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Chapter Text

—

Across taverns and bars, across mountains and plains, across the 7 nations, there is a story that is told frequently. Most often told by men, it's a depressing story- one to make the women in the area feel less than. 

It is a story of a woman, a princess, who didn't know her place. 

They tell the story of a princess long forgotten, born to a King and crippling a Queen in the process. They narrate how she was spoiled rotten, allowed to do whatever she wanted- she was allowed to learn the art of the sword, allowed to rough house with the boys training in the imperial army; she was even given the right to the throne. She was, after all, the only child of this king of old. With no other children, who else was he to name as his heir, besides his only child- a daughter, as shameful as it might seem to these tavern dwellers?

They speak of how the princess ascended to Godhood- but not as a literary official. No, as a martial official. A girl, a princess- a Goddess of War! It's an unspeakable thing, a shocking one to many of the listeners. How could a girl ever become a Celestial Official, let alone a Martial God?

But still, the men tell how she was a benevolent, gentle God to her people. She was kind, she was giving. It’s a small mercy they provide this princess, though the women who hear the story from them see it for what it really is: another tactic to demean her. 

But the storytellers continue, despite the sour looks from the women who may be listening– and everyone listening can’t help but think: a sword in the hands of a woman is nothing but a recipe for disaster. 

And they were right, this time. Disaster struck the princess and her people, of course. They speak in excruciating detail of the princess’ fall from grace– the story didn't have a happy ending, they explain, a woman in a position as high as hers could never live happily. Not for long. To them, women were not meant to lead armies, not meant to meddle in the affairs ofHeaven, not meant to meddle in politics. They weren't supposed to say such preposterous things, like ‘I wish to never marry’ , or ‘I wish to save the common people!’ 

So she fell, and she fell hard, they say. And they call her trash, they call her selfish- because that's what she is, of course. A selfish, naive girl who was convinced she could save the common people. Foolish girl, they shake their heads and say. How can she save the common people, when she can't even save herself? 

The story ends ambiguously; each orator, each bard has a different ending of the tale. The generalized ending, however, is that the princess still roams Teyvat, cursed to live forever with two shackles on her body. Cursed to live until she finally learns her lesson- that she is a woman, and she should know her place. Her place, of course, not being in Celestia, not being in politics, not being in spaces that belong to men. 

She could be that old beggar on the street outside, they say. She could be the blind weaver down the block, someone else would suggest. She could be the woman asleep at the bar just a few seats down. 

The idea of the princess was so laughable, that many listeners chalked the tale up to be a myth. Of course a girl couldn't have ascended twice, much less have had the opportunity to fall twice! Of course a girl, a princess, didn't lead an army! It was a preposterous idea, to many who heard the story. 

Yet, widely regarded as a myth, many parents still used it as a cautionary tale to their own daughters. 

“Don't be so difficult, like that Old Remurian Princess,” They scold their daughters. “You'll only bring ruin to us.”

…But the story is told differently, in bathhouses and tea shops, in boutiques and book stores, the women whisper the tale of a girl who reached for the heavens and fell, over and over again. They shake their heads, of course, clicking their tongues and murmuring how her dreams were far too silly for a woman. But still, when no one is around, even those women weep for that one child among the thousands who shattered themselves while trying to break free from a fate they never wanted. From a fate that even they acknowledge she never deserved. 

In the millions of people that roam Teyvat, only one doesn't dismiss the princess’ foolishness, or weep at her cursed fate. No, instead, this woman rages , sky crackling with lightning as her anger builds, and builds, and builds, yet never falls over the precipice, yet she never sheds a tear. This woman, too, is a lesson in what happens when one steps too far out of the comfort zone. Her story, however, is different from the Old Remurian Princess’ story- whereas the princess fell, she never embraced her descent.

Not this woman. This woman fell, and she fell, and she fell- just as deep as the old princess did, and she bathed in it. She reveled in the darkness that enveloped her, she celebrated it. 

Celestia and Earth are ruled by men, they whisper in taverns fearfully, but a woman sits pridefully on the throne of hell: 

The Violet Night Shielding Rose, the Scourge of the Heavens. 

While they tell the story of that old princess and laugh, they tell the legends of that Violet Knight with a sort of reverence. They recount the tales of that ghost, who parades around in striking purple with no light in her only visible eye, in hushed tones and fearful murmurs. A temptress, some may call her- a bitch to others, a slut to the more outrageous bards. Those who have yet to learn fear, scoff at the idea of her, scoff at the notion that a woman like her could ever strike terror in the hearts of many- Gods and mortals alike. 

But she is one that they have also come to respect- A demon queen who ripped her way out of the depths of the Chasm, blood dripping from her torn clothes and gripping what has now become known as her cursed rapier. She is not one to be disrespected, let alone underestimated. She’s known for her ruthlessness, known for killing those who don’t serve her and then crushing their bones under her heel. She’s known for her good luck, for her ability to keep it, seemingly, on a leash. She’s known for the glint in her eye before she strikes, she’s known for the lightning that encases her cursed rapier at the beginning of a fight. 

Some say she was a duelist, in her mortal life. Others claim that they’ve seen her true form, and that she was far too young to have ever been a duelist- both in Old Remuria and New Remuria. Those people claim that she was a soldier, in her mortal life, deep in the trenches during the civil war. 

Either way, they all acknowledge her for who she is: a monster, a cursed creature who was once recognized for her sacrifices. The bards who tell her story say she had the heavens in her hands, just beyond her fingertips, and once she had the chance to claim it–

She ripped it to shreds, stomping it to dust beneath her heels, spit in its face, and went on her way. 

They say that the Violet Knight recognizes no master, no god, no being above her except that old princess from Remuria. It’s a baffling thing to listeners; they more often than not listen to the story of that old princess first, then to the one of the Violet Knight, and it confuses them each time. Yes, they both fell, but they couldn’t have been any more different! The old goddess, she was a joke, the laughing stock of the three realms– and the Violet Knight was a creature to be feared. How could she, someone who is feared and respected, who holds the City of Ghosts in the palms of her scarred hands, bow to a woman whose story has been forgotten and distorted by centuries of gossip? The Ghost Queen had more followers than that old princess ever did, even at the height of her power! 

And still, the bards and the poets, the storytellers and the orators, all end the story the same: The Violet Night Shielding Rose will kneel for only one god.

Chapter Text

The same poets, the same bards, in the same bars, in the same bathhouses, typically disagree widely on retellings of the story of that Old Princess. They can never agree on how long she was in heaven for, how long she fell for, how many people hated her–

But they all agree on where she starts. 

In the Old Kingdom of Remuria, they say, lived a King and a Queen who wished for a child very dearly. They struggled, and they struggled, and they struggled- or, so they say -until eventually, the Queen did become pregnant–

It was seen as a deeply auspicious time in the kingdom, following the breaking of the news. The child the Queen was pregnant with was seen as a divine gift, a gift from the gods themselves! 

It was with the birth of the Princess that the Old Kingdom of Remuria became known for four things, rather than three: 

Firstly, their cultured arts. Remuria, by all accounts, was a nation of the arts, first and foremost. They were talented in music, in painting, in writing, in poetry– the theatrics of the Kingdom could hardly be rivaled, even by the booming operatic scene in Liyue. 

Second, their beautiful civilians. It’s a world-wide known fact that Remuria had the most breathtaking citizens in the 7 nations. Their looks could only be rivaled by the Gods, some would say. The women were as beautiful as a still, crystal lake– the men as breathtaking as the snowy peak of a mountain. 

Third, their riches. The Old Kingdom of Remuria was known to be the most opulent of the old Kingdoms– the Spina Dynasty the most flashy. The kingdom, especially the upper class, bathed in their wealth, indulging in large balls and banquets almost weekly. Gold hung off their necks, sapphires dripping from their ears– their wealth, by no means, was fake. Never gold leaf, never gilded. 

And now, fourth: the kingdom’s newest princess, Navia Caspar of the Spina di Rosula Dynasty. 

(And here, the poets and the bards would add that the Old Kingdom of Remuria did not anticipate that she would be the last.) 

—

Navia, of course, knows that she is born blessed. 

A princess, for one- the most beloved princess in all of her Kingdom’s history, she’s told by her maman. She’s born under the Star of Solitude, as well, and the soothsayer explained that it seems the star blessed her, rather than cursed her. 

“But tread carefully,” She had warned her parents, supposedly. “This fate can switch at the drop of a hat. She can go from the luckiest person in the three realms and seven nations, to the unluckiest.” 

But what reason was there for her to heed such a warning, when she doesn’t think her fate could ever change? She is a princess with the world at her fingertips, the Kingdom loves her, and she has loving parents. 

“You have such straight hair,” Her maman murmurs, brushing through it gently. “Such beautiful hair. You’ve truly been blessed by the gods, hm?” 

“ Maman, ” She whines, though it's a little pathetic. But it’s alright, she’s only a child. She can still act petulant in the presence of the Queen. “This is your hair!”

“My hair is nowhere near as calm as yours,” She laughs quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “But thank you either way, mon soleil.” 

She pouts, sitting still in her lap until she eventually feels the tap of her mother’s fingers on her shoulder- a silent signal that she can get off, now. So, she does- and she turns to face her mother with a happy grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet. A slow smile spreads across the Queen’s face, happy because her daughter is, and she slowly- yet shakily -stands. 

Her mother, she’s been told, hasn’t been able to stand properly since her birth. She’s grown accustomed to seeing her maman in wheelchairs, seeing her with her most favored cane, around the palace, that it’s almost a foreign idea to her that her mother used to be able to walk without help. 

Navia doesn’t know the details of why her mother is like this, now. She just knows it has to do with complications during a medical procedure, and that both her and her papa are very lucky that this is how she is. That she only needs assistance to walk, instead of having crossed over the bridge and moved into her next life. 

She’s grateful, all things considered. She’s grateful for the life she has, for her parents, for her people. 

—

It’s always a rare sight when her cousin, Kaveh, comes to visit. It’s always a welcome one, though. She adores her cousin, from a far off nation, with oceans, deserts, and forests separating them. 

(“Kaveh is going to be staying with us, from now on,” Her father had explained to her gently, smiling. “Your uncle is… going away for a while, and now they’re going to stay with us from now on.”

“Why is he going away, though?” She had asked, pouting ever-so-slightly. It’s not that she was opposed to them staying there in the palace- it was big, far too big a space for just their small family and the servants. She was more so… upset on their behalf, she supposes. “Why couldn’t he have taken them with him?”

And papa laughed quietly, almost sadly, and shook his head. “You’ll understand it one day, mon soleil. You just… you just have to be kind and patient with them, okay?” 

“Okay,” She agreed nonetheless, only a little confused. “I can do that.”

“Very good,” He sighed in relief, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. It’s a wonder, she thinks, that her father is so kind to her. Her father, the King with the iron fist, treats her like porcelain. She doesn’t know how she feels about it. “I would expect nothing less from you, ma fille. The perfect Princess, you are.”) 

Bare feet come down against the polished mahogany floors, running desperately through the halls of the palace to get away from her cousin– a game they were playing, of course. She had to win at all costs, even if it meant almost barreling into a few of the attendants. 

“Sorry!” She calls behind her, smile as bright as her future, rounding a corner and pressing herself up against the wall. She heaves a few breaths, sucking in as much air as she can, holding back a giggle when she hears Kaveh calling after her, voice muffled. 

Her breathing calms, and only now is she able to hear whatever conversation seems to be happening in the room behind her– and it hits her, now, that she’s stopped right in front of her father’s office. 

“She can’t!” Someone exclaims from inside- and, it sounds like Marcel, one of her father’s two advisors.. “You need to have a son with a consort–” 

“I will do no such thing!” She hears her father yell, his voice reverberating off the walls and even down the hall, despite the door being closed. “My decision is final. She will be the heir to the throne, and you are not talking me out of this.”

“Your Majesty, you must reconsider,” Marcel begs pathetically, sounding genuinely desperate. “She can’t be the heir. She can’t! This is unheard of, in the history of Remuria!” 

“Who cares?” A new voice interjects- Jacques, she identifies the voice as. He’s the other advisor to her father. “So what if it’s unheard of? Let it be heard of, now. She’s a capable young girl, and I’m sure she will be a capable young woman, too. A capable Queen.”

“That’s easy for you to say, when you have a daughter as well!” Marcel seemingly slams his hand down on the desk. “You will be making a mockery of the Spina Dynasty, Your Majesty! I cannot stand by as you allow her to be crowned the heir! I strongly urge you to reconsider!” 

“Mark my words, Marcel,” Her father says, tone far more calm than it had been previously. “If you speak out in defiance against me or the Crown Princess again, if I so much as hear about you saying anything against us or our family, you will sorely regret it. I am the King, not you. I will crown who I want, who I deem fit, and she is more than fit. Do you hear me?” 

There’s no response, not from Jacques or from Marcel. She hears her father hum, pleased, in response. There’s the screeching of a chair against the hardwood floor, then of heavy footsteps coming towards the door. Navia pushes herself up against the wall further, holding her breath anxiously, hoping to melt into the wall. 

“My decision is final. I’ll write the decree now,” Her father sighs heavily, papers shuffling following his words. “Both of you, get out of my sight. I have work to attend to, and I don’t have the energy to deal with your fussing and fighting over my edicts.” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” They both say in unison, the door creaking open soon after. Marcel storms past her, not even noticing her– Jacques, however, notices her presence almost immediately. He smiles sadly towards her, waving slightly, then placing a finger over his lips as if to say, ‘ I’ll keep quiet if you do.’ 

She mimics the motion back. 

—

She’s introduced to the holiday dedicated to her birthday for the first time when she is 7. It’s a week-long celebration, with things coming to head on the actual day of her birthday- and she’s confused, at first. Why is there a whole week dedicated to her?

“The Queen struggled very much to become pregnant,” The attendant helping her get dressed explains. “It was seen as a divine gift from the Heavenly Emperor when it was announced that Her Majesty was pregnant with you, demoiselle.” 

And Navia was still confused, of course- but she learned to accept it for what it is. This is how things are, and probably how things will continue to be, so there is no point in arguing. She doesn’t think she deserves a holiday dedicated to her, much less a whole week in the year, but this is what the people want. After all, Remuria had 4 treasures.

So Navia, although only a bit miffed by the whole thing, participates in the festivities of the Flower River festival- as they’ve named the festival, because she was named after the Water Master of the previous heavenly dynasty, who favored flowers. This was fascinating for Navia to learn, as she had never known much about her name before- but knowing she was named after a god… well, it made her think, could she be a god one day? 

“Come, Navia,” Her father tugs on her hand gently, leading her towards the crowds of people. “They’re waiting for us to send off the first flower.” 

“The first flower?” She asks, looking up towards her father inquisitively. Her mother squeezes her other hand affectionately- today was one of the good days, thankfully. Her mother only needed her cane to walk… 

“There’s this tradition,” Her mother begins to explain gently, leading Navia towards the crowd. “All throughout the week, people will write down wishes on the inside of fake flower petals, and then send them off down the river as a wish to the heavens.”

“Oh! Sort of like how we send off lanterns to the heavens during the Mid-Autumn Festival?”

“Yes, exactly like that,” Callas nods, smiling at the people as they make a pathway for them straight through. “It’s customary for us to send off the first flower, though. Would you like to write it this year?”

“Yeah!” 

So they lead her to the vendor- and he fumbles around when he sees the King and the Queen- and he only freaks out further when he looks down and sees the young Princess. He tries to give them one of the flowers for free- but her father pays him regardless, sitting Navia down at one of the wooden tables and handing her a fountain pen. 

“What should I wish for?” She asks, looking up at both of her parents for help. Her mother wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into her side gently. Her father smiles at her gently, shrugging. 

He says, “Whatever you wish for, mon soleil.” 

So Navia takes a moment to think, before writing on each of the petals: I wish for maman and papa’s health, I wish for a friend, I wish to help the common people. 

. . . 

The parade is probably Navia’s favorite part of the whole festival. It’s an extravagant thing, a large float that circles the main road with two actors, adorned in masks and gorgeous regalia. The two actors, one dressed in full black and the other in white and gold. Her father explained that it’s a story of a god- the actor in white and gold -fighting a demon, in which the battle is long and strenuous, but the god ultimately wins. 

She had asked, then, what the purpose of the performance was. Her father explained it was to please the Heavenly Emperor, to entertain him and ensure that the kingdom had prosperity. 

“For every time they loop around the city, it is one more year guaranteed of safety,” He had told her, gesturing vaguely to the performance. “The two actors must continue the performance the whole time. It’s also bad luck if it is revealed who the actors are!” 

So Navia watched the parade intently, watching as the two actors continue to battle, yet they make it look like an elegant dance. It’s beautiful, by all means- it’s breathtaking to a 7 year old Navia. She can’t take her eyes off of the performance, leaning over the edge of the railing where they were sat to watch the parade, hands gripping the metal so hard her knuckles turned white. 

(They circled the main road 10 times. The next time this parade would take place would be in 10 years.) 

—

She is eight when she’s announced to be the heir to the throne. In a singular night, she gains the title, “Her Highness the Crown Princess, Navia Caspar of the Spina di Rosula Dynasty”. It’s a long title, one befitting of a future Queen. In reality, Navia had no idea what she was doing- not when she was standing before the crowds of thousands and smiling, not when she was being sworn in, not when the crown was being placed on her head. 

That day, eight years old and slightly nauseous at the idea of one day taking the role of her father, was the day Navia gained her first real friend. Not just palace maids, or her parents, or even her cousin- but a real friend! 

Her first friend is her knight, two years older than her and sworn in alongside her. He's… well, short for a 10 year old, but Navia doesn't mind it. 

He's also rather dramatic, which is how she finds out the truth about her knight–

“I, Furina de Fontaine, vow to stand by Her Highness for as long as I shall live, and let God smite me if I ever forsake this oath!” 

Well, her knight wasnt a boy at all, but in fact a girl- like her! Just like her! This was wonderful, to an eight year old Navia. She finally had someone, a girl, in the palace that was around her age! How perfect was that? 

So when all the festivities were said and done, and it was just her and her newly crowned knight, she decided to take initiative. 

“I'm Navia,” She says, holding out her hand the way she sees her father does. “Wanna be friends?” 

“Well, I know who you are,” Furina replies, puffing out her chest dramatically… and then deflating when Navia stays exactly as she previously was. Hesitantly, she takes her hand. “Sure, Your Highness, I'll be your friend.” 

And thus, a quiet friendship brewed between her and her knight. It was nice, it was refreshing. She had someone she could talk to ! 

—

Watching Furina train is what prompted her to ask her father if she could practice with swords, too. 

“ Mon soleil…” He laughs almost nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you sure? It's very rough, and I'm afraid it might ruin your hands.” 

“That doesn't matter to me,” She pouts, 9 years old and rather set in her ways. “I want to be just like Furina!” 

“Wouldn’t that make Furina’s purpose beside you… moot?” He asks, desperately trying to talk her out of it. “She’s there to protect you, you know.” 

And Navia huffed, then, turning her face to the side like the petulant (spoiled) child she was, hands on her hips, and said–

“I don’t care! If I know how to use a sword like Furina, then I can help her when she needs to protect me!” 

So her father, a weak man in the grand scheme of things, especially in the face of his only daughter- his only child, one day meant to be his successor of the throne… well, he sighed. “Okay,” He agrees, nodding his head. “I’ll find you the greatest swordmaster in the kingdom, I’ll have the perfect sword crafted for your hands, and you’ll begin your training. Does that sound good?” 

“Mhm!” She nods profusely, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He laughed quietly, picking her up easily and nestling her in his arms. 

“Ah, you’re getting quite big,” He says, and his voice sounds… wistful, a little mournful. “Soon, you’ll be a big girl, won’t you?” 

“Papa, I’m already a big girl!” She huffs, wrapping her arms around his neck, like she used to when she was smaller. “I’m 9!” 

He laughs again, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, eyes shining in a way that makes Navia feel strangely sad. “Of course,” He says, voice as soft as the spring breeze. “You’re right, I misspoke. And since you're a big girl, that means you're able to take on the responsibilities of a true Crown Princess, no?” 

She stiffens in her father's arms, shaking her head profusely in response. “No, papa, I may be a big girl, but I'm not a big girl.” 

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, amused by her as always. “I see, I see. Then, when will you be prepared for your duties?” 

“Hm… when I'm… 14!” 

“14?” He questions, quirking a brow. She nods in response, smile bright and warm. “I'll hold you to your word, then. What do you want to do, as a Crown Princess? You need to think about these things now, mon soleil. ” 

He begins to walk leisurely around the halls- and really, the sight of the King carrying around his daughter was never a rare sight. Not even as she progressed in age, gaining in height. 

( She's pampered, that one, the palace maids whisper about the palace. The most spoiled princess in the 7 nations!

But she's a dream, others reply. She's very well-mannered, well spoken. She's an angel!) 

Navia purses her lips, thinking hard- she only knows the basic issues of the kingdom, nothing more complex. She knows she will learn in time, but for now, the most of her worries pertain to things inside the grounds of the palace. 

(She isn't blind to the way the people suffer, though. She hears about their pain in passing, in hushed whispers of her fathers advisors. She doesn't know why they suffer.) 

“I wish to save the common people, papa!” 

He falters, only for a moment- and an uneasy look crosses his face. “You wish to save the common people?” He echoes, swallowing harshly and glancing down at her. She nods eagerly, confident in herself and her ability to one day follow through on such a wish. “That might be… a little tough, mon soleil.” 

“I don’t think so,” She responds, hugging herself closer to her father. “I think it’ll be easy! I could do it, papa!” 

He pats her head, smile turning from strained to soft, “I bet you could, darling.”

—

She opens her eyes and finds herself standing completely upright, a hill in front of her that… sort of reminds her of the one leading up towards Mont Automnequi. The sky is a bright blue, not a cloud in the sky to marr the picture it paints. She's entranced by it, of course- she’s never seen the sky so blue, never seen the grass so vibrant. She’s never been outside alone before, always being flanked by her parents or Furina. 

She finds that she likes the feeling of being on her own. Not enough to send her parents or Furina away, but enough to find peace with her solitude. 

Lost in her head, she’s broken out of her reverie by a butterfly fluttering past her- silver, nearly translucent, and she finds that… it leaves behind a trail of a glitter-like substance. Desperately, almost, she reaches a hand out underneath the butterfly (who waits patiently in front of her), trying to catch the trail it leaves. It feels like magic on her skin. 

The butterfly moves in front of her, as if coaxing Navia to follow. Like a girl possessed, she trails after the creature, entranced by the way it shines. Why was it so interested in her? She couldn’t be quite sure, but she liked it just as much as it liked her.

It moves faster up the hill now- and Navia has to run to catch up with it, calling out a meek, “hold on!”

It doesn’t slow down, but Navia thinks if she keeps following the trail, she will surely get to where the butterfly wants her to go. 

Eventually, she reaches the crest of the hill- and there, in front of her, stands a large willow tree. The leaves ruffle in the breeze, but Navia finds it odd- she doesn’t feel the wind.. 

“Your Highness?” A voice calls out underneath the weeping willow- and Navia follows the voice, eyes tracing over the figure that the voice belongs to. The person is a woman, she thinks- she’s tall, broad shouldered, indigo hair with a lighter streak of blue through it that, at least Navia thinks, is tied into a low ponytail. The closer she gets, the more she is able to pick out details of the woman- 

An eyepatch covers her right eye, though the eyepatch is obscured slightly by the way her hair hangs in front of her face. The woman wears an outfit of black, purple, and white- with a purple capelet adorned with black and gold epaulets. She looks rather… princely, with her black-and-purple robe with slits up the side, fastened by a black leather corset adorned with a purple shawl of sorts wrapping around the bottom of the corset. Layered over the piece of cloth hangs gold jewelry, the kind that she is sure jingles if the woman was to move. Underneath the robe, the woman wears white breeches tucked neatly into leather boots, with the same kind of gold jewelry hung neatly around them as the ones that hang on her waist. 

Her eye catches on Navia- and quickly, the woman kneels before her, head hanging limply, arm resting across her knee. “Your Highness,” The woman whispers with a reverence of sorts, not daring to look up. “I… didn’t expect to see you here.” 

The silver butterfly from before dances around the woman, before landing gently on the vambraces of her outfit- the ones Navia just now noticed, butterflies etched into the silver guards. 

She frowns, “Who are you?” She asks, not recognizing the woman. The woman in front of her, however, seems… rather familiar with her, actually. “Why are you kneeling? Please, stand up…” 

The woman looks up, an expression of pure shock in her lone eye- and this close, she can pick out the different colors of her eye. It’s a purple color, with a ring of light purple that blends into a darker version of the same color- and it’s fascinating to look at. Navia is fascinated by the woman in front of her. 

“Who am I?” The woman echoes– and a slight smile quirks her lips upwards. “Your Highness, I am your most devoted believer.”

“I don’t have believers,” Navia mumbles, moving past the woman to sit against the trunk of the tree. She notices, now, the bycocket hat that lays discarded on the grass. It must belong to this woman. “I’m no God, I’m… well, just Navia!” 

The woman- who Navia will now dub the butterfly woman, judging by the way groups of those silver butterflies crowd around her -stares at her for a moment, before chuckling quietly and nodding. “Right, right… ah, Your Highness, how- how old are you?”

“Ten,” She replies, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “Who are you?”

“You know me, Your Highness,” The woman replies, still kneeling but at least looking at Navia. “In the future you will, at least. You just… have to wait for me.” 

“Well, why can’t I meet you now?” Navia inquires with a jut of her lips. “You look rather important.” 

“Well, if you’re ten…” The woman trails off, seemingly deep in thought. “Ah, that means I’m quite young, right now. Too young to meet you currently, Your Highness. Give it… seven years.”

“And if I don’t want to wait that long?” She rests her chin on her knees, watching the way the butterflies dance around the butterfly woman. “You’ll make a Princess wait that long?”

“I’m afraid it’s outside of my control, Your Highness,” She sighs, following her line of sight to the butterflies. “I’d seek you out right now, if I could.”

And then she’s silent, for a moment. “Do you like them, Your Highness?” She asks, reaching out a gloved finger to allow one of the translucent butterflies to perch on it. “Here, you can hold one if you want. They’ll like you, too.” 

“They're very beautiful,” She mutters, reaching for the butterfly resting on the butterfly woman's finger. “Are they yours?” 

The woman smiles, resting on her knees completely in front of Navia. “Yes, Your Highness, they are,” She responds, voice light and airy. “I'm glad you like them. They took me a long time to create.” 

“They… aren't real butterflies?” 

The butterfly lands on her finger, and she watches the small thing duck its head down against her hand, as if placing a kiss to her knuckle. 

“No, they aren't,” The woman admits, almost a little mournfully. She leans forward, then, and whispers, “You see, they're magic.” 

Navia watches another two silver butterflies materialize out of the silver vambraces on the woman's arm, fluttering around the both of them curiously. Navia watches with rapt attention, enthralled by the scene. 

“Magic,” She repeats, eyes glancing back towards the woman. “That's… so cool!” 

The woman laughs, head tipping back slightly- and the collar of her tunic no longer obscures her neck. Navia spots a scar that cuts across her throat, a tint far lighter than her already pale complexion, skin raised. Goosebumps rise on her skin. 

“May I sit next to you, Your Highness?” She asks, courteous as ever. Navia nods, eyes transfixed on the scar running across her jugular. The woman sits next to her hesitantly, carefully, making sure that even their arms don't touch. “Tell me, Your Highness, how are your studies? You must have just begun to work with that High Priest of the Grand Hydra Temple on Mont Automnequi, right? The one who worked as a teacher at the Royal Academy?” 

“Yes… I did,” Navia replies, staring up at the woman in wonder. “You seem like you know me. Are we… friends, in the future?” 

The woman looks down at her, a soft look in her otherwise emotionless eye. “The best of friends, Your Highness.”

. . . 

Navia wakes up from her dream that night with an odd sense of longing in her chest, and the memory of a woman wearing purple and black with the most beautiful silver butterflies. 

She wishes she could meet her right there and then. 

(She doesn’t think of telling Furina about the dream, nor her parents, or the one person she should ask to interpret her dreams: the High Priest. She wants to keep the dream to herself, she wants to… cherish it, she supposes.)

Chapter Text

Days in the palace are easy for her, she thinks, stretched across the grass of the palace gardens, watching clouds drift by. She's still in her training clothes, sweat sticking to her skin but only just beginning to dry in the afternoon breeze, sword somewhere in a heap by her side. It's peaceful, it's nice. 

Her teacher- head of all things ranging from swordwork to academics, the best in the kingdom -leans over, obstructing her field of view. His face is stoic, as always- but there is an odd gentleness to the man. 

He has a kind face, with billowing white hair that he ties together at the very end, blue intertwining with the strands of white. His eyes are an odd, light shade of purple- he is adorned in all sorts of regalia that identify him as the State Teacher. 

(His outfit, for one, reflects his status. High-end, custom made for him once he took up the job. She thinks it makes the man look stuffy and old, with the white button down and the ruffle collar, blue waistcoat with accents of gold and black- the national colors of the Spina Dynasty -with pants to match.)

He's young, Navia thinks, looking over his face. There are no wrinkles to show of his age, no scars. He looks, at most, to be around 20 years old- but there is an odd air around him. The way he speaks, the look in his eyes- it betrays him, almost. He looks 20, but the look in his eyes ages him far too many years. She wonders if he actually is older, or if he is just putting on an act to seem wiser.

“ Demoiselle,” He says, staring down at her with an almost blank look in his light eyes. “Your training is not done for the day. You would still like to train against Madame Furina, no?” 

“ Monsieur Neuvillette,” She pouts, though it quickly softens into an easy smile. “I do want to train with her, but I want to use a claymore!” 

His smile turns soft, almost adoring, as he shakes his head. “ Demoiselle , you're only 10. A claymore will be far too heavy for you,” He says, leaning down and picking up her discarded sword. He shifts the sword between both of his gloved hands, before spinning it around his wrists cleanly, ending in a stance in which the sword is thrusted forward. It's a duelist technique, she knows- Monsieur Neuvillette was a master of all sword forms, and with her as his student, she was expected to learn each sword style, as well. Including the form of the duelists. “A sword is light, while still heavy enough to be challenging. It builds the muscles in your arms that you will one day use to heft around a claymore. When you're older, Your Highness, I will teach you how to use a claymore.” 

He spins the sword around by the hilt once more, ending with the point of the sword in his face and the grip of the sword facing her. “For now, demoiselle, we shall train with swords. Come now, Your Highness, we must continue training.” 

. . . 

“You used to teach up at the Royal Academy, right, Monsieur Neuvillette?” She asks, tapping her fingers against the wood of the table. She knows, of course, despite leaving his position as the head teacher of the Royal Academy, he is still the Head Priest at the Grand Hydra Shrine… 

He glances up from his book, pushing up his glasses absent-mindedly with his free hand. He nods curtly. “I did, that’s true.” He confirms easily, voice soft in the summer breeze. “Why do you ask?” 

“No reason,” She shrugs, glancing back down at her own work. “I was just wondering, I guess. That’s where the military trains, right?”

“Military, duelists, academics,” He nods again, slipping a bookmark in his book and shutting the cover gently. He sets it aside, watching her rather intently. “But yes, in simple terms.” 

Navia sighs wistfully, pouting. “I wish I could… you know, train there. It’d be so much fun!” 

Monsieur Neuvillette laughs quietly, reaching over and patting her head– and normally, such a thing would be unheard of. Most people in the palace would sooner cut their own hands off than touch the young Princess without her own permission… but, well, Navia doesn’t mind. Monsieur Neuvillette is a gentle man, he is elegant- and Navia trusts him, above all else. She knows he would never hurt her. 

“ Demoiselle, the Royal Academy is no place for a princess to be,” He explains softly, pulling his hand back to rest in his lap. “It’s full of boys. Rough ones, at that- ones who are unruly. And they smell, too- why would you want to be in a place like that?” 

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Why can’t I train with the boys? None of those things matter to me- if anything, the boys there should be honored that I’m training with them!” 

He smiles, shaking his head. “Girls have never trained there before, Your Highness,” He continues, a frown pulling at his lips slightly. “It’s unprecedented. I’m also unsure if His Majesty would allow it, either..” 

“Well!” She exclaims, puffing out her chest and crossing her arms. “My first royal decree as the Crown Princess is that girls are allowed to learn at the Royal Academy! Which means that I can train there, as well!” 

“I’ll talk to the King and see what he says, demoiselle,” Monsieur Neuvillette tells her- but they both know it's just a formality. Navia’s father has not once denied her anything she wants- he’s hesitant, yes, but he has never told her no. “I take it you finished your work? Shall we continue?” 

She nods enthusiastically, smiling. The birds chirp in the trees around them, the summer wind dances with the leaves- and the only other sound around her, besides that of nature, is Monsieur Neuvillette thumbing through the pages of his journal. He takes a moment to read over the words of one page, before moving onto the next. 

“You want to ascend one day, correct?” Neuvillette asks, glancing up at her briefly, gloved fingers tracing the words of his journal. Navia nods again, folding her hands across her paper. Neuvillette purses his lips, eyes scanning the paper quickly, taking in the information scrawled there in his handwriting. “Very well, then. Civil or Martial?” 

Navia doesn’t even take a moment to think, “Martial.” 

“You always aim high, demoiselle,” He smiles, canine poking out of his lips. He skips a few pages, landing on one he seems to like. “Most things I can teach you on-field with your sword. I do, however, have to go over ghosts…” 

He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he begins to read off the page, “There are four ghost rankings: Malice, Menace, Savage, and Supreme. Malice ghosts are the weakest- they’re able to only kill single targets. Menace ranked ghosts can wipe out a household. Savage ghosts are the most broad, in terms- they are different from the Supreme ranks in only name, really. Savage ranked ghosts range from ghosts that have the ability to massacre a whole city, to being able to kill gods.” 

“So, then, what’s the difference between Savage and Supreme?” 

“Supreme ranked ghosts are known as Ghost Kings,” He explains, eyes trained on the paper. “The difference between a Savage and a Supreme is that Supreme’s are ghosts that have endured the trials and tribulations of the chasm, and came out victorious. They are the top of the food chain, able to destroy nations, able to throw the mortal realm into complete and utter disarray. There is only one known Ghost King: The White-Cloaked Calamity, Azrael, or ‘the Harlequin’.” 

He turns the page, “She’s said to be the harbinger of destruction; if she shows up in a kingdom, it will surely fall soon after she passes through. She brings disease with her, she sows seeds of chaos everywhere she goes. It’s likely, however, that she is now inactive, seeing as she was last seen centuries ago in a now destroyed nation.” 

“Do you think she’s gone forever?” Navia inquires, listening intently. Monsieur Neuvillette takes a moment to think, before shaking his head. 

“No, Your Highness, that is highly unlikely,” He mutters, swallowing harshly. “Ghosts rely on their ashes to stay alive. It is their most sacred item- if their ashes are destroyed, if they are scattered, then the ghost will cease to exist completely. They will be unable to move onto the next life. It’s the worst act a person could do, and it is highly discouraged to spread the ashes of anyone, just in case they are in fact a ghost.”

“So…” Navia purses her lips, thinking about his words. “Are you saying no one has found the White-Cloaked Calamity’s ashes?” 

“No, I doubt it,” He confirms, nodding. He flips the page again, eyes scanning the new page. “Ghost Kings are highly intelligent beings, rivaled only by gods. They would not be careless with their ashes- they hide them, whether it be on their person or deep in a mountain. It is likely no one has found the White-Cloaked Calamity’s ashes, and I doubt they ever will.” 

—

“Isn’t it pretty?” Navia mutters, watching the way the fake flowers float along the river, illuminated by the light in the center. The river is an inky black color- and yet, with the lit up flowers, it almost looks like a night sky. “The lights, the flowers– all of it.” 

“They’re quite enchanting, Your Highness!” Furina declares, half-gloved hand resting over her heart. “Almost as enchanting as you!” 

“Your niceties are unneeded, Furina,” She smiles, glancing up at her briefly. “Come, sit on the grass here. You can’t stand forever.” 

“I must always be on alert, Your Highness,” Furina says, relaxing her posture only a bit. Her wrist rests against the hilt of her sword on her hip, hand hanging limply. “In case there is an ambush!” 

“No one is going to ambush me,” Navia mumbles, rolling her eyes. “It’s my birthday week- this whole thing is for me. They… no one would even think of that, Furina. Please, sit.” 

She hesitates for a moment- but her silver of her armor clinks together as she maneuvers to sit down next to her. Navia, suddenly, for the first time in a year, thinks of that odd dream she had- of the woman with the translucent butterflies and the silver jewelry. She feels an odd sense of longing in her chest, thinking of the woman. She was beautiful, and she was tall– and Navia could, even in the dream, feel the power radiating off of her. 

She wonders, distantly, if she should tell Neuvillette about that dream. He’d know how to interpret it. 

“Do you have a favorite animal, Furina?” She asks suddenly, voice light and airy, still observing the flowers as they move down the river. Each flower represents a wish of the people here in the kingdom- a wish they desire to be solved by the gods. Navia wishes she could help them, wishes she could ascend already so she can serve her people in the way she truly wants. 

“I… never thought about it,” Furina responds, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I like dogs, I guess? What about you, Your Highness? Do you have a favorite animal?”

“Dogs are cute,” She mumbles- silver butterflies flash in her mind, dancing around her and landing on her hand. A small smile tugs at her lips, then. “I think, though, that my favorite are butterflies.” 

—

If you follow the winding paths of Mont Automnequi, you will find a natural plateau. Here, in this plateau, is where the Royal Academy sits- tall buildings, each designated for one of the two fields of study: academic, or militaristic. The academics are holed up in the west building all day, while those studying to be a part of the royal guard, the military, or to one day be a Champion Duelist, can most often than not be found training outside. 

(If you follow the rest of the trail up from the plateau in which the Royal Academy sits, you will walk upon the sacred ground of the Grand Hydra Temple- dedicated to His Majesty the Heavenly Emperor.) 

Navia can be found a part of that group, now. After much discussion back and forth, her father agreed to let her be instructed at the Royal Academy. This, however, meant Navia had to board there, as well; it would be impractical for Navia to travel at daybreak every morning up the slopes of Mont Automnequi, then hike down at dusk to return to the palace. It was impractical, as well as rather dangerous. 

It was a tough decision, in the end. Her mother and father parted with her reluctantly, but they figured this was simply the next logical step in her training as a Crown Princess (one who was as ambitious as Navia, who wished to one day become a god). 

In the end, Navia wanted to go to the Royal Academy for two reasons: One, to train amongst the best of the best, and two, to be connected with the common people. How was she, the future ruler of the nation, supposed to rule over everyone fairly if she was stuck in the palace all day? 

The palace was spacious, full of splendor- gold adorned every wall, she had too many clothes for one person to ever need in a lifetime, she had a collection of crown jewels. It would be a complete injustice to rule over a nation of people whom she did not know- of people whose struggles she had turned a blind eye to. 

Navia was set on becoming a benevolent ruler, one who aimed to serve the commoners. 

( I wish to save the common people, Is her response when she is asked what her number one goal is. Some laugh and humor her, while others send her a strained smile and murmur behind her back at how presumptuous the young princess is.

But Navia is committed to this idea, committed to the thought that she can save each and every one in her kingdom. She loves them all dearly, because she loves the world and she loves the people who inhabit it. She believes everyone is worth saving, she believes everyone can be saved. So, why would she not want to do that? Why would she not want to help her people?

The only way to help them is by learning how they live. The only way she can begin to help is by living with them.) 

So she finds herself among the common people, the boys training to serve her one day. Furina came with her, of course, under the pretense of being her sworn knight and needing to follow the Princess to the ends of the earth. 

Furina is sweet, and she’s quite handsome when she practices her sword forms. Navia finds herself staring sometimes, something odd fluttering in her stomach all the same. She ignores the feeling, dubbing it a distraction from the task at hand: training. Or, well, sort of- it was evening, and she was sent to lock up the mountain for the night. 

(Being the Crown Princess didn’t make her immune from partaking in the duties around the Academy, it seems. It’s not a big deal- Navia was happy to help!) 

Furina trailed after her, chest puffed out and hand resting on the hilt of her sword, on ‘vigilant watch’. 

“There’s no danger up here, Furina,” Navia laughs, hefting the iron gates at the base of Mont Automnequi shut. “Everyone on the mountain and in the academy has my best interest.”

“Someone could’ve broken in, demoiselle!” Furina exclaims, free hand clenching into a fist. “You must be prepared in all circumstances!” 

“Mont Automnequi has been heavily fortified since my arrival…” Navia smiles, reaching over to grab Furina’s hand. “...I assure you, you don’t need to be so–”

There’s the sound of the bushes ruffling, as if an animal was walking around and brushed against it. In one easy movement, Furina unsheathes her sword, aiming it towards the bush, shielding Navia. 

“Come out, heathen!” She exclaims towards the unmoving bush. “Reveal yourself! You are in the presence of Her Highness the Crown Princess, Navia Caspar! If you are planning an ambush, you are sorely mistaken!” 

“Furina!” Navia whisper-yells at her, tugging on her hand. “It’s probably just an animal, relax. I’ll go check.”

“NO!” She screeches, pulling her hand out of Navia’s and walking towards the bush. “I will check on your behalf, demoiselle!” 

Navia sighs dramatically, following slowly after Furina as she advances towards the bush. 

“One last chance!” Furina exclaims towards the bush. “If you do not show yourself, I will stab you!” 

And, to Navia’s surprise, someone does jump out, then.

“Wait, no, please!” The person- a girl -exclaims, hands clasped shut as if she was holding something. “I meant to leave before the gates closed, I swear!”

“Who are you?” Furina shouts, pointing the tip of her sword at the girl’s nose. “And what are you holding?” 

“None of your business!” The girl retorts, holding her hands closer to her chest. Navia quickly walks up behind Furina, placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back slightly. 

“Furina, go up the mountain a bit. I'll meet you there soon, alright?” 

Furina looks at Navia, brows pulled together in a mixture of anger and worry. “Your Highness, what if she is here to attack you!” 

“She won't,” Navia smiles, nodding towards the girl. “Trust me.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Furina pushes, and Navia sighs. Can't Furina tell? The girl looks terribly disheveled, dirt caked all over her face, clothes practically hanging off her body. Even if she tried to attack Navia, she would surely fight her off. 

“Just trust me this time, alright? Everything will be fine.” 

Furina hesitantly leaves, not once taking her eyes off of Navia and the girl- and Navia just sighs quietly, again. She’s appreciative of Furina’s help, of her concern, of course… but she wishes, sometimes, that she wouldn’t baby her. 

When she’s out of view, Navia turns to the girl and smiles, hands clasped behind her back. “I’m Navia,” She says, head tilting to the side slightly. “What’s your name?” 

“I know who you are,” The girl mumbles, folding in on herself. “And why do you want to know? Planning to throw me in jail for trespassing on sacred grounds?” 

“No,” Navia frowns, eyes scanning the landscape behind the girl. Just over her shoulder, she catches sight of a plum tree, a few plums fallen haphazardly on the ground. “Is that what you’re holding? Plums?” 

Her hands tighten around the item, backing up defensively- and this only confirms that she was at least holding one plum. Navia’s heart lurches in her chest, frown tugging her lips down further. 

“I won’t take it back,” She assures her, taking a hesitant step forward and counting it as a win when the girl doesn’t step back. “You can keep it. Actually, I’ll run up to the academy and get you a bag- you can take as many of the fruits here on the mountain as you want!” 

The girl stares at Navia skeptically- and Navia takes this chance to truly look at her. She’s undeniably less fortunate- clothes just a little too big for her, smeared in dirt and grime and celestia only knows what else. She sees hasty patchwork across her shirt and pants, as if someone had to stitch up a hole in a short amount of time with whatever fabrics they could find. Her knees are scratched up, knuckles cracking and covered in dried blood- but the most enticing part of the girl, Navia thinks, is the way her eyes shine a bright red color in the fading light. Her eyes, almost, remind Navia of the cherry wine her parents pass around at banquets and balls. 

“...You’d do that?” The girl asks, voice unusually small from before. “For me?” 

“Of course,” Navia smiles, rocking forwards on the tips of her toes. “But you’ll tell me your name first, right? It’s only fitting, since you know mine!”

The girl’s jaw clenches, eyes downcast suddenly. “..Chiori,” She mutters, letting her hands fall from her chest. Now, with her hands at her sides, Navia can see the fruit that she was holding onto. “Chiori Melchior.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Chiori!” Navia says, tapping her foot absentmindedly. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be right down with a bag for you.” 

Chiori huffs but says nothing more, refusing to look at Navia again. Navia doesn’t mind, though- running up the mountain and barely waiting for Furina to follow. 

“ Demoiselle!” She exclaims, running to catch up with her. “What are you doing?! Do I need to go and cut down that heathen–” 

“No need!” She responds, waving Furina off, bounding up the stairs of the dormitories to her room. Originally the King’s quarters, it was refurbished for Navia- with a large bedroom, a private bathroom, and a connecting room that Furina sleeps in. “Just start getting ready for bed, ‘Ri. I’m still taking care of some things at the base of the mountain.” 

She rummages through her things, finding a finely crafted bag that was gifted to her once by a passing minister to get in her father’s good graces. She thinks this will suffice, actually. 

“I have to come with you!” Furina argues, genuinely dropping her theatrical act for once. It’s jarring to Navia, who is used to Furina always acting so… so extravagant. “I’m sworn to protect you! What if something happens to you?” 

Navia smiles softly, wrapping Furina’s hands in her own and squeezing them lightly. “I’ll be okay, I promise. Nothing will happen to me, okay? Just… relax!” 

“Your Highness–”

Navia unwraps one hand, placing a finger over Furina’s lips and watching the way her eyes widen and cheeks redden ever-so-slightly. “Go to bed, it’s late. I won’t be long- ten minutes at most. I swear to you.” 

She pulls her hand back- and Furina doesn’t look pleased to be sent away, but relinquishes nonetheless. Navia’s word, in a way, is law. 

“Fine,” Furina mumbles, averting her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “But if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m organizing a search team to scour this entire mountain for you. I’ll burn it to the ground if I have to, to make sure you’re okay. If- If that girl puts a hand on you, I will find her, and I will make sure she pays for daring to lay a hand on Her Highness the Crown Princess–”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Navia laughs, shaking her head and rolling her eyes fondly. “Just go and worry about getting a decent night’s sleep.”

She’s out of the room before Furina can reply, rushing into the kitchens and packing up a few items into the bag for Chiori. She isn’t sure how much the girl needs- but, of course, it’s better to be safe than sorry. She packs up far too much food, rushing back down the mountain to find the girl still there. 

“Here,” Navia hands the bag over to her. “I packed up some things you could need. I hope this is enough.” 

Chiori is hesitant to take the bag, but in the end drops the few plums she collected into the already full twine carrier, hefting it on her shoulder and nearly toppling over because of the weight. Navia is quick to steady her, making sure she’s okay and won’t fall over if she tries to walk. 

“...Thank you, Your Highness,” Chiori mumbles, walking alongside Navia towards the closed gates. It sounds like it pains her to say the words. “My family and I– my mama can’t work, and I’m the eldest of four… You are truly… generous.” 

“Do you work?” Navia asks, brows furrowed as she begins to unchain the gate. Chiori shakes her head, gripping the straps of the bag. Navia hums, hesitating to open the gate for just a moment as she thinks. “Do you want to work?”

“I need to, Your Highness,” She sighs heavily, looking down at her feet. Even like this, Navia can tell the girl is prideful- from the way she avoids her eyes, from the way she hunches in on herself, the way she speaks softly. She is ashamed to be asking for help. “I have to help my family. My- my youngest brother, he is only five, yet he looks like a two year-old. No job is willing to hire me.” 

“Why not?” Navia frowns, upset by her words. Chiori refuses to look up, refuses to even move. 

“The way I look, Your Highness,” She answers, grip so tight on the bag that her scabbed over knuckles rip open. But– the way she says it, it feels like… like there is more to it. “Where I live, Your Highness. I live in Ghost City- no one will hire a girl from that area, regardless of her story.”

Ghost City, alternatively known as the City of Ghosts– Navia’s heard of it before, mostly in passing. It’s the worst part of the kingdom, most often referred to as ‘the bowels of Remuria’. It’s known as Ghost City for the fact that, during the day, it is essentially a ghost town- at night, it comes alive with criminal activity of all sorts. Illegal gambling rings, underground fighting rings, gangs– it all runs rampant at night. 

It’s generally a place someone, especially someone like Navia, would want to avoid. It is a place that the court has tried to clean up, to fix- and yet, no matter what, it falls back into the way it was before the revisions were made.

Navia forces a smile, deeply troubled by Chiori’s situation. The eldest daughter of four children, her mother unable to work, leaving the burden of bringing in money and food on her… and yet, because she looks underprivileged, because of where she lives- probably the only place her family can afford to live -she is being denied the access to get herself and her family out of poverty. And isn’t that terrible? It makes Navia want to break down into sobs, knowing that there are people in her kingdom that live like this, day to day, having to worry about when the next time their family will get to eat. Meanwhile, Navia gets to live lavishly, basking in her wealth and opulence–

And it’s terrible, all of it is terrible and unfair. Navia wants to save the common people, she wants to help people like Chiori, people in similar positions. 

But she isn’t Queen yet, so what can she do? 

If she can’t save everyone (yet), saving one person is just as good of a compromise. 

She pushes the gates open, reaching out to squeeze Chiori on the shoulder– and she looks shocked by the action. She looks genuinely… surprised that Navia touched her, that Navia is showing her compassion of sorts. And how could Navia blame her? She’s sure the poor girl has never been looked at, much less been shown compassion, by someone even half as powerful and wealthy as Navia. 

“Take care, Chiori,” Navia says to her sincerely, thinking of how she could possibly help this girl. “I hope to see you again.”

. . .

Despite attending the Royal Academy, and training with the other boys, Navia- for the most part -is still taught privately by Monsieur Neuvillette. Of course, after a little coaxing, she managed to convince the man to let him teach Furina alongside her- but still, her education remained private (and far more advanced) than that of the rest of the students. 

Monsieur Neuvillette was, prior to teaching Navia, the top teacher at the academy. A majority of her classmates whispered behind her back about this fact, about how it was unfair that she got to be taught by Monsieur Neuvillette– but she paid it no mind. They were still her people, even if they whispered about her. 

Besides, they would never dare to say it in front of her. They are kind to her, and she finds them to be friends, so she doesn’t mind it. It’s one discrepancy that she can look past. 

However, because she is taught alone… she has the ability to make requests. 

“ Monsieur Neuvillette,” She mumbles, frown weighing down her lips. “How can I hire someone who hasn’t applied for a job?” 

He stops abruptly, glancing up at her with a look of confusion on his face. He nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the chains that connect to them and wrap around the back of his neck jingling. “Did you… come across an old application?” He asks, eyes darting to where Furina sits, asleep on the desk. He gave up trying to teach her, when all she did was sleep. If she wants to be taught, then she’ll stay awake, is his philosophy. 

“No,” She shakes her head, resting her cheek against the palm of her hand. “I met someone who I think has potential. I think she’d do well in the palace, is all.”

“Who, Your Highness?”

Her fingers tap against the wood once, twice. “Chiori Melchior.” 

Monsieur Neuvillette visibly recoils, eyes widening behind the thin, gold frames of his glasses. He swallows thickly, fixing his face to be more neutral rather than shocked. “Melchior?” He mumbles to himself, eyes somewhat far-away. He shakes himself out of his reverie, smile strained. “You wish to bring her… into the court?” 

She hums, nodding her head in confirmation. “I met her yesterday, and she told me of her issues… I wish to help her, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“You wish to save the common people.” He recites effortlessly, having heard it from her so many times that her words have ingrained themselves in his head. “Is that what this is about? You want to leave your mark on the kingdom already?” 

She frowns, “No, it’s… it’s more than that. She’s a friend, and I- I want to help her. I saw the patchwork on her clothing, it looked rather… advanced, for a girl my age. I think she has potential.” 

A bit of a lie, but it’s fine. She didn’t mind embellishing things here and there if it meant she could help someone. Monsieur Neuvillette most definitely sees through her, if the look in his eyes says anything- but she is grateful when he sighs quietly. 

“I’ll put in a word with His Majesty,” He says, tapping his journal. “I’m sure she will be assigned somewhere on the mountain, if she is your friend, demoiselle. Let’s get back to the lesson now, shall we?” 

Navia acquiesces, slumping down in her seat and nodding. Neuvillette’s smile turns sympathetic, glancing down briefly to get back on topic. 

“Alright, we are on to the lesson of marriage and etiquette-”

“You can skip over the marriage part,” She cuts in quickly, not wanting him to continue any further. “I don’t wish to marry.”

He’s silent for a moment, considering her words. Hesitantly, he responds, “You don’t wish to marry? How will you continue the bloodline?”

“I wish to dedicate myself fully to the pursuit of saving the common people,” She answers easily, having rehearsed this same sentence in her mind over and over before. “Marriage would only complicate things.”

Monsieur Neuvillette simply looked exasperated, but he listened to her request nonetheless. She’s grateful.

(What she doesn’t say, however, is that the idea of giving someone- especially a man -so much power over her sickens her. It makes her stomach churn, it makes her feel nauseous. This can’t be a normal feeling for a girl, especially for someone like her. She feels…. wrong, for feeling this way.)

—

When she wakes this time, she’s on a hill— she’s in a lighter dress, not the heavier kind she tends to wear during the winters, which is her first signifier that this is a dream. Her second, of course, are the flowers floating down stream, lights placed delicately in the middle and reflecting off the inky black surface of the river. When she looks up, stars twinkle in the night sky–

The moon is full. She wonders how it affects the tides, tonight. 

“Your Highness?” 

She turns, and– there she is, the silver butterfly woman. She hasn't seen her in… well, maybe a year. She's happy to see her, now- Navia’s taller than she was the last time she appeared in her dreams, nearly up to her chest now. She feels accomplished by this fact. 

“It's you!” Navia exclaims, smiling at the woman. She extends a hand for the butterfly coming towards her to land on- and with her other hand, she pets it gently with her knuckle. “I haven't seen you in a while.” 

“I haven't been able to find you,” She confesses, kneeling down in front of her to stand on eye level with Navia. Her hair is done differently, in this dream- it's pulled hair up, half down, secured by a pin in the back that vaguely resembles a sword. “I've been searching everywhere. It's fitting that this is where we meet again, Your Highness.” 

“Why here?” She asks, looking around the scenery. They’re just on the outskirts of Remuria, specifically during the River of Flowers festival… “How is this fitting?” 

“This is where we met,” The woman says, motioning towards the city. Her hands are ungloved for the most part- peeking up from underneath her vambraces are the kind of gloves Monsieur Neuvillette wears sometimes, with the finger loop that wraps around the middle finger. Navia spots another set of scars, this time on her hands, that crackle and creature fissures of sorts in the flesh. They have an odd pattern, almost like… lightning. “How old are you, now?” 

“13.” 

She smiles, a soft thing- and it looks odd on her, Navia thinks. It almost feels as though the woman in front of her shouldn't be smiling, much less so gently. Navia, briefly, wonders why she feels that way. 

“Only a few more years, Your Highness,” She mutters, patting her on the head gently. “Wait for me, please. That's all I ask.”

“What if I’m impatient?” She purses her lips, crossing her arms over chest and watching the way her butterfly companion flutters around her, landing on her shoulder. “What if I don’t want to wait?” 

“You’ll make this unworthy believer very sad,” She says- but the way her lips stay curled into a smile tells Navia that it’s a joke. “Do you want to make me sad, Your Highness?”

“I don’t even know your name,” She huffs, turning her head to the side petulantly. “How am I expected to feel bad for that?” 

“Ah, well, you don’t know me, that's true,” The woman mutters- and she actually does sound sad. Navia’s lips pull downwards, an odd feeling in her chest hearing the usually playful woman upset. “...But I know you, and I know that you love your people and– well, I’m one of them.”

“You’re Remurian?” Navia asks, turning to face the woman again. The woman smiles and nods her head- and Navia can’t help but mirror her expression. “I couldn’t even tell– you have such an odd accent, it’s not one I’ve heard in the nation before- oh, I’m sorry, that sounds terribly rude, I assure you I didn’t mean it like that… I’m just- I can’t believe you’re Remurian! How have I never seen you around the palace before? You look like you belong to the court, with the… epaulets, the gold jewelry, all of it–” 

“Your Highness,” She laughs, reaching out to seemingly touch her shoulder, but quickly thinks better of it and pulls back. “Over the centuries, the way my accent sounds has changed, merely so that it was easier for those of other nations to understand me.”

“Centuries?” Navia mumbles, brows furrowed. “Are you a god?” 

“A god?” She chuckles, shaking her head. “No, Your Highness, but a wonderful guess! The gods have forsaken me, I’m afraid– all but one. I’m a Ghost King.” 

Navia recoils, butterfly on her shoulder dissipating. A look of panic flashes in the woman’s lone eye at the sudden reaction. 

“You- You’re the White-Cloaked Calamity?” 

The woman scoffs- but the panic is quickly replaced by mirth, by adoration. “The White-Cloaked Calamity? That creature?” She spits out, as if the name is the dirtiest of insults. She places a hand over her chest, and it makes her look… like a prince, actually. “Your Highness… how you wound me! I’m much better than that… that thing! ” 

“...There’s only one Ghost King,” She mutters, eyes narrowed. She tries to recall all of her knowledge of the White-Cloaked Calamity- black clothing, a cloak that covers her head, a mask (obviously), hands pitch black and made into claws… well, the woman in front of her doesn’t match that description in the slightest- but Navia knows that ghosts, especially the powerful ones like Ghost Kings, can morph themselves into whatever appearance they please. “So you’re either lying to me, or you’re her.” 

A blank look comes over the woman, then. “Oh,” She says, almost sounding dumbfounded. “I forgot. How could I forget– silly me, silly me, that’s my fault. You’re 13, not 113! Ah, what a fool I am, Your Highness! I don’t exist yet, in your time..” 

The woman sighs, shaking her head. Navia is terribly confused by the whole thing- 113? Navia is unsure what any of this could possibly mean.

But then, the woman is standing up on one knee, hand still resting across her heart while the other lays across her knee. She bows her head and says, “Allow me to introduce myself, then. Violet Knight Admiring Rose, at your service.” 

—

A week or so into Chiori officially being hired to work on the mountain, one of Navia’s bracelets goes missing. 

Navia figures out what happened very quickly. 

—

“I certainly didn’t expect to see you up here,” Navia smiles, reaching out to pat her cousin on the head. The last time she had seen him, quite a few years ago now, he had been up to her waist… and yet, now, he was nearly taller than her. A feeling of bittersweetness erupts in her chest at that knowledge. “What brings you to the Mountain, Kav?” 

“The palace seems far too big without you, Cousin.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Too empty. You take up quite a bit of space, you know.”

“That almost sounds like an insult,” She laughs, hugging the basket she had hooked over her arm closer to her body. With her free arm, she wraps it around her little cousin’s shoulders. “But I’ll take it as a compliment. Just for you.”

“I certainly meant no insult, Cousine Princesse Héritière ,” He mumbles, allowing himself to be pulled into her side. “I just mean to say that your absence is felt. Oncle Empereur certainly says it all the time, lazing about the whole place and complaining that son cher soleil is up on a mountain, being taught… not visiting the palace often…”

She laughs, shaking her head and plucking an apple off a tree, handing it to Kaveh. He looks up at her with furrowed brows, “Isn’t that against the rules?” 

She shrugs half-heartedly, “It’s okay to break rules, sometimes.” She responds easily, squeezing his shoulder when he takes the apple. “Just nothing too bad, right?”

“Right.” He nods, completely serious. “Can I… eat it?” 

“You think I gave you the apple to marvel at?” She giggles, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Eat the apple, Kav!”

He huffs, but does as told nonetheless. “Auntie complains too,” He says around a mouthful of apple. “But she just sounds sad. You should come visit soon, Cousine Princesse Héritière. It’s unsettling.” 

Navia smiles sadly, “I have my whole life to see them, Kav.” She responds, but thinks over  his words seriously for a moment. “...You can tell them I’ll visit when time permits me to. I’m very busy up here, and it’s hard to find time to do much of anything for myself.” 

(Of course, she would never say this to her cousin– but he was the main reason she kept her visits home scarce. When they were young, he was a normal child, nothing out of the ordinary… it was as they got older that Navia started to… see things that he did. Things that were not normal, under any circumstance: dead animals found in the garden, flowers dug up and trampled over, butterfly’s whose wings he’d tear off. He terrorizes the maids, the workers in the palace… God only knows what he does in her absence, now– she was the one who used to tell him to stop. And he was obsessed with her, his Cousin Crown Princess , so of course he listened. 

She felt… weird, knowing how obsessed he was with her. Of course, she knows why he was so deeply obsessed- it was his sick, twisted sort of way of loving her. After the passing of his mother, many in the palace- as well as outside of it -had steered clear from him, deeming him a sort of ‘royal’ mistake. They whispered about him around the palace, gave him odd looks–

And things came to a head one year, at the River of Flowers festival, in which he asked someone to write a wish for him on the petals of the flower. No one did it, instead laughing in his face, and they chose to bully him, instead. Navia stepped in, then, scolded them and wrote whatever he wanted on the flower petal–

And she isn’t sure if she regrets doing that, now. If only she had known. 

His presence unsettled many in the palace. Furina had told her once that he genuinely scared her. 

So Navia, of course, feels bad for not visiting more often– but the truth was, she found him just as unsettling as everyone else did.)

“Preparing to ascend?” He asks offhandedly, glancing up at her briefly. His light red eyes shine in the sunlight, making them look almost orange. She averts her eyes, slightly embarrassed. 

“Yes,” She murmurs. “ Monsieur Neuvillette says I still have a ways to go, and that most people ascend in their late 20s, anyways. I have time.” 

“If you say so,” He replies, almost begrudgingly. “Life is weird sometimes, you know. Make the most of it while you can, Cousine Princesse Héritière.” 

Of course, she knows he’s referring to how his father passed when he was young– the whole reason why he and his mother came to live with them in the palace. Still, she can’t help but feel full with a… sense of dread at his words. 

What did he know, that she didn’t? 

—

The spring wind dances in her hair nicely, blowing back the delicately curled hair- and with her free hand, she holds onto her hat, afraid it’ll blow away in the wind. The leaves ruffle around her, a wonderful reminder of the summer that was arriving in a few weeks time. 

The sun sets over the crest of the mountain, creating a picturesque image of the Imperial Hydra Temple- the very attraction she was seeking out. She tended to go to the temple at sunset, when the temple was empty and she could say her prayers to the Heavenly Emperor in solitude. The other disciples and trainees at the Royal Academy made it hard during the mandatory prayer time allotted for everyone during the day- it was hard for her to think, much less pay her respects to the divine. 

So she goes during her meditation time, the one hour a day where she is completely and utterly alone (besides the everpresent Neuvillette, but he always lets her go when she tells him just where she was planning to go. She supposes it’s because he’s still the Head Priest.) 

Her otherwise tranquil walk is interrupted by the sound of yelling– of scuffling. She only, slightly, panics when she hears a familiar voice. 

“You- That isn’t what I’m doing!” 

Navia’s jaw clenches- she thought she fixed this issue. She thought the issue would be fixed if she made her stance clear on Chiori. Why didn’t it fix anything? Why is she still–

Of course, Navia knows why. Chiori, who lives in the slums , in the most prestigious school in the whole nation. Chiori, who started out as a mere servant in the academy, then later enrolled upon Navia’s request when she said she had potential. 

(It took a week for the palace to seek out Chiori and officially appoint her to be a servant within the Royal Academy- more specifically, at the Temple at the peak of Mont Automnequi. She was to sweep, serve tea, the like– and Navia would visit her, speak with her during her time in the temple, they would spar–

And she had a talent with swords. Dual wielding specifically, Navia had found out one day. She was almost as good as Navia, even with barely any training. It was extremely impressive- so naturally, Navia asked Neuvillette if she could be enrolled. 

He watched one spar between the two of them, then immediately agreed. 

And that's when the issues started to present themselves– Chiori was getting bullied. Bullied for being poor, for coming from Ghost City, from being overall underprivileged. Navia thought she could fix the issue by appointing Chiori as her personal servant, to put her foot down and make it known to everyone that Chiori is her friend, is close to her, the Crown Princess. 

She thought the issue was fixed. The most Chiori would get were dirty looks- but that wasn’t as bad as the bruises she had been getting. 

“Why don’t you ever fight back?” She asked once, sitting on her knees in front of the Divine Statue of His Majesty the Heavenly Emperor. “They hit you first– why don’t you hit back?”

“I’ll get kicked out,” She mumbled in response, cleaning off the incense ashes on the altar. “They hit me first, sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re wealthy and I’m not. If I hit them back, they’ll whine to their father’s– and it’s me or them, Your Highness. I have to let them hit me, and I have to take it. I need this, okay? This is the only shot I have at getting my family out of that place, and I- I won’t fuck it up because of a little bullying.”) 

She thought the issue was fixed. 

She breaks out into a sprint, ignoring the way her feet dig uncomfortably into the sandals she wears, hoping to quell the argument and set the boys on their way. 

“You’re stealing!” One of them yells, pushing Chiori- and Navia’s blood boils, when she sees that she has an apple in her hand. An apple, of all things. “You’re just another one of those street rats on the side of the road in Ghost City. You have no right to be here, training with–”

“Hey!” Navia yells, pushing the boys away from Chiori, standing in front of her to shield her from them. “What are you saying to her? She deserves to be here just as much as the rest of you!”

“She’s stealing, Your Highness!” He argues, pointing at Chiori accusingly. “We were walking out of the temple and saw her stuffing apples into her bag! She’s stealing from the sacred ground surrounding the Heavenly Emperor’s Temple!” 

“She- She’s not stealing!” Navia argues, swallowing harshly and coming up with a lie quickly. She can’t– Chiori needs this, and if they say that she’s stealing, she’ll get kicked off the mountain. “I told her she could. I gave her permission– are you questioning me, the Crown Princess?” 

They recoil, then, at the implication of questioning her. Questioning the Crown Princess (or royalty, in general) is a worse crime to be accused of than to be accused of stealing. 

(Stealing from royalty is one of the worst crimes one can commit, Navia remembers being told once.) 

“N-No, Your Highness,” He responds quickly, bowing deeply towards her. “I would never think of such a thing! I didn’t– I wasn’t aware you gave her permission!” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be accusing people of things, period.” Navia grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t know if someone has permission or not. You should be more- more kind. I expect you’ll pray for the Heavenly Emperor’s forgiveness tomorrow, no?” 

“Y-Yes!” He says quickly, voice quivering. “I will, Your Highness, I swear! Please, show us mercy for- for doubting you–”

Her father has a reputation, she's learned, of not being merciful. He is a benevolent ruler– but one with an iron fist, who isn't afraid to slam it on anything. 

(He rules with a fist, they say, which is occasionally made out of silk.) 

She sighs and shakes her head, waving them off. “Just… go get ready for supper.” She mumbles, releasing the tension in her shoulders. They aren't worth the trouble, she reasons. 

They scurry off after that– and she turns towards Chiori, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“You lied,” She mumbles, not meeting her eyes. “Why did you lie?” 

“I know how much this means to you,” Navia smiles, trying her best to catalog any injuries on Chiori that may or may not have been there prior to the fight. “Lying can be ethical. Sometimes. Like this time, where it keeps you safe!” 

Chiori swallows harshly and backs out of her grip, “There's no point, Your Highness.” She says, jaw clenching and unclenching. “You wouldn't want to ruin your perfect reputation, would you? Marr it with dishonesty?” 

She bites the words out, stuffing the apple into her bag and moving away from Navia all together. Navia frowns, confused. “What do you mean?” She asks, taking a step forward. “I don't care for that, I care for making sure you can stay here.” 

“Yeah, sure,” She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I'm sure that's why you- why you did that. All of it.” 

“Chiori–” 

She's walking down the mountain, back turned harshly towards Navia, before she can even try to explain herself. 

. . . 

“I don't trust her, Your Highness.” Furina whispers harshly towards her that night. Since Chiori was promoted to her personal servant, the two have had to… share a room. Navia, judging by their bickering constantly at her side, knows the two do not like each other. “I know you lied for her sake earlier, trust me, I heard all about it before you even told me– but she is a thief.” 

“She is no thief, Furina.” She huffs, unclasping her necklace and laying it down gently on her vanity. “You don't know why she's doing what she's doing. Stop accusing her of stealing. I gave her permission.” 

“Regardless– she's ungrateful, demoiselle!” She continues, following after Navia, as if following after her will convince her of anything. “She didn't even thank you for helping her. If it weren't for you, she would've been beaten half to death!” 

“My job is a thankless one,” Navia mumbles, pulling off her choker next. “I don't need validation or thanks to know I'm a good person, to know I'm doing the right thing. I don't expect it, either.” 

“Still, Your Highness,” She huffs indignantly, crossing her arms. “You're of higher rank than her, you are the future Queen. She should be on her knees, thanking you!” 

“Well, it's a good thing I don't want that.” Navia replies, narrowing her eyes at Furina. “I don't wish for the kingdom to grovel at my feet. I wish to save the common people, Furina. I don't want them to fear me.” 

Furina simply sighs heavily, shaking her head and walking towards the door that conjoins their rooms together. She hesitates for a moment, then mutters, “Make sure you put those pearls away, you never know. She could come in here in the middle of the night and steal them, intending to pawn it off later for profit.” 

—

“You have mail,” Chiori grumbles, dropping three sealed letters onto her lap. “Enjoy.”

“Who from?” She asks, picking up the small stack, each sealed with red wax. She sighs quietly, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she glances at each family crest pressed into the wax. 

“Around the world, probably,” Chiori responds, pulling up a chair and sitting beside Navia. “I suspect… Inazuma, Mondstadt, Snezhnaya? The seals look like the crests of the royal families of those three nations.”  

She points to one letter, pulling it out of the stack, “This one, for sure, is Inazuman.” She says, dropping it down on the desk. 

“How can you be sure?” Navia glances at her from the corner of her eye, laying the other two out on the desk. Chiori rolls her eyes. 

“My maman is an Inazuman immigrant,” She answers with a huff, crossing her arms and looking away. “We grew up with the royal crest of the Imperial family in our living room. I’d know it anywhere.” 

“Interesting,” Navia mumbles, grazing her bare fingers against the paper of the letters. Her hand gravitates towards the one from Mondstadt, first. “I didn’t know you were Inazuman.” 

“Does that change your perception of me?” 

Navia’s hand freezes mid air- and something odd churns in her gut, then. Something unbearably, something that makes bile rise in her throat, burning her throat as she swallows it down harshly. She turns her neck to face Chiori then, frown set deep in her face. 

“No, of course not,” She answers truthfully, chest tightening. “Why… why would you think that?” 

“No reason,” She quickly looks away from Navia, folding her hands in her lap. “Some people find us to be unclean, that’s all.”

“The people in this nation are my people all the same,” She mutters, looking back towards the letters. “Regardless of blood or whatever else.”

My friends are my friends regardless, is what she means to say. She isn’t sure if Chiori understands that.

“Whatever,” She says harshly, chair scooting backwards and scratching against the wooden floors. “Just open the letters and be done with it.” 

Navia sighs again, reaching for the letter and gently opening it, unfurling the letter inside and reading it. 

A marriage proposal, from the Prince of Mondstadt. Her lips form a straight line, slightly frustrated. She hands it off to Chiori, then reaches for the next one–

This time, a marriage proposal from the Tsesarevich. 

The next: a marriage proposal from the Shogun’s son. 

“Burn them all,” Navia tells her, fists clenching and unclenching in her lap. “No exceptions.”

“You– You aren’t going to write back?” Chiori sputters, collecting the three letters and the envelope they came in. “Isn’t that a bit rude?” 

“I’ve been dodging marriage proposals since I was 13,” She stands up, dusting off the front of her sundress. “It’s irritating to still be receiving them. I made my stance clear on marriage long ago– I don’t wish to marry, I have a kingdom to focus on. An ascension to focus on.”

“Many gods are married,” She points out, brow raising. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Navia turns her head away from her abruptly, huffing. “It’ll only impede me.” She declares, walking over to her bed, sitting down and shaking her head. “Burn them all.”

Chapter Text

There is no audition for the role of the ghost and the god in the parade for the River of Flowers festival. There is no line up of the best swordsmen in the nation, there are no callbacks–

Navia knows the secret to who is picked for the God-Pleasing Parade. Neuvillette told her after he chose her. 

( “The secret is there is no secret, really,” He told her, smiling warmly at her. “We, and the other priests, watch the disciples. We pick the top two in the class for that year’s parade. That’s the secret, demoiselle.”

“And I’m… at the top of the class?” She inquired, swallowing harshly. Neuvillette nods, hands folded neatly on the desk. 

“As expected of the revered Crown Princess,” He said, the gold chains of his glasses clinking together. “We already informed your counterpart of their position in the parade.” 

“Do I not get to know who is playing the ghost? I thought the only people who got to know were the priests, the performers, and a few people close to those performing…”

“You do, Your Highness,” He unfurls his fingers, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He swipes a piece of hair out of his face, then rests his hands on the desk once more. “You’ll meet her in practice. Which, of course, will take place in two days.”

“I’ll be there, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Very good.”)

The two roles, the roles of the Ghost and the God, are picked almost a year and a half in advance of the actual performance. The training and practices are intensive, often leaving Navia bent over and heaving for breath. 

Chiori was much the same– because no matter how much training she had prior to this, nothing was enough to prepare either of them for the conditioning they had to endure to play these parts. 

The choreographer (and their torturer, in Navia’s opinion), was a priestess within the Imperial Hydra Temple: a woman by the name of Columbina who had an… odd air to her, to say the least. The air around the woman was always heavy, weighing down on Navia’s chest, suffocating her. Chiori had agreed that the priestess had an aura around her that unsettled Chiori. 

Navia had to agree; whenever she was around Columbina, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was being watched by the woman. This, in itself, was odd, considering she was very blind (so much so that she covered her eyes with criss-crossed cloth, eyes closed at all times). 

Still, she was a tough teacher, but the results ended up terribly well. 

( “This is the most important performance of your lives,” She had drawled once, voice light and airy, resting against the altar. She wasn’t looking at them, instead staring up at the handsome face of the Heavenly Emperor, etched perfectly into marble. Navia, distantly, wonders if the priestess even knows what the Heavenly Emperor looks like. “The weight of the kingdom rests on your shoulders. The prosperity of the country lies within how many times you circle the capital, which is why we must focus on endurance, as well as the performance aspect. You must do the roles justice, you must put your all into it. The masks–”

She seemingly conjures two masks out of thin air– one made out of silver and gold, a benevolent smile on its carved-out face, the other made of pitch black obsidian, a mouth carved out with large fangs and horns curving upwards out of the side of the mask. 

“–Must stay on your face at all times. The public cannot who is playing the role of either the god nor the ghost, lest you wish for misfortune to befall the kingdom. Come, try them on,” She urged, holding out the masks for them to take. Hesitantly, they both take their respective masks. Navia carefully places the mask to her face– and it’s almost as if the mask was carved to perfectly fit her face. It felt heavy on her, but she was able to look around just fine. “How does it feel? Good?” 

“Yes, Madame Columbina.” They had said in unison, glancing at each other. They watch a slow, almost eerie, smile stretch across the priestess’ face. 

“Wonderful, very good,” She claps her hands together, still staring up at the face of the Heavenly Emperor’s statue. “They’re just heavy enough to stay on for the performance, but I trust neither of you will do anything too drastic to cause the masks to fall off. Correct?”

“Yes, Madame Columbina.” 

“Wonderful.” She glances at them now, smile dissipating. Navia’s skin crawls. “Let’s begin, then. Keep the masks on, and I want you two to spar.”

“In… In here?” Navia asks hesitantly, heart lurching at the idea of sparring before the Heavenly Emperor’s altar. 

“Yes,” Madame Columbina whispers, smile returning– but it’s jarring, a sick, twisted kind of smile. Navia wants to throw up looking at it. “You’ll spar before the Emperor. I’ll tell you if she deems it satisfactory enough for the God-Pleasing Parade. If it’s not… ah– HA! Oh, she’s told me you will pay!”) 

And, of course– Navia was a risk taker, first and foremost. So yes, she promised everyone she would strictly follow the rules, she would not stray…

But oh, Navia couldn’t help herself. She is 16 the day of the parade, 17 the day after, and she is feeling on top of the world. She has a banquet tomorrow, of course– the Golden Banquet, the Banquet of Flowers, in honor of her ‘coming of age’. 

But first, the parade. 

She sits atop the tallest bridge in all of the nation, which rests right above the main avenue. The float she will be performing on passes directly under it, meaning her risky choice of entrance should turn out well. She is wearing all of the regalia that she has seen past actors wear– the heavy, ornate yet flowy robes, detailed finely with roses, the crest of the Spina dynasty. She wears gold epaulets, that in the back hang loosely and resemble butterfly wings (a detail she had requested from the metalworker when the ceremonial robes were being fitted for her). 

She had to forgo her claymore for this performance, but she understands why. Her sword is clutched in her right hand, her left holding gently onto a yellow rose. She thumbs the petals absentmindedly, heart pounding in her chest. 

The parade wouldn’t start until she arrived. However, there was a set time it had to begin by. If she did not show up, they would simply start without her– which she knows none of them want. 

She wants it, though. She wants them to start without her, wants to watch the float begin its slow, lurching movements down the cobbled street without her even on it. That’s the only way she could pull this off, pull off the entrance she truly wants. 

The only entrance befitting of this role– an entrance never before seen. An entrance sure to please the Gods. An entrance of a God. 

So she waits, and she waits, a smile stretching her face the longer she watches them pace behind the float and out of view, anxious. Madame Columbina looks oddly calm, which never means anything good– Furina is gesturing wildly, Chiori’s head is in her hands. Monsieur Neuvillette is rubbing his temples, running his hands through his hair– a tick he had when he was exceptionally stressed. She laughs at the very idea of it, that the whole lot of them are stressed by her lack of an appearance. 

(Of course, they would never expect her to be perched on the highest bridge in the nation.) 

The appointed time arrives, Chiori is on the stage, reveling in the boo’s of the crowd, riling them up like the proper ghost she is. It's customary for the Ghost to get booed– of course, the crowd doesn't know who the actor is, so it's nothing against them specifically. 

They just want to root for the hero, the God, after all. 

The float lurches forward, and Navia watches Chiori improvise on stage. To anyone else, she looks self-assured, she looks confident– but Navia knows Chiori, and she can tell that the girl is anything but. 

So she takes pity on the girl, who was trying to make the best of a bad situation. Navia stands up from her perch, tucking the yellow rose into her the pin that is holding her hair in a ponytail. She waves towards the civilians on the bridge one last time, and then–

She jumps off the bridge, angling herself to land directly on the float. 

And– she glides through the air elegantly, one foot landing softly on the platform and then the next. The crowd goes absolutely wild at her entrance, throwing all sorts of flowers towards the platform, though they ended up only getting trampled by the horses that trot next to and in front of the float. 

And with her entrance, the performance truly begins. 

They fall into an easy rhythm; it's a dance that they have practiced hundreds of times over the past year and a half. Navia attacks first, on the offensive, and Chiori will parry her attack. Then, from there, Navia will try to ‘distract’ her, and Chiori will fall back– so then Navia will advance on her, ‘land’ a flurry of attacks, only to fall back and allow Chiori to do the same to her. Rinse and repeat, dramatize it, mix things up occasionally, and go for as long as they both can. They have a signal– two taps on the arm at an impasse when they are close enough to touch each other –to let the other know that they are getting tired, and it's time to wrap up. 

Navia predicts they'll make it around the capital at least 15 times. 

Fate, of course, has other plans for her– because sometimes, she needs an intervention. A divine intervention. 

(A divine intervention or a divine meeting? Navia is unsure, even now.) 

It's on the second time going around the main road that everything changes. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong– and it all starts with one thing. Minor, in the grand scheme of things.

(Yet this one minor incident changes Navia's future forever, she would think 800 years in the future. One small incident, and her life was irrevocably changed.)

It starts with the gasping of the crowd, then with screams coming from above– from the bridge she had jumped off of earlier to make her landing on the platform.

She parries Chiori's strike with her sword, glancing up– and her heart seizes in her chest when she sees a small figure rapidly falling towards the cobblestone street. It's not a question in Navia's mind, whether or not she should save the person who fell off the bridge– 

And so with one final strike to Chiori, she propels herself off the float and up into the air, gently catching the figure– a child –in her arms. 

Her mask falls off in the process, gravity working against her— 

She makes eye contact with the child, a soft smile on her face. The child, a girl (she thinks), stares up at her, wide-eyed and almost desperate. Her hair is an indigo color; it's messy, matted beyond one could ever imagine– and bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her face, obscuring her right eye. Her visible eye is purple, a little empty, and it reminds Navia of the barrel of a gun. Her clothes are dirty and hang off her bones like loose skin, patchwork done much like Chiori's was all those years ago. 

(Some call this the beginning of the end, but an 800 year old Navia would recount this as where her life truly began.)

She lands on the float once again, not caring for the way she has exposed her face completely to the crowd– a bad omen, Neuvillette and Columbina will tell her later, she knows –and continues the performance, holding the girl in her arms as best as she can. She glances down every now and then, catching the girl staring at her with a big, wide eye- and Navia smiles at her, holding her closer to her chest, and focuses on the performance once again. 

They only go around the capital 3 times, cutting the performance short due to the fact that Navia was quite literally holding a child in her arms. 

The bombardment is almost immediate, stepping off the stage and into the hall that they were set to meet in. Her sword is sheathed at her side, opting to hold the girl with both hands rather than the way she had been awkwardly holding her before. The girl clutches onto her robes like her life depends on it, head tucked into Navia’s shoulder– and Navia feels something swell in her chest- sadness? Fondness? She, ultimately, decides it’s a combination of the two. 

“Your Highness!” Furina exclaims, rushing over. “Give me the child, I’ll handle things– Monsieur Neuvillette and Madame Columbina have requested an… immediate audience with you.” 

Chiori walks in shortly after Navia, pulling her mask off, eyes quickly sweeping over Navia and the girl. Her eyes fixate on the small figure in her arms, something flashing in her wine-colored eyes. It’s quickly replaced by her usual look of indifference. 

“Alright,” Navia mumbles, scratching at the base of the girl’s neck lightly before trying to pry her off of her. She doesn’t budge. “Please let go, I promise my friend here will take good care of you.” 

The girl looks up at Navia, bottom lip wobbling slightly- and oh, Navia could just cry. She smiles carefully at the girl, soothing a hand up and down her back. “I promise she’ll be careful with you,” She whispers to her, taking in the state of her– dirty, bandages practically peeling off her skin, dried blood around her nose, bruises peeking out from her clothes. She feels her heart lurch, wanting nothing more than to just help. To hug the girl, to assure that she’s placed in the best care possible. She looks to be about seven years old– but that… can’t be quite right, she thinks. Her face looks far more mature than a seven year old’s face, but with how small she is… “I’ll hold you again once I’m done talking to my teacher, alright? Does that work for you?”

The girl nods weakly, loosening her hold on Navia and allowing herself to be transferred into Furina’s hold. 

“Furina,” She mumbles, leaning down to be next to her ear. She pointedly ignores the way her knight tenses, the way her face turns a light shade of red. “Please check the girl for any injuries, and get them treated. Especially around the head area– the bandages are concerning me.” 

“Yes– Of course, Your Highness,” She responds, voice slightly clipped. “Please go see–”

“Yes, yes, I will,” She sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes playfully and straightening up. “Should I leave the sword somewhere out here?”

“Just give it to me, Your Highness,” Furina positions the girl on her arm, while her other reaches out for the sword. Navia unties it from around her waist and hands it to Furina. “I’ll handle it when we get back to the dorms.”

“Very well,” She smiles at Furina, then at Chiori. “Wish me luck. Gods only know the reprimanding I’ll get, ha…”

They both avert their eyes, choosing to not respond. Navia sighs and shakes her head, picking up the end of her ceremonial robes so they don’t drag across the ground. 

“...Give me the child,” She hears Chiori say to Furina just before she enters the room Neuvillette and Columbina were waiting in. “You’re holding him wrong, you nitwit.” 

“What do you mean I’m holding her wrong!?” Furina replies, voice raising. Navia shakes her head, sighing heavily again. These two…. “I’m holding her! There can’t be a wrong way to hold someone!”

“There is, and you’re doing it–”

She pushes open the door, feeling as though she’d rather be yelled at by the two priests than hear those two bicker for the nth time. 

Columbina sits on the table, one leg hanging over the edge and the other tucked under her chin, arm wrapped around her leg lazily. Neuvillette, however, paces behind her anxiously. Navia realizes, belatedly, that Columbina is mumbling something to herself in a language Navia doesn’t quite recognize. Something that feels like unease churns in her gut. 

“Are you– are you crazy?” Neuvillette says immediately, his pacing stopping very briefly to stare at her. “Do you know what you’ve done? You– Your Highness, in the centuries of this parade, not once has the procession only gone around three times. Three times! What does this say for the nation? The prosperity of our kingdom? The Heavenly Emperor– oh, surely he is enraged by this slight–”

Columbina begins giggling, staring up at the ceiling with her eyes closed beneath the cloth. Goosebumps break out all over Navia’s body, hair standing up on the back of her neck. Neuvillette sighs deeply, though it turns more into a groan towards the end– and shakes his head repeatedly. 

“–Most processions, in the past, have gone on to go around the capital 15, 16 times– three times! Your Highness, your name will go down in history as the only procession to have gone around three times!” He runs his hands through his hair, mussing the perfectly kept hair. “With your and Chiori’s talent, you could’ve gone around fifty times! And what– you cut yourself dead at three because of a disturbance? You could’ve– You could’ve kept going, Your Highness, this is is…”

“ Monsieur Neuvillette,” She quickly cuts in, pushing aside the unease she feels by Columbina’s consistent murmuring. “Would it not have been more ominous to have let the girl drop, and spill blood on the main road in front of the procession?” 

“There were guards!” He exclaims, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. “You could’ve ignored the girl and let one of the guards catch her! And- and even if she landed wrong, the most that would’ve happened would’ve been a broken arm or leg– no death, no blood…-” 

“I was the most capable person there to save the child,” She responds, crossing her arms over her chest. She feels slightly irritated by the fact that she was being yelled at for saving someone’s life. What else was she supposed to do?! Let the girl fall to her death? No! Navia would never allow such a thing to happen in front of her. “If you let her fall, then there is one dead; if you had a guard try to save her, then there are two dead. This was the best possible outcome, Monsieur Neuvillette.” 

His response is unexpectedly cut off by Columbina bursting out into loud, erratic laughter– head tipping back, hand hitting the table. Navia startles, recoiling slightly in fear, hand reaching for the hilt of her sword that no longer lays attached to her hip. Fear courses through her body–

And Columbina turns to face her, smile stretched across her face in the most unsettling of ways. She lowers the silk around her eyes, and she–

She opens her eyes, revealing them– and Navia feels bile rise up in her throat, bile that she swallows down harshly. Her eyes… there is no iris in Columbina’s eyes, just an alarming expanse of white. It’s as if her eyes rolled into the back of her head and became stuck like that. 

“She’s watching you,” She whispers, tilting her head to the side. Navia backs against the door of the room, heart pounding. “You’ve intrigued her. HAHAHAHA- SHE’S INTRIGUED–!” 

She devolves into the same erratic laughter as before, falling back to lay on the table completely, writhing there like a- like a worm. 

Navia nearly throws up. 

—

“Did you check the girl?” She asks, brushing through her hair and looking at Furina through her vanity mirror. “Was she injured at all?” 

“Minor bruises around her arms and torso,” Furina recounts easily, wrapping up the swords used in the God-Pleasing Parade earlier in the day. “I tried to check her head, but she wouldn’t let me unwrap the bandages– the little shit kicked me in the shins!” 

Navia smiles and shakes her head, “Were you being mean to the poor girl?” 

“No!” Furina exclaims, hands coming up in the air dramatically. “If I was being mean, I would’ve lifted her up by her legs and shook her around while upside down! Yet she let Chiori go near her!”

“Chiori is nicer than you,” Navia teases, looking over her shoulder at Furina. Chiori huffs in the corner, brushing out her own hair. “And far better with children than you, Furina. I’m sure you scared the girl, somehow.”

“...Was the child not a boy?” Chiori asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I thought…” 

“They didn’t speak,” Navia shrugs, putting her brush down on the vanity, swiveling in her chair to face her two friends. “So I simply assumed. Their facial features were quite delicate, so I…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Furina grumbles, sitting down on the edge of Navia’s bed. “What’s past is past, now. Chiori sewed up the holes in the girl's shirt and sent her off to Monsieur Neuvillette.”

There’s a silence, and then– “You were gone by the time this happened, but Kaveh came huffing in, screaming about how the child ruined his Cousine Princesse Héritière’s performance, and that she would surely pay for this transgression against you.” 

Navia sighs heavily, holding her head in her hands and shaking her head. “That boy scares me,” She mumbles into her hands, praying the other two can hear her. “I used to see him pulling the flesh off of animals in the palace gardens. It scares me to think what he could do to a human.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness,” Furina says, coming over to rub her back soothingly. “Your birthday is tomorrow, you shouldn’t worry over such thoughts the night before a prosperous day.” 

Navia lifts her head out of her hands, pursing her lips, but nodding in the end. “I suppose you’re right,” She agrees, standing up and plopping down on her bed. She faces Chiori, inspecting her, the way her shoulders are tense, the way she faces towards the wall instead of towards them. 

“Your performance was wonderful today, Chiori,” She says, resting her chin in her hand. Chiori spins around, shock written all over her face– but she fixes her expression rather quickly, as cold and impassable as usual. “You continue to prove that someone can always be better. I was shocked to find that you were far more talented with a saber than you are with a sword! It was incredible!” 

Chiori swallows harshly, looking away. “Thank you, Your Highness,” She mutters, bowing her head. “Your words are truly kind.” 

“I’m only being honest,” Navia replies, standing up on her bed and widening her stance as if she were holding a saber in her hands. “But there is still room for improvement. Sabers are different from swords, as you aren’t supposed to… well, jab with them like you can with a sword.”

She makes the motion of jabbing a sword forwards. “Sabers are defensive weapons,” She explains, adjusting her stance to reflect her words. “They are meant for slashing. It’s for melee, you… it’s a less-structured weapon, more focused on footwork than fighting with a sword is.”

She mimics the motion of slashing, moving her feet to dodge the attacks she imagines coming at her for the sake of the demonstration. “They’re a weapon used to dodge with, not one to parry blows with. Does that make sense?” 

Chiori nods along, holding a broomstick in her hand (that she must’ve grabbed from the corner in the middle of Navia’s demonstration), watching her with a child-like expression of… wonderment on her face. It’s only a little unsettling to Navia. 

She runs a hand through her hair, fingers getting caught on a particular knot by her ear– and that’s when she feels the missing presence of an earring. Yellow pearl earrings, her favorite set- and one was missing. 

“Wait,” She says, feeling both of her ears. There, on her left ear, was the earring. On her right, however… well, it was missing. “My earring– my earring is missing.” 

“How can you be so scatterbrained that you don’t realize you’re missing an earring?” Furina jokes, bending down to look at the floor. “Let’s pray you didn’t lose it during the parade.’

“What does it matter?” She replies with a shake of her head. “If it’s lost, it’s lost. That’s all.”

“That won’t do,” Chiori cuts in. “The earring is worth quite a bit of money. It’s better that we at least try to search for it, first.” 

Navia sighs, shoulders slumping. She scrubs her face with her hands, the events of the day weighing down on her as Furina and Chiori talk idly- and it’s peaceful between the two, for once.

Until it’s not, of course, because those two can never stay peaceful. 

Navia starts it, albeit accidentally. “Do you think we should call for more hands to look?” She asks, joining the two in the search of her bedroom floor. Furina shakes her head. 

“Crowds can get handsy,” She says. “We don’t want anyone finding it and slipping it in their pocket secretly.” 

And Navia, of course, doesn’t see the issue with her words– not until Chiori, who was bent over and looking under the bed, broomstick firm in hand, stands up. Her grip on the broomstick is so tight that her knuckles turn white, and soon after, a sickening crack was heard from the wood– it broke under her hold. 

Furina had nothing but complaints about Chiori since the end of the parade, ranging from a variety of things, Navia supposes. Furina never voiced these complaints aloud, knowing Navia would simply  glare at her– but seeing Chiori get angry, now, was  the straw that broke the camel's back. 

“Why are you angry!?” Furina exclaims, brows furrowed. “What is your issue!?” 

“Why don’t you just say what you really want to say,” Chiori fires back, hands gripping the two broken pieces of the broom. “Since you want to cast shadows where there aren’t any! I had nothing to do with that earring getting lost!”

“Who said that!?” Furina cries, hands balling into fists at her sides. Oh lord, Navia thinks absentmindedly. “No one here said that, yet you’ve gotten all flustered and angry! Why’s that? Feeling guilty?” 

“Furina, that is enough– ” 

And Chiori is uncharacteristically quiet, staring at Furina with an unreadable expression. Navia feels panic surge in her chest at the image, feels her heart drop– and quickly, she tries to placate the situation. “Chiori, don’t pay her words any mind,” She says quickly, rushing over towards the girl. “She’s just frustrated, and saying things to say them… she means nothing by it, I swear–”

Chiori diverts her attention to Navia, eyes hardened into a cold stare. Navia wants to cry. “You…” Chiori trails off, jaw clenching and unclenching. “...You don’t keep your promises.” 

And then she’s turning on her heels, walking out of the room at a rather fast pace. Navia is stuck, rooted to the ground for a moment, but when reality hits her, she rushes towards the door. 

“Your Highness!” Furina calls, rushing towards her, stopping her from leaving. “At least put shoes on and fix your hair before running around the pavilion! It’s disgraceful for you to run around so unkempt!” 

“I have to go after her,” Navia says frantically, turning to face Furina with wide eyes. “I-I can’t let her go! It’s a misunderstanding, all a big misunderstanding… I can’t…”

“Fix yourself up first,” Furina mumbles, guiding Navia over to her vanity. “Who knows what the others will say if they see you running around in your night-slip, hair unbound, and barefoot.”

Navia, begrudgingly, does as Furina asks- because she is right. She hates that she’s right, but in the end, what's fair is fair. Besides, by the time she finishes getting herself somewhat ready, Chiori will already be long gone. There’s no point in rushing now. 

“What’s got her all worked up?” Furina asks, standing behind Navia with an oddly downcast look. “What did she mean by that? ‘ You don’t keep your promises’ ?”

“...It’s something that happened a while ago,” She responds, tying her hair up quickly. “You hit a stray nerve, is all. You misspoke. Just… help me stop her, and explain the situation–” 

“I hit a stray nerve?” Furina echoes with a scoff. “What? You mean to tell me the stray nerve was insinuating she stole the earring from you?” 

Navia is silent– no answer, of course, is an answer. Realization washes over Furina, then–

“So she has stolen something from you!” She exclaims, eyes wide in shock. “How am I just finding out about this now? Your Highness, why have you never told me–?” 

“Shh!” Navia responds, standing up abruptly and facing Furina. “Don't speak so loud– it's all a misunderstanding! I didn't tell you because I knew how you'd react!” 

“She's a thief!” Furina whisper yells, pointing at the door. “And you've kept her around! Your Highness, is that not a concern for your well being? Your health? What did she steal!?” 

“You… do you remember that bracelet I lost, a week or so after she got hired here?” 

“ That's what she stole?!” She exclaims, eye twitching. “Your Highness! That was a gift from his Majesty!” 

“She- it was a misunderstanding! All of it!” Navia cries, head falling into her hands. “I lost it around the pavilion here, and she picked it up and hid it under her bed for a while, unsure who it belonged to or what to do with it. It was only after I made a fuss over it, that she realized it was mine. She served me tea the following day and explained the whole situation, and I promised I wouldn't tell anyone.” 

“...But you never got the bracelet back,” Furina points out, slightly dumbfounded. “You said you lost it in the palace.” 

“I let her keep it,” Navia continues to explain, peeking her eye out from between her fingers. “I let her pawn it off. The money she got for it went towards keeping her family fed.” 

And Chiori… at the time, she looked so very distraught. No one liked her here already, so mentioning how she took the bracelet would only land her in a worse situation– much less getting to keep her job after accidentally stealing from the Crown Princess. 

Furina is silent for a moment, then, and… well, she bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Ah!” She laughs loudly, holding a hand over her mouth. “She- She probably thought you had told me what happened! Truth be told, she ratted herself out! Aiya– she thought I've been picking on her this whole time because I knew of that incident!” 

“Furina, you mustn't tell anyone!” She whispers, gripping the shorter girl's shoulders. It was always odd, knowing that Furina was two years older yet nearly a foot shorter than Navia. “Not a single soul!” 

“Ah– fine, fine!” She huffs, averting her eyes almost petulantly. “I don't particularly care for this sort of gossip, anyways. I promise I won't tell anyone.” 

“Very well, then. Let's get moving, we… should find her, now.” 

“Fine…” 

—

“The clergy has come up with two solutions to the issue at hand,” Neuvillette explains, massaging the area between his brows with his thumb. “Two solutions. Only two.” 

“Let’s hear them, then.” She tilts her head to the side, hands resting on her lap. She tries to ignore Columbina’s suffocating presence, pacing behind her leisurely. “I don’t see the need for a solution, anyhow. I did nothing wrong.”

“You– You forsook the Gods and tradition–” Neuvillette exclaims, then quickly quiets himself. “–This is repentance, Your Highness. An apology for ruining the performance. Anyways– option one is killing the child.” 

“No,” Navia responds immediately. “No, Gods no– Monsieur Neuvillette, Madame Columbina, I strongly urge you to pick up any newspaper! I am being praised for what I’ve done, not condemned! The public is on my side! Why must we be so drastic?!”

“I knew you’d respond like this,” He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “So we came up with a second solution–” 

“–You seal one of your senses!” Columbina giggles from behind her, voice as light and airy as usual- and it’s disconcerting to hear such words be said in a cheerful tone. Navia was beyond horrified by both of her options. 

“These options are absolutely ridiculous,” She cries, hands balling up into fists in her lap. “You can’t– It’s my birthday! I should be getting ready for my banquet right now, not- not choosing between sealing one of my senses or killing a child! I’ve done nothing wrong, why must we do such terrible things?” 

She stiffens when she feels Columbina press against her back, a delicate hand reaching around to touch the underside of her jaw. Navia can barely breath with her so close, the air so thick it gets choked in her throat. She’s forced to hold her breath and feel the way her heart pounds against her ribcage, desperately praying for release. 

“Someone has to shoulder the blame,” Columbina whispers in her ear, giggling softly. Navia shivers, hair on the back of her neck rising. “And it must be either you… or the child. Who will you pick, Your Highness? I trust you’ll be… smart. ” 

Navia thinks over her options for a moment– and she wants a third option, the option to choose neither, but she knows that is not in her cards. Neuvillette has already made it clear that she only has two options, two paths. 

“Neither,” She whispers back. “I choose neither. I’ve done nothing wrong, and the people agree with me as well.”

“But do the Gods?” Columbina asks, digging her fingers into Navia’s jaw. She swallows down a yelp. “Does the Emperor?” 

“I’m…” Navia swallows harshly, forcing Columbina’s sharp nails further into her skin momentarily. It hurts. “...I’m inclined to believe the Gods are pleased by a life saved. God's praise good deeds, do they not? Gods are holy creatures, they are… they are good people, inherently. They are not demons. They are not Ghost Kings.” 

“Gods are not ethical,” Columbina releases her hold on Navia, backing up and beginning her leisurely pacing once again. “Are you aware how most martial gods ascend, Your Highness?” 

“ Madame Columbina, what are you saying?” Neuvillette says, exasperated beyond belief. “Of course Gods are ethical–”

“Answer the question.” She cuts him off, voice taking on a far more demanding tone than Navia is used to. She shivers, fear coursing through her veins.

(She can’t breath, she can’t breath, she can’t–) 

“Of course I know how most martial gods ascend,” Navia replies shakily, looking towards Neuvillette for help. He looks… irritated, rather than scared. She expected him to mirror her reflection, not look– not look slightly endeared. “They ascend through acts of great sacrifice, through chivalry–”

Columbina bursts out into that loud, erratic laughter of hers– not the giggles she lets out when she talks, no, the manic laugh that explodes from her chest and reverberates around the room. 

“Through good acts,” She exclaims in between her fits of laughter. “Through acts of great sacrifice! How naive of a child are you? Oh, Your Highness, you make me laugh–” 

“ Columbina,” Neuvillette hisses, taking a hesitant step forward. This was the first time Navia ever heard the man not be professional– he was always courteous, calling people monsieur and madame, always demoiselle or your highness. This… was odd, for him. He sounded agitated. “What are you saying? Are you insane? We are not here to discuss the ethics of–”

“She’s old enough to know, no?” She giggles, walking over to Navia, petting the back of her head as if she were a dog. “17 today, the day of her Banquet…. Why not tell her the truth?”

“You are–”

“The truth of what?” Navia asks, eyebrows furrowed as she looks between the two of them. Neuvillette sighs deeply, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. 

“Of Gods,” Columbina whispers in her ear, tugging on the back of her hair harshly. Navia’s head jerks back, and she finds herself looking up at Columbina. “Martial Gods… they ascend bathed in blood, Your Highness. Not through acts of sacrifice, nor through martyrdom. They bathe in blood, and then they are recognized for their acts of cruelty, and granted immortality in return.” 

“That isn’t true,” Neuvillette quickly says, voice clipped and strained. “She– she has an odd idea of Gods. This isn’t true, Your Highness. Some– some Martial Gods, sure, but not all.”

“Think of all the greats,” Columbina continues, voice raising slightly. “The Wind Master, Barbatos, for example. His- supposed -lover died because of him. Rumor has it, he takes on his skin as repentance– but either way, he ascended in the glory that should’ve belonged to his lover. Or, take the Earth Master, Morax. He killed his friend, then promptly ascended with her blood underneath his fingernails.” 

She giggles in Navia’s ear– and oh, Navia can’t breathe–

“...Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Body in abyss; Heart in paradise’, Your Highness?” She asks, hand tightening in your hair. “A lot of the Martial Gods subscribe to that ideal, you know. Not anymore of course– both their body and their hearts are in paradise, but you know.. At the point in which they ascended, they were truly… the embodiment of that expression.”

“Body in abyss… heart in paradise,” Navia repeats, feeling the way the words bounce around in her mouth. “Is it supposed to be… an expression of one’s unwavering morals?” 

“Sure, you could think of it like that.” Columabina answers, letting go of Navia’s hair yet staying right by her ear. “Just… keep it in mind, Your Highness. You never know when you might… need it.” 

—

“We should start heading towards the palace,” Chiori murmurs, tidying up Navia’s room. “When does the banquet begin, again?”

“More towards 7, I think.” Navia replies, digging around her bed for her hair ribbon. “It’s tradition for the subject of the banquet to be late, though.”

“You have your dress and everything at the palace already?” Furina asks, bursting in through the door connecting Navia’s to theirs. Navia nods easily, swiftly tying her hair into a loose braid using her hair ribbon. 

“Everything is waiting for me in my room at the palace,” She confirms easily, walking towards her vanity and adjusting the collar of her shirt. “We just have to get there, now.”

“Should I call for a carriage?” Chiori stops beside Navia, fixing the sleeves of her shirt absentmindedly. Navia mumbles a small thank you to her, then shakes her head. 

“No, we ought to walk there,” She sighs, tucking a longer piece of her hair that fell out of its braid behind her ear. “It’s a nice day out, I’ll just grab my umbrella and we can walk.”

The two of them nod, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

. . .

To get to the palace, they have to traverse through, essentially, the entirety of the Royal Capital. Which, of course, includes walking through Ghost City if you don’t want to go the long way– around that section of the Capital, through an area that is almost as bad as Ghost City but just a bit safer, over a bridge, and then through various back alleys that lead directly to the entrance of the Imperial Palace. 

“We should turn here, Your Highness.” Furina tugs on her sleeve lightly, pointing towards their left and subsequently towards the long way. Navia purses her lips, looking around the area– and it doesn’t look bad, at least not in the daylight. It just looks like the rest of the Capital– cobblestone roads, narrow alleys that people trek down with bags full of whatever they bought at the market that morning, tall brick buildings with mansard roofs made of slate. 

“Let’s keep going,” Navia responds instead, smiling towards both of her friends. “I wouldn’t be a proper Crown Princess if I didn’t feel as though I could walk through a large area of my city, no?” 

“We probably shouldn’t walk through here, though…” Chiori mumbles, but relents nonetheless. “Do you know your way from Ghost City to the Palace?”

Of course Navia does. 

And yet–

“No,” She says, tilting her head to the side, clutching the handle of her umbrella tighter. “Could I trouble you to lead the way, Chiori?” 

“It’s no trouble at all, Your Highness.” She nods, moving to stand in front of Navia and lead them through the city. 

Ghost City, by all accounts, is not what it’s made up to be. Stories she has heard chalked the area of the Capital to be run down, swarming with trash on the side of roads and other kinds of waste. In reality, it’s… well, it’s not that bad. There are barely any people out, which Navia supposes matches up with what she’s heard of the place– they’re all likely indoors, avoiding the sunlight hours and preparing for their nightly exploits in the City of Ghosts. 

But due to this factor, the walk through the city is rather pleasant. Furina huddles underneath the umbrella with Navia, forced to press against her side lest she wish to be burned by the sun– because as it turns out, her knight is rather sensitive to the sun, and tends to burn rather than tan. A funny fact about the woman, of course, one that Navia found quite amusing when they figured it out. 

If Chiori wasn’t walking so fast ahead of them, she would’ve offered for Chiori to seek shelter underneath the umbrella. It would’ve been a tight squeeze– the umbrella, realistically, should only fit two at most… but that didn’t mean Navia couldn’t try. 

But Chiori was walking far too fast for either of them, and Navia couldn’t figure out why. This was her home, before she moved into the dorms on Mont Automnequi– her family is here, so why was she walking so fast? Was she scared of them encountering her family?

Navia doubts it, no one was out anyways. What would she be scared for?

(A deeper part of Navia’s subconscious says that Chiori is ashamed of where she came from, compared to Navia and Furina. Navia’s heart bleeds at the thought.) 

“Do you hear something, Your Highness?” Furina asks, leaning over slightly. Navia furrows her brows, listening– and yes, actually, she does hear something. It sounds like something- like, perhaps, a bag of rice -being kicked, with the sound of someone talking. 

“I do,” Navia replies, nodding her head. “Chiori, do you hear that?”

“Yes, I do,” She responds quickly, gait widening. “Best not to interfere. Especially not in this area. Just ignore it and keep–”

“But what if someone needs help?” Navia quickly cuts in, stopping in her tracks. Chiori slows down, back still turned towards them. “We should go towards the sound, see if we can help someone out.” 

“Your Highness, that is a very dangerous idea.” 

“I know,” She says. “I want to help, either way.” 

Chiori sighs, shoulders slumping inwards, and she nods. She looks almost a little pathetic. “Okay.” 

So, diligently, the three of them follow the sounds– 

The sight they walk upon is not one Navia expected, but it is also one she is not necessarily surprised by. 

“Kaveh!” She exclaims, running over to her cousin quickly, pulling him away from the figure he was seemingly kicking. “What are you- what are you doing?!” 

“Cousine Princesse Héritière!” He cries, turning around abruptly to face her. “I’m avenging you! This is that street rat that ruined your performance yesterday!” 

Navia’s throat dries, staring at her cousin– and she trembles slightly, gripping his arms tightly, inspecting his face. He shows no sign of remorse, just an odd look of… of glee. Unbridled joy is the only emotion she can clearly make out on his face. It sickens her. 

She glances down at the unmoving figure that lies curled up on the floor– and there, on the ground, is the very girl she saved yesterday. Her stomach churns, looking at the girl, and briefly Navia wonders if the girl is even still alive. 

The thought is quickly tamped down when she sees the way the girl’s form shakes against the cobblestone. Navia swallows down the slowly rising bile, pushing her cousin away and bending down to be closer to the level of the girl. 

She was in the same outfit she wore yesterday, just far dirtier than it had been the day prior- most definitely from the beating the poor girl got at the hands of her cousin. The girl lets out a whimper every now and then, voice deeper than Navia had expected- but she also supposes that it’s hoarse, considering the events that have transpired. 

Navia wants to throw up, looking at this girl. What has she done to deserve this? What has she done to get beaten to a pulp by a member of the Royal family? Simply because she was unfortunate enough to fall off a bridge? 

Navia feels ill. She feels so, so ill.

(She wishes to wrap the child up in her arms and shield her from the world– she looks so small, so vulnerable, and Navia simply wants to weep.) 

“I was careful,” Kaveh says from behind her, sounding proud. “The piece of trash won’t die–”

“What is wrong with you!?” She yells, looking up towards him and placing a hesitant hand on the girl’s arm. She whimpers at the touch, and Gods– Navia could just sob. “Who told you to avenge me!? Whoever said anything about that– this child did nothing wrong! This is not her fault!” 

“Of course it’s her fault!” He argues, pointing at the girl on the ground. “If not for her, Monsieur Neuvillette and Madame Columbina wouldn’t have scolded you!’ 

Oddly enough, Chiori steps forward, an odd fire in her eyes as she faces Kaveh– nobility, if you ignore how vile of a person the boy is. 

“That was certainly not the child’s fault,” She says to him, jaw clenched, staring up at him angrily. “It was Her Highness’ decision alone to save the child, not the child’s. Don’t you dare, for a second even insinuate it was the child’s fault–”

“You ought to reprimand your servants, Cousine Princesse Héritière,” Kaveh responds instead, turning to address Navia. Navia bites the inside of her cheek, turning away from him to instead look down at the girl. She places her hand firmer on her arm, hoping the girl will at least look up. “Especially this one, no? Having the gall to speak so defiantly to her superior. If you don’t put her in her place, Cousine Princesse Héritière, she’ll rise against her master and overthrow you!” 

“You–” 

Furina, surprisingly, is the one who cuts in. “Who are you calling a servant?” She exclaims, stepping in front of Chiori. “Takes one to know one, right? You’re just as bad as us ‘ lowly servants’!”

“Who are you to accuse me of being a servant?!” Kaveh argues back, and Navia has no choice but to sigh. Of course, her birthday– her 17th birthday, of all days –will be ruined by her weird cousin. “You and I are not the same! I’m- I’m nobility! What are you? My cousin’s lap dog? Ha! Please! How silly, to compare you to me!” 

“And why shouldn’t we?” Chiori bites back, shoving Furina back to get into his face. Navia, quickly, gathers the child into her arms, holding her as gently as possible. The girl flinches at first– but then, her eye lands on Navia and widens, filling with an… odd look. One of reverence. “You call us her lap dogs– but look at you! Beating up a defenseless child for no good reason other than they ruined your Cousine Princesse Héritière’s ceremony! If anything, you’re the lap dog here!” 

She cradles the girl close to her chest, hoping to pour some of her own guilt for what has happened into the girl– she hopes it is enough to soothe whatever emotional scars it has left on the girl. 

“I’m sorry,” She whispers to the girl, soothing over her head with her hand. “I didn’t know he’d do this. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m–”

A scream reverberates from behind her, and she is thankful that it’s not either Furina or Chiori who is screaming. She holds the girl closer to her, then, not minding the way her small, dirt caked hands dirty her white shirt. It’s fine, she reasons– she can always get another shirt, of course. 

She turns slightly, only to see her cousin holding his (very broken) arm, staring at Furina– and Navia puts together what happened there very quickly. 

(Knowing her cousin, he most definitely threatened Chiori, and Furina would not stand for anyone close to Navia being threatened–

And Furina wouldn’t raise a hand against someone who didn’t raise theirs first. Kaveh most likely tried to do something to Chiori, which resulted in… well, his broken arm.)

Navia sighs and shakes her head, “Come, we should all go back to the palace.” 

“Hand the child to me,” Furina says quickly, rushing away from Kaveh, most definitely annoyed by his obnoxious moaning. “Don't dirty your shirt–” 

“It's fine,” Navia waves her off, standing up gently so as not to jostle the girl. “I can carry her, it's no worry at all. Just… worry about Kaveh. Chiori, come and walk with me.” 

And so, they set off to the palace. 

—

“..Any major injuries?” Navia asks the imperial doctor, at the bedside of the girl. The doctor shrugs haphazardly. 

“A few bruised ribs, but that's all.” He responds, smiling curtly. “He's surprisingly lucky, considering what happened to him.” 

The girl shrinks in on herself, and Navia frowns. She doesn't say anything, opting instead to focus on the way Chiori’s shoes click anxiously against the wooden floors, pacing the length of the room. Furina stands beside Navia, as per usual, hands clasped behind her back and shoulders set. The perfect posture of a knight. 

“Alright, thank you.” She mutters, nodding her head. “Please, check on my cousin next door. His… arm is a bit messed up.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” He nods, bowing respectfully towards her before leaving the room. 

They all let out a collective sigh as soon as the door clicks shut. 

“I just… he is so…” Navia trails off, resting her elbows on the bed, head in her hands. “...I can't believe him. He's going to complain to maman, now. Maman's heart is weak, especially after the death of her sister.” 

“...So Gods only know what Furina's punishment will be,” Chiori finishes her thought easily, coming to a halt at the end of the bed. The girl lays asleep, there. “We can argue against the punishment, can we not?” 

“No,” Navia responds quickly, shaking her head. “Of course not. He's the baby– Crown Princess or not, I won't change much. If it's my maman 's will, my papa will see it through.” 

A sweet, romantic gesture. If only it didn't mean Furina would be punished for sticking up for Chiori, despite their stance in the social hierarchies. Kaveh is nobility, but he was wrong. 

“I will take whatever punishment is bestowed upon me,” Furina chimes in, voice uncharacteristically… professional. “If it's His Majesty’s word, then I shall do it. I know what I did was the right thing.” 

Navia sighs and shakes her head, rubbing her hands over her face. “...Alright, as you wish, then.” Navia murmurs into her hands, pulling her face out of them swiftly after. “I… I fear what your punishment will be, Furina.”

“Then don’t come,” Furina quickly answers, placing a hesitant hand on Navia’s shoulder. “Stay here, watch over the child.” 

“But what if you–” She turns abruptly, staring up at her knight– and it’s odd, being shorter than her for once. Navia, for all her life, has been taller than Furina. It’s unsettling. 

Furina smiles sadly, trying her best to assure Navia. It doesn’t help– if anything, Navia thinks she made it worse. “Everything will be okay, Your Highness.”

Navia, she whispers in her head. Just Navia is okay. 

(But she knows palace etiquette, and she knows that if Furina– or Chiori –were heard calling her Navia rather than Your Highness, they’d be exiled on grounds of trying to overthrow the monarchy.

Navia’s heart aches, and she wishes for nothing more than to be anybody different, just in this moment. She doesn’t have the novelty of wishing such a thing, but deep in the night, when the moonlight filters in through her window, Navia tosses and turns because she can’t fall asleep…. She finds that this is the worst pain she has ever experienced. The pain of wanting closeness with those around her, but finding that wall between them, unshakeable by all means, because of her status. 

What she would give to make things different. 

But Navia, regardless, loves her people, and she wishes so desperately to help them– so she tamps down the ache quickly, and feels bad for ever thinking in such a way in the first place.) 

“Okay,” Navia whispers back, nodding. She looks away, not being able to bear the softness on Furina’s face. It makes her feel ill. “Then… leave me here. Go to his room, papa and maman will be there soon, surely.” 

The two of them nod, sparing her any other kinds of words of assurance. They already know it won’t work.

So Navia, instead, watches the girl sleep– and like this, she looks so peaceful, as if oblivious to what had happened to her merely a few hours before. Navia wants to throw up, looking at the girl, covered in dirt and her own dried blood. What else has this girl had to endure? Navia isn’t sure if she wants to know– she’s afraid if she does know, she’ll break down here, in the medical ward of the palace. It’s a very unlady-like thing to do, very unbecoming of a Princess.

But then again, she thinks, when has she ever played into the traditional female gender norms of the country? Of the world? She has deliberately gone against them all her life; she is the dichotomy between traditional womanhood and the wants of women, the antithesis of the view most people have on women. She has done what most women want to do– break out of the mold, force herself into traditionally male spaces, and she has excelled in those areas. Where most women’s bodies at 17 years old are thin, frail, petite– the beauty standard, by all means –Navia is the complete opposite. Broad shoulders, arms more muscle than anything else, hands full of callouses from years of swinging around a blade, arms adorned with scars from spars with boys who thought that ‘accidentally’ injuring her would deter her. 

She has continuously had to prove herself to these people. She has had to fight for her right to be where she is– she has had to demand their respect, demand them to view her as an equal. Even after she fought them, even after she beat them, they simply looked at her with thinly veiled scorn– but they knew the consequence of not respecting royalty, much less the Crown Princess. They feared the punishment her father would hand them, more than they would ever respect her. 

And it made her so angry. It made her so angry, for her to not be recognized for her efforts, to not be respected by the people she wanted nothing more than to serve. Why wouldn’t they respect her? Why couldn’t they view her as an equal? She viewed them as such, so why couldn’t they return the sentiment? 

(She refused to accept the fact that they would never see her, a woman, as their equal. In their eyes, heir to the throne or not, a girl would never deserve the level of respect that they would show their male superiors. 

Navia hates it. But she loves her people, so even in the face of their scorn, she will continue to love them unconditionally. Always.) 

Her heart aches, knowing the world this girl will grow into. She knows, judging by the way she looks- the dirt, the grime, the bruises all over the child, the torn up clothes -she will not have an easy time in life. She will have to claw herself up that mountain, she will have to fight tooth and bone to get anywhere. And Navia’s heart bleeds, merely thinking about such a thing. This girl, so young, so battered…. 

She wipes the tear sliding down her cheek angrily, looking away and towards the wall, jaw clenching. She bites the inside of her cheek, swallows harshly, and tries her hardest to pull herself together. 

It’s stupid. It’s dumb, it’s unfair– all of it. She doesn’t deserve this, Chiori doesn’t deserve this, Furina doesn’t, her mother– the rest of the women of the kingdom. No one deserves this. 

The sound of bedsheets ruffling is what brings her attention back to the girl. She startles slightly, tensing before turning to the girl, inspecting her face as she wakes. The girl takes a moment, her lone eye adjusting to the light of the room, before wandering slightly and landing on Navia– and when it does, her eye widens significantly, shock filling the emotionless eye. 

It looks familiar. Navia can’t quite place it– deja vu? She’s not quite sure. 

“Hi,” Navia whispers, trying to keep her voice soft just in case she had a concussion (she didn’t trust the doctor completely, if she was being honest). “How do you feel?” 

The girl struggles to respond, mouth opening and closing– and in the end, she simply nods her head. Navia smiles, reaching her hand out to encase the girl’s small, mud-caked hand with her own. The girl’s eye widens impossibly further, darting between Navia’s hand and her face. 

“Good, good, that’s good,” Navia sighs in relief, relaxing in the chair. “Can I… can I clean your face up a bit? It’s quite dirty, and I imagine it’s uncomfortable for you.”

The girl hesitates, and then nods. Navia murmurs a soft thank you, reaching into her pocket to pull out her handkerchief. She leans over the bed slightly, wiping the girl’s face carefully, gently, watching the way the soot comes off easily and stains the white cloth black. Navia swallows, throat thick with an odd sense of grief. 

Muffled voices come from next door– heated from what Navia is sure is an argument, proceeded quickly by the sound of a rather loud crack sound. Then, a groan– one Navia knows is a swallowed down yell. She flinches, hand stilling against the girl’s face, praying to whatever God she can name that Furina got off easy. 

(She doesn’t think she did.)

“You..” Navia’s hand shakes against her cheek, revealing tan skin underneath the unforgiving dirt. “...Worried me. You got lucky, though. Only a few bruises that should heal rather quickly..”

She trails off, trying to distract herself– and then, because Navia is a liar, but one for a good cause, she continues,

“..The doctor wanted to keep you in the palace for at least a day, however. Just to keep an eye on you.”

The girl stares at her, as if in disbelief. 

“Only if that's okay with you, of course!” She laughs nervously. The door to the room creaks open– and Navia turns her head quickly, only to find Chiori walking in solemnly. 

“If what’s okay?” Chiori asks, voice barely above a mumble. Navia feels sick.

“If she stays the night,” Navia responds, nodding to the girl. “You know, for supervision.” 

“... Your Highness, what about your banquet?” 

Navia waves her off easily, turning back to smile at the young girl. “No issue. She can borrow something of mine and can attend the banquet, too.” 

“That is very… unethical.” Chiori struggles to get out, walking to stand at the foot of the bed, just like before. Navia, out of the corner of her eye, watches as Chiori reaches a hand out– as if to touch the ankle of the girl –then quickly retracts it. “Would His Majesty allow it?”

“Who cares what that old man thinks?” She huffs, hoping to raise both of their spirits. “It’s my birthday, and it’s already been so… terrible, no thanks to Kaveh. He wouldn’t deny me this.”

She rubs her thumb over the back of the girl's hand, finding it to be dry and severely cracked. She wishes she could help her more. 

“Only if you’re okay with that,” Navia says to the girl quickly, watching her face intently. “I don’t– if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’m content hiding the night away in here to keep you company.”

“Your Highness–!”

“It’s fine, Chiori.” She shrugs easily, smiling towards her over her shoulder. “It’s no issue at all. A banquet means nothing in the face of someone being alone. That’s the worst thing a person can be.”

“Being alone and being lonely are two separate things,” Chiori points out, crossing her arms. “He could be alone, but that doesn't mean he'd feel lonely.”

“It’s the same feeling, feeling lonely and being alone,” Navia murmurs, looking down at her lap. “It’s all the same. It doesn’t mean one is better than the other– no one should ever be alone, no one should ever feel lonely.” 

“He'll be fine.” She says– and Navia, oh how she loves Chiori, but she… well, she's had enough. 

“ Sœurette,” She looks towards the girl, smile turning slightly strained. “Forgive me for asking– this is an odd question, but it appears as though there is some confusion.” 

She glances towards Chiori, who simply rolls her eyes in turn. She mumbles something under her breath that Navia doesn't quite catch. 

“Are you… are you a girl?” 

The child takes a moment, almost hesitant– and in the end, she nods her head rather carefully. There's a look in her eye that almost makes Navia think the girl doesn't believe herself. She isn't quite sure what that could mean. 

Navia relaxes into her seat, sending a rather pointed look to a shocked Chiori. Navia watches, briefly, as the gears churn in Chiori's head, taking this information in. 

“Thank you, sœurette.” Navia pats her hand gently. “Can you tell us your name?” 

This seems to be the question that stumps the girl, eye turning downcast in what Navia thinks is shame. 

Navia nearly resigns herself to never knowing her name– until Chiori chimes in, strangely enough. 

“Rosaille,” Chiori clears her throat, staring at the girl- Rosaille -with a new found understanding. “Her name is Rosaille. She lives in Ghost City, I just… I just recognized her now.”

She's hiding something, Navia thinks absentmindedly. How could she just recognize someone now? Navia is aware how close the bonds are between Chiori and the children of Ghost City. There's no logical way she would've just recognized one of the children residents of the city. 

She's lying to her. Navia doesn't know why. None of it particularly makes sense to Navia, as she stares at Chiori hard– but she decides to shrug it off, in the end. If Chiori wanted to tell her, she would. 

(Something still nags at Navia, though. The nagging feeling that she should know, the feeling of shame for not.) 

“It’s a very beautiful name,” Navia smiles, tilting her head to the side slightly. “It means rose, right? I’ve heard it before.” 

Chiori begins speaking, but quickly cuts herself off, “My–” 

Navia directs her attention to the girl, then– and it’s odd, seeing her so flustered. There’s an undercurrent of frustration, though, that much is clear to Navia. She wishes she could understand. “–My maman has told me it means that, yes.” 

Navia nods, looking between the two briefly. There’s an odd feeling in her gut, one that almost begs her to think of the feeling more– but again, she shrugs it off as something to think about at a later date. 

Chiori sighs, shoulders slumping inwards as she does so. “I’m… gonna go back,” She murmurs, gesturing vaguely with her hands towards the door. “I left when His Majesty… had Furina go through with her punishment. I’m– I’ll probably go back now, to check on her.”

She stops for a moment, as if her words caught up to her– and quickly, she adds, “For you! In your stead, of course.” 

A smile tugs at Navia’s lips, and she shakes her head knowingly. She waves Chiori off, “Go on, then. Please tell her I… hope she’s okay.” 

Chiori nods dutifully– and the second she’s out of the room, Navia lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. 

(She hopes Furina’s punishment wasn’t extreme. She hopes her cousin didn’t get to her parents, she hopes her parents could see through the lies he most definitely spouted out.) 

Shuffling on the bed draws her attention back to the girl– Rosaille, she quickly corrects herself. When she looks up, now, she can’t help but narrow in on the bandages around her eye– dirty, turning a shade of yellow with splotches of a deep crimson on it. Navia frowns, reaching for it, only pulling her hand back when she sees the way Rosaille flinches. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” She says, resting her hand on the side of the bed. “I just– do you mind if I change the bandage on your face? I’ll be gentle, I promise.” 

Quickly, she covers the eye covered by the bandage, shaking her head so fast Navia was sure it would dizzy the poor girl. Navia pouts, leaning forwards slightly. 

“Please?” She asks, tapping her fingers mindlessly against the bed. It’s soft under her fingertips- and distantly, she wonders how her fingers feel to the bed. Probably rough, fingers calloused and hard. “The bandages are dirty, and I’m worried about your eye.” 

She simply shakes her head again, hands pressing down harder against her eye. Navia’s frown deepens, “Why not? I- If your eye is hurt, we can treat it. You’ll feel better, I’m sure!” 

Rosaille opens her mouth, then– cracked lips parting for the first time since Navia met the girl. 

“Ugly,” She whispers, fingers digging into the bandage. “It’s– It’s ugly.” 

—

“Over there is where I used to do my lessons in the spring and summer time,” She says, pointing over to the patch of grass underneath the large mulberry tree. “ Monsieur Neuvillette was such a stickler, never wanting to be in the sun. We always had to sit in the shade, but I didn’t mind it that much. The breeze always feels nice under that tree.” 

She squeeze’s Rosaille’s hand, leading her around the imperial garden– she had hoped, in some distant part of her mind, that if she took the girl out of that sterile hospital room, her spirits would lift. In a way, it worked a bit: the girl started to speak more, though not a lot. 

A butterfly flits by them, moving towards the mulberry tree– and Navia smiles, watching it absentmindedly. 

“Rosaille– right?” 

She nods, watching Navia with a wide eye. 

So Navia continues, “Do you have a favorite animal?” 

Rosaille bites the inside of her cheek, seemingly thinking over the question. In the end, she shrugs slightly, “I… don’t know, Your…. Your Highness.”

The stutter was endearing to Navia, she admits to herself. It reminds her, just a bit, of a younger Chiori– always so anxious in Navia’s presence when she had just entered the palace. 

(Navia tries to ignore the fact that her stutter most likely comes from… something that happened to her when she was younger. Navia doesn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer– 

And she sincerely, genuinely, hopes that the stutter is simply from not speaking often.) 

“That’s alright,” Navia responds, leading her towards the back of the garden, where she knows her old swing set is. “Not everyone knows their favorite at a young age! You have your whole life to figure it out, sœurette. Don’t worry about it, just– tell me when you figure it out, alright?” 

The girl nods, small hand squeezing Navia’s, now. Navia wants to cry. “Do… do you have one…. Your Highness?” 

She looks back towards that butterfly from earlier, now resting on a yellow rose beneath the mulberry tree. “I like dogs,” Navia responds, glancing back at the girl beside her. She pats her on the head gently. “But I think butterflies are my favorite.” 

The image of a silver butterfly, with wings like stardust and a trail of magic following closely behind, flashes before her then– and she has to take a moment to ground herself, to remind herself that she shouldn’t dwell so much on dreams. She shouldn’t fixate so much on the imagination. 

“..White butterflies, to be specific.” She adds after a moment of silence. “They bring me peace– and, you know, there’s not a lot of that around here!” 

Rosaille takes in every piece of information that Navia gives her, almost greedily– and it’s jarring to see such a look on a 10 year old’s face. Navia isn’t sure how to process it, the look of unabashed veneration. 

(She’s hardly an adult, and yet she already has one person looking at her as if she hangs the stars in the sky. It validates her, just a bit, but the more logical part of her brain all but demands for her to feel uneasy. She’s still a child herself, of course– to be looked at like this by someone younger than her was… odd. She didn’t know how to feel, really.) 

“Come on,” Navia pulls Rosaille along gently. “There’s a swing set up ahead, past the tall bushes and hidden in the back of the garden. I used to love it as a girl– I think you would, too!”

—

She adjusts the gold accessory around her hips– they rest just on the end of her corset, with details of roses engraved into the gold, chains falling down in front of the skirt of her dress and connecting to the other rose engraving on the opposite hip, almost like a belt. The rose engravings on her belt accessory blend into the navy blue corset, roses and thorny vines winding up her corset in gold. Her skirt is gold, flowy and by all means fit for a princess. The sleeves of her dress were off-the-shoulder and thin, hugging her upper arms nicely– and in the back, the sleeves flared out into a cape-like thing that billowed behind her when she walked. 

The black silk gloves that went up to just above her elbows were a nice addition– one Chiori suggested at the last minute, sewing the roses and vines into her corset. It adds to the elegance of the outfit she thinks, twisting in the outfit to inspect herself in the mirror one last time. The only thing left to add is her crown- gold, custom made for this specific event, and would forever be known as the crown used by the first Queen of Remuria.

The crown is rather delicate, compared to the flashy thing passed down through the generations, ending (now) with her father. While his is bulky, made entirely of gold and nothing else, hers is thinner, with small roses and butterflies made out of sapphire and diamonds. It’s less gaudy, yes, but it by no means downplays their wealth– it does nothing to downplay their power. It’s simple, yet just as effective as her father’s crown. 

Carefully, she lifts the crown off the cushion she had rested it on, and places it on her head. She had to leave her normal sunhat behind– but it was alright, seeing as she got to trade it out for this crown, slightly heavy in her hands. It weighs heavy on her head, but it’s nothing she can’t get used to. 

She looks at herself in the mirror– and the girl before her… looks befitting of the title of Crown Princess of Remuria. She has never felt rather fitting for the title, always feeling as though it was handed to her because it had no one else to go too–

But she sees the vision, now, staring at herself in the mirror, watching the way the sapphires hanging from her ears match the ones inlaid on her crown. She sees the regal air about her, the way she radiates royalty and importance. She looks like a Queen, in every sense of the word.

(It scares her.) 

She looks at herself, and she sees the beauty that her kingdom is known for. She looks at herself, and she resolves herself to be everything that her kingdom needs. A benevolent ruler, but one who knows how to put their foot down when needed– who knows how to take action.

But even then, she won’t need it for long– not when she intends on ascending. Someone else would have to take over for her, then. There have been countless things that gods have done, but one thing they have not done is rule a kingdom while also being a part of heavenly machine.

(Afterall, gods are gods of all– no god is the set god for one kingdom. Gods serve everyone, they show no bias.)

She smoothes her skirt down one last time– something Chiori would have done, had she not sent her away hours earlier to partake in the festivities of the ball before Navia’s arrival. She presumes Chiori went to where Rosaille was staying, however– she seemed oddly attached to the girl, but Navia supposes she was simply wary of the newcomer, whether she be a child or not. 

She turns, taking her last look at her room for the next few hours. Her eyes land on the gift her mother had given her earlier– a leather bound journal, faded from use. 

( “I started writing in this the moment I got pregnant with you,” Her mother had explained, holding the leather journal in her hands delicately. She runs a gentle hand over the cover, smiling down at it. “I’ve written in it everyday since, which is why it’s sort of… thick. I figured I’d give it to you at your banquet, since you’d be old enough by then. It’s the perfect time for this, no? You get to indulge in all the insights of your father and I, for future knowledge. Especially with running a kingdom!” 

“Is it all…. just politics?” She asks, reaching out hesitantly for the journal. Her mother gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her chest in faux-offense. 

“How you wound me, mon soleil!” She exclaims, shaking her head ‘disappointedly’. She drops the act quickly, laughing and pushing back Navia’s bangs to place a kiss to her forehead. Her mother wobbles slightly, as if she were about to fall over– and quickly, Navia steadies her mother, not wishing for her to fall over. She isn’t sure if it’s the best idea for her mother to not use her wheelchair today, but she insisted on using her cane. Navia supposes it’s so she doesn’t look weak in front of the visiting nobility. “Of course, not. It’s about the general happenings of the day with you, dear. This whole journal is just about you through my eyes– ma lumi ère.”) 

She takes a deep breath, and she leaves her bedroom.

. . . 

The ballroom has always been her favorite part of the palace. As a child, she used to spend her time laying on the floor in the very middle of the room, staring up at the large crystalline chandelier that hung impressively off the ceiling. She used to imagine what it felt like, dancing under the chandelier in a waltz with her future prince. 

The thought disgusts her, now. The thought of being so utterly controlled by a man. The thought of having to spend her life with one. 

She supposes that's part of why she wants to ascend– as a God, she has no reason to marry. She's immortal, then, never fearing the weight of passing on the bloodline or being pressured into a political marriage with some Prince from a different nation. 

She stands on the landing overlooking the floor, and she sees hundreds of those very Princes. They all came specifically for her, and she knows that they will each be vying for her hand tonight, wishing to court her and have a dance with her. 

(This, of course, is part of the reason why she braided a section of her hair, instead of just pulling it back in a half up-half down style. She braided the sections that she normally just pulls back, to give off the illusion of being engaged. 

Remurian tradition dictates two things: Firstly, a proper proposal comes from one person bestowing another with a necklace of great importance. The person being proposed to has the option to keep the necklace– a yes –or to give it back– a no. 

Secondly, when you are engaged, you're to braid a piece of your hair and keep it braided. Some people even go the extra mile, braiding items that remind them of their fiancé– a ribbon, or charms, things of that sort –into their hair. They've become known as the betrothment braids, over the years. 

Navia braided those into her hair, tying the two sections together in the back to form her usual hairstyle but instead using braids. She wanted to deter her suitors.)

Furina is quick to walk up the stairs, standing a few steps off from the landing to hold her hand out for Navia to take. Navia smiles at her, hopes it conveys her silent thanks, and takes her hand. It’s easy, letting Furina help her down the copious amounts of stairs– and it’s less nerve wracking, with so many eyes on her. She feels comforted by the presence of Furina at her side, the one real constant in her life. 

“Where are we going first?” Furina whispers, squeezing her hand momentarily. Navia thinks over her question for a moment, eyes scanning the room as she does so. 

“Just take me to the dais,” Navia whispers back. “I should say hello to my parents, first.” 

“I won’t be able to follow you up those stairs leading up to them, though.” Furina responds, sending tight lipped smiles to those she bumped into. Navia smiles at the guests who say hello to her, waving half heartedly. “Only royalty is allowed up those steps.”

“That’s fine,” Navia assures her quietly, tapping her thumb against the back of Furina’s hand. “I’m more than capable of walking up a flight of stairs on my own.”

“It’d be a national scandal if you fell,” Furina comments, looking back at Navia jokingly. “It’d be all over the papers. They’d call you a weak leader.”

“I’ll erase it all!” She declares, holding back a laugh. “You’ll never hear of such an incident.”

They stop in front of the steps– and Navia glances up, watching the way her parents talk quietly to each other, both sat in their respective thrones. “Go,” Navia whispers to her, pulling her hand out of Furina’s. She places her hands on Furina’s lapels, pushing her back into the crowd gently. “I’ll find you and Chiori after I’ve spoken to them.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here?”

“I’m sure,” She nods easily, hands coming to the skirt of her dress to pull up slightly. “I’ll be fine. Go enjoy the ball! I’ll come and ruin the fun later, I promise.” 

“..As you wish.” Furina sighs, smoothing out the front of her tailcoat. Navia waits until Furina has disappeared into the crowd before turning towards the stairs, hiking her dress up so she can walk up the stairs unimpeded. 

“Navia!” Her father exclaims, standing up from his throne, quickly walking down the dais and wrapping her up in his arms. She smiles into his shoulder, quickly wrapping her own arms around him and squeezing him back tightly. “ Mon Soleil, you look so beautiful– so gorgeous! Just like a Princess, ma princesse!”

“Papa,” She mumbles, embarrassed. She pulls out of his embrace slightly, looking over his shoulder to smile at her mother. “It’s nice to see you too. I know you’re excited to see me, but– could you let go so I can say hello to maman, as well?” 

“Oh,” He says, letting her go– and only then does she realize he had lifted her off the ground slightly. She sighs dramatically, shaking her head fondly as she progresses towards her mother. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“Hi, maman,” She hugs her mother, making sure to be gentle. “You look beautiful.” 

“You more so,” Her mother responds, resting a hand against Navia’s cheek. “Look at you, how tall you’ve gotten. I remember when you were barely up to my waist– and now you’re taller than me! How time flies..” 

“No need to get all nostalgic,” Navia laughs somewhat awkwardly, helping her mother sit back down. “You’ll ruin my makeup if you do, I fear.” 

“Feeling sentimental tonight?” Her father jokes, motioning to the throne in between his and her mother’s. “Sit, sit. Only the boldest of the aristocratic scene here will come up to ask for your hand.” 

“And If I don’t want to entertain them?” She inquires, taking her father up on the offer of the seat. She sinks down into the throne, the velvet cushioning her nicely. The throne was made of gold, with cushions of blue velvet– regal, opulent, artistic. Everything that the Spina dynasty stood for. Her father waves a hand at her, 

“You have to entertain at least a few, dear.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “At least the less insufferable ones. There are a few here that I know are respectful and aren’t looking to push you for marriage prospects. I’ll let you know who they are when they come up, don’t worry.”

So Navia sighs, and resigns herself to the next 5 hours of rejecting marriage proposals and dancing with random princes under the pretense of being polite. 

—

The ballroom, full to the brim earlier, was eerily empty. She stands in the middle of the ballroom, staring out the large, floor to ceiling windows that reveal the lit up city. It’s a pretty sight, one that reflects the beauty of Remuria, Navia thinks absentmindedly. Overhead, in the night sky, stars twinkle brightly, helping aid the moon in its pursuit of lighting up the sky. 

Admiring the view takes her mind off how unusually empty the ballroom is– takes away from the crippling silence. It was odd, for it to be so empty, to be so devoid of life. Even during the day, the room is bustling with servants cleaning up and making sure dust doesn’t coat every surface thickly. 

The clicking of heels against the marble floors is what drags her attention away from the window, drawing her eyesight towards the landing she had stood on earlier. At the top of the stairs stands a figure– purple and black, with hints of gold and white. The steps of the figure are accompanied the sound of bells chiming–

And Navia would know who that is anywhere. She’s never met her before, but she’d know her anywhere. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Navia exclaims, very pointedly ignoring the way she rushes towards the end of the steps. “If it isn’t you, again.” 

“Your Highness!” The woman- the Ghost King, Navia corrects herself -exclaims, walking down the stairs so elegantly Navia thinks she might be gliding. Navia wouldn’t put it past her– Ghost Kings are powerful beings, she wouldn’t be shocked if they had the ability to float, too. “It’ll always be me. Disappointed?” 

“Hardly,” Navia answers, extending her hand for the woman to take. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” 

“I didn’t think I would be able to find you,” She takes Navia’s hand– her hands are fully gloved again, adorned in white silk instead of the white leather she wore the first time Navia saw her. “But would you look at this– I’ve found you!” 

Navia nods, smile pulling her lips up as she nods, “You found me.”

The woman before her- the one who has a name she knows but can’t quite recall -takes in her appearance, her eye gleaming under the light with such a heaviness to it that it makes Navia feel her gut churn. That look– it’s one of unbridled hope, it’s as if she is the stars that adorn the night sky. 

It makes Navia feel simultaneously special and overwhelmed– how can one person look at her with so much faith? She doesn’t understand it.

“Your Highness,” She says, breathless and unbelieving. “You– How radiant you are. La princesse du soleil.” 

“Do you aim to flatter?” Navia rolls her eyes, ignoring the way her face heats up tellingly. “Or do you just enjoy embarrassing pretty girls?”

“You must have mistaken–” She answers, dropping to one knee before Navia. Navia sucks in a breath, watching the way the woman brings Navia’s hand up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to each of her knuckles. “–I don’t aim for either. I simply aim to serve.” 

“Serve who?” Navia asks, pulling her hand out of the woman’s hold. “You have no one to serve, Madame Ghost Queen.” 

“..Don’t make me answer that,” The ghost replies, voice barely above a whisper. She averts her eye, shoulders hunching inwards slightly. “Your Highness, please– don’t make me answer that.” 

Why? Navia wants to ask. Why can’t you answer that? It’s just us, here. There’s no need to worry, not with me. 

“Okay,” Navia resolves in the end, placing her hands on the woman’s shoulders. “Please, get up. There’s no need to kneel in my presence.” 

The woman stands up hesitantly, and standing at full height– oh.  

She absolutely towers over Navia. She’s so much taller than her that it’s not even funny. Navia’s face heats up– and quickly, she looks away. 

“You said the same thing to me… oh God, how long ago now?” She mumbles, and when Navia looks up– she’s biting her lip. Her lips, which she now realizes are painted a deep red color, contrasting the paleness of her skin in a way that should be against the law. Navia chooses to ignore the way her heart beats erratically in her chest. “It had to have been a few minutes before I ended up in this situation. You begged me to get up, to stop kneeling. I guess some things truly don’t change, Your Highness?” 

“Your situation?” Navia asks, brows furrowing as she inspects the woman in front of her. She’s all purple, black, white, gold– the colors she wears are that of royalty. She looks handsome, she looks beautiful– she is sharp angles and soft smiles. The thing that draws Navia’s attention, however, is the addition of a thin braid that rests over her right shoulder, a yellow thread braided into it– and it’s fastened together at the bottom with a matching yellow bead of sorts. In the ballroom’s lighting, it almost looks like a pearl. “What’s your situation?”

“My soul,” She explains, gesturing vaguely towards her body. Then, she gestures her two hands apart. “Dispersed. Quite bad this time, actually, ha… Anyways! So, my soul needs to rebuild itself. That’s how I’ve ended up… here.” 

“...Your soul dispersed, and it’s rebuilding itself… in my dreams?”

The woman looks away, choosing to stare down at the polished floors almost shamefully. “...It seems I seek you out even in death, Your Highness.” 

Something pulls at Navia, then. 

“Who are you?” Navia asks– and it’s sudden, her tone slightly harsher than intended. She feels bad when the ghost in front of her seems to… fold in on herself, almost as if she was trying to take up less room in Navia’s presence. “How do I know you? You say these things, and I don’t understand it at all– so, who are you? How are we… related?” 

She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “It’s a subconscious thing, though I think if I had to make a conscious decision, I’d still choose you.” She says- and Gods, this woman Navia knows exclusively in her dreamscape… has an ability that, quite frankly Navia thinks is a talent, to leave her in a mess of feelings. How can she say such things with a straight face? How can she say such a thing and not expect Navia to not want to– “You won’t remember this by the time we meet when I’m in this body. You will be far too preoccupied to remember some random woman you met by chance every couple of years in your dreams– but our souls are intertwined.” 

She reaches for Navia’s hands– but she pulls back at the last second, thinking better of it. Navia, however, finishes the action for her. The Ghost King looks up at her in shock– the look only amplifying when Navia laces their fingers together and squeezes her hand encouragingly. 

“...They have always been intertwined,” She continues, looking down at their hands. “I surmise that it’ll be like this in every lifetime. The one’s where– where you listened to that creature and you fell down the same path as she– or the one where you listened to the Emperor the first time around and nothing bad happened to us– the possibilities, the… the thoughts are endless. I can’t get rid of you, no matter what, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want it any other way, either.”

Navia doesn’t understand anything she says. She figures that in time, she will understand. 

But she isn’t sure if she… wants to understand. 

. . .

Navia wakes up from her dream in a cold sweat, a singular tear falling down her cheek. The light filters into her bedroom in the palace, her silk curtains fluttering in the summer wind that enters in through the same window. It’s a peaceful scene, one that would normally fill Navia with a sense of tranquility.

And yet, in the wake of her dream, all Navia can feel is empty. 

—

The concrete ground stings against her knees, hot from the sun beating down on it for hours on end. She’s sure by the time she is done ‘reflecting’, as Columbina had put it, her knees will be stained red with a burn. She can only hope it’ll be a first degree burn and nothing more– but she knows, of course, that this is unlikely. 

So for now, she sucks up the biting pain, hands curling and balling up her skirt every now and then to refrain from making any sounds, and stares at the wall of reflection. It's a bare, bleak wall made of rough concrete behind the Imperial Temple. It was where the unruly students of the academy and the temples were sent, each meant to stare at the wall for an allotted amount of time as a form of discipline. Navia had no reason to be sent here, had never been sent here before– she was the star pupil, the shining example for everyone at the academy to look up to, to want to be like. She was the most talented with any kind of blade– saber, sword, claymore, you name it –, she was the most powerful one there. She had the most potential to ascend. 

She had been sent here because of her refusal to decide who would shoulder the blame of the ‘scandal’ during the parade. Navia refused to apologize, and she refused to seal one of her senses, she refused to kill a child. 

( “You refuse to choose?” Columbina sighs heavily, shaking her head and tapping the Wall of Reflection. “Fine, then. Kneel here for 3 hours. We’ll come get you when your time is up.” 

“3 hours?” Navia repeats, slowly kneeling down onto the concrete. She hisses when the ground comes in contact with her bare knees– flesh sizzling against rock. She swallows thickly, pushing down the urge to stand up and not do as told. “That’s it?”

“Do you wish for more?” Columbina giggles, looking down at Navia. Navia can’t get rid of the image of her with her eyes open, the completely white expanse without an iris or pupil. Her stomach churns. “You can kneel here 5 hours, if that’s what you want–”

“That won’t be necessary,” Neuvillette quickly chimes in, leather-heeled boots clacking against the hard ground. “3 hours is more than enough. You can go back to the temple, Madame Columbina. I’ll meet you there later.” 

And Columbina had left, then– bare feet sticking to hot cement as she walked down the hill and towards the temple she so adored. 

Neuvillette only spoke again when he was sure Columbina was a safe distance away, “Is there any way I can get you to consider the options? The ground will burn you.”

“No,” Navia had answered, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. She’s sure she’ll have a sunburn on her scalp and face by the time she’s done, as well as burning her knees on the ground. “I refuse to have to apologize for something that has done no harm. I refuse to kill a child for something out of her control.”

“You wouldn’t kill the girl,” Neuvillette answered, then. “Someone else would. That blood wouldn’t stain your hands.”

“It would,” Navia countered, jaw tensed as she stared ahead at the wall. “The splatters of blood would stain my entire being. So what’s worse, Monsieur Neuvillette? Sending a child to her death, or killing her yourself?” 

Neuvillette is silent after that– and for a moment, Navia thought he had left. But such a thing would be impossible, because if he had left she would have heard his footsteps retreating. 

“Suppose that there are two people traveling through the desert,” He said after the drawn out silence. “Suppose that they are both dying of thirst, but cannot find water. Now, suppose that you’re a god, and you have a glass of water. Whoever you give the water to will live, and whoever doesn’t get the water will die. Who are you giving the glass of water to?” 

Navia thought over his answer, for just a moment, before responding. “What a silly question. Give them both water.”

“Both? You only have one cup of water, Your Highness.”

“But I’m a god,” She argued, glancing up at the man. “I must have an abundance of all resources, no? So why can’t I give them both water?

“All things are limited in this world,” Neuvillette sighed, tapping his foot on the ground. “There will always be the push and pull of the waves– if you give one person more, the other will receive less, for example. Life is unfair, and it is just as unforgiving. One, in this scenario, must die no matter what. If you want to change fate– while, of course, it’s hard, it’s not impossible. However, changing the fate of one will change the fate of another, and that only creates more grudges. In this scenario, you’ve chosen the ‘third path’– just like in this situation with the girl. However, in both of these scenarios, the third path does not exist. Your intention is to expand the source, which is a wonderful thought, but it is an impossible one all the same.” 

She sighs quietly, silently disagreeing in her head. “Thank you for the wisdom, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Don’t thank me,” He said, patting her head gently. It’s reminiscent of when she was a child– so much so that her heart squeezes at the memory. “Wisdom or not, we both know you won’t listen.” 

Her lips turned upward, listening to the sound of his boots clicking against the concrete– and then he stopped, suddenly. “And… don’t listen to whatever Columbina might say about celestia. I’ve never seen a mortal more favored by the gods than you, Your Highness.”)

She’d take this over murdering an innocent, any day. What’s a little burned knees in comparison to a dead child? 

Staring at the wall, now, she remembers Columbina’s words the other day. Body in abyss; heart in paradise. 

She had researched it for a few hours after Columbina uttered the words to her– the expression came from a Liyuen poet who had supposedly seen the horrors of the Abyss. Reading over the poem the expression had come from, she took her own interpretation out of that expression– to be in agony physically, yet to stay of pure and sound mind. It’s a beautiful saying, one Navia thinks she, personally, can resonate with. 

She thinks she can relate to it.

(A fatal flaw, she will recognize in herself in the coming centuries.) 

She lost count of the time a long while ago– she had been basing it off the placement of the sun in the sky, but as the day progresses and the burns seep deeper and deeper into her skin, she can’t find herself able to keep up. If she had to guess, she was probably closer to the end of her appointed 3 hours of reflection. Or, at least, she could only hope. 

So she stares ahead, saying silent prayers to every god she knows the name of. She prays for good health for her family, for prosperity in the kingdom– she prays for Chiori and her family, she prays for Furina’s temperament to improve. The only prayer she offers for herself is towards the Heavenly Emperor– and it is more of a thanks than a request. A thank you for giving her the life she had the luxury of living. 

(Body in abyss; heart in paradise.) 

The clicking of leather boots on the ground drags her out of her reverie– and she continues to stare ahead, not daring to look back at the man that she associates with that specific sound. The footsteps stop directly behind her, and she tries to ignore the way his eyes bore into her back. She braces herself for him to speak, and yet–

It never comes. Not for several moments in silence, at least. 

He clears his throat first, then takes a moment to think over his words. How typical of him, Navia thinks absentmindedly. 

“I… spoke with the clergy,” He says– and the way he enunciates ‘spoke’ makes Navia believe that he fought with the clergy, instead. “And they agreed to let… this ordeal today be considered your divine retribution. You may get up, now.” 

“Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette,” She smiles, looking up at him and nodding curtly. “I’m afraid I’m going to need help, however. My knees have been burnt quite badly.”

“Oh,” He mumbles, then swallows. He sighs and nods, bending down awkwardly to help her up, leaning her into his side. “I forgot about that. How bad are the burns?”

“...Very bad,” She answers, willingly allowing him to basically drag her down the slope. “I can’t feel my knees for the most part, so I think that’s a bad sign.”

“Gods,” He curses under his breath. His hold on her tightens slightly, shaking his head profusely. “That woman– she’s been so harsh, these past couple of decades. I’m going to have to speak to her, talk some sense into her. Under no circumstance is it okay for her to essentially maim someone…”

“It wasn’t her, Monsieur Neuvillette.” She responds, trying to assist him by attempting to walk– and it was futile, really. She couldn’t move her knees, let alone walk. “It’s not her fault.”

“But it’s like you said earlier,” He explains, hastening his gait so that they arrive at the academy quicker. “Her ordering you to kneel for 3 hours on hot concrete is no different than ordering someone to kill a child– the blood is as much on her hands as it is yours. You may have done such a thing, but she ordered you to do so. You were only following her instruction, therefore the blame for your burns should be placed on her.”

“Then I’ll pardon her,” She huffs, rolling her eyes. While she doesn’t necessarily agree with Columbina most of the time– and quite frankly, doesn’t feel safe in her presence –she doesn’t wish for her to be punished. She was only acting in her position as a Priestess, one trying to guide Navia down the right path. At the end of the day, Columbina is still a part of Navia’s kingdom– and she was only doing what she thought was right. “It’s no issue, really. I pardon her for her offense, and that’s that.”

Neuvillette sighs heavily, shaking his head. “What will I do with you, Your Highness? Always choosing the third option…”

She laughs, letting Neuvillette carry her up the stairs and into her room, resting her down on her bed and then floundering slightly. “I-I will call in mademoiselle Chiori. She- She knows how to administer first aid, correct?” 

“What? Not going to call in the Imperial Doctor here on the mountain?” 

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, squaring his shoulders and resting his arms behind his back. “Bringing in the Imperial Doctor will only invite questions,” He explains, nodding to himself. “If you do not wish for Madame Columbina to be punished, it’s best if we keep everything… under the table.” 

How corrupt, Navia thinks absentmindedly. She knows he’s correct, however. 

“...The regular first aid kit that is kept in the room won’t be enough to heal the burns,” She sighs, lifting up the skirt of her dress to reveal the burns. They’re white, red, and terribly blistered. The image of her knees were not one for the weak– if she had not seen worse, Navia thinks she might’ve thrown up at the look of her knees. “Someone will be bound to ask.” 

“I’ll go into the medical ward,” He counters, biting the corner of his lip, deep in thought. “I’ll sneak one of those burn vials that the pyro students use when they accidentally burn themselves. They won’t question it if I’m the one taking it, if they do see me.” 

“Very well, then.” She nods, thumbing the fabric worriedly. “Send in Chiori.”

“And what of Mademoiselle Furina?”

Navia smiles awkwardly, “She’ll only be worried. What she doesn’t know certainly won’t hurt her.” 

He nods curtly, gloved hand coming in contact with her doorknob and twisting it swiftly– and then, he was gone. His first target is most likely Chiori– the faster the burns are at least somewhat treated, the faster they will scar over and then heal. He’ll head to the medical ward after that, sneaking a vial or two of the burn salve used for the students training in pyro– one of the three elemental trainings available at the academy. Navia never paid much interest in the elemental aspect of things, despite the advantage she knew she would gain on-field if she did. 

She, however, figured it would only be a hindrance to her training. She wanted to master the art of the sword, to know weapons inside and out, before anything. She figured she had the rest of her life to train in the arts of the elements– but she only had one chance for the art of the sword. Most Gods ascended based on their ability with a sword, not with their ability with an element– most of the elemental Gods learned how to control their appointed element after being designated as one of the 7. 

She had a leg up in the game learning with a sword, rather than an element. 

Besides, she had no interest in the three being offered at the academy– hydro, pyro, or electro. Thunder scared her, and pyro was essentially in the same vein as electro. Hydro, while a beautiful element in all regards, just did not seem to suit her– she was more interested in the material aspects, in controlling something that could do damage. 

She’d have to find that in the Land of Contracts– in Liyue, with the element of Geo. But like she said, she had all the time in the world to learn how to move the earth as finely as the most masterful Geo element holders. 

(She had the time to learn that after she had already ascended. She knows, of course, that she won’t be an elemental god, so she had no need to worry about this anyways. It would just be an extra, something that made her stronger than she already was– which, in it of itself, was a feat.) 

The door clicks shut– and standing before her is a rather confused looking Chiori, dressed in casual clothes as opposed to her normal, rather over the top (yet fashionable) dress. “ Monsieur Neuvillette said my presence was urgently needed in your bedchambers–” She says, eyes quickly scanning over Navia. When her eyes landed on the ugly burns, a quiet gasp erupts from the girl’s lips. “By the holy waters of Egeria– what happened!? And don’t try to lie to me, I’ll know.” 

Navia sighs and smiles sheepishly, “As it turns out, if you stick to the third path long enough, it’ll carve itself out for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chiori asks, rushing towards Navia and inspecting the burns carefully. “You speak so cryptically sometimes, it’s hard to know just what you mean.”

“I refused to choose one of their options as repentance,” Navia begins to explain, watching Chiori pull at the skin– and it burns around the edges, where the skin wasn’t completely destroyed. She flinches and hopes Chiori doesn’t notice. “And I suppose I angered Madame Columbina enough to have to kneel before the Wall of Reflection for 3 hours straight.”

“And you couldn’t put your skirt underneath your knees to prevent this?” Chiori groans, scrubbing over her face with her hands. “Or did such a thought not occur to you?”

“No, it did,” She deflates, shoulders hunching inwards. “I didn’t want to dirty the skirt, however. You spent so long making it, it would’ve been such a shame if it was ruined…”

“You–!” Chiori exclaims, standing up and flattening the wrinkles on her pants. “Are you an imbecile!? A skirt can be washed and fixed easily– 3rd degree burns are a far worse outcome than the dirtying of a skirt!” 

Navia pouts, but allows Chiori to leave the room without much fanfare. Chiori… well, she did have a point– one Navia didn’t necessarily agree with, but oh well. What’s done is done, what’s past is past– she can’t change it, now!

Chiori rushes back into the room with the first aid kit in her hands– and she wastes no time getting to work, pulling out bandages and ointments. 

“ Monsieur Neuvillette said he was going to get the burn treatment from the medical ward,” She offers, hissing slightly when Chiori applies the ointment over her knees. “So you’ll probably have to switch out the ointment with the burn salve.” 

“He needs to hurry up,” She grumbles, wrapping the bandage around her knee. “These burns are less than favorable. Who knows how long they will take to heal if the burn salve isn’t applied soon.” 

“Will it scar?”

Chiori looks up at her, deadpan and unamused. “Are you idiotic? Of course it will. I think the only thing that could erase this scar would be Godhood.” 

The door opens– and swiftly, Neuvillette walks in, holding an average sized vial. “Sorry, sorry,” He rushes out, standing next to Chiori and offering her the vial. “It took me longer than expected, but I had to talk briefly with some members of the clergy as I remembered something.”

“Oh?” She responds, raising an eyebrow at her teacher. Chiori takes the vial and unwraps her knees– and now, Navia realizes how terribly redundant the whole thing has been. She wipes off the ointment– Navia flinches at the stinging feeling –and makes quick work of applying the burn salve. It feels cool against her skin, it feels nice, but it also hurts. “What happened, then?”

“Two things,” He says, standing up straight. “Firstly, since the burn salve has been applied in an adequate amount of time, you should be able to walk in the coming hours. The clergy and I found it fit to find that child, bring her to the mountain, say a small prayer over her and then send her on her way– which we thought you would like to do. The girl seems to only trust you, Your Highness, so it’d be beneficial for everyone if you sought her out in the palace.”

“Just a prayer?” Navia confirms, glancing down at Chiori to see what her reaction was. Her face remained as immovable as usual. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, Your Highness.” He nods curtly, pulling at the fingers of his gloves. “Secondly, when you have the chance, I’d like for you to pack your things up.”

“...Pack my things?” She repeats, fingers digging into her skirt. “Am I being kicked out?”

Neuvillette laughs– it’s a small thing, almost a chuckle. She’s never heard him laugh boisterously before, and part of Navia thinks he physically can’t. She imagines that his version of a hysterical laugh is two chuckles. 

“You could think of it that way, I suppose.” He shrugs, then waves her off. “Just pack your things– nothing more than the bare essentials. I’ll explain everything in the morning.” 

She furrows her brows but agrees nonetheless, “Alright..”

—

“So,” Navia says, hauling the cart up the mountain path, looking over her shoulder at the girl who rests in it. “This is where we learn! The priests up here requested your presence– not for anything bad! Just to say a prayer or two over you, is all. They might even read your fortune!” 

Rosaille listens with rapt attention, eye wide and staring at Navia as if she’s a God. 

“Oh please,” Furina responds, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Those clergymen are so old and uptight, I doubt they’ll read anyone’s fortune who doesn’t pay for it.” 

“You never know,” Navia shrugs, muscles straining as she continues to pull the cart up the mountain. It was surprisingly light– but she supposes it feels light to her, someone who has spent years hauling around a claymore. She doubts it would feel as light to Chiori or Furina– two people who have only ever used swords (and bows, occasionally).  “Maybe they feel generous today?”

“When do they ever feel generous?” Chiori grumbles, tapping the side of the wooden cart. “They speak of doing good and Gods know what else, but here they are, saying the only way to please the Emperor for your ‘slight’ is by killing a child…”

“Well, that was resolved!” She quickly adds, glancing nervously at said child– though, judging by the awestruck expression on her face, she doesn’t think the child heard what Chiori said. “This is also a part of the solution, I believe.” 

“Gods only know what they’ll do to the poor girl.” Chiori huffs, swallowing harshly and pulling her hand back. “We’ll be in the room… right?”

“Of course,” Navia nods, looking back at Chiori. “I have the same reservations as you, don’t worry. We’ll be in the room the whole time.”

“Very well.” 

They walk in silence the rest of the way up, enjoying the sounds of birds chirping in the trees, of the tree leaves rustling in the breeze– they bask in the setting sun’s light, golden and pink and everything good in the world. 

She picks the child up, rests her on her hip– and Rosaille grips onto the back of her shirt as always, hugging her as if her life depended on it. Navia found it very endearing– and she imagines a different scenario, in which this child wasn’t severely underfed and abused, and instead just a normal girl. 

“ Monsieur Neuvillette?” She calls, looking around the inside of the Imperial Temple. She startles slightly when Columbina jumps off the statue of the Heavenly Emperor, landing elegantly on the ground. She sits upon the altar, a slow small stretching out across her face– and she extends her arms to Navia, making grabbing motions. 

“Give me the girl,” She says, motioning to herself now. “Neuvillette will be here soon. Until this, it’s just us. How delightful, Your Highness?”

“Don’t you dare hand my–” Chiori cuts herself off quickly, hand gripping Navia’s shoulder so tightly it might bruise. “–Do not give that girl to her, Na– Your Highness.” 

She sounds so shaken, so panicked– and Navia has to glance over her shoulder to check on the girl, to make sure she’s okay. And it’s odd, seeing such a palpable look of worry on her face– her face, which is usually so well crafted to be a mask of impassivity. 

“Aw, why so reserved, Mademoiselle Melchior?” Columbina pouts, fingernails tapping against the wooden altar. “I’m not… dangerous. Children are my strong suit, believe me! Trust me, Your Highness, I swear on my life that I won’t harm the girl.”

Rosaille grips onto her shirt tighter, shaking her head in Navia’s neck. Navia sighs, soothing a hand over her back to calm the girl. 

“I’m sorry, Madame Columbina,” She says, taking a hesitant step forward. “I don’t think she’ll let go. You’ll just have to do the prayer like this.”

Columbina sighs heavily, standing up leisurely and walking towards them. “Very well, then. Make my job harder, won’t you?” She grumbles, pulling some kind of vial out of her pocket. “Though, I will trouble you to at least turn her around. I need to see her face to be able to do this.”

Navia nods, and gently turns the girl– who reluctantly lets go of her shirt, eye downcast and not daring to look at Columbina’s face. 

“I have to touch you,” Columbina mutters softly to the girl, hand in front of her face. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

Hesitantly, the girl shakes her head. Columbina smiles softly– and the expression looks odd on her, especially when Navia remembers the rather manic smiles the woman is more prone to showing. Navia didn’t know the woman was prone to gentleness, to softness. Navia, absentmindedly, wonders why she doesn’t show this side of herself more often.

Columbina dips her fingers in the vile, drawing a cross on Rosaille’s forehead and muttering- what Navia presumes is -the prayer under her breath. It’s in a tongue Navia doesn’t recognize, the same kind she had been whispering on the day of the parade. It unsettled her then, but today it… brings her an odd sense of peace. 

She takes a deep breath, resting a gentle hand on Rosaille’s forehead as she says the next prayer, this time in Snezhnayan. It’s a quick affair, one that takes not a lot of effort– and when she pulls her hand back, she looks… odd. 

“...Young lady,” Columbina mutters, voice shaking ever-so-slightly. “When is your birthday? The exact date– I… I need to see something.” 

Nevuillette walks in the room, then– the sounds of his rushed footsteps follow him, echoing around the main chamber of the temple. “I sincerely apologize,” He says, dusting off the front of his dark blue overcoat. “I had some things to attend to with the other clergymen. I hope I haven’t missed much.” 

Columbina looks back at him, an almost urgent look on her face. “Neuvillette, this girl– she’s–” 

Neuvillette rushes over, resting a hand on Columbina’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

“The girl– her birthday, I need her birthday.” Columbina grips the lapels of his overcoat, looking up at him with a type of desperation to her. “Quickly- quickly. Neuvillette, quickly–” 

Neuvillette looks to Navia, now– almost just as desperate as Columbina. Navia nudges Rosaille softly, an unspoken prompt for her to speak. 

And so, she does, reciting her birthday softly. Columbina stops, then– quickly dipping her fingers back into the vial and placing her thumb on the girl’s forehead. They maintain that position for several tense minutes, neither of them moving in the slightest–

And then Columbina recoils back, hissing as if she were burned– “ par le dieu d’en haut,” She curses, pointing at Rosaille. “ Démon, c’est un démon– ” 

“What?” Navia says quickly, holding the girl closer to her chest instinctually. “What do you mean? What is she– what does she mean, Monsieur Neuvillette?”

“I… I’m not sure,” He replies, grip tightening on the priestess’ shoulder. “Columbina– what are you saying?”

“The girl– she’s cursed, she’s a–” Columbina backs up, and for a moment, Navia thinks she sees genuine fear cross over the woman’s face. It’s an odd expression, one that looks terribly out of place on the woman who normally instills fear in those around her. “...I’ve never seen a child so cursed. Neuvillette, she’s born under the Star of Solitude– but she was not blessed, not like Her Highness. She’s been wickedly cursed– cursed to bring misfortune to all of those around her, to those who touch her.”

She directs her attention to Navia, now. “Your Highness– it’s best if you let go of her, lest she taint your own fortune! She’s truly toxic, I’ve seen her future– Your Highness, you must let her go.” 

Rosaille holds onto her shirt in a death grip, shaking her head profusely. “I–I’m not! I’m… I’m not, I’m not, I’m not–” 

“I know,” Navia whispers to her, tangling her fingers in her hair to hopefully soothe the girl. “I know, it’s not your fault–”

“Your Highness,” Neuvillette says, stepping forward– but Navia steps back, hoping Furina or Chiori will support her. They don’t speak. “You– You must listen to Madame Columbina. The child will only bring you misfortune–”

“I’m not!” The girl yells– and Navia flinches, both from the sheer amount of agony in the girl’s voice and from how loudly she yelled. “I’m not– I’m not cursed, I’m not, I swear I’m not–” 

“Don’t cry, please–” Navia begs, soothing her hand over her back once more. “–It’s not you, it’s not your fault. I know, I know.. It’s not you, It’s not your fault.” 

—

She presses the heel of her palm into her eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them as she stuffs the last thing she’d need into it– the journal her mother gifted her for her birthday. She dresses swiftly, in something light– as per Neuvillette’s instructions. 

( “Nothing too heavy, it’s still summer after all,” He said, nodding to himself. “You can pack… overcoats, for autumn, but I don’t think it’ll be needed.”

“Just what are you sending me to do?” Navia had huffed, setting out her outfit for the next day. “You speak as if I’ll be gone for a while.”

“You’ll see, Your Highness.” Was his only response, much to Navia’s chagrin.) 

She fastens her hair into her usual style, brushing out her bangs slightly to look not-so-slept in, and slings her bag over her shoulder. She trudges out of her room without much else, just the clothes on her back and the bag on her shoulder– her claymore is shoved somewhere in subspace, a spell she learned from Neuvillette when she was 14 and just learning how to hold the claymore upright. 

She meets Neuvillette in the courtyard of the academy– the sun was just barely over the horizon, just beginning to illuminate the nation. He stands there, shoulders set and hands resting behind his back, facing towards the academy– and for a moment, it looks as though he was inspecting the building before him. 

She advances towards the man, yawning slightly as she finally stands before him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Neuvillette.” 

“ Bonjour, Demoiselle.” He nods, far too cheery for how early it was. “Glad to see you up on time. I think this is the first time you’ve ever been up early!”

“How cruel,” She mumbles, rolling her eyes half-heartedly. “Why am I up so early? What kind of training do you intend to torture me with now?”

“Congratulations, Your Highness.” He says instead, a small smile quirking his lips up. He motions towards her with his hand, indicating for her to follow him as he begins to walk down the mountain. “You’ve advanced quite easily during your time on Mont Automnequi. Most students aren’t as advanced as you until they are well into their twenties, so this is an enormous feat, Your Highness. You are truly blessed by the Gods in all aspects of life.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” She responds, confused by his words but thanking him nonetheless. “Your praise is appreciated greatly.”

“Of course,” He responds, stopping before the heavy metal gate. “Before I tell you your next… mission of sorts, I want to tell you that the girl– Rosaille, you said her name was –left the grounds of the mountain in the middle of the night.”

“What!?” Navia exclaims, brows furrowing as she looks up at him. “How did she–”

He sighs and shrugs dejectedly. “No one is quite sure, but we suspect she went back to wherever she lives.” 

Navia bites the inside of her cheek, thinking over the events of the night prior– and her heart clenches in her chest, remembering the wails of the girl. She could only hope she was safe now, wherever she was. Navia couldn’t change the fact that she left, and she certainly can’t force her to return to the safety of the mountain– so she could only pray for her safety, instead. She hopes the gods will give her this one thing. 

“Alright, thank you for letting me know.” She responds, placing a gentle hand on the gate, feeling the way the metal bites into her skin. “So, will you tell me why I’m here now?”

“This is the last part of your training– the final stage,” He explains, smile returning to his normally stoic face. “When a pupil becomes ready for this stage, it means that there is a good chance the student could likely ascend. So, Your Highness, welcome to the part of your lessons that you have been waiting for all these years. Starting from the moment the gates open, you begin your worldly training.”

The realization dawns on Navia slowly– it creeps up her lungs and winds around throat until it rests neatly on her tongue. “...This is why you asked me to pack the bare minimum,” She says, hand gripping the metal so tightly her knuckles turn white. “Because with worldly training, you let go of the material things and tap into the spiritual part of your being. Which helps with…”

“Ascension, correct.” He nods, resting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You’re only 17, and 17 is young. Worldly training lasts as long as it takes for you to ascend– you could be gone for as long as a decade, or as little as a few years. Regardless, I know you will succeed. You are… truly the most talented student I’ve had in decades, Your Highness.” 

“I’m to stay away until I ascend?” She asks for clarification, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. She… she didn’t want to be alone– but she knew, of course, that’s the whole point of worldly training. Neuvillette nods once more, moving his hand to pat her on the head– like a father, almost. 

“I’ll open the gates for you now, Your Highness.” He says, an almost sad look in his unusual eyes. “You’ll do great things. I can’t wait to witness the day where your likeness is carved into a divine statue. Just… remember everything I’ve taught you, alright? You must… you must always stay of a pure heart– never let the things around you corrupt you.”

“Of course.” She nods, throat tightening slightly. She had looked forward to this day her whole life– why is she so upset?

He smiles sadly, pushing open the metallic gate– and it screeches in protest, but relents under his administration nonetheless. “You… you’re free to go now, Your Highness.” 

She takes a hesitant step through the opened gates– and it’s odd, leaving without being flanked on either side by Furina and Chiori. Her chest tightens as she realizes how lonely it feels. 

She stops, abruptly. She stops more subconsciously than on her own accord– but before she even can register what she’s doing, she’s running back towards Neuvillette and embracing him. She couldn’t care for propriety at the moment, overcome with such an intense feeling of melancholia at the idea of leaving behind everyone she has ever known– ever loved. 

“Thank you,” She mumbles into his chest, tightening her hold around him slightly. She’s been around him so much, learned so much under him, that she– she considers the man to be like a second father to her. The father she had in the absence of her actual father, stuck up in the palace with royal duties. “Thank you… for everything, Neuvillette.” 

He hesitates, wrapping his arms around her reluctantly– and what a sight they would make. Master and student, in a familial embrace at the base of Mont Automnequi. 

“...Of course,” He responds, voice thick with his own kind of sadness. She imagines he feels like an uncle saying goodbye to his beloved niece. “I’ll always be here for you if you ever want to learn some more… Navia.” 

—