Chapter Text
March 1, 726
The rich and imposing Hall of Melius bustled with the murmurs of waiting members of the H4 Conference, called to an emergency meeting in a rare time of unrest for the Kingdom of Noigllado. Three of its four subgroups were spread across a wide table; the Ministers were sat on the furthest side from the entrance, taking up a good chunk of the seats near the back. Adhuk Neuendorf, the captain of the Royal Guard of Noigllado, was the Royal Guard's sole representative, and occupied a seat near the middle. The rest of the table was home to the Archbishops, who filled the rest of the seats closest to the door. In front of the table was a small staircase leading up to an area raised slightly above the rest of the room, holding a short balcony and a small table with four seats, all facing the remaining Conference members.
The door slowly opened, quickly shushing the chattering Conference members. Through the door walked a tall young man with gray hair down to his neck, wearing glasses and a long coat over a red button-up shirt with black pants, and carrying a book under his shoulder. He was followed closely by a slightly shorter man with long, flowing blond hair, wearing dark purple pants, a purple and black jacket, and lighter blue boots, with a white and lavender eyepatch covering his right eye. Soon after entered a man with short brown hair and a short, well-kept beard, wearing a long, black jacket, white pants, and black shoes. Finally, an older man with a large white beard entered, dressed in all black and supported by a long silver cane with a metal snake coiling around it. The first three to enter each took a seat at the raised table, and the old man stood in front of the table, addressing the rest of the Conference members, who all stood to face him, from the balcony.
“Greetings, members of the H4 Conference,” The man’s deep and commanding voice boomed. “I, Zalieri, on behalf of Agiona, officially commence this meeting on the subject of the inheritance of the royal throne. You may be seated.” As Zalieri made his way to the remaining empty chair at the table behind him, the rest of the members of the Conference quickly sat down in silence.
Once he was seated, the man with brown hair stood up and walked to the balcony, speaking in turn. “We are gathered here today to discuss who of Emperor Jusis’s children shall inherit the throne in light of his untimely passing,” he began. “As all of you are aware, before the death of the late Empress, she gave birth to two twins: Nox, a boy, and Matin, a girl. I am sure many of you see Nox as the obvious choice to inherit the throne. The reason we have called this meeting is to postulate that it may not be so straight-forward. Our historian and archaeologist, Lyudmil, will elaborate.” The brown-haired man made his way back to the table.
The blond-haired man then quickly stood up with a small stack of papers in his hand and spoke as he began to walk to the balcony to address the Conference. “Thank you, Matthias,” he said, his voice quite a bit more expressive than those of the two before him, radiating confidence. “Members of the Conference, my latest expedition has brought forth a wealth of literatures written by the ancient founders of the Trisagionid faith. I have here a direct quote from the book I most recently discovered.”
Lyudmil cleared his throat and started to read off of the first sheet of paper. “The emperor, though holy, is not infallible. In the event that he dies or is otherwise rendered unable to conduct his duties, the throne shall be passed to an heir of his, but only under a certain condition. The heir must be given the choice between Trisagion, the almighty sword of hope, or Tyrfing, the cursed sword of despair. If the heir chooses Trisagion, they will bring prosperity to the nation of Noigllado. If the heir chooses, Tyrfing, however, they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to rule, for they are cursed, and will plunge the kingdom into an age of darkness and destruction.”
He looked back up at the Conference members. “I believe that my discovering this text so soon after the death of the Emperor was a warning—a warning that we must ensure our kingdom is in the hands of somebody who will lead us into success and wealth, rather than unprecedented darkness. I speak on behalf of Agiona when I say that we believe the true wielder of Trisagion and destined ruler of Noigllado is not the male heir, Nox, but the female heir, Matin.”
With this sentence began murmurs across the table, the ministers and archbishops chattering amongst themselves in disbelief. Adhuk, meanwhile, sat in silence, staring daggers at Lyudmil, who returned his stare with a smile.
A man with short, dark hair stood up from the ministers’ side of the table. “You’re saying, then, that Nox, son of the Emperor, is cursed?”
“Indeed,” Lyudmil replied. “We believe that Nox gravitates towards evil and hatred—he is, in other words, the ‘negative half’ of the two twins, as my lovely colleague Rouven would put it.” Smirking, he turned to cast a knowing look at the gray haired man with the glasses, who grinned at him in return. Lyudmil cleared his throat. “We believe that Matin will choose Trisagion because of her natural inclination towards love and hope, which is why we have dubbed her the ‘positive half’ of the twins in turn.”
“You’re going to test them, then, with the two swords?” The man asked.
“Yes, but not yet,” Lyudmil replied. “The literature states that the test must be performed exactly a month before the heir’s birthday, which will be August 3rd of this year, about five months from now.”
“I understand. Thank you,” the man replied. He bowed and then sat back down in his chair.
“Any other questions?” Lyudmil asked.
Adhuk stood up from his chair. “And what if you’re wrong?” he asked. “What if Nox chooses Trisagion and Matin chooses Tyrfing?”
Lyudmil grinned. “Oh, trust me, my dear,” he replied. “That is not going to happen.”
June 6, 726
Lyudmil sat on the red couch in the Agiona meeting room, staring at the ceiling. He tried to keep a cool demeanor, but the weight of his tall tale was starting to crush his resolve. He was extremely frustrated that he was to be the sole person responsible for creating and spreading the prophecy that would secure Matin as the heir in the eyes of the Conference, a task that proved more and more difficult as time went on; with each day that passed, the story’s hold on the members of the Conference grew stronger and stronger, but so too did the curiosity of its skeptics.
Truthfully, though, the skeptics were starting to get to him. Lyudmil really did not understand how Zalieri could be so sure that Matin would choose Trisagion when the time came to put the twins to the test. He insisted, again and again, that he had not a doubt in his mind about it, but refused to explain his reasoning when asked, leaving Lyudmil to anxiously wait for the day to come and pray that Zalieri would be right after all. Hopefully, today's meeting would help ease his mind.
The door opened and in walked Rouven, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt on top of a black t-shirt and fuzzy blue pajama pants with little bears on them, carrying a small cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. He placed the tea down on the table in front of the couch that Lyudmil was sitting on, then walked over to the door.
“Oh, thank you,” Lyudmil said, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Rouven closed the door and turned to face Lyudmil. “A-ha, but I did!” he said enthusiastically, walking back towards the couch. “And I’m glad, because you seem like you need it.” Rouven sat down right next to Lyudmil, putting his book down on the table next to the saucer.
Lyudmil took a sip of the tea and smiled at Rouven. “Wonderful.” Rouven grinned, rotating his body to drape his right leg across Lyudmil’s knees and gently cupping Lyudmil’s right cheek in his left hand. “Your cheeks are warm,” Rouven pointed out. “Are you anxious again?”
Lyudmil glared at him. “We’re in the meeting room, Rouven,” he said. “Do you even care about keeping this a secret anymore?”
Rouven groaned and scooted further away from Lyudmil. “Whatever,” he said.
Lyudmil continued to sip the tea, and paused for a beat before replying to Rouven. “Yes, I am quite anxious. I don’t know how I feel about all of this story-weaving with the twins. What if we end up being wrong?”
“I’m sure Zalieri has it under control,” Rouven said. “He’s gotta have some reason for putting everything behind this theory. He’s got a plan, I’m sure.”
“Or he’s gone senile,” Lyudmil muttered, rolling his eyes.
The door lurched open, startling the two of them, and Zalieri walked in, along with Matthias and a black-haired woman dressed in a black top with a black jacket, a black skirt, and long, red boots.
Lyudmil and Rouven both rose from the couch and took their seats at the meeting table next to one another, with Matthias and the black-haired woman taking the seats across from them, and Zalieri sitting in the middle seat at the end of the table.
Zalieri cleared his throat. “First of all, I’d like to welcome Clara back from her scouting mission,” he began. “And give her the opportunity to share with us what she gathered from her time in Tetroah.”
The black haired woman shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like these pirates are much more than a group of petty thieves,” she said. “I thought there would be more of them, but there’s barely enough of them to fill a ship, nevermind a fleet of ships.”
“Hmm,” Zalieri replied. “I suppose we needn’t worry about them, then.”
“Surely we should nip it in the bud, though,” Matthias interjected. “Petty thieves are still thieves, and it’s not like we have a stronghold on the seas. If they grow, it could become a major threat to the kingdom.”
“So you want to waste our resources on a bunch of poor people in a ship, is what you’re saying,” Clara snapped. “Like we have nothing better to do.”
Matthias scoffed. “No, Clara, I just thought it might be a smart idea to take care of a potentially burgeoning army of criminals,” he replied sarcastically. “Sorry I brought it up.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Why are we holding this meeting again?”
“Our dear Lyudmil requested a meeting, I believe, to discuss the issue of the two heirs to the throne,” Zalieri explained. “Lyudmil?”
Lyudmil cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I didn’t necessarily intend for something so formal, but I was hoping to get a bit of clarification on our plan here,” he explained. “Are you able to guarantee that Matin and Nox will choose the right swords?”
“Do you not trust me?” Zalieri replied. “Are you unable to just carry on in confidence that your leader has been investing his time into something worthwhile?”
“I’m just asking for peace of mind, Zalieri,” Lyudmil replied. “You may have a plan, but as long as I don’t know what it is, I’m completely lost. I feel that we should all be on the same page if we’re going to work together towards a common goal, no?”
Zalieri paused, then sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no good in keeping it from you,” he said. “Yes, there is a guarantee that they will choose the right swords, and it is childishly simple.”
“As you may know, Trisagion and Tyrfing are companion swords to each other, and we have both of them in the royal palace,” he began. “As you may not know, however, they are complete opposites, down to the grip; the Trisagion was designed for a right-handed wielder, as most swords are, but the Tyrfing, mirroring the Trisagion, was designed for a left-handed wielder.”
Zalieri grinned. “So isn’t it a beautiful coincidence, then, that Matin is right-handed, and Nox is left-handed?”