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Chapter Text

Three young girls took each other's hands and formed a circle, in a delicate flutter of soft-colored dresses and loose white ribbons tied around their tiny wrists and ankles; all barefoot, on the fresh green grass, they had found refuge under the shade of Baron’s city walls on that hot summer day to play in peace, while the whole town buzzed with excitement. That night the celebrations for the Midsummer feasts would have started; some associated the occasion with the rebirth of the goddess of love, others found it the perfect moment to worship the light of their Crystal – aspects such as those could hardly bother girls of barely nine summers like them. All they knew was that those were special days and that they had to make the most of those longer afternoons.

The circle began quickly spinning in a swirl of fabrics and laughter. One of the girls, a frail little child with black, messy hair, lost her footing for a moment and almost caused the whole carousel to collapse onto itself. At that sight, another girl, who had been sitting by a lone hawthorn tree close by, jumped up and let go of the scented flowers in her hands. "Careful!" she shouted, brushing some dirt from her white tunic, before exhaling as loudly as she could, glaring at the children. The old chocobo nervously snapped his beak at her voice, so she gently patted his back while still glaring at the girls.

"Relax, Melly!" A component of the circle suggested, in-between a chuckle and a ragged breath, a girl with a long braid in an orange skirt, "Or you’ll get wrinkles soon, and no rich man will want to marry you!"

"Oh shush, you!" replied she with another sigh before setting down again; the chocobo followed her and sat by her side, cooing happily at some butterflies flying above him. "Break your foot and your parents will send you to Mysidia to study all day. Don’t come crying to me when it happens."

In the middle of the circle stood a girl with white flowers and some chocobo feathers in her blonde hair, so long they reached her lower back. She crouched, hands planted firmly on the ground, a mischievous smirk on her rosy lips. The companions then, began singing:

"Cry not, my sad nightingale, // Follow on the silv’ry trail; //
Twin moons play in the skies, // Sing for them till sunrise! //
And once your song’s done // And skylarks shall pray the sun, //
Find the fairest maiden ever been, // Kiss her nose and she’ll be–"

"Queen!" The girl in the center jumped as high as her short legs could allow her, opening her arms and finishing the silly rhymes. At that, the girls spinning around her broke the circle and laughed, some clapped their hands, already deciding who would have played the part of the queen now.

The blonde girl brushed her dress clean and began playing with a particularly long yellow feather falling right on her forehead. The girl named Melly eyed her with furrowed brows. Feeling her stare fixed on her, the blonde girl pranced towards her with a big smile; "Why aren’t you playing with us today, Melliene? Something hurts?"

"No," she said softly, looking down and ripping some blades of grass. "I’m fine. I just don’t like it anymore, Cecilia. I’m almost of age, you know? My mother said so this morning, and ordered me a dress with puffy sleeves and new slippers."

Cecilia hesitated only for a brief moment.

"But you played with us yesterday, and even the day before that–"

Yet Melliene wasn’t looking at her anymore, her vacant gaze was pointing towards the walls of stone surrounding their town. 

The noises coming from beyond said walls were getting louder and the children had noticed an increasing number of carts, carriages, and travelers entering and exiting the city proper, some with or on their montures, others with bags filled to the brim with wares to sell; even hunters had worked hard to assure no citizen or guest would have gone hungry at the many feasts.

Baron wouldn’t have closed the doors to its town on those special nights - and while soldiers would have still made sure no monsters could interrupt the celebrations or get close, no one at all seemed concerned or preoccupied by the possibility of ambushes. Not children, and not even young knight apprentices, who’d have normally craved a chance to prove to their superiors that they'd become good future knights, brave and true in the face of danger. Some of them were some meters away from the playing girls, leaning against the walls and relaxing under their shade. Cecilia followed Melliene’s gaze and found them, noticing one young man with long, fair hair was staring back at her. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Melliene had celebrated her thirteenth nameday just a few weeks prior, but had never before shown or hinted at some interests for someone among the boy’s ranks. Only after a long while did Melliene avert her gaze from his, not before offering him a brief smile. 

With not enough girls to sing the same nursery rhymes around their ‘Queen’ again, the children had started to chase each other and jump on the flowery meadow. Cecilia took the other person’s silence as an invitation to desist.

- ☽ -

"I would not worry much about your dear Melliene." her father reassured her once she was home. "Her family would not allow her such a thing, not so soon anyway."

Cecilia looked outside her window with sad eyes, betraying her insecurity by abandoning her usual bright attitude. The celebrations were about to start, but her eagerness to be part of them had faded away with each step she had taken towards home.

Each of her companions had rushed home too, dressing up and scrubbing away at the sweat and dirt for the occasion; Melliene too had disappeared in the crowds in the main square, her family chocobo Koobi reins tightly tied under her forearm. Not many households could afford keeping a bird, or horse for that matter, but her father was an esteemed merchant, and her mother a nurse.

"You had to see how she was staring at that guy!" She couldn’t stand the thought. Melliene was just four years older than her – the story seemed absurd.

Her father couldn’t help but chuckle at his child’s apparent outrageousness. Too young to yet understand. He coughed lightly after he noticed her serious gaze and swiftly took her empty dinner plate from under her nose before she got any funny ideas. 

She continued with a scoff, "Will she stop coming to our schoolhouse too? She was the oldest, so she knew how to read better than all of us… So the teacher always offered her a tart. That means she’ll start working? Will we be getting her share of tarts then?"

That trail of thought of hers was interrupted by a loud blast. A cannon had fired, signaling that the feast in the square had just begun. Her eyes widened, Melliene reaching adulthood - or something like that - now just a distant thought. She had no new dress to wear or garments for the celebratory parade, aside from a bunch of ribbons and a cute lace pair of cuffs she had stolen from a playmate a couple of days ago when she fell on the paved stoneway and scraped her knees. They probably belonged to her mother or older sister, and were meant to be part of a more harmonious ensemble, but she didn’t care. 

"How do I look, father?" she jumped out of her seat and spun around twice before the man. "And my hair? Do I still have leaves in it? Or my nose–"

"Proper as a little sylph, have fun–" Another fit of coughing interrupted his words, but he regained his happiness as soon as he could, swallowing down the rest; "-- Tonight. Do not leave the square and if you lose your way, ask a guard to accompany you home."

Cecilia kissed his forehead on her tiptoes and then ran outside their humble house.

- ☽ -

The cheers and sounds of drums resounded around her louder than the cannon had just a few minutes prior. To that, the hooves of parading horses accompanied that pleasant commotion, following a pleasant rhythm. In the multitude of Baronians and foreigners, Cecilia felt almost oppressed and suffocating, and only found a moment of respite when she reached the square and its fountain, where perched on the stone like hunting hawks were children around her age, both boys and girls in simple clothes - all occupying that vantage point for a clearer view. Just a few meters behind the majestic fountain - which depicted the emblem of Baron, two rampant griffins looming over a crowned sword - a high stage covered in red velvet had been erected, with a white canopy of veils on top of it. Empty, for now, except for a couple of Kingsguard standing watch. Cecilia knew the royal family would have soon appeared there, to welcome the parade and to bless the night.

She could only find a free spot by one of the griffin’s wings, and she precariously grappled at its stone feathers and looked at the main road. Just as she did settle as comfortably as she could, the crowds clapped at the arrival of the first heralds on horses, all proudly displaying flags and emblems of their noble families and of Baron both; still, the loudest cheers arrived when the first Dragoons were spotted.

"There!" a loud boy perched alongside her screamed like his life depended on it. When he pointed his finger at them, he almost lost his balance.

They were the stars of the parade. The feast couldn’t have begun without the long-anticipated arrival of the Dragoon troops. Clad in scary-looking armor resembling dragon scales and helmets shaped like their spiky heads, they followed their captain with stern eyes and puffed chests on foot; only their captain paraded on a war horse as black as the night.

The troop was not numerous, as per tradition, the Dragoons were all sons of influential and noble Baronian families who trained since childhood to achieve their flexibility and agility, not to mention the mastery of their lance and high jumps. The parading Dragoons couldn’t have been more than thirty, all young and well-trained men. Behind them, their apprentices followed them, not yet donned in scaly mail and lacking dragon-like helmets.

Cecilia recognized one of them, the blonde boy who had been staring at Melly that afternoon. A spontaneous smile bloomed on her lips; an apprentice now, he would have someday graduated as a full-fledged Dragoon - meaning he was of noble birth. And Melliene could have never married him, being a simple merchant’s daughter. A burden was lifted off her previously grieving heart at the realization, and she allowed herself to clap at the sight - or try to, at least without risking a dive in the still fountain waters. 

As the heralds, the captain and his men, and their few young apprentices halted their solemn triumphant march right before the yet empty velvety stage, everyone’s attention focused on a cart following suit; it was a magnificent piece of work, big as a Behemoth and pulled by four black feathered chocobos - bought and imported from Troia, no doubts. Such an exotic breed was rare to spot in their nearby forests, and the birds were almost twice as big as a plain chocobo. The cart made its way through the main street towards the fountain; from their perspective, the young children perched on the griffins could see its content better than the crowds of adults cheering on the sides of the road ever would: on silks and brightly colored and damask pillows, there were five big round spheres, white as snow and heavy-looking.

Once the procession ended and a guard told the children to climb off the monument, trumpets blared loudly, and the crowds fell silent around her. Cecilia observed with curiosity the stage, now populated by various figures – mostly women in beautiful, lavish dresses. Among them, she recognized the faces of their present monarchs, the old king and his queen consort, as well as their son, a teen with curly brown hair and pouty lips, dressed in a deep-blue cape and with a silver ring around his forehead. The crown prince of Baron.

Right as the King of Baron took a precarious step forward and began speaking to the waiting Dragoons and the public, Cecilia felt someone pulling at the strings around her waist. When she turned around, she believed she would find a young rascal teasing her just for the fun of it, but she was wrong - for the hand pulling at the string was a pale, delicate one. She spotted a familiar face smiling at her. 

"Found you! Wanna come with us and touch the eggs?" The child thrilled in pure excitement with a whisper.

Cecilia’s eyes beamed with happiness and she nodded so vigorously that she also felt something snapping at her nape. She didn’t care, though. The girls took each other's hands and began slithering through the legs and gowns of standing adults.

As tradition commanded, the wyvern eggs the Dragoons had collected would have soon been assigned to the future Dragoon, hatching only when the creature would have deemed its future owner ready to tend to him - and one day ride on its back. It happened each year, with the heart of that celebration being the glorious sight of the unborn dragons who would have soon been born in Baron.
That very night, they would have been assigned to the apprentices and constantly kept warm, safe in their keeps and houses - no other Baronian, except them, would have seen those shells ever again, not even the king himself, and the hatchlings would have been raised in secret locations till the beasts reached adulthood and could be seen flying over Baron from time to time; on their special arrival in town, children and young maidens were customarily led and lifted onto the cart to caress or touch the warm eggs, as legends said it’d have brought them good luck, love or prosperity. Cecilia had touched a wyvern egg for the first time only two years before; that would have been her third time.

While the King of Baron approached the end of his speech, a crowd of noisy children and girls with their mothers and friends were already surrounding the cart. The girl holding Cecilia by her hand, Serah, jumped with excitement. Of noble origins, she had touched the dragon eggs every single year since she was born, more or less. A privilege, albeit only symbolically. 

With a loud cheer, the speech had ended, and the Dragoons hit the paved stone of the square with their spears. A horse moved and neighed loudly. Three of those Dragoon apprentices, all wrapped in a candid summer cape, jumped carefully on the cart and began lifting one by one the different children onto it, allowing them a brief touch at the precious eggs. Chaos followed soon as young boys fought over who deserved first access, much to their mothers’ dismay and confusion; noble girls around instead swooned like doves at the attention the apprentices gave them - all of noble lineage too, when lifting them and their heavy ceremonial dresses over the lavishly decorated cloths and cushions where the eggs were placed. 

Serah, the only daughter of a Kingsguard member and lord, waved her hand when she spotted his father approaching and then smiled at the kind-looking blonde apprentice, lifting her gently by her underarms. She knelt down and poked delicately at all the eggs. "Thank you, good sir. May Bahamut’s children bless you soon!" she said as per usual when that same boy helped her down the cart.

The young boy smiled back at her and bowed his head briefly. "His will be done, as much as mine. That from your touch a dragoness shall be born as my prize, one most strong and fair." 

It was Cecilia’s turn now. The pair of arms lifting her weren’t the kind boy’s. Once on top of the cart, she found a nice spot among two pillows where to sit down and waited for the rest of her group to be over with it; only then she finally caressed one egg, its shell warm and rough to the touch – pulsing with dormant life. The sensation was indescribable. She knew she was touching a legend about to be born. 

It lasted way too short of a time and before she could properly savor the moment, Cecilia was taken off the cart onto the crowded street, by Serah’s side.

Music was already animating the many bars and taverns, each alley swarming with happy crowds and bonfires were lit at strategic corners as food was being served by kind women and red-cheeked innkeepers. The royal family stood still on the stage, talking and greeting a lady here and a knight there. The crown prince stood, pouty as always, in silence by his father’s side, yet with his gaze pointing at the cart’s direction.

"He’s too old for that," Serah said when she noticed where Cecilia’s gaze was pointing. "He’s no special in that sense."

"And he’s a boy!" Cecilia added with a little laugh, as if adding another good reason he couldn’t have come closer to them and the eggs.

"Yes, he is a boy." Serah reiterated with a note of exaggerated disgust. "My lord father heard he has gotten private preceptors though, so it won’t be long before His Majesty teaches him how to sit on the throne and he becomes our next king."

"Why? Do kings need to learn how to sit on thrones?"

"Maybe."

"I think they should learn better things, like how to use knives without grating at their plates."

"I can do that already!" Serah flipped her golden hair with a proud tilt of her chin. 

They had become friends a couple of years before, at school. Serah had started her education there, when her father was still a mere common soldier. His recent promotion for merits in war had brought immense prestige to his name and family, as well as to his wife and daughter; Serah had left the public schoolhouse and began attending classes inside the Castle, together with all other children of Baron nobility. The distance had initially bothered Cecilia, who feared the castle would have changed Serah - but her worries were futile.

"My parents are waiting for me right by the stage, I already saw my father walking up there. How’s your yours? Isn’t he here?"

Cecilia’s hands wriggled nervously around the strings serving as belt. "He’s not feeling too well. This morning a White Ma–" a running man bumped right against her shoulder, kicking the air out of her lungs. She stopped for a moment and then continued, softly, "A White Mage came and told him to rest and stay in bed. She’ll return at dawn." 

Serah nodded understandingly at her friend’s words, "Had I a White Mage as a mother, I’d have sent her to you sooner."

"She gave him a potion, he’ll feel better by tomorrow."

"Right in time for the dancing contest."

"Once home," Cecilia raised her right hand as if swearing an oath, "I’ll touch his wound with the hand I used to stroke the eggs!"

"Good idea!" Serah agreed before giving her a peck at the cheek, "I must go, or my mother will start worrying and sending soldiers to fetch me. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? I am going to ask her if we can sit together when the dancers perform in the morning."

And as swiftly and silently as she first came, Serah disappeared in the multitude of celebrating adults and children.

- ☽ -

She found her writing teacher dancing with her husband in a merry-go-round by a fire, and she offered Cecilia a muffin with a spoonful of sweet honey sitting on top; then, spotted Melliene skipping alone outside a crowded inn, who gave her some of her grapes - no puffy sleeves or new slippers adorning her. She wasn’t completely alone, for a contingent of curious bystanders had reunited there, around a full-fledged Dragoon sitting on a full, small round table, a pint of ale in his bare hand and his gauntlet and helmet tinted deep purple resting among the plates of meat and fruits. His face appeared young, with a crooked nose, dark eyes and short hair.

"How difficult was it, sir Bertmack?" An old man in farmer's clothes asked the Dragoon, admiring him like a priestess would look at a god’s statue.

Cecilia sat by Melliene's side when she eyed a empty bench, grapes still in hand, and listened to the men's tales.

"As difficult as you’d expect it to be. Ah, well. Thank the gods, we lost no men this year. A big stroke of luck, and I’ve seen my fair share of incidents. This one was as fierce as the wind."

A girl with two long black braids sighed dreamily at the tale, refilling the Dragoon’s cup while he wasn’t looking and stealing a prolonged glance at his features. 

"Haven’t you brought some of its scales home with you?" Someone shouted, probably already drunk.

The young man swallowed down the beer and shook his head, saying, "We aren’t allowed that. No, we left them there as they fell. In the deepest pits of the Valley. Not to mention how less shiny and resplendent scales ripped from a corpse are. Even a thief would tell the difference. No, I say. We won't touch the dead mothers, we kill only to harness their eggs."

"How sad…" a girl sighed.

"There’s no other way." a chubby man reprimanded her.

"Indeed, there isn't." Sir Bertmark was probably cursing the moment he decided to celebrate away from his comrades and to sit at that table. "If we want our youth to raise their own dragon, we have to lead them there and hunt for eggs. Of course, the mothers will not allow us close, and that’s where we come into play. I managed to pierce one right through the heart, her roar shook a whole mountain and we believed a rockslide would have buried us. We got a good half of this year’s eggs…" He eyed the worried children listening to him, "So no worries, the other mothers haven’t been touched and will hatch their eggs in peace. We caught our rightful shares, for our boys." And then he raised his cup - promptly refilled, for a toast. Everyone present joined him with cheers and joyful yells.

Cecilia’s hands traveled up to cover her years.

"Poor baby dragons, poor mama dragons. I’ll always feel sorry for them." She quivered, thankful for having covered her ears just in time not to be made almost deaf by the synchronized toasts and laughter. She tried not to think of the carnage, not when touching the shells, nor when celebrating and staying up later at night to dance and laugh with the rest of the city.

Melliene shrugged her shoulders at the other's cry and took another grape into her mouth. 

"I mean. What if one day the papa dragons come here to avenge their wives and babies and burn us to a crisp while we sleep?" Cecilia asked her to elicit a reaction. Any one.

"Then our Dragoons will kill them too, riding theirs. Just like they do in war against, already." Melliene replied.

"How many have you got, you say? Six?" someone else chimed in.

"Five. The most protected ones. You can tell much about a hatchling by looking at their mothers. And last but not least, because these were the biggest we could spot in the whole valley, meaning strong future dragons for us to tame."

"One day I’ll marry a Dragoon Knight and he’ll let me touch their snout and give them our dinner leftovers after dark." Melliene concluded before Cecilia alone, having spotted white flowing mantles flickering just around the corner.

The blonde child said nothing. Her blue eyes admired the Dragoon’s scaly armor for a while longer, before the man excused himself and left the table and his beer when a red-haired woman in a white and red dress noticed him and signaled him to follow her away from the inquiring crowds, towards the Castle.

- ☽ -

Chapter Text

The seat next to Serah’s, though, was left empty for the entirety of the dancing performance of the following day, in which six slim, beautiful young women in short hair with golden leaves painted on their tanned legs and arms spun around in harmony, dressed only in colored veils and tingling bracelets. 

The marketplace around the main plaza felt more lively than most common week days; although, on calmer occasions, Cecilia wouldn’t have disdained a placid stroll through the various stands and stalls, such a possibility could not be contemplated in the slightest that day. 

She had returned home as soon as she had noticed children her same age had begun disappearing from the main streets and alleys and the sky had turned jet-black, last night, once the smell of smoke had turned almost unbearable to her nostrils and to her head; when home, she had found her father fast asleep in his room, a cover made of a couple animal hides to loosely wrap him. 

Diligent as ever, she had then run away to her small room to undress herself and prepare for bed – hoping to wake up at the first lights of dawn. She wouldn’t have minded oversleeping on festive days, but the guilt of not helping around the house and not to enjoy the coolest hours of the morning would have weighed too much on her conscience. And yet, against all predictions, it was the rumble of her own stomach that made her jump off of her thin mattress and check for the usual plate of oatmeal on the table of their kitchen. Empty. Silent as she had left it hours ago.

She found her father sleeping, completely still under the warm hides. At the worried call of the child, the man did open his eyes and let out a quite foul whiz. A fit of coughing later, he gestured for Cecilia to come closer and clasped her tiny hand in his as he tried to sit up as straight as he could against the pillows.

“I am sorry, little star. So very sorry. I–” a cough, “May need some more moments in bed this morning. I couldn’t wake you up in time for–”

“Rest, father.” she smiled, caressing his callous palm. He looked paler than usual, though it was no true cause of concern. “We have no lessons these days. Remember? The Eve?”

“Ah, indeed. No school.” A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips, as if he had just remembered a crucial detail, one any child of Cecilia’s age wouldn’t have forgotten about. The Midsummer Eve days meant no school, no work in the fields, no battles to be fought. Those were worries for the future. “Of course, you’re right.”

The coughing fit that followed now was incredibly more violent than the last, and shook Cecilia to her core for how rough and unending it had seemed. It shook the man’s whole torso and left him gasping for air soon after. She let go of his hand, but for a single moment, enough time to jump out of his big bed and open slightly a window of his room, leading to a calm alley, hoping the warm summer air and gentle breeze would have helped him out.

That was a splendid day indeed, the sun shone brighter and a hot wind made a nearby bush rustle in placid peace, with only a few sporadic clouds passing by now and then. The child believed fresh air would have only done good to the man, but the sound of a hand beating with firmness against the entrance door to their house stopped her from asking her father for anything else, stopping her stirred trail of thoughts.

“The Mages…” the man explained, pointing weakly at a couple of empty flasks on his small bedside table, mostly occupied by candles and some folded papers. “Be a dear and let them in. They’re here to help me…”

The child nodded and ran out of the bedroom.

The Mage her father was expecting hadn’t come alone. And yet, between her and her company, an old man holding a heavy-looking leather bag, she knew not who’d been appointed to treat her father - nor who had knocked at the door. They both wore white, after all. 

When she welcomed them to enter, still in her nighttime short tunic and barefoot, they didn’t speak a word to her and bolted inside her house like two thieves; Cecilia barely had the time to register their presence and guide them towards her father’s room that they had already waltzed silent like cats there in their white robes.

Dear Serah, who often told Cecilia tales about the castle and his many occupants she used to come across in its old corridors, once said to her that White Mages used to wear long white robes with red-woven decorations at their hems so that the blood of the injured they treated wouldn’t have damaged, or looked odd, their sleeves and ample gowns. The scary image of a White Mage diving their hands deep into the bleeding, twitching flesh of soldiers in the middle of a battlefield scared the girl so much, back then, that she had started to believe the high fever she was afflicted with, days later the revelation, was caused by such horrid knowledge. She didn’t want to remember it, not now most of all, yet the image returned stubbornly to torment her.

A tremendous sense of uneasiness caught her stomach - she was grateful not to have had anything for breakfast. Yet her father didn’t have broken bones, or open wounds to treat - that was her only consolation. The chances to see the Mages come out of the room soaked in blood were slim.

The two strangers had closed the door behind them, leaving Cecilia idling alone by the dining table in the simple kitchen. She climbed on a wooden chair and waited, yawning with a threat to fall asleep again - head against the old wood and crossed arms to serve as a pillow. Her stomach rumbled many more times, as she lost track of time.

- ☽ -

She never dozed off, and the noise of the door of the bedroom creaking open after a while startled her to the point Cecilia sat straight on the chair with a little gasp of genuine surprise and felt her heart pounding against her tiny chest. First came the assistant who left the house with no words or care, then it was the Mage’s turn; her sleeves were clean, and in her pristine white dress, she reminded Cecilia of a gracious doll. Her cheeks were not flushed, her long red hair fell in neat ringlets and, the child noticed, an array of rings crowded her fingers. She must have worn little heels, for the sound of her footsteps resounded loudly and pleasant to the ear against the floor. 

She closed the bedroom door behind her and approached the girl with nonchalance.

“I’ve done all that was necessary.” she simply said, instructing the child on what to do and what to avoid. “Now it’s his turn to fight off the sepsis."

“My father was a soldier, he knows how to fight.” Cecilia let out with a half-crooked smile. 

The Mage smelled like some type of herbal perfume, or maybe incense; she carefully handed the kid a flask with a clear sky-blue liquid in it and continued, “The apothecary won’t open the store till tomorrow, after the celebrations, but this one potion will do in the meantime. He knows to take it around dusk. Come morrow, go and tell Naranka, the chemist, to work on a– ah, forget it. Too much to remember. Just tell her Gillian is sending you to get the usual. She knows me and often visits our quarters in the castle, it’ll be fine. That should be enough. Let him rest, and make sure he drinks often.”

Cecilia stared at her with big hopeful eyes as she made her way to the main door with no moreadvices. She seemed in a hurry, too, but the child couldn’t imagine a worse situation than her father’s illness; at least, this one Mage had been kind enough to talk to the child and not to treat her like a fool infant. Proud of inspiring a sense of maturity, Cecilia felt like excusing the Mages’s hurry; perhaps the inhabitants of the magnificent Castle of Baron too enjoyed simpler feasts, dances and old traditions just as much as simple workers from the town proper did.

Last night, the child had heard from adults at one of the many taverns around the main square that the war against Palamecia wouldn’t have resumed till the end of the celebrations; maybe White Mages and the like had better things to think about than to lose too much time over a single ill man or townsfolk festivities.

She ran towards the bedroom once sure no other visitor wouldn’t have come. It was the biggest room of the whole house, although it had found its major usage only since her father had fallen mysteriously ill. 

All had started from an infected, untreated wound - a common occurrence among simple soldiers like him. A mere scratch, or so it had once seemed to the child and the man alike, at first. A weird pallor had followed and started spreading from the hit spot in the past few weeks, accompanied by the strange unending coughing fits and the constant weakness - or so her father had told her, one that had been radiating from where the arrow had struck him to his limbs and then the rest of his body, head too; yet, he had always seemed strong enough to eradicate the illness and the many symptoms, showing anyone, Cecilia included, to be almost fit enough to heal and maybe return working with his comrades. Never before had her father been stuck to bed due to that weariness.

The promise of good news had seemed at hand.

Making sure to make as little noise as she could with her still bare feet against the dirty floor, Cecilia found him awake and sat on the edge of his bed at the back of the room, against the further wall. Without a word, she found her hands grasping her father’s. His skin appeared moist, his fingers shivering and cold to the touch.

At the sight of her worried expression betraying her lack of words, the man blinked slowly and chuckled softly. “My, a coeurl kitten.”

“Where?!” the child gasped.

“On my bed. Your hair, it looks like their mane.”

“Ohh–!” The child wrinkled her nose and let a hand run through her blond, wavy hair. True enough, it felt unruly and quite tangled across her fingers; “I’ll brush later.”

The man smiled, as if letting that innocent image sink into his mind.

“What has the Mage told you, father?”

“Nothing I didn’t know already, I think.” the man said with sincere pain in his tone. Once Cecilia’s gaze lowered in silent defeat at that, though, he added with a lighter tone, “Except… that I would need to drink more water..”

“That I know too!” Cecilia nodded. “She told me herself! Did she use magic on you?”

“One or two spells, perhaps.”

Doctors and soldiers too had thought the source of his illness had maybe been the poisoned tip of an imperial arrow. It had hit the man right in the shoulder, its venom spreading like a stain of oil through his flesh and blood, invisible and slow. Others - Cecilia had known after many insistent questions, instead thought the man had fallen ill of an invisible, internal damage, one that no mages could have stopped even if they wanted to, breeding a deeper malaise in the man’s body, like a silent worm. 

No matter what the truth was, Cecilia found it unfair that such conditions  had suddenly taken a turn for the worse during days the two should have spent celebrating outside, with the rest of the town.

Still, if even the simplest thing such as fresh water could have spared her father another moment of pain, she wouldn’t have complained - white magic or not. 

“I heard White Mages know a spell that makes one fall into a dreamless sleep for a while,” Cecilia mused with curiosity. “Why hasn’t she used it? So you could rest…”

“I’ve slept enough, Cecilia. Enough. Be a dear and brush your hair before heading outside, alright? You’ll get me fresh water, little dove?”

“Of course!” she patted her chest with a big smile, feeling useful again. The man gently patted her small hand and gave her a gentle nod.

- ☽ -

They had two big wooden chests inside the house. 

One as heavy as a boulder did contain her father’s clothes and weapons from his days in the infantry against the far-away, threatening Empire. The second, much smaller yet decorated with a brass squiggle on the lid, was Cecilia’s property. Truth be told, she didn’t have much to fill it with aside from a couple of books from the schoolhouse and some toys and pretty stones, but in days long gone, it had once belonged to her mother. 

She had died of high fever when Cecilia could have barely learnt how to walk, and memories of her had long faded from the child’s memory. Still, it was hard not to think about her when, inside said wooden chest, its depth was almost entirely occupied by a white sheet wrapped around the woman’s old wedding dress. It looked like a pure, candid bundle. Cecilia’s father used to rarely mention his late wife, nor the day of their wedding; yet once, the child had peeked through the layers of soft sheets around the dress to take a quick look at it, but couldn’t make much of that stolen glance into a past that didn’t belong to her.

There, from the chest, Cecilia made out a small mirror and an adorned brush. 

“Ouch– ouuuch…” she cried when she started to tame the fair hair. She shook some bangs away from her eyes and returned to the tending with less impetuousness and pain, this time. The brush too had belonged to her mother - who had dark hair though, or so her father said -  as well as some decorated pins she was not yet allowed to use.

As the last golden strands were shaped in a presentable manner, the brush and mirror were gently placed back into the chest, between a doll and an old quill she didn’t have the heart to throw away because it was quite beautiful to look at, although broken. She couldn’t help but eye the white bundle hiding her mother’s dress, an edge stubbornly peeking from the parchments and books layering the inside of the chest too. She stopped everything to gaze at it.

Fever had taken her mother away from her. She couldn’t think of a similar destiny striking her again; the tiredness would have passed, she told herself, and her father would have maybe gotten out of his bed on the last day of festivities. She had to think of it, lest she lost hope.

It came natural to the child to close her eyes as soon as dreadful thoughts made them grow humid and hotter. 

“Oh please, please. Do not take him from me, let their magic work.” Cecilia whispered, clasping together her hands till they turned whiter at the tight grasp. 

It was a prayer, but she wasn’t sure to whom she was praying to. Her mother, maybe. Or the gods, or the sun. A sense of woe had nestled in her heart, sudden and unexpected like a violent gust of winter winds, as soon as the Mage had left the house; what if the man couldn’t have left the bed anymore though? Who would have made the best meals and cared for the house with her? 

The child let out a weak sigh. 

“If… If he doesn’t get better, I’ll run to the castle and call the Mage again. But I’ll be a good girl. So please, ask the Mother to heal him back to health soon. I’ll never skip lessons again and–”

The promise was interrupted. A loud noise of a chocobo from outside interrupted the lone prayer with half a startle. Cecilia’s heart felt lighter though, at the hope the Mages had returned on top of their birds with some new remedies from from the laboratories of White Mages in the castle to administer to the man; so she ran to the front door after snapping shut the chest with no care of being too loud, this time. On her way to the door, she didn’t forget to grab a wooden bucket from the kitchen sink for fresh water and hopped outside in a mix of hope and anticipation.

- ☽ -

The midday sun blinded her for an instant, but once her eyes got used to the light from outside, much to her regret, she found no red-haired Mage nor assistant riding their yellow birds.

A chocobo was indeed the source of the turmoil anyway. Tired or agitated by the circling crowd, most likely after a long voyage, it yelled its chirps and stomped at the ground with stubborn insistence. Its owner, a man with a round belly and no hair Cecilia had never seen, was trying to buy its peace with some gysahl greens, as a much younger assistant was trying to unbuckle the bird from its reins attached to a carriage, before any accidents could occur. It’d have taken its travelers, most likely foreigners visiting Baron, a bit to reach the center of the city though, as the carriage had stopped right in front of Cecilia’s house, not too far away from the safe town stables offered to pilgrims or citizens’ chocobos though.

Discovering the source of the mess had not calmed her uneasy heart. She eyed the bird being led away from the middle of the way where it could have hurt someone at the first kick or sudden tilt of its big, plumed head. A messy plucking of strings caught her attention before she could see the group and bird disappear behind a corner, and she turned just in time to see a stranger with tanned skin, probably a bard, dressed in a crimson elegant vest jumping down the parked carriage.

“Has the driver left us here? Like this?” he protested in a muffled voice, puffing at a funny-looking white heron feather on top of his hat that had funnily flopped to tickle the tip of his nose after the jump.

“No-no, sir. Give us a moment, if you please…” Cecilia heard the young boy, the bald man’s assistant, assure the man as the chocobo he tried to conduct away chirped again when a couple of women passed by it with baskets full of fruits - a temptation too great to ignore after a long journey. When the women shrilled and hid their goods, the bald man just sighed and waved the gysahl greens with more intensity, right under the bird’s orange beak. “Our chocobo is a young one, her first trip. It needs tending, and rest before– before–” the boy continued with uncertainty.

The bard leaned over the cart to take with him a couple of leather bags, “I could use just the same. With all that happened.”

A woman and child got off the cart too. “I’m just grateful it’s over…” she commented with a roll of her eyes, pushing her kid away from the scene towards the plaza street.

Cecilia spied the kid trotting along her mother’s side and stealing a last glance towards the abandoned carriage, “Ma’, Ma’!” she called her by pulling at the woman's white dress sleeve, “That boy there wasn’t feeling well. Is he–”

“Come, let him be. Your father is waiting, see?”

As a matter of fact, another figure was indeed still sitting on the simple wooden open carriage, or so it looked like to Cecilia, bucket still in hand and eyes scrutinizing the bizarre scene. Hadn’t the young child lamented it, no one would have probably noticed him. Clad in a blue cloak and with a heavy hood over his head, the small figure did almost look asleep completely still as he was - knees against his chest in the most comfortable sitting position he could manage and a cheek resting on top of his crossed arms hugging his legs. 

The bard managed to attach his lyre on his belt and get some dirt off his trousers. A curious passerby asked him, “Is everything okay? Where do you come from?”

“Not quite, not quite. Now , it is. The boy got sick after we were chased by a beast all night, thank the gods our bird ran faster. Um, I come from the port city, he was there already…” the bard explained, with a sigh. He was clearly trying to prove to the listeners around him that he knew not the boy, nor was his companion. “Fear got the best of him, he hasn’t talked or moved ever since that happened. Hey! Heyy! Lad! I have places to go, so get off before you’re taken to the stables too.”

Nothing. The blue cape didn’t even move, not even when the bard shook him by the shoulder. Those calls only attracted more attention, and soon after Cecilia spotted a couple of town-patrolling soldiers approaching the cart. One of them was missing a gauntlet. The other didn’t have his helmet on. At the very least, they looked sober enough, despite the last night of celebration, wine and women.

The man with the missing gauntlet circled around the carriage once and, while his partner convinced a bunch of curious women to desist and leave before the crowd around could grow larger, he grabbed the blue hood and unveiled the mysterious man with a violent jerk of the arm. No, it was no man, but a young boy. Cecilia could only spot a crown of black hair and two light eyes, barred in sheer terror as the sunlight hit his pale cheeks and small nose.

“Boy, feeling sick?” one of the guards asked him. 

The black-haired youth didn’t move or jolt, and simply raised both his hands to gently touch his temples and forehead. 

“The driver found him on his way here,” the bard said in a fret. “He’s just a child, I guess they couldn’t leave him. Find him an accommodation, will you? I have an appointment with His Majesty, right about… now.” And then, the man finally left with a big exhale of relief, free.

One of the two soldiers registered such information with a nod and then gently helped the boy get on his feet once out of the carriage. “Foreigner, probably a war orphan. Never saw him.” he guessed with his colleague. The boy looked at him once, a brief glance. “Should we take him to our post and tell–”

“No. The castle, that’s for the best.”

“We can’t let him inside like this.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“He may need medical care though. To our post, I say!”

Cecilia stood close to the barred-eyed youth who had dismounted the cart and waited for his destiny to be decided; he appeared quite taller than her now that he stood straight and had big round eyes. The cloak around his shoulders was no mere, poor mantle; on a quick, closer glance, Cecilia noticed runes and tiny dots sewn in golden details decorating it, reminding her of clear spring night starry skies made a cape.

The boy moved in an awkward and slow fashion. She barely noticed him eyeing her wooden bucket, still clutched tight in her right hand by the handle. His dark blue eyes fixated on it with insistence, and the girl could swear his fingers, barely peeking from the long cloak, were stretching. Curious, she looked at him, surprising the boy; for a brief moment, their gazes met. He quickly broke contact.

“Welcome to Baron.” an old, kind-looking lady whispered, patting the boy’s shoulder as she passed by. His shoulders seemingly relaxed a bit and he thanked the woman in a whisper and a crooked smile.  

The two soldiers turned to look at the boy in unison, at last. “Listen. Are you hurt somewhere?”

The boy closed his eyes, shook his head once and spoke in a polite, “No, sir.”

“We could take him to Gillian and her Mages.”

“So she can scold us again?”

“Not the Mages, then. Where do we let–?”

“I mean, a refugee needs a place.”

“Um, listen.” again, a soldier interrogated the boy, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen this winter.” the boy obeyed with sincere eyes. He shook his mass of black curls and spoke, now in a clearer solemn voice. “Water. Allow me some fresh water, so that I may feel better. Then I’ll look for you and follow you.”

Now it was the soldiers’ turn to widen their eyes in surprise. 

Cecilia, on her part, smiled. That explained the insistent gaze at her bucket. The poor boy was thirsty.

“I have to fetch water too,” she intervened in the conversation with a big smile. “Come with me. I’ll show you the way. Is it okay?”

In a mix of relief and compassion, perhaps, the duo let the children go, and told the boy to meet them before dusk by the bridge connecting Baron to the castle. At the kid’s gratitude and politeness in his will to obey them, they let the two children go.

“Thank you…” the boy smiled at Cecilia once they moved away from the cart.

- ☽ -

The bucket was filled to the brim and passed to the boy, who gulped once in complete silence before leaning over the water surface. His eyes barred again when he spotted his reflection, a sight that sent a shiver down Cecilia’s spine; what was so uncanny or surprising? Had the boy never looked at himself in the mirror? He was looking at his reflection like it belonged to a stranger; that was the cause of her uneasiness. Carefully, he then reached for his thin lips and his nose, his cheekbones and brows. He even grabbed a longer curl falling right in front of his eyes and pulled it like a spring, as if to test it.

“Are you feeling sick?” Cecilia asked him, confused by that scene. She imagined a curse, maybe, affecting his memory or his look. She had once heard black magic curses could play tricks like that, as well as turn bad children into frogs.  

The boy shook his head, but returned soon to gaze at his reflection like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“What a beautiful cape you have!” she tried to distract him from his somehow almost bothersome image with a compliment. A sincere one, at that. Under the midday sun, the cape surface appeared shining, blue and alive, as if made of colored watery scales.

That, at least, pried his eyes away from the makeshift mirror. He admired his cloak with attention and reverence. “It’s a present.”

Cecilia nodded. She feared interrupting him would have availed him another session with his mirror.

“That’s why I wear it in summer too. So I cannot forget who made it for me. It’s not as heavy as it looks, and I barely tolerate when the sun feels so strong and hot, this gives me cover.”

A weird individual, indeed. The temptation to ask him who had gifted him such a splendid cloak had to wait; she simply listened.

“Thanks for having accompanied me here,” he continued, after a short pause. “It’s my first time here in Baron. I don’t know the city, I had no one here to show me.”

“I needed water too, it’s alright. And where do you come from?”

The boy’s eyes lingered away from both the watery mirror and his starry cloak. “A faraway village near Mysidia.”

“Wow! The famous town of Mages!” 

At her enthusiasm, a shadow of a smile appeared at last on the wide-eyed boy.

Cecilia, who was sitting by the fountain she had climbed upon the other night - now filled with springing fresh water from the nearby river, pointed towards a bunch of purple tents installed near an old building to the side of the main square. “See that? It’s the talk of the town, and it’s been so for months! Mysidia Mages are working with ours to create a path to unite our two towns. Rumors say it’ll be ready very soon.”

“Interesting!” the boy mused. He glanced at the installment of lush cloths with squinting eyelids, but for a second. He remained silent then, unmatching the girl’s excitement.

Silence.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Cecilia crossed her legs on the white stone surface, her simple dress moving at the gentle breeze as the market sellers moved frantically around them yelling this and that, their stalls around them crawled with life and inviting smells.

“It’s not important. I won’t stay here long… and who knows where those men will take me.”

“Just say it, it’s awkward not to. You must have a name, don’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you tell me yours, first? Isn’t that how introductions work among adults?”

“I’m no adult, so I don’t know. And I’m a girl.”

“And?” The boy seemed amused and smiled more clearly now. A brow raised in playful defiance.

“Melliene and Serah too once told me knights always introduce themselves first before ladies.”

“I am no knight.”

“If you get a place to stay among the recruits, you may be, one day!” the girl laughed with a smirk, imagining the mysterious kid dressed in oversized pieces of armor and clanking his way through the crowded streets of Baron for some water. 

The boy’s hands trembled and before any of the two children could speak or taunt each other again, the water from inside the bucket kept in-between them rose, springing with life itself as if animated like a geyser. It had rumbled like an empty stomach for an instant – the next, it had fallen in a cascade over both Cecilia and the boy. The crowds didn’t seem to notice the phenomenon -  mundane life continued to its frenetic bustle of a festive day. 

Cecilia had gasped in surprise at the water dripping down her hair. She raised her gaze. He too appeared wet from head to toe.

“What happened?”

“S-Sorry! Forgive me…” the boy muttered, the empty bucket still in his skinny hands. “I squeezed it too tightly, without realizing. And this…”

With his curls undone, his wet hair now could touch his shoulders. Cecilia, despite the sneeze threatening to ruin the moment and send her right into the fountain water, couldn’t help but laugh, with no malice in her tone, at the boy’s panicked mumbling and excuse. So much her tummy ached and some droplets of water entered her nose. 

“Sorry…” he continued, yet betraying his serious words with an amused smile too. “I don’t want to be–”

“Name! Time to tell me!”

The boy sighed and raised his gaze. “K-Kluya, I’m Kluya.”

“Ser Kluya?” Cecilia taunted him again. She leaned over and styled his sodden wet hair away from his forehead. She observed him carefully, close as she happened to be. His round eyes widened and she could swear to have heard him snort in amusement.

“Just Kluya, Klu-Ya.” he corrected her, tightening his lips in an attempt to not be affected by her contagious, big smile. Satisfied, she returned sitting straight. At the very least, the cape on his shoulder had prevented his shirt and breeches from getting wet as well. The same thing couldn’t be said for her clothes.

“I’m Cecilia.”

He began fidgeting with the now-empty bucket again, making it spin in his hands when laughter had quieted down. 

Her stomach rumbled once again. Lunchtime must have already passed.

“How long are you planning to stay, Kluya?”

“I don’t know, I imagine the soldiers will decide.”

“We still have three days of celebrations here in Baron.”

“Hm. I’m old enough to help someone, if I’m asked to in order to stay here for a time. I’ll gladly help. Maybe in a store or workshop, to learn a trade.”

“And where will you stay the night?”

He patted happily a small bag tied at his belt, hidden under a white short tunic. A familiar jingling of maybe a handful of coins came out of it. “These will help me settle down for… um…”

“For?”

“For a while.”

“Long enough to see the dragonets hatch, maybe?”

At those excited words, for the first time, Kluya showed Cecilia a perplexed look. Furrowed brows took the place of his features, and his eyes shone with a different light. “Hatch?” Kluya repeated. “You have dragons here?”

“Our Dragoons brought them last night. Once born, they’ll be raised to ride them through the skies to war.” Cecilia explained with dreamy eyes. “I even touched one. You should have been here to see it. The egg was so warm you could almost f–”

“No. I’m sorry…” he interrupted her, letting finally go of the bucket and tugging at the blue cape edges, as his legs crossed tighter, making him appear smaller than what he already was. “I think it’s barbaric. From the town I come from, an old legend says children are born from a dragon’s tears.”

It was a mercy then, Cecilia thought with childish innocence, that those eggs’ mothers had all been slain before they could realize what was going on.

“Each tear is a baby?” she wondered in a crooked voice.

Noticing her discomfort, he raised his hands and let out a little sigh, “That’s just a legend, mind you. I was born of my parents, like anyone else.” He chuckled under his breath. “I think. That still feels barbaric. What need is there to take their young?”

Silence.

“But they’ll saddle those dragons up and ride them through the skies, just like you said.” he concluded with a small shrug of the shoulders and sad eyes. 

Another question hushed Cecilia further: could tamed dragons shed tears as well? Even when roaming the sky and spitting fire?

A cheer from a crowded group nearby accompanied the tolls of the bells from the castle, distant yet solemn. The marketplace would have continued all night long, today - but on normal days, she knew, that sound would have signaled the stalls be disbanded and to the merchants to make way in the street for sunset and the coming afternoon. Not that day, no. 

Kluya observed idly the confusion around the fountain they occupied. 

When a grey cloud covered the sun and granted the two children some much needed shade, though, he raised his gaze to stare at the heavens and sighed scrutinizing the sky. Neither the boy nor Cecilia reacted with surprise at the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer, tapping with insistence and particular drive on the cobblestone. A flick of white feathers around them followed. Doves, chased by two young children, flew past their heads.

“What happened to your parents?” Cecilia tilted her head, “The war?”

His raven hair was beginning to dry, in the hot afternoon summer air. He hesitated a little before smiling bitterly at her, “It’s been days since I saw them last. I wasn’t home when it happened - a monster attacked our village.”

“That’s terrible! You don’t have anyone else…?” 

“A brother.” he said, gulping down something else, the words he kept for himself. 

“Maybe he has escaped. You should tell the guards, they’ll help you find him.” Cecilia insisted. 

“I’d spoil the fun, and–” he stopped abruptly, once again widening his eyes and inhaling sharply and deeply big breaths. 

Believing his panicking and weird reactions to be the same as the one he had experienced earlier on the carriage, Cecilia tensed up and mouthed in worry. “It’ll be okay, I’ll look for help.”

“No! No… it’ll pass now… you could say it happens a lot…” Kluya lowered his head and closed his eyes, driving away that unpleasant sensation. Right at that moment, the grey, threatening clouds over the sun let way to pure warm sunlight again. 

With trembling hands and with no clue how to calm him down, Cecilia reached for her wooden bucket again and filled it with a few fingers of clear water from the fountain, from the very mouth of one of the griffins, and offered it to the boy again. “Here, drink.” 

He reached for it like a man in the desert, and gulped down the liquid with his eyes still tightly shut.

Another dazzling flicker of white came by then, but this was no dove this time. Not less graceful in swiftness and sound though, soft sounds of leather shoes came closer and stopped right next to the children. Cecilia, eyes still full of worry, turned her head to find Melliene, in a white tunic and dark expression, some strands of hair sticking to her sweat-soaked temple. Her pale hand had barely touched Cecilia’s shoulder when she spoke. She didn’t seem to notice Kluya’s presence.

“By the gods… here you are, you…!” she panted, tugging at her sleeve. “Come, go home. Mother is there, she says it’s an emergency.”

Cecilia’s thin lips parted and her brows furrowed, her chest threatening to open up as if torn by knives to undo her and her racing heart. Like caught in a trance spell, she moved with no sounds, getting off the fountain seat and following the older girl. She never looked back, not even when Kluya tried to say something to her, a whisper lost in the market noises.

Once the girls reached Cecilia’s house, it was clear they did not make it in time. 

A little group of men she didn’t know and more familiar neighbors alike were standing with grim faces just behind the main door, hindering the girls’ passage and sight. Gillian, the red-haired White Mage from that morning was leaving the place already, followed by her attendant and some other two she-mages. From the door, slightly ajar, Cecilia could only spy Melliene’s mother, an old kind-looking nurse fumbling with some sheets in the kitchen. 

A hand stroked her back. Melliene had her mother’s very eyes, kind ones, but rarely showed any sign of affection to her friends and playmates; not this time, though. They felt bigger, rounder and definitely gentle. It must have had something to do with her mother’s proximity, Cecilia thought.. 

The image of her chest and hairbrush from a few hours before shook her, like a blinding lightning striking in the dead of night. And then came the guilt.

“Do not worry, they won’t let you in the orphanage now. The teachers won’t allow it, my mother won’t allow it. You’re too old.” Melliene reassured her, maybe in a weak attempt to console her.

“I forgot,” Cecilia was petrified, pale in the cheeks and lips as terror took hold of her. The circling motion of Melliene’s hands in-between her shoulder blades stopped. “The water.”

She had left her bucket by the fountain, too.

- ☽ -

Chapter Text

Cecilia was never allowed to see her father one last time for a final goodbye. At first, that news had left her almost baffled, too terrified and confused to speak back; then, as the first night away from her home had arrived, the realization had hit her violently like a punch in the gut, and she had let it all out, starting to cry and scream in the uncomfortable temporary new bed, inside a windowless room of Melliene’s house. Hadn’t the friend’s mother rushed in with a lit candle and some herbal remedy she made Cecilia sniff and taste on the tip of her tongue, the child wouldn’t have found any semblance of peace or silence. 

This same event went on for the following three nights, right as the celebrations of Summer Eve ended and burial rites could be performed once again in Baron.

The actual reason why a last look at the man was forbidden was what tormented her the most, and each time darkness came around, the fear of what had become of him in such a short span of time made her feel sick. 

Fearing any repercussions of all that stress on her health and psyche perhaps, Lady Martha used to come to her room with the usual remedies and sweet words alike, each administered in small doses, yet efficient all the same. The woman would wait for her to fall asleep after the medicine, sitting at the edge of the bed while caressing her head like a mother would have done for her own children – and it was right in those moments before succumbing to sweet slumber that Cecilia envied Melliene for her parents. A sad thought to accompany her dreamless sleep, but that would have faded away at the first morning light.

By sheer exhaustion, the actual day of her father’s funeral, she was too tired and sad to do anything but to receive the kind words of familiar faces and strangers alike. Martha and her husband, Ser Pryce, had her dressed in one of Melliene’s old yet elegant dresses and led Cecilia to the lower floor of their two-storey house in the center of the city proper, out of the spare bedroom to their dining table. She meekly let Melliene brush her hair and pinch her cheeks before the first guests arrived; the family didn’t mind that temporary coming and going of guests, that confusion of condolences that ended up with some drinks and a good laugh together with the master of the house. That was the last day Cecilia would have stayed at their place, or so she had heard Martha say the previous night.

Serah and her parents came to visit too. The Pryce’s and Serah’s parents could be considered pretty influential families in Baron, despite Martha and her husband being rich merchants and not born nobles like Serah, her parents and all her forebears. 

Cecilia had wondered often, during those terrible days of pain and guilt, what exactly had brought Melliene’s family to take her in for the time being instead of dropping her mourning at the orphanage, waiting for a more suitable setup for her to be found. Maybe it had been out of Melliene’s compassion. Or perhaps it was a simpler kind of pity, a promise she didn’t know even existed, or a sort of personal gain to be made for the Pryce’s. 

Cecilia had nothing of value to offer Martha, Melly or anyone else for that matter. Her chest with her old brush, paper, quills, toys and her mother’s dress - the woman had told her, would have been given back to her soon. That was all she had. It felt strange to think her whole world, now, was inside that heavy box, somewhere in Baron.

Once Serah came in, she hugged Ceclia gently without a word and with teary eyes herself. When she felt her weak arms circle around her back in an attempt to return the kindness, Serah gave her a light peck on her cheek and, after having waved at Melliene’s direction, sat beside Cecilia, stroking her hand in hers with mature care. For the occasion, Serah wore black and her long golden hair had been tied in a bun, making her look slightly older than her current age. They sat there in silence, together, watching the adults chat with sad expressions on their faces before drinking some clear liquid kept in a fancy bottle. Serah’s mother didn’t touch her glass and instead stole a couple of glances at Cecilia’s direction, with a pitiful smile on her red-painted lips. That sight made her almost tear up again. Serah hushed her with reinvigorated strokes and intertwined fingers.

Right as Serah and her parents were almost ready to leave, the door of the Pryces’ place opened timidly as a red-haired boy peeked inside. Serah waved her hand at him too, recognizing him, and the boy entered the house with a small bow of his head and the heavy sound of his dirty boots. 

Cidolphus Pollendina - Cid for everyone but his father - came from one of the oldest families in the entire country, and many considered the noble Pollendina’s to have had something to do with the founding of Baron itself. The royal family had them serve as royal counselors and advisors for generations, and Cid was the one and only son of the family, heir of that great legacy resting entirely upon his ancient family name. 

Normally, that would have made every young noble girl buzz around him like bees with honey, for a slim chance to enter the highest ranks of nobility they could aspire to – monarchy excluded. But Cidolphus' weird attitude, roughness and loud voice used to scare any potential female friend - and much to his relief. He had yet to turn thirteen, and early wedding arrangements between nobles and their offspring weren’t exactly a rare occurrence; despite all that, he was a bookworm and, in his own words, a “future inventor who had no time for stupid things like girls”.

Cecilia had known him for a while. He had taken a liking to her after Ser Pollendina had helped her father years ago with a personal request of some sort, when she had just lost her mother and was too young to even remember that actual first encounter. All she knew was her father had brought her with him to Cid’s house – the biggest building in Baron aside from the castle, a villa located in the outskirts on a green hill crossed by the river – to plead Cid’s father to arrange a meeting with the king of Baron or something; and by Cid’s own recollection of the events, Cecilia, who was barely able to babble anything as a babe and had no idea what was happening, was placed next to him and began tormenting the red-haired child by pulling at his long hair to play. 

Years later that episode, she would have often seen him sitting by the shade of the well or in some silent alleys, reading hard-covered books taken from the library of the castle - where he used to be schooled together with the rest of noble daughters and sons, or creating ships by carving tiny pieces of wood. A toy resembling a dog she kept inside her new world, her wooden chest, was one of his gifts. He always treated her with nothing but kindness, and never forgot about her despite their families being pole opposites in terms of history, wealth or prestige.

Accompanied by two men - one as redheaded as him, Cid spotted Ceclia and ran towards the girl's direction to envelop her frame in a hug. The tight grip forced the air out of her lungs. The boy was far from resembling a slim, composed noble heir - he was short in stature, with small green eyes and a round face. His arms were losing the chubbiness of childhood fat, and the outline of his muscles he showed around while dressed in his short-sleeved shirts was fully visible. Cecilia’s nose tickled slightly when it met the fuzzy mess of his red hair, which he had stopped brushing and taming long ago, it seemed, and she thanked the friend under her breath.

“Oh, you… oh…” he howled, before Serah patted his shoulder with an index, a signal not to make too much of a fuss at that time of the night. 

His was a different kind of pity. He had lost his mother to illness just a few years prior, at Cecilia’s same age, and found no sweet way to ease the pain. Instead, he appeared as rough around the edges as usual, and quite comically dramatic; to Cecilia, that was a glimpse of normality she welcomed with open arms - and so, she didn’t mind the howl or the tight embrace too much.

“Calm down…” Melliene, sitting on another simple wooden bench, rolled her eyes at Cid and folded her legs while looking away.

After a gentle pat on her blonde head, the boy let go of Cecilia and sat by Serah’s side, whispering some greetings at the adults in the room. 

His father bowed his head slightly in respect and a glimpse of reverence traversed his eyes when his and Cecilia’s gazes met for a second. She simply nodded in thanks. He was a surly-looking man, the few strands of white hair on his beard and hair signaling his true old age despite the vivacity of his natural hair color. He held a letter in his hand, which he promptly gave to Martha without a word. It was white with a red sealing wax closing it. The emblem on it was recognized immediately. Two griffins and a crowned sword.

- ☽ -

By the time the house was empty again, Martha assured Cecilia that her father had already been reunited with the gods and his late wife too, his body now ashes and smoke on a pyre outside the town where it could not bother anyone. His ex-comrades had kept watch till the flames had died out, she told the child, and the very winds had lifted his spirit high into the heavens. The thought he hadn’t been alone in those last moments on earth consoled her, and granted Cecilia a first night free from herbs rubbed under the nose and soporific caresses.

Her sleep came to a stop when the sky was still too dark for comfort. Under the soft linen sheets, Cecilia sat on the mattress and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. She idly waited for the sky to turn lighter out of the window by her bedside for a long time, till she began hearing the first birds singing and chirping outside.

Several hours later, Martha and Melliene came in and brought her downstairs for a quick breakfast with bread and butter; then the three left the house. That morning was a calm one in Baron - they could tell by the lack of outsiders and citizens alike crowding the streets. At that early hour, the streets were almost completely empty except for the salesmen leaving for their chores and work, in and out of the city proper. And the three walked with no hesitation too, the older one guiding the young girls towards the plaza, and then to the bridge to the castle.

The familiar sound of clashing swords reached Cecilia’s ears when they passed by the training grounds for soldiers, out in the open during summer - where an array of decoys and targets were placed for recruits and veterans alike to be used in the open. She barely granted them a quick glance. Instead, Melliene made sure to peek at the faces of each single boy wielding swords and lances there, something her mother didn’t seem to notice. 

A couple of minutes later, the trio had reached the bridge leading out of the city proper and to the Castle.

The building was magnificent to look upon. A prodigy of architecture and technology, the Castle of Baron was older than the town itself and was made entirely of white stone. That made it look like it almost shone as much as a star or beacon of light during the day, when the rays of the sun would hit its arches and towers just right with its golden force and intensity; its surfaces did reflect the colors and beauty of the skies at any time, but the true wonder would be admired at dawn and dusk: being the castle situated on a small island at the center of a huge lake - which also served as an efficient moat - each shade of purple, red and blue would first reflect on the water surface, and then, be projected on the ancient white stone, coloring its walls like a painting.

As beautiful as it was huge, Cecilia too had never fought against the allure its splendid image produced on all the other children of Baron. The stories of its inhabitants, halls and treasures had permeated most of her afternoons for a while, ever since Serah had begun attending school inside. 

A wave of fear mixed with excitement made her eyes grow bigger and rounder when Martha led both Melliene and her further, closer to the gate.

Half-way across the bridge, Martha had produced a piece of paper from her purse and she now showed it to two guards standing outside the castle gate, both donned in golden armor and red-chocobo plumes on their helmets. A glance at the paper and one of the men nodded and opened the heavy iron door for them; “Come on in,” one of them said with a courteous smile, “You’ll be escorted to the throne room by a guard waiting in the entrance hall.”

Before Cecilia could register what was actually happening, Melliene pinched her arm and whispered at the girl, “It’s your letter.”  

A single glance and she recognized it. The letter Lord Pollendina had given Martha last night was their permit to enter the Castle of Baron.

- ☽ -

She had never curtsied before anyone and clumsily made an attempt when their escort left Cecilia standing right in front of the two thrones occupied by the King and Queen of Baron. She lifted delicately and slightly her dress gown with both her hands and mentally thanked Martha’s generosity for the current attire - yet another dress from Melliene’s lot, beautiful and clean.

The King was old, too old. She had found him barely managing to stand up and hold his speech in front of his people when the Dragoons had brought the new eggs to hatch in town, days ago, and many wrinkles traversed his forehead and cheeks now that Cecilia could see him closer than ever. 

In matching capes, colors and dignity was his wife, the Queen, sitting by his right. She appeared younger than him, despite age leaving its visible marks around her eyes as well. Still, Cecilia thought, she remained a beautiful woman, who seemed unfazed by the passing years: her hair was turning white too, like the King’s, but she did not hide it and styled it in a long, loose braid falling on her breast and lap. None of them wore crowns or jewels. 

Finally, beside the Queen’s throne, standing up, was their son, the crown prince, in brown hair and a long blue tunic, a hand resting on the armrest of his mother’s seat.

Martha and Melliene hadn’t been allowed to enter the effective throne room with her, and Cecilia held onto the letter she had been given as if her life depended on it. She was alone, facing the most prominent family of Baron.

At her sight, the Queen chuckled affectionately under her breath and the King nodded once with a big smile. He missed a tooth to the side, she noticed. 

“Rise, there is no need for such formality. You’re but a child,” he said with joviality. He shifted slightly in his clothes. “You must at least suspect why we had you sent here this morning.”

A moment of silence. In difficulty, Cecilia simply looked around and tried to come up with a good answer. It wouldn’t have been proper to stay silent in front of them. “No, your Majesty…” still, that was her trembling answer.

The King sat straighter on his throne and, with his left hand, rolled the long sleeve of his right arm up to his elbow, showing raw, old skin and its imperfection to the child who could only observe it in quiet dismay. Then, she noticed it. A red mark traversed the pale flesh; it looked like a scar, but was way too vivid and red to resemble a common one. “This one…” he said in a serious tone, now, “This is a gift from the Emperor of Palamecia himself. A memento of our last encounter - not by his magic, but by his spear. That devil tried to cut my hand off, bone and flesh, to have me lose the battle– no, maybe the war itself. But he could not, for I did strike him before my arm could be taken away from me, and I struck and stabbed him at his thigh, forcing him to retreat with his knights and soldiers like dogs with the tails between their legs. And yet, all that too would have been useless… hadn’t a man shielded me from the poison while I was distracted, one that would have consumed me from within and taken my life before the Emperor could even try.”

The prince crossed his arms and seemed to shudder lightly at his father’s tale. The Queen gently caressed his hand as her face turned downcast.

“I saw him. Your father.” The King continued. “A simple infantry soldier, many years under my service and with no fame to accompany his deeds - who took that arrow in my stead. Swift as lightning, no one but him saw it coming, straight for my heart. A archer Mage’s work, no doubt, for it knew perfectly the point where the plates of my armor did unite to form a small unperceivable weak spot to pierce. Enough for the arrow to penetrate my flesh and taint my blood.” The King fixed his sleeve again and let out a small sigh. He let silence fall in the hall.

Cecilia immediately understood the purpose of that letter now, and why it had come to her temporary caretaker the night of her father’s funeral by Lord Pollendina himself, the King’s friend and trusted advisor, no less. She blinked rapidly in confusion as the Queen and King both slowly bowed their heads at the girl for an instant where silence reigned once more in the hall. Fear, excitement and novelty - all at once, mixed and stirred the girl’s heart. The prince too bowed his head, albeit more deeply than his parents.

“Hadn’t your father taken that arrow,” the Queen smiled, “Our Kingdom would be in turmoil. My son would have ascended as King before his due time. And also, I’d be a widow.”

The prince now nodded solemnly at his mother’s side. The King was the last to raise his head.

“On behalf of our family, and of our kingdom too, we offer our prayers and words of thanks - as well as of sorrow to you and your father too. Dear child, know that his pain shall be rewarded in the Hall of the Gods with peace eternal, and by human generosity on this land for the precious things he leaves behind. That arrow was meant for me, and it’d be a wrongdoing against destiny itself not to honor his sacrifice and selflessness with all I can offer fate. If divine grace has spared me death by the Emperor’s lance, it must mean something too. Months ago, when the poison symptoms were still mild and I made sure to send him our best healers to ease the suffering, I had offered a deal to your father.” The King continued, with his usual smile back on his lips. “One he refused, though.”

“He was offered a place here to stay for his whole family, because of his heroic action.” the Queen specified, reading the child’s cluelessness.

If her father, a long time ago, had spoken to the monarchs and was given a chance to stay in the royal palace of Baron, then she had no idea. A pang of guilt assaulted her. A bitter one.

“Allow us to reiterate such an offer – to you now.”

“How old are you, child?” The Queen asked now, interrupting her husband.

At her turn to speak, after that array of revelations, the kid mumbled a simple “Nine.”

“Oh, little one… just a couple of summers younger than the prince himself,” the woman with the gray braid laughed softly. She clasped her hands together right after. “But not a babe either. Should you accept, you’d be offered education, a last name and accommodation in the court lodgings. Assistance of this kind may continue, gods be willing, till you ‘reach age’ in health, when you’ll be asked to choose a profession or path. A pretty thing like you may even aspire to become a lady-in-waiting…”

- ☽ -

Not quite a war orphan, but not a royal ward either. No other child who had lost their parents in the horrors of war had ever been welcomed into the Castle like her - for all she knew - though, a royal committee did provide for those unfortunate souls with a stay in the local orphanage of Baron and with a periodic allowance till they reached the age of adulthood too. That hadn’t changed much. 

It had to be a purely personal matter, the child thought. If her father had indeed taken a poisoned arrow for any other soldier but the King himself and died, she would have been transferred to the orphanage with no remorse or plan brewing in the shadows. The realization of everything she had discovered dawned on her only at night, when two young page boys brought into her new room in the eastern tower her old wooden chest. 

Her new room was neater than her old, wider than Melliene’s back in the city and definitely almost as big as her whole house. An absent thought was given to her home, now cold and dark - and an ache in the corner of her eyes forced her to take a big breath and look away from her chest, her toys and her mother’s wedding dress, to the open window. From up there, she could see the river, the whole town and even part of the forests beyond the walls. Her new accommodation, she came to know, was located above and under some noble families' tenements. 

When she got out of her clothes and was ready to test her new bed, Cecilia prayed that would have meant being closer to familiar faces, like Serah’s. The thought granted her some peace as she re-experienced, in her head, the exact moment she had accepted the King’s generous offer in the throne room, that morning.

- ☽ -

It took Cecilia a couple of weeks to get somewhat used to the rhythms of castle life. She was not required to wake up too early, but knew the best sweets and tarts from the kitchen offered to the children, wards and sons of nobles living and attending school there, for breakfast, would not have lasted untouched much long on the wide wooden tables of their refectory. She soon learned that school time, in the castle, was way different from what she had been used to with the schoolhouse in Baron; teachers were old and firm there - not allowing the slightest noise or distraction, and boys and girls also did attend separate classes and subjects, no matter the same age. Dinnertime was the only time where the children were allowed to eat together with adults, parents or tutors in the main hall of the castle. During said meals, the Prince was always present - but the same couldn’t be said for his parents, who only graced their guests and friends with their presence on rare occasions. And when the King and Queen were absent, he had the immense privilege of sitting at the head of the table and looking over the many nobles joining him for the evening. 

Luckily enough, in the meantime, Serah did her best to include Cecilia in all she did. Flute or dance lessons - where Cecilia felt like a fish out of water and could merely sit and watch the other peers perform, during tea after lunch with other noble-born young girls talking about this and that, and on thrilling nightly tours around the decorated halls of the Castle of Baron before bed, always under the supervision of a guard or two. 

One evening of late summer, under the tapestry of Leonart the Dark Knight, a Baronian hero of eld clad in demon-like black armor, Serah showed the sleepy friend a hairpin crowned with what looked like an honed, lucid black stone. 

“My father gave it to me for my nameday. He’s bound to leave soon for the battlefront, with the King and all his men and Dragoons. So he gave it to me earlier.” she explained with a note of sadness in her voice.

“What’s this stone called?” Cecilia touched the black stone with a finger. “It’s splendid. It’ll look great in your blond braid.”

“You think so?” Serah chuckled, “It's an egg shell. Dragon egg.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened as she glanced at the “stone” again. That explained how good it felt to the touch. It also made sense for her to have an artifact like that. Her father had been a Dragoon all his life; a title that came down to destined children, gifted and well-trained ones, all heirs from the most influential families in the land. As per tradition, only male first-born children could be knighted Dragoons of the Kingdom, and their fathers had to have served the same role too. Had Serah been born a boy, she would have become one too. Fate had been kind to Cecilia, sparing her loneliness and giving her Serah’s sweet company.

“So, have they hatched already?"

“More or less. Don’t tell this to anyone, Cecilia. I heard him a while ago telling mother that half of the eggs have perished before the dragons could be born. The others are safe, for now. Kept safe and warm. He said they rotted from the inside all of a s–”

“Umm– I can hear you, you know?”

A sudden clearing of the throat made the girls jump under the fire of the torches on the wall, under the blood-stained gaze of Leonart. The guard accompanying them on their stroll yawned and tapped a foot against the pavement lightly. “Enough, young ladies! Or I’ll tell–”

“Tell who?”

“Your father, Miss Serah. And your teacher, um–”

“Cecilia.”

“Yes, yes, indeed. Back we go, now!”

- ☽ -

Aside from an entire new wardrobe at her disposal, Cecilia was taught which kind of dress fitted the right circumstances and occasions - quite a bother to remember without anyone guiding her still, and even which shoes to wear when heading outside the castle for chores or shopping, and which ones to use on the marble pavements of the castle instead. She liked the indoors ones better, for they had a slight heel that made a pleasant sound against the stone pavements of the castle, and made her a tad taller too.

Oftentimes, her appointed guardian, Lady Martha Pryce - Melliene’s mother, often came to take her from the palace to bring the child with her during her daily duties as nurse and midwife around town, just as it had been decided; the monarchs and the council of nobles aiding the King in all his decisions, such as Cecilia’s stay in the palace, thought she should have been offered a chance to learn a dignified job in case no noble lady saw her fit, one day as a teenager, to serve as their possible future lady-in-waiting. 

In truth, Cecilia liked following Martha around, healing this and that and helping mothers deliver their children; those simpler tasks were no actual concern for the White Mages of Baron, who did not provide much help for cases like those and let most of their knowledge on magic serve for war matters and to heal hurt soldiers - warfare, after all, had no time to be spent waiting for herbal remedies to work. And Martha was no Mage either, which made her work feasible and accessible to common citizens too. 

Truth be told, Cecilia was not allowed to do much by the actual nurse’s side. If Martha told her to fetch her a clean cloth or to rekindle the fire in the house’s fireplace, she’d obey with no word of protest - even if that meant ruining her shoes or staining the hems of her dress in cinder. Most of the time, especially when it came to babies, Cecilia used to wait and lift the spirits of the waiting, agitated fathers too, while their wives would work alone, in pain,  in the next room.

On one such morning when Martha had picked her up from the castle for the usual back and forth in Baron  - which usually once or twice a week -  just the duo passed by what remained of Cecilia’s old house, the child spotted a familiar face staring in her direction. A child with curly black hair and blue eyes was smiling at her, raising a hand in a timid gesture of greeting.

“Kluya!” Cecilia’s eyes beamed at the sight. Immediately, she left Martha’s side and ran towards the boy, whom she hugged briefly. The last time they had met was on the day her father had died. Back at the fountain, she had lost herself in chit-chat with him, the newcomer, and forgot to bring some water to the parent. Despite the pain that memory brought with itself, Cecilia had regretted having left the boy alone in the foreign Baron.

The boy’s cheeks lifted and flushed, narrowing his eyes at the kind hug. “It’s been almost a month since I last saw you. Are you feeling better? I heard what happened.”

“Ah, I am staying at the castle from now on.”

“What?!” his nose wrinkled in a display of confusion and surprise. “Why the castle?”

Lady Martha, who had probably never met or even seen Kluya, hurried by Cecilia’s side and grabbed her by the wrist. “We are late already!” she began with a deep sigh, “Cecilia, we have no time to lose when it comes to these things. Let’s go.”

“Does that mean you don’t live around here? Are you okay with that?” Kluya didn’t mind the woman’s insistence and asked Cecilia, unbothered.

“I don’t think you can– oh! I’m sorry! I may see you later…” Cecilia whispered, before submitting to Martha’s grip, leaving a speechless Kluya behind her.

She didn’t even have the chance to ask him if he had also found a new place in town to call home. 

Once in the patient’s house, though, just as Cecilia waited by the entrance door for the end of the birthing in the bedroom, she again spotted a familiar crown of black curls making its appearance inside, uninvited. The agitated father of the soon-to-be-born babe eyed him for a brief moment, but didn’t pay him much mind when he saw him approaching Cecilia - perhaps believing him to be an assistant too. 

“Can’t commoners enter the castle? How did you end up there?” he asked Cecilia with a tilt of his head and half-a-smile.

“What are you doing here?” Cecilia whispered, a hand against her chest at the startle. “You’ll be in trouble if she sees you here. And I’ll be in trouble too. Did you follow us?”

Kluya sat by her side and grabbed a red apple from a basket on the table. “Yes, I did. Doesn’t she know it’s rude to interrupt a conversation anyway? Nobles…” he said, glancing at the locked door where Martha was helping the woman. “So, have you become a nurse or what?”

“Not quite, no.” Cecilia murmured. 

“Anyway, what happened?”

“I’ve been… um, offered a stay in the castle. Because my father helped the King during the war.”

The boy took a bite off the apple and nodded slowly.

He probably had no one but her in all of Baron as company, she thought. A foreigner never stayed that long, either. The thought moved Cecilia to pity.

“Has your brother sho–”

“No, he hasn’t.” Kluya interrupted her before she could end the question, with a faint smile, just as the woman next door let out a muffled scream. “A kind blacksmith offered me a place to stay, in his workshop. That’s where I’ve been sleeping and staying for the past weeks. But I soon plan to buy a place of my own. With my own coins.” 

She returned a smile back at the boy - glad he hadn’t ended up homeless and with no hopes for a better life, just as the father-to-be next to the children let out a worried moan of anguish. “Too long, she’s taking too long…” he lamented, tapping his foot nervously against the wooden floor.

“Oh, Sir, calm down. Is this your first child?” Cecilia stood up from her stool and gently patted the man’s shoulder.

“Indeed… Would the gods grant me a sliver of her pain, I–”

Kluya too stood up, then, and placed himself right in front of the sitting man. The adult’s face was red and humid, for a couple of tears of apprehension were welling up in his eyes. At that sight, Kluya sighed gently and then, under Cecilia’s gaze, grabbed the man’s face in his hands; lifting up his face and forcing his gaze up as delicately as he could, his thumbs pressed against his eyebrows. Then, they all stood still for a silent, long moment.

All of a sudden, the man’s expression relaxed and his eyes closed as he took a deep, long breath.

“Any better?” asked Kluya with a satisfied smile. The man’s complexion returned livelier and less pale, and his trembling limbs and lips came to a stop, while even his eyes dried up.

Cecilia blinked rapidly, silent as a statue, when she heard the once worried man smile and state he felt better.

“What have you done?” she asked Kluya once they returned to their previous seats.

“I know a trick of two for situations like this,” he smiled, “Now he shall remember this moment as one of the best he has ever had the luck to experience.”

The girl half-wished to ask him if he had performed a sort of magic chanting to calm the man down, but an icy shiver down her spine prevented her from speaking. A sixth sense, stopping her questions. A single image flashed before her eyes then – Serah’s hairpin. At the same time, a voice resounded inside her head, as grim and ominous as a single toll of a heavy bell; “From the town I come from, an old legend says children are born from a dragon’s tears. But they’ll saddle those dragons up and ride them through the skies.”  

She gulped down her next words, not out of fear, but in excitement. Could Kluya manipulate the future – the question brought a restless thrill to her accelerating heart. 

“Just because I‘m staying at the castle, it doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again, you know? It’s not like I’m caged in a tower, never to be seen again.” was all Cecilia could say to the boy instead, whose eyes shone hopeful at those words. “I know older girls are allowed to stroll alone around town, others stay all the time idling their time away in the courtyard. Maybe I just need to grow up some more.”

“Ah, well…” Kluya chuckled, finishing up his apple. “There is no fret. No one wants to grow up before the right time. Let Fate play its tricks and schemes, we’ll meet again.”

“And you’ll have to teach me – that! – next time!” Cecilia pointed at the calm man, “I may need it when history class gets too boring.”

Kluya laughed, “It’s easier than you’d think! I will, I promise, Cecilia.”

Right at that moment, from the other room, a newborn’s cry rose loud and high. At the sound, the new father stood up and, with a dumb smile, stumbled towards his child and wife’s room. When Cecilia turned around to laugh with Kluya at that scene, he had already left the house.

- ☽ -

Chapter Text

Aside from Serah’s, only another handful of noble families had the privilege of living in the Castle of Baron, together with the reagents. The realization that she would have never learnt all their titles and names dawned on Cecilia quite soon during her stay, so she decided to do her best not to disturb their peace if possible, in order not to appear too much like a fish out of water. Compared to their sons and daughters, ones who often interacted and talked with her if they had to and tried to be somewhat friendly to the newest additions among their young ranks, she still stood aloof among them, an exception in the mass of children who would have, one day, become the exact copy of their parents - in both wealth and prestige. Serah, on the other hand, had known those people and kids all her life and interacted with them in a manner so graceful and delicate that always impressed Cecilia - yet one she didn’t mind or found bothersome.

The promise was broken unexpectedly, though. Months after her arrival, on a day Martha spared the girl their long walks around town helping whoever needed their services, one of such noble children, a timid boy with short red hair, fell from his chocobo during riding practice and was immediately taken back inside the castle in the arms of his instructor and followed by his worried mother to the royal Mages’ rooms to be swiftly healed; amidst his moans of pain and muffled cries, a group of onlookers followed the pitiful procession, including Cecilia and Serah who had been attracted by the commotion and noises, away from their books by the sunny courtyard.

“If he can cry that much, that means he’ll be fine…” a strange cloaked figure leaning against the wall said when eyeing the kid disappearing among white-dressed figures.

That was the first time Cecilia had seen a Black Mage in person. She knew they rarely left their libraries and studies, according to tales heard from other children, and were mainly used to support regular armies of Baron during war. Many had already left Baron for the battlefront during those last days of summer - and rumors did add the King would have joined them soon, to send a strong message to Palamecia and its ruler yet again -  but this one was still there, in the castle, commenting a child’s injury with cynicism and half-a-smirk on his face. 

He was pale, and no one could clearly see his eyes hidden under his big pointed hat he wore. What caught Cecilia’s attention the most, though, was his long, beautiful cape; it appeared black, but under the firelight of torches it shone like the scales of a legendary serpent, almost blue. 

She had already seen a cape like that before: Kluya had worn a similar one the day they had first met, in town.

No matter his dry remarks on the child’s health, the Black Mage observed the scene unfolding right under his nose with eyes like a falcon’s - with a look to the boy’s mother and her empty promises to never let her son attend another riding course in his whole life, and another to the poor instructor nervously pacing around. 

A single thought, then, flashed across Cecilia’s mind; the similar cape could have meant a same weaver or weaving method, a selfsame production perhaps and, who knew – quite the pleasant surprise for her friend, back in town, if the girl’s predictions happened to be true.

In silence, the girl left the comfort of Serah’s side and found herself standing right next to the Black Mage. Yes, she was not mistaken – that cape was incredibly similar to Kluya’s up close. That thought gave her the strength to speak to the stranger out of the blue.

“Sir–” she smiled as she bowed her head briefly, like she was taught. Her voice didn’t tremble and her legs did not quiver now. “Could I ask you a question?”

The Black Mage eyed her, lifting his face just enough to look at her from under his wide hat. They had never met before, but that didn’t mean the wizard had never seen or heard of her. Nothing about Cecilia made her apparently different from other children roaming the court though, nothing he could have spotted at a first glance at least; her dress was pristine as many others, her long hair clean and tied by a loose ribbon like many girls her age and her manners were quite decent - her teachers said the same. 

His silence hurried Cecilia though. It felt like his gaze could pass through her like a needle through a handkerchief. “I was admiring your beautiful cape…” The sudden terror Black Mages could read minds made her pause for an instant before accelerating her next sentence. “Dark as night, looking so soft. I was curious, is this cape part of your usual garments? Or is it your personal belonging? I’d love to have a similar one.”

At that, the Black Mage relaxed and lowered his gaze, to admire the cloth resting upon his very own shoulders. “No one has ever asked about it.” He mused, almost affectionately. Cecilia kept on smiling at him despite her doubts. “It was a gift, actually. From the village I was born in, Mysidia, far in the South.”

Her heart skipped a beat at that confession, but she didn’t intervene just yet. Her smile simply grew wider. She remembered Kluya mentioning towns nearby Mysidia as well.

The Mage continued, “My grandmother used to weave them, every child would ask her one when they saw mine. And she never complained, no, never, despite her age. She enchanted her needles by simply raising an eyebrow and after a whole moon of work, it’d be ready. And the wool she used, she colored it herself, with liquids and dusts I never had the chance to examine or ask for which she made herself, when she couldn’t find sleep. The day she left us, many children she had given those brought back the capes, and she was wrapped in them the day after she joined the sea of souls.”

At last, Cecilia nodded and could finally let out her true feelings about that tale. Kluya’s brother might have been closer than he could ever have ever imagined. “How delightful. And how sad of a tale. You see, Sir, I know a boy in Baron with a mantle similar to yours. Blue as the midnight sky, but with stars woven on it.”

The man’s eyes widened and he finally stopped leaning against the wall. He fixed his hat on the head and looked with a raised brow at the child. “You what–?”

But before she could confirm or deny it, the man had already grabbed her by her elbow and was dragging her away from the noises and from the crowd waiting for news about the injured boy. The impetuousness of the Mage’s gesture and the fast pace of his steps drew all the color away from Cecilia’s cheeks in a single moment, while the girl, on her part, let the adult conduct her away from the others as if frozen in place, pulling her away with so much ease she must have resembled a doll with a frightened look on her face, she thought. For a moment, the grip around her arm made her eyes grow almost watery from the pain, before the Mage unceremoniously found an empty corridor to occupy and let go of her. Fighting the temptation to run away from the man and screaming at the top of her lungs, Cecilia observed him in both silence and terror, cursing her now broken promise not to stand out among the various inhabitants of the Castle.

“Repeat that! Who? Who has it?” the Mage pointed a finger right at her and spoke in a menacing tone that only made the child’s eyes more glassy. “It is not possible–”

After letting out a small sigh which resembled a hiccup, Cecilia clasped her hands together and began shivering. Praying a soldier would have seen them sooner than later to get her out of that situation, the child tried giving out an answer among the tremors. “I-I… Sir, I once saw a boy wearing a cape similar to yours, that is all. I liked it very much, and wanted to know more about it. That is all,” she repeated.

“You lie!” the Mage hissed. “You lie! Tell me exactly who this boy is.”

Silence.

“She– The capes were all returned, save mine! I saw them, more than two decades ago!”

A voice inside her head warned her to simply play dumb, to let the matter appear as confusing and dizzy as she could in his head - fearing something bad would have happened to Kluya if the truth had come out. Indeed, the Mage looked livid as a demon. Could a cape be that important -  she wondered. 

“The name–! You liar! Don’t you understand the danger we’re all in if you do not tell–?”

And suddenly–

“Hey– stop!”

Her lucky star above heard her silent pleas, for a hurried set of approaching steps forced the Mage to take a couple of steps back and fall silent with a clearing of his throat. Cecilia’s savior was a familiar figure, who now ran quickly through the corridor to catch up to them to understand what was happening. It was a child - or rather a young boy with brown curls and a slight pout adorning his delicate features - the Prince himself. Taller than her, he carried himself with a dignity no other peers of his possessed, with his azure short cape accompanying his movements like a heavenly veil, and making his frame look less like the one of a child.

“What is going on here?” the Prince glared at the Mage, who stood silent watching the royal heir raise his voice at him. “Answer. Has the girl done something wrong?”

Despite his young age and the almost imperceptible deepening of his voice due to adolescence taking the best of his childhood, the Prince now exuded an aura made of power and respect - one Cecilia had never observed before. During mealtimes, when together, he appeared meek and silent most of the time, focused on whoever talked to him first or on his full plate; with his parents’ company too he appeared as docile and calm as a lamb, and during lessons in and out of the class he barely smiled at the teachers praising his skills with weapons or his wit. 

“Indeed…” the Mage sneered with half-a-bow, “The girl might be hiding the presence of a monster hiding in Baron.”

“How would that be possible? She’s been living here for a while and seldom visits Baron.” The Prince went on.

The Mage opened his arms, showing the cape to them again. “No other child can possess an item such as this. The last was made in Mysidia, more than two decades ago. The one I wear before you! The rest are underground to wrap bones and worms, if the Crystal has spared the weaver the curse of the living dead. Your Highness must know this though – ships cannot cross the–”

“The ocean in times of war, I know, I know.” The Prince ended the sentence with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. 

“Exactly. For if she tells of a similar cloth worn in Baron, that must mean someone - or something - has reached our town in quite unconventional ways. Ways your guards have instructed us to report and denounce. And who could? Monsters, yes – beasts that can breathe underwater, and ride the tides like sirens. Or those guided by the winds and stars once the sun sets and you do not look outside your windows anymore. Your Highness, I hereby ask to be let–”

But the boy shook his head. “Enough. You think our guards wouldn’t have spotted a monster entering our city? Even one disguised as a man? Quell your rage and let the girl go, I’ll forget all this has ever happened. This is no interrogation room. Why would a girl hide monsters?”

“With all due respect–” the Mage’s voice quivered in agitation, finally at a loss. “I am Mysidian, like my brothers, and my teachers. One look is all we need to recognize an impostor from a true human being. For we are not mere soldiers, our single and each drop of blood is laced in pure ancient magic, unlike those prattling men who say they fight against men and beasts alike!”

“Watch your tongue! You are disrespecting my father’s men! And by that, you’re disrespecting my name as well. Enough, go back to your books if you value your worth, before I tell every thing I heard to the King. Then, he’ll decide the best way to lure out the monster you’re so certain of.”

“Do tell, young Majesty. It is your kingdom that could be at stake because of this girl’s silence, not mine.”

At that, the Mage lowered his gaze and with way too deep and ridiculous-looking courtesy made to mock the boy he turned around with a flip of his beautiful cape, to leave the scene. 

The Prince never took his eyes off him and watched him disappear behind a corner; the adult’s defiance hadn’t impressed him, and his firmness amazed Cecilia more than his newfound talkativeness. After yet another moment of silence, the boy crossed his arms. 

“It’s not like he’ll listen to me,” he told Cecilia with a shrug of his shoulder, “Mages aren’t expected to pay homage to our King like we all do, and they have special privileges that made them almost untouchable. They’re quite the resource in war, though. And it’s true they come from far-away, that’s mainly why they are so different. All they respect is their magic and their own Crystal - though its light does not reach us and almost makes them nervous. Too nervous. Anyways, are you feeling alright?” 

Cecilia smiled at the Prince with a deep nod. 

“Don’t bother Mages, if you can avoid it.”

“Noted. I must thank you, Your Highness. All he said was true – well, almost. I did ask him first, I thought I could find my friend’s brother when I saw their similar capes.” the girl spoke in whispers, her heart still racing for the battle she had just witnessed; one she had caused against her will, and that the Prince himself had stopped out of sheer luck. Her original intentions had been good, that was all she needed to remind herself of. 

Her hand calmly massaged the arm the Mage had gripped as tight as an iron vice minutes prior.

- ☽ -

The Prince did not leave her side after the quarrel had ended. He made sure to mention part of the episode to a Kingsguard he called over there in the same corridor, and then he led Cecilia away from the scene. Although lunchtime was not yet in sight, he insisted on accompanying the girl to the refectory hall – the place he was originally heading to – where he instructed a kind-looking servant to bring them some sweets and to rekindle the fireplace for them, since the days were getting colder and windier. The kind lady returned soon enough with two chalices filled  with hot cocoa and a plate of pieces of colorful little fruit cakes.

“Ah- my favorites… thank you,” he smiled at the food before digging his teeth into the closest lemon tart. “I was feeling hungry. Eat to your heart’s content. Uh, Mages like to call us children weird names, my nanny told me so once and told me to not bother them when present. Did you know? It’s because their kids are said to enchant toys like they’re little birds and send them flying around the room when they’re still too young to speak - something we do not. So we’re seen differently. And for obvious reasons! I just don’t like them much, and I also heard they can turn people into frogs and pigs with a snap of their fingers. Wicked. Do not risk it, leave them be.”

Never before had Cecilia spotted a Black Mage true, while sightings of White Mages around the castle and in town weren’t quite the rarity, so she couldn’t either agree or disagree with his strong opinions. A mere nod of the head served as a decent answer.

“It’s still debated whether Mage’s children can be the only inheritors of magic spells. Imagine how much they’d calm down, if the contrary was proven – ha!”

“I just thought he’d helped me track a friend’s family member. Nothing else, I swear.” Cecilia grabbed a sweet with halved strawberries on top.

“All by a cape? I could ask for a similar one and be presented with it before nightfall, if I so wish…” he shrugged again, a corner of his mouth rising as he swallowed his bite of sweet. “For your friend in town, am I right? Many refugees reach our Baron all the time… what could a child ever do?”

A voice inside her head stopped her from sharing too many other details about Kluya. Indeed, he had once told her he came from a place near Mysidia, the town of all Mages, and that his family had been destroyed and divided by a monster attack, which had forced him to leave. But that was it. She knew nothing else about him.

As she wondered in silence whether or not Kluya had tried seeking peace and a new home closer to Mysidia before reaching Baron, she took a sip of the hot cocoa. It was not too dense since it was lengthened by milk, but it proved a good drink even at that early hour, for its warmth soon made her feel at ease.

“Cecilia, was it?” The Prince waited for her to put her cup down before speaking to her again. At her affirmative words, he smiled plainly. “I always see you at dinner, sitting by the corner with the girl with blond hair like wheat. Have you– um, gotten used to the castle yet? I’d loathe to think you don’t like this place anymore, because of a bad apple.”

“Not at all. I’ve received nothing but kindness, Your Grace.”

“Ah, don’t call me that, if you can. Just Odin would be great - if we’re alone like this. Say, my thirteenth birthday is next week. We’ll celebrate and dine all night long in the main hall, like always on that day. I’ll ask the Queen to have you participate and have a seat at the table. Would you come? Oh, say you will - consider it a way to forget all the unpleasant events you’ve experienced today.”

“Your Hi– Ah, Odin. It is quite alright…” Cecilia put her cup down to her lap.

“Though I insist? You arrived this summer but are part of the castle already. Know it’d be the best gift I could ask for. I’d want to see you spending a good evening.”

- ☽ -

A youth’s most important birthday had to be their fifteenth, for it was at that age when boys and girls in Baron were legally considered adults – although Cecilia thought such details didn’t interest princes and kings much, as the feast for the Prince was planned about as luscious and grand as she would have imagined a proper coming of age.

Clean and well-dressed in tones of white and yellow with a band of satin embellished with pearls around her foreheads, that eventful night, she enjoyed the music, exotic food and dances together with a multitude of adults and just a handful of children she knew. None were too young, and they followed their parents here and there like curious pups, saluting one and shaking hands with another instead of regrouping like they used to do during normal meals or breaks by the refectory or the courtyards of the castle; and among them was Serah, much to her joy. Having no one beside her, Cecilia intended to follow the friend the whole evening. For a moment she had even considered tailing Cid instead, who was present there too, of course - but a look at his distressed face whenever he gazed down at his ceremony doublet full of strings and buttons made her immediately abandon that idea and chuckle at his attire.

The King and Queen never stood up from their seats placed at the far end of the long wooden table in the middle of the room, and guests were kindly invited to come closer to greet them - while their only son was on his feet and moved between a groups of people and relatives with ease, talking with nonchalance and smiling to everyone for a change. 

She approached him quite early, before the crowds of nobles from the whole kingdom would all arrive and while musicians were still tuning their many instruments. He appeared positively beaming with thrill when she came closer to him, and he even let her bow graciously before him and congratulate him with no words of protest. 

“I am so happy you joined us, Cecilia!”

As she let her neck bend slightly and felt the multitude of pins around her head pulling at her nape skin and hair, she considered how weird it was, for her, to be actually there. A couple of months before, she’d have never imagined anything like that being part of her and her world - not when her most prized possessions used to be a simple hairbrush and an old wedding dress closed in a chest for years. But there, bowing before royalty and dolled up in pearls and golden, a sense similar to nausea struck her like a serpent’s bite - sudden and stinging. She smiled nonetheless at the Prince’s happiness, and followed Odin when he invited her to greet his parents too.

She repeated her bows and sweet smiles again when the Queen pointed Cecilia to her assigned seat for when the food would have been brought to the table. Quite close to the family, too.

- ☽ -

One of the most beautiful moments of the feast, to Cecilia, was watching the adults dance in their luscious dresses, in perfect harmony with each other and with the music. 

The bards had stopped singing of battles and mighty beasts slain by knights for a while, and the party was reaching its conclusion with those last joyful dances; there had been some weird and bizarre occurrences throughout the evening, true, - two or threes pot shattered and weird cheers - but they had not impressed anyone with all the cider and wine flowing into the guests’ cups at all times, and no complaints by the monarchs meant the situation remained under steady control, somehow.

When all the women joined in a circle that spun in a merry round of laughter and jiggling, Cecilia was struck by a sense of nostalgia and that sensation similar to nausea returned again. Serah pulled at her sleeve with gentleness a moment after, oblivious to her silent malaise, and pointed at the men, knights and nobles, husbands or sons, joining in - the circle of dresses and colors breaking into couples now. She guided Cecilia’s gaze towards her parents, who spun and seemed to glide on the white marble floor in unison.

At a certain point, just as the tambourine resounded loud over the flute and lutes, the girls observed the couples break up and mix in a new composition and combinations. She recognized some of those steps and wondered, as a distraction to her churning stomach, if one day she would have danced like that too, once older.

After a quick round of applause, the King finally stood up together with his wife and offered a toast to his son, to which everyone else followed in jubilation, clicking cups and with more words of congratulations. That was the first time in her life Cecilia tasted wine, although after a first sip she decided to simply moisten her lips with that blood-red liquid.

Yet, there was still something else in store for the Prince - a last surprise announced by the King himself. The man invited his guests - or better, those sober enough - to leave the dining hall to proceed through the corridors of the castle to the main internal courtyard, where a present for the thirteen-years-old boy was waiting. That invitation resulted mostly in a majority of young knights and women hurrying towards the courtyard under the supervision of the Kingsguard - on duty even that night; noticing Serah following along in that crowd, Cecilia joined her outside. 

There, on the white marble and under a clear starry sky, a couple of men were keeping still what looked like a huge beast.

For an instant, she was horrified at the thought the present for Odin could have been a monster to kill inside the palace, before a crowd. But on a closer inspection, the vision became clearer: that was no monster, but a tall and majestic black horse with eyes lit like candlelight and a long and untamed mane rustling at every movement and gust of nightly wind. 

Many of those present cheered and applauded the prince when he was helped up on the saddle. The animal was still too big for him, but the boy’s eyes gleamed in pure joy and excitement once he took the reins in his hands and patted delicately his animal at the side of the neck.

“That’s scary…!” Serah let out when the heavy hooves of the horse resounded decisively too loud against the stone floor.

“As much as my dragon?” his father by her side chuckled.

“Not at all!”

At his daughter’s amused laughter, the man caressed her blonde head and made back towards the castle hall, followed by a bunch of other men and his wife. 

Cecilia yawned when another cheer rose from a bunch of young boys he barely knew around Odin, while Serah followed his father back inside with a wobbly, sleepy pace in her steps. The horse neighed in protest at the sudden surging noise, but the boy swiftly calmed him down with a couple of clicks of the tongue.

“May I go on a quick ride in town now?” the Prince begged one of the two men, still keeping a close eye on the gift. “I’m sure the King would not say no to me. I want to see how he feels.”

“There’s a whole new day for that,” a middle-aged woman commented while rubbing her hands nervously together. “Your Highness, be mindful he’s been tamed only a little time ago, I heard, and it may not respond well to commands yet. You would need to train him in enclose–”

Odin let out a big laugh which interrupted the woman, just as one of his peers came closer, urged by his friends, to caress the horse on the hips. The animal didn’t seem to mind the attention. “I will be alright. See? Sleipnir is being so good now. We’re getting along great already!”

“Who would Sleipnir be?” 

“He is!” The boy pointed at his mount with a smile. “I’m going for a simple stroll, nothing more, and be right back here alone, no need to worry. You may even avoid telling my father, actually… I can feel he’s way swifter than those ponies and chocobos I practiced with! Command to open the gates, already.” 

As other voices rose from the crowd and rushed in together to try to calm down the Prince’s eagerness, he had already pulled the reins to a side to turn the black horse towards the path that led out of the courtyard, to the main gates. Just as he made way, his eyes met for a moment the girl’s, who stood in the front line among the other remaining onlookers still, and quickly added with a smirk, “Would you like a ride, Cecilia? Isn’t it a good auspice to have a first ride accompanied by a girl?”

The beast moved a hoof with temperament. Serah had been right - scary indeed.

“My Lord, I never heard of such a thing–” Still, one of the two men suggested the teen with a worried expression. 

“She can sit right in front, the saddle is big enough for two of us.”

Without having the chance to reply or protest – and of course she would have refused! All she had ridden till that moment were a couple of young chocobos in the training grounds during lessons, but the sensation of the bird moving under her had bothered Cecilia so much she had kindly asked the instructors to mount chocobos only when strictly necessary – now two strong hands grabbed her from under her armpit and lifted her swiftly above Sleipnir’s back, right in front of Odin and everyone else. For an instant she almost tried to spread her legs to sit like the Prince did, but the dress made it a quite difficult - and embarrassing - task and she thought it no proper sitting posture for a girl after all; so, she swung gently both her legs to a side while still up in the airs, in the man’s arms, closing her thighs together as tightly as she could and sat sideways on the big horse’s back. The saddle hurt a bit, but that was not the only reason her cheeks had flushed pink.

“Thank you, Richard.” Odin said to the one who had lifted Cecilia up. “Easy enough, right?”

When the girl looked down at the pavement and the crowd, she felt dizzy for a moment. The beast was indeed way too tall and imposing, its well defined muscles shook at every and each movement and at the added weight on his back, but he remained calm and silent under the boy’s – and men’s, supervision.

“Um–” the girl looked up to glance at the boy behind her. “How do I– Where am I supposed to hold on?”

“I’m not going to run that fast. Just keep your hands on his neck– no, not around, just try and sit as straight as you can.” 

“The reins– don’t ever let them go, please…”

She dared no more trying to turn around and glance at him, but felt Odin’s frame move behind her and hoped he took pity on her feelings and fear. He had shown nothing but unprecedented kindness to her till then - till that weird and bold move, even though they had truly known each other for a very short amount of time. 

“I won’t let you fall off, I promise. Ready now.” Then he looked at the men and women remaining in the courtyard. “I’ll be right back. The gate is already kept wide open, I would hope.”

The horse huffed, as if sensing his master’s upcoming order. In a second, then, the young boy pulled at the leather strings in his hands and gently propped himself up on the seat, while kicking the animal’s belly with both heels.

Cecilia gasped the moment the horse began trotting away. Evidently, the Prince was trying to maintain a calm pace just because he was still inside the castle; for as soon as the main gate was behind them and when Cecilia had gotten used to that gait, Odin spurred his Sleipnir to run almost as fast as a wild horse would have. And the horse did as commanded.

- ☽ -

Most of the run was spent by Cecilia with shut eyes and fingers dug into the horse’s mane like claws of a beast, that black as coal hue and hide did almost melt with the sleeping town of Baron at night and with its sky. Odin, at the very least, seemed to be having the time of his life, for he laughed like she had never heard him before, with beaming wide eyes and with his curls messy and undone by the speed and the wind.

Sleipnir seemed not scared by the houses, obstacles of daily lives scattered along the road and the few awake people roaming the empty streets still, especially by the tavern. 

Only when the familiar sound of the main fountain of Baron’s square reached her ear did Cecilia open her eyes. The horse still trotted, yet not as fast as before, and puffed with stubbornness a bit at each pull of the reins by his master. Her back still hurt quite a lot.

And it was there, in that nostalgic, familiar square, that a shadow caught her interest right during the ride, as Odin mused out loud to himself, “Is he tired? Maybe it’s time to run back home, eh? Are you tired too, Cecilia?”

He alone was there, sitting by the fountain’s marble edge, looking not at the sword and griffins made of stone towering above him, nor at the gushing clean water coming out of those white stones. The noises of the horse and of its hooves against the street, although loud and unexpected at that hour, did not seem to bother or unfazed him - a young boy with black air whose gaze pointed up above, right at the starry sky. More precisely, at the twin full moons. It was the same spot he had occupied months ago, on his first day in Baron, by Cecilia’s side. The day her father had passed away.

Kluya stared at the moons in silence, a hand loosely submerged in the water pooling in the fountain.

When passing by, albeit way too quickly for comfort, Cecilia tried to get his attention with a brave, brief wave of her arm – a terrible idea swiftly turned down when she felt herself almost slipping off the horse’s back at the gesture. He did not look at her or seemed to notice her and, as Sleipnier circled around the plaza once to head back towards the hill where the castle was located, the girl noticed luminescent pearls on Kluya’s cheeks. 

No  –  it took her another second to realize those were not pearls or shining stones. 

Kluya was crying, those were tears falling down his cheeks.

Her blood froze through her veins. She couldn’t wait for that day to be over.

“I guess he’s tired indeed. Back home, go. Say, how did you find the ride? See how fast he was when we left the castle? I’m pretty good at controlling horses, the teachers always say that.”

- ☽ -

Back in her bedchamber, Cecilia got out of her gown of white and gold - now wrinkled all over and smelling like horses, and threw aside her various garments to observe herself into her mirror, completely naked. Usually, the maid in charge of her room and well-being would have drawn her a warm relaxing bath before bed - but it was too late for it, that day. Or perhaps, the maid was away celebrating with someone, away from duty. 

She turned around before the glass and threw her head back, to observe her spine and rear. As expected during the ride, her waist presented a big red, round bruise that would have surely turned darker at dawn, most likely the result of a weird movement of Sleipnier under her combined with that uncomfortable sitting position on the saddle.

Her will to sleep abandoned the girl at the prospect of spending a whole night trying not to lie on her back, to avoid more back pains. With a sigh, she looked away from her pale, frail and bruised frame to gaze out of her closed windows. The two full moons stared back at her, almost in silent defiance.

They looked beautiful, like two shining gems. The reason why a boy like Kluya found them worthy of his tears could not cross her mind even if she tried to put herself in his shoes, a young foreigner who was trying to become part of Baron and of its life. A citizen in the making, perhaps working hard by the man who had offered him a job - waiting for the day he could have afforded a room or place where to stay.

He missed his brother, perhaps - she imagined, and thought of him while looking at the two two inseparable moons. Another thought was then spared to the Black Mage, and to their similar capes. A wave of sadness washed through her.

- ☽ -

Chapter Text

On a windy autumn day when Lady Martha came to take the girl with her for work  - a simple visit to a feverish child and another childbirth right after -  Cecilia noticed someone was now inhabiting her old house by the town walls. The sight made an old wound in her heart ache and bleed like a deep and fresh cut of a dagger, as she noticed the entrance door slightly ajar and noises coming from inside while she walked past it, following the woman intent on reaching the next place to be. 

The morning only turned for the worse when the child she was supposed to attend to and help be born came out dead from the womb. That was the way of life - Martha had later told the girl, and Cecilia could not agree more, no matter the pain and impotence in each movement and every step taken, each sight or word spoken.

“At least the mother has survived,” she concluded, already heading back to the castle, where she would have left Cecilia in the care of the gate-guards before heading home to her husband and daughter. “She shall be fine, once time does her work on her mind and heart. She knew the risks. Ah- Cecilia, dear, make sure to scrub your entire body thrice once you get back to your rooms. And do not forget the soap. You look pale, relax for the rest of the day and eat something sweet.”

She pinched one of her cheeks till it flushed pink.

- ☽ -

When she asked a healer to be seen, later that afternoon, it took the woman a second with lips pressed against her forehead to determine the cause of her general discomfort. A cold, she said, and a high temperature. She sent Cecilia back to her room with the recommendation to be served back in her chamber for dinner, and nothing else; once back up in the tower, though, the origin of all that was soon discovered.

Though her menses did not bother the girl much – being older, Melliene had her first already and all girls around her knew, and the sight of blood didn't scare her much anymore - they proved the right excuse to not be dragged into town for a while by Martha and to be spared lessons outside the castle walls. On such tiring days, a maid would bring her meals to bed and she was required to leave the apartment only if personally summoned or for lessons.

As those days ran out, so did the aches and the blood, as well as the food served in the room and the special treatments; when back to her usual routine, though, Martha returned too, not with the pretense of having her work as her assistant, but with a small box and some clean bandages.

The small gift contained two pearls of milky white. “My mother gave me something when I became a girl, as I gave something similar to my daughter back when that time came. Consider it a consolation. Earrings would suit you so well.”

More than the object and the surprise itself, the realization of being a child no longer struck her right then, sitting next to the woman offering to pierce her lobes herself. She remembered Melliene had looked so pretty with longer dresses and her hair down, her curves and plumpness as years went by before her eyes of a child still. She had never hidden from those curious gazes of fellow girls and friends, and she did not even seem to mind boys’ attention. 

She had nothing of that blossoming woman frame that graced and alienated Melly at the same time. Not yet. It had been a while since she had seen her last.

“I have the right tools at home. Here I’d only make a mess. Do pay me a visit whenever you feel like it, I’ll get the earrings on you in no time.” Martha said at last.

“A mess?” the child repeated. Enough of blood, she thought. 

“Sometimes. But think how beautiful you’d look afterward.”

- ☽ -

It felt like a rite of passage. Men had their dragon eggs to steal and beasts to behead, and she had her earlobes to be mercilessly pierced with a burning hot needle by an adult. 

Once she gathered enough courage on her chosen day of trial, she asked to be allowed in the city to a guard - who did not seem to mind. With the box clutched in hand, she walked calmly through the town streets in her simplest dress and a string around her waist to help Martha get a better view of her ears; she was a skilled woman with her tools and instruments, but the thought of a human error and a piece of her ear on the floor made her stomach turn and squirm like a scared critter. 

Despite the mission to accomplish clear in her mind and her resolution strong and unwavering, she could not help herself and took a painfully long detour in town, passing by her old house once again before turning toward Martha’s. Indeed, the familiar small windows were open and the door slightly ajar, despite the temperature outside turning for the cold in those last weeks with the promise of a rigid winter with its wind and dark clouds. Cecilia stopped walking and observed the building in solemn silence. 

In a single moment, various images of who the new occupants could possibly be crossed her mind in a flash that made her almost feel dizzy: maybe a family, newlyweds eager to start a family who would have soon been visited by Martha and her tools; or an old couple on the edge of life, praying the gods above each morning and evening to depart that world together; or parents and children who’d laugh from dawn to dusk while cooking dinner and reading fairy tales before bed. Whatever, but her father’s illness and the cold, silent breakfast times spent alone by the kitchen table.

It was not envy that guided her steps towards the door, nor her hand to knock on the hard heavy wood. But mere curiosity. And as she did, she hid her box of pearl earrings in a little leather bag tied around her waist and hoped to be welcomed by a smile, as she readied her excuse for the unannounced visit.

A couple of seconds later, the door was opened and she was welcomed by a bright and surprised smile. A familiar boy with black hair and vivid blue eyes.

“How old did you say you were?” she asked, taking off her small woolen scarf and entering the kitchen. Most of the house was how she remembered it; the simple pieces of furniture, the chairs and walls, all reminded her of her childhood, of her father and those last days of summer spent there. It seemed out of every logic the place was his, now.

“I will turn fourteen in spring,” Kluya said while filling a glass of water for his guest. “Haven’t I told you already? While you–”

“Ten, this winter.”

After that comeback, she kept silent and examined him further. Under his baggy tunic, he looked tremendously slender and tiny for a fourteen-year-old young man, but, again, he could not compare with the physique of knights in training who used to hang around at court and that she’d see more often than him. 

“Why did you ask?” he added with a tilt of his head.

“You’re young, that’s all. I never saw a homeowner as young as you.”

“Coins open many doors in life and close many eyes.” he gave her a smirk, “Though it’s but a momentary adjustment, I prefer to see it this way.”

“I thought the smith you worked for was keeping you in and everything.”

“Well, I simply don’t happen to work for him any longer, I am afraid. And I had to secure myself a place to stay when I was at the door.” Kluya finally took a seat around the table and gave her the drink. He had initially offered her something warmer to help herself from the cold breeze - a tea, or a glass of heated milk, but she refused everything he proposed. Too stubborn to let her win, though, he had insisted on simple fresh water. At her inquisitive gaze, he went on, “I was not a big loss for business. The best thing I could model was stirrups for chocobos, smithing is not something I enjoyed. The decision to abandon the place was mutual, and that’s what counts. With my savings and the little gils I stayed at the inn for two nights before the burgomaster showed me the place and asked the crown for permission. And here I am.”

Cecilia smiled, “You’re lucky.”

He chuckled at her happiness. “I am. Or I would probably have had to leave Baron without the chance to say goodbye. I did not know you once used to live here, though. Tell me more about this place.” 

The last question threw Cecilia off. “More? Like what?”

“Memories, images. It’s a small house, but you said you once were here. With your parents, I’d presume.” Kluya insisted, “Was this your dinner table? And where did you sleep?”

When last summer those questions and the memories they would have conjured up in her sea of thoughts would have brought her almost to tears due to sadness and melancholy, the enthusiasm of the boy was turning the circumstance into an almost joyful one. The same wave of bravery that had made her come up and knock at the door took hold of her tongue instead of her hand, and she lifted her gaze as the glass was spun in her hands delicately.

“It was. I used to help in the kitchen when my father would still be strong enough to get up early. I’d sit right where you are now, actually–” she mused, never abandoning her smile, “Porridge and soup, we did not care much as long as we could sit together and tell stories and gaze out of the window.”

Kluya listened to her like a child did with old tales.

She then pointed at one of two doors. “That’s where my parents slept.”

“I rest there…” the boy briefly added. “The bed frame is new, but I had to get the filling and pillow. It’s a pretty big space.”

“It had to be. My father rested there. And he was… tall.”

“I’ll grow tall too, give me some more years.”

“And there, he’d keep his things - his clothes and armor were there, but the latter I was never allowed to see or touch. I wonder who took it. His weapon too should have been there, in his chest. When thunder would wake me up during summer tempests, I’d slip into bed with him and he would tell me stories till I could not keep my eyes peeled any more.”

“What stories do you have for children, in Baron?”

“Anything. From legends of heroes of eld, to those stories of babies abducted by fairies in the crib who come back to her parents after a thousand years to find no one because time flows differently between the two realms. Nothing about dragons, I am afraid.”

Kluya gasped, “You remember what I told you, then! Oh, those can be scary for younger ones. I would’ve much preferred the fairies and elves.”

“What about the knights and heroes?”

“No, nothing about that.”

“And the second door, yes, that used to be my bedroom. A simple, small one. But gods… how I missed how warm it’d stay in winter, or how the bed felt soft.”

At that, Kluya got up from the chair that belonged to a younger Cecilia and looked her straight in the eyes. “Want to enter it again? Of course, it was yours once!” and with that he gestured for her to stand up as well and to go towards the closed door.

She felt young again, a young child instead of a girl who had bled but a few days ago for the first time and whose earrings sat in her bag. In the course, she felt Cecilia - the girl from Baron, not the privileged girl at court who conversed with a prince at each meal and was gifted jewels by women outside of her very family. And her family was no more, of course; yet between those walls, the illusion of opening the door of the main bedroom and finding her father polishing his sword or the inviting smell of food ready for her felt both absurd and quite real at the same time - tormenting like a siren’s song would a lost sailor.

But when Kluya kindly invited her to make way and open the door that once led to her resting place for the night, she found not her soft mattress or the familiar objects and toys. But heavy-looking books, shelves filled with flasks and his cape made of woven night and stars resting on a stool.

“It's a storage room. Well, an odd one. Come on in, have a look around if you wish…” Kluya said with a nudge of his head.

Nothing of her old bedroom was left to behold. A grim realization of the mirages is just illusions, indeed. No smell, not her father in the next room, or the warmth during winter were there to welcome her into the past.

A quick, guilty glance at his familiar cape and then she made way for him to follow her inside. He looked quite proud of his collection, though Cecilia had no idea what all that actually meant or was.

“Are you studying to become a healer? Or an alchemist?”

“It looks like an odd potionist’s alcove, doesn't it? No, nothing like that. Though I may not be made for smithing, could you imagine me stirring cauldrons day and night, catching the first ray of the new moons or weeds wet by morning dew?”

“I could, actually.”

He laughed the idea off and got closer to a pile of books by a shelf. The title on the cover of the topmost of a pile was in a language - or better, an alphabet - Cecilia had never seen in her life. 

“Remember when you once calmed a man by simply touching his brows, last summer?” she asked him, dragging the words out of his mouth this time.

“I do, yes.”

“You must be a Mage, then!”

“Not quite, even a babe could do the same if he learns how.”

“Teach me, I want to try. For as long as I can remember, tales of Mages have them conjure flames and ice with a snap of their fingers, but nothing like what you did!”

“We have no one you could try it with. And no, I don’t count, for I know the trick.”

“You haven’t denied, you are a Mage!” Cecilia relaxed the tension in her limbs and trotted back next to him with a big smile, the one of someone with the truth in hand, and eyes filled with awe. She dropped her gaze only when an old-looking hourglass caught her attention, its sand pearly white and gleaming. 

“You’re a bizarre lot - few girls your age would get interested in studies of this kind. What do the people in the castle teach you?”

“On Mondays we look at the map of the continent - and we point to towns and routes of importance, naming this and that; on Thursdays and Wednesdays the teachers tell us the myths and legends of the realm, and after the afternoon prayers we study history. On Fridays we are let outside to the stables - but lately I do not, and stay inside with the older girls…” Cecilia stopped for a moment and avoided his gaze with a faint blush, to then continue after a clearing of her throat, “We play or read together, I don’t like how many of them have taken up needlework. And on Saturdays, we dance.”

“See?” he smirked, hands on his hips, “No magic, no heavy tomes to consult.”

“You won’t make me desist, Kluya. Back in that house, you gave me your word.”

The boy lifted his gaze and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to remember. Days, weeks and months might have passed, but the image was still very and clearly vivid in the girl’s mind. Perhaps because the promise had been as unexpected as it had been thrilling. 

“I might have–” he whispered, before peering at the enthusiasm still to leave her features. Then, without a notice, both his hands moved to grab hers, and his blue eyes focused on her fingers as if in a trance, barely blinking. Cecilia neither gasped or protested; as if subjected to a healer’s visit, she let him examine her hands - although her mind raced with puzzled thoughts regardless of her calm appearance.

After a minute spent in silence, Kluya lifted his gaze and let go of her hands, as delicately as he had first held them.

“What– What did you do?” she allowed herself to inquire out loud. His touch had been warm, and that missing pleasant sensation prompted her to speak. But the reassuring smile on his lips spoke louder than anything else, before his tongue even. She reflexively smiled back at him.

“If my senses and instructions do not fool me - they rarely do, believe me, you might be a gifted individual. Meaning you might be receptive to aether currents if adequately trained.”

“Aether?”

“You could call it primitive, primordial energy. It’s the matter that turns thoughts to reality, which Mages train to manipulate and bend to their likings. And it composes bodies and all living beings, in different parts.”

“Magic?”

“Mind that doesn’t make you a borne Mage, nor a magic user.” The boy took a hand to his curly hair, sighing, “Only that you’d be a good one, should the need arise and you learn how.”

The words of Odin days prior and the Black Mage with his familiar starry cape flashed back into her mind, just as heavy and cold as they had seemed back then. Both saw magic as an innate gift, a Mage being a chosen one albeit under quite different lights. Nothing was mentioned about abilities one could teach, nor the mention of aether.

Cecilia’s hand instinctively traveled to her leather bag around the waist. 

“Take this,” she offered him the box with the pearl earrings, tightly closed by a bowtie. “The smith does not have you any longer, it’d be cruel to ask something of you with nothing in return. They’re earrings, accept them as payment. But promise me again, you’ll teach me. Something – anything, please!”

He seemed doubtful, and eyed the package with raised eyebrows. “These are not for me–” He tried protesting, before opening the box and peeking at the jewels. 

“Every teacher is paid for their work. I didn’t like them much anyway.”

Silence.

He raised his gaze at her again. His eyes had lost any expression. “These are enchanted artifacts.”

“What–?”

He promptly closed the box, sealing the pearls inside. The color of Cecilia’s cheek drained to pale hues when he threw it on top of his “alcove” table and covered it with his dark cape after a quick look around. 

“Enchanted – a spell was put on the pearls,” he clarified, with half-a-smile, “Nothing threatening to your person and life, be not alarmed. But magic nonetheless. Who has given them to you? You shouldn’t accept things so carelessly at the palace, see, you can never know what you put on.”

“There must be a mistake, the woman who gave me those is no Mage. But what kind of spell is–”

“I am not sure, but I presume…” he glanced at the hidden box for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes darting like swift arrows. “It may be a hearkening incantation. To hear your every word. Be mindful of the gifts received at the palace, Cecilia. I shall keep them with me and study them thoroughly, alone and most importantly, in silence. I accept them as payment… but we had better start next spring, if ever. Not a word with anyone… time will fly, don’t give me that look. You’ll always know where to find me. You know the way.”

- ☽ -

The girl took that matter terribly seriously the following months and became much more wary of her surroundings once back in the castle during the following, colder seasons. Forced inside most of the time, chances to meet with Kluya had become sporadic, and she had no idea what he had found of compromising about the earrings Martha had wanted her to wear yet; under a sorry of an excuse – Cecilia had told the woman she simply wished for her ears to be left untouched and to not be pierced – and the woman had shrugged her shoulders and seemingly forgotten about it. More than once Cecilia tried to ask her whether or not that heartfelt, enchanted gift had belonged to anyone else before, but her curiosity was not satiated and the days grew colder, chillier and gray.

The day she turned ten, she was merely offered a wider array of sweets at dinner together with Serah, Mellione who had been allowed to dine in the castle too and her parents and the other girls from her class; Prince Odin had gifted her a soft woolen scarf – for colder days, he had specified, and snowy ones when he would have possibly played with her – but that was it. Cecilia made sure, scared of a repetition of past events as she was, to reiterate days and days before the event she did not wish for any present. Everyone, except the prince, had obliged at her request.

About a week after the quiet day of celebrations, the King left the Castle to keep faith of his own word and join his own armies at the front; and during those days it was not unusual to admire the silhouettes of dragons moving like a fleet of migratory birds up in the sky, certainly ridden by their owners, the Dragoons – with Serah’s father too.

The halls of the castle turned quieter with most of its soldiers, mages and dragoons gone. Only the Kingsguard members had remained home, protecting the royal family and the noble families of ministers and members of the royal council alike, and a couple of White Mages left in Baron for emergencies.

That was also the reason why preparations for the celebratory opening of the famed “Devil’s Road” had to be delayed due to insufficient workforce – the studies of scholars and mages alike, most likely. She was silently glad Mages were scarce, now, in Baron; the scary and dreadful thought that the earrings had belonged to the Black Mage who had once threatened her was too obvious a thought to contemplate for long – yet, the possibility was not to be ruled out completely, either, she knew it.

- ☽ -

Afternoons flowed slowly, boring and dull unless guests would meet or surprise her. At times, Cid would stall for longer periods of time in the castle instead of heading home straight away, and Cecilia would often fall asleep on cushions on the stone floor as he talked endlessly of the prodigies of modern technology and inventions on rainy days. On the other hand, her friend Serah grew not much in the winter, and eyed with a veil of innocent jealousy the other girls who were already and visibly blooming and changing into young women; but her company proved to be the most constant one she had asked for, just like during her very first days spent in the Castle. Mortified by her father’s forced absence, she often begged Cecilia to keep her mind occupied - at times they would recite poems, some other times Cecilia would help her with her sewing homework, or even, they would bring chocobos in the royal stables – as well as Sleipnir, fresh vegetables from the kitchen and pet them till their hands felt numb.

Odin was keeping them company whenever free from his preceptors and his mother; he had begun his military training for a couple of years already, but only then could he now swing his sword on top of his steed with ease, even in heavy armor – he had invited Cecilia to witness his riding lessons, which proved to be a good way to kill some spare time. All that training and the regimen he was put through made him a taller boy, and when winter was over and he could start wearing thinner doublets and pants, Cecilia noticed the outline of his muscles felt more pronounced. In a couple of years, he would have become a full-fledged adult, after all.

The military campaign had yet to be concluded, and carried on even after the last snows. Spring made its way silently into Baron, and the kingdom thrived with its renewed beauty and boon. 

Cecilia had never pierced her earlobes, but she let her hair grow longer and began to embellish herself with small details that began with perfumed water and a fingertip of rose petals rouge on her lips. The first to notice the powder on her face was Odin at a banquet, as she shuffled next to him to listen to the musicians in the dining hall.

- ☽ -

“Warmer days are approaching, don’t you think?” One night, as Cecilia made out of the hall to walk to her quarters, Odin intercepted her and forced her to a halt, to listen to him. 

The Queen was in charge of royal councils and of the entire castle in the absence of the King, but his father’s absence - much like Serah, had influenced the young heir’s behavior as well; perhaps it was unavoidable, Cecilia too had changed since the days her own father was alive. She found him more reserved in public, less broody with the company of peers and adults and a bit more mature with how he spoke and carried himself – the impatient boy on his nameday who had forced her to an uncomfortable ride on his black steed seemed like a very distant, unknown person. A foreign ghost no more to be seen in the white stone halls of Baron Castle.

Cecilia nodded, her head and eyelids heavy with sleep. It was late.

“I suppose the scarf I gifted you will be put to rest,” he chuckled nervously, tilting his head to a side, “Anyway – guests are supposed to be welcomed tomorrow, two adventurers renewed in the whole continent and beyond for their deeds. I was wondering, would you join me? A feast is to be held in their honor, and the Queen has already approved my idea.”

Cecilia joined her hands together and bowed her head a little. “Tomorrow is the first day of spring. I fear I am occupied.”

She had waited all winter for it – she wouldn’t have let Kluya off the hook so easily. And in case he had forgotten their promise, she would have made sure to remind him; the aether flowing through her, or whatever he had seen, would have been studied and examined, and maybe she would have been taught elementary spells. 

“Occupied?” The prince repeated, curling his nose. “With what? Lessons are suspended. You mean, in town? Lady Pryce’s work, perhaps?”

“I…” She held up the soft gown of her dress and with another bow of her head tried to make for the staircase leading to the eastern wing of the castle apartments, to her room. “I apologize…”

He watched her escape his gaze when she turned around a corner, a fit of bitter shame striking her whole being as she thought what manner of future excuses she would have used had her outings become more frequent. 

She couldn’t have told him more. He would have understood - she prayed.

- ☽ -