderful time killer in mind! Have you heard of the new Glenbrook strategy game?”

“You mean Chess? I know a little bit but I never cared to learn about it.”

“That is a shame, not to worry! I shall teach you!”

Orlaea was powerless to stop the automaton as it went on and on about Chess. She was beginning to regret her life choices, pondering what led her up to this hellish scenario.

***

Symon was restless.

He hadn’t managed to get a wink of sleep all night. Yawning, he turned his head to glance out the window, sunlight was slowly creeping in.

When had the sun risen?

Symon sat up, he had all day to convince his father to let him fight in the tourney. The thought was enough to push him out of bed.

After a change of outfits into his regular clothes, he looked himself over in the mirror. Other than the slight bags under his eyes, everything was fine.

So, he made his way into the hall. Strangely, Decimal wasn’t patrolling around like it usually did at this time. Regardless, Symon didn’t dwell on it for to long as he made his way to the dining room.

Passing by the kitchen he noted that the chefs were already hard at work making breakfast. Serenoa wasn’t there, so Symon continued to the main room.

Benedict and Anna were hovering over the journal and talking in hushed whispers. It piqued Symon’s curiosity but he had no hope of listening in. Instead he turned his attention to where Decimal was ranting about Chess to a very annoyed and tired Orlaea. Symon couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Orlaea turned to him, a look that said ‘save me’ on her face. Her brother grinned, shaking his head and moving on. Serenoa wasn’t there either.

Symon scaled the stairs once more and walked down the hall. He finally managed to catch his father. The young lord rushed up to him, “Father!”

Serenoa ruffled his son’s hair, “Good day Symon, is there something you want?”

Suddenly all Symon’s nerves kicked in. This felt so much more doable a second ago. Even still, he forced himself to look into his father’s eyes, “I want to fight with you in the tourney. I’ve been training for much longer than Dragan, and I’ve learned from you, Anna, Benedict and even Erador! I want a chance to prove that I am a worthy heir for you!”

Serenoa was quiet for a while before kneeling down to look his son in the eyes, “Symon, I can see this means a lot to you. But I want to be sure it’s for the right reasons. You are only ten years old, nobody expects you to be good at everything. Your resolve is proof enough that you’re a worthy heir.”

“Thank you father… But it doesn’t change anything. I need to do this. I need to prove myself to me. I need to see that I’ve made progress. I promise I shan’t be a burden and I shan’t let you down.”

“Hm… This really means a lot to you doesn’t it?” the older man paused before smiling, “Well, I’m convinced, I’ll talk it over with Erador, Benedict and your mother.”

Symon’s eyes lit up as he threw his arms around his fathers neck, “Thank you father! Thank you so much!”

***

Jerrom’s head belonged on a pike, Colter decided.

The Rosellen man never shut up, the questions and other such dialogue was endless and obnoxious. Eventually Colter resorted to plugging his ears and drowning the older man out.

Jerrom was oblivious to all this and continued talking, “...And it turned out the whole time that the key was hidden under the mat in the village elder’s house the whole time! I can’t believe that Serenoa ever thought it could have been the mirror or the pink pelt! And why did it have to be pink? That’s so weird!”

Colter glared at him, annoyed that he could still hear the Rosellen.

“Oh by the way, you haven’t eaten yet have you? Here! Catch!”

The white-haired boy’s reflexes were still intact; his hand seemed to move on its own, catching the apple that was thrown at him. Staring at it, he was reminded of a simpler time…

“Papa, what are you holding ?” a younger Colter was staring at his father.

The older man knelt down, a smile on his face, “An apple!”

“What’s that?”

“Well, it’s a type of food, a fruit, to be more specific,” he held it out to his son, “Go on, try it!”

Colter gave him a questioning look as he took it in both hands. The boy looked at the apple before returning his gaze to his father. The man in question nodded, “C’mon kiddo, just bite it!”

That seemed to fill Colter with the encouragement he needed, he took a big bite out of it.

His father stared at him, still smiling, eager with anticipation.

The kid’s eyes brightened, “I love it!” He continued eating it until his father stopped him and took it away. Colter pouted, “Papa? Why did you take it? I’m not done!”

Father scooped him up with his free arm, he showed his son the apple core, “This is the core, it contains the apple seeds, which are poisonous, you mustn't eat them. Understand?”

“Yes Papa, but why does that part taste bad when everything else tastes so good?”

“I don’t know kiddo, but as long as I’m here I’ll be able to help you out.”

“And I’ll get to eat more apples?”

“Of course?”

“Everyday?”

“Well, it’s not good to eat the same thing over and over, let’s try to have some variety.”

“Ok Papa. But it’s still my favorite.”

“Why’s that?"

"Because you showed me it.”

The older man smiled as he rested the kid more comfortably against his chest, “I’ll show you plenty of other awesome things!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Colter’s heart ached at the memory, Papa…

He brought the apple closer to his mouth, I’ve loved these things since forever; why has it been so long since I last had one?

“Hey son!”

Colter turned around at the call, surprised to see his new step-mom running up to him, he nodded, “Hello?”

“Your father told me that you like apples! Here, I brought one for you!”

Though somewhat confused, the white-haired boy accepted the gift, “Thank you? But why are you doing this? I thought you hated me?”

“It’s all in the past, I want my new family to get along!”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Enjoy your apple!” With that, she was off.

Colter shrugged as he took a bite out of the apple.

He didn’t think much of the situation until a bit later. He had been walking by the river, when he suddenly fell to his knees. He felt dizzy, which was shortly followed by a headache. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to stand. 

On top of that, despite the heat he was shivering.

What’s happening, he wondered to himself.

His stomach turned and he leaned forward, throwing up. It happened a few more times, almost nonstop before he lay finally still, panting.

Colter groaned. He didn’t even have anything in stomach anymore. The last thing he had eaten was that apple!

Wait… That apple, Colter frowned, It must have been poisoned… I was a fool to trust that woman…

Colter blinked, the apple was practically touching his lip, Ah. That’s why.

He threw it back at Jerrom, “I don’t take food from strangers.”

Jerrom caught it after a bit of fumbling, “But you have to eat something!”

“I’m not eating anything from you, unless I watch you cook it.”

“Fine fine… But I cook outside, and you're in no condition to walk.”

Colter struggled to his feet, “I’ll manage.”

In an instance, Jerrom was at his side, supporting him, “Well, if you insist. As long as you eat, it’s fine by me.”

It took them a while, but they eventually managed to get Colter into a comfortable position outside by the fire. He narrowed his eyes, not daring to take them off of Jerrom, even for a second.

Jerrom laughed slightly at the display as he got to work… and was immediately interrupted by his fiance.

“Jerrom! I told you to wait until we are married before you adopt a child!”

“Shauna! I’m just looking after the kid in the absence of Frederica and Orlaea!”

Shauna shook her head, “ Lady Frederica and Lady Orlaea, just because you’re the village representative, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from using their titles.”

“But their titles are SO long! Who has time to say any of that?”

“It’s two syllables, one extra word. It’s like saying my name twice. Which you do. A lot.”

“That’s because, well… Stop making good points!”

Shauna giggled as she kissed him on the neck, “How about no? Oh, also speaking of Frederica and Orlaea, they’re actually here to talk to you.”

Jerrom in turn kissed her on the forehead (Colter was disgusted by the display of affection and couldn’t comprehend how anyone in their right mind could possibly like Jerrom) and responded, “Oh? This early in the morning?”

“Jerrom. It’s past noon.”

“...What?”

“You’ve been in the infirmary all morning.”

“Oh. Oops. Guess I was busy entertaining the kiddo…”

“More like torturing,” Colter grumbled, causing Shauna to giggle.

She kissed Jerrom on the cheek, before continuing the conversation, “Anyway, how about I cook for the kid, and you go meet with the lovely ladies?”

Jerrom also kissed her on the cheek, “Sure love!” With that, he was off.

Shauna turned back to Colter, “Sorry about that kid! …What was your name again?”

“Colter.”

“Well Colter, I have great news for you! I’m a way better cook than Jerrom!”

“As long as you talk less, I’m satisfied.”

***

Orlaea and her mother waited for Jerrom at the entrance of the village. She was eager to talk to Colter again and hoped he was doing better. 

“The village is more full than ever,” Frederica noted, “I hope that we can finally work out the Rosellen territories so they have more space.”

“Didn’t Minister Lyla say something about ‘preparing an area’ last time you asked her about it?”

“Yes. And as soon as we know where the Hyzante section is, we can add part of Glenbrook to it. Hopefully we’ll work it out after the tourney.”

Orlaea nodded, seeing Jerrom finally approach. 

The man gave an exaggerated bow, “My ladies, welcome to my humble village!”

“ Our humble village,” Orlaea corrected.

“Right. What you said.”

Frederica shook her head, “Anyway, I’m here to let you know that we have an unexpected entry for the tourney, so you don’t have to find anyone else who is willing to fight.”

“...”

“You forgot about the tourney. Didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but as long as I can find someone to look after Colter and anyone who wants to stay behind, I can still go as planned!”

“I’ll stay,” Orlaea responded immediately.

Frederica glanced at her daughter, “Are you sure? This is one of the most important events of the year.”

“I’m aware. I just don’t care for barbaric events.”

“You know your father, brothers and I are all participating, right?”

“I’m aware, and that’s fine I suppose. I just don’t personally care. I’d rather be doing something more useful.”

“... Well, alright.”

Jerrom grinned, “Perfect! C’mon Orlaea I'll introduce you to Colter!”

Frederica couldn’t hold back a laugh as she watched Jerrom practically drag Orlaea away by the wrist.

The pair eventually arrived at where Colter was still watching Shauna like a hawk.

Jerrom waved, “I’m baaaaaaaaack!”

Colter groaned, “You’re kidding!”

Shauna waved back, “Welcome back Jerrom, good afternoon, Lady Orlaea.”

Orlaea ignored the greeting and sat down beside Colter, “Hello Colter.”

Colter shifted over, “Hello weirdo.”

“How dare you! I’m not weird, I saved your life! You have no right to treat me this way! Also, it’s Lady Orlaea, not ‘weirdo’, get it right!”

“Whatever Lady Weirdo.”

Jerrom snickered, “He’s not as charming and grateful as you thought he’d be, huh?”

Orlaea glared at him, “Shut up Jerrom.”

“Yeah, shut up Jerrom,” Colter grumbled, agreeing with the girl.

“Alright, alright, I can tell I’m not wanted, but Colter, Shauna and I will be gone tomorrow. Orlaea will be watching you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Do to.”

“Do not.”

Do to.”

“DO NOT!”

“DO TO!”

“DO NOT!”

Orlaea turned to Shauna, who was in the middle of cooking something that smelt amazing, “Are they always like this?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Chapter Text

Frani figured he should have thought things through before he ran up and down the stairs, screaming, in an attempt to kill time before everyone else woke up. Today was the tournament and he was naturally very excited. Ser Maxwell and Auntie Avlora would both be participating, led of course by Frani’s own mother, Queen Hughette.

One of the younger maids, who had been cleaning the windows, turned to glare at him, “Prince Frani, do you mind? The sun has barely risen and already you are screeching like some sort of psychopath? People are trying to sleep, you know.”

“Oh. Right,” he paused in the middle of the stairs, thinking.

“Yes, just like that. Stand quietly. Finally I have peace.”

“Hrm… Yeah NO that’s too weird, I’ll just go bother the Wolfforts!”

“Great. You do that.”

It wasn’t until the young prince was out of the room that the maid processed what had happened, “Wait, what? PRINCE FRANI! YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Frani had nearly reached the door when something grabbed his collar from behind and lifted him off the ground, “Not on why watch you don’t!”

He flailed around for a bit, attempting to nail the person behind him with an elbow to the face at one point, but he was unsuccessful. With a sigh, he crossed his arms, “You win again Ser Maxwell. But one of these days I’ll catch you off guard.”

The older man chuckled as he set the prince down, “Right. Dream about it all you want, little prince.”

I have evaded your watch on multiple occasions. Two days ago, for example.

Frani longed to say it out loud, but he was unwilling to give away his secrets yet. The last thing he needed was the entire Kingsguard breathing down his neck. 

Their brief conversation came to a close as they heard someone storming down the stairs.

“FRANI! I SWEAR TO- SOMETHING! WHY CAN’T YOU BE A NORMAL BROTHER!”

The prince in question grinned, “Bernie’s up!”

He turned on his heel and dashed to the base of the stairs, “Bernie! Good day isn’t it!”

His sister groaned, “Frani please, call me Bernadette, not some childish nickname.”

“Aww… But twinsie, if I do that it won’t rhyme with Frani anymore!”

“And?”

“Twins should match, right? Speaking of which, about your hair-”

“I already told you I’m not braiding my hair,” she snapped, “I like the ponytail.”

“First of all it’s a rattail, second of all, we match in everything else aside from gender!”

“And eyes. Don’t forget eyes. Plus there’s weapons and steeds…”

“Way to be nitpicky…”

Maxwell rested an arm on each of the twin’s heads, “General Avlora told me that she mixes you two up sometimes, so you must look pretty similar.”

Bernadette shrugged off his arm, “She said that? Really?”

Frani grins, “That’s why she’s my favorite!”

Maxwell gasped, feigning offense, “I can’t believe it! Your father never would have treated me this way!”

The trio’s back and forth conversation went back and forth for a while, only to be interrupted by Avlora and Cordelia.

Cordelia was holding onto her wife’s arm, an amused look on her face. Avlora let out a sigh, “I was only joking, you need to stop taking things so seriously Maxwell.”

The older man snorted, “You’re one to talk!”

“Perhaps. Doesn’t make it any less amusing.”

Cordelia couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore, “My dearest sister-in-law is going to have a hard time getting you two to work together!”

“Bold of you to assume we don’t already have a strategy.”

“Do you?”

“...No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Frani giggled before letting out a sigh, “When will Dad be up…”

Maxwell, who had begun to walk away, looked back over his shoulder, “He’s been up. In fact he requested a sparring match earlier. A sparring match that I’m late to because SOMEONE was trying to sneak out.”

Bernadette glared at her brother, “FRANI! Normally this would just be annoying, but, especially in these times it’s not safe for the crown prince to be walking around by himself! They could find you! What would happen next! Just think for a minute!”

The young prince stared at his feet, not daring to look her in the eyes, “...”

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I realize that but-”

“But WHAT! What could possibly be worth the risk! What outside the castle could you possibly desire? Don’t you remember what happened to Father?”

“Yes, of course I do but at least he had FRIENDS! ”

Bernadette fell silent.

“Is it too much to ask? I want to go out and make a friend, one my age, one of my very own. But I can’t, not like this. If something happens you get the crown, isn’t that what you want?”

“... Frani, it’s not like tha-”

“ISN’T IT? ALL YOU TALK ABOUT IS DUTY AND STATUS! IT’S OBVIOUS THAT YOU DON’T WANT ME TO BE KING, SO JUST LEAVE ME ALONE,” Frani turned on his heel and stormed after Maxwell.

Bernadette fell on her knees, part of her wanted to follow him, but she knew it would only make things worse. Cordelia knelt down by her, a look of sympathy in her eyes, “Don’t beat yourself up too hard, he might be angry now, but he’ll soon feel bad. I’ve learned that brothers are just like that sometimes… I wish I’d realized it sooner.”

The look in her aunt’s eyes confused Bernadette, Cordelia looked so sad for some reason. Before the young princess could ask what was wrong, Avlora interrupted, “Queen Hughette could use some help with the preparations. Our guests are set to arrive in a few hours.”

Without another word, the three girls headed in the direction of the reception hall to help the queen set up.

***

Colter didn’t think it was possible to be more annoying than Jerrom, but Orlaea was certainly trying her hardest to prove him wrong.

The girl in question was going on about some journal, before suddenly turning to him and asking if he kept a journal.

The white-haired boy glared at Orlaea, “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. I was just curious.”

“Right. But you’re clearly after something, you’ve been asking me the weirdest questions. Like you wanted my opinions on Lions, you asked how good my handwriting was. Now you want to know about my journal.”

“So you do have a journal!”

“Wha- well, I did. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”

“Did you drop it in a river or something?”

“That’s oddly specific. Did you find a journal in a river?”

“Perhaps.”

“And you think it’s mine?”

“Maybe.”

“If it’s mine, burn it. I don’t ever want to lay eyes on it ever again.”

“Why?”

“For the last time, IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”

Orlaea took a few steps back, startled by his sudden intensity. She lowered her gaze and mumbled a halfhearted apology. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes before Orlaea decided to start a different conversation.

“So… I guess I’m not allowed to ask where all your injuries came from.”

“Nope.”

“Or why you are so light.”

“Another nope.”

“Or why are you so picky about food?”

“That one is easy, it’s because I don’t trust any of you people.”

“But why?”

“For a few reasons. Only one you'd be able to understand though. It’s because you’re Rosellen.”

Orlaea bristled at that, “WHAT?!”

“I look like I’m from Hysante. Hysante terrorized the Roselle for years. I figured you would be hostile towards someone like me. The fact that you aren’t makes me feel even more cautious.”

“Oh… But the Roselle don’t think like that. We’re better than that.”

“I’ve heard that many times before. Rarely does it hold.”

“Well, you’ll be surprised then.”

“I highly doubt it but…” he paused to think, “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

***

Frani shifted restlessly in his seat. He was all too excited for the tourney.

His father, along with Minister Lyla, Lady Frederica and Archduke Svarog, were positioned to address the crowd. King Roland was quiet for a while, perhaps trying to figure out what to say.

“Citizens of Glenbrook, Hysante and Aesfrosti. We gather here once more to celebrate the war drawing to a close.”

There was a pause for some cheering before he continued, “It has been fourteen years since it ended and Norzelia has slowly been healing. In fact, if all goes well, by the end of the month we will even have a new nation!”

Another pause, for more cheering. Frani held back a yawn, he didn’t pay much attention to the rest of his father’s speech. Lyla, Svarog and Frederica each took turns giving a speech as well, not that Frani was listening.

Roland stood back up, “And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for…”

That got Frani’s attention.

“THE TOURNEY!!!

Frani jumped to his feet immediately joining in on the cheering. Once it died down Roland spoke back up, “Fighting for Glenbrook is my dearest wife Queen Hughette!”

Hughette and the Glenbrook representatives walked over to their segment amidst the cheering of the crowd.

“She is joined by the Dawnspear himself, Ser Maxwell, as well as my terrifying sister-in-law General Avlora and four skilled members of the new kingsguard!”

Svarog was next, “Fighting for Aesfrosti is General Flannagan, who fought for House Wolffort to bring the war to a close. He is joined by young Lord Dragan, future Archduke, as well as Jens Macher, a skilled blacksmith who also fought in the war. They are accompanied by four of Aesfrost’s best soldiers.”

Then it was Frederica, “Representing the Roselle is my dearest husband Serenoa. He is joined by Jerrom, representative of the Rosellen village, my own son Symon Wolffort and four of House Wolfforts most loyal members.”

Finally was Lyla, “Hysante is represented by my son, Quahaug, who fought in the war. He is joined by Corentin and Medina, both of whom fought in the war, as well as four of Hysante’s most unique warriors.”

Frani was almost bursting with anticipation as Roland spoke up yet again, “The first match will be Hysante VS Glenbrook!”

Frani turned his gaze toward the representatives from Hysante. None of them looked particularly threatening, most of them looked rather fragile.

As the two nations took their sides, Frani couldn’t think of anything that would stop his mother from taking the victory. He figured it would be an easy victory.

Chapter Text

“Ready… FIGHT!”

Maxwell wasted no time. He ran forward and thrust his spear at Quahang, deeming him the leader. The younger man made no effort to move, he just stood there staring.

Corentin created an ice wall in front of the timespeaker, catching the spear and stopping it in its tracks.

While Maxwell recovered his spear, two of the kingsguard members rushed to back him up. Hughette flew upward on Flugie, and aimed a shot at Medina. An action that confused Frani.

The young prince turned to his father, “Why did Mama attack that girl? The ice mage is clearly more threatening.”

Roland grinned, “Strength wise perhaps, but there’s more to fighting then how much damage you can do.”

Frani blinked in confusion, but turned his gaze back to the fight, not bothering to question.

The fight didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Avlora and Maxwell seemed to be doing a lot of damage to the Hysante warriors, but Medina kept healing them back up with HP recovery pellets. Frani huffed, “Isn’t that cheating?”

Roland shook his head, “No, that’s why your mother was targeting her.”

“Because she’s a cheater?”

“Because she can heal.”

“So can everyone with a HP recovery pellet. I could do it.”

“Well, yes, but Medina is different. It’s her specialty.”

“I don’t get i-”

“Shhh! I’m trying to watch,” Lyla snapped.

“Sorry,” something else had caught his attention anyway. Avlora and Maxwell were on opposite sides of the battle field, fighting separately. Looking closer, he could see that Hughette didn’t look all that thrilled. She was practically glaring at Maxwell.

Since he clearly wasn’t paying attention, she turned her attention to Avlora, who also wasn’t looking. Luckily the rest of the kingsguard were. The queen nodded toward them and fired off another arrow toward Medina. Two of the soldiers lunged toward her, blades drawing nearer, coming from either side. Then suddenly, they stopped.

The crowd gasped in unison, shocked.

Looking around, Frani noticed that they weren’t the only ones. Hughette and her arrow were frozen, Maxwell, Avlora and the Kingsguard. All frozen. The young prince’s eyes darted around the battlefield, eventually resting on Quahang. 

The timespeaker had his staff raised in the air, he had to be the one responsible for this.

***

“Lord Dragan? Lord Dragan! Did you hear what I said?”

The young lord tore his eyes away from the fight, annoyed that his attention was being pulled away at the most intense part. Regardless, he turned his curious (and slightly pouty) gaze to Flannagan.

The man let out a sigh, “I asked what you’re good at. I’m trying to figure out how to best integrate you into the team.”

“Uhhhhhhh, big sword. Smash things.”

“...That’s it?”

“One time I slammed my blade into the ground and it made Papa lose his balance!”

“Alright… Rudolph, you back him up while he does… Whatever it is he was going to do.”

Rudolph let out a sigh, “Are ye sayin’ that all that effort has been fer nothin’? I didn’t do all that trainin’ t’ babysit!”

Jens patted the hunter on the shoulder, “Don’t think of it that way, it’s only a minor change.”

One of the other soldiers scoffed, drawing his blade and gazing at his reflection in it. He wore a long, flowy dark blue and black tunic, as well as white trousers and knee-high black boots. His skin was fair, a common trait in Aesfrost Dragan had realized, and the man’s face was in a permanent scowl. While he towered over Dragan, he was shorter than everyone else, including the two female soldiers.

Speaking of the female soldiers, one of them patted Mr. Scowl on the head, “Why so pouty Luka? It doesn’t even affect you!”

“Of course it does! Anything that affects our performance as a whole, affects me.”

“So you aren’t gonna be able to pull off a win,” her voice was ever so slightly taunting.

“Of course I can!”

“Then stop whining about it, shortie,” interrupted the other woman.

Luka glared golden daggers at the two of them.

Dragan whispered to Jens (who he met while visiting Aesfrost, the backsmith had even forged his blade), “Who are these four?”

“Well… That’s Rudolph over there, he is a skilled archer. Gustadolph banished him from Aesfrost and Svarog welcomed him back. Luka’s the short one with long dark brown hair, he’s a powerful swordsman, but we aren’t sure just how powerful he is yet.”

“Well, he’s short. Papa’s taller, Papa’s better.” That earned the young lord a hiss from Luka.

“Um… Sure, well anyway… the girl with long blond hair is-”

“I’m Al,” she chimed in.

“And I’m Fred,” the short-haired one commented.

“Together, WE ARE ALFRED!”

Dragan blinked in confusion while everyone else rolled their eyes.

Flannagan sighed and shook his head, “Pay them no mind Lord Dragan, they may be quite ridiculous, but they are pretty strong.”

“Alright… I’m just gonna continue watching the fight now.”

***

By the time Quahang’s spell wore off, Hughette, Maxwell and Avlora were the only ones left.

The three of them seemed to have the same goal in mind at this point,   they were all going for Quahang. Likely planning to take him out before he gathered enough power to cast another spell.

If only they could get close enough. Corentin was slowing them down with ice walls, he even froze Maxwell in place at one point. Hughette was the only one unaffected by Corentin’s spells, she was simply too high for them to hit.

Since Corentin was causing her teammates trouble, Hughette shifted her attention to the ice mage rather than Quahang. Unfortunately, between dodging the daggers thrown at her by the other Hysantians and Medina healing up what little damage did manage to connect.

The queen clenched her teeth, annoyed. Corentin shouldn’t be able to perform that many back to back spells. Swooping slightly lower, she observed the cryomancer more closely. Everything looked normal. He hadn’t moved since the first ice wall was destroyed. He was standing on ice left behind.

Ice.

Highette’s train of thought was temporarily thrown off course by a dagger grazing her arm, luckily Flugie had moved out of the way in order to avoid serious damage. The hawk rider urged her steed upward, having concluded her observation.

Ice ice ice… 

What Hughette knew about Corentin was extremely limited. Though they fought in the war together, she never really talked to him. She knew he was a researcher, and according to Erador, a heavy drinker. Even still she could half recall the ice mage mentioning something about a new ability. Something about being on ice.

A spark of realization hit her, “AVLORA! GET HIM OFF THE-”

Hughette found herself unable to continue. Luckily, she could still move her eyes and she was able to see Quahang raising his staff, once again having stopped time. The queen was so annoyed by failure to get out the last word, and the four knives that struck her, that she almost missed something strange Maxwell had begun to do.

He was blinking. A lot.

Shifting her gaze, she could see that Avlora’s eyes were locked with Maxwell’s. What in Norzelia was going on with them?

When the spell finally wore off, Hughette was surprised she could still stand Flugie was a different story. He had been hit by the bulk of the daggers and was struggling to stay in the air.

On the bright side, Avlora seemed to understand what Hughette had been trying to say earlier. She raised her sword above her head, the ground in front, behind and the sides of her turned to a bloody shade of red in the shape of some sort of cross.

Corentin was knocked off the ice and thrust into Quahang, while Medina was knocked away from everyone else.

Maxwell wasted no time leaping into the air, ready to take advantage of how close together the Hysantians now were. Very dramatically he yelled, “ALL SHALL YIELD BEFORE MY SPEAR!” Before plunging into the center of the formation.

Corentin let out a grunt as he hit the ground, two of his companions also hit the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hughette spotted Medina back on her feet and rushing towards her allies. The queen stroked Flugie’s feathers and gave one last order, “Lend me your wings Flugie.”

With a little boost from her hawk (who began to fall almost immediately after) Hughette was able to jump decently high and gathered all her power into one last arrow. Carefully, she aimed and released.

It struck Medina in the back, she silently screamed and fell to her knees, barely able to stay awake without falling over. She was finished.

At this point Hughette realized a fatal error in her plan. She was now rapidly accelerating toward the ground. 

At least there’s no way Maxwell and Avlora can mess this up now…

Suddenly, she stopped.

Amidst her confusion, she opened her eyes to see Quahang’s staff slightly raised. Inches before the ground, he had stopped time around her.

Hughette longed to ask why, but like the last three times, she couldn’t open her mouth.

Avlora slashed her sword across Quahang’s back, he let out a hiss of pain before slumping to the ground, releasing Hughette from the spell.

She shakily stood up, a bit rattled, but not harmed from the fall. Maxwell was immediately at her side as the cheering erupted, her dear husband proudly declaring Glenbrook the winner.

Maxwell carefully supported her, “My Queen, are you alright? I’m a little surprised you’re still able to stand after a fall like that.”

How strange… Did he not see Quahang’s last spell?

Hughette nodded, “I’m quite alright.”

She looked around for Quahang. Healers were now on the field helping with the wounded, annoying the timespeaker was nowhere to be seen.

I suppose I’ll ask him later.

***

Symon sat on the ground, staring at the reflection in his blade.

He barely acknowledged his father’s presence as the older man sat down next to him.

“So, are you excited?”

Symon answered the question with a simple nod.

Serenoa put a hand on his son’s shoulder and gazed into his eyes, “Symon, I want you to know that whatever happens out there, I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard to get here and are braver than any ten year old I’ve ever met to attempt something like this.”

“But not seven year old,” the young man mumbled.

“Symon, don’t compare yourself to Dragan, or anyone for that matter. Comparing yourself to someone you deem as ‘better’ will only cause you pain. Just because someone is doing ‘better’ than you, doesn’t make your actions any less impressive. There’s only one Symon, and I couldn’t ask for a better heir.

The boy blinked hopefully at his father, before turning his gaze to the floor, “Thanks dad…”

Chapter Text

Symon tightened his grip on his blade. King Roland had already called for them to begin, but no one had moved an inch since. It felt more like an intense staring match than a fight.

Glancing over his shoulder, the young lord realized that Anna was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, wondering where she went.

He felt like an idiot a moment later when he remembered her ability to hide in the shadows. His train of thought was interrupted by an arrow barely grazing his cheek.

The Aesfrost soldiers had begun their attack.

***

“HRAH,” Dragan slammed his sword into the ground, knocking an unsuspecting Jerrom off balance.  The Rosellen man backed up, though he recovered quickly and thrust his spear. While Dragan was struggling to pull his sword out of the ground, Rudolph began open firing on Jerrom, forcing the latter to give up his offense and regroup with House Wolffort.

“Hey! Lord Wolfie!”

Serenoa and Dragon both turn to look at Al, who had called out. The girl grinned as she backflipped, bow out, “Check this out!”

While she was still above ground, she drew back the bow and fired a quick shot in the direction of Serenoa, before landing on her knees.

Due to the speed of the arrow, Serenoa couldn’t move out of the way in time. He let out a grunt of pain as it cut his arm. Dragan’s heart skipped a beat, he hoped it didn’t hurt too horribly.

Looking around, he counted eleven people in total, including himself.

Wait… Eleven?

He withdrew behind one of the traps Jens had set up, and counted more slowly, with the same result.

So who’s missing?

His train of thought was interpreted by a whisper in his ear, “Hey kid, the battlefield is no place for idle thoughts.”

Jumping he looked around wildly, disappointed, yet unsurprised to see no one. 

Dragan decided to drop the issue, he had more pressing matters to think about in the middle of a battle. 

Serenoa and Luka were having their own little sword fight in the center, drawing the full attention of the crowd. Jens was setting up traps in a way that looked well thought out and incredibly precise. He clearly had planned it. Al, who had switched to a sword, kept throwing back to back strikes at Benedict without letting up. That girl had some serious stamina. Even though her blows didn’t have much strength, Benedict was too occupied to deliver a counter or anything else. In short he was stuck until Al ran out of stamina, or he ran out of durability.

Rudolph was… Well Dragan wasn’t quite sure what Rudolph was doing. He was shooting at… a barrel?

Suddenly Dragan felt like an idiot.

Decimal, he hadn’t counted Decimal.

Two people were still missing though.

Deciding to move past the issue for real this time, he rushed over to where Erador was having some sort of shield showdown with Flanagan. Dragan Raised his blade above his head and brought it down on Erador’s back. It was enough of a distraction for Flanagan to land a solid hit on him. The hawk rider gave Dragan a grateful nod.

The young lord smiled brightly and turned his attention to Jerrom; the Rosellen seemed to be causing trouble for Jens. 

Dragan came to a stop by one of the traps and watched as Jerrom ran right up to it, and triggered it with his spear, using the momentum he got from it to launch himself to the next trap. 

While Jerrom was still midair, Dragan took a deep breath, set his blade on his shoulder, gave it a mighty swing, and let go.

The sword crashed into Jerrom’s side, he let out a yelp as he crashed to the ground in front of Jens’s trap. He attempted to scramble to his feet, trying to knock the sword out, but he fell back down. Sword unmoving. 

Dragan rushed to the man’s side and pulled the sword out, he checked his pulse, relieved that he was still breathing, Oh good, I shan’t have to add this to my list of crimes! …I think my humor is broken.

***

Bernadette wasn’t sure what she was expecting from Dragan, but it certainly wasn’t that!

She could only hope Jerrom would be alright.

Scanning the battlefield, she realized for the first time that Anna was nowhere to be seen.

She’s probably hiding in the shadows, maybe getting ready to help Benedict?

As if on cue, Anna appeared behind Al and struck her in the back. Al hissed under her breath and stumbled, leaving an opening for Benedict  to finally retaliate.

The Wolffort’s barely had time to celebrate.

***

Anna continued to face Al, eyes narrowed. She felt another presence, but it was more than that. There was a faint sound of footsteps behind her.

Whirling around she raised her dagger, just in time to see a sword hit her own steel. Even with her sharp eyes, she could barely make out a figure in front of her, “What’s going o-”

She broke off, clenching her teeth as she was struck in the back by Al. 

“Look out Anna!”

Symon slammed into Al and managed to push her away from Anna, the assassin gave him a nod, grateful to be focusing on only one thing at a time.

Anna pushed against the other’s blade, causing them to stumble. She used the moment to slash the person across what she assumed was the chest.

Her target rolled to the side, finally visible. She had short dirty blonde hair and a black scarf that was pulled securely over her mouth and nose. Clumsily she got to her feet, an amused look in her eyes.

“Hey Fred,” Al called, lazily fighting off Symon, “Up until the last part that was pretty good! Nice job not passing out this time!”

The other pulled the scarf down in order to talk more clearly, “Don’t you get sarcastic with me, it’s not like you could do better!”

“Don’t use my stupidity to make you feel better about yourself!”

Anna decided to ignore their… Unusual conversation, or argument (she wasn’t quite sure), and focus on the task at hand.

The girl, who was apparently named ‘Fred’, was back on her feet, drawing a second blade. Anna couldn’t help but notice how odd the blades looked. On the tip of one of them there was a string protruding from in, the string connected down to the bottom of the hilt. It looked like it could be pulled off easily. The other blade looked normal. Ish.

I’m losing brain cells just being in the same room as these two.

***

Bernadette wasn’t sure what to make of the absolute bloodbath unfolding before her eyes. Lord Serenoa’s duel with Luka had ended and they were both lying beaten and bloodied on the ground. Jerrom’s body was still lying there, Anna, Benedict, Al and Fred lay in a heap nearby. Rudolph, Flanagan and Dragan had finally managed to pierce through Erador’s defenses. They had little time to celebrate as Decimal finished Flanagan, Jens and Rudolph off with a spell. 

Dragan let out a vengeful screech as he leapt into the air and slammed his sword into the ground behind Decimal and finished it off with a mighty side slash to the back.

Suddenly, all that remained were Symon, Dragan and a silent crowd.

A showdown between siblings, what a conclusion.

***

Symon narrowed his eyes at his brother, he could feel himself shaking, adrenaline running too fast for him to feel pain.

He had come too far to give up now. He could win for his father. All that stood in the way was his brother.

Dragan wasted no time in rushing toward him, he leapt up to slam his sword into the ground as he had done twice already.

Symon was ready, managing to roll out of the way with ease.

He leapt back to his feet and swung his sword to the right. Dragan tilted his sword in order to block the strike.

They went on for a little while, exchanging blows. Symon waited for his younger brother to leave an opening, or make a mistake.

He was surprised when his brother shuffled back, causing him to stumble.

Dragan rested his blade on his shoulder, took a deep breath, gave his blade a mighty swing, and let go.

Panicking, Symon raised his blade to block the sword. The force of the Dragan’s sword knocking into his own, knocked the blade right out of his hands. The two swords landed some distance away, Symon lunged for his sword, falling to the ground as hands gripped his ankle and pulled him to the ground.

Dragan scrambled over his brother in an attempt to reach the swords first.

Oh no you don’t!

Symon shot up and tackled his brother back to the ground. Dragan grunted as he tried to crawl out of the older boy’s grip. Wrapping an arm around Dragan’s neck, Symon yanked him back into a chokehold.

The younger lord gasped for breath, he tucked his chin and clawed at his brother's arm. He managed to move it ever so slightly and twisted out of the hold, facing the other.

The boys continued grappling with each other, Symon set hands on Dragan’s shoulders and pushed him down. As he fell, Dragan locked his feet behind his brother's back and wrapped his arm around the other’s neck, pulling himself up and away from the ground.

Frustrated, Symon stood on his knees and tried to peel his younger brother’s arms off his neck. He managed to eventually shrug Dragan off, the boy hitting the ground with a thump.

They were facing away from the swords, Symon looked over his shoulder to where the blades were. He was confused to only see Dragan’s, the longsword was missing. Frowning, he stood up and turned to get a better look.

Dragan immediately jumped to his feet, Symon’s heart stopped.

If my sword’s not over here…. Then…

The sharp pain in his back halted his thoughts as he crumbled to the ground.

***

Dragan panted, dropping his brother’s sword as cheering erupted around him. Trimpant, he combed his fingers through his hair; at some point his hair tie must have fallen out.

Now that his adrenaline had died down, everything hurt. He was sweating like crazy and his vision was blurry. 

He attempted to take a step, regretting it instantly as he fell to his knees.

He could vaguely register his mother’s sweet voice in his ear as some carefully picked him up. Closing his eyes, he mustered a small smile as sleep claimed him.

Dragan blinked, staring blankly at the figure in front of him.

It was a man, he was thin and cloaked in black, with black hair that reached a little past his shoulders.

Dragan could make out something in his hand. It was a black sphere with a thin rope trailing off of it. The young lord could have sworn that he’d seen something like it before. 

“Hey! Mr. Vampire-looking-guy! What are you holding!”

No response.

Dragan frowned as he approached the man, “What’s wrong? Are you a stone vampire? I just want to know what that ball thingy is!”

Still no answer.

He picked up his pace, preparing to kick the man’s shin, “Helloooooooo? Mr. Vampire! Did someone drive a stake through your heart or wh-ack!”

His foot went through the man’s shin. 

Dragan stumbled back a few steps, “Uh… Sorry? I didn’t mean to phase through you…”

The man turned his head, an amused look on his face. Staring directly into Dragan’s eyes, he nodded.

The boy tilted his head as the man began to fade away, leaving Dragan alone in his confusion.

Chapter Text

Frani was squirming in his seat, sitting still for three hours was proving to be incredibly difficult. His father was about to announce the start of the next match, Aesfrost VS Glenbrook. Both parties had gotten a much needed rest and were now getting ready to fight.

The young prince shifted his attention to his sister, he contemplated forgiving her, but decided to wait for her to apologize first. It’s not like it was his fault after all.

He turned back to the arena, the fighters had begun to arrive now. Hughette, Maxwell, Avlora and the four weak links. Perhaps calling them that was a bit rude, didn’t change the fact that they did next to nothing last battle. 

On the other side all the Aesfrost soldiers pulled their weight in the last battle, though Dragan looked pretty out of it.

“And now, we have nearly reached the conclusion of the tourney,” announced Roland, stating the obvious (Frani supposed it was his job to state the obvious), “The Kingdom of Glenbrook VS the Duchy of Aesfrost! BEGIN!”

***

Dragan wasn’t quite sure why, but staying awake suddenly took a lot of effort. If Rudolph hadn’t been covering for him, he was pretty sure he would have been out at the start.

Around Dragan, Jens was setting up the same intricate trap thing did last time. Fred had disappeared, probably doing the same smoke thing she’d pulled off last time, Al, meanwhile, was simultaneously distracting four soldiers, all of which Dragan never bothered to learn the names of. 

Luka and Avlora were dueling, the former seemed to like one on one duels with powerful sword fighters. Just like in his battle with Serenoa, Luka was holding up well.

Flugie had been too injured to fly, so Hughette had been reduced to an infantry soldier. She was on her guard, cautiously moving around, possibly looking for Fred. Every once in a while she would shoot an arrow at Al to give her something extra to worry about. 

Flanagan’s hawk dive bombed down into the middle of the soldiers Al was distracting. Something caught Dragan’s eyes and he turned around just in time to block a strike from Maxwell.

Rudolph immediately began shooting at the older man, Maxwell dodged with ease, even in his old age he was incredibly agile. Dragan slammed his sword into the ground, Maxwell jumped to the side, past Dragan. The young lord turned, just in time to see Maxwell slice an arrow in half. Rudolph hopped backwards, drawing his bow to shoot; however, before he could  release, Maxwell crouched down, using his spear to sweep Rudolph’s feet out from under him.

The hunter grunted as he hit the ground, he slammed his arm against it.

Before Rudolph had the chance to stand up, Maxwell placed a foot on his chest and pointed his spear at the other’s throat. 

Dragan lifted his sword and threw it at Maxwell. The Dawnspear lifted his spear, turned and knocked the blade away; the force of the sword was enough to knock him off balance, though he recovered quickly.

Dragan grumbled as he dove after his sword, Rudolph was out.

Maxwell spun his spear, “One down, six to go.”

Before the young lord could reach his blade, he felt a sharp pain in his arm. Letting out a squeak, he fell to the ground. He lifted up his head and managed to turn it enough to look at his arm.

An arrow.

There was an arrow.

Straight through his arm, an arrow.

Dragan could hardly feel the pain; all he could feel was a silent pull telling him to sleep. Unable to cling to reality, he could feel his conscious slipping. In a last ditch effort to be somewhat useful, he pushed his sword to Avlorva’s foot in hopes that she would slip on it or something. 

She didn’t.

Dragan’s head fell onto the floor and he finally drifted off to sleep.

***

Bernadette nearly laughed when she heard Dragan’s snores, the kid literally fell asleep in the middle of a battlefield. He must have really been tired, Bernadette thought, she had never seen her mother’s arrows put someone to sleep before!

Frani was an absolute mess. He lay on the floor, nearly laughing his head off. One wouldn’t be able to guess he was the crown prince, then again, that was true most of the time. Bernadette was going to yell at him for it, but decided against it. She still felt bad for their interaction earlier that morning.

The princess' attention fell back on the fight. It was hard not to stare at the duel between Avlora and Luka. The latter especially was hard to look away from. He had an elegant way of fighting, weaving around the general’s strikes and countering with ease. It almost looked like some sort of dance! A bloody, violent dance. Even someone as strong as Avlora was struggling with his seemingly flawless style.

General Avlora took a few steps back and rested her blade on her shoulder, grip still tense. She was practically begging to be attacked. Bernadette frowned in confusion, What is she-

“AUNTIE AVLORA! YOU HAVE TO BLOCK HIM,” Frani’s screaming cut into her thoughts. She shot him an annoyed glance. 

Luka was undeterred by the strange act and got a good hit on Avlora’s chest. Before he could move away the full force of the general’s blade slammed down on his shoulder. He fell to a crouch, one hand resting on the ground in front of him, the other clutching his blade in a white-knuckled grip. Looking up, he grimaced, “How did you figure it out?”

“Observing your fight with Lord Wolffort,” she slashed once more, and Luka fell to the ground.

Bernadette was shocked, she figured the match would end in another tie. Somehow Avlora had figured something out that Serenoa and everyone else were ignorant to. The young princess concluded to ask her aunt afterward.

The events that followed were difficult to track.

Hughette, who was a distance behind Avlora, shot an arrow at her. Said arrow disappeared before hitting her, blood dripped onto the ground by her feet. But it wasn’t hers.

Avlora swung at whoever was standing there, the figure (Fred) crumpled to the ground, finally visible.

Hughette and Avlora exchanged a glance, a slight nod, and were off. 

Al and Flanagan had finished off the four soldiers they were fighting.

Bernadette frowned, Both sides are down four… We can still win this! She wondered when she became such an optimist. Perhaps Frani was finally rubbing off on her.

Back on the battlefield, Jens had set up one final trap and now stood between it and Avlora. He clutched his hammer tightly, some sort of blue mist was radiating around it. Al crouched low and knocked Hughette off balance with her foot before rushing to Avlora’s left. Flanagan hovered a couple feet off the ground behind the general. The three Aesfrosti soldiers were closing in, forcing her toward another one of the spring traps. 

Avlora was having none of it.

She held up her sword, which began glowing a bloody red. As she thrust it into the ground, energy in a cross-like shape shot out on all sides of the blade.

Al attempted to dodge to the side, however, her foot was caught and she crashed unceremoniously to the floor.

Flanagan had managed to avoid it completely by flying higher. His hawk turned suddenly and dove. It snagged Jens by the shoulders and dragged him upward, just before he set off his own trap. He had still been hit pretty hard by the strike, his weapon had fallen out of his hand.

Ser Maxwell leapt into the air, blue energy illuminating the tip of his spear, rapidly gaining power.

Satisfied, Avlora turned to where Al was back up, hobbling on one foot. The general slammed into the smaller girl, knocking her back down once more. Al managed to summon enough strength to stab her sword into the other woman’s side. Avlora gritted her teeth, she thrust her boot onto Al’s back, forcing her deeper into the dirt.

Avlora yanked Al’s arm upward and folded the elbow over her own thigh. She continued to push until she heard a satisfying snap. Al hissed through gritted teeth and slammed her good hand, in a fist, onto the ground.

“I… yield,” she rasped. Avlora stood up and turned around in time to see that Maxwell had finished gathering energy.

“ALL SHALL YIELD BEFORE MY SPEAR!”

Bernadette rolled her eyes, what was with Maxwell and screaming that everytime he did that technique?

When the cloud that obscured the scene had faded, Jens was lying motionless on the ground, he had been knocked out. Flanagan was less sturdy now, but more or less perfectly fine. 

On the Glenbrook side of things, Hughette and Avlora looked like they were barely standing. Ser Maxwell looked untouched. 

Shakily, Flanagan lifted into the air once more, sloppily dodging the arrow Hughette shot at him. As if out of vengeance, his hawk dove straight down next to her, knocking the queen to the ground.

Bernadette clutched the railing in a white-knuckled grip, Come on mother… Stand back up! You can do it!

Frani practically voiced her thoughts, “MAMA! GET UP! I KNOW YOU CAN, YOU HAVE TO!”

Minister Lyla rubbed her ears, Bernadette couldn’t help but feel bad for her. She clearly was not used to loud children like Frani.

Hughette didn’t get up. She gave it a good effort, but ultimately she was too exhausted.

Spying her chance, Avlora summoned all her strength and swung her sword into Flanagan’s exposed back. He grunted in pain, nearly tumbling off his hawk, but ultimately he hung on.

Avlora was not so lucky.

As she collapsed, Flanagan lifted into the air once more. Maxwell jumped upward, grabbing on to the hawk’s talons. He swung himself onto the bird, using the momentum to push Flanagan off. The hawk rider crashed onto the floor. Maxwell threw his spear downward, dealing the final blow. He leapt off the hawk, and rolled into a standing position as the cheering erupted.

Maxwell pulled out his spear. He took off his hat, resting it against his chest as he bowed.

Bernadette released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she sat back into her chair.

Her father ruffled her hair, “You got a little worried to the end, huh?”

“Maybe just a little…”

Frani puffed out his chest, “I wasn’t worried, not even for one second!”

Bernadette rolled her eyes, “Right. Whatever you say.”

Roland chuckled as he messed up Frani’s hair, “Let’s try to get along now.”\

He then walked forward, overlooking the crowd, “That concludes the tourney! I declare Glenbrook the winners!”

***

Colter stared up at the ceiling, he was hoping that Orlaea would stay quiet for once.

The girl in question leaned over into his view, “So. What do you want for supper?”

Rats. No such luck today. He rolled over, turning away from her, “You to go away.”

“I meant to eat!”

“I already ate today.”

“You have to eat more than once!”

“Says who?”

“ME!”

“Well, you’re not the boss of me, so shove off.”

Orlaea folded her arms, annoyed, “UGH! I wish Jerrom was here! WHY IS HE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED HIM!”

“I wish he was back as well,” Colter mumbled into his pillow.

“You do? I am going to tell him you said that!”

He sat up, “No you won’t.”

“Why is that?”

He stared her dead in the eyes, with an incredibly serious expression, “Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”

Orlaea stumbled backward, eyes wide.

“Kidding,” he lay back down on the bed.

Orlaea slowly lowered herself to the ground, “Jerrom couldn’t return soon enough…”

Chapter Text

Symon dragged his feet across the floor of the Wolffort Castle. As he neared his father’s door, he heard shouting from Erador, though he couldn’t quite make out what. Against his better judgment, the young lord stepped closer, listening in.

Annoyance seeped into Benedict’s tone as he responded, “You have made your point but it does not change anything.”

Symon heard his father let out an exhausted sigh, “I understand what you are saying Erador. I do not think he would take it out on his brother, but it can’t hurt to be careful.”

Symon frowned, What are they talking about? Stepping back from the door, he realized something, he hadn’t seen Dragan since the fight. Not that he was in the mood to see him. He shook his head and tiptoed away.

His hand was hovering over the door handle to his room when his father’s words sunk in. 

“I do not think he would take it out on his brother , but it can’t hurt to be careful.”

Me… He was talking about me wasn’t he, but- I wouldn’t hurt my brother… Much… ARGH! That’s the problem, isn’t it. Not even I know…

The young lord let out a hefty sigh and threw the door open. He drew his sword, looking at his reflection in the blade.

I don’t deserve Father’s blade.

He let it fall unceremoniously onto the floor, wincing as it hit the ground. Flinging himself onto his bed, he buried his face deep into the pillow releasing tears he didn’t know he was holding back.

For a while he stayed like that. Tired sobs muffled by his pillow, it was a nice pillow, he doubted he deserved something like that. Suddenly, he jerked into a sitting position.

“Stop it,” he softly commanded, “This isn’t helping anything. I… I need to fix this. I can-”

“Symon?” he was interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

He recognized the sound of his father’s voice, choosing to remain silent. Serenoa let out a sigh, “If you’re still awake, we’re going to talk in the morning. Get some sleep… I love you.”

The young lord released his breath as his father’s footsteps faded. Peering over the edge of his bed, his eyes fell on the longsword. He bit his lip.

This is such a bad idea.

He hopped off the bed and picked up the blade, sheathing it. 

Don’t do it.

Symon turned to face the window.

There will be no coming back!

He was pretty sure the voice in his head didn’t belong to him. Stepping closer to the window, he expected another protest. 

Yet none came.

Upon reaching the window, he opened it slowly, so as to make little sound. Symon focused on the tree to the side of the window. It would be quite the jump, probably loud, but manageable. 

Symon climbed onto the windowsill, holding the frame in a white knuckled grip.

He let out a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, let go… and jumped.

One of his boots struck wood. Relieved, he opened his eyes, eyes widening to see the foot stuck. As he fell, he barely held back a yelp, eventually ending hanging upside down. Symon covered his mouth in an attempt to muffle his heavy breathing. At the very least, he was much closer to the ground now. He grunted, straining as he reached up, barely able to grab the branch.

Pressing his other foot against the branch, he tried to pull his foot out. His efforts yielded no results. Symon grumbled in annoyance as he let go, Great. How am I going to explain this one?

Suddenly, he felt his foot start to slip out of his boot. Symon froze as he looked up at it.

No, no, don’t you da-

His thoughts were interrupted as it completely fell out. The young lord crossed his arms in front of his head, hoping to protect his head from the impact.

CRASH! In the end, he was lying on his stomach, arms hurting like hell. As Symon struggled to his feet, he heard footsteps approaching. Without giving himself a second to think, he bolted from the scene. 

Vaguely, he recognized the voices of the Wolffort people; he'd been hearing those voices since the day he was born. They often spoke in mocking tones, gossiping about one thing or another. Symon imagined they had begun to talk about him now.

The young lord continued running. He ran without ever once looking back.

***

Dragan kicked the banister surrounding the ship, grumbling as he looked into the water.

Nearby Al snorted, “Geez kid, what did it ever do to you?”

“Existed.”

Fred, who had been playing cards with Al, grinned, “Is it being a temperamental pile of cards?”

“...What? That was too big a word.”

Al laughed and dropped her cards on Fred’s head, “YOU’RE a temperamental pile of cards!”

“Your FACE is a temperamental pile of cards!

“UR LIFE IS A TEMPERMENTAL PILE OF CARDS!”

“UR EXISTENCE IS A TEMPERAMENTAL PILE OF CARDS!”

“UR MOM IS A TEMPERAMENTAL PILE OF CARDS!”

“WHY ARE WE YELLING,” Dragan screeched!

“Oh good, you’re not sad anymore!”

“No. See how sulky I am?” he sat down and crossed his arms, pouting.

Fred reached over and patted the young lord on the head, “You’re cute.”

Dragan hissed and swatted her hand away, “Am not!”

“Sure sure.”

Luka, who had been leaning against the railing, rolled his eyes.

Al rested her arm on his head, “Don’t worry shortie, you’re cute too.”

“Shut up.”

Dragan held back a giggle and glanced into the distance between the railing, “Why am I already going back to Aesfrost?”

Al shrugged, “Because you love us?”

“Oh no, that’s definitely not it.”

“Harsh.”

“...Are we there yet?”

“That’s a good question,” Al turned to Luka, “Are we THERE yet?”

He stared at her blankly and walked away.

“Jerk.”

Fred squinted, “I SEE IT!”

“What is it?”

“Ur face.”

“That’s crazy.”

Dragan covered his ears and stormed over to the cabin, “I can’t deal with you two!” He walked in and slammed the door shut.

Svarog was startled out of his book, “Dragan? What’s wrong.”

The boy huffed as he slumped on the floor, lying on his back, “Why am I going back to Aesfrost already. I’ve barely been home for two days!”

The older man closed his book and set it on the armrest, “In a few years Aesfrost will be your home.”

“... I try to forget.”

“Oh,” he seemed to be looking at nothing, “Why is that?”

“I barely know anything about Aesfrost, how am I supposed to be the Archduke?”

“I’ll teach you, it’s actually pretty easy. Kind of.”

“I guess…” he wanted to say more, but couldn’t seem to find the words.

Even so, despite what his head was trying to tell him, his heart just couldn’t agree.

***

“I’M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!” Jerrom announced as he shoved the door open.

Almost immediately Orlaea threw her arms around his neck and tackled him to the ground, “FINALLY! Don’t you ever leave me with him again!”

Jerrom grunted as he hit the ground. He smirked as he patted her on the back, “As I recall, you voluntarily volunteered to stay behind with him.” Shauna snorted at that.

“Voluntarily volunteered? Who says things like that?”

“Me. I assure you, it’s a completely valid sentence.”

Orlaea rolled her eyes, “Whatever. Stop pretending you know everything.”

“Hm… Nah,” he scooped her up and hopped to his feet.

The young lady let out a gasp and slapped him in the face, “Stop it! PUT ME DOWN!”

“Right away your majesty, ” his voice was mocking as he dropped her unceremoniously on the floor.

Orlaea squeaked as she hit the ground. Shauna elbowed Jerrom in the stomach, “You’re such a jerk!”

“A handsome jerk!”

She rolled her eyes and kissed him softly on the cheek, “Yes. A handsome jerk.”

“Ha ha, validation!”

Orlaea stood up and brushed herself off, “I can’t seem to remember why I wanted you back… Please go away.”

“Not a chance. This is my house-”

“Our house,” Shauna interrupted.

“What she said.”

Colter blinked, he had just walked out, “What did I just walk in on?”

Jerrom patted him on the head, “Technically you walked out on it.”

“Shut it, wise guy.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughed as Colter swatted his hand away, “How are you feeling kiddo? Any better?”

The white haired boy shrugged as he picked at the bandages covering his arms, “Sure. If it makes you happy.”

“Aww… You care about my feelings!”

“Watching old men cry is not a favorite hobby of mine.”

“OLD?!! I’m only fortyish!”

“Yeah, so old enough to be my grandpa. You're going to drop dead any day now… I look forward to it”

“...I think you should get back to bed,” without warning Jerrom manhandled Colter into a princess carry.

Colter hissed like a feral animal as he hit Jerrom in the jaw with his elbow. The older man laughed and looked over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in a few, later ladies~”

Shauna sighed, shaking her head, “Oh Jerrom…”

Orlaea folded her arms, “He deserved it.”

***

Frani gazed longingly out the hall’s window. His feet rested on the sill and his arms were wrapped around his legs. Usually he did this when someone was talking to him and he wanted to drown them out. Something ran by, almost too quickly. He figured he’d be able to see them if he leaned out the window.

He thrust the window open and leaned out, turning his head, he saw the figure running. Frani squinted, Who is that?

The young prince had begun to lean out further. Suddenly an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back.

Instinctively he let out a gasp and began clawing at the arm, “Let me go!”

“Woah, calm down little prince,” it was Avlora.

He relaxed, “Oh, Auntie Avlora.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you, but you were leaning so far out it looked like you might fall.”

“Oh, oops. I saw someone run by. Just wanted to get a better look at them.”

The general frowned, “Did they now? Hm… I’ll have to look into that.”

They were silent for a while before she continued, “How’s my favorite nephew doing?”

“I’m your only nephew! …Probably.”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

Frani let out a sigh, “Why are you so observant…”

“If I wasn’t I would have died a long time ago. Count yourself lucky that you haven’t felt the horrors of the world.”

“But I… I wish I did!”

“...What?” Avlora was practically glaring at him, “You wish you grew up poor and suffering? You wish you were constantly starving? Witnessing death? Fighting to survive?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Frani,” she let out a sigh, “The problem with you is that you focus on what you don’t have. You need to start thinking about what you do have.”

When the young prince didn’t respond, she continued, “Take it from someone who did live like that. Losing your sister, mother and father isn’t worth having potential backstabbing friends. Think about that next time you sneak out.”

Frani was staring at his feet, barely noticing as Avlora walked away.

He knew she was right. He supposed he should take her words to heart. Yet he still couldn’t agree.

Chapter Text

Orlaea cautiously walked by the shoreline. She was in an unfamiliar place, and she knew not how she even got there. 

Another dream, she realized. Though it was strange she was having a dream of a place she’d never seen.

She heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. As she turned, she was met with a strange, yet familiar, face.

A rosellen woman. Features scarily similar to her mother. Orlaea had know doubt this was the same woman from the last dream.

“You again. Who are you? What do you want? What is this place?”

Orlaea wasn’t surprised by the woman’s silence. As far as she knew, she was a mute.

Eventually the woman pointed off towards a forest. Orlaea’s gaze followed, heart nearly stopping.

Roselle.

Everywhere. Climbing trees, playing games and simply chatting, there was even a village in the distance!

Orlaea turned her gaze back toward the woman, “So? This is either the distant past or far-off future. Probably just a figment of my imagination. Like you.”

The woman let out a frustrated sigh, the most emotion she’d shown so far, and pointed again.

Annoyed, Orlaea rolled her eyes and once more turned her gaze.

The scene had changed.

Many of the once big beautiful trees had become stumps. She could see more of the village, it looked strange, though that might just be because she couldn’t see it all that well. There were significantly less people, not a trace of pink among them. One person in particular stood out.

Orlaea gasped. The person in question had tanned skin alongside his fluffy white hair. Not to mention those distinct red eyes and sharp teeth.

“Colter? But what does this mean? Other than that I have seen too much of him lately,” she attempted to tap the woman’s shoulder, hand phasing right through, “Right. Any chance you can turn that off?”

The woman gritted her teeth, her face a mixture of disappointment and frustration as she faded out of view.

***

Orlaea blinked herself awake, Stupid dream. Why must everything be so cryptic?

Unwilling to move, she sat in bed, focusing on the ceiling.

She got bored quickly.

Unwilling to fall back asleep, she climbed out of bed and changed into her regular clothes. The Rosellen girl observed her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied she made her way into the hall. 

She ran her hand along the stone cold wall. Orlaea couldn’t quite place it, but something felt very off.

Probably with Colter. Things are always off with him.

When she reached the base of the stairs, she noticed Benedict and Decimal sitting at the chess set, playing in the dark.

Benedict moved a piece (the pawn, Orlaea recalled), “This time, I shall win.”

Decimal put his hands on his sides, speaking in a proud manner, “That’s what you said last time!”

“This time for sure.”

Orlaea rolled her eyes, “Good luck trying to outsmart Decimal. It ranted to me about this game for hours .”

“Sooner or later, it will mess up.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that,” she turned and continued to the door.

Benedict, without looking up, asked, “And where are you going?”

“To the village.”

“This late at night?”

Decimal turned to look out the window, “Actually, I believe it is morning.”

“...What,” Benedict glanced out the window, “How long have we been at this?”

“10 hours and 22- no 23 minutes.”

“How many games have we played?”

“122. I won all of them.”

Benedict rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

Orlaea snickered, “And after all that crap you father for skipping sleep.”

Decimal made a strange laughing sound.

Benedict let out a sigh. Orlaea took the opportunity to rush over to the door.

“Who said you could leave, young lady,” it was a statement, not a question.

“Me,” she responded.

“You take after your mother’s side of the family way too much…”

“I do not care. I like my mother.”

“I wasn’t comparing you to her.”

“Whatever. Anyone related to my mother must be amazing as well.”

“Right. Believe what you want.”

“I think I will.”

“... You still have to stay.”

“That’s what you think!” she threw the door open.

 Decimal blankly watched her leave, “Should we go after her.”

Benedict returned his attention to the chess game, “No. Anna will take care of it.”

Orlaea rushed over to the carriage, opening the door to time in. She nearly fell over as her eyes met Anna’s.

“Gah! Anna! What are you doing here?!”

“Being ominous.”

“That’s… Nice. So, are you coming with me to the village?”

“Apparently. I’ll be escorting your mother home. And driving.”

“You know how to drive a carriage?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“Why does that make me nervous?”

“It shouldn’t,” Anna stepped out of the carriage and mounted onto the driver’s seat.

“But it does…” Orlaea mumbled to herself, closing the door and gripping the edge of her seat, “I’m not ready to die…”

***

“BOO!”

Colter immediately jolted upright, head colliding with Jerrom’s, the man had been leaning over him.

The white-haired boy growled, “The hell was that for?!”

Jerrom recoiled, “Ouch. That was not my finest idea.”

“You think?!”

“Yes, occasionally I do think.”

Colter bared his fangs.

“Your silence speaks volumes. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Too bad!”

Colter threw his pillow at Jerrom’s face, right as Shauna entered the room. The rosellen woman blinked, before glaring at Jerrom, “Really. I thought we talked about this.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “I… forgot?”

“...You’re lucky I love you.”

Colter covered his eyes in disgust as the couple kissed. 

The awkward silence was broken by incessant pounding on the door.

“I will get it!” Jerrom called as he left the room.

The other two were plunged into yet another awkward silence.

“So… Uh, how are you doing?” Shauna asked.

“Good enough.”

Before the conversation could lift off the ground, it was interrupted.

Orlaea charged past Shauna, “Colter! Where did you grow up!”

“Like I’d tell the likes of you.”

The young lady was unfettered, “Was it an island? Surrounded by a salty sea?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, “W-what? That’s oddly specific. And none of your business.”

“So I’m right?”

“Believe what you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Orlaea let out a frustrated sigh, “Why are you like this…”

He, predictably, didn’t respond.

Jerrom cleared his throat, “So, Orlaea, you didn’t even say hi to your mother!”

“Oh,” Orlaea scratched the back of her neck, “I guess I got ahead of myself.”

“You think?” The rosellen man pulled her to her feet and rushed her out the door, “Now go talk to her!”

Colter smirked, This place is incredibly entertaining.

He narrowed his eyes,  But she knows things she shouldn’t. I can’t stay here…

***

Frani stared longingly out the window. How long had it been? He couldn’t be sure, but it was brighter than before. Daybreak had arrived.

The night had been restless, depriving him of even a wink of sleep.

Regardless, he rose to his feet and headed off towards the door. An hour or so a go he’d prepared for the day, but didn’t quite commit to actually starting it.

Frani stalked down the hall. Despite his attempts to be quiet, he was well aware that he wasn’t. 

A door swung open, Avlora stepping out, arms crossed.

“Oh. Hey auntie.”

“Sneaking out? Really? After our discussion?”

The young prince huffed, “If I was trying to be sneaky, I would have gone out the window. But yes. I’m going out.”

Avlora let out a sigh, “ Well, if I can’t talk you out of it, I guess I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Then stay here. You’ll never get past me.”

Grumbling, Frani accepted his fate, “Fine! But don’t interfere.”

“Sure sure.” The two began walking down the stairs, “So, where are we headed?”

“Castle Wolffort. I want to finish my duel with Symon.”

“So you don’t might seeing Orlaea?”

He faltered, “W-well…she’ll probably be at the Rosellen village or something.”

“You’ll have to make up with her eventually.”

“That sounds like a problem for future me!”

As they exited the castle, Avlora handed one of the knights a note, “Give this to the king when he wakes up.” She turned to Frani and threw a cloak over his shoulders.

“Where did this come from?”

“You don’t always carry a cloak with you?”

“...No?”

“Huh. Cordelia thought the same. Must be a Glenbrook thing.”

“Right. Why do I need this?”

“To avoid getting recognized.”

“Okay…” He frowned, “We’re going the wrong way.”

“Whatever do you mean? The gate is this way.”

“Yeah, but the stables are over there!”

“Why do you want to go to the stables?”

“To get my griffin! I can’t leave Storm, how else shall we get there?”

“There is this cool thing, you’ve probably never heard of it, called ‘walking.’ Crazy, right?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, I know what walking is! But it’s just… So FAR!”

“Great. Walking builds character.”

Frani grumbled, rushing to catch up with Avlora who was already at the gate. Unexpectedly, it was open. One lone messenger was approaching on horseback.

One of the Kingsguard turned to Avlora, “General! Perfect timing, we were about to send word to the crown.”

She nodded, “Yes… He looks like a Wolffort soldier.”

“That’s what we were thinking as well. It’s quite worrying, Lord Wolffort only sends messengers when it’s urgent.”

She silently agreed, placing a hand on her nephew’s shoulder, hoping to keep him out of trouble. When the messenger arrived, he slowed to a stop and handed Avlora a note. She muttered a thanks as she rolled it open, the Wolffort soldier didn’t stick around.

Avlora held the message in front of herself and the Kingsguard member. Frani stood on his tiptoes, attempting to read it himself. Avlora suddenly rolled up the paper, grimacing as she looked down at Frani.”

“We might have to wait before we go visit Symon.”

“Why?”

“He is missing.”

Frani’s heart stopped, replaced with a horrible feeling of dread.